Integrity, a tale

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A TALE.

By Mrs. HOFLAND.

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AUTttOH OF TALES OP THE PRIORY, TALES OP THE MANOR, AND A SON OP A GENIUS., &0. &C,

Till I die, I will not remove mine integrity from me, — my heart shall not reproach

PHILADELPHIA.:

PUBLISHED BY THOMAS T. ASm

No. 1"9, Chesmit-stiie'f'^.

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Chapter I

‘‘What could you have been saying, my dear mamma, to Frederic Tracy last night? the tears were in his eyes, yet he looked happy, and even proud when I entered, but as Mrs. Greville came in with me, I could not inquire the cause.”

Such was the question of Emily Shelburne, then a girl in her fourteenth year, to her widowed mother, who immediately replied,

I had been speaking of your father, my love, — had been relating a material circum stance in his early life, which awakened the glow of kindred feeling in the warm heart of Frederic, and occasioned the expression of countenance which struck you.”

“You often talk to Frederic about my papa,” said Emily, with an air of pensive thoughtfulness, which almost amounted to reproach, and betrayed a little jealousy of her mother’s favourite.

“ I c?o, my dear, — for in depicting your dear father’s character, I consider myself

A 2 giving the best lesson, (the lesson of exaiu^ ^le,) to an orphan singularly situated, and affotding indications not only of the purest Sensibility, but the most generous and lofty integrity: as it is delightful to me to develop a mind so ingenious, so it appears a duty I owe him in return, to cherish the virtues, and strengthen the principles I approve. — I can talk to him with more ease than I can to you; on a subject so near my heart, for the sight of you, my child, recals so forcibly — ’’

Mrs. Shelburne suddenly stopped, and Emily as suddenly comprehended all her mother felt, but could not say; ashamed of the sensation she, had rather conceived than expressed, she threw herself into * her mother’s arms, assured her that she was fully aware of the acuteness, of her feelings on a point so touching, ana proposed changing the current of their thoughts by reading.

“Oh no, my love,” replied Mrs. Shelburne, rallying her spirits; “it is to me a sweet employment to speak of your father, although when I address myself to you I too frequently suflfer the subject to move me too much;- we must both learn to conquer our feeling, Emily, even on this point. Now for my anecdote, which it is perfectly right you should learn, as it is in fact a portion of family history.

“Your father’s uncle, Mr. Robert Shelburne, never married; he improved his paternal fortune much by a concern in the cop-

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'6 per mines, which enabled him to purchase an estate in Dorsetshire, where he resided with an unmarried sister. Mr. Shelburne, when a school boy, passed his holydays at their house, and was considered by all the relations of the family as the future l^eir. When he became about fifteen, he took with him, on these occasions, a half-brother, who was a sickly child, and who, having lost both his parents, needed the motherly offices and pure air likely to be met with in his uncle’s house. The child was first tolerated, then liked, and eventually became a permanent resident, as Mrs. Judith observed, “that puny children were at least quiet, and as her brother was often ailing, she might as well nurse two as one:” unhappily, her good nursing confirmed the delicacy which would otherwise have been temporary.

“ Francis, (your beloved father,) was sent for by express to his uncle, who was said to be extremely ill, when in his twenty-first year. He entered the bed-room of a relative he loved tenderly, at a moment when it presented a spectacle most afflictive and appaliiig to a heart like his. The dying invalid was raised in his bed, his sister had placed a pen in his nerveless hand, with which she eagerly besought him to sign his will, which was placed on the bed before him. An attorney and his clerk stood on one side to witness this act, and on the other appeared the clergyman of the village, who was protesting

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against the validity of the deed, and observing, that as it appeared the will had been made above a year, yet never signed, the testator had his own reasons for his delay.”

The expiring man was either unequal to the exertion urged upon him, or accorded with the opinion expressed, — he hesitated, — his long-loved, first-loved nephew entered the room, on whom he cast his eyes with an eager but indefinite expression, sunk back, and expired.

Even in this awful moment, your greataunt loudly lamented, “that her dear William was wronged, for that the will was wholly in his favour;” and the minister rejoiced, “ that even death had prevented his old friend from an act, which he was well aware had been unfairly urged upon him.” The attorney endeavoured to explain the law in such cases, and how far it was binding; but your father quelled a disturbance which shocked him, by a solemn assurance, “that in his eyes the will of his uncle was sacred, and so far as he was concerned, should be fulfilled to the letter.”

When he ceased to be a minor, this promise was carried into eftect; a trifling legacy was all that came to him; the estate was given to William, the personality to Mrs. Judith, who was also guardian to the heir, and continued her power to the last day of her existence, when she bequeathed all to the nephew she had enriched and controlled..

