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Title: The Adopted Daughter: A Tale for Young Persons

Author: Elizabeth Sandham

Release date: April 21, 2013 [eBook #42572]

Language: English

Credits: Produced by Dianna Adair, Marc-André Seekamp and the Online
        Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This
        file was produced from images generously made available
        by The Internet Archive)


*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE ADOPTED DAUGHTER: A TALE FOR YOUNG PERSONS ***




Produced by Dianna Adair, Marc-André Seekamp and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This
file was produced from images generously made available
by The Internet Archive)









Transcriber's note:

      Text enclosed by underscores is in italics (_italics_).




  [Illustration: THE ADOPTED CHILD.
  _It was now Anna's turn to support her father. page 139_]




  THE ADOPTED DAUGHTER,

  A TALE FOR
  YOUNG PERSONS.

  BY MISS SANDHAM,
  _Author of "The Twin Sisters," "William Selwyn," and many
  other Approved Works._

  "You took me up a tender flower."

  _SECOND EDITION._

  LONDON:
  PRINTED FOR J. HARRIS AND SON,
  ST. PAUL'S CHURCH YARD.
  1822.




LONDON

PRINTED BY COX AND BAYLIS,
GREAT QUEEN STREET, LINCOLN'S-INN-FIELDS.




PREFACE.


The following tale is intended to shew what people ought to be, rather
than what they are; as there are few, possessing Mrs. Meridith's
fortune, who have an inclination to dispose of it in the manner she is
represented to have done. Indeed, the characters here introduced are too
near perfection to be met with in real life, yet the Author hopes that
her young readers will receive instruction, as well as amusement, in
perusing it.

Some of the incidents may have been before introduced in works of the
same kind; though she is not aware of plagiarism, or borrowing from
other authors, and as she has endeavoured to pourtray those smaller
delineations of character which often escape a general observer, she
hopes many of the ideas will be found to be new; and that the present
work will not lesson the favour which her former publications has so
abundantly met with; and which she holds in grateful estimation.




THE ADOPTED DAUGHTER.




CHAPTER I.

"You took me up a tender flower."


Mrs. Meridith was the heiress of two considerable estates, one of which
was in Sussex, on which she was born, and where, at the commencement
of this history, she came to reside: her earliest and happiest days of
childhood had been spent in the village adjoining, where she was nursed
by a respectable farmer's wife, having had the misfortune to lose her
mother, who died in bringing her into the world. Various sorrows,
and the loss of an affectionate husband very early in life, made Mrs.
Meridith prefer the quiet scenes of the country to the glitter of
dissipation, or the more uniform amusements of a provincial town; and
on entering Rosewood, the name of her estate, she hoped to lose the
remembrance of her distresses, which had hitherto heavily oppressed her,
in endeavouring to alleviate those of her tenants and the neighbouring
poor. Her father, Mr. Woodville, was a great fox-hunter, and on the
death of his wife, which he did not feel so keenly as might be expected
from the amiable character she possessed, earnestly entreated Mrs.
Campbell, who was the wife of his favourite tenant, to take charge of
the helpless infant. He could have wished she had been a boy, as she
was his only child; "yet," said he, "she must be taken care of, though
a female, and I will not injure the fortune to which she will be
entitled; and by and by, when she is old enough, I shall be glad to see
her at the head of my table;" but while she was a baby, he thought if
he entrusted her to a careful nurse, such as he was sure Mrs. Campbell
would be, it was all that could be required of him. Nor was he desirous
of having her in his own house, but perfectly satisfied that she should
be removed to the farm, where he could see her as often as he wished.
He frequently called on his return from the chace, and repeated his
thanks to Mrs. Campbell for her kind attention to his child, earnestly
requesting her not to want any thing which his house afforded; but Mr.
and Mrs. Campbell were above want, and possessed every comfort which
their moderate wishes required, so that, except the allotted stipend
which Mr. Woodville engaged to pay, she sought no other recompence, and
seldom went to Rosewood, but when its owner was confined by accident or
illness, and wished his daughter to be brought to him.

She continued with the farmer and his wife till nearly six years old,
regarding them as parents, and loving them equally with her father,
who, as she advanced in childhood, grew more attached to her, and,
pleased with her winning ways, he never came to the farm without some
new toy, or sweetmeat, or sugar-plums, the servants at home being
ordered to have something nice always in readiness for him to take to
their young mistress. These repeated presents insured him a welcome
from his daughter, nor did he suspect that he was buying that love
which she freely bestowed on her mammy Campbell, for so she styled her
affectionate nurse. The little girl who was her foster sister always
shared in these favours, and another part was put by for the boys till
their return from school, and whom she looked upon as her brothers.

It was the eldest of these boys who now occupied the farm on which Mrs.
Meridith had spent her infant days; his father and mother were both
dead, and he had taken a long lease of it just before that lady came
into possession of the estate. Mr. Woodville had been dead some years,
but Mrs. Meridith had not visited Rosewood since that event, nor after
her marriage till now, being deprived of her husband, with whom she
had lived on her other estate in Lincolnshire, she turned her thoughts
to Rosewood, where she hoped to forget her grief, and if any of the
companions of her childhood were living, she could by adding to their
comforts, increase her own. Here she found not the farmer Campbell she
had formerly called her father, but his son, whom she once loved as a
brother; her good old nurse had died a few years before, and her foster
sister also, but the latter had left a child, which the present Mr.
and Mrs. Campbell brought up as their own. There were but two houses
of any size in the village of Downash, except the parsonage, which was
occasionally occupied by the vicar, a single man, who lost the pleasure
he might have found in assisting those whom he professed to take the
care of, in drinking and visiting the neighbouring towns, as often as
his situation would allow: the others were occupied by farmer Campbell
and farmer Ward, who divided the arable land of Mrs. Meridith's estate
between them, and the cottages of their labourers formed what was called
the street. No sooner was Mrs. Meridith settled at Rosewood, than she
felt the ties of affection renewed which had bound her to it in infancy,
and she felt the truth of the following observation--

  "Meanwhile returning to our native hearth,
    "How keen the pleasure that our grief repays,
  "When drinking every gale from kindred earth,
    "As redolent of youth's refreshing days,
  "Fancy the wonders of her art displays,
    "And o'er each object we in absence mourn'd,
  "Shedding the richness of her fairy rays;
    "Bids e'en the little hedge-row that we scorn'd,
  "Rise in a mellow light, by some new tint adorn'd."
                                      _Local Attachment._

and she determined to seek for happiness once more within its precincts.
"Often as I have been disappointed in the search," said she, "and
severely as I have felt its loss, let me at least endeavour to use those
blessings yet left me for the good of others: and is wealth alone the
only blessing left me?" continued she, as she walked pensively up and
down the avenue which led to her house. "Alas! I have now no relations
whom I can share it with, no one whom I can call an intimate friend!
My fortune would make many profess to be such, but I have proved the
fallacy of such friendship, and know on what ground they are formed. I
will seek the Campbells: if they are like their parents, they will not
be parasites, for they were content with little, and thought the bread
they ate the sweeter for being procured by their own industry." With
these sentiments she called at the farm, within a few weeks after her
arrival at Rosewood, and found Mr. and Mrs. Campbell sensible of her
condescension, though not servilely so. They were both well informed,
and paid her the respect which was due to her as the owner of their
farm; nor were they ashamed to acknowledge her their superior, not only
from her possessing more money, but from the difference the distinctions
of society had made between them. She found the farmer sitting with two
children on his knee, and his wife with an infant on hers, in the very
place where the late Mrs. Campbell used to sit, and to whom she had
often ran with the sweet things her father brought her while a child
under her care. The shelves, the chairs, and oaken tables were the same
as when she lived there, except that several books were added to the
simple library her foster parents possessed. On entering the room quite
unexpectedly, she was not at first recollected as the lady they had seen
at church the Sunday before; her face was particularly expressive, but
it was marked with melancholy; and her voice faltered as she apologized
for her abruptness; nor could she refrain from tears on observing the
extreme likeness of the farmer to his good old mother, whose features
she perfectly recollected. "It is Mrs. Meridith!" said he, on seeing her
advance farther into their large stone kitchen; and setting the children
on their feet, who were lost in astonishment at the appearance of a
stranger, he jumped up and hastened to offer her a chair. Mrs. Campbell
also rose, and remarking the agitation of her countenance, imagined that
something had alarmed her, and she had fled to their house for shelter.

"Will you take any thing, Ma'am?" said she, "I am sure you are very
much frightened."

"No, no," replied Mrs. Meridith, "but the recollection of old times
and old friends were at the moment almost too much for me; these
walls and that face are no strangers to me:--do you not recollect me,
Mr. Campbell?" continued she, holding out her hand to him. With a
countenance expressive of pleasure, yet with the utmost respect, he took
her offered hand.

"Certainly, Ma'am, I do," he replied, "and esteem myself obliged that
you should still remember me."

"Alas!" said she with a sigh, "the loss of so many later friends has
made me wish to see those of an earlier date; not that I did not often
think of those I left at the farm, and only wish there were now more
of them for me to meet. Your dear mother I know is dead; but my sister
Anna, where is she? Ah! that little girl puts me in mind of her--and of
a still dearer tie," added she, with a sigh half suppressed, while her
eyes were suffused with tears.

"It is her child, Madam," returned Mr. Campbell; "I lost my sister when
she was born, and she is ours now."

"Poor little thing," said Mrs. Meridith, drawing the child towards her,
"your mother dead also! May you find in the present Mrs. Campbell as
kind a nurse as I did in the former, and you will not know your loss.
But your brother," continued she, "is he living?"

"Yes, Madam, and has taken a farm about fourteen miles from hence, and
is married."

"My poor Anna!" repeated Mrs. Meridith, "how sorry I am that you are not
here! she was the only one I ever called sister, Mr. Campbell: who did
she marry?"

"A young man from the neighbouring town, Madam; but he was far from
a kind husband to her: she lived with him but little more than a
twelvemonth, and I fear it hastened her death, for she was so beloved by
her own family, that she felt his unkindness doubly keen. This little
one is now three years old; on her death-bed she begged us to take it,
and its unnatural father has never inquired for it since; nor have we
heard of him, except that he was gone as a soldier or a sailor, and
perhaps ere this is dead in battle."

The little girl looked hard at him as he related this tale, seeming not
to understand of whom he spoke, but as if wishing to be certain it was
not herself, she took him by the hand with an inquiring look, saying,
"_You_ are _my_ father, a'nt you?"

"Yes, my dear, and always will be a father to you," he replied, with an
affectionate kiss. "But give me leave, Madam," added he, "to introduce
my wife to you," who still stood contemplating the features of the lady,
and hushing the baby in her arms, who seemed disposed to cry at a scene
so new to her.

"Did I not know her, when a child?" asked Mrs. Meredith.

"I believe not, madam; her name was Dallwyn, and her father the owner of
the farm my brother occupies."

"I can only say, that I shall be happy to know more of her," returned
their kind visitor, "and to see her often. Thirty years have not
obliterated the kindness of your family from my memory, and I cannot
forget that to your mother's care I owe my preservation in childhood.
Neither have I forgot your own efforts to please me, when I used to call
you my brother William; you were always kind."

"And you were so to me, Madam," returned Mr. Campbell, with a smile;
"that shelf (pointing to the place where she used to deposit the sweet
things she reserved for her _brothers_ on their return from school)
often reminds me of you."

Mrs. Meridith smiled also. "Ah! those were happy days," said she; "would
I could forget many that has intervened!"

"Madam, I am sorry any of your days should have been less happy,"
replied the farmer, "but let us hope that there are yet happier ones in
store."

Mrs. Meridith felt that the soothing voice of friendship, though from so
humble an individual, was a cordial to her heart, and she thanked him
for expressing it. "I wish," said she, "to forget all distinctions of
rank between us, for I have found very little to recompense me for the
trouble these have given; and for the future I hope you and your wife
will look on me as your friend, and treat me as such."

"Your friendship, Madam," returned Mr. Campbell, "I should be ungrateful
not to prize, and I hope I shall do nothing to forfeit it; but though
you are so kind as to forget the distinction there is between us, I
trust we never shall. Consider _us_, Madam, as the most faithful of
your servants, and from our knowledge of each other in our younger days,
believe me the most attached of your tenants."

Mrs. Meridith, after walking over the garden and visiting the barn, in
which, when a child, she used to play with Anna and her brothers, fixed
a day for Mr. and Mrs. Campbell to dine with her; and retired with a
sighing heart, yet not unmixed with pleasure at having found a friend.

"Perhaps," said she to herself, "in these humble acquaintance I may find
more real pleasure, and greater gratitude than in more refined society:
had his mother been alive, I should have been happy to have made her
comfortable; but at least I will do good to her sons. I know perhaps
better than I did how to bestow what is useful, and money I have in
plenty. May I be enabled to make a right use of it."

She returned home more at ease than she had felt for some time, and
resolved to exert herself for the people of the village. "But it
shall be by employing them," thought she, and she immediately planned
several alterations in her gardens and pleasure grounds, and ordered her
servants to employ all the old men and boys who were at that time out of
work about them.




CHAPTER II.


Mrs. Meridith also visited the cottages of the poor, and from every
one she heard something of the goodness of Mr. and Mrs. Campbell. "His
father and mother were kind to us," said one of the old women, "and so
is he and his wife also: _she_ lets nothing be wasted in her dairy, or
her pantry, and is always kind to us when we go there, and gives us
something to eat and drink, and often some victuals to bring home with
us."

Mrs. Meridith enquired if there was any school in the village, and
on being directed to the old dame's house, who instructed all the
little ones in their A B C, she determined not to deprive her of her
employment, but endeavoured to find out a younger woman who could
undertake the education of larger children, and teach them plain
needle-work, &c. The bigger boys used to walk to a neighbouring village
to school, and as she found the man had a large family, and bore an
excellent character, she did not set up any other in opposition to him,
but engaged to pay him for those boys whose parents could not afford
it. Her servants were ordered not to turn any of the poor people away
without relieving their wants; and in a very few months the inhabitants
of Downash felt the benefit of having such a kind patroness living at
Rosewood, as their houses were better furnished, themselves and children
better clothed, and all their beds provided with blankets.

When the day came for Mr. and Mrs. Campbell to pay their promised visit
at the great house, unused as they both were to visiting, it appeared
in anticipation a formidable thing, notwithstanding the affability and
condescension of Mrs. Meridith, which they had so amply experienced
in her visit to them; but they dreaded the long train of servants and
"saucy footmen" they should have to pass through, having heard that such
were always more ready to notice any thing awkward than their owners:
but they were agreeably surprized to find no such men at Rosewood. Mrs.
Meridith's household consisted of no more servants than were absolutely
necessary, and one footman and a black servant were all they saw. Her
table and sideboard were neatly spread, without any appearance of
ostentation; and by the great respect with which she treated her guests,
she taught her servants to do the same. After dinner, Mrs. Meridith led
them to the garden and pleasure-ground, and consulted Mr. Campbell on
the improvements she intended; and by every action endeavoured to shew
that she affected no superiority over them. Mrs. Campbell soon lost
the restraint her being a stranger had occasioned, and Mrs. Meridith
found her a sensible, well-informed woman. From this time she grew more
attached to the family, and had frequent opportunities of observing Mr.
Campbell possessed a solid understanding, with the strictest principles
of morality and rectitude: she grew very fond of their children, and at
length proposed adopting the little Anna, then about four years old,
for her own. "I should have been happy to have shewn her mother every
kindness," said she, "but since that is out of my power, let me transfer
my affections to her child. Alas! I once had children of my own, but
Providence has seen fit to deprive me of them; this little one will
soothe many a lonely hour, and if she possesses the disposition of her
family, will not be unworthy of my regard. I have an ample fortune and
no near relation."

Mr. Campbell heard this proposal with silent respect and many thanks,
and on her repeating that she had long thought of it, he begged to
consult his wife on the subject.

Their conversation was not such as many of my readers may suppose; the
farmer recollected she was the child of his only sister, whom his mother
had brought up in the plainest and most industrious habits, "and I had
intended," said he, "to follow her plan in regard to this second Anna;
we have only one girl of our own, and I am blessed with health and
strength, and a flourishing farm, and did not fear we should ever find
her an incumbrance to us."

Mrs. Campbell declared the same, and that she loved her equally with
her own children; "but yet," said she, "Mrs. Meridith will not take her
away from Downash, she always intends living here, and seems attached
to the place, and we know Anna can learn no evil of _her_. Will it be
acting right, therefore, to deprive Mrs. Meridith of the amusement Anna
will be, or Anna of the advantages Mrs. Meridith's fortune can obtain
for her? We see riches has not made that lady proud or dissipated, and
with such an example, may we not hope Anna will escape the effects which
wealth and idleness too commonly produce?"

"If her father should ever inquire for her," said Mr. Campbell, "he
cannot be displeased at finding her so situated; though I should fear,
was he to know it, it would tempt him to seek her out, in hopes of being
benefited by Mr. Meridith's kindness to her."

Mrs. Campbell observed, that his long absence from the place, and the
report of his going abroad, made it very unlikely he should yet be
alive, and as he was perfectly indifferent to her fate before he knew
that they should take the charge of her, it was very unlikely he
should think of her now. The fear of offending Mrs. Meridith went a
great way in gaining their consent, and it was agreed the offer should
be accepted, but not before old Molly, who had lived in the house when
Anna's mother was born, had been consulted, and prevailed on to give a
willing affirmative to the arrangement.

"She will never be happier in any great house than _here_;" said she,
"and as for money, what's the use of having more than is necessary?
Sure, sure, a farm-house is the happiest place in the world; always
busy, and something to look forward to from every employment which will
be useful to ourselves and others. I should never wish to see our little
Anna any other than a farmer's wife, such as her dear grandmother was,
not but what Mrs. Meridith is a very _good_ lady: a very good lady
indeed: but riches won't make people happy, that's plain to be seen in
_her_. How dull she looks sometimes!"

