BOOK THE THIRD.

CHAPTER I.

Our Hero meets Major Wilson, and a Conference takes place, which to some of my Readers may perhaps be interesting.

As John De Lancaster was crossing the barrack-yard on his return from the guard-house, he was met by Major Wilson, to whom he imparted the tragical event, which he had so lately witnessed. When the Major had given directions for the measures necessary to be taken in consequence of the prisoner’s death by suicide upon his own confession, he expressed his wish to De Lancaster, that he would step aside with him into his private room, having something on his mind, that he was anxious to communicate to him.

As soon as they had seated themselves the Major said—Though the sudden exit of this wretched man naturally takes up your thoughts, and must also occupy my attention, yet I seize a few minutes, my dear John, to inform you of something that has passed between Mr. Devereux and me this morning; and I am persuaded you will pardon the intrusion, though it is a matter, that relates entirely to myself. I had not long parted from that gentleman, when I met you, and his business with me was to request, that I would change my quarters, and accept of the accommodation of his house, whilst you and Edward took up your abode with him. When I declined this polite invitation on the plea of regimental duties, his kindness led him to urge it upon me with a degree of earnestness, that seemed very particular, and embarrassed me not a little; for in fact I had more reasons for withstanding his importunity than were convenient for me to disclose to him. To you, my dear John, I can tell all the truth, and the truth is, that like a silly puppy as I am, I have something more than a weak side towards his fair daughter, and don’t choose to expose my folly in either his or her company. You must know, my friend, that yesterday was not the first time of my seeing her. In a situation of some danger from an unruly horse at a review, it was my fortune to be of service to her; by which adventure I dislocated my wrist, and have felt a pain in a certain part under my left ribs ever since: It occurred to me that her father had been let into the secret of this piece of service, on my part, and was seeking an opportunity for making me some sort of return, which you can well believe I am too proud to allow of; besides which—

Besides what? said John (availing himself of a pause in the Major’s narrative) can’t you go on with your story, and fairly own that you are not one whit more in love with Maria Devereux than Maria Devereux is with you? do you suppose that I have no eyes, no observation to discover that?

Nonsense! rejoined the Major, you allude to what occurred upon our meeting yesterday, and mistake gratitude for liking. Now gratitude, you know, won’t serve her purpose, for I want no return; and love would make an ass and a fool of me, were I to let it get the mastery of me; for what am I? ’Twould be just as possible to persuade his faithful majesty to give me the princess of Portugal to wife, as to propose my ridiculous self, (Major Wilson forsooth, with a sword by his side and a bit of ribband in his hat) to a man of Devereux’s sort, whose coffers overflow with the gold of Brazil, and whose daughter is a rock of diamonds, eclipsed indeed by the lustre of her eyes, and the bright display of ten thousand thousand charms, which I am not quite philosopher enough to withstand, nor fool enough to encounter? Why, John, if I could suppose for a moment that she had any liking for me, s’death! I should run crazy, nay, I know not where I should run.—

Into her arms to be sure, John replied; I don’t fancy you need run any where else, if you knew half as much of your own case as I do. But tell me first how you brought yourself off with Mr. Devereux. Didn’t you accept of his invitation, and won’t you post yourself in the citadel, when the gates are opened to you?

Not for the world, said Wilson: ’Tis not in my nature to be so presumptuous. In short I managed my affairs most wretchedly; honesty got the better of me, and after blundering out several false excuses, I at last let out the true one, and, like a downright John-Bull blockhead fairly told him, that his daughter was too captivating, and I too much captivated, to venture any nearer to a lovely and enchanting object, whom, if I were rash enough to approach, it would be only to expose my folly, and destroy my peace. I believe I said something too vauntingly about honour and attachment to my profession, which I considered as a patrimony I never could be brought to alienate: in fine however I became more humble, and earnestly besought him to allow of my declining his favours altogether, whilst I had recollection enough left to find my way to the army I belonged to, and shew myself not totally unworthy of his good opinion by the force I put upon myself to preserve it. And now, friend John, what say you to all this, that I have been telling you? you, that have all the wisdom in a green head, that others have in their grey ones, answer me, and say—did I, or did I not, do right?

In point of honour, Major, you did right; you were a little romantic perhaps, but, honourably speaking, you did strictly right. But you have not told me how your conference ended.

At this moment an orderly man put a letter into his hands, which having hastily perused, he said—I am not sure that our conference is ended, my dear fellow; for it should seem as if the gentleman only quitted me to collect materials for continuing it. I will read you Mr. Devereux’s note just now received, and you will judge.

