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THE 
 
 FARMER 
 
 OF 
 
 INGLEWOOD FOREST; 
 
 OR, 
 
 AN AFFECTING PORTRAIT 
 
 OF 
 
 T^ittnt anir 'Witt. 
 
 By ELIZABETH HELME, 
 
 AUTHOR OF LOUISA, OR THE COTTAGE ON THE MOOR, DUNCAN 
 AND PEGGY, ST. CLARE OF THE ISLES, 
 
 ^c. 8fc. Sfc. 
 
 FOUR VOLUMES IN ONE. 
 
 ' Ambition is at distance 
 A goodly prospect, tempting to the view ; 
 The height delights us, and the mountain-top 
 Looks beautiful, because 'tis nigh to Heaven ; 
 But Me ne'er think how sandy's the foundation, 
 Wiiat storms will batter, and what tempests shake us !' 
 
 PRINTED AND PrBLISHED BY J. GLEAVE, DEANSGATE. 
 1823. 
 

 Q-n.^ 
 
 c^??- 
 
ADVERTISEMENT. 
 
 Elizabeth Helme, the writer of this in- 
 teresting work, has deservedly obtained 
 great celebrity in the most pleasing de- 
 partment of literature ; and her * Farmer 
 of Inglewood Forest' ranks amongst the 
 first productions of the age. In this na- 
 tural, moral, and impressive picture, she 
 has embodied truth by uniting it with plea- 
 sure, and skilfully contrived to improve 
 the understanding while she gratifies the 
 fancy. Her language is correct, her dic- 
 tion pure, and her readers become spec- 
 tators of the affecting scenes she delineates. 
 Youth may here perceive the false and 
 delusive glitter of vice and grandeur, and 
 the solid and cheerful enjoyment of virtue 
 and innocence. The contrast is striking, 
 
iT. ADVERTISEMENT. 
 
 and affords an important moral lesson that 
 must produce the most beneficial conse- 
 quences. Under these impressions the 
 publisher presents this handsome and cheap 
 edition to the public, with the utmost con- 
 fidence of success. 
 
THE 
 
 OF 
 
 INGILEWOOB FOREST^ 
 
 -» ♦ ♦- 
 
 CHAP. I. 
 
 TTINDER an aged oak, that grew on a pleasant 
 ^ bat lonely part of Inglewood Forest, one 
 fine summer's evening, sat the venerable Farmer 
 Godwin, reading to his family, with a dignity 
 that mio-ht have graced a more distingmshed rank, 
 but it was a subject that ever raised his heart to 
 the Most High, and made him feel that, however 
 humble the state of probation, a hfe spent m in- 
 nocence and integrity, would one day entitle him 
 to a place where virtue alone claims pre-emmence. 
 On his knee lay the Bible ; on his right hand 
 sat his wife, who, though grey hairs shaded her 
 temples, the beam of youthful affection was not 
 extin2:uished in her eye ; on his left sat his sons, 
 William and Edwin, and at her mother's feet was 
 placed their sister Emma, trimmmg a straw hat 
 with pink ribbons for the ensuing fair. 
 
 The lecture concluded, they adjourned to then- 
 humble mansion, which, though appertaining to 
 some rich and highly cultivated land, was nothmg 
 
6 THE FARMER OF 
 
 more thau a spacious, convenient farm-house ; 
 yet, to those to whom cleanliness and comfort 
 constitute luxury, this dwelling possessed every 
 attribute. The frugal meal was soon prepared, 
 and seasoned with innocent mirth; and the happy 
 cheerfulness of hearts unconscious of guile, might 
 have outbalanced in pleasure far more sumptuous 
 entertainments, for labour had given health, and 
 health appetite ; and for the corroding passions 
 of envy, jealousy, pride, or malice, that so fre- 
 quently embitter the feasts of the great, their 
 hearts were too humble to entertain such over- 
 bearing intruders. 
 
 The suj)per removed, and the farmer's pipe, 
 with a pitcher of ale, being placed on the table, 
 '1 wonder,' said William, with a half sigh, 
 * whether Fanny Bernard is yet returned home ?' 
 
 ' Suppose we step down the lane and inquire,' 
 replied Edwin ; ' it is a fine night, and Emma 
 can go with us ; we shall be back before my fa- 
 ther has smoked his pipe.' 
 
 This motion was immediately adopted, as Far- 
 mer Bernard's was only about a quarter of a mile 
 down a green lane that was separated from the 
 Forest by the high road crossing its entrance. 
 
 It would hardly be possible to paint three more 
 interesting figures than the brothers and sister 
 tripping by the clear moon-light over the green. 
 William had just attained his twenty-secoiid year, 
 his face and person forming a model from which a 
 statuary might have envied to copy an Apollo, yet 
 with a cast of reflection over his animated features, 
 
INGLEWOOD FOREST. 7 
 
 which to a common observer made them less 
 striking than those of his brother Edwin, who was 
 a year younger, and whose person, though less 
 elegantly formed, was yet more fascinating from 
 the continual sprightliness that enlivened his fea- 
 tures. Emma, innocent as the dove, playful as the . 
 lamb, and fair as Milton's Eve, holding of each a 
 hand, and chatting a hundred little minutias to 
 themselves only interesting. On reaching Ber- 
 nard's farm, they entered without ceremony, the 
 lifting of the latch alone announcing visitors. 
 * Welcome, my lads,' said the old man. * What, 
 and my little girl too ! are you there? Hark ye, 
 Agnes, (addressing his daughter) replenish the 
 pitcher, and look what hast got in the cupboard.' 
 'We have supped,' replied William, looking 
 anxiously round the room, * Fanny, I see is not 
 yet returned.' 
 
 * No — Agnes and 1 have been wishing for her : 
 she will be back in a day or two I suppose : but, 
 pies on't, I wondered what brought you here to- 
 night; now the murder's out. However, sorrow's 
 dry, here's to you, my boys ; and may Fanny and 
 Agnes make as good wives as their mother. 
 Why, Agnes, I say, there's no ale in the pitcher; 
 pr'ythee draw some, and court afterwards. I think 
 Edwin and you can't have much to whisper, for 
 you had a plaguy long gossip to-day when you 
 carried the meat to the reapers.' 
 
 * Lord, father ! you are so odd,' answered Ag- 
 nes, blushing: ' indeed the basket was very heavj, 
 and Edwin carried it for me, for I was quite tired.' 
 
8 THE FARMER OF 
 
 ' Yes, yes,' replied the old man, ' I suppose so, 
 for when I came up you were sitting on the stile 
 to rest. Never blush, girl ; many a time thy mo- 
 ther has detained me, Heaven rest her, and thou 
 art but a chip of the old block.' Agnes broke 
 off the discourse by hastening to draw the ale ; 
 during her absence, — 'Indeed,' said Emma, 'as 
 Fanny and Agnes are to be my sisters, I think 
 the sooner the better. Why, Fanny's almost 
 nineteen, and Agnes is two months older than 
 me, and 1 was seventeen at Midsummer.' 
 
 '1 care not how soon,' replied Bernard; 'but 
 where shall we find a husband for thee,- Emma? 
 Why, William,' shaking him heartily by the 
 hand, ' what art dull for, man? I dare be sworn 
 Fanny is as anxious to see thee as thou be'st to 
 see her ; so drink about.' 
 
 The old clock, which stood in the corner of the 
 kitchen, and on whose tall case was depicted the 
 loves of Henry the Second, together with the death 
 of Fair Rosamond, at that moment striking ten, 
 the visitors rose to depart, Agnes accompanying 
 them to the gate. — 'Good night,' said William, 
 shaking hands with her. — 'Goodnight,' repeated 
 Emma, saluting her; 'and Heaven bless thee,' 
 concluded Edwin, kissing her ruby lips: 'I shall 
 see you before breakfast, as 1 go a field.' Such 
 was the behaviour of these uncorrupted children 
 of innocence, who acted as their pure minds dic- 
 tated, being strangers to the refinement with 
 which art and good breeding conceal the emotions 
 of the heart. Tliey had just reached the end of 
 
INGLEWOOD FOREST. ' 9 
 
 the lane, when seveml voices struck them from the 
 high road ; fear they were strangers to ; it could 
 only, they thought, be people returning from the 
 market town to a village about three miles farther; 
 or it might be, as William's heart prompted, 
 Fanny under the care of a party of friends. With 
 such ideas they advanced, but instead of country 
 men riding cheerfully homewards, they found 
 two domestics and a post-boy endeavouring to 
 raise a chaise that had been overturned, and 
 whose owners, a gentleman and lady, sat by the 
 road side, the first in great pain from a broken 
 arm he had received in the fall, and the latter 
 heavily lamenting the accident. 
 
 ' Thank Heaven it is not Faniiy !' said William, 
 with a sigh. 
 
 ' But it is people in distress,' replied Edwin, 
 quickeniiig his pace ; 'what can we do for them?' 
 
 * Assist them to the utmost of our abilities,' re- 
 turned William, in a tone yet more animate^ 
 than his brother's, at the same time hastening for- 
 ward to execute his purpose. 
 
 On their reaching the chaise they found one of 
 the wheels broken, so that to proceed was im- 
 possible, therefore while William and Emma 
 were aiding the strangers, Edwin ran home to 
 inform his father of the accident, and to entreat 
 him, as there was no house of entertainment 
 within four miles, to offer the stranger with the 
 broken arm their spare bed till he could be moved 
 farther with safety. 
 
 The virtues that warmed the heart of Farmer 
 Godwin would have dignified the bosom of a 
 
 1 B 
 
10 THE FARMER OF 
 
 prince ; from his humble roof the wanderer ever 
 departed satisfied, wishing that his means were 
 as extensive as the charity of his heart : Edwin's 
 request was therefore instantly granted, the good 
 man himself accompanying his son to make the 
 offer, while his dame, as he frequently called her, 
 with the assistance of her maid Margery, pre- 
 pared the spare bed, in case the stranger should 
 accept her husband's offer. 
 
 On Godwin's reaching the spot where the dis- 
 aster happened, he immediately went up to the 
 sufferer, whose arm was now supported by the 
 trembling Emma, William and the rest being still 
 employed about the chaise, at the entreaty of the 
 owner, who anxiously wished to proceed. ' My 
 good sir,' said Godwin, ' in your situation the 
 distance to the village is too far; therefore, if you 
 will accept the offer of an apartment in a farm- 
 house, where we will endeavour to render you 
 all the service in our power, we will lead you 
 there instantly, while one of my sons shall ride to 
 the next market town for a surgeon ; the lady we 
 can also accommodate ; and for your domestics, 
 after some refreshment, those you have no ser- 
 vice for, can proceed to get your carriage repair- 
 ed, which in the mean time will be perfectly safe 
 here.' 
 
 The stranger immediately accepted the far- 
 mer's offer, for which the lady also expressing 
 her thanks, they proceeded towards Godwin's 
 dwelling. The lady, who had not yet recovered 
 her fright, leaned on Edwin's arm, and the gen- 
 tleman assisted by Godwin and his son William. 
 
INGLEWOOD FOREST. 11 
 
 On their reaching the farm, their arrival was 
 announced by the furious barking of the great 
 dog, whose noise was, however, soon silenced by 
 the musical voice of Emma, and the more com- 
 manding tone of his master. 
 