"That proceeds from the many misfortunes she has met with, dear Molly,"
said Mr. Campbell, "and a farm-house is not exempt from the loss of
family and friends, though our's, thanks be to Providence, has been so
highly favoured."

"If then we are liable to lose any of our children by death," said
Molly, "there seems the less occasion to _give one away_; but you
_knows_ best; I would not be the child's hindrance; yet I should not
like her to be taken a great way off, as poor Mrs. Meridith was herself."

"There is no fear of that, Molly," resumed her master, "for Mrs.
Meridith seems inclined to prefer Rosewood as her home to any other
place."

"Heaven be praised for _that_," returned Molly, "for sure she has done
a power of good since she lived there, and if little Anna is to go no
farther, I can see her as often as I like, for Mrs. Meridith has asked
me to come often and often; and told me never to take the children out
for a walk without calling there; and latterly, some how or other, I
never have, for let me go which way I would, the boys always contrived
to come home round by Rosewood, and little Anna would peep and pry
about through the paling, and the hedges, to see if she could find Mrs.
Meridith, or the black man or woman; and I used to think to scold her
for it, but _some how or other_ I always forgot it."

Molly had now began talking, and it was some time before she stopped;
for though there were but few subjects she could talk upon, she always
found enough to say upon them; and she did not leave off till she was
perfectly satisfied Anna should be Mrs. Meridith's child, so that while
she lived she could see her as often as she wished.

The next time, therefore, that Mrs. Meridith called, and made the same
proposal, it was readily agreed to, and little Anna was called in from
her play with the boys, and the great mastiff dog who was letting them
all ride upon his back. On being asked if she would like to live with
Mrs. Meridith? she replied, "if William and John go too." John was but a
few months older than herself, and William nearly seven years old.

"They shall come and see you every day," said Mrs. Meridith.

"And father and mother going too?" asked the artless child, "and old
Molly, and Growler," which was the name of the dog.

Mr. Campbell smiled and said, "she is encroaching on your goodness
already, Madam, and would bring all my family with her."

"They shall come and see us very often," replied Mrs. Meredith, anxious
to see the child accede to her proposal without regret, "but _you_ shall
be my little girl."

"And mother's too?" returned the child, looking towards Mrs. Campbell,
whom she had always considered her parent.

"Yes, my dear," replied Mrs. Meridith, "but won't you call _me_ mother?"

"_You are_ good Mrs. Meridith," lisped the child; "and I do love you
dearly, but I am my mother's own little girl."

"So then you won't be my little girl also?" said Mrs. Meridith, "nor
won't come and live with me, and Bella, and Syphax!" the name of the
black man and woman, of whom Anna was very fond.

"Yes, I will, I will, and walk in the garden, and play on the green,"
her little eyes sparkling with pleasure, "and William and John play too;
but then I sleep at home; and Molly put me to bed?"

"Yes, when you are here," replied Mrs. Meridith, "and when you sleep at
Rosewood, Bella shall put you to bed."

"And William and John too?" asked she.

"Yes, when they sleep there she shall put them to bed likewise," replied
her kind friend, fearful of hearing her flatly refuse to leave them;
and not choosing to urge her suit any farther that day, she invited the
whole family (not forgetting Molly and the youngest child who was to be
of the party) to dine with her on the next. Nothing could be happier
than the children were the whole of that day; and Mrs. Meridith, afraid
of Anna's expressing any dislike to remaining with her at night, would
have wished William and John to sleep there, also; but Mr. Campbell
advised her otherways, as it might make her expect it another time, "and
I," said he, "may have as much trouble to make my boys willing to return
home, as you apprehend having to make her stay." Before it was their
bed-time, he took Anna into the garden, and told her she was going to
stay all night with Mrs. Meridith; and from leading her to imagine it
was a very great favour, though it could not be supposed she could at
present comprehend the extent of the kindness intended her, he made her
very well satisfied with the change.

Molly then took the boys and the little girl home, and Bella put her
new charge to bed, whom, knowing her mistress's intention towards her,
she was particularly anxious to please, lest her dear lady should be
vext at finding her otherwise. The novelty of the room, and her new
attendant, with the pretty little bed which had been prepared for her,
all took Anna's attention, and she dropt asleep without inquiring for
her brothers: but it was not so with them, and old Molly, who, while
undressing them, talked of nothing but little Anna, and her not coming
home any more.




CHAPTER III.


In a short time Anna was quite reconciled to her situation, and no
longer thought any place her home but Rosewood; and Mrs. Meridith, after
the indulgence of a few weeks' holidays, began the plan of education she
had proposed for her own children, had she not been deprived of them.
But though she wished Anna should know every thing necessary to adorn
the station in life she intended her to fill, she was equally anxious
that she should not pride herself upon it. The little girl had already
learnt her letters, and could spell a few words, and for the first two
or three years of her being Mrs. Meridith's child, that lady was her
only instructress. Anna was allowed to take a great deal of exercise,
and her cousins were not more expert in running, driving the hoop, and
such amusements than herself. All the old men who worked in the gardens
rejoiced at her good fortune; they remembered her mother, and had often
pitied her fate.

"Now," said they, "we wish she could see how well her child is provided
for: she deserved a better husband, for there was not a prettier,
nor a more industrious, clean, neat girl in all the parish; and so
kind-hearted."

"Ah!" replied another, "I remember when she was but a little thing, how
she came to see my poor Nancy that was ill, and cried over her, and
brought her every thing which she thought she could eat! and when she
died"--here the poor old man wiped a tear from his eye and could say no
more. In short Anna was caressed by all the inhabitants of the village
not only on her mother's account, but on Mrs. Meridith's also, who was
pleased at every attention paid her "adopted daughter."

Who then can wonder that our young heroine should begin to think herself
of more consequence than she really was? and that her little head was
nearly turned with the notice which was always taken of her? And here
it would be well if many children, who find themselves objects of
attention to their friends, would consider that it is not for any thing
extraordinary in themselves; or any particular merit, or talents which
they possess; but for the sake of their parents, or because of some
misfortune, perhaps, which is attached to them, those who are good and
benevolent are inclined to notice them; how foolish then to grow proud
of themselves on such an account! they ought to be obliged to the kind
friends who thus favour them, and endeavour to repay their kindness by
attention; but it is a proof of their folly to value themselves on what
arises from others, and not from themselves.

Mrs. Meridith had new clothes of every kind made for Anna; and though
she drest remarkably plain herself, and Anna had never been used to
see any other, the exchanging her coloured frocks for more white ones
gratified her vanity, and she could not help shewing them to her cousins
when they came to visit her.

"I wish Mamma would give you a new suit of clothes," said she to
William, "how well you would look if you had more buttons."

"Nonsense," replied William, who had imbibed all his father's notions;
"What for? these clothes keep me warm, and they are whole in every part;
and should I be happier if I had more buttons on my coat? I don't think
you are more so in that white frock than in a coloured one; you don't
enjoy a game of play so well, for fear you should tear it."

"I don't consider _that_," returned Anna; "I have plenty more in the
drawer; and Bella has nothing to do, but to mend it for me, and Mrs.
Meridith would not be angry."

"Well, but still," said William, "I am sure you could play as well in
the coloured ones you used to wear, and eat and drink as well; and sleep
as well when you went to bed, so that I don't see any difference in
them."

Mrs. Meridith overheard this conversation as she was walking in the
garden, and sighed lest she should not find her _protégée_, who was now
about seven years old, all she wished her. She took no notice of what
she had heard, but the next time Anna tore her frock, which was not long
after, she called her in, and desired her to mend it.

"Bella will do that," replied Anna with a thoughtless air, "she does it
so well, that you won't see where the rent was."

"But Bella has something else to do," replied Mrs. Meridith, "cannot you
do it yourself? _You_ tore it."

Anna looked at her friend, as if doubting she had heard her plainly.
"Bella _always_ mends my things," said she.

Mrs. Meridith smiled, but it was accompanied by a sigh; "one would
think," said she, "that this little girl had been bred in India, where
she had slaves at her command, rather than in a farm-house, for the
first four years of her life: I must alter my plan with her, she will
expect too much and be disappointed,--as I shall be," thought she, and
another sigh escaped her. Anna watched her countenance, and saw sorrow
expressed in it, and her own instantly bore traces of the same.

"What is the matter, dear Mamma?" said she, "are you sorry that I have
torn my frock? if Bella is busy now, she can mend it another time,
or if you wish it," continued she, "I will try if I can do it myself,
but I never--" did darn, she would have added; when Mrs. Meridith thus
addressed her.

"It is not that I am sorry for the frock, my dear, but that you appear
so little sensible of the trouble you give, when you are so repeatedly
tearing your clothes: if you considered others you would be sorry Bella
should be forced to work for you; her eyes are not good, and she is
getting old; and because she is kind and would do any thing for you, you
seem disposed to give her what trouble you can without any apology."

"I will mend it myself," said Anna, with a face reddening with shame,
and no little anger, as she thought Mrs. Meridith had never spoken so
unkindly to her before.

"You shall try at it," said that lady; "and it may be you will then find
out the trouble it is to other people; you are now seven years old, and
had you continued with Mrs. Campbell, would most likely have been better
able to do it than you are now." The tears stood in Anna's eyes, and
for the first time she almost wished herself again there; but she took
out a needle and thread from her work-bag, and began the task she was
quite unaccustomed to. Already the rent appeared ten times larger than
it did before; she looked at it each way, and began to think her Mamma
was right in saying she would now know the trouble of it; but still her
pride prevailed, and she would not own she could not do it.

After holding it some time in her hand, she said, "may I go and ask
Bella to begin it for me, Mamma? it is impossible I should know how to
do that, but if it was once began I could go on with it."

"I have told you Bella is very busy," returned Mrs. Meridith.

"Will _you_ begin it for me then, Mamma?" said the little girl in a
more humbled tone, and after she had pulled it backwards and forwards,
and looked at it again and again.

"Yes; and do it too;" thought Mrs. Meridith, who could scarcely bear to
see her so distressed; "and kiss those frowns from your face if I dared;
but your nature would not bear it." She therefore only desired her to
bring it to her, and began the darning, which she returned into Anna's
hand; well knowing that she could never finish it for it to be worn any
more; but the frock was of little value in Mrs. Meridith's opinion, if
Anna might be taught a lesson of humility by it. She continued her own
work, and Anna set a few stitches, but very different from the pattern
set her, and often did she turn her eyes to the window hoping to see
either her uncle or cousins coming up the lawn, which she hoped would
put an end to the work.

"How do you get on with it?" asked Mrs. Meridith, "have you done half?"

"No," said Anna, "my cotton is so troublesome."

Mrs. Meridith again took it in her hand, and saying that would not do,
she cut out all that Anna had done, and then putting it once more in a
proper way, she made her sit down by her, saying, she feared her eyes
were directed more to the window than her work. Anna could scarcely
suppress her tears; yet once more made the attempt to finish the work,
and was as unsuccessful as before, though Mrs. Meridith directed her
each time where to put her needle.

"Are you convinced now," said she, "of the trouble you give Bella every
time you tear your clothes?"

"Yes, dear Mamma," replied Anna, bursting into tears, and hiding her
face in her lap, "and I am very sorry for it."

"That is enough, my dear child, promise me that you will be more
careful, and more thankful to those who do any thing for you."

"I will, indeed," replied Anna, venturing to raise her eyes, and longing
to be reconciled to her kind friend, who soon gave her the consolatory
kiss, and then once more addressing her, she said:--

"I should regret my ever taking you to be my child, my dear Anna, if
I spoilt you; I would wish you to know that I once had children of my
own, whom I did not love better than I do _you_; but I took you to
be my child, because I lost them, and because your grandmother was a
kind nurse to me when I was a baby, and I knew your mother when she
was a little girl, but more because you were unfortunate, and had lost
your parents, though they were well supplied to you by your uncle and
aunt." Anna's mingled feelings of regret, confusion, and gratitude,
would not permit her to speak, but she looked with the most expressive
earnestness at her friend, who thus continued:

"_I_ am now your mother and wish to make you happy, but it must be by
adding to the happiness of others, not taking from it." Anna's tears now
flowed afresh; and she threw her arms round Mrs. Meridith's neck.

"Oh, I hope I shall be a good girl, and deserve your kindness," said
she: "indeed I have nothing to be proud of, but I have given Bella a
great deal of trouble, and you, my dear Mamma, and thought nothing of
it; pray forgive me."

Mrs. Meridith re-assured her of her forgiveness, and only hoped the
foregoing scene might be impressed on her memory, and prevent her
thinking so highly of herself another time; and she then proposed their
walking to the farm together.




CHAPTER IV.


When Anna returned with her kind friend to Rosewood, she sought for
Bella in order to tell her that she was sorry that she had hitherto
given her so much trouble, and found her busily employed at needle-work,
and two or three little girls of the village with her, to whom she
was distributing several articles of clothing. This, for the present,
prevented Anna's speaking of what she came to say, and she only asked,
"what she was about?" and why these little girls were there.

They were not unknown to her, and she had formerly played with them
before she left the farm; but now they saw her white frock and yellow
shoes, and remembered she was taken to be Mrs. Meridith's daughter, they
each made her a curtesy:

"Oh, don't curtesy to _me_;" said Anna, full of what had passed in the
morning; "I am only a little girl like yourselves, and if it had not
been for a good uncle and aunt, and Mrs. Meridith's kindness, I should
have been a great deal worse off than you, for I had no father or mother
to take care of me."

"Oh, Miss Anna, don't talk so," said Bella; "every body loves you, and
would be glad to take care of you."

"But I would wish her not only to talk so, but to think so also," said
Mrs. Meridith, who just then entered the room, and had heard Anna
speaking, "if it will keep her mindful not to give more trouble than she
can help; and I should be sorry she should forget, that these little
girls have as much right to her kindness as she has to mine, when she
has it in her power to show them any."

"I will, Mamma, I will," replied Anna, "for they are all my old
playfellows, and I used to love them very much."

Mrs. Meridith then inquired into the work Bella was doing, and Anna
found she was going to clothe them also, and she heard her give
directions for more things to be made, and tell the children to send
another family out of the village to her.

As soon as they were gone she burst into tears, and said, "Oh, Mamma, I
might have been one of these little girls, and you would have been good
to me as you are to them. But how much more kind to take me as your own!
And why was it _me_? why not one of them? they are better little girls
than I have been, and would never have given you so much trouble; but my
dear Bella I am ashamed of it; you shall never have to mend my frocks as
you have done."

"I never complained of it, my dear," returned Bella, who did not know
what had passed.

"But you will have more time to assist the poor children in the
village," observed Mrs. Meridith, "who are all obliged to do something
towards supporting themselves already, and therefore your working for
them will be more useful than for Anna."

The little girl agreed to all her Mamma said, and she sat down to dinner
with her with very different ideas than the day before.

As soon as she saw William and John coming up the lawn, whom Mrs.
Meridith had asked to tea, she asked her leave to go and meet them; and
as they walked slowly round the garden together, she told them all about
the torn frock which she had vainly endeavoured to mend. "You told me,"
said she to William, "that these fine clothes did not make me happier,
a little while ago, and I have found it out now; but however I will
never tear another if I can help it; at least I shall know what trouble
it must be to Bella to mend it."

The afternoon passed rapidly away, and when she went to bed, Anna
felt more grateful for the happy home provided for her, than she
had ever done before. She frequently reverted to her former state,
in conversation with Mrs. Meridith, and her uncle and aunt, while
the latter always endeavoured to imprint on her mind the sense of
her obligation to her kind benefactress, by whose name she was now
universally known, though that which really belonged to her was
Eastwood, for so her parents were called.

In the course of a few years Mrs. Meridith evidently grew happier, while
according to her own maxim she added to the happiness of others; she
suffered no one to want work who were capable of it, and she regularly
supplied those who were old or ill in the village with every comfort
they needed. Blankets were sent to every house, and each year her house
was open for a whole week at Christmas. A plentiful meal was provided
every day, but nothing superfluous; and her barrels of home-brewed ale
were tapped, that all might have their allotted portion. In short, from
her extensive fortune and her earnest endeavour to make these poor
people happy, there was not a family in Downash who had not at least one
of their children apprenticed to some useful trade, while the others
worked in the fields; nor was there a child in the village who had not
learned to write and read; and while Mrs. Meridith was thus careful for
Downash and its inhabitants, she was not unmindful of the poor on the
estate she had left in Lincolnshire, but gave orders to her agent there
that they should be provided with what was necessary for them; and
often sent Syphax, her confidential servant, to see that it was done.

Mr. and Mrs. Campbell continued to receive many marks of her favour,
and as their family increased, she added to her liberality; nor did she
forget the other brother and his family, but on his first visit to the
farm after her settling at Rosewood, recognized him as one of her early
friends with her usual kindness. She also sent handsome presents to his
wife and children; and was always endeavouring to find out where she
could be materially useful to both of them. At length the farm which
the younger Mr. Campbell rented was to be sold; and unless he became
the purchaser he expected to be turned out. On hearing this, Mrs.
Meridith advanced the money for him, and at the same time presented a
deed of gift to the elder brother, of the farm which he rented of her.
This perhaps would have been carrying her generosity too far, had she
not possessed so ample a fortune, with no near relation to inherit it
after her death, and those she had were all in a state of affluence. She
therefore gratified herself by thus obliging two worthy families, and
convincing them that the kindness of their mother to her in infancy was
not forgotten. All who heard of these acts of kindness, rejoiced that
they were shewn to men so deserving of them, except the other farmer in
the village, whose name was Ward: he could not see what the Campbells
had done to merit such a recompense, nor bear that they should be the
owners of their farms while he only rented his. At market, or wherever
they met, his envy was apparent; and yet he could attach no blame to
either of the brothers, since they were both ignorant of her intention,
and would have declined her offer had she made it to them before the
purchase was necessary. As it was, Edward Campbell insisted on paying
her what money he had laid up against the time he expected the farm
would be sold; and to satisfy his scruples Mrs. Meridith accepted it;
and also the same sum from his elder brother, which she immediately, and
unknown to them, placed in the funds in the names of their respective
children. But yet farmer Ward was still hard to credit that they had
paid _any_ purchase money: he had for some time viewed the notice Mrs.
Meridith took of the family with a jealous eye, and much had been
said by his wife and daughters of the increased consequence of farmer
Campbell and his family, since the lady of the manor had done so much
for them.