No sooner had our friendly hero heard him to the end, than impatient to congratulate him, he exclaimed—And what would you have more to assure you, that you have gained the prize, and all your wishes, all your hopes are crowned? Now all this I could have told you, had I not been a little too much of a man of honour to betray family secrets, but the wretched suicide, who lies in yonder guard-house, made no secret of declaring before he died, that Maria Devereux scrupled not to avow her fixed attachment to the unknown officer, who had saved her life. Can you want any further evidence, or would you have her to proclaim her passion for you in the public square by sound of bell? Do you require the father to fall upon his knees to you, and petition you to save his daughter’s life? Something a little short of this, methinks, if I can comprehend that note, he has already done. Now then, puissant conqueror, sally forth in all your pomp of triumph, and receive into your arms the loveliest girl (excepting always her whom I should still except, was the whole world of beauty ranged before me) that ever I beheld. I did not think I could have felt such joy on this side those old towers, in which my heart is lodged. Oh my dear Wilson, let me be the bearer of these joyous tidings to your beloved, your delighted father, to my old darling grandsires, to my sainted aunt and to my lovely my betrothed Amelia. My work is done. I’ll quicken my departure.

The name of the sub-minister was now announced to Major Wilson, and De Lancaster took his leave.

CHAPTER II.

Major Wilson visits Mr. Devereux. John De Lancaster briefly recites the History of Amelia Jones.

A grave and courtier-like gentleman presented himself to Major Wilson, and with much deliberation informed him, that his most faithful majesty, having resolved to repair to Elvas for the purpose of reviewing the combined forces there assembled, had signified his royal pleasure, that a British officer, not below the rank of major of cavalry, should be sought out to attend upon him as one of his aid-de-camps on that occasion; and that he, Major Wilson, having been recommended as an officer in all respects qualified for that distinguished situation, he had now the honour to inform Major Wilson, that the king had been graciously pleased to accept his services, if it suited him to undertake the duty.

Sir, replied Major Wilson, I understand it to be so much my duty to lay my poor services, at the feet of his most faithful majesty, that I cannot for a moment hesitate to profess myself ready to obey his majesty’s commands, which I beg you will be pleased to report to the minister in such terms as may best express the respectful sense, which I entertain of his excellency’s kindness and condescension.

I shall report to his excellency, the sub-minister made answer, exactly as you instruct me, and as I know your friend Mr. Devereux to be warmly interested in your behalf, I shall call upon that gentleman in my way, and inform him that his wishes are now happily accomplished: I have also a particular message to Mr. Devereux in command from his majesty, in whose grace and favour that very worthy gentleman stands extremely high.

The man in office bowed himself out of the room, and Wilson sate down and wrote as follows to Mr. Devereux, in answer to his note.

When it was time for the Major to fulfil his engagement, and wait upon Mr. Devereux, he found the gentlemen assembled in the receiving-room, but no Maria. It is probable she had passed a little more time than was usual with her at her toilet; but her occupation there was not to find ornaments for her person, but rather to recommend herself to her expected visitor by the simplicity and modest elegance of her dress. When dinner was announced she contrived to meet the company as they passed the hall, and avoided the embarrassment of a formal entrance.

As the events, which had so lately occurred, kept the house under exclusion as to visitors, their party still continued to consist of their family circle only. The conversation after dinner took that turn, which naturally tends to put the parties at their ease, and as the gaiety of the Major’s disposition began to show itself, Maria’s spirits rose, and reserve was banished. Addressing herself to him, she said—I understand you are to be at court to-morrow, and my father is to have the honour of presenting you to his majesty. I don’t conceive you will like it; ’tis a formal piece of business. You will be more at home in the field at Elvas, when your favourite regiment passes in review.

In the meantime, said John De Lancaster, Edward and I must be measuring back our solitary way by sea and land, deprived of that agreeable society, which we enjoyed on our passage hither. Events, which we could not foresee, and which produce sensations and reflections of a very opposite nature, have contributed to dismiss me from the duty of a longer stay, and a very little time will now release from any further trouble these generous friends, whose benevolence has given us shelter; and as I despair of ever expressing to Mr. Devereux the full sense I entertain of the kindness and consolation I have received under the protection of this charitable roof, I must rely upon the friend I leave behind me to take every occasion for bearing witness to my gratitude, till we may all have the happiness of meeting once more in our native land; a happiness, which I hope is in reserve for every one of us. I have secured my passage in the pacquet, now on her return to England. My first duty will be to deposit the mournful charge, that providence has been pleased to lay upon me, in the burial-place of my family. There are two benevolent old men, anxiously expecting me, both far advanced in years, between whom and me there is now a broken link in the chain, that leaves, alas! to them but a precarious and short hold on life. Your gallant father, my dear Henry, is, you know, and ever has been, as my father also; and for my aunt Cecilia, what I feel towards her, is only short of absolute idolatry.

Here as our hero seemed about to pause, Edward, who had watched him with a pleased attention, said—John, you have gratified us much with this account of your own feelings for a family of love, whom when you speak of thus, by honouring them, you at the same time reflect most honour on yourself. But is there not another in your thoughts—aye, in your heart, my friend, of whom you have not spoken? Come, let us—let me at least—hear me of the lovely, the beloved Amelia.

