“You need not tell me that. I have seen this thing
coming on for more than three years. He would have
made proposals before now, if he had known of the
large fortune you are to have.”

The attempt to vindicate her friends from such unfounded
charges would have been, just at that time,
entirely useless. Lucretia, who well understood the
avenues to her heart, gave a more pleasant turn to the
conversation, by acknowledging the old lady's experience
in the affairs of the heart, and thus leading her
to dwell, for the thousandth time, on the rejected addresses
of her youth.

When Miss Fitzherbert retired to her chamber, she
took with her the book which Mr. Osborne had opened,
intending to search for a passage particularly admired
by Somerville. The volume opened of itself, and displayed
a note neatly folded, and directed to herself.
She opened it, and read as follows:

“Dear Madam.

“I hardly know how to account for the diffidence
I feel in addressing you. The usual exaggerated language
of affection would, I well know, appear ridiculous
to you; and coldness or reserve is but ill suited to the
present state of my feelings. The declaration that I
have been for years most sincerely and devotedly attached
to you, may not perhaps be entirely unexpected;
and I once hoped it would not be entirely disagreeable.
You do not owe your influence over me to a
sudden freak of fancy; it results from a long and intimate
knowledge of your character. Yet I will not

[figure description] Page 158.[end figure description]

flatter you, by saying I consider you faultless;—on the
contrary, I think you have defects, which may prove
very dangerous to yourself and friends, unless timely
corrected. But I cannot imagine a character more
elevated than might be formed from a mind so vigorous,
and a heart so generous and candid as yours.

“How largely I think you would contribute to domestic
happiness, is proved by the step I have now taken.
Whether the lovely garland of hope, that my heart has
so long been weaving, is to be scattered to the winds,
depends on your answer. At all events, ever your
affectionate friend, and obedient servant,

“Umph,” said Lucretia, as she folded the letter,
“I say with Cowley,

`I could not love, I'm sure,
One who in love were wise.' ”

With a promptitude, for which she did not stop to
account to her own heart, she thanked Mr. Osborne
for the confidence he had placed in her, and expressed
an affectionate interest in his welfare and happiness;
but declared that it was utterly impossible for her ever
to reciprocate his attachment.

CHAP. XIII.

[figure description] Page 159.[end figure description]

On a damp and chilly evening, at the commencement
of November, the peaceful family circle at Mr. Osborne's
was disturbed by a loud and hasty knock at the outer
door. It proved to be John Dudley, evidently agitated,
and out of breath with exertion.

“You will excuse me, sir, for coming upon you in
this way,” said he, bowing to the elder Mr. Osborne;—
“but where there is good to be done, I know you are
always fond of going.”

“Very true, John; and of what service can I be
now?”

“Why, Miss Grace remembers that my good woman
told her about Wilson's daughter, that was coming to
board with us. Well, sure enough, she came with a
young man, who, they say, is her new married husband;
and as comely a couple they are as ever I looked on.
She has a noble way with her, that makes her seem like
a duchess; and he is as rosy and fresh as seventeen.
Howsomever, that's neither here nor there.—They are
are as unhappy now as the oldest and the ugliest. Her
father is dying,—and oh,—such a hard death. The
doctor says he is pisoned; and my Rebecca looks hard
at old Townsend.”

[figure description] Page 160.[end figure description]

To their brief inquiries, Dudley rapidly answered, that
about half an hour before, Mr. Percival had come in as
pale as ashes, and begged him and his wife to go to Mr.
Townsend's; and that when they arrived there, they
found Mr. Wilson in dreadful fits, crying out for a priest
to whom he might confess. “And so,” continued he,
“I ran off for you, thinking you might speak a word of
comfort to his poor soul.”

Mrs. Dudley was right in her conjecture. The shaft
of death had been winged by the hand of Townsend.
Two or three unsuccessful expeditions to Castle William
had given rise to a suspicion that Wilson had himself
secreted the treasure supposed to be concealed there:
this, together with a daily increasing fear of detection,
induced the old man to remove his guilty associate by
means of poison; but no sooner had the deadly potion
commenced its work, than the poor wretch, rendered
cowardly by wickedness, sought to drown the voice of
conscience in a copious draught of laudanum.

When Mr. Osborne arrived, he was met at the door
by Doctor Willard. “You have come to a terrible
scene, my dear sir,” said he. “Being at my father's,
I was sent for, as the nearest physician; but I assure
you, I would gladly have avoided the task.”

It was indeed a melancholy sight to see two who had
long been supposed companions in guilt, lying on miserable
pallets in the same room of death.

The miser, gasping for breath, seemed insensible to
all around him; yet his right hand clutched a bag of
gold with all his remaining energy, as if he thought the

[figure description] Page 161.[end figure description]

filthy lucre would assist him beyond the grave. His
nephew stood rubbing his stiffened hand with a look of
mingled distress and compassion.

The sufferings of Wilson were more severe than
those of his murderer. He would shriek and struggle
till his strength was quite exhausted, and then his weak
limbs would quiver with the acuteness of bodily pain,
and his features become convulsed with the violence of
internal emotion. His daughter knelt by his bed-side
in tears; and pale and anxious as she was, Doctor Willard
saw in her exceeding beauty an ample excuse for
Percival's degrading marriage.

She had loosened the rosary from her neck, and she
held the sacred emblem of salvation before the sufferer,
as she said, “Try to pray, dear father.” He gazed on
her for a moment with a dreadful expression of remorse
and terror, and then turned his face the other way without
speaking a word.

Doctor Willard prepared an opiate, and as his child
stooped down to arrange his pillows, and apply the
laudanum to his throbbing temples,—with the frightful,
hollow laugh of insanity, he exclaimed, “Where is your
bloody gown, Gertrude. I have been told that heart's
blood will not wash out in any earthly stream.”

He looked up as he spoke—his expression suddenly
changed; and he shaded his face, as he murmured,
“Oh, how much like Fitzherbert!”

“It's a lie,” squeaked the old miser, in tones hardly
audible, “I never touched Fitzherbert's money.”

[figure description] Page 162.[end figure description]

“Ha! are you there, old raven?” said his accomplice,
trying to raise himself on his elbow.

The exertion was too much for him, and with a deep
groan he fell backward. His spasms were, for a while,
more violent than ever. Percival left the bed-side of
his uncle, where he had long been pouring words of
kindness and consolation into ears that regarded him
not; and when his wretched father-in-law had an interval
of comparative quiet, he took Mr. Osborne's
hand, as he said, “Here is a clergyman come to pray
with you.”

“I know what to say to please him and all his tribe,”
replied the hardened sinner; “but it would do no good.
There is an accusing spirit with a bloody robe, that will
undo all that he or I can do to save me.”

“But there is One who has the power and the will
to save the penitent,” observed Mr. Osborne.

Mr. Wilson scowled deeply. “I have something to
confess,” said he; “but he is not one of the confessing
sort.”

“Is there no holy priest in Boston, who could give
ease to my father's parting spirit?” inquired Gertrude.

“There is no Catholic, God be praised,” replied Mr.
Osborne, with a look that expressed his compassion for
her deluded faith.

“I have much to say, and brief space to say it in,”
rejoined Wilson; “but it touches the life of that old
man. I meant to have reformed from my evil ways, if
the Almighty had given me time—as it is, I must take
my chance.”

[figure description] Page 163.[end figure description]

A loud groan at that instant directed all eyes toward
Mr. Townsend's couch. Percival instantly sprang forward,—
for, unnoticed by any one, he had fallen into
strong convulsions. Doctor Willard tried to open his
hands; but with strength that seemed almost miraculous,
he clasped the golden treasure, and in broken and
indistinct accents, complained that they were taking
away his last farthing.

