Tales and Novels Volume II Part 35

To loud altercations, silent hatred succeeded. Mrs. Germaine grew sullen, low-spirited, nervous, and hysterical. Among fas.h.i.+onable medical dowagers, she became an interesting personage: but this species of consequence was by no means sufficient to support her self-complacency, and, as she declared, she felt herself incapable of supporting the intolerable burden of _ennui_.

In various situations, the conduct of many individuals may be predicted with certainty, by those who are acquainted with their previous habits.

Habit is, to weak minds, a species of moral predestination, from which they have no power to escape. Their common language expresses their sense of their own inability to struggle against that destiny which their previous folly has prepared. They usually say, "For my part, I cannot help doing so and so. I know it is very wrong. I know it is my ruin; but I own I cannot resist. It is in vain to argue with me: it is my way; it is my fate."

Mrs. Germaine found herself led, "by an irresistible impulse," to the card-table, notwithstanding her solemn promise never more to play at any game of hazard. It was in vain to argue with her. "It was her way; it was her fate; she knew it was very wrong; she knew it was her ruin; but she could not resist!"

In the course of a few months, she was again involved in debt; and she had the meanness and the a.s.surance again to apply to the generosity of Mr. William Darford. Her letter was written in the most abject strain, and was full of all the flattering expressions which she imagined must, from a woman of her birth and consequence in the world, have a magical effect upon one in Mr. William Darford's station. She was surprised when she received a decided refusal. He declined all farther interference, as he perceived it was impossible that he could be of any real utility.

He forbore to reproach the lady with her breach of promise: "She will,"

said he to himself, "be sufficiently punished by the consequences of her own conduct: I would not increase her distress."

A separation from her husband was the immediate consequence. Perhaps it may be thought that, to Mrs. Germaine, this would be no punishment: but the loss of all the pride, pomp, and circ.u.mstance of married life, was deeply felt. She was thrown absolutely upon the charity of relations; who had very little charity in any sense of the word. She was disregarded by all her fine acquaintance; she had no friend upon earth to pity her; even her favourite maid gave warning, because she was tired of her mistress's temper, and of receiving no wages.

The detail of poor Mrs. Germaine's mortifications and sufferings cannot be interesting. She was a prey to low spirits, or in other words, to mortified vanity, for some time; and at last died of a nervous fever.

Her husband wrote the following letter to Mr. William Darford, soon after her death:

"MY DEAR WILLIAM,

"You have heard of poor Mrs. Germaine's death, and of the manner of it; no more need be said upon that subject. Whatever were her faults, she has suffered for them; and so have I for mine. Believe me, I am effectually cured of all desire to be a fine gentleman. I shall quit the name of Germaine immediately, and resume that of Darford. You know the state of my affairs. There is yet hope I may set things to rights by my own industry; and I am determined to go into business, and to apply to it in good earnest, for my own sake, and for the sake of my children, whom I have hitherto shamefully neglected. But I had it not always in my power, after my marriage, to do as I wished. No more of that. The blame be upon me for the past; for the future I shall, I hope, be a different man. I dare not ask you to trust so far to these good resolutions as to take me into partners.h.i.+p with you, in your manufactory; but perhaps your good-nature can direct me to some employment suited to my views and capacity. I ask only a fair trial; I think I shall not do as I used to do, and leave all the letters to be written by my partner.

"Give my love to my dear little boy and girl. How can I thank you and Mrs. Darford enough for all you have done for them? There is another person whom I should wish to thank, but scarcely dare to name; feeling, as I do, so unworthy of her goodness.

"Adieu, yours sincerely,

"CHARLES DARFORD, again, thank G.o.d."

It is scarcely necessary to inform our readers, that Mr. William Darford received his penitent friend with open arms, took him into partners.h.i.+p, and a.s.sisted him in the most kind and judicious manner to re-establish his fortune and his credit. He became remarkable for his steady attention to business; to the great astonishment of those who had seen him only in the character of a dissipated fine gentleman. Few have sufficient strength of mind thus to stop short in the career of folly, and few have the resolution to bear the ridicule thrown upon them even by those whom they despise. Our hero was ridiculed most unmercifully by all his former companions,--by all the Bond-street loungers. But of what consequence was this to him? He did not live among them; he did not hear their witticisms; and well knew that, in less than a twelvemonth, they would forget such a person as Charles Germaine had ever existed. His knowledge of what is called high life had sufficiently convinced him that happiness is not in the gift or in the possession of those who are often, to ignorant mortals, objects of supreme admiration and envy.

Charles Darford looked for happiness, and found it in domestic life.

Belief, founded upon our own experience, is more firm than that which we grant to the hearsay evidence of moralists; but t happy those who, according to the ancient proverb, can profit by the experience of their predecessors!

_Feb_. 1803.

THE CONTRAST

CHAPTER I.

"What a blessing it is to be the father of such a family of children!"

said farmer Frankland, as he looked round at the honest affectionate faces of his sons and daughters, who were dining with him on his birthday. "What a blessing it is to have a large family of children!"

"A blessing you may call it, if you will, neighbour," said farmer Bettesworth; "but if I were to speak my mind, I should be apt to call it a curse."

"Why, as to that, we may both be right and both be wrong," replied Frankland; "for children are either a blessing or a curse according as they turn out; and they turn out according as they are brought up.

'Bring up a child in the way it should go;' that has ever been my maxim: show me a better, show me a happier family than my own; and show me a happier father than myself," continued the good old man, with pleasure sparkling in his eyes. Observing, however, that his neighbour Bettesworth looked blank and sighed deeply, he checked himself, and said, in a more humble tone, "To be sure, it is not so mannerly for a man to be praising his own, except it just come from the heart unawares, amongst friends who will excuse it, especially upon such a day as this.