Ah, why name her? De Lancaster replied. Why tell the Major soldiers are courageous? What news to him? He knows it, and he feels it? Why tell Miss Devereux, women may be charming, and men be charmed? She knows it, and we feel it. If love be named in any lady’s hearing, it should be love particular, not general—How am I sure, if I should speak of love in any way that I can speak, the topick would be pleasing to Miss Devereux, who has such powers to inspire it, but may not want to be told any thing of those, who feel it?

I understand you, sir, Maria replied: You are very civil, and a little sly: But be assured, of all the topicks you could single out most grateful to my ears, and perhaps most correspondent with my feelings, would be a fair account without reserve of your love (which I am sure is honourable love) for the lady of your choice, of whose perfections I can’t doubt; and as for beauty I’ll take George’s word for that; he speaks in rapture of the fair Amelia.

You must not quite believe him, said our hero: At least it is not for her beauty I should be inclined to speak in raptures of Amelia. Her form and face are pleasing I presume; to me at least they are: but there is something spiritual about her; something I can’t define; an emanation from the mind within, that takes and keeps possession of my heart. I seriously declare I never yet was in her company, when I had leisure to bestow my attention upon her beauty, simply so considered. She was but as a child when I first saw her; Nature had not supplied her with attractions, that could induce me to mistake the impression, I then received, for any other than a love as pure as her own thoughts, a zeal to serve her, a wish that I might live to make her happy, and shield her, like a blossom, from the blast. I found her in the humblest situation, that dependance on my friends for education and support could place her. She was an orphan without means to furnish food for another day. There was a soft petition in her eyes for pity and protection, which if I had not felt in every vein that visited my heart, I had been a monster. Her father, a brave soldier, like my friend here in my eye, whose honour and whose sword were all his portion, married the generous girl, who risked her life to nurse and save him in a dreadful fever, when all his fellow soldiers round were dying, and every breath of air, that she respired, was charged and saturated with infection.

Oh what a godlike act, Maria cried! she merited his love. Could he do less?

He could not, and he did not, John replied. She was the daughter of a brother officer, the major of his regiment, then serving in the West Indies. She lived to be the mother of Amelia; she was too good for this bad world we live in, and Heaven recalled her; after she was lost, death had but little trouble to destroy a wretched man, whom sorrow had struck down, and both Amelia’s parents now repose in the same grave: by happy chance she found her way to England: there, by the bounty of my grandfather Morgan and my deceased mother she was placed under the care of an excellent lady, who educated and brought her up. When my poor mother died, she left her what she had in her disposal, a slender portion, but enjoined me on her death bed to consider it as my especial duty to protect her, and make her happiness, her honour and her interests in all respects my own: from that moment such they have been, and ever will be—This is the history of my Amelia. It is my happy fortune to have gained an interest in her pure and virtuous heart, and, if we live to meet, let a few months pass by without fresh cause of sorrow, she will be my wife.

Happy, happy man! exclaimed Maria, the envied privilege of whose sex it is to put aside the mean concern of money, and say to the dear object of your heart—I love you; share my fortune: I am your’s!

As she said this, not daring to abide the interpretation that her words might bear, she rose and with apparent agitation left the room.

CHAPTER III.

A definitive Explanation takes place between Maria Devereux and Major Wilson.

When Maria had retired, the company were silent for a time. Devereux at length addressed De Lancaster, and said—How much I hold your character in honour for what you have related to us, I cannot tell you; but I am convinced the proper use of the advantages, that affluence gives us (and therein I agree with my Maria) is, to procure that lasting happiness, which a well-chosen partnership for life is of all chances, that this world can give us, the likeliest to ensure to us. Some aspire to raise their families to rank and title; and it would be a laudable ambition, if nobler principles, superior wisdom and sublimer virtues were interwoven with our pedigrees, and descended to our posterity with the patents of our peerages, and entail of our estates: but these are not the expectations, neither are they the motives, that induce ambitious parents to betray their children into those fatal and delusive marriages, which only elevate them to become conspicuous objects of disgrace and scorn. I have been long persuaded, that the controul of parents over the affections and attachments of their children should, by the laws of nature and of reason, be only exercised for the prevention of ill-advised, unworthy, indiscreet connections, which cannot fail to lead to ruin and repentance. A dissipated profligate, a vain fool, a gamester, a disbeliever, libertines without principle and conceited puppies without employ have been known to catch the eyes of an unthinking girl, but ’tis the parent’s duty to repulse them; so is it not his duty, but the abuse of it, when he refuses to bestow her fortune upon the worthy man, whom she has honourably singled out, and wisely chosen, not by the eye, but heart, to be the sharer of her happiness. The children, Heaven hath blessed me with, are fitted by understanding, and fully able by the ample means, which of right they possess, to carve out for themselves their future lot in life, without regard to what the objects of their choice may be unprovided with, and which they abound in—worldly property. Each of them have enough, whereon to live in ease and affluence so long as they can live in harmony and peace—And now I have tired you with a long harangue, but I would wish to have it understood by all here present as my rule of practice; so with your leave, good friends, we will break up this court of conscience, and remove our cause into another, where we can have the counsel and assistance of the lady, who there is left in solitary expectation of our company over her tea and coffee.