 The stranger being immediately put to bed, and 
 Edwm dispatched on horseback for the nearest 
 surgeon, the lady began to recover her fright, Mrs. 
 Godwin having prevailed on her to take a glass of 
 currant wine, and conducted her to a parlour, 
 which, though its furniture was as simple as the 
 minds of its owners, yet also like them possessed 
 that real utility that strongly contiasted the folly 
 of gaudy grandeur, which, while it bewitches the 
 eye, is deficient in that general comfort \vhich un- 
 adorned convenience ever bestows. Here was no 
 fear of soiling the costly colours of the Persian 
 carpet, though the white scoured floor far more 
 plainly showed the mark of dirty footsteps ; no 
 gilding to be injured by the touch, the chairs, 
 tables, and even glass frame, being of walnut tree, 
 which vied with the mirror in brightness ; no pic- 
 tures graced the walls, but in their stead number 
 less odoriferous bouquets in white earthen jars, 
 placed on shelves around the apartment ; and, to 
 complete the whole, the glittering steel stove, with 
 brass knobs, filled with large branches of the haw- 
 thorn and wild briar in blossom. Wearied with 
 travelling, and the subsequent fright, Mrs. Del- 
 mer (for so was the lady called) looked round w itli 
 a complacency and satisfaction, which splendid 
 drawing-rooms had not always been able to in- 
 spire. ' It is fairy land,' thought she, * and the 
 
12 THE FARMER OF 
 
 ideas of my fifteenth year are realized in the in- 
 habitants of this mansion.' 
 
 Mrs. Dehner was a widow, about the age of 
 twenty- eight, and possessed of a large indepen- 
 dency by the death of a husband she hated. She 
 was now hastening to the capital with her brother, 
 in order to enjoy those pleasures she had been de- 
 barred during the last ten years, the greater part 
 of which time she had been confined to the coun- 
 try with her spouse, whose greatest pleasure had 
 consisted in hunting and drinking. On her first 
 entrance into public life her fine person had pro- 
 cured her the affluence she enjoyed, and she had 
 now no doubt it would secure her a liusband, cal- 
 culated to make her happy, and repay her for the 
 disgust she had entertained for his predecessor. 
 Wealth had been her first incentive, but she had 
 found its inefficacy of giving happiness, and there- 
 fore determined to make love alone the motive of 
 a second union. Her brother, Mr. Whitmore, was 
 about twenty-six, and had been some time mar- 
 ried, but experienced little happiness in that state, 
 having, like his sister, consulted convenience more 
 than affection, or even esteem, in the disposal of 
 his hand. His lady was young, handsome, lively, 
 and too fashionably educated not to return the 
 coldness with which he treated her; and as all the 
 gay world admired her, thought the affection of a 
 husband a mite in the great scale, and easily dis- 
 pensed with. Her fortune being large, her settle- 
 ment was also liberal, and sufficiently enabled her 
 to pursue her inclinations without control ; for 
 Mr. Whitmore was too well bred to interfere with 
 
INGLEWOOD FOREST. IS 
 
 her pleasures while she was polite enough to be 
 blind to his. Ever engaged in different pursuits, 
 they seldom met above once or twice a week at 
 dinner, and then usually surrounded with com- 
 pany, a matrimonial tete a Ute being by both 
 declared the most wearisome thing in the universe. 
 Mr. Whitmore had been on a visit to his sister, 
 who had passed the first six months of her widow- 
 hood at her country seat in Cumberland, and was 
 returning with her to his own villa near London 
 (where he had left his lady) when the accident 
 happened. Whitmore was only son to a banker, 
 who at his death had left him what he thought a 
 sufficiency to decline business. In his person he 
 was handsome and graceful, in his disposition 
 generous and brave ; but born to affluence, and 
 accustomed from his childhood to command his 
 wishes without control, his passions knew no 
 curb, his inclinations no law, but gratification. 
 Highly accomplished and insinuating in his 
 address, he had been uncommonly successful in 
 his amours, addressing indiscriminately both 
 married and single that chanced to please him, 
 or where he could flatter himself with success ; 
 frequently declaring that both sexes were free 
 agents, and those only fulfilled the end of their 
 creation who made the most of life, and enjoyed 
 it to the utmost of their power, so they injured 
 no man's purse or his property, — women, in his 
 opinion, not coming under that denomination, 
 being a kind of fair game, and their persons 
 transferable as their affections to him that pleas- 
 ed them most. 
 
14 THE FARMER OF 
 
 Such were the new inmates at Godwin-farm, 
 where every individual was busy in preparing for 
 their ease and convenience until the return of 
 Edwin with a surgeon, who having set Mr. Whit- 
 more's arm, and assured them there was not the 
 least danger, being only a simple fracture, the 
 females retired to take a short repose, William 
 and Edwin to their morning occupations, day 
 being already broke, and the venerable Godwin 
 to watch by the side of Whitmore. 
 
 CHAP. II. 
 
 Whitmore, after a slight repose, which was dis- 
 turbed by the pain he experienced from his arm, 
 entered into conversation with his host, express- 
 ing his thanks in the warmest terms, which 
 subject, however, finding distressing to the far- 
 mer, who thought he had done nothing more 
 than what, in the same circumstances, almost 
 every man would have done for him, he changed 
 the discourse, and began to inquire about the 
 vicinity. 'The parish church,' said Godwin, *is 
 not more than two miles off, and almost close to 
 it is a good house, and extensive grounds, be- 
 longing to the lady who inherits great part of the 
 land around ; and yet she is a perfect stranger to 
 us, having always lived with an uncle near the 
 capital, who has left her heir to his whole estate. 
 
INGLEWOOD FOREST. 15 
 
 The nearest market town is about four miles 
 from hence, so that I regard the chance that 
 threw my sons in your way as fortunate ; for 
 such a distance, in your situation, must have 
 been dreadful.' 
 
 Whitmore now again attempted to repeat his 
 thanks. ' My good sir,' interrupted the farmer, 
 * you see so trifling a service in too strong a light. 
 In such a misfortune would not you have acted 
 the same by me ?' 
 
 * Indeed I would,' answered Whitmore, after 
 a momentary pause, and then remained silent. — 
 To confess the truth, though he had answered 
 Godwin's question in the affirmative, yet there 
 was a monitor within his own breast, which, by 
 knowing mankind better, was not so easily satis- 
 fied ; he therefore said no more, but remaining 
 quiet, could not avoid repeating to his own heart 
 the question of the farmer — 'Would you not have 
 done the same by me V 
 
 ' I should, perhaps,' replied he, mentally, < have 
 left him in charge with my footman, and or- 
 dered him a surgeon; or, if the accident had 
 happened in town, given him a guinea, had he 
 wanted it, and sent him to the hospital ; but to 
 make him a bed in my own house, nay, to wait 
 by his side, while all my family were employed 
 in his service, I should never have done it.' 
 This idea gave a transitory awkwardness to the 
 feelings of Whitmore ; but the pride of birth, and 
 the complacency which superior wealth usually 
 bestows on its possessors, soon dispersed the 
 cloud, when they presented to his mind the dif- 
 
16 THE FARMER OF 
 
 ference of his situation in life from that of God- 
 win's, the one a simple farmer, the other possess- 
 ed of three thousand a year, a place in the senate, 
 and universally courted and admired. This con- 
 sidered, there was no comparison in the case, 
 for though he felt that the bones of a gentleman 
 were as brittle as those of a peasant, and that he 
 was as vulnerable to pain, yet he could not divest 
 himself of the idea, that superior rank and for- 
 tune demanded particular cares, even from those 
 persons whom he would have blushed to attend 
 in the same situation. Mr. Whitmore's valet now 
 entered ; he had been employed in moving' the 
 baggage out of the chaise, which was refitted in 
 such a manner as to be removed to the next town 
 to be thoroughly repaired. Godwin thus relieved, 
 adjourned to his kitchen, where he found his 
 wife, Emma, and the maid assembled, all in- 
 quiring how the stranger had rested. 
 
 Mrs. Godwin then ordered Margery to pick out 
 the best baked cakes, while herself made the tea, 
 and pouring out two breakfast cups, sent one to 
 Mrs. Delmer, who was not yet risen, and took 
 the other herself to Whitmore, entreating him to 
 make free, and command whatever their house 
 afforded, with that characteristic goodness of 
 heart which peculiarly distinguished her, and 
 that had made her doubly amiable in youth, and 
 respectable in age. 
 
 Whitmore, after a proper return to her civility, 
 said, ' May 1 not be permitted some time to-daj% 
 my dear madam, to see and thank my younjr 
 friends for the services of last night?' it Wf, '<*■-, 
 
INGLEWOOD FOREST. 17 
 
 Mrs. Godwin assured him her sons would not 
 fail to wait on him on their return from their 
 morning avocation; then wishing him speedily 
 better, she returned to breakfast, where the party 
 was soon augmented by William and Edwin, who 
 after a hasty meal, retired to pay their compli- 
 ments to Whitmore, while Emma repaired to 
 Mrs. Delmer, whom she assisted to dress. 
 
 Mrs. Delmer, in her manner, possessed much 
 of her brother's affability, and by her good hu- 
 mour gained an almost immediate interest in the 
 heart of Emma, who declared, when she after- 
 wards joined her brothers, that she had never 
 before seen so beautiful and engaging a woman. 
 To this, however, both brothers dissented, the 
 elder declaring she was not near so handsome as 
 Fanny Bernard, and the younger, that was Agnes 
 dressed the same, there would be no comparison 
 between them. 
 
 'As to dress,' returned William, 'Fanny is 
 always so exact and neat that any alteration must 
 be for the worse; and I protest 1 should think her 
 fine hair disfigured by powder and grease : then 
 that hateful hat, with a great cockade and feather, 
 gives an air of harshness and boldness, which I 
 cannot endure. Fanny's stmw bonnet, with the 
 blue ribbon, is a thousand times more becoming.' 
 ' No such thing, William,' replied Emma, ' for 
 I tried it on, and looked quite adiflerent creature ; 
 the feathers made me so tall, and look so well, 
 that I am sure 1 never liked myself so much be- 
 fore : then her shoes, why, I thought her feet 
 were as little again as mine, yet it was only their 
 1 c 
 
Ig THE FARMER OF 
 
 make, and the smart heels, for they are larger. 
 But the shoemakers about here are so awkward 
 that they make one's feet quite clumsy ; I declare 
 I shall now have no patience with them.' 
 
 * Yet your mother,' said William, gravely, 'who 
 was reckoned one of the finest giris in the whole 
 country, was always satisfied with them.' 
 
 ' All. that is very true,' interrupted Edwin ; 
 'yet you cannot persuade me but Mr. Whitmore's 
 clothes are morebecoming than ours, even though 
 we saw him under such a disadvantage as his 
 accident must occasion ; and though I am per- 
 fectly satisfied with my situation in life, yet was 
 fortune, by any unforeseen event, to favour me, 
 I should certainly think it no error to adapt my 
 dress to the fiishion.' 
 
 ' Certainly not,' replied Emma; 'but William 
 is so grave, that 1 am sure had my grandfather 
 (the rector) lived, he might have made him a 
 parson ; nay, you know my father says he is the 
 very image of him.' 
 
 'I accept your compliment,' answered William, 
 with a smile ; ' for surely it is one to be told I 
 resemble a man who was a blessing to his neigh- 
 liours, and an honour to his profession ; and in 
 return, Emma, I wish thy temper may resemble 
 thy mother's as much as thy person.' 
 
 ' Thank you, my dear William,' giving him an 
 aftectionate kiss on the cheek ; ' but indeed I fear 
 I shall never be so handsome.' 
 
 * I rather fear you will never be so unconscious 
 of it,' replied William ; ' for as to beauty you 
 
INGLEWOOD FOREST. 19 
 
 have as great a share as I think you can be safely 
 trusted with.' 
 