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Poor papai^ — rather noble! generous! excellent papal” exclaimed Emily.

“Very true,” my love; “ his conduct was all that, and as he was then a young and disengaged man, he had a right to be generous, but, under other circumstances, an act of simple integrity would have been better.”

“Surely, dear mother, this was an act of pure integrity? of a lofty sense of rectitude?”

“It was so, my dear, in Aim, undoubtedly, at the time; but yet, when it appeared by innumerable testimonies from the clergyman and the servants, that "his uncle had been teased into the making of a testament which he yet kept unsigned, as if he could not in conscience execute it, there certainly was an equal reason for believing that he fulfilled the will of his uncle in taking care of himself, as in giving all to his brother; and, in my opinion, common honesty and common sense would have dictated a division of the pro - perty; but in early life we never compromise. I, therefore, am not in the least surprised that your father, in the nobleness of his nature, and the strictness of his principles, gave all in the manner he did.”

“But surely his brother offered to divider”

“ Never! — so far from that, when your father, (who, as a merchant, suffered immense losses from political changes,) applied to him for aid, he replied, ‘‘ that he could not think of advancing money for risk in these terrible but that if his brother would give over business, he would willingly allow him an annuity if it should be found necessary: and he added, that — — ”

What could he add?”

That since we had happily— lost our little boys, — and my dowry was sufficient for a girl, very little would enable us to live.”

Oh! what a wretch! a wicked, wicked man ! to say my little brothers were happily removed.”

“ It affected me then, as you feel it now, and rendered your father so indignant, as to check all further intercourse; but I can at this time make allowance for the cold temperament of a man, whose very words were dictated by one who had gained an ascendancy over him by every claim of gratitude. “ He spoke to me who never had a child;” and as a stranger to the strongest tie of existence, set lightly by it. From all I can learn, he is rather a weak man than a bad one; the energies of his mind partaking the fragile constitution of the mother, whom he lost in the first stage of infancy,” and whose maladies he inherits.”

‘‘Well,” said Emily, after a long drawn sigh, “ I will try to forgive him ; but I don’t like him, and I am very glad dear papa could do well without him.”

“Had he lived, he would have done very well; but as it is. we have nothing to regret save his lo.ss. He lived tp repair, though not

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tx) retlieve his fortune, and to establish a character of the highest integrity with numbers who never heard of this early sacrifice^ in fact, it is so long past, and we have had so little intercourse with the parties concerned in it, that, in one sense, I had forgotten it myself, till the affairs of Frederic Tracy recalled it to remembrance.”

Chapter II

Mas. Shelburne resided at this time at a

village near the town of D , to which,

on the death of her deeply -lamented husband, she was attracted, partly because it offered extraordinary facilities for the education of her daughter, combined with the retirement she courted, and partly because it was within an easy distance of an elder and much beloved sister, the only survivor of a once numerous family.

The husband of this sister, (Mr. Hastings,) was the sole guardian of Emily ^ he was a merchant in a very extensive line of business, a man much known, and generally respected, though not generally liked; for his religious sentiments were those of a rigid sectarian, his manners cold and diffident, and the fears which he ever appeared to feel, were a

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contagious 10 those around hiuu Jb’evv approached him with ease, save those who, as his spiritual directors, felt their own superiority^, or those who intreated the charity which they well knew he would accord them on the principle of duty; for although he was naturally a man of much feeling, yet with him it was a principle to seem as if devoid of any, and ever actuated by higher motives.

Professing in every minutiae the same faith, and adding to her creed the most implicit obedience to the will of her wedded lord, as a religious duty, yet no person could offer a greater contrast in temper and manners to him than his wife. A tender heart, vivid and romantic imagination, the innocent simplicity of a mind which had never been informed or corrupted by commerce with the world,, rendered Mrs. Hastings the most pure and happy of all mystics, the most amiable and interesting of women. She lived in a world of her own, moved in an atmosphere of her own creation, and so reduced the most repellant natures to a partial submission to her ameliorating influence, that all around, as well as all within her, seemed attuned to love. Living entirely in the country, circumscribed in her acquaint ance, and divided many hours in the day from her husband, her time was everoccupi ed, either by the labours of benevolence, or the abstractions of sublime meditations, which the natural cheerfulness of her dispol>iTliGRri i.

y sitiou, and the svveetnes of her temper, aided by the richness of her fancy, rendered the source of edification and amusement to all who afterwards had the pleasure of her con - versatien: glowing with enthusiasm, and rapt in devotion, her soul appeared as if it had visited its native paradise, and brought from thence a foretaste of its heirship to immortality.

