The Cottagers of Glenburnie

Front matter

THE

COTTAGERS

OF

Chapter 1

THE

COTTAGERS OF GLENBURNIE.

CHAP. I.

An Arrival.

In the fine summer of the year 1788, as Mr Stewart of Gowan-brae, and his two daughters, were one morning sitting down to breakfast, they were told by the servant, that a gentlewoman was at the door, who desired to speak with Mr Stewart on business."She comes in good time," said Mr Stewart; "but do you not know who she is?" "No, Sir," returned the servant, "she is quite a stranger, and speaks Englified, and is very lame, but has a won pleasant countenance." Mr Stewart, without further inquiry, hastened to the door, while the young ladies continued the interrogations.

"Did she come in her own carriage, or in a hack?" asked Miss Stewart. "She came riding on a double horse," replied the lad. "Riding double!" cried Miss Stewart, resuming her seat, "I thought she had been a lady.—Come, Mary, let us have our breakfast.—My goodness! I hope papa is not bringing the woman here."

As she spoke, the door opened, and Mr Stewart entered with the stranger leaning on his arm. Her respectful salute was returned by Miss Stewart with that sort of reserve which young ladies, who are anywise doubtful of being intitled to all that they assume, are apt to put on when addressing themselves to strangers, of whose rank they are uncertain; but, by her sister Mary, it was returned with a frankness natural to those who do not fear being demeaned by an act of courtesy.

"Indeed you must breakfast with us, my good Mrs Mason," said Mr Stewart, placing a chair; "my daughters have often heard of you from their mother. They are no strangers either to your name or character; and therefore must be prepared to shew you esteem and respect."

Miss Stewart coloured, and drew up her head very scornfully; of which Mrs Mason took no notice, but humbly thanking the good gentleman for his kindness, added, "that he could scarcely imagine how much pleasure it gave her, to see the children of one whom she had so loved and honoured; and she was loved and honoured by all who knew her," continued she. "Both the young ladies resemble her: may they be as like her in their minds as in their persons!"

"God grant they may," said the father, sighing, "and I hope her friends will be theirs through life."

Miss Stewart, who had been all this time looking out of the window, began her breakfast, without taking any notice of what was said; but Mary, who never heard her mother spoken of without sensible emotion, bowed to Mrs Mason, with a look expressive of her gratitude; and observing, with compassion, how much she appeared exhausted by the fatigue of travelling, urged the necessity of her taking refreshment and repose. Mr Stewart warmly seconded his daughter's invitation, who, having learned that Mrs Mason had travelled night and day in the stage coach, and only stopped at ——, until a horse could be prepared to bring her forward to Gowan-brae, was anxious that she should devote the remainder of the day to rest. The weary stranger thankfully acceded to the kind proposal; and Mary, perceiving how lame she was, offered her assistance to support her to her room, and conducted her to it with all that respectful kindness, which age or indisposition so naturally excite in an artless mind.

When Mary returned to the parlour, she found her father at the door, going out; he gave her a smile of approbation, as he passed, and kindly tapping her on the neck, said, "she was a dear good lassie, and a comfort to his heart."

Miss Bell, who thought that every praise bestowed on her sister, conveyed a reproach to her, now broke silence, in evident displeasure with all the party.

"She was sure, for her part, she did not know what people meant by paying such people so much attention. But she knew well enough it was all to get their good words; but, for her part, she scorned such meanness. She scorned to get the good word of any one, by doing what was so improper."

"And what, my dear Bell, is improper in what I have now done?" said Mary, in a mild tone of expostulation.

"Improper!" returned her sister, "I dont know what you call improper, if you think it proper to keep company with a servant, and to make as much fuss about her too as if she were a lady. Improper, indeed! And when you know too, that Captain Mollins was to come here to-day; and that I had hoped my father would ask him to dinner:—but my friends are never to be minded—they are to be turned out to make room for every trumpery person you chuse to pick up!"

"Indeed, sister, you do me injustice," said Mary; "you know I did not bring Mrs Mason here; but when I heard her name, I recollected all that our dear mother had often told us of her extraordinary worth: and I thought, if it had pleased God to have spared her, how glad she would have been to have seen one she so much esteemed; for, though my mother was born in a higher station, and bred to higher views, than we have any right to, she had no pride, and treated all who were worthy of her notice with kindness."