 'Oh! how ill-natured,' exclaimed Emma: 'I 
 protest you grow worse and worse, 1 will stay no 
 longer. I promised to walk with Mrs. Delmer, 
 and must go this instant.' — With these words away 
 flew the sprightly girl to perform her promise, 
 while her brothers returned to their usual occupa- 
 tion in the tield, overlooking and occasionally 
 assisting the labourers : calling, however, at Ber- 
 nard's, where William had the vexation to learn, 
 that Fanny had written to inform her father that 
 she should for some time prolong her stay, as her 
 aunt, whom she was visiting, still continued ill, 
 and entreated her presence, concluding with a 
 modest, but tender remembrance to her lover. 
 
 William perused the letter with a sigh, and 
 informing the farmer of the particulars of the last 
 night's adventure, the brothers soon after took 
 their leave. 
 
 Emma had jomed Mrs. Delmer, who, however, 
 previous to her walk, called in her brother's 
 apartment, where she had passed the morning, 
 and finding him perfectly cheerful, and without 
 fever, easily acquiesced in his desire of not send- 
 ing for more assistance, which she had at first 
 strongly pressed. In this visit she was accom- 
 panied by Emma, whom Whitmore, in spite of 
 his pain the night before, had thought the most 
 lovely creature he ever beheld, and whom now, 
 divested of the pallid hue and tremor occasioned 
 by his accident, appeared a thousand times more 
 charming. 
 
20 THE FARMER OF 
 
 * My dear brother,' said IVTrs. Delmer, * as you 
 seem tolerably easy, and I do but disturb your 
 my young friend and myself are going to take a 
 walk.' 
 
 * Indeed,' replied Whitmore, ' though 1 prefer 
 your recreation before my own, yet in this case I 
 must truly confess, I should be more easy, and 
 less disturbed, by your company, than left to my 
 own thoughts ; — however, I wish you a pleasant 
 walk, and regret that I cannot accompany you. 
 Yet before you go, give me leave to thank Miss 
 Godwin for the trouble I gave her last night in 
 supporting my arm; a trouble,' continued he, with 
 great softness, ' that made even such a situation 
 enviable.' 
 
 ' Indeed, sir,' answered Emma, * I trembled so 
 much that I could not hold it as steadily as Wil- 
 liam desired me, and, though you did not com- 
 plain, 1 am sure I must have hurt you.' 
 
 ' Good Heaven! hurt me! such support could 
 alone enable me to bear the pain with becoming 
 patience : btit I detain you ; yet might I entreat 
 a favour, it should be for half an hour of your 
 company on your return. Charity, my dear sis- 
 ter, you know is strongly recommended to us ; 
 and can you show yours more effectually than 
 on such a miserable invalid ?' . 
 
 'Well, we will endeavour to exert it,' replied 
 Mrs. Delmer; 'but for the present adieu.' Emma 
 then conducted Mrs. Delmer, by her own desire, 
 to their harvest field, where the first objects that 
 presented were William and Edwin, divested of 
 their coats, in shirts white as snow, foremost 
 
INGLEWOOD FOREST. 21 
 
 among the reapers : William respectfully moving 
 his hat, continued his labour, but Edwin, a deep 
 blush covering his face to be thus caught, hastily 
 put on his coat, and joined Mrs. Delmer and 
 Emma. 
 
 ' What a delightful scene!' said the lady, before 
 he reached them : ' I know^ not how it happens, 
 my dear girl, but in one little day you have al- 
 most delighted me with rural life, which I ever 
 before beheld in abhorrence ; but the reason is 
 obvious, your family are so totally different from, 
 all I ever saw that reside constantly in the coun- 
 try, that the contrast became doubly striking.' 
 
 * If there is any difference,' replied Emma, 
 * we derive it from my father, who has had a 
 very good education, being son to the rector of 
 the parish, who, however, as my father declined 
 pursuing his fortune in the church, had it only 
 in his power to settle him on this farm, pur- 
 chasing the house, and about fourteen acres of 
 the adjoining land ; the remainder we hold on 
 lease for a long term, and at an easy rent.' 
 
 Edwin at that moment joined them, and was 
 received by Mrs. Delmer with a smile. After 
 some cheerful conversation she walked up to the 
 reapers, and gave them a guinea to drink ; then 
 turning to Edwin, she said, — 'We should intrude 
 too much on ycNir time to ask your company 
 home, but we shall see you in the evening in my 
 brother's apartment, who has made us promise to 
 pass an hour with him.' — Edwin bowed ; and 
 Mrs. Delmer and Emma bidding him farewell, 
 returned home. 
 
22 THE FARMER OF 
 
 In this manner passed the first day, and several 
 succeeding ones, until Whitmore's arm began to 
 unite, and he was able to sit up : the pillow which 
 supported the fracture would indeed be frequently 
 uneasy, and seldom could be rendered otherwise 
 but by Emma, w hom he affirmed ever placed it 
 smoother than any one else, thanking her, with a 
 glance from his expressive dark eyes, in alanguage 
 which, though new, was soon intelligible to her 
 unexperienced heart. — Twice as she placed his 
 arm he had ventured to kiss her hand ; but the 
 confusion this had occasioned, and the tremor 
 with which she afterwards approached, deter- 
 mined him to desist rather than give an alarm 
 that might prove detrimental to his passion. 
 
 CHAP. 111. 
 
 Whitmore gained strength daily, and at length, 
 with hjs arm in a sling, came down stairs, though 
 the surgeon affirmed he must not yet venture the 
 shaking of a carriage. On the second day, after 
 he had left his chamber, finding himself alone with 
 Godwin, after some conversation, in which he 
 expressed his warmest thanks for the favours he 
 had received, he took his hand, and with the 
 natural ease of good breeding that particularly 
 distinguished him, entreated his acceptance of a 
 
INGLEWOOD FOREST. 2S 
 
 bank note of a hnndred pounds, as a small retri- 
 bution towards the obligations he had received. 
 
 ' My good sir,' said the farmer, returning the 
 note, ' you are heartily welcome to the asylum 
 your unhappy situation rendered necessary ; to 
 me it has been no inconvenience, but rather a 
 gratification, as it has enabled me to fulfil one of 
 the greatest duties commanded us : " Do unto 
 others as you would they should do unto you." 
 Your own servant has taken the fatigue on him- 
 self, and shall you then pay for your mere shel- 
 ter, and a little food, in such a calamity ? Hea- 
 ven forbid ! If any debt, not to me is it due, but 
 to those in similar circumstances, and to whom, I 
 doubt not, your own heart will lead you to pay it.' 
 
 Whitmore was abashed : he felt all the dignity 
 and force of virtue ; he remembered Emma, and 
 his heart smote him ; but recovering his confusion, 
 and reflecting for a few moments, he replied, 
 ' My dear sir, at least give me some way to show 
 my gratitude; you have two sons, informed, sen- 
 sible young men, permit me to take on myself 
 the charge of one of them. From my situation in life, 
 I flatter myself I can introduce him to the world 
 with success, having it in my power to place a 
 person immediately as clerk in one of the public 
 offices, which situation, till we can procure a bet- 
 ter, will at least aftord a genteel competency.' 
 
 Godwin returned his thanks for this offer, an- 
 swering, that in a matter in which themselves 
 were so materially concerned, he would certainly 
 inform them of Mr. Whitmore's generosity. ' But 
 for my own part,' continued he, ' were 1 to con- 
 
24 THE FARMER OF 
 
 suit only my own wishes, I should rather they 
 would settle in the spot where they first saw the 
 li'jht. Great towns, I have heard and read, are 
 full of danger, and though I depend much on the 
 ■virtuous education I have given my sons, yet I 
 should tremble to expose them to temptations 
 which youth and constitution could ill withstand.' 
 The entrance of Mrs. Godwin with her sons 
 here broke off the discourse, which, however, was 
 soon renewed by the farmer's informing them of 
 what had passed. The anxious mother, trembling 
 with dread at the bare idea of being separated 
 from her children, was at the same moment elated 
 with their probable success, and their future ele- 
 vation in life ; she therefore remained silent, tears 
 glistening in her eyes, which fixed on the loved 
 companion of her youth, appeared to wish to read 
 his sentiments on the occasion ; but he simply 
 repeated Mr. Whitmore's offer, without express- 
 ing, even in the most distant manner, his own 
 thoughts on the occasion. He had hardly con- 
 cluded, when William, addressing Mr. Whitmore, 
 replied, ' I know no terms, sir, in the plain un- 
 tutored language I have been accustomed to, that 
 appear strong enough to express my thanks for 
 your generosity ; but for myself must beg leave to 
 decline it. My father's increasing years demand 
 the assistance of a son, both as a comfort to his 
 age, and to take from his hand the weight of busi- 
 ness trivial to youth, but fatiguing in advanced 
 life. I am also affianced to a young woman, who, 
 like myself, would, I am sure, prefer this cottage, 
 labour, content and peace, to all the bustle that 
 
INGLEWOOD FOREST. 25 
 
 grandeur ©r wealth could bestow ; and lastly, un- 
 fit, from disposition, for public life, I can but 
 again express my thanks for your kindness, of 
 which 1 shall ever retain the most gratefjil re- 
 membrance.' Here William ceased. His father 
 smiled satisfaction, which sentiment was as in 
 stantly conveyed to the features of his mother, 
 whose heart, however, still hung doubtftd of the 
 answer of her younger son. 
 
 Edwin was silent, and appeared lost in thought ; 
 the struggle was hard, and for some moments for- 
 bade utterance. Greatness and wealth for the 
 first time appeared within his grasp ; byt then to 
 leave Agnes, 'though even for a short time, was 
 distraction ; yet, perhaps, soon to return, and bear 
 her in triumph to scenes she was fitted to adorn, 
 was enchanting, and after a moment's pause mas- 
 tered the first consideration. 
 
 ' I will be guided by my father, sir,' at length 
 hesitated Edwin ; 'he is the best judge of what 
 is fitting for my welfare, and whatever is his 
 determination I shall submit to without repug- 
 nance.' 
 
 ' My dear boy,' replied Godwin, 'by the agree- 
 ment with Bernard, yourself and your brother 
 will equally share what we possess, except the 
 trifle I have saved being transferred at your mo- 
 ther's death to Emma ; you must therefore, in 
 the present case, judge for yourself, and answer 
 accordingly.' 
 
 Edwin again, after a pause, replied, * that as he 
 knew his father would not feel his loss from the 
 attention of William, with his permission he would 
 2 D 
 
26 THE FARMER OF 
 
 thiiik of it till the morrow, and then ^ive a defi- 
 nitive answer.' Whitmore approved this resolu- 
 tion, as did also Godwin, and being soon after 
 joined by Mrs Delmer and Emma, the conversa- 
 tion ceased, William and his brother quitting; 
 them to go to Farmer Bernard's. 
 
 In their way thither William remained silent 
 until Edwin re-assumed the discourse respecting 
 Mr. Wliitmore's ofter, which he spoke of with all 
 the warmth and enei"gy natural to youth. ' I am 
 young,' said he, ' and perhaps may be successful 
 enough to acquire sufficient wealth to fix my 
 Agnes in a state equal to my wie;hes ; to assist 
 my parents and Emma, and place my beloved 
 brother above labour.— What happiness !' 
 