“I won't, I won't,” said he, struggling with the physician,
“I say I won't pay a farthing; for I never
wronged her.”

Sinking back as he spoke, his muscles twitched,—his
limbs drew up, and he expired.

The tears coursed each other down the cheeks of his
nephew, as he gazed on the corpse of him who had
lived unbeloved and died unlamented.

It is always melancholy to see a desolate mortal venturing
into the fathomless abyss of eternity, without one
friendly voice on shore to bid him God-speed; and perhaps
the mixture of regret and self-reproach, which we
feel when standing by the death-bed of those whom we
ought to love, yet cannot, has more of anguish in it than
belongs to any other species of sorrow.

Wilson, himself tottering on the verge of the precipice
from which his companion had just dropped, seemed
to be the only one unmoved.

“So he has gone to hell before me, and my story can
do him no harm,” said he.

With a look of unutterable agony Gertrude fell on
her husband's neck, and sobbed out, “Oh, I cannot
hear him talk thus.”

[figure description] Page 164.[end figure description]

The action seemed to soften the heart of her father;
and, seizing the favourable moment, Mr. Osborne said,
“You are a dying man, Mr. Wilson; and something
seems to weigh heavily on your conscience. Remember
there is One to whom it is never too late to kneel for
pardoning mercy.”

Wilson waved his hand impatiently. “I have something
else to say now,” answered he;—“when I have
done, I will listen to you. Mr. Townsend was executor
to the Fitzherbert estate. He embezzled most of the
property. I broke open the widow's house; I intercepted
her letters, and he paid me for it.”

Before he could say more, his fits again came over
him. He writhed and groaned,—and the sweat stood
on his brow, in the intensity of his pain. With self-command
wonderful in one so young, his daughter leaned
over him, and assisted Doctor Willard in his attempts
to restore him.

When he revived a little, Mr. Osborne, impelled by
his anxiety for Lucretia, asked where the proofs of this
transaction could be found.

“In a small iron box, at John Dudley's house,” answered
Wilson. “I got them from the miser by the
help of false keys; and I held the whip over his back
forever after. There are two other things I would tell
of,—perhaps it may help me through purgatory. There
is a chest of gold buried in the ground, behind the store
No. —, King-street. I meant to have left it to Gertrude,”
continued he, looking at her with earnest affection,
“but she will have enough, if justice has all her
due.”

[figure description] Page 165.[end figure description]

“Oh, tell the truth—tell all the truth,” said Gertrude,
stooping to kiss his pale face.

Delighted approbation shone in the expressive countenance
of Percival. “She is richer in her husband's
love than gold or silver could make her,” observed
Doctor Willard. “May I ask if this chest of gold is
the same Mr. Townsend dug up on the island last September?”

“The old fool never dug it up,” said Wilson, with a
hideous laugh. “Did he think I'd know where treasure
was, and not get it myself?—I kept it as a sort of
lure for him; but it was dug up in August, and a smooth
stone placed in its stead.

“And what,” inquired Doctor Willard, “was the
meaning of the noise, and of that struggling in the
sand?”

A slight smile of contempt curled the lips of the dying
man, as he asked, “Had you not a favourite dog?”

“I had.”

“And did you ever see him after you left Castle
William?”

I never did;—though I have offered large rewards
for him.”

“How superstition blinds itself,” replied Wilson.
“The men were startled by the voice of Doctor Byles;
they suffered the stone to slip, and your dog was crushed
beneath it.”

“To whom does this gold belong?” asked Percival.

“Some accursed fatality has always joined my fortunes
with Fitzherbert's,” said he. “The box was his.

[figure description] Page 166.[end figure description]

There is that within it will explain all. There is one
thing more. In Mr. Townsend's third drawer, you will
find a book of bank notes belonging to Governor Hutchinson.”

“Why did you not tell all this before?” inquired
Percival. “I could have persuaded my poor uncle to
restore all to the rightful owners.”

“No such easy matter that,” replied Wilson. “Beside,
to tell the truth, I could not bear that Gertrude
should lose a penny, until death began to stare me in
the face. I knew your romantic generosity would betray
all. I respect you for it; and in a moment of
weakness I once trusted a fearful secret to it—a secret
which you alone of all the world are privy to.”

“Is he?” cried a voice, startling in its shrillness.

The eyes of all present were directed to the quarter
whence the sound proceeded. A tall, gaunt figure, in
a bright red cardinal, stood near the door. A wrinkled,
smoke-coloured arm was thrust forth from the cloak, and
her hand rested on a cane covered with snake-skin. A
rusty black bonnet had fallen back on her shoulders, and
gave a full view of her countenance, gleaming with expression
perfectly satanic. “Where should your crime
be so faithfully recorded as on the heart you have
crushed?” said she. “I told you a violent death was
not far distant. You call me Molly Bradstreet,—but I
am the mother of the murdered Gertrude May!”

A piercing shriek came from Wilson's inmost soul.

Her eyes seemed to flash with infernal fire, as she
exclaimed,—“You did kill her, then? Own it, wretch!—
own it!”

[figure description] Page 167.[end figure description]

“I did stab her,” said Wilson; “but you do not know
the cause.”

The frenzied mother threw her cane upon the floor,
and springing to the bed, shook the dying man with the
strength and fury of an Amazon.

“Take her away from him—take her away,” cried
Gertrude, in a voice suffocated with emotion.

Her husband and Doctor Willard forced her from the
apartment; but as they retreated, she fixed her withering
gaze upon Wilson, and shook her bony fist in impotent
rage, as she exclaimed, “A mother's curse go with
you; and the torments of the damned be your portion,—
murderer as you are.”

“The pains of death are coming over me, thanks to the
hand that hurried them,” said Mr. Wilson. “Stoop down
and kiss me, while I have my senses; for bad as I am,
I love you, my child.”

“Oh, my father,—my poor father,—would I had
never known all this,” said Gertrude; and as she covered
her face with her trembling hands, the scalding tears
forced their way between her slender fingers.

The dying parent gave her one fervent kiss,—and
would have clasped her to his aching heart, but the paroxysms
came on more violently than ever. In the terrible
contest, reason was forever hurled from her throne.
He seemed to wrestle with some imaginary being, and
screamed and struggled, as he said, “Let me go! let
me go! She is standing there to heap red hot coals upon
my head. Oh, save me! save me!” This

[figure description] Page 168.[end figure description]

dreadful conflict could not last long. Life yielded to the torturing
fiend; and he expired amid shrieks and agony.

The distressing scene came upon the innocent heart
of Gertrude with double power; for till now she had
been ignorant that a shadow of crime could be imputed
to her father; and she was carried from the room in a
state of insensibility.

Delicacy prevented any one from alluding to the
shocking causes of the deaths they had just witnessed;
though none doubted the distressing truth.

“I sincerely thank you for your kind exertions,
though they have been so fruitless,” said Percival to the
worthy clergyman. “It is but lately that my father-in-law
made a firm resolution that a virtuous old age should
atone, as far as possible, for his early sins; but late reformations
are always dangerous.”

“The stains of evil are indeed washed out with difficulty
when they have long been drying and deepening
beneath the scorching heat of the passions,” replied
Mr. Osborne. “Such instances should teach us all an
impressive lesson. They serve too well to confirm the
awful truth, that the threshold of hell is paved with
good resolutions.”