The proposal was instantly complied with, and the gentlemen adjourned to another room, where Maria was present, and did the honours of her tea-table. When this business was dispatched, she produced the chess-board, and offered a challenge, which Major Wilson gallantly accepted. Parties, that devote themselves to that dull monopolizing game, seem for a time to be so absolutely excluded from society, and so wedded to their own manœuvres, that it is perfectly fair and lawful to consider them as absentees, and accordingly the gentlemen, who were at liberty to follow their own amusements, walked out to enjoy the breeze, that every evening visits the banks of the Tagus from the northward, and qualifies the else insufferable heat.

It was some time before the contending parties perceived that they had no spectators, and not even a solitary second to appeal to in a case of controversy, if such had arisen, or should arise, in the course of their engagement.

You are too strong for me, said Maria, and as I cannot make any impression on your defences, I give up the contest. You are absolutely a professor, and I am a mere novice, more fit to be your disciple than your antagonist: besides, you mask your game, whilst I lay myself open to you, and (which is more provoking still) when you have me in your power, and might check-mate me by a single move, you always mischievously contrive to leave some loop-hole for me to escape, on purpose to postpone a victory, which you are indifferent about securing and seem to consider as below your notice.

If I do this, he said, I’m sure you cannot seriously suppose my reasons to be those, which you assign. Could you not find some motive for my hesitation more natural, and less impossible, than indifference? May not the consciousness of what I am, instruct me almost to distrust my senses, though the divinity, whom I adore, should condescend to me her humble worshipper with looks so gracious, kindness so alluring, as seem to say—Approach me, and be blest?—but how to approach, when I compute the distance, that throws me off, and awes me from the attempt, is indeed a question, that staggers and confounds me.

At this she smiled, and with a look, that spoke encouragement, which could not be mistaken, I suppose, she said, the scale, on which you measure distances between us, is a certain thing called money, which though you yourself disinterestedly hold in no respect, you think perhaps that I have not the spirit to treat with the same contempt as you do. Therein you do me no wrong. Were those eventual and mean advantages, which I possess, transferred from me to you, I solemnly declare they would not be a feather in your scale, as I should weigh it; why then should you suffer them to give a false preponderance to mine? When Owen laid his fortune at my feet, I had no knowledge of his character; he had the address to keep it out of sight, his manners were polite, his temper placid, in point of person nature had rather favoured him than not. My father left me free to make my choice, and I had made it; therefore I refused him. Now do you understand me, do you know me? need I be more explicit? No; the privilege of truth can go no further; sincerity itself must stop me here.

Now, now you throw me on my knees for ever, the enraptured lover cried: now I look up to you as to a being, exalted above all that I conceived of human excellence: your nobleness of soul is now a charm beyond what nature has bestowed upon you, and my admiration of your beauty is almost lost whilst I adore your goodness. When happy fortune threw me in the way to save you, and receive you in my arms upon that memorable day, I had marked you out and fixed my eyes upon you in the charge; I knew you as the daughter of the wealthiest man in Portugal, and honour tied my tongue, though even then I struggled with a passion which tempted me to tell you—That your rich father amidst all his treasures had but one recompence that I would take; which being far above what I could merit, or dare aspire to, I was proudly silent, and studied rather to avoid than seek your presence, conscious that every time I looked upon you I should find fresh occasion to admire you, and, as love sunk the deeper in my heart, the deeper I should sink into despair.

Now then, she said, I am understood at last, and it is not the first proof I have received how slowly merit finds that secret out, which impudence and vanity pretend at the first glance to see through, and interpret in their own favour. You are a soldier, and modesty of mind is ever found with manliness and valour: you must be still a soldier: I’ll not ask you to sacrifice your honour and your occupation: ’tis for your country’s service you were born; that is your character; in that you shine, to that you must adhere, and never for an instant fly your post, but when you fly to save a fellow creature, as you did me. If you suspect me weak enough to sigh for any honours greater than to share your fortune, any pleasures beyond those, which your approving smile will ever give me, any self-consequence above the honest pride, that I shall feel to hear your praises, you mistake me wholly. Don’t think that I will borrow from my father’s stores to dazzle you with diamonds; no; not one, had he a mine, would I consent to wear, unless by your command, and that I think will never be your wish to lay upon me, whilst there are nobler graces and adornments within my reach far more becoming of a soldier’s wife.

What answer Major Wilson made to this, how the dialogue was carried on during the time the lovers were alone, as likewise how much shorter, or how much longer, that time seemed to them to be than it really was, must be left as matter of conjecture, which the imagination of the reader will readily supply without referring to the chess board to fill it up, as there is authority to say that game was not by either party proposed to be renewed. Happiness sanctioned by paternal authority, and virtuous love unchecked by the demurs of honour, filled the brave heart of Wilson with delight, and he heard an early day announced by Devereux for the sure tying of that sacred knot, which nothing but the hand of death should sever, though in too many cases it has proved a slip knot in the fingers of the law.