This last event did not take place till after Anna had been ten years
with her kind patroness, whom she was now accustomed to look on as more
than a mother, though often the circumstance of the torn frock was
reverted to by her uncle, and he reminded her that it was the humanity
of Mrs. Meridith, and not from any claim she had to her kindness, which
had placed her in the situation she was.

As she was now arrived at the age of fourteen, the best masters
the country afforded for music, French, and drawing, attended her;
"and these," said her attentive uncle, "you ought to be assiduous
in learning, that you may be able to amuse Mrs. Meridith as her age
increases;" but Anna's attention to these accomplishments did not
prevent her from paying the same to more domestic concerns.

"It may be," said Mrs. Meridith, "you may never wish to play, or sing,
after your masters have left you; but you will always have a family to
attend to."

As music was what Anna was particularly desirous of improvement in, and
as she had a very good voice, her kind friend did not discourage her
endeavours to advance in it; "but remember," said she, "that to add
to the happiness of others, you must do something more than sing to
them.--A song, or a concerto on the piano will not satisfy the calls
of hunger, or still the pains of sickness; and the poor in the village
will not thank you for sitting whole hours at your instrument, if it
leads you to neglect them; and may you recollect my dear, that one chief
reason, why I adopted you for my daughter, was that you should supply my
place to the poor of Downash, when I am no longer here to assist them."
Anna always heard her with tears upon this subject, and faithfully
promised to regard her injunctions.

At this time she often walked among the villagers and listened to their
wants, or rather their account of how they had been relieved; and the
praises of good Mrs. Meridith: and when the purchase of the farms were
made, she met with various congratulations.

"I am sure both your uncles were deserving of it," said one of their
labourers, at whose house she called to know why his daughter was not at
school the week before; "they are as good masters to work for as can be
found in all the country, and _we be_ all heartily glad that the farms
are their own."

"Mrs. Meridith," replied Anna, "has given us all reason to rejoice that
she came to live here; what has she not done for me?"

"Ah, dear Miss," returned the man, "now you _speaks_ of that, your poor
dear mother was deserving of it."

"It is all for _her_ sake," answered Anna, "but did _you_ know her?"

"Ah, and your father too, Miss, if he deserved to be called so, who
could leave you as he did."

Anna sighed. "I wonder where he is," said she, not expecting the old man
could inform her.

"Why some do say that he went for a sailor," returned he, "but I did
hear a little while ago that some one _see'd_ a man that had seen him
about a twelvemonth before."

"You don't say so," returned Anna, with eagerness, half afraid yet
anxious to hear more: "Who was it, and where was he?"

"Why I don't know for the truth of it, Miss," said he, "nor whereabouts
it was he _see'd him_, but I thinks it was somewhere beyond sea; but it
was at farmer Ward's my daughter heard it, and the reason, Ma'am, she
_h'an't_ been to school this week, is, she has been there, while their
girl was gone home to see her mother."

"At farmer Ward's?" replied Anna, "I thought they would have had some of
their own labourer's daughters."

"And so should I, Miss, but somehow Nancy Ward has taken a great fancy
to my girl, so I let her go, as 'twas but for a little while; but I
_hopes_ to get her into your aunt's, Miss, when she wants a girl, and
if you would be so good as to speak for her it would be doing a great
kindness; she is very handy, and knows how to do a great many things.
But here she comes, and Nancy Ward with her, I declare." Anna looked out
and saw them coming towards the little wicket, she therefore would not
leave the house till they entered it; and as it was at farmer Ward's
that something had been heard of her father, she thought she might hear
more of it from Nancy, whom, though she had not seen for some months,
yet as children they were often together; but she was not aware of the
difference Mrs. Meridith's late kindness to her uncles had made in _her_
behaviour, as well as in that of her father.

"How do you do, Nancy?" said she, "I hope you are well? You are much
grown since I saw you."

"And so are you, Miss," replied Nancy, with a saucy air; "and all your
family I think,--the farmer Campbells are quite gentlemen now, and Miss
Meridith, or Miss Campbell, or Miss Eastwood, or whatever name I may
call you by, is quite a fine lady."

"Not more so than I was a few years ago, when you did not account me
so," answered Anna, with rather a haughty air; but it was immediately
humbled when the insolent girl proceeded, "according to the old proverb,
set a beggar on horseback."

"A beggar!" returned Anna.

"Yes," said Nancy, "your father was one, or is one now; and it would be
a good thing for him if he could come in for some of Mrs. Meridith's
bounty."

"I believe," replied Anna, with some spirit, "that if he needed and
deserved it, he would not have long to wait for it; but can you tell me
where he is?"

"O dear no, Miss, I have no acquaintance with him, nor do I wish it:
I only think that if he knew how generous Mrs. Meridith is to all who
belong to _you_, he would soon be here to get a little out of her."

"Fye, Nancy, fye, I am ashamed of you," said the old man; "if you can't
talk better than that, you should hold your tongue; you may be ashamed
of yourself; can any one help the faults of their parents?"

"It is the first time," thought Anna, "that I have suffered for the
faults of mine; till now every body pitied me for having such a father."

"Oh!" returned the girl, determined now to vent her spleen as she had
began, "the poor little Anna Eastwood, or Campbell as she was called, is
so proud since she has become Mrs. Meridith's daughter, that she ought
to be told of what she was; she was only taken out of charity at first."

"I know it," replied Anna, with a dignified air; "and I am obliged to
Mrs. Meridith for giving me such an education as has not disgraced that
charity. If I _am_ proud, I am sorry for it, for I well know I have
nothing to be proud of; but I hope I shall never be insensible to the
kindness of Mrs. Meridith, or my uncle and aunts; and as for what that
lady has done for _them_, it was because their mother was her first
friend; they wanted not her assistance, though they know how to value
her friendship and condescension in noticing me as she has done; and
there are other people who rejoice at it for my mother's sake.

"That we all do, Miss," said the old man; "and as for your being proud,
no one thinks you so, any more than Mrs. Meridith herself; and it is a
rare thing to see ladies like her with so little, and remember former
kindnesses and friends as she does. I am sure old Mrs. Campbell was a
good nurse to her, and she has rewarded her family for it."

"I think so, indeed," replied the envious girl, "when she has given them
both farms for it."

"You are mistaken there," said Anna, very mildly, for the honest
encomiums of the poor man had calmed her anger. "My uncles had not
laboured so long, nor my grandfather before them, not to be able
to purchase the farms you mention; and Mrs. Meridith only gave the
preference to any other buyer."

"My father could buy a farm as well as them, I fancy," replied Nancy,
with a toss of the head.

"I dare say he could," returned Anna, "but you do not imagine Mrs.
Meridith would have sold that in which my uncle lived, away from him,
if it was in his power to purchase it, any more than she would sell
your father's to another person if _he_ wished to have it." Nancy Ward
now looked half ashamed, and Anna turning from her, said something
to the other girl (who had stood by in evident distress during this
conversation) about her coming to school the next week, and then bidding
the old man farewell, she hastened home ruminating on what she had
heard, and particularly on that which concerned her father.




CHAPTER V.


When Anna related what had passed at the old man's cottage to Mrs.
Meridith, that lady said, "I am glad you answered her as you did, for
to return anger for anger is never of any use; and if she intended to
mortify you, she will find she has lost her aim."

"No," replied Anna, with a dejected air; "for she _has_ mortified me
greatly, by telling me my father was a beggar; sure he was not so low as
that, or my mother would not have married him?"

"He professed to be a gentleman," said Mrs. Meridith, "as your uncle has
told me, and that he was by no means an uneducated man; and his manners
were very prepossessing, but he was little known in this neighbourhood
till your mother married him."

"And where could she meet with him?" asked Anna, "I thought she knew
nobody out of this village."

"But little of the world," said Mrs. Meridith, "or she would not have
been taken with his specious appearance; but when about eighteen, she
went to return a visit she had received from a young friend at the
next town, and there she first knew him; he apprehended her to have
more money than she really had, I suppose, and she was handsome, and
agreeable, and perhaps at that time he did feel attached to her; it was
evident she was pleased with him, and he gained her regard by following
her home and making proposals to her father, who did not altogether
approve of it; so your uncle says, but he saw her attachment, and
therefore complied; a small house was taken for them in the village,
and I believe he was to have part of your grandfather's farm, who
promised to assist and instruct him in cultivating it; but he soon
discovered himself unworthy of so good a wife; and at length she died;
and you know the rest."

"My poor mother," said Anna, "how happy should I have been had you lived
to have afforded you some comfort! But I am ungrateful to _you_, my dear
mamma, in not saying I am happy _now_; and _you_ have had your sorrows
also; oh! may I be a comfort to you!"

"True, indeed, my Anna," returned Mrs. Meridith, "I have had my sorrows,
and deeply have I felt them!"

Anna had never heard more than that her kind benefactress and friend
had lost an affectionate husband, and three children; and she forbore
now, as on former occasions, to ask by what circumstances; yet her looks
strongly indicated her desire of hearing a more particular account of
them; and Mrs. Meridith, reading her wishes in her countenance, told
her that the next evening her uncle and aunt were with them, she would
endeavour to relate them, if she found the recollection not too painful.

"In the mean time," said she, "I am thinking of farmer Ward; it is clear
that he and his family are jealous of my attachment to your uncle and
aunt, but they do not consider that gratitude, and an early acquaintance
has caused me to notice them more than others; besides there is such
an upright integrity in your uncle, so free from any of the fulsome
flattery I have met with, and so much unaffected intelligence, that his
company is agreeable to me: and your aunt's likewise, who is a sensible,
well-informed woman, and our sentiments agree: she knows what the world
is from theory, I from experience; and I scruple not to say, I find them
both pleasant companions. But it is not likely farmer Ward and his wife
would be so; they were I know very differently brought up, and though
very honest, industrious people, would despise any other conversation
than that which related to their farm and its occupations; but I do not
ridicule them for this, I thought they were happy and satisfied; at
least they were so, till Envy reared her snaky head."

"Well, indeed," said Anna, interrupting her, "may Envy be thus
represented surrounded by snakes, for she is extending her malice to
every one she can reach, and instigating all in her power to do the same.

"It is Medusa, one of the three Gorgons, whose hair Minerva changed into
snakes for polluting her temple, who is thus represented," said Mrs.
Meridith; "but there is in one of the poets a very striking picture of
Envy, describing her as eating her own bowels; if I am not mistaken, it
is in Spenser's Fairy Queen, we will look this evening: but to return
to farmer Ward, I tell _you_ what I mean to do respecting him, because
I hope hereafter (if you find no ill effect arising from it) you will do
the same."

"Oh, mamma! could I but hope to do as you have done!"

"No flattery, my dear Anna," said Mrs. Meridith, smiling, "what I have
done may be done by any one who has the means in their power so amply
as I have; and if your means are lessened, your sphere of action will
be so likewise. I thought that I shewed no distinction between the two
farmers, except that I considered one as my friend; but I endeavoured to
be impartial in what was done for them as tenants; though I have sold
one farm and not the other, yet if farmer Ward wishes to buy his farm,
he shall have it on the same terms as your uncle had his."

At this moment Anna would have said, "is not this rewarding farmer
Wood for his malevolence to my uncle and me?" had she not recollected
that in every thing Mrs. Meridith knew best: but the change in her
countenance was not unnoticed by her kind friend, who said, "it is
better to stop the mouth of envy by acts of kindness, than by returning
their resentment; I should rather say, to endeavour to do it, for though
our intention may be good, their animosity may prevent its having the
desired effect."

Mrs. Meridith, therefore, took the first opportunity of asking farmer
Ward, when he came to pay his rent, if he would like to purchase his
farm?

"Oh Madam!" said he (malice still perceivable in the expression, though
the kindness of her manners had seemed to soften his), "I have not so
much money as my neighbour Campbell; I am not able to purchase it."

"I believe your land is of the same value as his," returned Mrs.
Meridith, "and you have both made it more valuable by your care and
cultivation; you have, therefore, a better right to enjoy the advantages
of it than any others."

"Are you determined then, Madam, to sell my farm also?" asked Ward with
apprehension on his countenance. "Certainly not, unless you are the
purchaser," said Mrs. Meridith. This unexpected kindness altered the
behaviour of the farmer; he made her a low bow, and thanked her with
great cordiality.

"I am in no hurry to sell it," continued Mrs. Meridith, "and will
readily promise you shall have the first offer of it when I do; and you
shall have it on the same terms that farmer Campbell had his."

"I own I should like to be the master of a farm as well as _he_, ma'am,"
said the man, whose heart was now quite opened by her generosity: "but I
must consult my wife and other friends about it; perhaps you would not
refuse to take the money by instalments."

"In any way most convenient to you, farmer Ward," she replied, with
her accustomed kindness, "for I have that opinion of your industry and
honesty, as not to fear your paying me; and I shall have my estate
bordered by two as flourishing farms as any in the country while farmer
Campbell and yourself are the owners of them, for I know you spare no
pains to make them so."

"Well, I declare I did not think you would have been so kind to _me_,
ma'am," returned the farmer; "I have certainly done you wrong; but I'll
speak the truth: I beg your pardon, but I thought all your favors were
reserved for my neighbour Campbell, and that in a very few years he
would have my farm as well as his own, and I should be turned out to
make room for him."

"I am sorry you should think so," returned Mrs. Meridith, "you are
convinced now, I hope, that there was no reason for it; I have always
looked upon you and him, as tenants too good for me to wish to lose
either."

"Well, this comes of evil surmising," said the farmer, conscious of his
ill conduct to Campbell when they met at market, and other places: "I am
ashamed of it, that I _be_--dear, dear, how unhappy have I made myself
about it, and some other people too, I am afraid, madam," looking at
Mrs. Meridith, to discover whether farmer Campbell had mentioned his
behaviour to her, but he read nothing in her countenance which indicated
it; and indeed he had not thought it worth while to relate it, though
he was hurt that her kindness to him, should produce an effect in one
who had for many years been his friend and neighbour. "Another evil
surmise," resumed Ward, after a short silence. "I'll be bound Campbell
ha'nt said a word about it; I'll go home, ma'am, and tell my wife how
much I have been mistaken; and I begs your pardon for thinking as I
have done; some future time we may talk about the purchase; and pray,
madam, accept my hearty thanks for your kindness."

"Oh, don't mention that, farmer," returned she, "it is no more than your
due, you have always taken good care of my land."

"I will, madam, for the future," said he, "whether I can raise money
enough to buy it or not; but I am ashamed to say it, but truth will come
out, I did _not_ intend to take any more pains with it; for I thought
Campbell would soon have it all."

"Oh, farmer, I hope you will never give way to such ill-grounded
suspicions again," returned Mrs. Meridith, "depend upon it I would act
with the same fairness to you as to him," and seeing the poor man quite
confused with a sense of his error, she offered him her hand, and begged
him to believe her as much a friend to his interest as to Campbell's;
"only I have known him a longer time," said she, "and _his_ mother was
_mine_, when I had lost my own."

The farmer appeared quite melted by her condescension, and not being
able to say another word, he gave her hand a hearty shake, and hurried
out of the house to tell his wife how he had been mistaken in what he
thought was Mrs. Meridith's intention.




CHAPTER VI.


About this time poor old Molly, who had been a faithful servant, first
to their father and mother, and then to the present farmer Campbell and
his wife, began to lose her strength, and she was not allowed to do
any thing in the domestic affairs, but nurse the little ones when she
liked, and rock the cradle. But her affection for Anna was not decreased
by absence; and when she could no longer get to Rosewood to see her,
Mrs. Meridith was anxious that Anna should pay her a daily visit. Mrs.
Campbell had now four more children, and it was Molly's pride and
pleasure to have as many of them about her as she could, but Miss Anna,
and some of Edward Campbell's children must be there also, to make her
as happy as any old woman of her age could be. In visiting her, and
one or other poor person in the neighbourhood, part of every day was
spent by Anna; and Bella would often accompany her, who, when she saw
old Molly surrounded by the grandchildren of her former mistress, would
sigh, and say it was just so in their country, and they were as happy
and united, till the cruel white men came amongst them.

"When I was a girl," said she, "though they do call us savages, my
father was good man; he did love his wife, and his father, and his
mother, and his children; we did all live in one home; _we_ work, and
the old did look at us, and tell us what to do; we did no harm to
anybody. Then came cruel war; my father and all the men went out to
fight: oh shocking, shocking day! I cry now to think of it! then came
cruel, wicked, white men; and I sold to be a slave!"

"Oh, do not talk of it," said Molly, clasping her feeble hands together,
"be thankful, my _dear, dear_ children, that you are born in England."

"No slaves here," said Bella, "but there be very many bad people,
English people too; but not _all_ bad, neither are all black people
good. I _could_ tell a great deal--but you are happy, happy people that
live and die in this peaceful village: I lived in peaceful village once
when I was a girl; I was happy then, so I am now I am old; my dear
mistress very very kind to me; I shall die quiet here: no more wars,
no more wicked white men; all good here: but I think of what is past,
and that makes me cry. I never saw father, or mother, or brothers, or
sisters, after I once taken away!"

All the children shed tears at her recital, and Molly folded them to her
heart in unfeigned joy that this could never be their case. Anna and
the elder boys each extended their hand to Bella, and their countenances
more than their words told them how much they pitied her; the younger
ones wept because the others did; and Mr. Campbell when he entered the
room was surprized to find so sorrowful a party.