“I trust the fearful warning will not be lost upon us,”
rejoined the young man. “A priest of our own persuasion
would be more pleasant to myself and Mrs.
Percival; but as this is not altogether practicable at
this time, will you, my good sir, attend these funerals
the day after to-morrow?”

Mr. Osborne readily assented; and after Doctor

[figure description] Page 169.[end figure description]

Willard had generously offered his services in any way they
might be required, the young husband retired to console
Gertrude with all the arguments that good sense or tenderness
could suggest.

Grace and Lucretia spent the ensuing day in the
house of mourning; and their ready kindness and unaffected
sensibility rapidly made their way to the heart
of the fair mourner,—while the guileless simplicity of
her ideas, aided by the witchery of foreign accent, made
a claim on their affections equally powerful.

They were all at that happy age, when the heart,
elastic and pliable, bounds forward to receive an impression,
and gives back its image in lines broad, deep,
and distinct.

When they parted, Percival smiled, as he said, “You
have taken the heart of my Gertrude by a coup de
main; had you been nine years in the St. Vallier's convent,
I think you could hardly have been greater
friends.”

In no point of view could the death of the two unhappy
men be considered a misfortune;—yet the funeral
was a crowded one.

The novel and exciting circumstances attending their
decease, the handsome Canadian stranger, and the desire
to explore a house which they had never been allowed
to visit during the life time of its owner, led the
populace thither in throngs.

When every thing was arranged for the procession,
the sexton, according to custom, announced that any
one had liberty to view the bodies. The crowd rushed

[figure description] Page 170.[end figure description]

in with eagerness. Every one that looked on their convulsed
and blackened features, turned away with an expression
of horror; and others, with redoubled eagerness,
pressed forward to ascertain the cause of such
obvious emotion. He must have indeed been ingenious
in torture who first devised this cruel custom, still common
in the interior of our country. Oh, how the mother
is thrilled with anguish, when the blessed little face,
that has so often nestled to her heart in cherub playfulness,
is exposed to the view of the rude and unfeeling;
and how the husband's heart swells almost to bursting,
when the loved countenance, once all radiant with affection,
is given in its cold and lifeless beauty, to the heartless
gaze of a multitude.

There were no such feelings to be aroused on this
occasion; but Gertrude was oppressed with a deep and
distressing sense of shame, that the violent death of her
father should thus needlessly be made public. Her
husband sympathized with her feelings, and beckoned
to Doctor Willard, who in a low voice requested the
sexton to screw down the lids of the coffins, and dispense
with further ceremony.

`Not till I have looked my last,” said a discordant
voice. The crowd made way for some one, and presently
the grandmother of Gertrude stood by the coffin,
eyeing the lifeless remains of her son-in-law with the
malignant triumph of a vindictive fiend. “I told him
it would end thus; but he little thought how much more
I could have told him,” murmured she, as she seated
herself among the mourners.

[figure description] Page 171.[end figure description]

“Who is she? who is she?” was whispered among
the crowd; but those who were able to give the information
did not choose to impart it, and no further notice
was taken of the interruption.

In a long and fervent prayer, Mr. Osborne alluded to
the insufficiency of wealth, and dwelt much on the
never failing mercies of the Saviour. What he said
was so exactly appropriate, and what he forbore to say,
evinced so much delicacy and tenderness, that Gertrude
half forgot her Catholic prejudices; though she internally
resolved that mass for her father's soul should be
said for three months in the convent of St. Vallier.

When the procession formed, Mr. and Mrs. Percival
rose and led the way. With a sudden and rapid stride
the grandmother approached Lucretia, and seizing her
arm attempted to follow. Lucretia shrank from the
contact with loathing and terror; but the singular woman
held her in a strong grasp, as she said, “Thus,
thus it should be. I am no mourner,—neither are you;
nevertheless our place is here.”

Fearing her violence would create confusion, Lucretia
passively yielded to her guidance,—though partly
from fear, and partly from the inequality of their stature,
she found it nearly impossible to keep pace with her.
Nothing was said till they arrived at the burial ground.
The harsh, grating cords lowered the coffins into the
earth; the heavy clods were heaped upon them, and
slowly and with measured tread the mourners left the
melancholy spot. “Lucretia Fitzherbert,” said the old
woman, stepping aside from her companions, and

[figure description] Page 172.[end figure description]

warmly clasping her hand, “You'll may-be never see me
again; or if ye do, I'll may-be bring you unwelcome
tidings. I am sometimes strongly moved to make reparation
for all I have done; but it will not come out.
A good name will do much for you; but when you come
to your rich relations, and your heaps of silver, do not
forget a poor, half-crazed creature, that has watched for
ye, wept for ye, and kept an eye on ye,—but never for
evil. You are the only one left to pray for her now.”

Her chin quivered, her lips moved convulsively, and
the pressure of her hand was painful in its desperate
fervour.

With mingled surprise and pity, Miss Fitzherbert
answered, “If there is any thing I can do for you, poor
woman—”

“Your love and your prayers,” interrupted she;—
“oh, if I had them, I could tread my wearisome pilgrimage
in peace.”

“My grandmother,” said Gertrude, who had often
looked back, and now timidly approached them, “is
there nothing you will allow us to do for you before we
go back to Canada?”

“You! you!” replied she, with a vacant laugh.
“You owe me nothing; but your painted outside has
done well for you.”

Without waiting for an answer, she suddenly struck
into a little winding path, and was soon seen towering
among the distant bushes.

“It is very strange,” said Gertrude; “we invited her
to this funeral, and offered her a suit of mourning; but

[figure description] Page 173.[end figure description]

she refused to come. My husband voluntarily promised
her a house and a pension for life, but she treated it all
with the bitterest scorn.”

On their way homeward, it was agreed that her grandchildren,
accompanied by Lucretia, should seek her
dwelling the ensuing day. They did so accordingly;
but no traces of the unhappy creature could be found.
An old woman who lived a few rods from her wretched
hut, said that, “Molly had gone off the day before, bag
and baggage; and that it was borne in upon her mind,
that she meant to lay violent hands on herself; but then
there was no telling,—for she always had a rambling
way with her.”

There were but few affairs left for Mr. Percival to
arrange before he left New England. Four thousand
pounds, the amount proved to have been sequestrated
from the Fitzherbert estate, was paid into the hands of
Governor Hutchinson. The chest of gold was found
where Wilson had directed, and its contents were precisely
what he stated in his conversation with Mr. Townsend.
At the bottom of the silver was a letter, worn
and blackened by the metal, but still enough of it legible
to make out, with slight assistance from imagination,

“I was induced to collect my property, lest the settlement
should trouble you in case of my death.

Lucretia kissed the precious document, and steeped
it in her tears. “How well it is,” said she, “that we
never know the event of what we undertake. Could

[figure description] Page 174.[end figure description]

my poor father have foreseen that his dear wife would
have died of a broken heart, without ever being aware
of the kind provision he had made for her comfort, how
wretched he would have been.”

The identical handwriting of Captain Fitzherbert was
immediately sent to England, together with an account
of Wilson's confession; and Mr. and Mrs. Percival returned
home, blessed by the numerous friends whom
their integrity and kindness had procured for them.

A few days after their departure, Doctor Byles entered
the breakfast parlour before Governor Hutchinson
had arisen from the table.

“I have made you an early call,” said he; “for since
there are no moles stirring, and since the talk about
Wilson and Townsend begins to die away, I think you
must be in need of excitement.”