CHAPTER IV.

John De Lancaster embarks for England, accompanied by his Friend the Reverend Mr. Wilson. Conversation on the Passage.

There was no longer any cause to stop De Lancaster’s return to England. All duties were discharged; all ceremonies had been observed towards the unburied body of his father, which man’s inventive fancy has devised to decorate the case, that holds our clay, and make the ostentatious living pay large contributions for those empty honours which they bestow on human dust and ashes. Mutes, who would keep no silence, and, mourners, who expressed no sorrow, in rooms, hung round with “customary suits of solemn black,” had regularly sate up all night long, with their full complement of wax-tapers, to watch a thing that could not run away, and which no one wished to steal. All these ceremonies, which, had poor Philip been alive, would have given him such intolerable annoyance, had now with religious punctuality been performed, and his corpse was committed to a ship, which, unlike to that wherein he came, was not bound to the coast of slavery, but to the land of liberty.

All things were now on board; the morning dawned; the dog-vane witnessed an auspicious breeze; the crew sung out at the cap-stan and the pacquet was under weigh. Devereux’s eight-oared galley was in waiting, and nothing now remained but to put off and part. Although the friends, who stayed on shore, as well as those, who put to sea, took the very course, to which their wishes pointed, and which their own immediate happiness prescribed, yet they could not separate without sorrow, and the last farewell drew tears from the brightest eyes in Portugal, and sighs from some of the best hearts in nature. Philip the whilst, in his narrow house of lead, slept undisturbed, and was as perfectly untouched by sensibility as if he had been alive.

The gallant vessel in the mean time, as if conscious of the charge she had on board, cut her passage through the waves, not deigning to rise to them, but throwing them aside, and dashing them from her bows, as her spreading canvass pressed her down in the water, and hurried her along before the steady breeze.

Our hero and his friend, having cast a parting look upon the towers of Lisbon, retired into the cabin, whilst the master kept the deck, regaling himself in the prospect of so fair an outset, for the weather was delicious, and the sky prognosticated a continuance of the breeze.

If any thing, said Wilson, could reconcile me to the imprisonment of a ship, it would be a day like this, with a breeze impregnated with odours of orange flowers to regale my senses, and the elements in good humour all around me. I am happy to discover that there are some consolatory moments in a seaman’s life. And now, my dear John, I am satisfied you have not let these singular events pass by without reflecting, with due gratitude to the Disposer of our fate, how graciously he has been pleased to terminate our enterprize; which, though not absolutely untinctured with disappointment and misfortune, might yet have led to miseries, that would have admitted of no consolation. Don’t let me wound your filial feelings, when I remind you, that the blow, which made you fatherless, might have fallen where it would have extinguished more lives than one, and blotted out the very name of De Lancaster for ever. If I went so far as to say, that probably there are few beings in existence, whose loss society has less cause to mourn than that of him, whose remains we are now bearing to the grave, I should not at least offend against truth, tho’ I might need your pardon for addressing the remark to you. How visible is the hand of divine justice in the apprehension of that guilty wretch, and in the prevention of those further crimes, which he meditated to commit! What can be more strikingly charactered, more impressively apportioned to our ideas of retribution, than that tragical catastrophe, which passed before your eyes, and put a period to his sinful life? How mercifully is it ordered, that those worldly blessings, which he so grossly abused, will now devolve upon one, who seems able and disposed to estimate them rightly, and employ them worthily! when we turn our thoughts to what has come to pass respecting my most fortunate and happy brother, what a dispensation do we contemplate! How unexpected, how beyond all hope! If in one respect we bring home with us fresh cause for mourning, do we not also bring full matter for rejoicing, if happily we return to our dear friends in safety, and find them, as Heaven grant we may! in prosperous health and undisturbed tranquillity of mind?

That, my dear Edward, that indeed, replied De Lancaster, will be a happiness never to be exceeded, a vouchsafement never to be forgotten. As from these windows I look out and see the foaming track, which our swift-sailing vessel leaves behind her, my heart exults to think, that we have cut off so much from the space of sea, that we must traverse before we reach the shores of that asylum, where I left all that my soul has treasured up to bless and crown with happiness my days to come. Ah, my best friend, if Heaven shall so vouchsafe that I may live to call Amelia mine, and, when possest of all my heart holds dear, if those principles, which you have taught me, shall be found still operative, still inviolate and pure, how vast will be my obligations to you, who took me when I was in a state of dereliction, taught me to perceive that I was endowed with reason, and enabled me to discern how to apply it to its proper uses. If I could have suffered the events, which you have instanced, to have passed by me without reflections, of which you remind me, I must have been insensible indeed: On the contrary, be assured they struck me with the double force of opposite examples, shewing me both the evil and the good; the punishment of villainy in the instance of Ap Owen, and the reward of virtue in the person of your brother.