 'I can know no greater,' returned William, 
 calmly, though with great affection, 'than the 
 prospect before me appears to promise. . I am 
 young, and able to labour ; Fanny Bernard will be 
 my companion, and share with me the pleasing 
 employ of soothing the declining years of our pa- 
 rents. With such a wife, and such relations, what 
 can I wisli for more ? The farm has ever been suf- 
 ficient to gratify all our wants and wishes ; what 
 then should we seek for, my dear brother ? Un- 
 der the specious covering of wealth and grandeur 
 frequently lurks care ; and though I would not 
 advise, yet I must confess, I had hoped, that as 
 our youth had passed together, our age might do 
 the same. Virtue, justice, and all the claims that 
 distinguish manhood, unite you to Agnes, whom, 
 if you forsake, fascinated by the delirium of gran- 
 deur, you are unworthy to live.' 
 
INGLEWOOD FOREi^T. 2T 
 
 ' Forsake Agnes !' replied Edwin, recoil iifg* with 
 horror at the idea, 'abandon Agnes ! No, William, 
 do not think so ill of me ; with her I would rather 
 encounter all the calamities that fortune could in- 
 flict than accept a throne without her.' 
 
 This discourse brought them to Bernard's door, 
 where they were met by Agnes. ' What is the 
 matter, Edwin V said she, fixing her eyes on him 
 with inquiring tenderness : 'you look unhappy; 
 nay and William too : tell me, are all well at home?' 
 
 William replied in tlie affirmative ; then asking 
 for her father, hastily passed into the house, leav- 
 ing her alone with Edwin. 
 
 'Agnes,' said Edwin, hesitating, ' will you v*alk 
 with me into the orchard? I have much to con- 
 sult you upon.' 
 
 Agnes gave him her hand in silence, which he 
 felt tremble T^'ithin his own : ' Why this alarm, 
 ray love V said he, putting his arm round her 
 waist: 'What do you fear?' 
 
 ' Alas ! I know not what,' replied she ; ' but 
 your features first gave me a shock that I cannot 
 account for, and which was increased by William's 
 looks and behaviour. Well do I know his tem- 
 per, Edwin ; he is never moved by trifles ; some- 
 thing very material must have happened to change 
 him thus.' 
 
 ' Nothing material, my love ; only Mr. Whit- 
 more has been offering my father to take charge 
 of either my brother or myself, and to settle us in 
 some situation that may lead us to make our for- 
 tune. William first replied, and .' 
 
 'Declined it !' scarcely articulated Agnes. 
 
28 THE FARMER OF 
 
 ' Yes, my dear girl ; nor have I accepted it. I 
 wished to consult you, and shall abide by your 
 determination: If you approve, and think it may 
 be the means of our future welfare, by placing- me 
 above sharing our parent's property witli William, 
 I shall accept it with pleasure; if otherwise, relin- 
 quish it; for you well know, my Agnes,' continued 
 he, kissing off a tear that had fallen on her cheek, 
 '- that my greatest happiness consists in giving you 
 pleasure. In a few months, perhaps, I might be 
 settled to my satisfaction, and able to return to 
 Inglewood, and fetch my betrothed wife. Would 
 to Heaven you had already borne that name, 
 for as it is, I fear both our parents will object to 
 our union until they find liow I am placed. Oh ! 
 Agnes, they say we are too young to marry ; how 
 false that notion, when we are old enough to love.' 
 
 Edwin might have continued for a much longer 
 time uninterrupted, for the heart of Agnes was 
 too full for utterance, and with her face reclined 
 on his shoulder, she gave vent to tlie anguish that 
 overwhelmed her. 
 
 ' I will not go then,' continued Edwin ; * I can- 
 not see you thus ; I will witli thanks decline Mr. 
 Whitmore's offer. Yet, Agnes,' added he, pressing 
 her to his bosom, ' to have placed thee in a state 
 I should glory to view thee in, \vhat would I not 
 endure ? Heaven witriess that was my strongest 
 incentive ; but it is past, I renounce it. It gives 
 thee pain, Agnes, and I will remain through life 
 in the humble situation to which I was born.' 
 
 ' Not on my account, Edwin,' sobbed Agnes, 
 endeavouring to master her tears: — 'Go where 
 
INGLEWOOD FOREST. 29 
 
 yonr wishes lead you ; I have no desire for i2jran- 
 deur ; Inglewood, with your company, contained 
 all I ever wished to possess. Rut ^o — go to diat 
 hateful city,. whose vices I have trembled to hear 
 repeated ; where men scoff at the ruin of innocent 
 maids, and vile women walk the streets at noon- 
 day with unblushing: cheeks; wliere power over- 
 comes right, and where affection is boufiist and 
 sold ! Go there, Edwin, and forsake the rustics 
 of Inglewood ; but remember, that bosoms cover- 
 ed with silk and embroidery do not always con- 
 tain hearts so true as mine.' 
 
 ' Cruel, ungenerous Agnes ! what are their 
 hearts to me? Am I not thine? Have we not 
 mutually promised? And can you think I will 
 ever falsify that vow, even thougli we should be 
 separated? No, I repeat it, should become 
 that villain, may I be abandoned of God and 
 man ; may the ivealtk 1 seek become my bane ; 
 cursed by my parents, despised by my brother, 
 and by thee, Agnes !' 
 
 'Forgiven r interrupted she, laying her hand 
 on his lips. 
 
 ' No, Agnes, I \vonld have said hated, but can- 
 not bear the thought ! Hated by thee, impossi- 
 ble ! that cvu'se alone would drive me to despair ! 
 To-morrow I will decline Mr. Whitmore's offer ; 
 smile then, my love, and let it be forgotten.' 
 
 ' Not from my persuasion shall you reiiuonish 
 it,' said Agnes ; ' for as I am sure your inclination 
 prompts you to accept his proposal, might you 
 not hereafter reflect on yourself f^r having let an 
 advantage pass that you could never regain? 
 
80 THE FARMER OF 
 
 Consult therefore with your father and mother, 
 and be sure I will acquiesce in v/hatever they de- 
 termine, convinced they are the best judges how 
 you should act.' With such discourse Edwin and 
 Agnes passed the time in the first tete-a-tete they 
 had ever found painful : however, his repeated 
 vows and tenderness, in some measure, contributed 
 to sooth her, and, pulling her bonnet lower over 
 her eyes, they returned to the farm, where a scene 
 of a very different nature had taken place in their 
 absence. They were hardly out of sight, and 
 William had just time to have informed Bernard 
 of Mr. Whitraore's offer, which the honest farmer 
 did not seem to disapprove, when the trampling 
 of horses was heard in the lane. William listened 
 a moment. ' It is perhaps Fanny !' exclaimed he, 
 regardless of what Bernard was saying, and has- 
 tening to the gate with the utmost eagerness, his 
 eyes sparkling with joy and expectation, M'hen a 
 moment presented her to his sight, with a young 
 cousin, who had escorted her home. William 
 rushed to meet them, while Fanny seeing his ap- 
 proach, threw the bridle on the neck of the old 
 mare, and was caught in his arms in an instant, 
 each only articulating tlie name of the other ; the 
 young farmer hallooing his greetings, and the 
 old mare continuing her sober pace till she reach- 
 ed the well-known stable door, apparently as 
 pleased as any of the party. 
 
 Bernard by this time was at the gate, wheie he 
 received his daughter from William, and giving 
 her a kiss, shook his relation heartily by the hand, 
 exclaiming, ' By my truly I am glad ye be come. 
 
INGLEWOOD FOREST. 3t 
 
 for i'faitli I believe if you had stayed a week longer 
 we should have had a burying. Take care how 
 you fail in love, cousin; for look at William there, 
 lie used to be as likely a fellow as you would see 
 on a summers day,' continued he, pointing to 
 him : ' Why, pies on the fellow, what a change 
 has taken place ; a quarter of an hour ago his 
 face was as long as my leg, and his eyes as dead 
 as stale mackarel's ; now I protest they look quite 
 bright, and his cheeks plump : why, thou must 
 be a plati;uy good doctor, Fanny, to make such a 
 speedy cure !' 
 
 ' She is the only one I ever intend to employ, 
 if she will undertake the task,' replied William ; 
 ' but your cousin must be fatigued, and need re- 
 freshment.' 
 
 ' Good troth, you may as well say my cousin at 
 once, for that will be the next thing I suppose. 
 However, come in, my lads, you shall have the 
 best the cupboard and cellar afford.' With these 
 words he led the way into the house, where they 
 were soon joined by Edwin and Agnes. — 'Pies 
 on't,' cried the old man, ' here comes another pair 
 of turtles. Heaven help the poor fellow that has 
 likely daughters. Sigh here, kiss there; and then 
 my poor apple-trees, what with true lovers' knots, 
 F. B. and A. B. if the girls don't get married soon 
 they won't be worth a farthing.' 
 
 William smiled at the farmer's humour, his 
 cousin applauded it Avith a hearty laugh ; but 
 Edwin, distracted between the contending pas- 
 sions of love and ambition, hardly knew what 
 passed, while Fanny, ever gentle and observant. 
 
32 THE FARMER OF 
 
 caii,o;ht the gloom that hung on her beloved sis- 
 ter's features, by whom she was seated, her eyes 
 tenderly fixed on her face, and anxiously inquir- 
 in«' after her health. 
 
 CHAP. IV. 
 
 While William and Edwin were engaged at Ber- 
 nards, Mrs Delmer, her brother, and Emma, had 
 • taken their evening walk, during which he had 
 informed them of the wish he entertained of Ed- 
 win's accompanying them to town. Mrs. Delmer 
 expressed the highest satisfaction at this intelli- 
 gence, saying that she had no doubt but that, 
 with the natural gracefulness of Edwin, his fine 
 person, and a proper introduction, he would soon 
 make his fortune. Emma also testified her plea 
 sure, though at the same time her face was a per- 
 fect index of an April day, alternately exhibiting 
 tears and dimpled smiles. — ' Why these tears, 
 lovely Emma?' said Whitmore; ' your brother's 
 preferment and liappiness shall be my peculiar 
 care. Thmk you not,' added he, in a lower voice, 
 ' but he must be dear to me ?' 
 
 ' I am sufliciently convinced of your goodness," 
 replied Emma ; ' but we have never yet been sepa- 
 rated for a day, a circumstance wliich must plead 
 an excuse for the weakness I now' show. Then 
 Agnes too, whom he sincerely loves, will be quite 
 
INGLEWOOD FOREST. 33 
 
 overcome by his absence, for though both my fa- 
 ther and Farmer Bernard object to their marriage 
 for a twelvemonth on account of their youth, yet 
 they have promised to consent at that time.' — ■ 
 Emma was too intent on the subject, and Whit- 
 more too intent on Emma, to pay much attention 
 to the countenance of Mrs. Delmer, which on this 
 intelligence was overspread with a deep crimson, 
 and interrupting Emma: ' It is to be hoped,' said 
 she, ' that the difterent situation in which he will 
 be placed will inspire him with ideas more advan- 
 tageous to his future fortune.' 
 
 ' As to that, Madam,' replied Emma, ' Fanny 
 and Agnes are perfectly w orthy the affection of 
 my brothers ; for, exclusive of sharing all their 
 father possesses at his death, tliey are reckoned 
 among the best, as well as handsomest, girls in 
 the country.' 
 
 ' Perhaps so,' returned Mrs. Delmer, petulant- 
 ly ; ' at a country fair a small stock of beauty will 
 go a great way' 
 
 ' You will not say so when you see them, but 
 at once allow my brother's affections well placed,' 
 replied Emma. — 'Indeed I don't know how it 
 could be otherwise ; they are our nearest neigh- 
 bours, and their mother dying when they were 
 very young, they have been as much brought up 
 at our house as their own.' 
 