"Oh, father," said John, "Bella has been telling us how she was taken
from her father and mother, to be a slave; was not that cruel?"

"Indeed it was, my dear," said he; "but they tell us now that the Slave
Trade is abolished, or at least put under such restrictions, that it is
less cruel than before."

"But why can't they hire the negroes, as servants are hired here?" asked
Anna; "would not that be as well?"

"Ah, my dear," replied her uncle, "men, either as a body or
individually, seldom do any thing well: but it is said the negroes are
of such a disposition that nothing but bondage will do for them."

"O, master, their own conduct makes them so," exclaimed Bella; "they
treat us ill at the first, and then think we must not seek revenge, or
even to escape from their cruelty; but if they good to us, we good to
them; we don't come to them; we want to keep out of their way, but they
come for us, and buy us whether we will or not."

"It is a bad subject, my good Bella," returned the farmer, "nor can I
justify many of my countrymen in their treatment of you; but _some_ are
good."

"Yes, some are good," said she; "but it was my lot to fall into very bad
hands at first."

"What did they do to you, my poor Bella?" asked John, his heart beating
with compassion.

"Oh, they beat me, and starved me; and, worse than that, they killed
my child; or they would not let me see it after it was nine months
old, but made me work _hard hard_ work!" Here tears seemed to choke her
utterance, and the children looked at each other and their father, in
silent distress.

"Get something to revive poor Bella," said he to Molly, whose weeping
eyes bore testimony that her feelings were not blunted by age; "and do
not begin this subject any more, my dear children," continued he, "you
see how it distresses poor Bella, and it only opens to your knowledge
crimes which I hope you will never have the inclination to commit. If,
as the Scriptures declare, these people are suffering for the sins of
their forefathers, and their state of slavery has been foretold so many
thousand years, we must acknowledge all God's decrees are just, though
the crimes of those who enslave and ill-treat them will most assuredly
be punished."

Bella was now a little revived, and Anna proposed their returning home.

"Thank you, good Sir, for your kindness to a poor negro woman," said
Bella; "my mistress will tell you _all_, but me talk no more about it,
it tears my heart too much."

Molly begged her to say no more, and the children, after kissing her,
promised never to ask her any more questions on so distressing a subject.

In a few days after this poor Molly died, as she was sitting in her
arm-chair; and her young companions supposed her to be asleep, till
their mother came in and perceived her altered countenance. She was laid
on the bed, and the two eldest children sent to tell Anna that Molly was
very ill. Bella and she came down immediately, and every thing was done
to restore the pulse of life: but it had ceased to beat, and Mr. and
Mrs. Campbell rejoiced that their faithful servant had not suffered more
at the close of life. She had lived in their family from the age of
fifteen to seventy-five, and deserved, by her strong attachment to it,
every attention which they paid her; and never did a master, mistress,
and servant agree so well as Molly, and both the Mr. and Mrs. Campbells
had done. All the children greatly lamented her loss, and with Mrs.
Meridith's permission, Anna, Bella, and Syphax attended her funeral, Mr.
and Mrs. Campbell being the chief mourners. Such is a village funeral,
where the parade of ostentation is not known; but the simple honours
which are paid to honest integrity come from the heart. Every one had a
sigh and a good word for poor Molly, as they returned from the affecting
scene; rendered still more so by the unfeigned grief of the children,
and the grateful testimony her master and mistress gave of her fidelity
and attachment. All the people were pleased that they were not above
attending her funeral themselves; and that Mrs. Meridith should let
Miss Anna (who was _her_ child now) follow, was another proof of her
condescension. But Mrs. Meridith knew what was due to merit, though in
humble life, and rejoiced that she had escaped from a world, where such
an acknowledgment of it would have been thought ridiculous, or at least
superfluous.

Anna had seen Bella so distressed at reverting to her former days, and
had felt so much herself at hearing the recital, that she feared to
ask Syphax if he had known similar troubles; but one day, as he was
assisting her in planting a piece of the garden, he looked up, and with
a dejected air said:

"Ah, Miss, this is a deal better than planting sugar-canes, with the
whip over my head, and irons on my feet."

"Irons on your feet!" said she, shuddering, "poor Syphax, why was that?"

"All the slaves wear them in the West-Indies, Miss; I come from there."

"Did you know Bella, there?" asked Anna.

"No Miss, she came away before I did come there: she got good mistress
before me."

"And where did you know Mrs. Meridith first?"

"In the East-Indies, Miss; I ashamed to say how I became acquainted; she
be too good to me if she has not told all."

"I never heard her say more than that Bella and you were both servants
she brought with her from the East-Indies," said Anna.

"So she did, Miss, and thank her for it a thousand times, for we had no
friends there; poor Bella torn from all her's long ago, and I never had
any but poor slaves like myself. I was born a slave, but I did not feel
the whip, or the irons, and the cruel ratings the less for that; but I
have been a sad, sad man, Miss," continued he; "ask me no more, and if
my good lady ever tell you, do not hate me for it, as she has forgiven
me: I knew no better then, but good deal of good has come of it to me."

Anna was too mindful of her kind protectress's maxim, "the way to be
happy ourselves is to add to the happiness of others, not to take from
it," to press for any farther explanation from Syphax, when she saw
he wished not to give it; and she looked forward to Mrs. Meridith's
promised recital with increased anxiety.

"I am afraid Syphax has been the cause of some of her sorrows," said she
to herself. "How wrong of him to distress so kind a friend! and what has
she gone through! Oh! if I cannot add to her happiness, I shall never be
happy myself."

With this view she was still more attentive to the instructions her
kind friend was continually giving her, and those of the different
masters provided for her. Accustomed to be Mrs. Meridith's constant
companion; to read to her, and hear her remarks on what she read, as
well as to express her own, and have her judgment informed and set right
when she had formed a wrong opinion, it was not extraordinary that her
understanding was beyond her years; and when little more than fourteen,
her manners and sentiments were those of a woman double that age, and
in many respects her ideas and knowledge was far more correct. Her
conversation, also, was of great use to William and John; she either
lent to them or gave them an account of whatever books she read, and
this encouraged in them a taste for literature it is probable they would
not have indulged, but that they might converse more freely with her.

Mrs. Campbell had now seven children; four boys and three girls. The
infant which she had in her arms when Mrs. Meridith first visited them
was grown a fine girl of ten years old, and her sisters were one eight,
and the other six; the two youngest were boys, but none of these had
that affection for Anna as William and John, who still thought of her as
a sister. Anna would have instructed the girls in every thing she knew,
had not her uncle and aunt prevented her.

"It is not necessary," said Mr. Campbell, "that _our_ daughters should
learn singing, and music, and French, or any accomplishment; though for
Mrs. Meridith's child, as she has been pleased to make _you_, it is.
Our's are farmer's daughters, and I hope never to see instilled into
their minds a desire to be otherways; which might be the case were they
to know a little, of what _you_ I hope know enough to justly appreciate
its value; and which is not worth anything, unless it enables you to
amuse Mrs. Meridith, and to pass through the world with more credit to
her, as her adopted daughter, than you could have done, had you been
ill-bred and illiterate. But let my children never have an idea of
learning accomplishments, for they can never be useful to them. Every
thing which can make them sensible companions they shall know, as far as
books, and my ideas of education will permit; and should you continue
to live here as your kind patroness has done, I hope you will not find
them unworthy of your friendship, or less agreeable companions than Mrs.
Meridith, has condescended to say she has found their mother."

Anna could not but allow the justice of his remark; and while she saw
how little he thought of those acquirements, which most young ladies are
proud of possessing, she imperceptibly learnt how far she ought to value
them in herself. She could not say her cousins were the happier for
_not_ knowing them, since she had not found them causes of unhappiness
in herself: the idea of affording Mrs. Meridith amusement, or adding to
her pleasure, gave a zest to her attainments; but this was a motive her
cousins could not have, since their father and mother did not desire it.

"I will not say then," thought she, "that they cannot be happy without
them, but it is all best as it is; it is right I should endeavour to
attain them, and that they should _not_: thus shall we be each fitted
for our separate stations."




CHAPTER VII.


The next time that Mr. and Mrs. Campbell came to dine with their kind
friend, she recollected the promise she had given Anna of relating what
had passed during her stay from Rosewood.

"I think it but right to relate it," said she, "lest from what has at
various times escaped me you may have formed a wrong idea, and think
that I was not so happy in the married state, as my regard for Mr.
Meridith's memory would otherwise evince.

"You remember, Mr. Campbell, when I left your house, I was not more
than six years old; happy in having lived with you, and wishing for no
other home. I loved my father, for he was very good to me, but I had
rather see him at your house than his own, for there I had no one to
play with me, or be my companion. When I dined with him, which you know
was not very often, it was generally after he had been fatigued with a
long ride in the morning; and when he had loaded my plate with every
thing he called nice, and what he thought I should like, and allowed
me as much fruit after dinner as I could eat, and gave me one or two
glasses of wine to help my digestion (and truly I needed something
for that purpose, as I never rose from the table without a violent
head-ach), he would drink himself five or six times that quantity, and
then fall asleep; and I was ready to follow his example: for not daring
to open the door, lest I should awake him, I had no other amusement than
creeping to the window, and there, with my eyes half shut, and my head
and stomach violently oppressed, from the quantity I had eaten, I used
to watch the coming of somebody to fetch me home; and glad I was to wake
the next morning free from the head-ach, and without the expectation of
going again to my father's.

"You know how differently the days passed at the farm, where I ate no
more than was necessary for me, and I met with attention from all the
servants and labourers, because I was the Squire's daughter; and, except
the time your good mother took to teach me my letters and to spell a
little, with the use of a needle and thread, I was allowed to play the
rest of the day with Anna, whom I loved as a sister; and when you and
Edward were at home, you always joined our party. Thus were my youngest
days spent, and often have I looked back to them in far different scenes.

"At length a sister of my father's, who had married Sir Robert Meridith,
and had no child of her own, proposed my living with them, saying that
I should be quite a rustic if I remained any longer at Rosewood; and
with some reluctance, as I have been told, my father consented. My aunt
was much older than her husband, and he paid her but little attention;
her fortune had been his chief inducement to marry, and of this he made
ample use, though what was settled on herself he could not touch. She
was proud and haughty, and continually reproved me for talking so much
of the farm and your family, whom, she said, I ought to forget entirely;
but this I thought I never could do.

"I remained a twelvemonth with her, at their house in Leicestershire,
during which time my father came twice to see me; and being told by my
aunt that I was already much improved, and only wanted education to make
me what I ought to be, as his daughter and the heiress of Rosewood, he
affected to be satisfied, and told her he left my education entirely
to her. "Yet," said he, "I think my dear little Maria don't look so
brisk and lively as when she was at the farm." I took this opportunity
of inquiring for the friends I had left there; but he could not tell me
half I wished to know, as how Anna was, and whether she went to school,
and if Edward and you were grown; he said, you were all well, and grown
very much, but as for any thing else he had not inquired. I sent you all
many kind remembrances, and would have added some of my playthings for
Anna, but as he travelled on horseback, neither himself or his servant
could be incumbered with them.

"After this time my aunt went to London, and took me with her. My uncle
had been there for many months; and his behaviour to my aunt after
our arrival was still less attentive than in the country. He had his
acquaintance, and she hers; a few old ladies like herself, with whom she
formed card parties, and spent her evenings; while I was sent to what
was called a very good school, and learnt every thing that was taught in
it; and when I say this, my dear friends, perhaps you will not imagine
it was _much more_ than was good. I learnt from the masters who attended
those accomplishments which are regularly introduced into schools; from
the governess, all that feigned politeness, which teaches us to appear
glad to see a person when we are not so; to tell them they look well,
when their appearance is just the contrary; to acknowledge obligations
where I felt none; and even to tell untruths rather than be uncivil, or
say what would make my hearers think I wanted politeness. I learnt from
the rest of the ladies, and _some_ of the teachers, how to deceive our
governess, and to make her think we had learnt our lessons when we had
not; and these instructions, I am sorry to say, came very easy to me,
though those from my masters were hard.

"Yet I often wished myself at the farm again, or at Rosewood, where I
had nobody I desired to deceive, and scarcely knew what deceit was; but
it was not required there, while here it was in daily requisition: for
I had always some fault of my schoolfellows, if not of my own, to hide;
and though from them I learnt to laugh at my aunt's _finical_ ways, as
they used to call them, I was obliged to put on all the courtesy and
feigned politeness my governess taught me, whenever she came to see me.

"My father could never be brought to visit me in London, for he said he
hated the smoke of it, and would by no means put himself in sight of a
ladies' boarding-school, who would laugh at the manners of a fox-hunter,
and teach his daughter to despise him. But when in the summer vacations
I accompanied my aunt into Leicestershire, he would visit us for a
day or two, and was evidently pleased when my aunt told him I was
wonderfully improved, and knew as much as any young lady of my age.
'Well, well, I am no judge,' said he, 'but I hope she will make a good
woman, and not disgrace her mother's memory. Ah! she _was_ a woman, Lady
Meridith, which is not to be met with in these days.'

"'But have you forgot your old friends, the Campbells?' said he to me.

"'No, indeed, papa,' I replied, their kindness rushing on my mind, 'and
I hope I never shall;' and my inquiries were renewed after them and
their family, without dissimulation.

"He told me that your father and mother were grown very old, and that
you and Edward were nice boys, with every promise of making as good men
as your father was. From my pocket allowance I was enabled to send my
good old nurse some token of my remembrance, as my father said he would
not wish me to forget either her or her children.

"'They will be _her_ tenants by and bye,' said he to my aunt, 'and then
what sort of figure will she make if she _has_ forgotten them?'

"I was then about eleven years old, and I remained at this school till I
was fifteen. My father died, as you know, very suddenly, and I was not
apprized of his illness till he was no longer in this world. I was then
thirteen, and was at first very much hurt, as his strong attachment to
me, though singularly expressed, had never suffered him to see a fault
in any thing I said or did; and I was sure to meet with indulgence from
him, whenever I needed it. He appeared to have been doubly kind to me
after I had lost him, but the new mourning I now appeared in, and the
increased consequence I gained in the school, and with my aunt, on being
the heiress of Rosewood and Coombdale, both my father's estates, made me
soon forget it; and in two years afterwards I left the school highly
accomplished, as my aunt's flattering friends told her (in my hearing),
both in mind and person; and my vanity led me to think they told her
true, though from the many lessons I had taken of dissimulation, I ought
to have known the value of their commendations.

"I was now to be introduced to the world, but who was to introduce me
was the question. My aunt was too old, and devoted to the card-table
and her little _coterie_, to attend me to balls, routs, and dinner
parties. Sir Robert had now given up even the appearance of civility to
his wife, and lived in a distant county with another woman: but there
was the widow of a brother of Sir Robert's, whom I had occasionally
visited with my aunt, whose circle of acquaintance was much larger,
and very different from hers. My aunt went round to about a dozen
houses, while Mrs. Meridith visited all who lived at the west end of
the town, and was intimate with but a very few: to her therefore I was
consigned to see the world, which, in the meaning they attach to it, is
to dance at several balls, dine at different houses, yet mostly meet
the same company; and be able to speak of the merits and demerits of
the principal performers at both theatres, and at the opera house; yet
in this I was to be careful not to deviate from the general opinion,
lest I should be called singular, and positively to know nothing. A few
noblemen's ladies, or their titled daughters, might venture to differ in
their likes and dislikes; but such an avowal would not do for me, who
was only a commoner."

Mr. Campbell smiled at these distinctions, and began to hope the recital
of their friend would not cost her all the anguish he had apprehended,
since she could so cheerfully speak of her introduction to them.

Anna laughed, and said, "I hope I shall never be introduced to the
world, for I should make a terrible figure in it; I have never been to
boarding-school, you know, Mamma."

"True, my dear," returned Mrs. Meridith, "but the lessons you allude
to are easily learnt without going there. I found them daily practised
in the society I was in, and yet Mrs. Meridith was what was called an
amiable woman, and, for so young a widow, remarkably strict in her
conduct. She had one son, whom I had not yet seen, as he was then at
college; but after I was so much at his mother's (for the evening
parties to which I constantly accompanied her were so much later than
my aunt's, that she allowed me to take up my residence there when we
were in town,) he came home at the vacations, and I was introduced to
him; and this Mr. Meridith, you will readily suppose, was afterwards my
husband. But as my marriage will lead me into far different scenes, I
shall, if you please, defer them till some other evening. You must be as
tired of hearing as I am of relating those circumstances which,--however
new they may be to you, are old and stale to me; and I am sick of what
is called a knowledge of the world."

"And so, dear Madam, should I," replied Mr. Campbell; "but I cannot help
acknowledging that we have too much of it in our little village, though
in a humbler way. Human nature is the same every where, and a deceitful
heart the characteristic which the word of God has given to man; we need
not, therefore, go to London, or the great world, to find it out, unless
our eyes are shut to what is going on within ourselves."

Supper was then ordered, and Mr. Campbell with great pleasure told Mrs.
Meridith the alteration her last conversation with farmer Ward had made
in his conduct towards himself.

"He has told me all," said he, "and with that ingenuousness, which I
fear is not to be met with in the circles you have described to us,
acknowledged himself wrong."

"In that respect," said Mrs. Meridith, "people belonging to less
polished society have the advantage, for they are not ashamed to own
themselves mistaken when they really feel they are so; while more polite
ones never will."




CHAPTER VIII.


The next afternoon the Campbells again joined Mrs. Meridith's fire-side,
and after tea she began what she called the second part of her
adventures.