"Yes," replied Miss Bell, "it was her only fault. She was a woman of family: and, with her connexions, if she had held her head a little higher, and never taken notice of people because of their being good, and such stuff, she might have lived in a genteeler stile, I am sure she gave as much to poor people every year, as might have given handsome dinners to half the gentry in the country: and, to curry favour with my father, you encourage him in the same mean ways. But I see through your mean arts, Miss, and I despise them."

"Indeed, sister, I have no arts," said Mary. "I wish to follow the example that was set us by the best of mothers, and I am sure we cannot have a better model for our conduct."

"Do as you please, Miss!" cried her sister, choking with rage; and, leaving the room, slapped the door after her with a violence which awaked their guest, and brought their father up from his study, to see what was the matter. He found Mary in tears, and instantly conjectured the cause of the uproar. "I see how it is," said he:—"Bell has been giving vent to the passion which I saw brewing in her breast, from the moment that I brought this worthy woman into the room. The ridiculous notions that she has got about gentility, seem to have stifled every good feeling in her mind. But it is my own fault. This is the effect of sending her, on account of these accomplishments, to that nursery of folly and impertinence, where she learned nothing but vanity and idleness."

"Indeed, Sir," said Mary, "my sister is very accomplished, and very genteel; and it is natural that she should wish to get into genteel company, to which she thinks our taking notice of people in an inferior station presents an obstacle."

"Then she thinks very foolishly, and very absurdly," replied Mr Stewart. "My father was an honest man, and therefore I am not ashamed of my origin; but, were I ashamed of it, could I by that make any one forget it? Does not all the country know, that I am but a farmer's son? and though, by being factor on the estate of Longlands, I have been brought into the company of higher people, it is by my character, and not by my situation, that I have gained a title to their respect. Depend upon it, Mary, that as long as people in our private station rest their claim to respect upon the grounds of upright conduct, and unblemished virtue, they will not fail to meet with the attention they deserve; and, that the vain ambition of being esteemed richer or greater than we really are, is a contemptible meanness, and will not fail to expose us to many mortifications. What in reality can be more mean, than to be ashamed of noticing a deserving person, because they are poor?—unless, indeed, it be the meanness of courting the favour of one who is rich, and wicked."

Mary expressed her assent; and Mr Stewart proceeded. "As to Mrs Mason," said he, "she was, it is true, but a servant in the house of Lord Longlands; and was brought up by the old lady from a child to be a servant. Your mother was then in the house, in a state of dependence, as a poor relation; and would have found her situation miserable, had it not been alleviated by the kind attentions of this good girl Betty Mason, who performed for her many friendly offices essential to her comfort; and was, in sickness, her sole support and consolation. For the old lady, though pride made her treat my wife as a relation, so far as to give her a seat at her table, was a woman of a coarse and selfish mind, and gave herself little trouble about the feelings or comforts of any one. What my poor dear angel suffered while she was in that great house, was well known to me, and went to my heart. When seized with a fever at a time the house was full of company, she was so neglected, that she would inevitably have lost her life, but for the care of Ma , who watched her night and day. She always called her her preserver:—and can we, my dear Mary, forget the obligation? No, no. Never shall one who shewed kindness to her, find aught but kindness at Gowan-brae. Tell your sister that I say so; and that if she does not chuse to treat Mrs Mason as my guest ought to be treated, she had better keep her room.—But who comes here? A fine gentleman, I think. Do you know who he is?" "I never saw him, sir," returned Mary; "but I suppose it is a Captain Mollins, whom my sister met with when she went to the ball with Mrs Flinders."

"Mrs Flinders is a vain giddy woman," said Mr Stewart, "and I do not like any one the better for being of her acquaintance; but I will not prejudge the merits of the gentleman." Captain Mollins was then shewn in, and was received by Mr Stewart with a grave civility, which might have embarrassed some people—but the captain was not so easily abashed; saying, that he had the honour of bringing a message for Miss Stewart, from Mrs Flinders. He took his seat, and began talking of the weather with all the ease of an old acquaintance.

Miss Stewart, who, in expectation of the captain's visit, had changed her dress, walked into the room, with a smile, or rather simper, on her countenance; through which, an acute observer would, however, have seen the remains of the recent storm. Her eyes sparkled, but her eyebrows were not yet unbent to the openness of good humour: her voice was, however, changed to the tone of pleasure; and so much wit did she find in the captain's conversation, that every sentence he uttered produced a laugh. They had, indeed, all the laugh to themselves; for, as they only spoke about the ball, and as neither Mr Stewart nor Mary had been there, they could have no clue to the meaning of the many brilliant things that were said. But when the old gentleman heard the captain ask his daughter, whether she was not acquainted with some of the quizzes whom he had seen speak to her, and saw his daughter blush indignant at the charge, he thought it time to ask for an explanation; and begged the captain to inform him of whom he spoke.