 Whitmore here interrupted the discourse by 
 saying, ' Should your brother. Miss Emma, accept 
 my offer, which I confess I greatly wish, could 
 not the dread you appear to feel at the idea of 
 parting with him be greatly lessened by returning 
 
 2 E 
 
34 THE FARMER OF 
 
 my sister's visit for a short time in London, where 
 we would endeavour to show yon the kindness 
 we received at Inglewood was not lavished on 
 insensibles ?' — Emma for a moment made no 
 reply, for though such a prospect had never 
 entered her thoughts, it was too congenial to her 
 inclinations to suffer her to entirely decline it, 
 and to acquiesce without the consent of her 
 parents was impossible. 
 
 * You do not speak, Miss Godwin,' said Whit- 
 more. ' My dear sister, will you not assist me 
 in persuading your young friend to favour us so 
 greatly?' Mrs. Delmer, who, though she liked 
 Emma very well for a country companion, had 
 no intention of carrying the acquaintance farther, 
 yet in a manner thus pressed to make an offer, 
 replied, 
 
 * As soon as I have fixed on a house I shall be 
 happy to be favoured with Miss Godwin's com- 
 pany, if her friends will consent.' 
 
 Mr. Whitmore, who clearly saw that his sister 
 was far more warm in the interest of a handsome 
 young man than of a beautiful woman, replied, 
 'True, my dear Madam, we both speak provi- 
 sionally of what we wish, for Edwin, influenced 
 by his passion, may perhaps decline my offer, 
 and my own heart is too sensible how niuch such 
 a sacrifice must cost him to press it strenuously, 
 though for his future welfare.' 
 
 ' Ridiculous!' cried Mrs. Delmer, 'and so suffer 
 an elegant young man to throw away his life in 
 obscurity, at most the masterof a farm.' — A blush, 
 partly of anger, but more of shame, dyed the cheeks 
 
INGLEWOOD FOREST. S5 
 
 ufEmma; and for the first time in her life she 
 felt it derogatory to be the daughter of a farmer. 
 
 ' Though I think he miglit be very hrsppy in that 
 state,' said Emma, ' yet I cannot but wish he may 
 be sensible of tlie favour you design him ; for 
 tliough I shall be sincerely grieved at his departure, - 
 yet, when I consider it is for his future benefit, 
 that idea will console me, as I hope it w ill Agnes.' 
 
 ' And to my sister's request you say nothing,' 
 replied Whitmore. 
 
 ' Yes, Sir, I am truly sensible of your conde- 
 scension, and if my parents w^ould ]>ermit, should 
 be very happy to accept it for a short time.' — 
 Mrs.. Delmer rej)lied in a manner that fully satis- 
 fied the unsuspecting Emma. Whitmore, by a 
 glance only, expressed his thanks ; but that 
 glance, more expressive than words, declared 
 unutterable things, and sunk at once into the 
 heart against which it was directed.— On their 
 return to the farm they found Mr. and Mrs. God- 
 win waiting supper, daring which Mr. Whitmore's 
 servant entered with a letter which he had brought 
 from the post-house at the market town. A mo- 
 mentary suffusion crossed his cheek as he receiv- 
 ed it, and he w as on the point of putting it in his 
 pocket, had not Mrs. Delmer said, ' From Mrs. 
 Whitmore, I presume, brother.' 
 
 * I know not,' replied he, after a moment's hesi- 
 tation, ' but will peruse it after supper. My last 
 letters say, all our friends in town are well.' Mr. 
 Godwin, who had no idea that any one could be 
 go careless about those he denominated his friends, 
 
86 THE FARMER OF 
 
 entreated that politeness might not deprive him of 
 the satisfaction of reading- his letter. — Mr. Whit- 
 more bowed his thanks, but again declined it, 
 when Mrs. Deimer, as if actuated by a spirit of 
 contradiction, seconded Mr. Godwin, by saying, 
 'Do, my dear brother, oblige me; I long to hear 
 what company you have at Twickenham.' — Mr. 
 Whitmore, who now found that opposition would 
 only make the affair worse, antl at the same time 
 as effectually disclose what he had wished to con- 
 ceal, made a virtue of necessity, and breaking the 
 seal glanced his eyes carelessly over the contents, 
 tben reached it to his sister, at that moment hear- 
 tily wishing her, in his own mind, in the bosom 
 of her departed spouse. 
 
 While she was reading, Whitmore tixed his 
 eyes on Emma, and saw, with secret satisfaction, 
 an air of anxiety overspread her line features, but 
 finding she observed him, immediately withdrew 
 them. 
 
 ' There, take back your letter,' said Mrs. Dei- 
 mer : ' Mrs. W hitmore I lind is as gay and volatile 
 as ever. This I tiiiiik is the second you have been 
 favoured with since your accident.' 
 
 ' Had she now,' replied Whitmore, peevishly, 
 ' saved herself the trouble of reminding me of my 
 misfortunes, I had been infinitely more obliged to 
 her.' — With these words he arose and left the 
 room in evident discomposure, though at the 
 same time so apparently overwhelmed with me- 
 lancholy, that the honest farmer and his wife 
 were deeply concerned for him. Emma, during 
 
INGLEWOOD FOREST. 37 
 
 this discourse, had endeavoured to appear, nay, 
 to persuade herself that she was not interested in 
 it ; but her heart beat, her hands trembled, and 
 an involuntary sigh escaped her. 
 
 ' Bless me f cried Mrs. Godwin, with much 
 surprise, ' I never entertained the most distant 
 idea that Mr. Whitmorewas married. I presume 
 his lady was not acquainted with his misfortune 
 till he was almost able to return home.' 
 
 ' Oh ! yes,' replied Mrs. Delmer, ' one of the 
 servants who attended us went off the day follow- 
 ing ;^but she is too gay to be easily alarmed. In- 
 deed I never saw my brother so affected at her 
 indifference before.' 
 
 * My good dame,' replied the farmer, ' thinks 
 every one should possess a heart as susceptible as 
 her own. Had I broken my arm I should have 
 experienced more anxiety from her tenderness 
 than from the pain, and been in continual appre- 
 hension of seeing her sink under the fatigue of 
 attending me.' — William and Edwin at that mo- 
 ment entered, and apparently seemed to have 
 changed characters, the first being all gaiety, the 
 latter depressed and lost in thought. 
 
 * I think I might venture a good wager,' said 
 Mr. Godwin, ' that Fanny Bernard is returned ; 
 is it not so, William?' 
 
 * Yes, Sir, she will call to see you in the morn- 
 ing ; she would have come to-night, but I pre- 
 vented her, as she must be fatigued.' 
 
 * She will be welcome as thyself, my son, and 
 Agnes too ; we shall now see her more frequently, 
 as Fanny is returned to share the domestic cares.' 
 
3S THE FARMER OF 
 
 Mrs. Delmer changed the discourse, by ad- 
 dressing Edwin respecting his going to town. ' I 
 hope,' said she, 'you will not give my brother the 
 vexation of refusing his offer, as I am convinced 
 he will exert his utmost interest for your promo- 
 tion ; nay, to his shall be added mine, and as the 
 late Mr. Delmer had powerful friends, I can en- 
 tertain no doubt of your success.' 
 
 Edwin bowed his thanks, after which Mrs. 
 Delmer wished them a good night, and retired 
 with Emma. 
 
 The farmer thus left alone w ith his wife and 
 sons, Edwin's affairs were the sole topic. ' I can 
 neither persuade you to accept, or decline it, my 
 child,' said the good man; ' you alone must judge 
 what you think conducive to your happiness. 
 Equal possessor with your brother, both of my 
 affection and property, there is no need to seek a 
 greater fortune, if you can be content in the state 
 in which Heaven has ever been pleased to keep 
 me, without a desire to change it. But if your 
 wishes lead you to endeavour to gain wealth, 
 make the attempt; and if you fail, my son, return ; 
 under this humble roof you shall find welcome, 
 and a parent's arms open to receive j-ou. Yet, my 
 Edwin, if you determine in favour of the turmoils 
 of the great world, beware of the intoxication of 
 pride and pleasure, which inevitably destroy the 
 seeds of virtue; beware of being too suddenly 
 elated, or too soon depressed: the first shows a 
 weak head, the second a pusillanimous heart. 
 Seek reputation and honour openly and boldly ; 
 but flatter no man's vices or foibles to gain them. 
 
INGLEWOOD FOREST 39 
 
 Let truth be the invadable a,nide of all yoilv ac- 
 tions : Give no promise without deliberation, but 
 when once given, hold it sacred ; and finally, re- 
 member God, and in the hour of need he will not 
 forg:et you.' 
 
 'Oh, my father!' cried Edwin, sinking' on his 
 knee ; ' but Agnes, my beloved Agnes — *— !' 
 
 ' Is your betrothed wife, — a tie sacred, my son, 
 in the si&ht of that Power who records all our 
 voM's and actions? I have wished to delay your 
 marriage on account of your youth; but if you 
 determine for a country life, I am willing to re- 
 tract my opinion, and press Bernard to join your 
 hands at the same time that Fanny and William 
 are united; but if you resolve on a journey to 
 London, such a step would be the heig"ht of im- 
 prudence, as the care of a young, handsome, and 
 unexperienced female, in a great city, must na- 
 turally take up more of your time, in your first 
 pursuits, than you could prudently spare ; in that 
 case, it is my opinion, you should leave her with 
 her father until you are properly settled, for, if you 
 love her, you cannot wish her to partake those 
 difliculties you may necessarily meet on your in- 
 troduction.' 
 
 The offer of an immediate union with Agnes 
 for some moments appeared to prepondv^rate the 
 scale in the mind of Edwin, and determine him 
 in favour of a country life ; yet, when reflection 
 presented the resigning almost certain wealth to 
 live for ever in obscurity, nay, to condemn Agnes 
 to such a state when he might raise her to afflu- 
 ence, he paused, and determined to struggle with 
 
40 THE FARMER OF 
 
 his passion, and rather relinquish for a few months 
 the rapture of calling her his, than do both him- 
 self and her so material an injury. 
 
 ' My dear father,' said he, after some hesitation, 
 *■ I think, that is, if you approve, I will at least 
 try my success ; chance appears to have thrown 
 tliis opportunity in my way, which it might be 
 folly to neglect : Bless me then, my respected 
 parents : I feel I shall be successful, and soon, 
 very soon, trust to return and claimfmy Agnes/ 
 
 ' May'st thou be blessed, my son. Yet let rae 
 conjure thee to be not too sanguine ; hope fre- 
 quently leads us to flatter ourselves with fallacious 
 expectations, which redouble the pangs of disap- 
 pointment. — Nothing is certain in this transitory 
 state ; even I, who have been blessed above the 
 common lot of mortals, — far from the bustle of the 
 world, — happy in a partner to share my joys, and 
 cares, and children, whose duty can only be equal- 
 led by their affection, -r- yet even I have met with 
 sorrow ; tliiuk then on the turbulent sea of public 
 life how much greater must be thy trials : I mean 
 not to depress, but to prepare thee, my son. But 
 the night is far spent, let us retire, and Heaven 
 resolve thee for the best.' 
 
 Mrs. Godwin had not spoken during tliis dis- 
 course, but at the conclusion would also have 
 blessed him; but emotion arising from maternal 
 tenderness rendered her voice inarticulate, and 
 pressing him in her arms, she followed her 1ms- 
 band to his chamber. 
 