“That was a gloomy business,” replied the Governor.
“Those who were witnesses of it will not speedily forget
it. With all Mr. Osborne's abhorrence of Wilson's
superstitious creed, he said it made him feel melancholy
to see a poor, dying sinner, craving the only spiritual
consolation in which he had the least faith, and yet unable
to procure it.”

“It is a pity that brother Osborne had not as much
political charity as he has religious,” answered the Doctor.
“That these two wicked mortals went to the bar
of an offended God with all their unrepented sins upon
their heads, is melancholy enough; but as to the Catholic
priest, I am much of the opinion of `the ever memorable
Hales.' `Pliny somewhere tells you,' says this

[figure description] Page 175.[end figure description]

bold and witty writer, `that he that is stricken by a
scorpion, if he go immediately and whisper it in the ear
of an ass, shall find himself immediately eased. That
sin is a scorpion, and bites deadly, I have always believed;
but that to cure the bite of it, it was a sovereign
remedy to whisper it into the ear of a—priest, I do as
well believe, as I do that of Pliny.”'

“Probably Mr. Osborne's faith is about tantamount
to yours and `the ever memorable Hales',”' said Lucretia;
“but it is not surprising his feelings were touched.
What news do you bring to excite us?”

“What would you give to know?” said Doctor Byles,
drawing a package from his pocket with the most tantalizing
moderation.

“Only tell me one thing,—is it from England?” inquired
Lucretia.

“It is.”

“Nay, then, you must not keep us one moment in
suspense,” said Governor Hutchinson.

“Oh, if a letter from Mr. Fitzherbert has arrived!”
exclaimed Miss Sandford.

With a most provoking air, the clergyman replaced
the letters in his pocket, as he observed, “Self-denial
is a very necessary virtue, madam Sandford. Women
in particular should learn it well.”

“Small danger of their lacking lessons, as long as
society affords such lordly and tyrannic beings as yourself,”
she replied.

“This is too bad,” said the Governor, half angry and
half amused at his friend's childishness. “In the name

[figure description] Page 176.[end figure description]

of his most christian majesty, George the Third, Defender
of the Faith, and by the grace of God, King of
Great Britain, Ireland, and the American Colonies, I
command you to deliver up the sealed parcel wherewith
you have been entrusted.”

“Prove your credentials, and I yield to royal authority,”
answered Doctor Byles.

“Might makes right,” replied his antagonist, and
making a sudden plunge, he snatched the package from
its hiding place.

“Since you have it,” observed the Doctor, “I will
give an account how I came by it. I walked unusually
early this morning, and perceiving the Queen Caroline
at the wharf, I went on board to search for letters; and
finding two parcels, one for yourself, and one for me, I
took charge of both.”

Two epistles in the well known hands of the Lords
Hillsborough and North, were laid aside to be read at
leisure. The third, though directed to his Excellency
Governor Hutchinson, began:

“Dear Niece,

“I have only time before this vessel sails, to tell you,
that the important papers,—certificate of marriage,
birth, &c., came duly to hand. Evidence is ample and
satisfactory. There is no doubt that your father was my
dear, but very headstrong nephew,—though your miniature
shows not a shadow of family likeness. I rejoice
to see by your letter, that you have been educated as a
Fitzherbert should be. As a trifling acknowledgement
of this kindness, present the articles that accompany

[figure description] Page 177.[end figure description]

this, to Governor Hutchinson and his sister. A voyage
at this season would be cold and dangerous, but as soon
as the spring opens, you must make for England.

Grosvenor-Square, London,
Sept. 28th. 1765.

This laconic letter was in a fair Italian hand; and the
upright, heavy signature, was evidently the only part
written by the rich old bachelor. A few hours after, a
small box, directed to Lucretia, was brought from the
newly arrived vessel.

It contained a superb work-box mounted on golden
claws, and ornamented with a lion couchant, of the
same precious material, designed for Madam Sandford;
a gold repeater, of splendid workmanship, bore the
family arms of Hutchinson, marked with the initials,
T. H. A miniature, richly studded with rubies and
pearl, gave to Lucretia's view the bluff, sun-burnt features
of her wealthy uncle; and last of all, appeared a
draft on the bank of England, to the amount of one thousand
pounds.

Again and again was the transaction talked over, and
the munificent presents were examined and re-examined.
In the course of the day, the Osbornes called to
congratulate their young friend on her good fortune, of
the prospect of which they had, till within a week, been
entirely ignorant.

“Joy, joy!” cried Miss Sandford; “Lucretia goes
to England early in the spring, and she can have the
retinue of a duchess, if she chooses.”

[figure description] Page 178.[end figure description]

Grace said but little, but her eloquent looks spoke
satisfaction without the slightest tinge of envy.

Mr. Osborne folded his hands over her in paternal
benediction, as he said, “Your brain must be steady,
indeed, if you can stand on this dizzy height unmoved.
Pray that you may be strengthened for the trial, my
child.”

Henry gave her hand a lingering pressure, as he
whispered, “I rejoice that I was kept in ignorance of
all this. Wherever Miss Fitzherbert goes, and whatever
may be her fortune, she will at least remember that
Henry Osborne was a friend, sincere and disinterested.”

CHAP. XIV.

[figure description] Page 179.[end figure description]

The winter passed away without any domestic occurrences
worthy of repetition; though trifles, seen through
the illusive medium of young affection, were abundantly
magnified by the individuals concerned.

In public, there were angry messages from Governor
Bernard, and high-toned answers from the intrepid legislature.
Offices were closed, public business suspended,
and the creditor left at the mercy of his debtor,
because the untamed spirit of our fathers would not
cower to take the yoke that an impolitic government had
prepared. Nor did Massachusetts tread her proud and
daring course alone. All the neighbouring colonies
joined her ranks, with union as voluntary as it was energetic.
The lakes gave back the signal of resistance,
and the thundering sound reverberated along the Atlantic
coast, until it was lost among the uninhabited prairies
of the south. The first loud burst of indignation was
indeed hushed for a time, and some superficial politicians
mistook the calmness of fixed resolution for the tameness
of submission; it was, however, but suppressed
resentment, “still as the hours that watch the earthquake's
birth.”

[figure description] Page 180.[end figure description]

The very first men who dared attempt to enforce the
odious law, found that the giant had but paused to place
his lance in rest, and to rein in his steed for the combat.
Britain discovered the strength of her antagonist, and
though too proud to quit the lists hastily, she slowly and
cautiously retreated before her youthful foe.

In March, 1766, a repeal of the stamp act arrived in
Boston;—and notwithstanding it purported to be a mere
act of condescension, and haughtily maintained the right
of England to tax her colonies, it was received with
every demonstration of joy.

Muffled drums, and flags half-mast high had announced
the unpopular duty,—and scarcely had the news of
its revocation spread through the town, before standards
were seen fluttering high in the air, and “God save the
king,” rung from the bells in many a loud and merry
peal. “Liberty” was blazoned on hat-bands and shoulder-belts,
and the drum rolled its deep response to “the
spirit-stirring fife,” until the going down of the sun. In
the evening, the streets were brilliantly illuminated.
“Liberty,” “No Stamps,” “The Repeal,” were every
where traced in characters of light.

Somerville and the young ladies, the two Osbornes,
and Doctor Willard, walked out together, to enjoy the
animation and excitement of the scene. Opposite the
Province House, they all paused to examine the fanciful
devices that had been hastily prepared in the eagerness
of gratitude and joy. A full length picture of Liberty,
hurling a broken chain to the winds, particularly attracted
their attention,—and while they were wondering how

[figure description] Page 181.[end figure description]

the appropriate emblem had been so suddenly made
ready, John Dudley, with his group of boys, bustled up
to them. Grasping Doctor Willard's hand, he exclaimed,
“Indeed, I am almost for going to England to thank
the king myself; but then I'm thinking it is not wise to
thank folks for what they would help if they could.”