The master of the pacquet now came into the cabin, and introduced a gentleman by the name of Anderton, in whose frame and complexion the effects of tropical disease were strongly marked. He might be somewhat past the middle stage of life, and there were traces in his sickly countenance of that mild character, that to hearts like those of our hero and his friend made an interesting appeal; and he soon perceived that his good fortune had thrown him into the company of fellow passengers, who felt for his situation, and were naturally disposed to shew him all attentions in their power, and tender him a share in all those comforts, which Devereux’s care had amply stored them with, and which his condition seemed so much to need.

The wind was fair, the sea was easy, and the motion of the vessel being regularly and rapidly progressive, was not of that sort, which produces sickness and disquietude. Anderton by their invitation reposed himself on the couch, where they took their seats on each side of him. His eyes now brightened as he turned them on his beneficent companions, the blood flushed faintly in his cheeks, and addressing them, he said—

Knowing in whose company I have the happiness to be, and highly grateful as I am for the kind reception you have given me, though as yet a perfect stranger, it is fit that I should briefly tell you who and what I am; briefly it needs must be, for one dull scene of industry, one uniform pursuit, comprize the whole history of my unimportant solitary life. If it were the sole purpose of man in this world to make his fortune, I have accomplished that purpose; for in colonial property I am superfluously rich. I was an orphan in my infancy, and have no recollection of my parents; after a scanty education upon charity, I was taken into a merchant’s service, where I performed the menial offices of his counting-house; there however I gained a knowledge of accounts and forms of business. I devoted myself, as I have told you, without avocation of any kind, to the task before me, and was consigned over to the manager of a considerable estate in Jamaica as an under agent, who was not likely to decline any labour, or betray any trust. I did neither one nor the other; they did not spare me, and I did not spare myself. Incessant industry, no taste for pleasure, no incitements to excess, an absolute sequestration from all society, and no diversion of ideas from those, which I employed upon the cane, the mill and the negro, raised me by degrees hardly gained to a capacity of adventuring for myself, and my laborious efforts have succeeded, as I told you, to the fullest extent; I am the sole fabricator of an ample property, for the attainment of which I have, as you see, sacrificed my health, and deprived myself of the ability to enjoy my earnings. One consolation however supports me on reflection, which is that of being conscious, that I am chiefly indebted for my prosperity to the humanity, with which I ever treated those, who were my slaves: I have been the founder of their happiness, and they the instruments, that have raised my fortune. I made their cabins comfortable, their wives and children happy; I contemplated their increase with satisfaction, and can boast of having never purchased or imported a single African, since I have been owner of a single acre. They grew up with me as their common father, they lived and worked for me, I lived to think and act for them. To the whole world of white men I am a stranger; except with one alone I never formed acquaintance: he, and he only, was my friend; from him I learnt the precepts and the policy of humanity to my enslaved fellow creatures: I loved him as my own life; he married and became a widower; I received him in his sorrow, and lodged him in my house; he was a soldier, and a gentleman; my purse would have been his for every use he could have put it to, but his high-born spirit would not stoop to obligations of that sort; he sickened, languished a few days, and expired in my arms. My spirit died with him; every comfort, every joy my nature was capable of feeling, were buried with him in the grave. He left a little orphan girl, in whom the remnant of my heart was wrapped; her grandfather took her from me; she was sent to England, and, if she yet survives, and is in the virtues of her mind, what she promised to be in the beauties of her person, she is an angel. Would I might see her once before I die!

Tell me her name, said De Lancaster, and instantly, as Anderton pronounced Amelia Jones, our astonished hero threw himself back on the couch, smote his hands together and with uplifted eyes exclaimed—Just Heaven, how wonderful are thy decrees!

The explanation, that ensued, would be superfluous to relate; it filled up the time till the hour of dinner put an end to it. Devereux’s provisions furnished out an excellent repast, and the sea-air supplied an appetite. Anderton fed heartily, and the languor of his countenance yielded to the joint effects of cordial diet, and that elevation of spirits, which the conversation of De Lancaster and Wilson had inspired him with. After a glass or two of delicious wine had gone temperately round, the cabin was cleared; all, who had charge of the ship, repaired to their duty on the deck, and the three passengers were left at liberty to resume their conversation.

CHAPTER V.

John De Lancaster and Wilson arrive at Kray Castle.

From the preceding Chapter it appears that John De Lancaster had made known to Anderton the situation of Amelia Jones, and that gentleman no sooner found himself in private with his new friends, than, turning to our hero, he said—The hopes, you have held out to me of beholding the relick of my dear-loved friend, inspire me with new life, and I will not despair but that the clear air of Wales may keep my waining lamp alive a little longer.

At least I’ll give the experiment a chance, for though I don’t fear death, simply considered as a dismission from this world, yet I would most devoutly wish to fit myself for it as my passport to the world to come. For that, alas! I have made no preparation. Of my religion I am supremely ignorant; I have had no church, no pastor to instruct me. I scarce know why and by what right I call myself a Christian: I must believe I ought to understand the book of duties, that is open to me; but where is the instructor? Nothing can be too much for me to give, could I but find that charitable man, who patiently and piously would teach me rightly to know and reverence my God, or ere I am summoned to appear before him. The tomb itself can be no darker than my ignorant mind; he whose instruction will throw light on that, will merit all the uses of my fortune, on which there is not in this world one, who by affinity or friendship has the slightest claim, now that Amelia Jones is so disposed of.