"After running the round of polite life which I told you of last night,
for three years, I was married at eighteen to Mr. Meridith, the nephew
of my uncle, and the ostensible heir to his title and estate; but
the fortune belonging to it was known to be so reduced by my uncle's
expenses, that the addition of mine was considered as a desirable thing,
both by my uncle and aunt, and Mr. Meridith's mother. As for himself,
I have reason to think he would have preferred me to any other woman,
had I not been the heiress of Rosewood and Coombdale; but as he expected
the Baronetcy, it was very convenient he should have a better fortune
to enable him to support it, than would be left him with the title. We
were married but a twelvemonth before his mother died; and my aunt, lady
Meridith, soon after; and my uncle, Sir Robert, married again; and as it
was not unlikely he would now have a son, all thoughts of the title were
given up, I may say without regret, by either of us. My uncle had taken
no notice of us for some time; and though he was appointed joint trustee
for me, with a friend of my father's, he left every thing in his hands.
By my father's will I was not to be put into possession of the estates
till I was twenty-five; nor was I allowed sufficient for us to live on
in the style we had been accustomed to; particularly as my husband's
fortune was small, and from the hope of his possessing the estate of
his uncle, his mother had not proposed his following any profession.
His father had property both in the East and West-Indies, but since his
death the remittances had been entirely suspended; and Mrs. Meridith
not caring to encumber herself with any litigation respecting it, had
not pursued her inquiries into the cause. My husband now proposed going
over to Jamaica, where the West-India estate lay, and to claim it for
himself, as he had sufficient documents to ascertain it as his property.
I had one child at that time, and was large with another, but I
determined to accompany him, and having settled every thing necessary in
England, we embarked; intending to be absent not more than three years;
and to return previous to my coming of age, I had one maid who attended
me, and an old servant, who had lived with the late Mrs. Meridith,
determined to follow the fortunes of his master.

"From this time my sorrows began; my first child, then about fifteen
months old, died on the voyage, and I was so ill myself, from
sea-sickness, that I feared I should not live to see the island we were
bound to; and earnestly did I wish my husband had never thought of it.
However we arrived there with the remains of my dear little boy, whom
I had no sooner seen laid in the ground, than I was taken ill, and a
premature birth was the consequence; but the child, which was another
boy, lived, and I loved it with ten times more affection, from having
lost its brother, and its being born in a strange country. I was too
weak to nurse it myself, and a black woman was provided to suckle it.

"During this time my husband, who behaved to me with the fondest
attention, found out the estate he was in search of, and was put in
possession of it without much trouble. We lived in a house which was
situated on it; my little boy grew, and I began to recover my health
and spirits, and to think that, strange as the people were around me, I
could live here happily enough till the time arrived for our return to
England.

"Mr. Meridith every day brought me accounts of the flourishing state
of the plantation, and the number of his slaves; but though this was
the case, we did not appear to receive much emolument from it. The
overseer he employed told him there were great drawbacks, and that it
was necessary to use a stricter discipline towards the negroes on their
having changed their master. I must say I did not like his reasoning,
or his manner, and could not be persuaded but that he was imposing on
my husband, to whom I mentioned my suspicions; but he thought them
groundless, and declared his intention of leaving him in charge of the
estate, while he went to look after that in the East-Indies, and which
he had been taught to believe was still more considerable. I gave up
my opinion to his, and offered to accompany him thither. At first he
refused, but I could not bear to be left with my child in the care of
Jackson, the man I thought so ill of; and therefore taking with us the
black woman, who was nearly as much attached to my child as myself, with
the English servants we brought over with us, we once more embarked on a
stormy sea. Having doubled the Cape of Good Hope, we arrived at Madras
after a voyage of nearly four months, during which time we were in two
violent gales of wind.

"My husband having introduced himself and me to some of our countrymen,
settled me there, and I remained with my two female attendants, and the
man-servant I mentioned before, while he proceeded to Bengal to identify
his property; which he understood, by some writings in his possession,
was in that province, and bordering on the river Ganges. Those of my
own sex and country, with whom I became acquainted, endeavoured to make
my time pass as agreeably as they could in his absence; but I declined
going into any company; my little boy, and the prospect of another
child, engrossed all my attention, and many anxious hours I passed for
the fate of their father, who was absent four months, during which time
I heard from him as frequently as I could expect, but he did not recover
his property here so easily as in Jamaica. While he was away, the black
woman who nursed my little boy died, and her place was supplied by
Bella; she was recommended to me by a lady who had lately purchased her,
and offered to give her up to me on the same terms. Bella had seen many
hardships, but her attention to poor Susee (the woman I lost) while she
was ill made me like her, and she soon gained my good opinion and also
my affection.

"Mr. Meridith returned a few weeks before I presented him with a
daughter, whom I was enabled to nurse myself, and I had now two
children, one born in the West, and the other in the East-Indies; I
pressed them both to my bosom, and longed for the time when I should
return to England, and live with them and their father, either at
Rosewood or Coombdale."

Mrs. Meridith sighed when she came to this part of her tale, and a
responsive sigh was uttered by all her auditors; who were too impatient
to hear the rest of her eventful story, to interrupt the silence which
for a moment or two prevailed; and she continued.

"After I was sufficiently recovered for him to leave me, Mr. Meridith
again went up the country, in hopes of bringing with him, on his return,
a true estimate of his property, or an equivalent for it in specie.
Myself and children waited his arrival for another four months, and
when he came back, it was without any hope of recovering the estate
for which he had had so much fruitless trouble. A very small part of it
could be ascertained to be his; and for this he was content to receive
a trifling sum compared to what he expected. But the negroes who were
employed on the land concluded that he must have received much more, and
when he had quitted the place to return home, they followed him, and
after murdering our old English servant, who had this time gone with
his master, they robbed him of all he had in his possession. Syphax was
one of these negroes, whom he had purchased but a few weeks before, and
brought away with him, having been pleased with his appearance; and
though he was evidently connected with these who followed them, and
knew their intention, it was to _his_ interference that his master owed
his life: for, though he had been his property but a little while, his
kindness insensibly gained his affection; and, when the attack was
made, Syphax joined those on his master's side. The negroes prevailed
in gaining his property, but the eloquence of Syphax saved his life;
and his contrition, and faithful attachment ever afterwards, made Mr.
Meridith and me highly value him. I was saved the agony of hearing of
this rencounter before my husband came back, or I should have suffered
greatly. As it was, I was sufficiently happy in having him restored to
me, though he came destitute of every thing but the clothes he wore, and
bitterly lamenting the loss of our servant Wilson, whose death was not
at first made known to me.

"'Our late voyage,' said he, 'has been entirely in vain; for I have
given up the small part which I could obtain of the property, I believe
to be mine, for a sum of money which I have been robbed of since; my
poor servant was killed in my defence; and I am returned to hear all my
acquaintance blame me, for having attempted to recover what was at such
a distance.'

"Syphax was in the room when he said this, and falling on his knees, he
exclaimed, with the most affecting earnestness, 'Wilson _be_ dead, Sir;
I will supply his place if you will let me; I have been very bad man,
but the negroes did persuade me; I ashamed that ever I agree to them:
but I did not know you a good master till I lived with you: I thought
all white men bad men. They treat us ill, and we treat them ill, but
_you_ never treat me ill. Wilson die for you, so will I: I keep your
life as my own! and your's too, dear lady,' turning to me, 'and the
children's for my master's sake. I will be your faithful servant.'

"I thanked him, and Mr. Meridith promised to consider him as such.

"'But will you return to the West-Indies with me?' said he; 'you say you
have no friends there.'

"'Nor none any where, Massa,' said he, very affectingly, 'for bad men
do not deserve to be called so. I have been very badly used in the
West-Indies, but I go any where with you, to the end of the world.'

"He was then dismissed, and I would have persuaded my husband to
return immediately to England: 'within a twelvemonth,' said I, 'and I
shall be of age, and Rosewood and Coombdale will be your's. Surely on
these estates we can live comfortably. O let us go, and think no more
of property in the Indies, when we have so much at home.' He seemed
affected by my earnestness, but made it appear so very necessary that we
should once more visit Jamaica, and leave our property there in proper
hands, to send us the remittances, that I agreed to accompany him
thither again, secretly hoping that a few months more would land us in
England."

Mrs. Meridith now found herself fatigued, and begged to postpone the
remainder of her story till the next evening.

"The worst is still to come," said she, "and I do not find myself equal
to the recital;" and her friends were too attentive to her feelings to
urge her to continue it. Anna related what had passed between Syphax and
herself in the garden.

"And his distress lest you should reveal his story, Mamma," said she,
"is now accounted for; but he need not have been afraid, for I think it
does him credit rather than dishonour."

"Undoubtedly," said Mr. Campbell, "for though he had consented to the
plan the negroes had proposed, his attachment to his master got the
better of his submission to them."

The rest of the evening soon passed away, and Mrs. Meridith was more
than usually silent; she appeared melancholy, and as if the distresses
she had still to relate lay heavy at her heart.




CHAPTER IX.


The whole party were true to their appointment the following evening,
and Mrs. Meridith resumed her story.

"On our second arrival at Jamaica, Mr. Meridith had every reason to
believe my opinion of Jackson (the man in whose care he had left his
property, and the overseer to the plantation) was right, for he was
hardly willing to let us re-enter our own house; and Syphax, who soon
gained intelligence among the slaves of his rapaciousness, and cruel
conduct towards them, informed his master, though not without great fear
of the consequence. The very idea of having part of our property in
our fellow creatures was to me always distressing; and I now proposed
selling the estate while we were on the spot, and discharging Jackson
without any recommendation. Syphax and Bella, who also came with us from
Madras, eagerly seconded my proposal.

"'Oh, Sir, you don't know how he uses them,' said Bella; 'I have felt
what they feel.' 'And I too,' said Syphax; 'at least, massa, put some
better white man over them than he is.'

"Oh no, said I, sell them to some humane purchaser (if we must enter
into this horrid traffic), and make Jackson's character sufficiently
known to prevent his being employed again, at least over these poor
creatures; and let _us_ not live in the constant apprehension of what
they must suffer to provide us rum, and sugar, and sweetmeats, when we
are not here to see how they are treated." My arguments prevailed, and
the plantation was sold with the slaves upon it; except those who were
old and disabled, to whom we gave their liberty, and they were received
into a charitable asylum for persons of that description, and to which
Mr. Meridith presented a handsome donation.

"Bella and Syphax wept for joy when they saw some of their poor
countrymen in this place, and were ready to think all the white men whom
they knew in their younger days were not Christians; 'but now we see
what Christians are,' said they, 'and we will love them dearly.' Alas!
they _had_ seen them before, or men bearing that appellation, but how
deserving either were of the title, we must leave to the Judge of all
hearts to determine.

"When the estate was sold (and I have reason to think it was disposed of
to a compassionate man, as well as to great advantage to ourselves), my
husband satisfied Jackson's demands; and we were pleased to hear him
say, that he meant to trade with the money he had acquired (and very
badly I fear), and no longer act as overseer to any one.

"'There is one cruel white man less, then,' said Bella, 'to whip my poor
countrymen,' We were now on the eve of departure, and my hopes were all
alive for England, when the yellow fever broke out, and Mr. Meridith
caught the infection. He would have insisted on my leaving him, but I
would not hear of it; I sent my two children with Bella and Syphax to a
distant part of the island, fully assured that they would take care of
them; and with the best advice the place afforded, my husband at length
recovered; but my poor English maid died of it, just as she was fondly
hoping to return to her native country.

"I have often regretted both her and Wilson," continued Mrs. Meridith,
after shedding a tear to their memory: "as our having brought them from
their home, though not against their inclination, made me more desirous
of their returning with us; but both their lives were sacrificed to our
service; and I think it but a poor amends to their families, the being
enabled to assist them, who must feel the loss of a son and a daughter,
too keenly for money to recompense, at least if they feel like me. It
was my anxiety alone, and extreme solicitude for my husband, which
prevented my taking the infection; and I was no sooner assured that
there was no farther danger of it, than we re-embraced our children, and
once more prepared for England. Bella and Syphax were now our constant
attendants, and we embarked, and arrived in our own country in less than
a month.

"I had then been of age about four months, and, after the necessary
preliminaries, was put into possession of my estates, and the money we
brought with us from the West-Indies was vested in the funds, and we
hoped to live happily for many years; but my husband's constitution had
received a shock from the fever, and the violent remedies which were
given him for it, which he never recovered; and I had the misery of
seeing his health daily growing worse and worse, though every medicine
and change of air was repeatedly tried. His uncle and mine, Sir Robert
Meridith, was not dead, but his second lady had brought him only
daughters: so that he was now anxious for the recovery of his nephew,
and often solicited us to try a milder climate. To this I should readily
have consented, but he would not hear of it.

"'I have carried you over the seas often enough, my dear Maria,' he
would say, 'nor will I again risk your precious life for what I have not
the most distant prospect of obtaining; my health is too far gone ever
to be recovered, but for the sake of our dear children, do you take
care of your's.' But let me pass over the melancholy detail.

"Having tried the air of various places, without any material benefit,
we at last settled at Coombdale, where he lingered out a painful
existence for above three years, which all my attention could not
alleviate, and which rendered him still dearer to me, as I saw the
fortitude and resignation with which he bore his sufferings. I became
a widow with two children when only thirty years old. Need I tell you
my distress, or what I felt when I found he was no more--but that would
be impossible! The faithful affection of Syphax and Bella, both to him
and myself, I can never forget; and I now wished to live only for my
children; and, in pursuance to his injunction, to exert myself for their
sake; but alas! they were too soon taken from me!--But why do I say too
soon? did not the Almighty, who gave them, know the proper time? Oh!
that I could cease to murmur! I lost them both in the small-pox within
the year after their dear father; during which Bella and Syphax attended
them with unremitting attention; and had it not been for them, I must
have been swallowed up with excessive grief.

"I looked around, and the world seemed all a blank to me; not one
relation whom I could love; when but a few months back I had an
affectionate husband, and two children, whose ripening years seemed to
promise me every comfort."

Tears now interrupted her speech, and her auditors felt too much to
offer a word of consolation. Poor Anna wept aloud, and throwing her
arms around her neck, said in broken accents, "Oh! my dear Mamma, I can
never be to you what these were;--but all my life--every thing in my
power,"--sobs and tears prevented her uttering more.

"I know what you would say, my Anna," returned her weeping patroness.
"But let me not distress you and all my friends;--Alas! what does
this melancholy retrospection lead to, but sorrow on every side,
and impious murmurings on mine! Let me draw my melancholy tale to a
conclusion.--Having seen the last duties performed to the remains of
all I held dear, who were buried at Coombdale, and where, my friend,"
addressing Mr. Campbell, who could only bow his assent, "if you survive
me, I hope you will see me buried also, I left the place where every
thing reminded me of my heavy loss; and after a visit to London for a
few weeks, to settle and regulate my affairs, I determined to seek the
place of my childhood, and if among my first friends I could find any
who could in any measure fill the vacancy made in my affections;--for
to have no one to care for, and no one to care for us, is dreadful.
I accordingly took my journey hither; and have found that quiet
retirement, and a sincere desire to add to the happiness of others, will
make sorrows, even like mine, supportable."

Here Mrs. Meridith ended her narrative, and the swoln eyes of her
auditors gave a proof that they had been attentive to it. Their silence
also was far more eloquent, in her opinion, than all the professions
they could have made. Each looked at her with pity and admiration; and
Anna thought she could never do enough, or be sufficiently attentive to
such an excellent woman, who had encountered so many sorrows, and had
been so good to her.

Supper was now brought in, but neither of the party could eat any,
and they tried in vain to obliterate from Mrs. Meridith's mind the
recollection of what she had related; the retrospection of her many
trials had been too much for her, and she remained absorbed in silent
grief. After her uncle and aunt had left them, on finding her friend
did not retire to rest, Anna asked if she should read to her, "or
would you like a little music, mamma?" said she, having heard that was
sometimes efficacious in expelling melancholy.

"Which do you think," said Mrs. Meridith, "is most likely to soothe
grief like mine?"

"Reading, mamma, from what I have heard you say," replied Anna; "I am
sorry I mentioned music."

"And what book can offer _me_ consolation?" said Mrs. Meridith, with a
dejected air.

"I know but of one, mamma, and that is the Scriptures," replied Anna.
"Shall I read in them?"

"Do, my child," replied Mrs. Meridith; "and there let me learn that the
best of men are not exempt from affliction; why then should I repine at
it. But I am an ungrateful creature."

The next morning Anna rejoiced to see the countenance of her kind
friend restored to its usual tranquillity; and after breakfast they
walked to the farm, as Mrs. Meridith was anxious to see Mr. and Mrs.
Campbell after her late recital. When they arrived neither of them were
at home, and they were told that one of the labourers' wives had been
taken ill in the night, and Mrs. Campbell was gone to visit her.

Thither also Mrs. Meridith and Anna bent their steps, and met her just
come from the house, her eyes full of tears. "What is the matter, my
dear aunt," asked Anna, "is dame Lewry very ill?"

"She is just dead," returned Mrs. Campbell, "and has left a distressed
family indeed: her husband has such bad health, that for more than half
the year he can do no work."

"What family has she left?" asked Mrs. Meridith; "she was always a very
civil woman, and seemed industrious."

"She was," replied Mrs. Campbell, "which will make her loss more
severely felt; she has left six children, and most of them too young to
do any thing."

Mrs. Meridith entered the cottage, where the poor man sat surrounded by
his children, with looks of the deepest sorrow. "Here is a case worse
than mine," thought Mrs. Meridith: "poverty and ill health I never
knew." She did not attempt to offer any comfort to the man at that time,
but putting some money into his hand, she promised to call again.

He would have thanked her, but his countenance seemed to say, "_this_
will not restore my wife to me;" and then looking at his children, he
repeated with tears, "if it had been _me_, instead of her, _she_ could
have done something,--I shall never get over this stroke."

"The Almighty is able to support both you and them," returned Mrs.
Meridith; "do not despair," and her eyes expressed the feeling of her
heart.