Nor were the excellencies of Mrs. Hastings those only which belong to a contemplative mind, — she had suffered many trials in her family, from the sickness and death of her younger children, especially in the loss of the only daughter she had been blessed with, and she was even now the unceasing nurse, and patient attendant of two extremely aged relatives, to whom she dedicated hours that, would have wearied out the patience of any one not influenced by divine forbearance^ and as the mother of three sons now entering on manhood, and by no means agreeing with the opinions and wishes of their father, it will readily be conceived that her trials were not merely nominal. Every day and every hour, the meekness and the loftiness of those holy principles which ruled her spirit were called into action, and they ever answered to the call.

As no sisters could love each other with more decided tenderness, nor with more unbroken confidence than these sisters had ever done, it was thought singular by som<.

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of their friends, that Mrs. Shelburne did not fix her residence in the positive neighbourhood of Mrs. Hastings, and the more serious roundly censured the widow for not placing herself and child beneath the protection which circumstances thus offered. This situation had not escaped Mrs. Shelburne’s consideration; but as her view of a Christian’s duties did not exactly accord with that of Mr. Hastings, and as she foresaw ^clearly, that the time was advancing, when, in despite of the mollifying influence of her sister, the “house would be divided against itself,” and that her nephews would claim a constant asylum in her house, it would be embarrassing to grant, and painful to refuse, she thought it the part of wisdom and true friendship, to fix herself in a situation which left her the means of enjoying at intervals the society of her sister in unalloyed comfort, and obtaining the aid of Mr. Hastings in the management of her concerns, without subjecting her to the severity of his remarks on the one hand, or inducing her to submit to his control on the other, in cases which she deemed herself adequate to decide upon, as one that must answer to a higher Judge.

But for the dear child, in whom all her earthly cares were centered, Mrs. Shelburne would have been happy to have purchased, by some concession, the pleasure of more frequent intercourse with her sister,' and such of her visitants as were calculated to enliven

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a the loneliness of one whose heart was be - reaved, and whose dwelling was desolate. She could not bear to deprive a child, (whose acute sensibility had subjected her thus early in life to severe sorrow,) of those innocent gratifications and accomplishments which she considered suitable to her situation in society, and to the season of life which was advancing upon her; and she still more dreaded the evil of rendering religion itself uninviting and repellant, in the persons and manners of relatives whom she sincerely desired her to love and esteem; an effect cer- , tainly not to be dreaded in the person of her gentle aunt, but almost inevitable in that of her uncle, and the society in which she moved.

As time advanced, Mrs. Shelburne became satisfied with the wisdom of her decision. One after another, the sons of Mr. Hastings left school, and became inmates of the paternal home, and sharers of his mercantile labours. The two eldest entered on this new situation within a short time of each other; for the eldest was so dull and distrait, that the mother urged the necessity of procuring him a companion. Alas ! that companion added little to his pleasures; both were restless, uneasy, — alternately irritable and melancholy, — full of regret for pleasures they had lost, and of disgust for the world on which they were entering. They alike found themselves in a situation they were not prepared to fill; being educated for their real

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situation in life, and now called upon it) associate with those whose views were so narrow, whose knowledge was so confined, as to render them contemptible in their eyes, — which were, of course, blinded to that which might be excellent in them; for youth seldom discriminates — it loves or hates.

The mother sought to direct their views to the same source of happiness which shed perpetual serenity, and inspired universal amenity in her own bosom: but her sons were young men, whose views were full of the turmoil, the energies, the busy hopes and wishes of early life; untamed by reflection, unsubdued by sorrow, and alive to that search for amusement, which at that season is a positive demand of nature, from the kitten on the hearth, and the lamb in the meadow, to man, in the fullest exercise of intellect,-— which may refine and guide, but does not therefore subdue his desire of pleasure. Denied by their father the means of entertainment common to their age, yet not abridged in their expenses, the young men endeavoured, by fashionable dress, fine horses, and other showy appendages, to make themselves amends for restrictions to which their love for their mother induced them to submit repiningly; but, by degrees, each were led to other resources, for the natural flow of animal spirits and undirected ambition. The eldest, James, became a close attendant and a bold speculator in his father’s affairs, who.

