ment. One or two of the servants, who were loitering in the hall, moved as if they would have followed. "Back, back, I say!" she repeated, "1 need no witnesses, there will be enough of them soon. Mr. Glasscott," she continued, closing the door, "hear me, while I am able to bear testimony, lest weakness-woman's weakness-overcome me, and I falter in the truth. In the broom-sellers' cottage, across the common, on the left side of the chimney, concealed by a large flat stone, is a hole-a den; there much of the property taken from Sir Thomas Purcel's last night is concealed." "I have long suspected these men - Smith, I think they call themselves; yet they are but two. Now, we have abundant proof that three men absolutely entered the house "There was a third," murmured Grace, almost inaudibly. "Who?" "My-my-my husband!" and, as she uttered the word, she leaned against the chimney-piece for support, and buried her face in her hands. The clergyman groaned audibly; he had known Grace from her childhood, and felt what the declaration must have cost her. Sir Thomas Purcel was cast in a sterner mould. "We are put clearly upon the track, Mr. Glasscott," he said, " and must follow it forthwith: yet there is something most repugnant to my feelings in finding a woman thus herald her husband to destruction "It was to save my children from sin," exclaimed Grace, starting forward with an energy that appalled them all: "God in heaven, whom 1 call to witness, knows, that though I would sooner starve than taste of the fruits of his wickedness, yet I could not betray the husband of my bosom to-to-I dare not think what! I tried-I laboured to give my offspring honest bread; I neither asked nor received charity; with my hands laboured, and blessed the Power that enabled me to do so. If we are poor, we will be honest, was my maxim and my boast; but he - my husband, returned; he taught my boy to lie to steal; and when I remonstrated when I prayed, with many tears, that he would cease to train our- ay, our child for destruction, he mocked-scorned-told me that, one by one, I should be bereaved of my children, if I thwarted his purposes; and that I might seek in vain for them through the world, until I saw their names recorded in the book of shame! Gentlemen, this was no idle threat — last night Abel was taken from me 66 "I knew there must have been a fourth," interrupted Sir Thomas, coldly; we must have the boy also secured." The wretched mother, who had not imagined that any harm could result to her son, stood as if a thunderbolt had transfixed her her hands clenched and extended-- her features rigid and blanched - her frame perfectly erect, and motionless as a statue. The schoolmaster, during the whole of this scene, had been completely bewildered, until the idea of his grandchild's danger, or disappearance, he knew not which, took possession of his mind; and, filled with the single thought his faculties had the power of grasping at a time, he came forward to the table at which Mr. Glasscott was seated and, respectfully uncovering his gray hairs, his simple countenance presenting a strong contrast to the agonized iron-bound features of his daughter, he addressed himself to the worthy magistrate : "I trust you will cause instant search to be made for the child Abel, whom your reverence used kindly to regard with especial favour." He repeated this sentence at least half a dozen times, while the gentlemen were issuing orders to the persons assembled for the apprehension of the burglars, and some of the females of the family were endeavouring to restore Grace to animation. At last, Sir Thomas Purcel turned suddenly round upon Abel Darley, and, in his stentorian tone, bawled out, “And who are you?" "The schoolmaster of Craythorpe, so please you, sirman's father and one whose heart is broken!" that young wo So saying, he burst into tears; and his wail was very sad, like that of an afflicted child. Presently there was a stir among the little crowd a murmur -- and then two officers ushered Joseph Huntley and his son into the apartment. He walked boldly up to the magistrate's table, and placed his hand upon it, before he perceived his wife, to whom consciousness had not yet returned. The moment he beheld her, he started back, saying, "Whatever charge you may have against me, gentlemen, you can have none against that woman." "Nor have we," replied Sir Thomas; "she is your accuser!" The fine features of Joseph Huntley relaxed into an expression of scorn and unbelief. "She appear against me! Not-not if I were to attempt to murder her!" he answered firmly. "Grace!" exclaimed her father joyfully, "here is the child Abel - he is found!"