On their return to the farm, Mrs. Campbell, ever ready to assist the
distressed, said she intended taking the eldest girl, then about ten
years old, into her family; and lest her father should feel the want
of her at home (she being the only one who could be of any use in the
house), Anna proposed their sending an old woman in the village, whose
home was not very comfortable at her son's-in-law, with whom she then
lived, to take care of Lewry's family. This arrangement was not put
in execution till after the funeral, and they had consulted the poor
man upon it; who readily acceded to any thing they mentioned, and was
very thankful that his girl should get into so good a place as farmer
Campbell's.

The old woman, to whom Mrs. Meridith allowed a weekly stipend, readily
undertook the care of the younger children, who were chiefly girls,
saying, "I knew their poor mother well, and a kind neighbour she always
was to me; and _he_ too, I shall be happy to do him some good, and I'll
take as much care of his children as if they were my own."

Mrs. Meridith and Anna frequently called at the cottage, and the smiling
face of one of the little girls, then about six years old, always
attracted their attention; and Mrs. Meridith asked her daughter if
she would like to have her to Rosewood, and instruct her in what was
necessary to make her a servant to herself.

"Nothing would please me more, mamma," returned Anna, "and, under your
guidance, and with Bella to teach her what I do not know, I hope I
should not spoil her; and Bella will be quite delighted, for she is
already very fond of her."

"But your attention to your little favourite must not withdraw your
affection from _me_, my dear Anna," said Mrs. Meridith.

"Oh! my dear mamma, how can you think she will?" replied the
affectionate girl; "can I ever love _her_ as I do _you_, who have done
so much for me?"

"Nor is she to be made our companion," continued Mrs. Meridith, "only
when we chuse to be amused by her; but she shall always be with
Bella and Syphax, and never in the kitchen if they can help it; and
though from her coming so young we must expect her to treat us with
familiarity, if we gain her confidence and esteem, and teach her rightly
to appreciate her own character, we need not be afraid of disrespect.
I should wish a servant to be well acquainted with me, and to believe
that I would not betray the trust she reposed in me; and it is desirable
this confidence should be mutual, though I am sorry to say there are but
few servants in whom it can be placed; yet, I think the manner I intend
little Betsy to be brought up, would be the most probable way to obtain
such an one. Time will shew whether I am right or not."




CHAPTER X.


The next week little Betsy was brought to Rosewood by Anna, with equal
delight on both sides.

"I am going to be Miss Meridith's little maid," said the delighted
child; "and I shall have all new clothes. But don't let the little ones"
(meaning her brothers and sisters still younger than herself) "cry after
me, dame: I _must_ go to wait on Miss Meridith you know, she has been so
good to all of us." This was said with such an air of importance that
the whole party laughed at her: while little Betty walked off, quite
satisfied, as they did not oppose her going.

"Now you must be very good," said Anna, "and mind what Bella says to
you."

"And what _you_ say to me, Miss," said the child, jumping along, "for I
am to be your servant, and I will wait upon you by night and by day."

"Oh, you must not promise too much at present," returned Anna, "you are
but a very little girl."

"But I shall _grow_," replied she, "and then I shall learn, and I shall
be able to work soon, and make all your clothes; see if I don't, now."

"All I expect of you at present," said Anna, smiling at her
childishness, "is that you will be a good girl, and mind what Bella
says, and be very quiet in the house."

"Yes, I was quiet when my poor mother was ill, and so I _be_ when father
is bad," returned the child, "and so I will when you are ill."

"And at all times," replied Anna, "or Mrs. Meridith won't like it, and
then perhaps she may tell me to turn you away, and I shall always do as
she desires me."

"O, I will be as still as a mouse," cried little Betsey, putting her
finger on her lips. "I would not be turned away for ever so much;"--and
then she began a long story how one of their neighbours' girls was
turned away from her place, because she was not a good servant, and
another girl turned out of the school, "so I know it is a very bad thing
to be turned away," said she, "and I will try to keep my place now I
have got one."

The simplicity of the child, and her rusticity of manners, amused Mrs.
Meridith and Anna for some weeks; but there was about her a conceit,
and high opinion of herself, which kept them from extolling her simple
attempts to please, too much; though they gave ample credit for "doing
the best," as she called it.

Bella was busy the first month in making her an entire new set of
clothes, which were plain and neat, and suited to the station Mrs.
Meridith intended her to fill.

When Bella went to visit her father's cottage it was some time before
Betty could be persuaded to accompany her, lest she should be left
behind, or the little ones should cry after her; but on being assured
that she should return again, she ventured to pay them a visit, and
found her brothers and sisters quite reconciled to her absence; and
though they expressed great pleasure at seeing her, they did not desire
her to remain with them. And Bella amused her young mistress, after her
_new servant_ was put to bed, with the account she had given to her
father and the old dame of her place, and the variety of things she had
to do in it.

From this time the little girl began to conform to their ways, which
were at first so strange to her, while her affection for Mrs. Meridith
and her young lady daily increased, and Bella took every opportunity of
reminding her how much they deserved it.

Sixteen years of Anna's life had now passed away, and her understanding
and manners improved every day. William Campbell still continued in the
farm, and often supplied the place of his father at the neighbouring
markets; but John, who was of Anna's age, had for some time expressed
a wish for another employment, and Mrs. Meridith proposed his being
articled as a clerk to a lawyer in the neighbouring town, and who
conducted her affairs in the neighbourhood.

"I look upon your children," said she to Mr. Campbell, "as my relations,
and mean to assist them as far as is in my power, if you approve of
my plan, Anna; and I will go over to L--, and speak to Mr. Mansell,
and, perhaps, for the sake of the young man, we may remain there a few
months, in which time he will be introduced to those few acquaintance I
have there, and I hope his behaviour will be such, that for his own sake
they will notice him after we come away."

Mr. Campbell expressed his thanks. "Would my son take my advice," said
he, "he would prefer the happy country life to the toils and puzzles
of the law; but he is now old enough to know his own mind, and if he
prefers it, I will wait on the gentleman you mention, and both John
and myself will thank you, madam, to speak in his favour." John was
delighted: it was what he always wished; and if Mrs. Meridith would be
so kind, he would endeavour not to disgrace her recommendation.

The nearness of L-- to Downash also made it desirable, as his father or
brother visited it every market-day, and he should not feel it as any
separation from them. But his three sisters were of a different opinion:
they said he would soon become a gentleman and forget them, and none of
the family liked to lose his society.

Anna was surprised to hear Mrs. Meridith talk of spending a winter at
L--, as she had often heard her rejoice that her residence was not
nearer to it.

"I do it," said her friend, "to shew _you_ something of society.
The world is much the same every where, only as the circle advances
in higher life, dissipation and dissoluteness of manners too often
increase; you have read a great deal of what this world is, but it is
necessary you should see something of it also, as your years increase,
and not gather _all_ your information from books. I know the society in
a country town is not considered either very agreeable or improving,
yet there may be some families at L-- with whom you may form a pleasant
acquaintance; and I wish also to show the neighbourhood that I do indeed
look upon you as my daughter."

"It is for _my_ sake then, mamma, you are going to L--," returned Anna;
"I can hardly bear you should leave Rosewood on my account."

"I do not expect to meet with any thing which will compensate for the
change," said Mrs. Meridith; "but a little variety is necessary for
_you_, and after the seclusion I have lately lived in, I could not bring
myself to venture farther from home at present; neither would it be
prudent for you, who must be gradually initiated, if ever you join the
giddy round of gay life, or it might be too much for you."

Anna replied that her whole desire was to live as she hitherto had done,
and to follow the example of her kind friend in every thing. "If indeed,
my dear mamma, you intend me the privilege of standing in your place
hereafter," said she, "what ought I to be! and how far short shall I
fall of _your_ goodness! It was that alone which first made you think of
_me_; and whatever I am, all I have and know I owe to your kindness.
Oh! continue to me your instruction and advice, that I may become more
and more like you."

The winter was now fast advancing, but Mrs. Meridith would not leave
Rosewood before Christmas, that she might enjoy the festivity of the
season with her poor neighbours, who were fed and clothed as usual. On
Christmas and New Year's day, Mr. and Mrs. Campbell, and _all_ their
children dined at Rosewood; and on the evening of twelfth-day, the
three elder girls with William and John, and a younger brother about
nine years of age, were again invited to partake of a cake. It was
Anna's treat to them, and they amused themselves by singing, dancing, or
whatever she thought most agreeable to her younger cousins, who never
visited her except at these times, and on her's and Mrs. Meridith's
birth-day, which both happened in the summer months, lest, as their
father said, "it should make them dissatisfied with their situation
at home," where they were constantly engaged in domestic affairs. The
eldest managed the dairy, under the direction of her mother; and the
youngest the poultry; and the care of the needle-work for her brothers,
and the younger children, chiefly devolved upon the second girl, who
used regularly to bring what wanted mending to her mother, and after
receiving her directions, supply her sisters and the female servants
with work. Mrs. Campbell had two other boys, who supplied the place of
William and John, at school, and there was a little boy and girl still
younger at home.

After Christmas, John, having been introduced to Mr. Mansell, and all
preliminaries settled, removed to his house, and it was agreed on that
he should board with that gentleman; and in a few days after, Mrs.
Meridith and Anna, with Syphax and Bella, and little Betty, with the
other servants, went into a ready-furnished house for the winter,
determined to be sociable with the inhabitants, and to be pleased with
all that was intended to please them. The estate which Mrs. Meridith
possessed in the neighbourhood made her of consequence in L--, and
the most respectable families made a point of calling on her after
her arrival; and when they had been only one week in the town, Anna
was surprised to find they were engaged every evening. Mrs. Meridith
attended the balls with her, which were once a fortnight; and several
private dances were given at different houses, where Anna was never in
want of a partner. Mrs. Meridith's patronage was enough to bring her
into notice; and had she not a mind well stored with antidotes against
it, and the repeated cautions of her kind uncle, not to be imposed on by
their adulation, poor Anna would have been in danger of losing all her
steadiness of mind, and the humble opinion of herself which was founded
on propriety.

"Consider, my dear child, it is owing to Mrs. Meridith's favour you
receive this notice," said Mr. Campbell; "_her_ consequence is such that
whom she favours, every one who wishes to please her thinks it necessary
to favour also; but let _her_ withdraw her protection, and where would
your noticers be then?"

"Oh! you and my aunt and cousins would notice me," replied she, with an
air of gaiety; "even if Mrs. Meridith gave me up; unless I should do any
thing very disgraceful indeed; and even then you would care for me, I
know."

"And so would I," said John, who was present at this conversation; "my
cousin Anna would be always the same to me, let her name be Meridith, or
Eastwood, or what it may."

Anna returned him thanks with earnestness. "It is only at Rosewood,
and the farm," said she, "that I expect to meet with real friends;
and my intercourse with the world has not alienated my affections from
them. But, my dear uncle, you would not have me quarrel with these
people, because they do not notice me for my own sake? Be assured I
properly estimate their attentions, and often smile at them all; but
Mrs. Meridith has so often cautioned me against giving any one reason
to think I treat them with contempt, that I am careful to return their
civility: and if we understand each other right, it passes, like current
coin, for no more than it is worth."

"Well, my dear," replied the farmer, smiling, "don't let it increase in
value, and I am satisfied. Remember many people have been fined lately
for valuing guineas at _more_ than they are worth."




CHAPTER XI.


John Campbell continued much pleased with his situation, and all his
leisure hours were spent with Mrs. Meridith and Anna, if they were at
home; and when they were not, Syphax and Bella were his companions. As
he was known to be countenanced by Mrs. Meridith, he would have been
invited wherever she was, had not his father positively forbade it; and
as Mr. Mansell's was a very domestic family, he was not without agreeable
society in their house. Whenever they dined at Mrs. Meridith's he was
of the party, and joined what little company they had at home; and this
was all the introduction to the world John met with; nor did he wish
for more, as the habits of industry in which he was brought up, made him
attentive to business; and he was very desirous of shewing his father
that the money advanced for him would not be thrown away.

Anna became acquainted with several young people in the town, some of
whom she found could be pleasing companions, when the conversation took
a different turn than the amusements of the preceding evening; while
others could talk of nothing else.

There was only one family who were of equal consequence in the
neighbourhood with Mrs. Meridith, but of very different sentiments; and
with these Anna could not converse as freely as with the rest of her
acquaintance. The story of her birth Mrs. Meridith had not endeavoured
to conceal; but it did not appear to affect the behaviour of any one,
except the Miss Hunts, who, being distantly allied to nobility, could
not bear the idea of a plebeian's daughter being on a footing with
themselves.

"Her father was nobody," said they to those within their circle, "and
I have heard that he is even now a common beggar; and Mrs. Meridith's
choosing to adopt her for a daughter, is no reason she should force her
upon all her acquaintance."

"She certainly is a very romantic woman; but my mamma says, and I think
so too," said the eldest Miss Hunt, "that as she was so fond of the
farmers, and country people, she had better have continued among them;
and not, after confining herself to their society for ten or twelve
years, have come forth again, with an attempt to introduce one of
_their_ family into the world, whom they say she has educated with all
the fine sentiments and benevolent ideas which she herself possesses."

Some of Anna's friends now endeavoured to take her part, by saying she
was very well-bred, and had a good understanding; and that she was not
at all vain of Mrs. Meridith's favours.

"I wonder at that," said the young lady, "for mamma says when she called
at Mrs. Meridith's, after she had taken her, there was nothing talked
of but the _little Anna_. Mrs. Meridith did not return mamma's call for
nearly a twelvemonth afterwards; and refused every invitation which
mamma sent her; so much taken up with the education of her darling, I
suppose, and she has now brought her forth to astonish society."

Those of Miss Hunt's party who wished to please her, laughed at this
sally of wit, and those of Anna's friends left them, to join her and
Mrs. Meridith, who were at another part of the room.

It was not long before Anna perceived some of her acquaintance change
their behaviour towards her, for Miss Hunt was of too much consequence
not to have her opinion regarded, by those who expected more
entertainments at the house of her parents, than at Mrs. Meridith's;
whom they doubted not would soon return to Rosewood, and there continue
the same secluded life she had lately lived: so that Miss Hunt's party
enlarged, while Anna's lessened; nor did she continue ignorant of the
cause. One of her young friends, who still regarded her as worthy
notice, took an opportunity to hint at what Miss Hunt had said; nor did
Anna affect to misunderstand her.

"I know," said she, "that I am indebted to Mrs. Meridith's kindness for
every advantage I possess, and that I have no claim to the title of her
daughter; my birth was obscure, and my father, I fear, little worthy
of that name; but my mother deserved a better fate, and her family was
respected by every one, though they are in humble life, and the more so,
for not wishing to step out of it. My uncle, whose sentiments would do
honour to the highest station, was a father to me, till Mrs. Meridith
took me under her care, when I was too young to solicit such favour, or
even to think of it; nor have I used any arts to have it continued; but
the sense I have of her kindness ought to make me grateful; nor can I
think my whole life spent in promoting her happiness too great a return."

"Are your parents both dead?" asked her friend.

"My mother is," said Anna, "and I have reason to think my father also,
as he has not been heard of since I was born: but it would give me great
satisfaction to known he was become a better man; and then, let his
situation be ever so poor, it would be my pleasure, as well as my duty,
to assist him, as far as is in my power."

"You are certainly an extraordinary girl," returned the young lady, "but
should not you be ashamed to find him a beggar?"

"Not unless his own ill conduct had made him so," replied Anna, "but if
unavoidable poverty, or ill health, had reduced him to that state, he
should not be a beggar long."

"Mrs. Meridith would _prevent that_," said the other.

"I have no claim upon her, as I said before," returned Anna, "and her
kindness to me is no reason she should extend her benevolence to my
father; though she never sees any body in want without relieving them.
But the education she has given me, would enable me to gain a support
for him; and in _this_ light she _would_ prevent it."

"Well, I must again say you are an extraordinary girl," replied her
visitor, "and I like you better than ever; such sentiments as your's
deserve regard--how superior to the vain boast of birth and title!"

"Birth and title without these opinions lose half their value in my
estimation," replied Anna, "but with them they reflect honour on each
other; and do not imagine, because I do not possess them, that I despise
those advantages; these distinctions in society are necessary, and
should very seldom be broke through: yet I am an exception to my own
rule, as I am well aware, through Mrs. Meridith's kindness, I am placed
in a very different situation from what I should otherwise be in."

Mrs. Meridith's entrance now interrupted the conversation, and Anna's
new friend departed with an increased opinion of her understanding,
notwithstanding she had heard Miss Hunt's account of her birth confirmed.

The late conversation dwelt much upon Anna's mind; but (whether from
pride or delicacy she could not determine) she did not mention it to
Mrs. Meridith; but the next time she was alone with her uncle, she
repeated it to him.

"Well, my dear, I am glad of it," said he, "it will serve to keep
the balance even; don't you remember Nancy Ward's remarks on the same
occasion? They were of service to you; and these are only the same in
higher life, and, perhaps, in more refined language. Depend upon it,
it is a good thing to be made to remember ourselves sometimes; and I
doubt not, though you could not see you needed it, and thought you kept
yourself in your proper place, such helps as these were necessary when
vanity had got all her forces about you."

"I did not think I was growing vain at all," said Anna, thoughtfully.

"Not when Mr. Such-an-one asked _you_ to dance," replied he, "and you
saw that Miss Hunt had selected him for a partner; and when several
other ladies were solicitous for the honour of his hand."

"Dear uncle," replied Anna, half smiling, and half blushing, "when did
you see this? surely you don't come to the balls."

"No, indeed," said he, returning her smile, "but I know such things as
these; has it not been the case in my younger days, when at some wake,
or fair, the two rival village girls have played the same part? Oh!
believe me, the world is all alike, and what is acted at court, or in
the higher circles, has its counterpart in this country town; and a
second or third edition is brought forth in a still humbler set."