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a keen tradesman, was rejoiced to observe him take this turn. — The second, who was a sociable, lively creature, much resembling his mother, but far inferior to her in mind, addicted himself to low company, was content to be the oracle of the neighbouring cottages, ran olF with his mother’s maid, and afterwards compelled his father to consent to his marriage with her, lest he should be deemed an accessary to a guilty connection,

Mr. Hastings loved his children, — they were all fine young men in person, by no means deficient in talent, and it was certain that he had not only a father’s pride in them, but an earnest desire to see them in the first society, and forming the first connections in the country, — the conduct of Frank was, therefore, a bitter mortification to him, — and although he would not own that a little more consideration for the wishes of his sons would have been adviseable in him, he yet was impressed with that belief; and when Tom, his youngest and his darling came home, he was treated with an amplitude of indulgence in some points, which would have been ruinous to a much wiser head.

The mind of Mrs. Shelburne was much engaged in sympathy with her sister on all the points connected with her family, not only from the strong affection she bore her, but from the painful necessity she felt, of considering the house of Mr. Hastings as the future home of her fatherless child. \ u «

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slow disease had been long undermining her health, and she was well aware, that the power of medicine, though it might delay the stroke, could not protract her existence till the period when Emily’s minority would cease; or if even she should live till then, could she see how a young and unconnected woman could find any home equally suitable with that offered by the house of her guardian, and of an aunt, who had ever loved her with a tenderness scarcely inferior to her own.

But in that house were young men — whom Emily was likely to attract, and whose wishes would not fail to be seconded by their parents:—her sister was indeed too upright, as well as too amiable, to join in any plan of persecution, even for the sake of her own children; but, then, she was so entirely an obedient, a subservient wife, to a cold-hearted, lordly husband, that whatever he commanded she would certainly fulfil; and the happiness of Emily must be either sacrificed by compliance, or her life embittered by contention, for which nature had not qualified her, but to which even her principles might compel her. The heart of the mother ached at the sad prospect before her.

As these were subjects on which she could not converse, and which never failed to impress her countenance with sorrow, she found that of her anxious child imbibed, (from its expression,) much of the same sorrowful meditation which affected her mother’s mind.

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She became pale and spiritless, ever attentive to the pensive looks and delicate health ot her mother, but incapable of any other exertion, and evidently sinking into that state of morbid sensibility, which it had ever been the great object of maternal solicitude to prevent.

Mrs. Shelburne, ever alive to the calls of duty, and utterly incapable of selfish consideration, aroused herself, threw off’ all thought save of that which was necessary, and assuring Emily “that she was much better,” proposed to place her for a year or two at a boarding school, where, in the society of girls like herself, she could pursue the occupations and accomplishments proper for her age, and would, at the same time, be so near her, that they would have the advantage of constant intercourse.

The plan succeeded, — the puny blossom, relieved from the sombre air which had oppressed it, recovered, or rather attained the sprightliness of youth, and the full play with which early enjoyments bound on the heart that is new to life, and give a charm to the most simple pleasures and occupations. It was during this period that Mrs. Shelburne formed an acquaintance with the youth to whom we have adverted.

Of the six boys who sat in the rector’s pew on the Sunday, and w'ere the objects of his week-day care, Frederic Tracy was perhaps the leaat likely, at this time, to attract a lij

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stranger’s eye; for he was not well grown for his age, was remarkably thin and pale, and had a look of thoughtfulness beyond his years, and, therefore, not becoming them. The very circumstance gave him interest in the sight of Mrs. Shelburne, because it reminded her of the late situation of her own family, and rendered her deeply desirous of restoring the poor boy to the same happy flow of health and spirits which now characterised her daughter.

Mrs. Shelburne’s benevolence was not of a sleepy nature, and that degree of languor whicli was produced by her weakness was so far from being acted upon as an excuse for delay by her, that even formed a reason why she should lose no time. “I must do my Master’s work while it is day, for niy night cometh,” was often in her mind, and it produced in her an activity of charitable exertion and good neighbourhood, rarely equalled by the strong and healthy. Her slight acquaintance with the clergyman soon led to an intimate one with his pupilj and when she saw the long eye-lashes that were wont to be cast over his dark eyes withdrawn, and, the full intelligent orb lighting up his features with pleasure, as he glanced over the books, music, and drawings, in her apartment, she felt certain that she had not been mistaken in believing that his sickness, (if he were sick,) was that of the heart only.

Frederic Tracy, at fifteen, had, with all

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xhe innoceijice and simplicity of boyhood, a prematurity of mind which is the sad ^ift of early sorrow. He was the only child of his parents, both of whom were of good[ family, but small fortune; but his father, as a merchant well connected, and of excellent character, maintained a very respectable situation in society, and as a husband and father, was almost unrivalled in the tenderness and devotedness of his affections.