—and seizing the trembling boy, with evident exultation, led him to her. The effect of this act of the poor simple-minded man was electrical- the mother instantly revived, but turned her face from her husband; and, intwining her son in her arms, pressed him closely to her side. The clergyman proceeded to interrogate the prisoner, but he answered nothing, keeping his eyes intently fixed upon his wife and child. In the mean time, the officers of justice had been prompt in the execution of their duty: the Smiths were apprehended in the village; and the greater portion of the property stolen from Sir Thomas Purcel was found in the hut where Grace had beheld it concealed. When the preparations were sufficiently forward to conduct the unfortu nate men to prison, Joseph Huntley advanced to his wife. The scornful, as well as undaunted, expression of his countenance had changed to one of painful intensity; he took her hand within his, and pressed it to his lips, without articulating a single syllable. Slowly she moved her face, so that their eyes at last encountered in one long mournful look. Ten years of continued suffering could not have exacted a heavier tribute from Grace Huntley's beauty. No language can express the withering effects of the few hours' agony; her husband saw it, and felt, perhaps for the first time, how truly he had once been loved, and how much of happiness he had sacrificed to sin. "'T was to save my children!" was the only sentence she uttered, or rather murmured; and it was the last coherent one she spoke for many weeks. Her fine reason seemed overwhelmed. It was a sight few could witness without tears. The old father, tending the couch of his afflicted daughter, would sit for hours by her bed-side, clasping the child Abel's hand within his, and every now and then shaking his head when her ravings were loud or violent." * * * * * * It might be some fifteen years after these distressing events had agitated the little village of Craythorpe, that an elderly woman, of mild and cheerful aspect, sat calmly reading a large volume she supported against the railing of a noble vessel that was steering its course from the shores of "Merrie England," to some land far over sea. Two gentlemen, who were lounging on the quarter-deck arm in arm, frequently passed her. The elder one, in a peculiarly kind tone of voice, said, “ You bear the voyage well, dame." "Than God, yes, sir!" "Ah! you will wish yourself back in old England before your are landed six weeks." "I did not wish to leave it, sir; but my duty obliged me to do so." The gentlemen walked on. "Who is she?" inquired the younger. "A very singular woman. Her information transported for life a husband whom she loved notwithstanding his coldness and his crimes. She had, at that time, three children, and the eldest had already become contaminated by his father's example. She saw nothing but destruction for them in prospective, her warnings and entreaties being alike unregarded; so she made her election-sacrificed the husband, and saved the children!" "But what does she here?" "Her eldest son is now established in a small business, and respected by all who know him; her second boy, and a father whom her misfortunes reduced to a deplorable state of wretchedness, are dead; her daughter, a village belle and beauty, is married to my father's handsome new parishclerk; and Mrs. Huntley having seen her children provided for, and by her virtues and industry made respectable in the Old World, is now on her voyage to the New, to see, if I may be permitted to use her own simple language, whether she can contribute to render the last days of her husband as happy as the first they passed together.' It is only justice to the criminal to say, that I believe him truly and perfectly reformed." "And on this chance she leaves her children and her country?" "She does! She argues that, as the will of Providence prevented her from discharging her duties together, she must endeavour to perform them separately. He was sentenced to die; but, by my father's exertions, his sentence was commuted to one of transportation for life; and I know she has quitted England without the hope of again beholding its white cliffs." THE MOTHER.. THE TRIALS OF LADY ELIZABETH MONTAGUE "I had rather had eleven sons die nobly for their country, than one voluptuously surfeit out of action." "There is no man in the world More bound to his mother; yet here he lets me prate, CORIOLANUS. I NEVER but once saw the Lady Elizabeth angry; and then it appeared but a slight thing which excited her displeasure. She had been called to London on some business of moment, and the housekeeper took advantage of the opportunity to dust and arrange the favourite sitting-room. The crimson velvet curtains were withdrawn from their golden bands, and the rich carpet, that had imbedded in its luxuriance many a silk-clad foot, was subjected to the rude brushes of two experienced housemaids. Nor was this all -the pictures were taken down; and not a few spider's-webs dislodged from the gilt cornice and the curious carvings of the frame-work that encircled the apartment. In replacing the pictures, the housekeeper unfortunately displaced two miniatures, which had hung the one over the other; they were portraits, and so alike in age, features, colour, size, that it required a quick memory to call to mind that one of them had worn powder: I have since learned, that the frame of the "powdered" picture was of pure gold, that of the other only gilt. The one represented a gentleman of some two or three and twenty years old, of a handsome and