Anna smiled, and said, "I do not doubt it, my dear uncle; but tell me,
was my father an illiterate man? had he at all the appearance of a
gentleman? and was he not handsome?"

"These two last questions would not have been asked," returned her
uncle, "if you had not been at L--; but I will reply to them as well
as I am able. In the first place, he was not uneducated; he seemed to
know many authors, and was not unacquainted with public and historical
events; but he was wonderfully conceited: he called himself a gentleman
to your poor mother, though we could never hear of any noble family he
was allied to; and it was his handsome person and smart appearance, when
in this very town she met with him, twenty years ago, that first engaged
her affections."

"And what was his employment here?" asked Anna, who at this time could
scarcely bear her uncle's playful manner.

"He told us," said he, "that he was intended for an apothecary, and
had served his time to one, perhaps as a boy in the shop, to make up
medicines; but I will not say--but he must be more skilled in that art,
and more industrious, than in farming, to have had any success in it;
but the truth is, he preferred idleness to work of any kind."

"And did you never hear him say who were his relations?" inquired Anna,
still more inquisitively, and anxious to gain some intelligence of a
parent still unknown to her.

"No," replied her uncle, "he told us he was born in Yorkshire, and that
his parents were dead; but once I heard him mention a brother who was,
as he said, in business in London, but I have consulted every directory
I could since meet with, and could never find his name. But let us talk
no more about your father, in all probability he is long since dead.
Don't you want to hear some of our village news? you seem to have forgot
all your country acquaintance; aunt, and cousins, and all."

"No, dear uncle, do not say so," replied Anna, "how are they all? do
they wish for my return?"

"We begin to think your absence long," returned he, "and so does all in
the village; though your aunt and cousins, agreeable to Mrs. Meridith's
desire, are careful they should not want any comfort she would allow
them, if she was at home; and it is our little Mary's business to carry
round the weekly money to the old and infirm."

Anna said she believed they should soon return, as Mrs. Meridith had not
renewed their lodgings; and that lady soon appeared, and confirmed the
pleasing intelligence, saying, that in the course of another fortnight
they should again be at Rosewood.

The farmer gladly returned with the welcome news, and the intervening
time was spent by the ladies in _take leave_ visits, and giving two or
three routs at home, to make the visiting account even, between Mrs.
Meridith and all her acquaintance.

"And then, my dear Anna," said she, "we will return to our own
comfortable home; where, I doubt not, we shall see many happy faces
at our approach, and all the beauties of the spring to excite our
chearfulness. The gardens will be beautiful in a short time, and I doubt
not but the old men have done their best endeavours, as they term it, to
make them flourishing."




CHAPTER XII.


At the time appointed, Mrs. Meridith and family returned to Rosewood;
every one was pleased at the thought of once more seeing it. The village
bells rang as they entered it; and all the women and children, who
were not at work, or at school, were on the road to welcome their kind
benefactress home.

Anna shed tears on observing their simple and hearty effusions of joy;
and while Mrs. Meridith nodded to one and the other, observed how much
superior these congratulations were, to all the expressions of form and
politeness they had lately witnessed.

"We know the value of each now," returned Mrs. Meridith, "and _these_
are endeared to us, from being conscious that we have deserved them, by
our endeavours to make the poor people happy."

"_You have_, my dear mamma," said Anna pressing her hand; "_I_ am only
an instrument of your bounty."

"And am I any more," said Mrs. Meridith, "in the hands of the Almighty?
I am highly favoured to have such a place assigned me, and a heart to
fulfil, in some measure, the duties belonging to it."

The gardens and pleasure grounds of Mrs. Meridith were her chief
pleasure, and she spared no expense for labour, or whatever might adorn
them, or render them productive; but no conservatory or hothouse was
added to her domains; she was content with the flowers the natural
soil would produce, and these were brought to the highest perfection
cultivation would effect. Her fruit too was of the finest kind; and
while she could see every sort which the season produces on her table,
she wished not for pines or melons. Almost as soon as they were out of
the carriage, she and Anna, attended by Bella, Syphax, and little Betty,
visited her favourite seats and walks, and were pleased at finding every
thing in the highest order, and the violets and primroses ready to
appear at their feet. The most grateful feelings were excited in Mrs.
Meridith at the beauties around her.

"Can I complain," thought she, "who have such a place as this allowed
me, and the means in my power to make so many people happy? the
affection also of this amiable girl and her family! Oh! why did I say
mine was a blank in society!" and she sat down and wept on the first
seat she met with.

Anna and her young attendant had strolled farther, but Bella perceiving
her mistress in tears, hastened towards her.

"Why do you weep, dear madam!" said she, with the most affectionate
attention.

"Sit down, dear Bella, and I will tell you," said Mrs. Meridith, wiping
her eyes: "you have witnessed all my sorrows, and much of repining under
them; but I weep now from a sense of the blessings I have still left me,
and with shame for my former ingratitude."

"Oh, dear lady," said Bella, her eyes overflowing, "and what have I
been delivered from? and what dreadful things did I know before I came
to you? and yet my heart sometimes complains, because people do call
me black woman; but you love me for all that, and I do wish to be more
thankful and more useful to you, my dear mistress, I am not too old yet."

"And when you are, my dear Bella, that will not alter my affection for
you; have I not received your former services? and I can never forget
your faithful attachment to me."

"I have seen so much of your goodness, madam," said Bella, "that I do
not doubt it, and so has Syphax; we never grieve to know what will
become of us in old age, but lest we should forget what you have been to
us."

Syphax now brought his mistress the first opening violet, which he had
been carefully looking for among the shrubs which sheltered them, and
Mrs. Meridith received it with her accustomed kindness; and shaking
both her faithful attendants by the hand, she told them she once more
welcomed them to Rosewood, with the sincerest pleasure.

"And I am sure I am glad enough we are got back again," said Syphax,
"for I do not like the town at all; the boys did all run about me, and
whisper black man, black man, to each other; not that I did mind that,
but so much company, and saucy footmen, and chairmen, that I thought to
myself, my good lady will be soon tired of this; and I am glad I was not
mistaken."

"But my mistress knew nothing of the footmen and chairmen," returned
Bella, observing a smile upon her features.

"No more she did," replied Syphax; "but unless their masters and
mistresses were something like herself, I am sure she could not like
_them_; and if they _had_ been, I conclude they would not have kept such
a set of unruly servants; and, therefore, I suppose, my lady did not
like those _she_ met there, any more than I did."

Mrs. Meridith told him, "you are right, good Syphax, there was nothing
at L-- to compensate for leaving Rosewood at this time of the year."

Anna now rejoined her kind friend, and they returned to the house,
resolving to visit the other part of the grounds after dinner.

In the afternoon, Mr. and Mrs. Campbell came to express their pleasure
at Mrs. Meridith's return; and while they sat with her, Anna went to see
her cousins, and give them an account of John. Her absence from them had
made no difference in her behaviour; on the contrary, her regard for
them was increased, when she contrasted the plain simplicity of their
manners, to those of the gay ladies with whom she had lately associated.

"We shall now have an opportunity of observing," said Mrs. Meridith
to Mr. Campbell, "whether Anna really prefers my quiet life to the
pleasures of the town. Before this visit she knew no other, but now if
she does not recur to the scenes she has left with a wish to return to
them, she will gain still more of my confidence and esteem."

Mr. Campbell said he thought she would not; and he was not mistaken, for
though Anna often talked of the balls and routs, it was only to say how
far preferable the woods and walks about Rosewood were; and which were
every day improving. Those of her acquaintance in the town, who could
properly estimate her character, though she was so meanly born, and "the
beggar's brat," which was the appellation she was now generally known
by, amongst the opposite party, were happy to accept Mrs. Meridith's
invitation to visit them during the summer; and Anna had often one or
two young friends to stay with her: though she could never be persuaded
to leave Mrs. Meridith, to return their visits. In the course of the
next three or four years, Mrs. Meridith and her usual retinue visited
the great metropolis, and almost made the tour of England, in order to
shew Anna every thing worth noticing in her native country, and teach
her duly to appreciate the comforts and advantages which are attached
to it, as well as its numberless beauties, and variety of scenery.
William Campbell, and sometimes John, when he could be spared from the
office, accompanied them in several of these excursions; they visited
the Dock-yards at Portsmouth, and the different manufactories in the
towns they passed through, as, in whatever Mrs. Meridith proposed,
improvement was blended with amusement.

Little Betty now began to be a great girl, and could read, write, and
work as well as any child of her age; and she promised fair to be what
Mrs. Meridith wished to make her (after the model of Bella), a faithful
and affectionate servant; but she was not allowed to forget her father
(whose health still continued very poorly), and his family. Every
present she received from the young ladies who visited Anna, she carried
the largest part to them, and when, at ten years old, Mrs. Meridith,
wishing to reward her dutiful behaviour to him, allowed her to receive
a yearly recompence for her services; he had his share of what she
called her wages. Her eldest sister continued in Mrs. Campbell's family
till she married, and the rest of the family were all put in a way to
get their living.




CHAPTER XIII.


We are now going to relate an event, in which our heroine had need of
all the exertion and fortitude which the education she had received
had so forcibly inculcated. Her mother's grave was always an object of
attention to her; and though no pompous monument adorned the place, or
flattering eulogy appeared on the simple stone which stood at its head
(her name, and age, with the date of the year in which she died, being
all that was engraved there), Anna regarded it with interest, because it
was all she had ever known of her parent; and never passed it without
reflecting on her birth, and thinking of her father; and it was on this
very spot she was destined to meet him, whom she had so often wished to
hear of, and who for twenty years had made no inquiry after her.

She was one autumnal evening walking through the church-yard rather
later than usual, and alone; having left Betty, who had come out with
her, at her father's, to assist in preparing her younger sister's
clothes, who was just then going out to service for the first time; it
was twilight, and she stepped out of the path on perceiving something
near her mother's grave, which she could not distinguish without
approaching nearer. As she advanced she saw a man stooping down, as if
to read what was written on the stone, and which the dimness of the
evening scarcely allowed him to see. His whole attention was engrossed,
and he did not hear her footstep.

"Anna Eastwood," said he, "daughter of William and Mary Campbell;--Ah!
that is her. But is there no other name? Is there not another Anna
Eastwood? Did I not hasten the death of my child also?"

Anna heard no more, but overcome by the suddenness of the discovery,
uttered a faint scream and fell senseless on the turf. The man started
from his reverie; and perceiving by her white dress where she lay,
at that moment lost to all animation as the dead by which she was
surrounded; he hastened to her relief, and raising her in his arms,
without the least idea how near she was allied to him. He supported her
and himself against the tombstone, till her faint breathings informed
him she revived. At this moment a labouring man passed along the path;
and Eastwood called to him.

"Come here, my friend," said he, "and assist this young lady."

"Gracious me!" exclaimed the man, on perceiving who she was, "it is Miss
Meridith! How did she come here at this time of the night? Is she very
bad?" continued he, on observing her tremble, and looking wildly around.

"Don't you know me, Miss--poor Thomas?--Don't be frightened, nobody
shall hurt you; did this man attempt it?"

"Oh, no," replied Anna, who had now gained her recollection, and
scarcely able to refrain from declaring he was her father; but
reflecting on Mrs. Meridith's uneasiness at her stay, she expressed a
wish to go home.

"Can you walk, Madam?" said the stranger, gathering from her appearance,
and the manner in which the labourer regarded her, that she was in a
superior situation. "Will you allow me to assist you? I am a stranger
here, or I would offer to call some one, but perhaps this man can
procure you a conveyance?"

"I shan't leave her alone with a stranger," said Thomas; "who knows what
you may be?" ("Who, indeed!" thought Anna, with a heavy sigh;) "or
what you have done to her? She a'n't used to be soon frightened! Miss
Meridith is none of your timid-hearted young ladies."

"Indeed I am not," returned Anna; "I am able to walk now, and if you
will accompany me to Rosewood, I will thank you, Thomas."

"That I will, Miss," replied he, "I will see you safe home; and be glad
you _be_ a little more like yourself again."

"And will you not permit _me_, Madam, to assist you?" repeated the
stranger; "I do not think you can walk without support."

"I would wish,--I should be obliged;" returned Anna, in hurried accents,
and her agitation became again so great, that she involuntarily rested
on his arm to recover herself.

"I fear I have greatly alarmed you," said he, "but I am sure it was
unintentionally."--"I hope that's true," thought Thomas, who stood
watching him as narrowly as the twilight would permit.

"How far are we from this lady's home?" asked the stranger.

"Oh not above a quarter of a mile," said Thomas, "if she could but walk."

"I can now," said Anna, "and I will accept your offer, Sir." She then
advanced, leaning on her father's arm, her heart beating all the way
with an emotion not to be expressed, and Thomas on the other side of her.

Neither of them spoke a word, till, as they entered the gate which led
to the house, they met Syphax coming out in search of his young lady.

"O! my dear Miss," said he, "I am glad you are come; we have been quite
uneasy at your staying so late."

Thomas was the only one who could speak, so as to account for it, and
his relation was so unconnected, and so full of his surprise at finding
Miss Meridith in the church-yard alone with a strange man, that little
could be learnt from it, except that as he said he was determined not
to leave him with her again, or he would have ran and called somebody;
for which he was rewarded with some good ale by Syphax, and a handsome
present from Mrs. Meridith.

When they entered the hall, where the lamp was already lighted, Anna
and her conductor first saw the faces of each other; but without that
emotion on his side which it occasioned on her's. "And _is_ this my
father?" she was ready to exclaim; but checking herself, she desired
Syphax to shew him into the parlour; and begging him to wait till she
saw him again, she ran, or rather flew up stairs into Mrs. Meridith's
apartment, who was anxiously waiting her return; and without giving her
time to say a word, she threw her arms about her neck, and exclaimed,
"Oh! Mamma, I have seen my father!"

For a moment Mrs. Meridith was apprehensive that her senses were
affected, but when she saw the tears which accompanied her declaration,
and her pale, yet expressive face, she could not disbelieve her; but
begging her to be composed, she placed her on the sofa, and then
shutting the door of the room, she seated herself by her side, and
desired to hear more of what had passed.

"This is an event," said she, "which was not unlikely to happen, if
your father yet lived; but tell me where did you meet? and are you sure
it was him?" The calmness with which Mrs. Meridith spoke, extended
itself in a little time to Anna, and she related what had passed at her
mother's grave, with as much composure as could be expected.

"Then he does not know you as his daughter?" said Mrs. Meridith, "You
had great resolution not to discover yourself, and I am glad of it. Is
he now below?"

"Yes," replied Anna, "and what _shall_ I do? If he makes any inquiry in
the village he will soon find out who I am; and then--"

"What then?" said Mrs. Meridith, "he may be a reformed man, and what you
have already witnessed seems to promise it; I will go and talk to him,
and if by his conversation I find him a different man from what he once
was, you may yet have reason to rejoice in your father."

"And may not I go too?" asked Anna.

"If you can command your feelings to hear the account he may give of
himself, without discovery, I have no objection," replied Mrs. Meridith.

"I think I can, after what has already passed," said Anna: "pray let me
go; I will not say a word;" and they descended to the parlour together.

The Stranger rose at their entrance; while Anna shrunk behind her
protectress. His appearance was not uninteresting, and though a deep
melancholy sat upon his features, it might be seen he had once been
handsome; he looked older than he really was, and his clothes and
address evinced him to be above a common person.

"Pray be seated, Sir," said Mrs. Meridith, "I am come to thank you for
your assistance to Miss Meridith; I hope my servant has not neglected
to offer you some refreshment," and she rang the bell. The Stranger
bowed, and declined taking any thing; and hoped the young lady was quite
recovered.

Anna's lips moved, but her pale and agitated countenance told him she
was not. When Syphax entered, he replenished the fire, and placed
something to eat and drink on the table, but still the Stranger refused
it.

"Are you quite unknown in the village, Sir?" asked Mrs. Meridith.

"At present I am, Madam; but I expect to meet--I _have_ been
acquainted"--here he hesitated, and was again silent.

"You will think my questions very impertinent, Sir," resumed Mrs.
Meridith, "if I do not tell you that I take your name to be Eastwood."

"And is it possible any one can know me?" exclaimed the man, and
covering his face with his hand: "Oh! do not say you do; for I am truly
ashamed of what I have been."

"You _are_ the person I took you for," replied Mrs. Meridith, looking
affectionately at Anna, whose tears flowed afresh; "yet as much altered,
perhaps, in mind as in person."

"More, more, I hope, Madam," replied he with emotion; "I am ashamed of
what I have been; but how could you know me? I do not recollect any one
like you."

"Perhaps not," replied she; "but I have heard of you from Mr. Campbell."

"Oh! then you must despise and hate me!" said he, again hiding his
face. "But indeed I am not what I was: and can you tell me," added he,
"who are alive of that family? Is there any of my name among them?" and
he looked with eager attention for her answer.

"None that I know of," replied Mrs. Meridith; "the old farmer and his
wife are both dead; and their eldest son is married, and has a large
family."

"But are they _all_ his own children?" repeated the man with great
earnestness; "has he not _one_ of mine?" His distress was so great that
Mrs. Meridith, forgetting the caution she had given Anna, could not help
endeavouring to relieve it by replying--

"No, but _I_ have;--_that_ is _her_."

It was now Anna's turn to support her father, for he sunk back
motionless in the chair, only uttering, "It is impossible!"

She flew towards him, and bathed his face with her tears while she
hung over him with inexpressible pleasure and emotion. When a little
revived, he exclaimed, "and have you been a mother to her, when, through
my inhumanity, she had lost her own? Oh, what a merciful Providence has
watched over my child! when I, wretch that I was, was totally unmindful
of her!" In this way he kept soliloquizing, while he looked first at one
and then the other, and then repeated his thanks to the Almighty.

"But can my child forgive me?" continued he, very impassionately.