“Strong hands and fearless hearts will not be wanted
so soon as we feared,” replied Henry Osborne. “Little
Hancock need not hasten to grow large enough for
a soldier now.”

The honest farmer gazed on his children as they
clustered round him, and passed the sleeve of his coat
across his eyes, as he said, “I have looked on them
hearty boys by the hour together, and thought I could
see them all fall in the cause of liberty, and not shed
one tear over their graves. But I am glad the trial was
spared me; I had rather they would be left to help me
plough the fields.”

The distant roar of cannon from Castle William, mingled
with a deafening clang from the Old South steeple,
here interrupted their conversation, and Dudley joined
a crowd that was then passing, rending the air with
stunning hurras.

No one refused to unite in this national jubilee; but
there were many who thought the gratitude of the people
excessive and premature. Mr. Osborne was among
the number. He heartily rejoiced at any overtures towards
reconciliation; but his penetrating eye could not
but observe that the repeal so reluctantly given, still
claimed the right against which America had so

[figure description] Page 182.[end figure description]

strenuously contended. “We have no security against oppression,”
said he, “until this tyrannic principle is renounced.”

“I coincide with you in doubting the permanence of
all this,” rejoined Henry. “Our joy may be suddenly
turned into mourning.”

“Oh, never be peeping into the shade, when the sunny
side is next you,” observed Doctor Willard. “Franklin's
energetic answers in the House of Commons have
taught them to respect us. The young and animated
Burke, and Chatham, with all the assistance that age
and decaying health can give his powerful eloquence,
will work wonders in our favour.”

“If Americans are satisfied, I strongly suspect the
English will not be,” said Somerville; “for the principles
of neither party are recognised in this repeal.
The friends of Mr. Pitt will be angry that the bill is
accompanied by any declarations of parliamentary power;
and Mr. Grenville will be indignant that the factious
spirit of the colonies is conciliated, rather than
conquered.”

“To keep the medium between dangerous extremes
has been the wise policy of Lord Rockingham's administration,”
answered Mr. Osborne. “In the present
state of political division, it is perhaps the best system
that can be pursued for the general interests of that
great country. However, this plan of tacking and veering
will not always last. We must have liberty on a
foundation as broad, sure, and permanent, as any other
British subjects, before we shall be satisfied.”

[figure description] Page 183.[end figure description]

“England will never relinquish a right she has once
asserted,” replied Somerville, somewhat proudly. “The
effect of this unaccountable obstinacy must eventually
be a desperate struggle, in which America will surely
be overcome.”

“Our spirit may never be put to the proof,” rejoined
Doctor Willard, “if government are contented with keeping
the power without ever daring to exert it. But if
on any pretence, or under any modifications, it is again
resumed, we must indeed either conquer, or fall in the
contest; and the eloquent Chatham has said, `If America
falls, she will fall like a strong man. She will
embrace the pillars of the state, and pull down the constitution
along with her.' ”

“Much wild matter has been poured forth by that
lover of ultra freedom,” answered Somerville.

Lucretia smiled as she looked back and said to Grace,
“Captain Somerville's English prejudices and tory predilections
seem to have returned with full power.”

As she spoke, Somerville pointed down a court they
were just passing, at the extremity of which was a beautiful
collection of shrubbery, very tastefully illuminated.
“This is an unusual sight in Boston,” said he; “do let
us examine it more closely.” The rest of the party
went on without noticing what had attracted their attention,
and were nearly out of hearing, when they entered
the alcove, where the flowers were smiling in their
sheltered beauty.

“Are any of these for sale?” inquired Somerville.

“I should not like to disturb them to-night,” replied

[figure description] Page 184.[end figure description]

the owner; “but to-morrow they will be at the service
of any who wish to purchase.”

“Will you, dear Grace, select the one you think most
beautiful?” said Somerville.

The tender monosyllable had unguardedly escaped
his lips, and the emphatic accent with which it was
spoken, thrilled her to the heart. Without suspecting
his purpose, she timidly pointed to a full blown rose, as
delicate and shadowy in its tint as the maiden suffusion
from which it takes its name.

“Send it to Governor Hutchinson's at ten to-morrow,”
said Somerville,—and drawing the arm of Grace
closer within his own, he left the court.

“You would forgive the political bitterness with which
I have spoken to-night, Miss Osborne, if you knew how
much reason I have to hate this repeal. When the vessel
which brought the tidings returns to England, I must
depart with important despatches to the Court of St.
James.”

The painful, suffocating sensation of impeded utterance
for a moment prevented any reply. “Shall you
never return to America?” she at length said, in a voice
low and tremulous.

“If your life and mine are spared two years, I shall
most certainly see America again before I die,” he replied.
“My heart will never leave it.”

This was the first time that Somerville had given utterance
to his feelings, even by the most distant allusion;
yet they had long perfectly understood each other. The
powerful artillery of the eye, and the thousand nameless

[figure description] Page 185.[end figure description]

signs in love's freemasonry, express more than language
can possibly speak with her utmost unassisted power;
and if Grace with intuitive readiness had construed their
meaning, Somerville on his part had argued much from
the transient gleams of tenderness that now and then
shone through her habitual reserve.

However, that the declaration had been long expected,
did not prevent it from being anticipated with the most
tumultuous agitation, and the most embarrassed silence.

To the great vexation of Somerville, this was disturbed
by the elder Mr. Osborne and Lucretia, who had returned
to meet them.

The purchase of the rose was briefly explained in
excuse for their absence, and the conversation took a
general turn, until they parted at the threshold of Mr.
Osborne's dwelling.

The next day the flourishing rose-bush, removed into
an elegant vase of transparent china, was left at the door
by one of the Lieutenant Governor's servants, who at
the same time delivered a note for Miss Osborne.

Grace hastily withdrew to her chamber, and read as
follows:

“Dear Grace,

“This flower, pure and beautiful as yourself, was
purchased for you. Will you accept it from your faithful
lover? Will you cherish it for his sake, during the
tedious absence to which he is doomed?

“Your beauty and fascinating gracefulness, will attract
others as powerfully as they have me; and amid

[figure description] Page 186.[end figure description]

the attentions of some more favoured lover, I may perchance
be forgotten.

“Were I sure that my memory would be fostered in
the recesses of your heart,—that my image alone would
be enshrined there, I should have no other boon to ask
of indulgent Heaven.

“If the ring which accompanies this is permitted to
encircle your snowy finger, I shall consider it as a tacit
promise of all I have dared to hope. If not, the world
has nothing to offer, for which I care to live.

Had Grace been entirely uninterested in the writer,
she would have thought the flattery and inflated language
of this epistle absolutely disgusting; but we are
all apt to excuse the folly which we imagine proceeds
from excessive affection for ourselves. The billet-doux
was locked in a secret drawer, with feelings that certainly
widely differed from disapprobation; and the ring, ornamented
by a single sapphire, surrounded with pearl,
was placed upon her finger.

I shall not repeat the wise speeches and expressive
looks to which this circumstance gave rise. Those who
cannot imagine them, must forever remain in their ignorance.

During the winter, letters had again been received
from Mr. Edmund Fitzherbert, expressing great anxiety
to see Lucretia, and urging her to come to him as soon
as the season would possibly admit.