 William remained silent wljile they were pre- 
 paring to go to rest. The conduct of Edwin had 
 
INGLEWOOD FOREST. 41 
 
 astonished him, for he had not tlie most distant 
 idea, but what every scheme wonkl have been 
 relinquished for an immediate union with Agnes : 
 What tlien was his disappointment when he 
 heard him resign it? He could scarcely credit 
 the evidence of his senses, nor could he even yet 
 arrange his thoughts ; but bidding his brother a 
 good 'night, in apparent uneasiness, ejaculated, 
 ' Unhappy Agnes! Ah, Edwin ! thou hast either 
 less love or more philosophy than me.' 
 
 CHAP. V. 
 
 The next morning Farmer Bernard, on William 
 and Edwin''s calling there, renewed the discourse 
 of the preceding evening. His heart was equally 
 honest as that of Godwin, but his understanding 
 being inferior, he was more fascinated by the offers 
 made to Edwin, whom he warmly pressed to ac- 
 cept them, priding himself in the idea that he 
 should hereafter look up to a son-in-law, who 
 would not only constitute the happiness of his 
 beloved daughter, but also be the wealthiest man 
 in either family. Under this persuasion he rallied 
 his daughters on their dislike to his departure ; 
 for Fanny more openly expressed her disapproba- 
 tion than Agnes, who declared, though tears fal- 
 sified her words, that she was perfectly content to 
 2 * F 
 
42 THE FARMER OF 
 
 acquiesce in whatever Edwin might tliiiik would 
 conduce to his advantage. Edwin, though wound- 
 ed by Agnes's tears, was, notwithstanding, so 
 strongly borne away by the infatuation of acquir- 
 ing wealth, that it mastered every other considera- 
 tion ; and reinforced in this opinion by Bernard, 
 after tenderly repeating his vows to Agnes, it was 
 determined he should declare his acceptance of 
 Whitmore's proffer in the afternoon. — This busi- 
 ness settled, Fanny, who had not seen the eider 
 Godwin, proposed a walk thither to Agnes, who 
 readily agreed to accompany her. 
 
 If Agnes had passed a disagreeable night, thai, 
 of Emma had not been more pleasant ; she could 
 not forget, even for a moment, that Whitmore was 
 married : ' Yet what is it to me V said she, ' I shall 
 never see him more without my parents give me 
 leave to visit Mrs. Delmer, and indeed I have 
 scarcely any wish they should ; yet to be sure Mr. 
 Whitmore's being married is no reason to prevent 
 me. Poor man, he appears very unhappy; he 
 seems deserving of being beloved, so sensible, 
 good-tempered, and handsome, his wife must be 
 a strange character not to endeavour to conciliate 
 his affections ; nay, her neglect of him, when she 
 knew his arm was broken, shows she must have 
 an unfeeling heai t ; for had iie been my husband,' 
 concluded Emma, ' I w oidd even have walked 
 twice the distance that separated them, sooner 
 than any other should have taken those cares that 
 properly belonged to me.' 
 
 In the morning Whitmore was the first in tlie 
 parlour, where he was soon joined by Mr. and 
 
INGLE WOOD FOREST. 43 
 
 Mrs. Godwin: 'My friends,' said he, 'I know 
 not how to apologise for my behaviour of last 
 night ; yet, if you knew my un happiness, I think 
 1 should stand excused, thouL;,h in trutli my mis- 
 fortunes have no riglit, even for a moment, to cast 
 a gloom on your happiness : yet, when I contem- 
 pkite t!ie bliss possible to be enjoyed in tlie marri- 
 age state, and compare it with my own misery, I 
 cannot forbear accusing fortune of unkindaess.' 
 
 ' My dear sir,' interrupted Godwin, ' I entreat 
 you not to mention it, and am extremely sorry 
 you do not enjoy that happiness you appear so 
 well to merit.' 
 
 Whitniore replied only by a sigii ; be thought 
 the pique he could not avoid shov/ing the night 
 before required some apology, and therefore had 
 determined to persuade the good farmer that his 
 niatrinioniai discontents totally originated in his 
 lady ; a circumstance which he thought would 
 excuse his conduct to the family, and perhaps in- 
 spire the gentle breast of Emma, to whom he 
 judged it would be repeated, with pity, a senti- 
 ment h,e had no doubt some time to improve into 
 one more.consrenial to his wishes. 
 
 The entrance of Mrs. Delmer and Emma pre- 
 vented more conversation on Mr. Whitmore's 
 family discontents ; but he saw M'ith secret exult- 
 ation that the lively features of Emma were over- 
 spread with an uncommon cast of serioiisnes?, a 
 circumstance that not a little flattered him with 
 success in the plan he meditated in recom]>ense 
 for the hospitality he had received : Indeed, in 
 this case he conceived that no injury could accrue, 
 
44 THE FARMER OF 
 
 for could he gain Emma's heart, the obligation 
 would be mutual ; slie should share his fortune, 
 and, from the prejudices of a country life and 
 narrow education, be raised at once to be the 
 envy of the women, and the desire of the men. 
 Had her brothers been affluent, they miglit have 
 been expected to resent such an insult ; but 
 Whitmore feared no man, his sword was ever 
 ready to defend the vices of its owner ; and in this 
 case the anger of two simple youths, the curses of 
 an aged father, or the anguish of his innocent 
 partner, never intruded on his imagination. Slave 
 to his passions, they bore him like a rapid torrent 
 against all impediment, redoubling by obstruc- 
 tion and difficulty ; so that when once resolved 
 on any purpose, the vivacity of his temper, and 
 errors of his education, represented the pursuit 
 he was engaged in as dependant on his honour tii 
 be accomplished. r^^^d 
 
 l^jkBreakfast was hardly over before William and 
 Edwin entered, accompanied by Fanny and Ag- 
 neg, unconscious of beauty, tho' fair 
 
 ' As opening flow'rs untainted yet with wind.' 
 
 Fanny with a frankness that peculiarly dis- 
 tinguished her, regardless of the strangers, flew 
 to salute Mrs. Godwin, then threw her armsi'ound 
 the venerable father of lier lover : ' Bless thee, my 
 child,' exchiimed the good man, kissing- her with 
 llie affection of a parent, ' may Heaven hereafter 
 reward thy duly and innocence widi childriMi 
 faultless in mind and form as thvself ' 
 
INGLEWOOD FOREST. 45 
 
 *Amen,' involuntarily articulated William, 
 viewing his father and intended wife with a rap- 
 ture that gave redoubled animation to his fine 
 dark eyes. A momentary blush sufTased the face 
 of Fanny; but silently thanking Mr. Godwin 
 with a kiss, she hastened to testify her affection 
 to Emma, wliile Agnes, equally lovely, but more 
 timid, replaced her in the arms of the respectable 
 pair. 
 
 iu 'What a scene!' said Whitmore, in a low voice 
 to his sister, who had withdrawn towards the 
 window, ' what enchanting women !' 
 ill ^ Passable,' replied Mrs. Delmer, carelessly 
 viewing Agnes with scrutinising attention, in 
 vain endeavouring to discover defects in a face 
 and form that envy itself must have pronounced 
 faultless. The family congratulations over, Whit- 
 more advanced, with his natural ease and good- 
 breeding, and joined in the conversation. Emma, 
 an hour before, he had thought a finished model 
 of innocent beauty; but now, though he could not 
 allow her eclipsed, he saw at least equalled, and 
 had there been the smallest room for hope of gain- 
 ing an interest in the bosom of the fair sisters, his 
 heart would have cherished passion ; but as it 
 was, each fortified by an affection that precluded 
 his flattering himself with success, he contem- 
 plated only Emma as equally lovely, and doubly 
 desirable, as her heart was not prepossessed, or, 
 if otherwise, only partial to himself. 
 
 Mrs. Delmer, who, in spite of pride or wealth, 
 found a strong inclination to love Edwin, was not 
 quite so secure. In Agnes she beheld a beloved and 
 
46 THE FARMER OF 
 
 much to be dreaded rival, and tboiigli she could 
 boast affluence, accGrapii.^hments, and a person 
 generally allowed handsome, she was by no means 
 certain whether the weak prejudices of Edwin 
 might not lead him to prefer the humble village 
 maid, unadorned but by nature, and ricli only in 
 worth and innocence : She indeed flattered herself, 
 that the partiality slie felt for the handsome rustic 
 was merely the effect of being immured in the 
 country, where no more pleasing object had pre- 
 sented ; yet a number of circumstances might have 
 proved to a curious observer, that Edwin, however 
 unintentionally, had a firmer hold on her affections. 
 She had been satisfied, nay apparently happy while 
 at Inglewood, though deprived of ail those fashion- 
 able amusements and gratifications, that she had 
 tionsidered during the life of her husband so essen- 
 tial to her felicity, and which she had been in liaste 
 to partake as soon as etiquette would permit. The 
 idea once started of Edwin's going with them to 
 town, slie warmly espoused it, and anxiously 
 wished to see him placed in a manner she consi- 
 dered more respectable, without examining her 
 own heart for the real motive. Whitmoi'e was 
 not blind to this partiality, though it was far from 
 being suspected by any one else. Now and then it 
 gave him awkward sensations, but which were 
 quickly vanished by his favourite tenets, that 
 all were free agents, and passions given to be gra- 
 tified, and so his sister preserved the respect of the 
 world, and her rank in society ; for he had not the 
 most distant idea of her sinking it in an ill-suiied 
 marriage. He cared little about a transitory amour, 
 
INGLEWOOD FOREST. . 47 
 
 thou,2:li, had any one reflec(c<l on his sister's chas- 
 tity, he would have defended it with his hie ; yet 
 ^■neither from affection of her person or virtue, but 
 merely because custom demanded such conduct 
 in a man of honour. In short, affluence, and the 
 concomitant evils of having it in his power to gra- 
 tify all his foibles and vices, had perverted a soul, 
 naturally noble and brave, to render him merely 
 a modern man of fashion. 
 
 After a stay of tvvO hours Fanny and Agnes 
 took leave of the family, and returned, accompa- 
 nied by their lovers. Mr. Godwin v.ithdrew to 
 his fields, his wife to superintend her dairy, Mr. 
 Whitmore to his apartment, and soon after Mrs. 
 Delmertoher's, complaining of a slight indisposi- 
 tion, though in reality her only sickness was the 
 beauty of Agnes, and the fear of supplanting so 
 dangerous a rival. Emma thus left alone, for 
 some time indulged a thousand melancholy 
 thoughts she had formerly been a stranger to, 
 and all winch had only existence since the intro- 
 duction of Whitmore at the Forest. At length, 
 weary with unproiiiabie thinking, and in no hu- 
 mour to resume the little domestic cares that used 
 to amuse her, she carelessly took up a book that 
 Mrs. Delmer had accidentally left on the table. 
 It was an elegantly written fiction, in which the 
 hero, unable to combat his passion for a married 
 wTjman, had terminated his existence. Emma's 
 heart was not formed of unfeeling materials, and 
 the catastrophe cost her many tears. The heroine 
 was represented v irtuous, yet she apparently iov ed 
 the suicide ; circumstances that Emma had 
 
48 THE FARMER OF 
 
 thought incompatible ; for how, had ever before 
 whispered her innocent heart, can a good woman 
 love any man but her husband? The hapless 
 lover too was mentioned with pity and tender- 
 ness, sentiments in which the humanity of Emma 
 coincided ; but no one deplored what she had 
 ever been taught to believe, that suicide was ever- 
 lasting perdition ; nor was she displeased at the 
 omission of this circumstance, tlie tenderness of 
 her disposition leading her to sympathise with the 
 sufferer, and pity those errors her education had 
 taught her to abhor. 
 