The captain turned off the question with a laugh—saying, "he was only rallying Miss Stewart about a gentleman in a green coat, who had the assurance to ask her to dance—one of the town's people—and you know. Sir, what a vulgar set they are, he, he, he!"

"O shockingly vulgar indeed," said Miss Stewart; "but we have no acquaintance with them, I assure you—we visit none but the families in the country."

"Then you have no remorse for your cruelty to that poor Mr Fraser," cried the captain. "He looked so mortified when you refused him—I shall never forget it, he, he, he!"

"Ha, ha, ha—Well you are so comical," said Miss Stewart, endeavouring to prevent her father, who was about to speak; but the old gentleman would be heard. "Was it Mr Fraser, did you say. Sir, that asked my daughter?"

"Yes, Fraser, Fraser, that was his name, I think—a little squat vulgar fellow—one you probably don't know."

"But I do know him, Sir," returned Mr Stewart; "that little fat vulgar fellow is my nephew. Sir—my daughter's cousin-german! A man of whose notice she ought to be proud, for he is respected as a benefactor to the whole neighbourhood. Were she to be ashamed to acknowledge her relationship to such a man, because he wears plain manners, and a plain coat, I should be ashamed of her. Had my nephew been less successful in business than he has been, he would have still merited esteem; for though of no high birth, he possesses the heart, and soul, and spirit, of a gentleman."

"Very true. Sir—very true, indeed," said the captain, with undaunted assurance. "Mr Fraser is a very worthy man; he gives excellent dinners; I have the honour of knowing him intimately; have dined with him twice a week ever since I have been at ——; a very worthy man indeed. I believe he dines with Mrs Flinders to-day, and will probably see Miss Stewart home; for I hope she wont mortify her friend, by refusing her invitation."

Miss Stewart looked at her father, who was exceedingly averse from the proposal. At length, however, she carried her point, as she generally did; for Mr Stewart, though he saw, and hourly felt, the consequence of his indulgence, wanted the firmness that was necessary to enforce obedience, and to guide the conduct of this froward and self-willed child.

Chapter II.

CHAP. II.

Dissertation on Dress.—Antiquated Precepts.—History of Mrs Mason's Childhood.

Mr Stewart being called away on business, left it in charge with his daughter Mary, to prevent the departure of their guest during his absence; a commission which she gladly undertook to execute, saying, that she should watch for the moment of her awakening, in the adjoining room. In going to it, she passed the door of her sister's apartment, which stood a-jar, as was indeed its usual state; for she had, among her other accomplishments, acquired such a habit of slapping it after her, that the spring of the lock was always broken.

Mary, hearing herself called on, entered, and asked if she could render her any assistance in dressing. "O yes," cried Bell, "if you will only come and help me to find my things; I dont know, I am sure, where they are all gone to. I have looked all these drawers through, and I cannot find a single pair of stockings fit to put on. What shall I do! I have nothing fit to wear. O me! what shall I do?"

"What! nothing fit to wear, among all these heaps of clothes?" said Mary; "I believe, few girls in the country have such a well-stored wardrobe. We, at any rate, have no reason to complain, as we always find my father" ——

"My father!" interrupted Bell, "I am sure my father would never let us wear any thing in the fashion, if he could. But what should he know about dress, at Gowan Brae?—I wonder you have not more spirit than to fall in with his old-fashioned notions."

"My father wishes us always to be dressed according to our station, and our fortune," returned Mary; "and I think it a pity such notions should ever be out of fashion."

"But they are," said Bell, "and that's enough. Who thinks of being so mean as to confess, that they cannot afford any thing expensive? I wish you saw how the young ladies in Edinburgh dress! I don't mean those who have fortunes, for there is nothing in that; but those who have not a shilling to depend on. Yet they are all so fine, that one is ashamed to be seen beside them! Look there, and see whether I have one decent thing to put on."

"Indeed, your things are very good," returned Mary, "if you would be persuaded to keep them properly. I wonder you would not do it for the sake of having a comfortable room; for it is always so strewed with litter, that one never can find a chair to sit down on; and think how your things must be spoiled by the dust."

"But who can be at the trouble of fold-folding their things as you do," cried Bell; "and besides, it is so like an old maid. Well, now that you have put that gown in order, I think it will do; and now, if you would let me have your new cap, I should be quite smart."