gracious countenance, with deep blue eyes, and an expanded brow. Perhaps there might have been a more daring look portrayed in the features of the other; but it may be that my imagination conjured up this character, after hearing the history of both. They had hung, as I have said, one above the other, in a little niche, appropriated to them alone and very pretty they looked and so thought the housekeeper, good soul! after she had rearranged them. My lady will never know they have been touched," she said to me; "but, poor dear lady, I don't think she sees the dust as clearly as she used forty years ago, when first she came here, the most beautiful bride that ever the sun shone upon-it's a great blessing to have good eyesight! and if I don't need it, nobody does, that has so many trolloping hussies to look after. But, as I live, here's my lady's carriage-well, if ever!-but all's right-I guess I should have got it if the miniatures had not been in their places." And away hurried Mistress Margery Rolls, at the head of the household, to welcome home her mistress. Presently I saw the Lady Elizabeth descend the steps of her old-fashioned carriage. A footman, upon whose arm she rested, remained uncovered as she entered the great hall. I fancied her step was feeble; yet it abated nothing of the proud dignity of her carriage — and, in another instant, her voice sounded along the gallery leading to the crimson room, as her favourite sitting-chamber was called. After exchanging a brief, but kind, salutation, with one who believes she held much of the favour of this extraordinary woman, her eye rested on the miniatures. "Who has done this?" she inquired. "Who has presumed to do this?" The housekeeper, trembling-for it was her lady's looks more than her words that alarmed her- confessed something touching "dust and dusting." Lady Elizabeth heeded nothing of her confession; but, with her own hands, which vibrated with agitation to her fingers' ends, altered the position of the miniatures, placing the one with powder above the other. She then left the apartment, and I did not see her again until the hour of dinner. There was something so elevated and noble in all the arrangements of Montague House, that it invariably called up the visions of those days, when the baronial hospitality of England formed the theme of harp and song: the magnificent broad oaken staircase, dimly lighted by deep arched windows of coloured glass-the dense dull figures, that seemed to grimly smile from their ancient frames as you descended or ascended the polished stairs the long intricate galleries, leading from right to left, intersected with nooks, and crossings, and passages, that could not fail to perplexthe superb hangings of the various sleeping apartments, that flashed upon you through the opening doors: some of curiously wrought green velvet patterns, on a white satin ground, which the tint of years had sobered, but not destroyed; others, of crimson, lined with yellow, the draperies folding round the pillars of some ancient bed, rich in white and gold relief- the ancient chapel, where the devotions of the noble Montagues of many a bygone century had been strangely mingled with the pomps and vanities of this world; the knee, it is true, knelt at the altar, but the hand and eye traced the armorial bearings, in all their intricate and mysterious emblazonings, in the very place where such bravery should be all forgotten; the banner and the flag hung mouldering from the walls; and the moth found a dwelling and a feast, within the time-honoured hassocks, where royalty, if report speaks true, had often prayed; then the superb, and yet gravelooking, rooms, leading to each other, the windows opening into a park, where wood and water, hill and dale, vied to take from England its reproach of insipidity; the towering walls, hung with the arts of kingdoms; the pure, and almost imbodied, portraits of Vandyke, Lilly, Reynolds, and the gentlemanly Lawrence, and the placid landscapes of Gainsborough, all claiming attention and demanding tribute from the eye and heart; the cold but magnificent sculpture, standing out, I had almost said, in native grandeur, and rebuking, in its silent dignity, the thoughts that wander to less holy things; the library, stored to the very ceiling with books, those moral treasures of the world, that would fain teach us the sweets of wisdom without giving us to taste of the bitter waters of experience—and then the troops of venerable domestics, silent of foot and lip, attentive both with eye and ear. - The Lady Elizabeth herself the great- the rich the noble or, better still, as she was emphatically called by her people - the GOOD Lady Elizabeth, was in beautiful keeping with Montague House. At the time 1 tell of, she had completed her sixtieth birth-day. She was tall of stature, and what her figure wanted in roundness, was concealed by the ample folds of her black satin robe, which opened down the front, over a petticoat of the same material; her sleeves were confined at the elbows, by cordons of bullion, and the lower portion was open half way up the arm, so that a full - |