[figure description] Page 187.[end figure description]

The whole of these epistles had been written by an
amanuensis; for a severe stroke of the palsy had rendered
the old gentleman unable to add his trembling
signature.

All these circumstances considered, Governor Hutchinson
thought it expedient that Lucretia should accompany
his nephew to England.

Perhaps the money-loving magistrate had a more
powerful motive than that of securing a pleasant companion
and protector for Miss Fitzherbert's voyage. He
was well aware that daily intercourse is a powerful aid
to matrimonial schemes; and he thought the immense
wealth of the young heiress a prize well worth his nephew's
attention. Had he been injudicious enough to
hint such an idea, Somerville would have spurned at it
with indignation, and would have been strongly tempted
to refuse his attendance. Governor Hutchinson, however,
was sufficiently wise to leave all to the effect of
time and chance.

Whatever might be the workings of Lucretia's mind,
they were concealed by pride; and she herself firmly
believed that she thought of Somerville only as an agreeable
companion, whose gayety and eloquence would
serve to enliven a wearisome voyage.

The event had been too long expected, to bring with
it any hurried preparations. True, Miss Sandford had
been in a continual bustle from the moment she heard
of the arrangement.

Jewels, lace, gauze, and ribbons were purchased; and
blue, white, and rose-coloured damask packed and repacked,
from morning till night.

[figure description] Page 188.[end figure description]

“Do you be sure and wear your pink silk, with the
set of rubies, when you are introduced to your uncle,”
said she. “That colour becomes your complexion
best, and I would wear it a good deal, if I were you.
Besides Captain Somerville admires it very much.
You need not blush so. You are going to take a long
voyage together; and, let me tell you, my dear, propinquity
is a great thing.”

Lucretia was about to speak of the certainty of his
attachment for Grace Osborne, but she knew it was a
topic on which the good lady was peculiarly irascible.
Besides, from complicated causes, both the young ladies
carefully avoided any allusion to the state of his affections;
and though, in every other respect, they treated
each other with the most girlish unreserve, Lucretia was
left in a state of painful uncertainty with regard to this
delicate subject.

During the brief space that intervened before her departure,
the young friends seemed to feel a feverish
anxiety to meet,—yet when they met, they were disconsolate
and silent.

When absent from each other, a thousand kind things
to be said would rush into the mind; but when present,
every thing gave way to a painful sense of approaching
separation.

At length the dreaded day arrived; and Governor
Hutchinson and his sister, Mr. Osborne and his children,
Doctor Byles and Doctor Willard, assembled to bid
farewell to the travellers.

[figure description] Page 189.[end figure description]

Doctor Byles grasped Lucretia's hand with affectionate
fervour, as he said, “God bless you, Miss Fitzherbert,
and make you as happy as you deserve to be.”
It was a moment of unfeigned regret, yet he could not
entirely dispossess himself of the spirit of raillery.
With a laughing glance, he added, “And that is not
saying much for you, my young friend.”

Doctor Willard expressed his good wishes with his
usual warmth and frankness. Governor Hutchinson,
always courtier-like in his manners, gave his parting
kiss with saddened and affectionate politeness.

Miss Sandford again and again strained her beloved
protegée to her heart. “You have been a good child to
me,” she said, “and if I have not always guided you
as I should, you must take the will for the deed.” She
tried to say something more, but unable to keep back the
crowding tears, the kind-hearted lady left the apartment.

Mr. Osborne's benignant countenance seemed to express
anxiety as well as love; and Henry's voice lost a
little of its firmness as he pronounced, “God bless you,
Lucretia.”

As for Grace, her heart was too full for utterance.
Her breathing was quick and agitated; and she grasped
Lucretia's hand with a strength of which her tiny palm
seemed totally incapable. Her friend returned the
pressure in a manner equally earnest and protracted;
and as their hands parted, Somerville's ring burst asunder,
and fell at Miss Fitzherbert's feet. As he returned
it to Grace, she gave him a most eager and expressive

[figure description] Page 190.[end figure description]

look. Its meaning he could not then inquire into, for
the carriage was at the door, and their farewell must
be brief and hasty.

The accident was unquestionably owing to defective
workmanship; nevertheless superstition painfully mingled
with Miss Osborne's grief, as she laid the broken
relic in her casket;—and as the carriage rolled the
young Englishman toward the wharf, he could think of
nothing but that trifling circumstance, and the look that
accompanied it.

CHAP. XV.

[figure description] Page 191.[end figure description]

Since the various personages in our history are removed
to such a distance from each other, we must take
the liberty to inspect some of the letters that passed
between them. During the last week in July, sooner
than her anxious friends had ventured to expect them,
letters arrived from Lucretia Fitzherbert. One of them
was as follows:

TO MISS GRACE OSBORNE.
“Dear Grace,

“Here I am, in the favoured land of the brave, the
intelligent, and the free. Yet even while I now repeat
it, I scarcely credit it. I feel as if I were walking in
my sleep; and it is only when I look out upon the
princely buildings around me, that I can realize I am indeed
in London. Our voyage was very pleasant, with
the exception of sea-sickness. That, however, is a tax
we must all pay to lord Neptune for rocking us in his
cradle somewhat too roughly. (Pardon me. I forget
that the odious word tax is banished from the American
vocabulary.)

“It was not until we came within sight of this ancient
city, that I felt the desolate sensations of an exile from
my native land. We cast anchor in the evening, among

[figure description] Page 192.[end figure description]

a forest of tall black masts. The bowsprits threw their
grim shadows on the water, and seemed like so many
ugly sea-monsters, grinning defiance at each other.
The very stars looked terrific in their sublime beauty.—
I gazed on them till I could almost imagine the Great
Bear shook his shaggy head above me, and that the
various fantastic shapes with which Chaldean imagination
has peopled the zodiac, were frowning upon me in
their wrath.

“Far off in the distance twinkled the many hundred
lights of London; and among all the busy haunts they
illuminated, poor Lucretia had not a single friend. It
was a sad, sickening thought, dearest Grace,—and my
heart yearned for beloved America. I fancied you
seated at your work-table, listening to Henry as he read
some newly arrived volume, and the tears started to my
eyes.

“Captain Somerville saw that I was melancholy, and
he did all he could to cheer me. We sat leaning over the
stern of the vessel, until a late hour, talking of you, and
watching the motion of the little boat as it rose and fell
with the rippling tide. The shore on either side was
noiseless as death; and the creaking of the rigging, and
the loud, protracted “Hoa up Hoy” of the distant sailors
alone reminded us that they were from New
England.

“Very early in the morning, a message was sent to uncle
Fitzherbert,—and according to aunt Sandford's directions,
I dressed myself as splendidly as possible; for
I must acknowledge, I felt exceedingly anxious

[figure description] Page 193.[end figure description]

concerning my reception. At our usual breakfasting hour,
Captain Somerville came to my cabin, and told me that
a carriage and four, with servants in the Fitzherbert
livery, were on the bank of the river. A boat was immediately
sent from the vessel, and a footman returned
in it, bringing an invitation to Captain Somerville and
myself to breakfast at Tudor Lodge. Had you seen
my equipage, you would not wonder that my eyes were
a little dazzled. Phaeton himself might have been proud
of the horses; the servants were in rich liveries of grey
and silver; the polished harness glittered in the morning
sun; the Fitzherbert arms were gorgeously blazoned on
the pannels of the carriage; and the carriage itself was
much more superb than any thing I had ever seen in
New England.

“We were whirled along by villas, hospitals, and hotels,—
any one of which seemed to me sufficiently magnificent
for a royal palace.