"And why not wear your own? It is surely the same, if not better than mine is."

"O no," returned Miss Bell, "it is all torn to pieces."

"How?"

"Why, I forgot to put it in the box; and so it met with a misfortune—How could I help it? I am sure I never saw such a thing in my life; nor any one else. These vile little terrier puppies! I never knew the like of them; but they are just kept about the house to plague me, I had only lain down upon my bed to read a novel I got from Mrs Flinders, when I heard the nasty things come into this room; but I could not be at the trouble to put them out, I was so interested in the book. Little did I think it was my cap they were tearing to pieces, all the while they went bouncing and jumping about the room. Whurt, whurt! cried one; Wouf, wouf! cried the other; but I still read on, till I was so much affected by the story, that I was obliged to get up to look for my pocket-handkerchief—when, lo! the first thing I beheld, was the fragments of my poor cap! not one morsel of it together. The lace torn into perfect scraps, and the ribbon quite useless! Do now let me have your cap like a good creature, and I promise to take care of it."

Mary, who was indeed a good creature, could refuse her sister nothing, when she spoke to her with temper. She brought her the cap, and assisted her in dressing her hair for it; but could not avoid taking the opportunity of giving her a few cautionary hints, with regard to forming hasty intimacies with the strangers she met at Mount Flinders. Bell was instantly in arms in defence of her friend's associates, who were all excessively genteel; but happily the carriage was at the door, and the coachman so impatient, that she had no time for a further discussion. She was no sooner gone than Mary went to inquire for her guest; and as the cordial invitation she carried her, was given with evident good will, it was accepted of in the spirit of gratitude.

Mr Stewart did not return till the evening of the following day; but in the interim the time past cheerfully. The conversation often turned upon a topic that was ever interesting to the heart of Mary—the virtues of her mother, on which she delighted to expatiate; she likewise spoke of her brothers, who had been recommended by her mother to her particular care. "I deeply feel," said Mary, "the importance of the trust; and I daily pray to God for strength to execute it: but what, alas! can I do for my brothers, but give them the best advice I can, when they are at home with me, and write to them when they are at school? They are indeed very good boys, and never refuse to attend to what I say, unless in regard to the respect I wish them to pay my sister. But she is constantly finding fault with some of them; and is, I fear, so jealous of their attachment to me, that she will never love them as she ought, which often makes me very unhappy; for I have been used to hear my mother say, that young men generally turned out well, who had a peaceful happy home: and besides, what can be so delightful as a family of love!"

"True," replied Mrs Mason, "it is one of the characteristics of heaven. But in this life, my dear Miss Mary, every one must have their trials; and were it not for the contrariety of dispositions and tem , how few trials should we have to encounter in domestic life! To yield to those who, in their turn, yield to us, is an easy task, and would neither exercise our patience, nor forbearance, nor fortitude; and are not these most precious virtues?"

"How like that is to my good mother!" cried Mary. "O, Mrs Mason, if I had always such a friend as you beside me, to put me in mind of my duty, and to support me in performing it, I think I should never sink under it, as I sometimes do."

"And have you not a friend, a guide, and a supporter, in Him who called you to these trials of your virtue? Consider, my dear young lady, it is your Heavenly Father who has set the task,—perform it as unto Him, and when you have to encounter opposition, or injustice, you will no longer find them intolerable."

"Thank you, thank you," replied Mary; "I fear I do not always reflect so much on this as I ought. I shall, however, endeavour to keep it more in mind for the future. But tell me, Mrs Mason, how it is that you come to think so justly—so like my dear mother? You must, like her, have had the advantage of an excellent education. And yet, pardon me, for I suppose I have been misinformed, but I understood that you were not, when young, in a situation in which you could be supposed to receive the benefit of much instruction. I now see you have had greater advantages than I imagined."

"Yes," replied Mrs Mason, smiling, "my advantages indeed were great. I had a good mother, who, when I was a little child, taught me to subdue my own proud spirit, and to be tractable and obedient. Many poor people think, that their children will learn this time enough, when they go into the world; and that as they will meet with hardships when they grow up, it would be a pity to make them suffer by contradicting them when they are little. But what does a child suffer from the correction of a judicious parent, in compa of what grown people suffer from their passions? My mother taught me the only true road to obedience, in the love and fear of God. I learned from her to read, but she read ill herself, and could not instruct me in a proper method; nor could she afford to send me to school, for she was reduced to extreme poverty. She died when I was ten years old, and I thank God for enabling me to add to the comforts of the last year of her life by my industry."