 Thus did the dangerous elegance of a pathetic 
 tale at once undermine ' all that the priest and 
 nurse had taught,' and which her father had never 
 contradicted, leaving those ideas implanted on the 
 mind which he thought might tend to the general 
 good, or otherwise trusting to time and reason to 
 develope, in the breasts of his children, sentiments 
 which he found inexplicable, consonant with the 
 philanthropy that actuated all his thoughts and 
 actions ; for his heart, like uncle Toby's, would 
 not have damned the devil himself to all eternity, 
 much less the errors of fallible mortality. Weak- 
 ness and folly he considered with pity, and when 
 in his power endeavoured to reclaim ; but vice 
 and cruelty he saw with an abhorrence that made 
 its perpetrators ever shunned by him. 
 
 Whitmore, who had loitered from liis apartment 
 to the garden, passed the window, and j^erceiving 
 Emma alone, pushed by tlie woodbines that 
 almost obscured it, and entered into conversation 
 with her.— 'Good Heaven!' cried he, with insi- 
 
INGLEWOOD FOREST. 49 
 
 nuating tenderness, 'you have been weeping, my 
 lovely friend ; pardon my intrusion, but surelj, 
 after the kindness I have experienced, I may be 
 allowed to feel an interest in the sorrows of one, 
 whom numberless circumstances have contributed 
 to render dear to me.' 
 
 'Indeed,' replied Emma, 'I believe few people 
 have less real cause for sorrow than myself, blest 
 as I am with kind and affectionate relatives ; but 
 to confess the truth, this book of Mrs. Delmer's 
 has affected me greatly, though I suppose it is 
 not true ; nay, I hope not, for the idea is dread- 
 ful : and though our curate says there is no pardon 
 for suicide, I trust he is mistaken.' 
 
 ' Can you doubt it?' replied Whitmore. ' God 
 is too merciful to punish errors which fatal neces- 
 sity obliges us to commit : PriesI:?, indeed, of all 
 ages, have promulgated doctrines to keep weak 
 minds in awe ; but can you, gentle Emma, for a 
 moment suppose, that sentiments, which are the 
 result of reflection and reason, can be culpable? 
 surely not. The unhappy suicide there repre- 
 sented loved it is true a married woman, but 
 one whom a number of untoward circumstances 
 had made such without her heart being consulted, 
 and in which situation she might perhaps have 
 remained passably content during life, had not 
 that imperceptible attraction which unites some 
 hearts convinced her of her mistake, and her lover 
 of his misery ; for nothing to hope,' added he, with 
 a sigh, 'an insuperable bar being placed between 
 him and the object of his dearest wishes, who can 
 condemn him for throwing off a load which he' 
 found insupportable ? Believe me there are situa- 
 
 3 G 
 
50 THE FARMER OF 
 
 tions v/hich demand more fortitude to sustain 
 than falls to the share of weak mortality. You, 
 my fair friend, who are made to be only once 
 seen and for ever idolised, can form no idea of the 
 torments of despairing affection.' The entrance 
 of the old servant to lay the cloth here broke off 
 the discourse, and Whitmore withdrew from the 
 window to join the hospitable party at dinner. 
 
 The cloth was no sooner removed than Whit- 
 more, who could not possibly frame any excuse 
 for a longer stay, mentioned his intention of quit- 
 ting Inglewood in two days, expressing his wishes 
 that Edwin would accompany him. 
 
 The young man accepted his offer with modest 
 thanks, saying, ' as he had his father's permission 
 he would attend him, and endeavour to merit his 
 kindness.' 
 
 Mrs. Delmer's eyes at this reply sparkled with 
 pleasure, while Whitmore expressed his satisfac- 
 tion in the warmest terms, declaring, that ' how- 
 ever successful he might be in his attempts to 
 serve Edwin, yet the obligation must ever remain 
 on his side.' 
 
 CHAP. VI. 
 
 Nothing material passed the day intervening 
 Whitmore's departure, the whole family being 
 much dispirited, even Edwin, though at times 
 elate with the flattering prospect before him, 
 could not, unmoved, think on a separation from 
 
INGLEWOOD FOREST. 51 
 
 parents so beloved, and the woman whose hap- 
 piness had hitherto been his first and dearest 
 consideration. 
 
 The evening previous to liis departure, in pre- 
 sence of William and Fanny, he renewed his vows 
 to Agnes, who could only answer with her tears, 
 concealing her face in the bosom of her sister, 
 while he articulated an adieu scarcely audible, 
 then forced himself away, goaded on by ambition, 
 though at the same time he was more than half 
 inclined to relinquish all for love. 
 
 In the morning, after repeated farewells, the 
 travellers took their v^^ay towards the metropolis, 
 leaving the anxious Farmer and his wife, with 
 Emma, watching the carriage while it remained 
 in sight ; the aged pair in silent prayers for the 
 safety of their son, and Emma, though her eyes 
 overflowed with tears, exulting in the future 
 prospect, tliat Edwin would return possessed of 
 that wealth her heart had lately thought so essen- 
 tial to human happiness. 
 
 William had risen at the earliest dawn of day, 
 and taken an affectionate though melancholy 
 adieu of his brother, whom he entreated not to be 
 displeased that he did not stay to see him depart, 
 as he thought his presence at Bernard's might, 
 in some measure, alleviate the sorrow with which 
 the gentle sisters appeared overwhelmed. 
 
 Edwin, having acquiesced in the propriety of 
 this measure, William immediately repaired to 
 Bernard's, where he found them already risen, 
 their swollen eyes sufficiently bearing testimony 
 of their having passed a restless night. William 
 exerted all his endeavours to soothe the mind of 
 
52 THE FARMER OF 
 
 Agnes, representing' the absence of Ed^vin as 
 trivial, and which would be greatly alleviated by 
 the weekly receipt of letters ; he also urged his 
 flattering prospects, and finally, what appeared 
 to have still more w eight, that he had no doubt 
 but that in a few months Edwin would return, 
 and claim her promised hand. True friendship 
 seldom fails of its effect, especially when assisted 
 by such welcome arguments. By degrees Agnes 
 became more reconciled to the separation, and 
 though she still continued to sigh, her grief was 
 neither so agonising to herself, or so painful to 
 others. On her quitting the room, — ' Generous 
 William !' said Fanny, ' will you ever thus kindly 
 share my sorrows? for, in alleviating those of 
 Agnes, how have you calmed mine ! But w hy 
 do I ask, when I know you will ? All I fear is, 
 that my utmost efforts will never be sufficient to 
 show my gratitude.' 
 
 While the tears still flowed for Edwin's de- 
 parture, Mr. Whitmore, with his sister and pro- 
 tegee, by easy stages arrived at his elegant villa, 
 where he was received by Mrs. Whitmore, not 
 with the inquiring tenderness of a wife, but with 
 the refined politeness of an accomplished but com- 
 mon acquaintance. Whitmore having coldly sa- 
 luted her, first presented his sister, then Ed^ in ; 
 the former she received with a genteel compliment, 
 but the latter only excited a stare of astonishment ; 
 for though Edwin might have been classed among 
 the most finished of nature's w orks, he still wanted 
 numberless appendages to make him a fine gentle- 
 man, such as a fashionable tailor and hair-dresser, 
 an unblushing confidence, together with a long 
 
INGLEWOOD FOREST. 53 
 
 trmnof etceteras. These fashionable introductories 
 being: wanting, Mr. Whitmore was obliged to find 
 a substitute. — 'To this young man's father,' said 
 he, ' I am under the greatest obligations, and hate 
 therefore taken the care of his fortune on myself; 
 his mauviase honte will evaporate daily ; I have 
 no doubt in a single year to see him so metamor- 
 phosed that his nearest friends will not know hira.' 
 
 Mrs. Vv hitmore coldly bid him welcome, and 
 retired with her sister to dress, where she more 
 particularly inquired concerning him : 'What a 
 rustic !' exclaimed she : ' surely, when Mr. Whit- 
 more had paid for the trouble he had given, it was 
 unnecessary to encumber himself with this lad, for 
 what can he possibly do with him ? It is plain he 
 don't intend him for a domestic by his introduc- 
 tion, and with his curled locks and rosy cheeks 
 he is fit for nothing else.' 'Ji- iiiri' 
 
 ' I cannot agree with you,' replied Mrs. Delmer : 
 ' I think his person, when rendered a little more 
 fashionable, might grace any situation ; besides, 
 my brother had no other way of showing his gra- 
 titude to the family, as they refused all pecuniary 
 recompence ; for, though farmers, their situation 
 is perfectly easy. The young man has really 
 had a good education, and I think has the finest 
 hair, eyes, and teeth, I ever saw.' 
 
 ' My dear sister,' returned Mrs. Whitmore, 
 laughing, ' your long residence in the country 
 with your late spouse may have given you a taste 
 for the uncultivated beauties of nature ; but for 
 me, who have been bred and wedded in the highest 
 degree of fashion, I must confess 1 prefer the ex- 
 otic sweets of the orange tiowerto the uncultivated 
 
54 THE FARMER OF 
 
 fragrance of the woodbine. Besides, he is a mere 
 nobody, a peasant, a farmer's son ; and did all the 
 graces that ever poets feigned centre in this Cory- 
 don, what would it avail, when he knows not 
 how to use them? Why, he can neither walk, 
 daii^ce, or talk, like a man of the world ; however, 
 I confess he has an able master, and in a short 
 time we shall be able to judge of his genius.' 
 
 Mrs. Delmer, glad to change the subject, began 
 a number of inquiries, which her sister was ne- 
 cessarily obliged to answer, and that soon drove 
 the rustic Edwin from her thoughts. 
 
 The behaviour of Mrs. Whitmore to Edwin in 
 future was polite, but distant, as if fearful, that 
 should she be more condescending, he might for- 
 get the distance fortune had placed between them ; 
 that of Mr. Whitmore and Mrs. Deimer, on the 
 contrary, was friendly and warm ; but as no men- 
 tion was for some time made of the situation de- 
 signed for him, it gave him uneasiness, as he was 
 too clear-sighted not to view the behaviour of Mrs. 
 Whitmore in its proper light. In his letters to 
 his father and Agnes he expressed himself per- 
 fectly satisfied ; but in one to his brother William 
 he was more explicit. 
 
 * My dear brother, 
 ' Although I have to my father and Agnes de- 
 clared myself content, yet to you I will not dis- 
 guise that I almost repent leaving Inglewood. 
 The manners of the people here are so different 
 from ours, that they both disgust and distress me ! 
 I am frequently laughed at for blushing ; and 
 candour, which we have been taught to prize so 
 
INGLEWOOD FOREST. 55 
 
 highly, is banished from among them ; while 
 religion is treated as a jest, and scarcely ever 
 mentioned but with ridicule ! All this, my dear 
 brother, is very disagreeable to me ; yet the hopes 
 of that advantage wliich influenced me to leave 
 those so dear, must enable me to bear it. How 
 often, William, do I wish my temper was more 
 similar to yours ! the arrows that might be thrown 
 at my country education and manners Avould fall 
 harmless ; for you would disregard and despise 
 them, while, on the contrary, I am humiliated by 
 ridicule, and almost ashamed of being a farmer's 
 son. I blush to relate this even to you, though 
 in your bosom 1 know my weakness is safe. We 
 are yet at Mr. Whitmore's country-house, where 
 we have much company : His lady is also here ; 
 she is very handsome and accomplished, but her 
 insufferable pride to me makes her totally disa- 
 greeable. He is equally kind as when at the Forest, 
 and I have no doubt will strictly keep his word in 
 respect tome; therefore hide my discontents from 
 my affectionate parents and my beloved Agnes, a 
 separation from whom hangs heavy on my heart. 
 Adieu, and believe me ever yours, 
 
 E. Godwin. 
 
 The happiness of his worthy parents, and that 
 of the gentle Agnes, was too near the heart of 
 William for him to show the foregoing letter, not 
 even Fanny being trusted with the contents, 
 while in his own bosom he execrated the hour 
 that Edwin left the Forest ; nor did he fail to 
 write speedily, and entreat his return; or, if he 
 determined to stay, conjured him to preserve his 
 
5ft THE FARMER OF 
 
 morals unimpaired, to beware of ill examples, 
 nor suffer himself to be too soon elated, or yet 
 weakly depressed. 
 