“The coachman stopped before a large, noble-looking
building of Portland stone, with a piazza in front, supported
by a range of Corinthian pillars. In a state of
dizzy incredulity I was handed up the steps, and paused
in the drawing-room until my arrival was announced.

“After considerable delay, during which my heart
throbbed high with expectation and anxiety, I was ushered
into the presence of my uncle. He received me
with great pomp and etiquette, scated in his crimson
velvet chair, in a morning robe of the same materials.
For the moment, I only remembered that he was the
first of my kindred I had ever seen, and I would have

[figure description] Page 194.[end figure description]

rushed into his arms and wept. However, I immediately
discovered that an oriental salam would be much
more acceptable to him. Indeed it was too evident that
my personal appearance disappointed him; but when
Captain Somerville introduced me, he took my hand
with stately courtesy, and bade me welcome to England.

“Mrs. Edgarton, a distant relation, of middle age,
whose polished manners indicate habitual intercourse
with the fashionable world, superintends his establishment.
She seems intelligent and cultivated; but she
too is cold, dignified, and reserved.

“The papers are full of the arrival of Miss Lucretia
Fitzherbert, the newly discovered American heiress,
niece of the Honourable Edmund Fitzherbert of Tudor
Lodge.

“What would the world say, if they knew that, with
`all my blushing honours thick upon me,' I often
retire to my chamber, to think of Boston, and give
vent to my tears as they start up from their fountain
of bitterness. Wealth is a glittering and much
coveted bauble; but the heart cannot nestle in it,
and cling to it, in its hour of loneliness. What do I
care for Turkey carpets, Parisian mirrors, and Chinese
vases, when every being around me is as chilling as the
tessellated marble of our grand saloon? Splendour may
please the unsated eye, but it cannot relieve a heart
bursting with the full tide of unemployed tenderness.
Do not think by this that I am unhappy. It only means
that I am not yet used to stiffened elegance and magnificent
formality.

[figure description] Page 195.[end figure description]

“You cannot imagine with how much delight I have
accompanied my uncle around London and its environs.
The city itself, so varied in its beauty—so crowded in
its grandeur. Then there is such life—such energy—
such never-ceasing bustle. It is well called the heart of
Britain; for it seems heaving and bounding with the vitality
of a whole empire. Of the suburbs, I am almost
tempted to say nothing; for I despair of giving you an
idea how lovely are the scenes among which the Thames
has spread the silver drapery of his couch. Turrets
and steeples peer above the foliage, as if on tiptoe to
view the dimpled course of this majestic river; clusters
of ancient elms dance gracefully to the wayward music
of the winds; venerable oaks stand like a firm phalanx
in their towering strongth; the fragile willows bend over
their watery mirror, sad and drooping, as if passion-stricken
with their own shadows; and the blossoms are
so abundant in their luxuriant beauty, that one would
think Flora, enamoured of the spot, had flung all her
garlands there in frolic. The goddess, however, is not
so partial in the distribution of her favours. Your
American pastures are doubtless covered with wild
flowers. The Violet lifts up its timid blue eye in supplication,
as if loath to be crushed, even by your fairy
foot; the Anemone is gradually changing its rose-tint to
the purest white, like maidens outgrowing their youthful
blushes; and the beautiful Trillium bows its starry
head beneath its dark green leaves, like a scared and
petted infant hiding its bashful face behind a mother's
sheltering arm.

[figure description] Page 196.[end figure description]

“Oh, when I think of all our pleasant rambles, our unreserved
communications, and our playful disputes, it
seems as if my heart would burst its tenement, and
bound forward to meet you. I told Somerville so, this
morning; and I thought he sympathized in my impatience
most warmly.

“By the way, he called to take me to Westminster
Abbey,—the first public place I have visited since my
arrival.

“If Henry had not told you about it again and again, I
would inform you how I stood in the Poets' Corner, and
`held high converse with the mighty dead;' what exultation
I felt when I saw that the sceptre had fallen
from the powerless hand of Queen Elizabeth,—that
self-same cruel hand that signed the death warrant of
the beautiful Mary Stuart; and how, amid all this `pomp
and circumstance' of morality, the figure of Mr. Nightingale,
shielding his beloved wife from the impending
dart of death, was the only thing that touched me with
melancholy. I was indeed powerfully excited by the
whole scene. Association seems to hold her court in
this mansion of departed glory; and as her magic fingers
touch the octaves in the human soul, imagination
runs rapidly over the intermediate notes. When I came
from the long and gloomy labyrinths of this ancient abbey,
I felt as if I had actually been in Elysium, talking
with kings, heroes, statesmen, and poets. Why did not
Henry tell us how his heart ached when he passed from
that still, solemn sanctuary of the dead, into all the tumult
of this noisy city? But then he never speaks with

[figure description] Page 197.[end figure description]

enthusiasm; unless, indeed, you rouse him up about
American taxation. Well! perhaps the glowing embers,
kept alive on the secret shrine of Apollo, burned
with more intense and consuming heat, than Cybele's
torches, flaring on the midnight air.

“I shall never have done, if I write all I wish to say;
for the thoughts rush into my mind so furiously that they
push each other down in their course. Most sincere and
respectful affection to your good father; and to all my
friends the kindest wishes they can desire from me.
Write soon, and remember to speak of Gertrude Percival.
Do not forget me, dearest Grace, nor suffer any
one I love to forget me.

“With heart-felt, soul-felt affection for you all, I am
as ever,

“Grosvenor Square, June 10, 1766.”

Letters of similar import arrived for Governor Hutchinson
and Miss Sandford; but none other was sent to
the Osborne family.

“Has wealth and splendour so soon dazzled him?”
thought Grace. “Have a few brief months extinguished
the love he said would be eternal? If he can be so capricious,
it is well for me that I was not united to him.
My father and brother never confided in his principles—
why did I doubt their judgment? Well, it is but a
painful struggle with myself at the most; and I can
make it the more cheerfully since they are ignorant
of it.”

[figure description] Page 198.[end figure description]

Whether to hear of a lover so gay, gallant, and attentive
to another, without receiving one line from him to
indicate his kind remembrance, would not have awakened
similar suspicions in any mind, we know not. Certain
it is that every allusion Lucretia had made to Captain
Somerville, was exceedingly painful to Miss Osborne,
excepting where she wrote, “We talked of you till a
late hour.” She thought upon the subject until her fears
ripened into conviction; and though she resolved to
rejoice in the prospects of her friend, she could not read
her letter without weeping in the bitterness of her heart.
To these feelings may be partly attributed the sadness
that pervades the following epistle.

TO MISS LUCRETIA FITZHERBERT.
“Dear Lucretia,

“We last week received your long and affectionate
letter. I was delighted, but not dazzled, with your picture
of London. I love my own quiet chamber better
than I should marble saloons or Corinthian piazzas.
Yet our humble mansion has been sad enough since you
left us. My father's health fails daily; and long, long
before you return to us, Lucretia, I fear the dear venerable
old man will have gone to his last home. It
grieves me to think of it. Yet why should they whose
lives have been stainless, and their purposes all holy,
shrink from the hand that enrobes them with immortality.
Young as I am, there are times when I would lay
down my weary, aching head, and sleep, never more
to wake in this cold world, as cheerfully as the tired
infant presses the soft pillow of its cradle.