Mrs. Tracy was always delicate in her health, and when Frederic was about six years old, fell into a pulmonary complaint, for which the air of a milder climate was imperatively prescribed. At that time the political changes which convulsed all Europe, placed the mercantile interest every where in great jeopardy, and the presence of Mr. Tracy was required in Stockholm, as the guardian of his property consigned to that city: but the health and comfort of his wife overbalanced every other consideration, and he set out with her to Madeira, accompanied by the child, who had never left her a day from its birth.

Frederic could, therefore, well remember the bright glances of eyes that gazed at hinv. through tears of tenderness, and the alternate roses, and the marble paleness of that beloved mother, who imprinted on his mind its first ideas of beauty, and its sense of unceasing and unchanging love, — he could remember, too. the disf.rartion of his father.

IIjiTEi^RXTY, when that sweet mouth spake no longer, and even his own sense of indignation, as well as sorrow, when that indolised mother was laid in an unhallowed grave, and the Spanish maid presumed to say, “she was not an angel.”

Sir. Tracy returned to exchange the sorrows of a tender heart for the mortifications of a wounded spirit: — his property in Stockholm was lost, the agent he had dispatched there, secured, and then eloped with it; and during the period of his absence, had settled in Petersburgh. Thither the mourner pursued him, but too late for the recovery of his rights; he returned, deeply injured in his health, and ruined in his affairs, to pursue the only means which rectitude left — that of dividing the remainder of his fortune in just proportions among his creditors, and seeking the means of life for himself and child by personal exertion.

The uprightness of his conduct gained him friends, even in those who suffered the most from his misfortunes; and with that liberality which ever marks the citizens of the metropolis, a situation worthy his acceptance, ami suitable for his health, was provided for him, and whilst engaged in it, he placed his son in the respectable and happy asylum where he still resided: but within a year after that time, another eventful change took place in his destiny.

By the death of his mat#*rnal uncle, a verv

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considerable property in the West Indies became his, the extensive estates being equally divided between himself and his brother. This brother was an attorney, and at the time of his failure, had taken care that he should be made a bankrupt in all due form, in order, (as he said,) to save all future liti™ gation; but the first exclamation of the broken merchant, on hearing of his accession of fortune, was this, — “Now will I pay all my creditors to the last farthing. ”

It was neccessary that one of the brothersshould set out immediately, and as the attorney was a married man, Frederic was evidently the most proper: — he sent for his child, to bid him farewell, for he was so satisfied with his situation, that he would not indulge himself with taking him so long a voyage.—Poor child!*— he then thought his father looked very ill, — in truth, sorrow had so shattered him, that hope and fortune arrived too late to restore him;— he was ill during the voyage, and immediately on landing, he was seized with a fever, and sunk its prey in a few hours, being only able to dictate a hasty will, putting his son under the guardianship of his brother.

On the arrival of this distressing intelligence the . elder Tracy suddenly wound up his affairs in England, and taking his own children with him, immediately set out to take possession and cognisance of the weighty affars thus committed wholly to his care. In leaving the afflicted son of his deceased brother to tlie care of the good tutor with whom he had so long resided, he pursued the best, as well as the kindest conduct; for the poor boy’s personal acquaintance with his uncle’s family was slight, and his sorrows flowed more freely with those to whom he was habituated.

As this bereaved child rose from infancy, a tone of pensive thought, blended with an eager pursuit of knowledge, and uncommon talents and perseverance for the search; and whilst he appeared to those arouiid him merely a studious boy, he was occupied with that memory of the heart which is rarely found in the happy forgetfulness of youth, and also with those aspirations after lofty ennobling, and endearing virtues, which arose from classic conception, and the treasured precepts of his tender devotion to his parents. Though living with those who were good and affectionate, yet they were too busy to pursue the timid melancholy, and retiring enthusiasm of his mind to its hiding places; and but for the generous interest conceived for him by Mrs. Shelburne, he might have brooded over past sorrows, and future prospects, till its strength w^as withered, and its best designs evaporated in unrealised imaginings.

Frederic could not throw his whole heart open to his estimable friend, for he had “communed so long with himself only,” on points connected with personal situation, that his modesty forbade it; but on his literary pur* lN.i*liCrRri V.

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suits he soon became enabled to converse with ease, and with elegance and fluency formed by that silent society so long his dear est companions. But it was in moments like those we have recorded, when Mrs. Shelburne spoke to him with the frankness of a friend and the tenderness of a mother, that his sensibility was most excited; and the eagerness with which he listened to any anecdote, which bespoke the decided virtues of justice, generosity, or self-control, the sparkling of his eye, the throbbing of his heart, the efforts he would make to speak, and the blush which overspread his countenance, not only proved a general but individual interest in the subject.