"Do not ask it, my father!" said Anna, then first venturing to throw
her arms around him, and calling him by that endearing name; "do not
ask it,--I am only thankful that I am permitted to see you as you are;
I have now no other wish but to evince my ardent gratitude to Mrs.
Meridith for all her kindness to me; you must help me to do it, my
father."

"And you, my child, must instruct me how," said he; "for till very
lately I have been little used to any thing commendable. Suffer me to
embrace you, and receive a father, who, though he has but little to
offer you, has an earnest desire to make you all the recompense in his
power for his former conduct towards you."

Anna could only answer him with tears, and while the whole party were
thus engaged, Mr. Campbell entered the room, having heard part of Anna's
adventure from Thomas, who, on his return home, reported it through the
village, "how he had met Miss Meridith in the church-yard almost as dead
as a stone, and a strange man with her;" and he hastened up to know the
truth of it.

On his entrance, Anna looked at Mrs. Meridith to announce her father,
and then at him, to observe if he recollected her uncle: which he
immediately did, and turning away his face, he uttered, in a low voice,
"How richly have I deserved this shame! Oh, how shall I bear it!" Mr.
Campbell's countenance was all astonishment and anxiety.

"Pardon my intrusion, Madam," said he, to Mrs. Meridith, "but hearing
Anna was ill, I came to see if it was so; I did not know you had
company."

"A stranger," replied Mrs. Meridith, evidently much embarrassed.

"Him who was with Anna?" asked Mr. Campbell, scarcely knowing what to
think. "Good Heavens! what can be the matter?"

"Oh, my father!" exclaimed Anna, perceiving him almost sinking with
shame and confusion.

"Your father!" repeated Mr. Campbell in amazement, "can it be him? is it
Eastwood?"

"Oh, look not on me!" said the humiliated man, "I know you must detest
me!"

"Mr. Campbell can _forgive_," said Mrs. Meridith, feeling much at his
distress.

"Not _me_, not _me_," replied he, "I cannot forgive myself."

The farmer stood in silent astonishment, while Anna took his hand, and
with an imploring look said, "my father is not what he was, my dear
uncle, he is sensible of his faults; can you desire more?"

"No, my child, I am not appointed his judge, or his punisher; his crimes
have been their own punishment, I doubt not;" here a sigh, or rather
groan, from the poor man, witnessed the truth of his remark.

"Let me then join your hands," said Anna, with emotion, and drawing them
towards each other; "my dear uncle, you have supplied the place of a
father to me, and now my father thanks you."

"On my knees I do!" said Eastwood; "may your kindness meet with its due
reward."

"And are you indeed an altered man?" replied Campbell, overcome by his
contrition, "then to my heart I can receive you; and let all that is
past be forgotten."

"Unless my future conduct should remind you of it," said Eastwood, "and
then banish me from your society for ever."

The rest of the evening was spent in mutual inquiries, and Anna listened
with an agitated mind to the brief account her father gave of his former
life.




CHAPTER XIV.


"After leaving Downash," said Eastwood, "I went, as was reported,
to sea, and what passed there I would willingly hide from all my
friends; suffice it to say, though I always wished to be considered as
a gentleman, my manners were so different from what properly belongs
to that character, that none would admit me into their company; and I
associated with the lowest of the crew; spending my time as they did,
and oftener drunk than sober. But let me pass over what it pains me
to remember; I was more than once or twice nearly drowned by my own
temerity; and two of the ships in which I was, were wrecked, from which
I narrowly escaped with my life. For nearly eighteen years I lived this
miserable life; discharged from ship to ship on account of my behaviour,
till at the end of that time I contracted a very severe illness, which
brought me a little to my senses. I was confined to my bed with a
rheumatic fever nearly twelve months; three of which I was on board a
vessel which put me on shore at Hull, in Yorkshire; and though it was
in this country that I was born, I did not know I had any relations
left there, for I am ashamed to say, I had never inquired for them. On
my first setting out in life, being taken from home very early, and
the favourite of my schoolmaster, who overrated my abilities when he
recommended me to a medical friend of his, to teach me the profession; I
thought myself much above the rest of my family; and on coming to London
with my new master, I soon forgot them all. But I am departing from my
story, and relating the follies of my youth instead of those of riper
age. Alas! what a retrospection is mine! _You_, Mr. Campbell, can look
back on a well-spent life; _I_ only on infamy!" His silence spoke his
distress; and Mr. Campbell, wishing to relieve it, said:--

"I think I have heard you mention a brother."

"And it is to that brother," replied Eastwood, "next to Divine
Providence, that I am what I now am. When I first knew you I was ashamed
of him, and my pride made me tell you an untruth (Oh, that pride
should descend to such meanness!) in saying that he was in business
for himself; but at that time he was only a shopman, and not being of
so dissipated and idle a turn as I was, we never met during the time I
mentioned. When I was put on shore at Hull, quite a stranger, though
within a few miles of my native place, very ill, and without the use of
my limbs, or any money in my pocket, except a very small overplus of my
pay, which was left after discharging the surgeon's bill, who attended
me on board; my conduct had not been such as to gain me any friends
in the ship, and but for the humanity of one of the common sailors,
who got me a lodging at a small public-house, I must have perished in
the streets. But what I suffered was little, _very_ little to what I
deserved. And now I had time to look back and reflect on the past,
though I would have drowned reflection as I had often done before, had
not the people of the house refused to bring me any liquor. I wish to
shorten my tale as much as I can, and will only say, that my brother,
who had opened a shop in Hull, and was very prosperous in business,
heard my name; and his compassion induced him to come and see if it was
his brother, who was formerly ashamed to call him by that name; but,
poor and wretched as I was, he was not ashamed of _me_. He removed me
to his own house, where both himself and his wife treated me with the
kindest attention.

"Oh, how is it," said he, interrupting his narrative, "how is it, that
all my life through I have met with the kindest treatment from those of
whom I least deserved it? and now again I experience it; what can I say
for myself?

"The best medical aid was procured me, and I had sufficient time, as
I said before, to reflect on my past life; and bitter reflections
these were. I seemed now for the first time to recollect that I had a
daughter; and when sufficiently recovered to undertake the journey,
I told my brother I was determined to find her, if she was alive. I
preferred coming in person to writing, because I could say nothing good
of myself; but my brother told me, that, contrary to every appearance in
our younger days, my father had prospered in the small farm he rented
when I left him, and had left what little property he died possessed
of, between us. 'Your share, and the interest due upon it since his
death,' said he, 'shall be yours on your return to Hull; and should
you be so fortunate as to find your child alive, let me advise you to
settle it on her; and if my hopes of your reformation are realized, it
may still be in your power to add to it by an attention to business, in
whatever line you choose to enter.'

"I thanked him for his generosity and advice, determined not to accept
the former, unless I found my child in a situation that needed it.

"I only arrived in this village about six hours back, and, ashamed and
afraid to make any inquiry, my first visit was to the grave of my wife,
thinking that if my child was also dead, I should see her name upon the
same stone; and then whether I should have proceeded to your house or
not, I cannot tell, but accident threw my child in my way at the very
spot I went to look for her, though I had not the least idea of who she
was, but thought my appearance had alarmed her, as she was passing by."

"Your words, my dear father," said Anna, "assured me who you were,
before you saw me; and it was seeing you indistinctly on that spot,
which has always been dear to me, and will _now_ be much more so, which
led me nearer to it, that I might discover what it was."

And now the father and daughter, and indeed the whole party, rejoiced
at their meeting, and the evening was far advanced before Mr. Campbell
recollected that his wife would be anxious to hear who the stranger was,
and hastened home to inform her. A bed was provided for Eastwood in Mrs.
Meridith's house, and a servant sent to the public-house for the things
he had brought with him. Bella and Syphax were informed who he was, and
it was soon spread through the village, that "Miss Anna's father was
come, and that he was quite a gentleman, and seemed very sorry for his
past behaviour."

Most of the old folks who remembered his marriage, repaired the next
morning to Mr. Campbell's, to know if it was really so; and nothing but
his declaring that he had forgiven him, and hoped that he was a reformed
man, could have prevented their bestowing some invectives on him, for
his conduct to such a nice young woman as poor Anna Campbell was, and
his neglect of his daughter: but when in about an hour afterwards, they
saw him walk through the village, with Anna on his arm, and observed his
dejected and melancholy looks, they altered their opinion, and thought
farmer Campbell was right.

"It is a long lane that has no turning," said one old man; "he looks
very sorrowful, and may be a good father yet; we, have all something to
be forgiven."

"But will he take Miss Meridith away?" was the eager inquiry of all the
younger ones: "What shall we do then?" And great was the anxiety and
consternation in the village, till they knew what would be the result of
this strange occurrence.

Anna after accompanying her father to the farm, left him there, and
returned to Mrs. Meridith; while all her movements were as minutely
watched by the young villagers, as those of the Emperor Alexander and
our other illustrious Visitors, when they lately honoured England with
their presence.




CHAPTER XV.


When Eastwood was told by Mr. Campbell what were Mrs. Meridith's
intentions towards his child, and that she had really adopted her as her
own, he scarcely knew whether to lament or rejoice at it. "It is true,"
said he, "I don't deserve the comfort of her society, but I had allowed
myself to hope, that if she was spared, my latter days would have made
up to her my past conduct: but Mrs. Meridith and you have the greatest
claim to her," added he with a sigh. "You have performed a parent's
part; I only bore the name."

Mr. Campbell then related Mrs. Meridith's history, and that Anna's
attention seemed absolutely necessary to make her forget her griefs.
"Long may she be preserved to us," continued he, "but I have often heard
her say, that at her death this adopted daughter should be the mistress
of Rosewood; and of whom can she learn the duties of such a situation so
well as from her present instructress?"

Eastwood remained silent, and his mind seemed agitated with a variety of
emotions. "Setting interest aside," said he, "my duty and my gratitude
would not allow me, to take her from such a home: but Mrs. Meridith must
not be incumbered with me because she has taken my daughter; and yet I
should like to witness her goodness, and to live where I could have such
examples before me as you and her. Oh! had I not forfeited every claim
to your friendship, I might have been still an inhabitant of this quiet
village, and blessed as you are with a wife and family about me."

"Spare these self recriminations, my dear brother," said Campbell, "they
are only painful to yourself and me; if you think you could like the
situation, you might return to the farm you left."

"Oh, no! not that," returned Eastwood, "the remembrance would be too
painful; besides, I am too ignorant of farming, and too old to learn: my
brother, likewise, has a claim upon me."

"And a very great one," replied Campbell; "but I suppose him to be
indifferent where you settle, so you do not return to your former
habits. What think you of your first profession? I should imagine that
study and practice would make it easy to you."

"I have always thought of returning to that," said Eastwood, "whenever
business was talked of; and, did I know of any opening, should be glad
to accept it."

"If you allow me to advise you," resumed Campbell, "it would be to
enter into partnership with some one already established."

This was certainly the best plan, and it was agreed that they would talk
farther on the subject another day; in the mean time Mr. Campbell was to
make inquiries, and Mrs. Meridith was informed of their intention.

It met with her and Anna's concurrence, who only hoped a situation might
be found not very distant from them; and, agreeable to her wishes, Mr.
Campbell soon heard of a medical man in very good practice at L--,
who was desirous of taking a partner who was a few years younger than
himself.

Eastwood readily accepted the proposal; the money which he was to
advance was agreed on, and this was all he would accept from his brother
(who was made acquainted by letter of all that had passed), as his share
of their father's property; intending, if he was successful in his new
undertaking, to repay it him, as a small return for his kindness in
receiving and supporting him during his illness.

Till this was settled, Mrs. Meridith's house was his home; and Anna
had frequent opportunities of observing that her father possessed
both talents and genius, which not even the wretched way in which he
had spent great part of his life could obliterate. He, had received
a liberal education, both from the wish of his parents to give their
children that which themselves had felt the want of, and the favour
of his instructor, who admired his abilities, and hoped that they
would have led him to greater things than his father intended. But,
notwithstanding these advantages, Eastwood had to begin the world when
between forty and fifty years old; because he did not properly value
them at the first. The praises his abilities obtained, gave him a high
opinion of himself, but this did not keep him from the most odious
vices; he suffered his inclination to shine in company, and to appear
greater than he really was: till finding that he was not so highly
thought of by others as by himself, he sunk into the opposite extreme,
and had it not been for the reflections occasioned by a severe illness,
and the subsequent occurrences, he would have remained a disgrace
instead of a benefit to society, and among the lowest and vilest of his
fellow creatures, instead of filling the place for which his education
had fitted him.

In the evening before he left Rosewood to go to his new situation,
Mrs. Meridith put an hundred pound note into Anna's hands. "I need not
tell you what to do with it, my child," said she; "I hope it will be
well bestowed, and we shall then have the pleasure of seeing a fellow
creature restored to society."

Anna in trembling accents thanked her kind benefactress, and hastened to
present it to her father as Mrs. Meridith's gift.

"I want words to thank her," said he, "but it is too much: do you think
I dare be trusted with such a sum?"

"I hope so, my father," replied Anna, "and double that, had I it to give
you."

"Oh! my child, money is not what I want," said he; "do you think I am
now entering on business with a view to obtain it? No: but from a wish
of employment, and of being useful to my fellow creatures. Every thing
else is useless to me now you are provided for; and oh! my Anna, how
amply! What a friend have you found in Mrs. Meridith! May you and I be
ever grateful to her."

In the course of the next year, Anna, with her father and their kind
friend Mrs. Meridith, visited Hull, and were introduced to her uncle,
whom they found what the former had described, an industrious and
benevolent man, plain in his manners, but an honour to the station he
filled: and on their return to Rosewood, Mrs. Meridith celebrated
Anna's coming of age with all the festivity incident to the occasion.

The poor were feasted, and the bells were rung, but Anna's heart was
not vainly elated by the scene; the recollection of her birth, and her
father's past life, checked her rising pride; while the calm sedateness
which sat on her uncle's brow, and the propriety of the sentiments he
uttered, together with her father's humility, and earnest desire to
render his latter days more serviceable to mankind, taught her the just
value of this world's good; and from Mrs. Meridith (whose benevolence
entered into every plan she proposed, and every action of her life,) she
learnt duly to appreciate it; but as the means of assisting others, or,
in other words, as she had often told her when a child, "the way to be
happy ourselves is to add to the happiness of others, not to take from
it."

In a few years she married a gentleman who was a distant relation of
Mrs. Meridith's, and whose fortune was equal to her own; and that lady
and her father had the pleasure of seeing her fulfil the duties of a
wife and mother, as the education she had received allowed them to
expect.

Mrs. Meridith lived to an advanced age, and Anna never forgot the
attention that was due to her, and which she hoped to receive from her
own children when she most needed it.

Her father never entirely recovered his health; but his character, which
to him was far more desirable, was perfectly retrieved; and he died
lamented by many who experienced his attention, and was pleased with his
society.

Bella and Syphax both died before Mrs. Meridith was taken from the
world; and Betsey continued Anna's servant after she was married.

Mr. and Mrs. Campbell lived some years after the marriage of their
niece, and had the satisfaction of seeing their three eldest daughters
happily married, and settled in the neighbouring villages. William
inherited the farm after his father's death, and John became an eminent
lawyer; while a younger brother was brought up under Mr. Eastwood's
care, and supplied his place at his death.

                    THE END.


LONDON:
PRINTED BY COX AND BAYLIS,
GREAT QUEEN STREET, LINCOLN'S-INN-FIELDS.




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rich."

15. History of Sixteen WONDERFUL OLD WOMEN; illustrated with as many
Engravings, exhibiting their principal Eccentricities.

16. SPRING FLOWERS, or Easy Lessons for Young Children, not exceeding
Words of Two Syllables. By Mrs. Ritson.

17. Sir HARRY HERALD'S Graphical Representation of the DIGNITARIES of
England, shewing the Costume of different Ranks, from the KING to a
COMMONER, with the Regalia used at the Coronation.

18. The PATHS of LEARNING, strewed with Flowers, or English Grammar
illustrated.

19. TOMMY TRIP'S MUSEUM, or a Peep at the Quadruped Race, Part I.

20. TOMMY TRIP'S MUSEUM, Part II.

21. TOMMY TRIP'S MUSEUM, Part III.

22. The PHOENIX, or a Choice Collection of Riddles and Charades.

23. The COSTUME of DIFFERENT NATIONS, illustrated.

24. WONDERS, descriptive of some of the most remarkable in Art and
Nature.

25. The MONTHLY MONITOR; or Short Stories, adapted to every Season of
the Year. By Mrs. Ritson.

26. SIMPLE STORIES in Words of One Syllable, by the Author of the
"Stories of Old Daniel."

27. The PICTURESQUE PRIMER, or First Step up the Ladder of Learning,
with 72 Engravings.




Transcriber's note:

    Every effort has been made to replicate this text as faithfully as
    possible. Obvious punctuation errors repaired.

    The following is a list of changes made to the original.
    The first line is the original line, the second the corrected one.

    Page 32:
    that it is not for any think extraordinary
    that it is not for any thing extraordinary

    Page 63:
    have have had your sorrows also
    have had your sorrows also

    Page 104:
    and to claim it for himself, as he had sufficent
    and to claim it for himself, as he had sufficient

    Page 126:
    is most likely to sooth grief
    is most likely to soothe grief

    Page 133:
    Anna, smiling at her childishnesss
    Anna, smiling at her childishness

    Page 145:
    and as Mr. Mansel's was a very domestic family
    and as Mr. Mansell's was a very domestic family

    Page 148:
    change their behavour towards her
    change their behaviour towards her

    Page 169:
    CHAPTER XII.
    CHAPTER XIII.

    Page 198:
    a medical man in very good practice at L----,
    a medical man in very good practice at L--,

    Page 206:
    the Crusaders, by Mrs. Hoffland
    the Crusaders, by Mrs. Hofland





End of Project Gutenberg's The Adopted Daughter, by Elizabeth Sandham



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