[figure description] Page 199.[end figure description]

“I know this is not the right spirit. Those who would
take up the cross and follow their Divine Master, must
be resigned to live as well as to die. Yet how hard it is
to endure life, when those we have loved are dropping
around us like the leaves of autumn;—when the smiles
that have been as sunshine to the soul, have left it all
dark and lonely; and tones that have been dear, yea,
very dear to us, are heard no longer. I am foolishly
melancholy just this moment; and I am childish enough
to dip my pen in my heart.

“My father's sickness and uncommon depression of
spirits casts a shadow over every hing. Not only has
it rendered our dwelling dismal,—but the sky does not
seem so blue, nor the grass so green, as it did last summer.
You, I dare say would make some sparkling
metaphor concerning such a state of things; but I have
not the gift. Henry smiled when I showed him your
letter, and said it did one as much good to read any
thing of yours, as it did to see a bed of tulips blown
about by the wind. You see that he has imagination,
my dear friend. He has enthusiasm, too,—though few
discover it. Ought I to tell you, or ought I not, that when
he returned your letter, I found what you had written
of him cut out? He seems in excellent spirits,—always
doing something to make us happy and cheerful; but
there are things the heart never forgets, you know, how
calmly soever it may remember them. I have not seen
him roused on the subject of taxation lately. Indeed
the times are now so peaceful and quiet, that it is seldom
mentioned even when Doctor Willard is here. By

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the way, I read a part of your letter to him; and I assure
you, his expressive black eyes grew brighter and
brighter at every line. I wonder he was not captivated
with you, Lucretia,—you are so very much like each
other. You cannot tell how solicitous he is concerning
our good father,—how anxious about every symptom,—
how enlivening in his conversation whenever the invalid
can bear it,—and how still, kind, and careful, when his
spirits are exhausted. It is very painful not to repay
the love of a heart so generous and tender; and when
day after day I meet the same affectionate glance, and
hear the same mild, insinuating tones, it seems such a
deep and stinging reproach to my ingratitude, that I
half believe it possible;—but the affections are stubborn
things and are not easily bent according to our
wishes.

“I have received two letters from Gertrude since you
left. They reside at a beautiful country-seat, not far
from Montreal; and they have both sent the most urgent
invitations for us to visit them this summer. She
has improved wonderfully in her hand-writing. `Who,'
she asks, `can do otherwise, when Edward Percival is
the instructer?' Still her letters are as stiff, straight,
and precise as Madam Sandford. Will you pardon the
comparison? With regard to Canada, even if my father
were well enough, I should not have spirit sufficient to
make the exertion. Long may they live to enjoy their
romantic attachment. Mr. Percival has sent me a very
neat and handsome set of jewels. I thanked him, because
I knew he meant it kindly; but I shall never wear

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them. If you had not a variety much more elegant, I
would send them to you. Do you know Henry has at
length persuaded me to have my portrait taken? Yes,
there I am in our little breakfast parlour, smiling as graciously
as if I looked on absent friends. My brother
says, `Tell Lucretia I am the same sincere well-wisher;
' and my father adds, `You must leave a corner of
your paper, that I may try to hold a pen long enough to
give her my blessing.' In order to comply with his request,
I must close by saying,

After this letter had been twice read it occurred to
Miss Osborne that Captain Somerville might have possibly
sent a letter, and that the precious document might
have been detained by accident or misfortune. With a
trembling hand she wrote,

“P. S. I forgot to tell you that we have inquired after
Molly Bradstreet to no purpose. I regret it; for
our curiosity was as much excited as yours. Should
Captain Somerville ever ask about the rose, he left with
me, you may tell him it is carefully nurtured and blossoms
finely.”

On the last page were a few sentences written in a
weak, irregular hand. They were as follows:

“My dear Child,

“Never was `news from a far country' more welcome
than your letter. None of us knew how dear you
were, till you were gone from us. Poor Grace goes

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from room to room, and looks at every memento of you
with such utter sadness, that one would think you were
actually in your grave; and when she hears a knock,
she will sometimes start,—and then check herself, as
she says, `I was thinking Lucretia was at the door.'
Alas! how apt we all are to give the freshness and vigour
of our affections to earthly objects, and thus have
nothing to offer our Heavenly Father, but `the lame, the
halt, and the blind.' The heathen offered the fairest
flowers and the choicest fruits to their gods, and shall
we, on whom the gospel has shone, do less than they?
While the cup of life is sparkling at your eager lips, do
not forget the kind hand which offered it. Remember,
my dear, there is a friend on whom to rely when all
others fall us. There is no public news of importance.
It has pleased the Lord to give us peace, if not security.
One `burning and shining light' has been removed from
us. I mean the much lamented Doctor Mayhew. I
need not talk of his talents to one who heard his eloquent
sermon on the repeal of the Stamp Act; but of
his piety, his integrity, his industry, and zeal, I would,
had I strength, write for hours. During his short life,
he did much in the cause of civil and religious liberty.
I do not believe there ever was mortal man that more
faithfully served his country and his God. Alas! that
he left not his mantle behind him.

“I have written this at many different times, and with
great pain, my dear girl. My heart says more; but my
trembling hand will not convey it. Yet a little while
longer, and the soul will drop its burden of clay. I can

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only add, God bless you,—even with the greatest of all
blessings,—a disposition to do his will.

Queen st. August 1st, 1766.

Some readers may have the curiosity to break the seal
of Somerville's letter to Governor Hutchinson; though
perhaps when they find it so deeply tinged with the politics
of the day, they may think they pay somewhat
dearly for their whistle.

TO HIS HONOUR THOMAS HUTCHINSON.
“Dear Uncle,

“I delivered your letters according to their directions;
and I do not hesitate to say that the general opinion here
is entirely in favour of your views. It is, however,
very difficult to ascertain what course will be taken, for
never was there such a heterogeneous, unintelligible
mass as the present ministry. They are made up of the
shreds and patches of all political opinions,—a confused
jumble of every shade and hue of whiggism.

“The Marquis of Rockingham did indeed come into
the government at a peculiarly difficult crisis. The
Regency Bill of course made an enemy of Lord Bute,—
because the public chose to implicate him in its odium;
the Duke of Grafton has forsaken their standard,
because he is offended at their treatment of Wilkes;
Chatham is as wavering and inconsistent as ever, and his
powerful friend, the excellent Duke of Cumberland,
died soon after his administration began. On the whole,

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it is evident that another transformation will soon take
place. Pitt seems to have the power to lord it over
king and parliament; how he will exert his influence
nobody knows—unless he has some conjecture himself,
which his undecided character renders very doubtful.
That confoundedly clever lawyer, young Burke, gashes
him deeply in the public papers. The articles in question
possess abundance of good sense as well as cutting
irony. The resolution against general warrants, passed
in the House of Commons, has brought Wilkes back to
London. He is here threatening to annoy the government,
or make his fortune out of its fears. The plan of
American taxation is by no means given up. Charles
Townsend is as eager for it, as he is for office. He
thinks to make it go down, by giving it a different name.
He has not, like me, seen an American mob, heard Otis
speak, and Doctor Willard talk. You will judge what
views he and others entertain by the letters and documents
that accompany this.

“Mr. Fitzherbert talks much of what you have done
for his niece; and seems to think he cannot load me
with favours enough to evince his gratitude. He is a
formal, and somewhat fastidious old man; but when the
crust is once broken, he proves to have a warm heart.
He is a professed connoisseur in female beauty,—and he
was of course disappointed in Miss Fitzherbert. He
is unbounded in his hospitality, and his servants' hall
shows much of the prodigality of feudal times. I shall,
if possible, induce him to keep open doors for the choice
literary spirits that are now clustering together in this

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