Stop there, said the Reverend Mr. Wilson, if you please. Had you not named what seems so like a lure to bribe me to your service, I had offered my best endeavours, as in duty bound (being myself a minister of the Gospel), to give you that assistance, which you profess yourself so earnest to obtain.

Oh that you would! said Anderton.

Be patient, rejoined Wilson, I can make no promise till I am satisfied, that you withdraw all thoughts of every thing, which seems allied to worldly recompence, and credit me for pure benevolence and zeal to serve my God by services to you. Here therefore we must conclude this conversation for the present, and wait till further knowledge of each other may possibly dispose us to renew it with effect.

In the further progress of their voyage Anderton’s gentle and benignant nature so recommended him to Wilson, and he drew such comfort from the discourses, which that excellent instructor favoured him with, that, as his understanding opened, his spirits and his health improved, and he became as it were a new creature.

As they neared the land, the breeze freshened, and in the first of the morning they came to anchor in the port of Falmouth. Upon their landing, the attendants on the corpse lost no time in providing for its conveyance to Exeter, where fresh relays were to be had; and, when these arrangements were made, our hero and his friend, with young Williams only, set out for Kray Castle by the shortest road, and Anderton bent his course to London. The journey of these gentlemen was in all respects like the journeys, which other gentlemen take, except in novels, for the drivers and horses, whether good or bad, performed their stages, and their carriage was driven into the court of Kray Castle, nay, even up to the castle-door, without accident or adventure of any kind. The surprise of the old porter was such, that he took especial care, that every body within hearing should partake of it, and rang out an alarm so violent, that some cracked bells and some crazy towers would have resented it in a manner not very convenient for the puller of the rope, which provoked them to such clamorous exertion.

The family had not quitted the breakfast-room, for Mr. De Lancaster had engaged their attention to a dissertation upon dreams, in consequence of a prediction, which David Ap Rees had ventured to enounce from his tripod, namely, that Mr. John De Lancaster was on his road, and would speedily arrive in safety; David having gone to bed with a full dose of soporifick metheglin, and been visited in his sleep with the vision of young John and his father alighting at the castle-gate safe and sound from the backs of two griffins, that had flown with them through the air. This he had imparted to his patron after his morning serenade, and that excellent person had entertained a very good opinion of the prophecy, though he had some hesitation to admit the vehicle of the griffins: Upon this circumstance he commenced a learned dissertation upon dreams, holding at nought Mr. Locke’s notion of their being made up of the waking man’s thoughts, and substituting an opinion of his own, which took up so much time in explanation, and grew to be so entirely unintelligible by his mode of explaining it, that when the turret bell sounded out that terrible alarm, old Morgan started and cried out amain—What the devil is coming to us now? That horrid bell has waked me out of a comfortable nap, in which I was dreaming of—

Your grandson John, said De Lancaster, and behold he is here!

It is in scenes like this, which now took place upon the sudden entrance of our hero, that speeches cannot be found for people, who all speak at the same time, and of course out-talk description. The tender sex have tearful eyes and trembling nerves for these occasions; the three seniors had their several modes of giving vent to their joy, and each mode different from the other.—The dream is verified, cried De Lancaster, my grandson is arrived in safety—But he did not come upon a dragon, said the Colonel—No matter, exclaimed old Morgan; here he is, and that’s enough.

Edward Wilson now came into the room, and the cordial congratulations of every one present were renewed upon the sight of him. In the general exultation it so happened that nobody had yet recollected to make one enquiry about poor Philip. At length Cecilia said—What is become of my brother? Have you left him still in Lisbon?

He is not in Lisbon, replied John. We should not have left you without an account of every thing as it came to pass, if a single pacquet had sailed from Lisbon, whilst we remained in it; we came in the only one, that was on that side the water, and they stopped it till the dispatches from the army were made up. Much has occurred in the short time we have been absent from you, and we have happy news for Colonel Wilson of our gallant Major; but as we have travelled hard and are journey-baited; if you will let us satisfy our hunger first, we will then endeavour to satisfy your curiosity.

CHAPTER VI.

Familiar Anecdotes of the Family at Kray Castle: Comments on the Events, which occurred at Lisbon.

It will be a very saving compromise for our readers to refer John De Lancaster’s narrative to their recollection rather than to tire their patience with a recapitulation of what they have heard before. Let it therefore be understood that the eventful narrative has been minutely given; that Mr. De Lancaster with philosophical resignation has acquiesced in the dispensation of poor Philip’s death; that he has acknowledged the hand of Providence in the seizure of his murderer, and in the consummation of his dreadful doom; and that the happy return of our beloved hero, now sole heir of the De Lancasters and Morgans, with the brilliant prospect of Major Wilson’s fortunate connection, leave impressions on the hearers only tinged, not obscured, by sorrow and regret.