"Why, what could you do for her at that tender age?" said Mary, "you were but a little child."

"I was so, Miss," replied Mrs Mason, "but I could knit stockings, though I wore none; and having knit a pair for the gardener's wife at Hill Castle, I was recommended by her to the housekeeper, who had the gout in her feet, and wanted a pair knit of lambs wool, to wear in the winter. I happened to please her; and when she paid me, she not only gave me twopence over and above the price, but a bit of sweet-cake, which I immediately put in my pocket, saying, I would take it to my mother. This brought on some questions, the result of which was an order to come to the castle daily for my mother's dinner. Never, never, shall I forget the joy of heart with which I went home with these glad tidings; nor the pious gratitude with which my mother returned her thanks to God for this unlooked-for mercy! She hoped that I would gain the favour of my benefactors by my diligence and industry, and she was not disappointed. The housekeeper spoke of me to her lady, who desired that when I next came I might be taken up to her room, that she might see me. Her orders were obeyed next day, and with trembling limbs and a beating heart did I approach her. She asked me several questions, and was so well satisfied with my answers, that she said she was sure I was a good girl, and that she would give me education to make me a good servant, and that I should live at the castle under the care of Jackson. Seeing me hesitate, she looked angry, and asked me if I was too proud to be a servant under Jackson?" "O no," I cried, "I would be happy to do anything for Mrs Jackson, but I cannot leave my mother. She is not able to leave her bed, and I do every thing for her; she has no one but me to help her."

"It is very true, my lady," said the housekeeper; and she then gave such an account of all I did for my mother, as seemed to astonish the old lady, who, in a gentler tone, said, that I was a good girl, a very good girl; and should come to live with her when my mother died, which could be at no great distance. The possibility of my mother's death had never before occurred to me; and when my lady put half-a-crown into my hand, which she said was to serve for earnest, 1 looked at it with horror, considering it as making a sort of bargain for my mother's life. With tears running down my cheeks, I begged her to lake back the money, for that I should be ready to serve her by night or day, for what she pleased to give me; but she refused, and telling me I was a little fool, bade me take the silver to my mother, and say, that she should have as much every week. "Your ladyship will not be long troubled with the pensioner," said the housekeeper; "for I am much mistaken, if she has many weeks to live."

I was so struck at hearing this sad sentence, that I went home with a heavy heart, and complained to my mother of her having concealed from me that she was so very ill. She said she knew how much I had to do, that my exertions were beyond my strength; and therefore she had not had the heart to afflict me, with speaking of her situation. But she saw that her trust in Providence had not been in vain. The Lord, who had through life so graciously supplied her wants, had heard her prayers in behalf of her child. "Yes," repeated she, "my prayers have been answered in peace. I know that my Redeemer liveth: continue to serve him, my dear bairn; and though we now part, we shall hereafter meet in joy." She continued some time apparently engaged in fervent prayer. At length her lips ceased to move, and I thought she had fallen asleep. I made up our little fire; and, having said my prayers, gently crept to bed. She was then gone, but I did not know that her soul had fled. Cold as she was, I did not think it was the coldness of death! But when I awoke in the morning, and found that she no longer breathed, and saw that her face was altered, though it still looked mild and pleasing, I was seized with inexpressible terror: this did not, however, last. I recollected that God was still present with me; and, casting myself on my knees before Him, I held up my little hands to implore his protection, engaging, in the language of simplicity, that I would be evermore His obedient child.

"This action inspired me with courage. I deliberately dressed myself, and went over to the farmer's to tell of my sad loss, which was indeed proclaimed by my tears rather than my words. Nothing could exceed the kindness of all our neighbours upon this occasion. They clubbed among them the expenses of my mother's funeral, and resolved that all she had should be kept for me. They made a sort of rude inventory of her little effects; and on searching her pockets, discovered the half-crown piece which had been the prelude to all my sorrows. At sight of it, my tears flowed afresh, and I cried out that I would not have that big shilling—I would never touch it, for it was it that had brought on my mother's death. I then, as well as I could, told all that my lady had said to me, when she gave it, and was greatly surprised to find, that, instead of joining in my aversion to the half , my good neighbours considered it as an auspicious omen of my future fortune. Nor have I had any reason to view it in a contrary light; for though my life, (the rest of which has been spent in Lord Longland's family,) has not been free from troubles, it has been sweetened by many mercies. But I must have tired you with talking of myself," continued Mrs Mason; "for what interest can you take in the story of my childhood?"