This day I am seventy years of age, and never was heartier or happier!

So, f.a.n.n.y, love, fill neighbour Bettesworth a gla.s.s of your sister's cider. 'Tis my Patty's making, sir; and better never was drunk. Nay, nay, sit ye still, neighbour; as you happened to call in just as we were all dining, and making merry together, why you cannot do better than to stay and make one of us, seeing that you are heartily welcome." Mr.

Bettesworth excused himself, by saying that he was in haste to get home.

No happy home had he, no affectionate children to welcome his return.

Yet he had as numerous a family as Mr. Frankland; three sons and two daughters: Idle Isaac, Wild Will, Bullying Bob, Saucy Sally, and Jilting Jessy. Such were the names by which they were called by all who knew them in the town of Monmouth, where they lived. Alliteration had "lent its artful aid" in giving these nicknames; but they were not misapplied.

Mr. Bettesworth was an indolent man, fond of his pipe, and fonder of building castles in the air by his fireside. Mrs. Bettesworth was a vain, foolish vixen; fond of dress, and fonder of her own will. Neither of them took the least care to breed up their children. Whilst they were young, the mother humoured them: when they grew up, she contradicted them in every thing, and then wondered how they could he so ungrateful as not to love her.

The father was also surprised to find that his boys and girls were not as well-mannered, nor as well-tempered, nor as clever, nor as steady, nor as dutiful and affectionate, as his neighbour Frankland's; and he said to himself, "Some folks have the luck of having good children. To be sure, some children are born better than others."

He should rather have said, "To be sure, some children are bred better than others."

Mr. Frankland's wife was a prudent, sensible woman, and had united with him in constant endeavours to educate their family. Whilst they were yet infants, prattling at their mother's knee, she taught them to love and help one another, to conquer their little froward humours, and to be obedient and tractable. This saved both them and herself a great deal of trouble afterward; and their father often said, both to the boys and girls, "You may thank your mother, and so may I, for the good tempers you have."

The girls had the misfortune to lose this excellent mother, when one was about seventeen, and the other eighteen; but she was always alive in their memory. Patty, the eldest sister, was homely in her person; but she was so neat in her dress, and she had such a cheerful agreeable temper, that people forgot she was not handsome; particularly as it was observed that she was very fond of her sister f.a.n.n.y, who was remarkably pretty.

f.a.n.n.y was neither prudish nor censorious; neither a romp nor a flirt: she was so unaffected and una.s.suming, that most of her neighbours loved her; and this is saying a great deal in favour of one who had so much the power to excite envy.

Mr. Frankland's eldest son, George, was bred to be a farmer; and he understood country business uncommonly well for a young man of his age.

He constantly a.s.sisted his father in the management of the farm; and, by this means, acquired much experience with little waste of time or money.

His father had always treated him so much as his friend, and had talked to him so openly of his affairs, that he ever looked upon his father's business as his own; and he had no idea of having any separate interest.

James, the second son, was bred to trade. He had been taught whatever was necessary and useful for a man in business; he had habits of punctuality, civil manners, and a thorough love of fair dealing.

Frank, the youngest son, was of a more lively disposition than his brothers; and his father used often to tell him, when he was a boy, that, if he did not take care, his hasty temper would get him into sc.r.a.pes; and that the brightest parts, as they are called, will be of little use to a man, unless he has also steadiness to go through with whatever he begins. These hints, from a father whom he heartily loved, made so strong an impression upon Frank, that he took great pains to correct the natural violence of his temper, and to learn patience and industry. The three brothers were attached to one another; and their friends.h.i.+p was a source of improvement, as well as of pleasure.

The evening of Mr. Frankland's birthday the whole family retired to an arbour in their garden, and began to talk over their affairs with open hearts.

"Well, Frank, my boy," said the happy father, who was the confidant of his children, "I am sure, if your heart is set upon this match with Jessy Bettesworth, I will do my best to like the girl; and her not being rich shall be no objection to me; we can make that up amongst us, some way or other. But, Frank, it is fair to tell you my opinion of the girl, plainly and fully, beforehand, as I have done. She that has jilted others, I think, would be apt to jilt you, if she met with a better offer."

"Why then, father, I'll not be in a hurry: I'll take time to consider, before I speak to her any more; and I thank you for being so kind, which I hope I shall not forget."

The morning after this conversation pa.s.sed, Jilting Jessy, accompanied by her sister, Saucy Sally, came to pay Patty and f.a.n.n.y Frankland a visit. They were full of some piece of news, which they were eager to tell.

"Well, to be sure, I dreamed I had a diamond ring put on my finger by a great lord, not a week ago," cried Jessy; "and who knows but it may come true? You have not heard the news, f.a.n.n.y Frankland? Hey, Patty?"

"Not they: they never hear any news!" said Sally.

"Well, then, I'll tell you," cried Jessy. "Rich Captain Bettesworth, our relation, who made the great _fortin_ abroad, over seas, has just broken his neck out a-hunting; and the _fortin_ all comes to us."

"We shall now see whether Mrs. Craddock will push by me again, as she did yesterday in the street! We'll see whether I shan't make as good a fine lady as herself, I warrant it, that's all. It's my turn to push by folk now," said Saucy Sally.

f.a.n.n.y and Patty Frankland, with sincere good-nature, congratulated their neighbours on this increase of fortune; but they did not think that pus.h.i.+ng by Mrs. Craddock could be one of the most useful or agreeable consequences of an increase in fortune.

"Lord, Patty! how you sit moping yourself there at your work," continued Sally; "but some people must work, to be sure, that can't afford to be idle. How you must envy us, Patty!"