When we reflect, said Robert De Lancaster, upon occurrences in all respects, save one, so prosperously, so providentially disposed, it would be an unpardonable offence in us, who have been listening to the narrative, were we to suffer one ingrateful murmur to escape us, because the general blessing, though beyond our hopes, and far above our merits, defeats our wishes in one single point. Cecilia will recollect how ill we jointly augured of the idle expedition, that has now proved fatal to the unhappy object, who obstinately would set out upon it, and returns a corpse. Fate has now struck him down, who would not wait to witness, as in duty bound, and to console, as by humanity it was required of him, a wife, who languished on the bed of death. Can we complain of this? Is there not justice in the dispensation? If then it behoves me, his father, to submit in silence, who amongst you will give way to lamentation? We will consign his body to the grave with suitable respect, and his memory to oblivion with as much philosophy as we can muster, for in the journal of his days, if every action was set down, there will be found not one, on which we can engraft a single word of praise to grace him with an epitaph. Therefore, my good and worthy brother Morgan, you, who by law, and I, who by nature, fathered this poor man, will pray for life, that we may see the hour, which but for this event, had joined the hands of those affianced lovers, now in our sight, destined, as I trust, to keep our names alive and lay our grey heads in a peaceful grave.

I’ll tell you what, brother of mine, said old Morgan; if I live to see that happy day, I don’t believe I shall be content to lay my grey head in any grave at all, let it be as peaceful as it may. I hope those fatal spinsters won’t cut my thread, just when I want to wind up my bottom, and be merry: why, I’ve a cellar full of wine, that I hope will be drank out before I die; I have a locker full of money to scatter amongst the poor, and a subterranean of strong beer to set the antient Britons a-dancing on their heads. I know I am an old gouty good-for-nothing blockhead; but what then? ’Tis other people’s wit, not our own, that makes us merry; and let death stand at the door, I’ll have my laugh out, so long as he does not come in, and spoil the company: Here’s my old friend Wilson, who has literally one leg in the grave, why he makes battle still, like a stout fellow, and fights upon his stumps, as Whittington did in Chevy Chase. Was there ever in the annals of good fortune such a happy father as he is? ’Tis not in the order of things probable, that a fellow, like his son Henry, with all the disadvantages of modest merit, refined high principle and rigid unrelenting honour, should find himself invited, nay, compelled, to be one of the happiest and most prosperous gentlemen, that beauty, wealth and virtue ever joined to bless. How, in the name of all that’s wonderful, did it come to pass, that Devereux, a trader in diamonds, should have the good sense to discover, and the good heart to reward, the merits of Major Wilson? What shall I say of him? Why, I will say, that he is worthy to enjoy the friendship of De Lancaster, and his daughter to share the affection and esteem of Cecilia and Amelia; and if any body can suggest how I may do him and her greater honours, I shall be glad to hear it. As for myself, if some kind spirit, that is friendly to good fellowship, will graciously keep from me pain and sickness for a while, I shall be profoundly thankful; but I must not be importunate; if he gives me to the full as much as I deserve, and gives no more, my allowance will be nothing: still if I may be suffered to hang, as I do, like a ragged remnant, on the skirts of society, I shall be well content, for I would fain shake honest Devereux by the hand before I die; aye, and poor Anderton before he dies, because he loved the dear white man, whom I loved and lamented, and because he dandled on his knee my pretty Amelia, who is sweeter than all his sugar-canes, though she does not care a rush for such a rascally old negro as I am.

Oh sir, sir, cried Amelia, don’t say that, even in jest—And rising from her seat, devoutly put her arms about his neck, and pressed her lips upon his forehead.

Child, child, he cried; don’t overthrow me. I am a weak old fool with a watery head, and you, who are the fair nymph of the fountain, can make it stream at pleasure.

Brother Morgan, said De Lancaster, whilst you think fit to rally yourself with pleasantry, you shall be as pleasant as you like, and we won’t quarrel with you; but if you pique us upon the serious point of affection and respect, we may chance to defend ourselves in the same manner, that Amelia has done; I think therefore you will do well to be contented with the salute you have got; for the rough beard of Menelaus won’t do after the sweet lips of Helen.

In the mean time, said the Colonel, if it will be any gratification to see Maria Devereux, I’ll introduce her to you. It is an elegant compliment, that her father has made in sending me her picture; and though Henry tells me in his letter that it is not half so handsome as the original, that may be an opinion very natural for him to give, but we are not absolutely bound to take the lover’s word against the painter’s art. Saying this, he gave the picture to Morgan; the ladies eagerly rose, and even De Lancaster was impatient to satisfy his curiosity with a sight of it: The ladies were in raptures with the beauty, De Lancaster with the character of the countenance; Morgan declared at once, that he had seen enough to understand why she preferred one of the finest fellows in the British service to all the yellow-faced nobles in the court of Portugal—There is discernment, said he, in those eyes, brother De Lancaster—Yes, yes; replied the other—