 'A noble mind, Edwin,' said he in the conclu- 
 sion of his letter, ' is not degraded by the scorn 
 of tiie unworthy. Art thou not an honest man, 
 a name superior to the vain distinctions of wealth ? 
 Believe me, I w ould not exchange it for any un- 
 meaning sound that fortune could bestow, even 
 though pride should add the choice of all the 
 monsters that heraldry ever created. Edwin, we 
 are the sons of a virtuous and honest Farmer, a 
 man respected by his neighbours, and beloved by 
 the poor ; for the labour of no execrating slave 
 enriches him, but w^holesome industry and inde- 
 pendence, hand in hand accompany him through 
 life. Sacred then is the trust reposed in us ; let 
 it be our glory to preserve his name unsullied, 
 and transmit it untarnished to our descendants. 
 Return then ; Edwin, the Farmer's son, though 
 scorned in polite circles, is here beloved, and his 
 absence hourly lamented ; no degmding conces- 
 sions will be expected ; on your return all will 
 be joy and harmony, the only contentions Avho 
 shall caress you most.' 
 
 Before Edwin received this letter he was, how- 
 ever, more reconciled to his situation, the kind- 
 ness of Mrs. Lelmer and her brother in some 
 measure compensating for the hauteur of Mrs. 
 Whitmore ; he therefore wrote an immediate re- 
 ply to William, affectionately thanking Mm, but 
 declining to return, as Mr. Whitmore was soon 
 to remove to London, where he hoped to be 
 placed in the promised independence. 
 
INGLEWOOD FOREST. 59 
 
 in respect.' — Fanny thus pressed determined to 
 obey her father, and accordingly, on Sunday, ac- 
 companied by Agnes, Emma, William, and their 
 respectable parents, attended the parish church, 
 where they were scarcely seated when (their new 
 lady of the manor) Mrs. Palmer entered. All 
 eyes were turned on their new comer, until the 
 curate, in an audible voice, demanded, for the last 
 time, ' whether there was any lawful im[)ediment 
 against the union of William Godwin and Frances 
 Bernard?' This at once changed the object of 
 curiosity, all eyes fixing on the intended bride 
 and bridegroom ; nor did Mrs. Palmer need any 
 one to point out the parties, the downcast looks 
 and blushing cheeks of Fanny, the eyes of W il- 
 liam, ' with love illumined high,' fixed with raptu- 
 rous, yet chastened expression, on his future wife, 
 proclaimed at once the happy pair. 
 
 Never before had honest Bernard imposed so 
 painful a task on his daughter, as that of attend- 
 ing him to church in so critical a situation, and 
 was sincerely rejoiced when she reached Mr. God- 
 win's, w here, with her father and sister, she had 
 promised to pass the afternoon : In short, seated 
 by her beloved William, and surrounded by ap- 
 proving friends, she had almost forgot the disa- 
 greeable sensations of the morning, when Bernard, 
 who was nearest the window, suddenly exclaimed, 
 * Why, as I live, here comes our new lady : what 
 can possibly bring her?' Before any conjecture 
 could be made on the reason of this visit, the lady 
 had approached so near the gate, that politeness 
 required Mr. Godwin should advance to meet 
 lier. — ' You are welcome, Madam,' said the good 
 
60 THE FARMER OF 
 
 man: 'will you add to your condescension by 
 accepting a seat after your walk?' The lady 
 having- acquiesced, followed him into the par- 
 lour, where the whole party instantly rose to re- 
 ceive her. 
 
 ' I pray you be seated,' said she, taking her 
 place ; ' you will give me pain if you treat me 
 with so much cereniony ; for, tlio' not personally 
 acquainted, Mr. Godwin is well known to me by 
 the means of Mr. Burton, my late uncle's steward.' 
 — Godwin bowed, then introduced his family, not 
 forgetting Bernard and his daughter : all were re- 
 ceived in a manner that marked true greatness 
 undisguised by affectation, for she loved to confer 
 happiness, and pride had never yet prevented her 
 from gratifying so praiseworthy an inclination.— 
 * My good friends,' said she, with a smile, ' though 
 in this first visit I come an uninvited guest, I 
 trust hereafter I may not prove an unwelcome 
 one. As your daughter's marriage is the first 
 after my arrival in the country, I entreat it may 
 be celebrated at the hall.' 
 
 ' I scarcely know how to express my gratitude 
 for your condescension, Madam,' replied the Far- 
 mer; ' but my future daughter is anxious to have 
 her marriage as private as possible, and as it is to 
 take place to-morrow, we should but be giving 
 your family a Avorld of unnecessary trouble.' 
 
 ' It will be none,' replied Mrs. Palmer ; ' my 
 table needs but little preparation ; therefore, my 
 good girl,' continued she, taking the hand of the 
 trembling Fanny, ' shall it not be as I say ? JMy 
 own family, and any guests you choose, shall 
 constitute the whole company,' 
 
INGLEWOOD FOREST. 57 
 
 CHAP. VII. 
 
 The information Edwin had given his brother 
 was veriiied in a few days after, for Mr. Whit- 
 more, ah-eady weary of the country, and his lady 
 no less so, determined to hasten to town. Indeed 
 he had never borne the country with any degree 
 of patience until he saw Inglevrood, and there the 
 charms of Emma alone had rendered it pleasing ; 
 indeed the innocent Emma had at once given and 
 received an impression not easily effaced. Whit- 
 more could not avoid contrasting her in idea wath 
 the modish belles he daily beheld ; her soft blue 
 eyes sparkling through their dark lashes, her lux- 
 uriant ringlets w antonly agitated by every wind, 
 waving over her lovely forehead, and falling in 
 untaught elegance to the small of her fine turned 
 waist ; the glowing blush of her cheeks, the sweet 
 dimple and enchanting smile which played round 
 her lovely mouth, all returned with redoubled 
 ardour on his warm imagination, and increased 
 his desire to again gaze on them, and if possible 
 obtain them. — ^Edwin's promotion he thought the 
 most probable means, for he then should be re- 
 garded as the distinguished friend of the family, 
 and gratitude w ould give additional softness to 
 the susceptible heart of Emma, in w hose bosom 
 he strongly suspected he had already an advocate; 
 to combat her prejudices he knew would be diffi- 
 cult, but these difficulties, if he succeeded, would 
 enhance his victory. With such an incentive the 
 active mind of Whitmore could enjoy but little 
 3 H 
 
58 THE FARMER OF 
 
 rest until he commenced his plan of operations ; 
 the removal to town was therefore the first step, 
 and immediately put in execution. 
 
 In the mean time the family at Inglewood were 
 also forming their future plan of happiness ; the 
 good Farmers had consented to the union of Wil- 
 liam and Fanny as soon as the banns could be 
 published, all therefore was preparation and im- 
 patience until the event took place, for never be- 
 fore did William experience three such tedious 
 weeks. 
 
 Fanny had declined going to church the two 
 first Sundays, but on the third her father insist- 
 ed on her accompanying him, as the new lady of 
 the manor had arrived in the country two days 
 before, and was expected at church ; it was in 
 vain she attempted to excuse herself; the old 
 man was peremptory. 
 
 ' What a pise, girl, art thou ashamed of?' said 
 he* ' If thou art ashamed of William, turn him 
 off, it is not too late. All the tenants wiH be at 
 church in the morning in compliment to the new 
 lady, and why shouldst thou wish to be particu- 
 lar ? I shall have no right to command thee after 
 Monday, so pr'ythee give me this proof of thy 
 obedience.' 
 
 * My dear father,' replied Fanny, ' you shall be 
 obeyed ; but wiiy will you say that you shall 
 have no right to command me hereafter? have I 
 ever shown by my actions that I thought your 
 commands painful V 
 
 ' No, thou wert always good and considerate ; 
 but thou knowest, Fanny, that my lease is nearly 
 expired, and I should be sorry to appear wanting 
 
INGLEWOOD FOREST. 63 
 
 Jias stood during the night ; yet, if it has not, 1 
 should be sorry to disturb my father.' With such 
 ideas he descended the staircase, though far less 
 cautiously than usual, nay, when he had reached 
 the bottom, he was seized with a cough, which 
 being heard by the Farmer, he called aloud from 
 his bed : — ' What are you stirring already, my son? 
 It is much too early to go to Bernard's.' Wil- 
 liam was of a different opinion, and after having 
 answered his father that he should take a walk, 
 hastened thither, predetermined, however, not 
 to disturb his F,anny. This determination was, 
 however, unnecessary, for in a short time she 
 appeared at the window, and presently after with 
 Agnes joined him at the gate. 
 
 After conversing for two hours, the party was 
 augmented by the arrival of some relations ; and 
 soon after came the venerable Godwin, his wife, 
 and daughter, accompanied by the guests who 
 were invited to witness the ceremony. 
 
 Mutual congratulations having taken place, the 
 company repaired to Mrs. Palmer's, where they 
 found every thing prepared for their reception, 
 the lady presiding at the breakfast table in a 
 manner that delighted her guests. At length 
 the moment arrived that called them to church ; 
 Mrs. Palmer, with Mrs. Godwin and Bernard, in 
 honest exultation, led the van ; next followed 
 Fanny, escorted by her future father-in-law and 
 husband, whose 
 
 ' Speak inoj eye 
 Express'd the sacred triumph of his soul. 
 With conscious virtue, gratitude, and love. 
 Above the vulgar joy divinely raised.' 
 
©1 THE FARMER OF 
 
 Then came the bride-maids, Agnes and Emma, 
 and lastly, in pairs, the different relatives of both 
 families. On entering the church the service 
 immediately began, and Bernard presenting his 
 daughter to William, a few minutes fixed her 
 irrecoverably his. — 'Fanny,' said he, saluting her 
 when the ceremony concluded, ' thou art mine, 
 for ever, ever mine, and the study of my life shall 
 be to deserve thee.' 
 
 * And mine,' whispered Fanny, 'to repay your 
 affection, William.' He then advanced with her 
 towards their fathers. — ' Even here, oh ! my pa- 
 rents,' exclaimed he, 'bless us, here at the altar; 
 so shall your blessing be registered with our mu- 
 tual vows, and doubly sanctify our union.' 
 
 Bernard, moved even to tears, could only sob 
 his blessing as he saluted his children ; but God- 
 win, firm and collected, advancing, said, 'May 
 the benediction of your Father, which is in 
 Heaven, be added to that of a weak old man. 
 Blessed may you be. May every morn bring- 
 to ye joy like this. — May ye live in honour and 
 happiness, and die surrounded by your chil- 
 dren's children, whom I cannot wish worthier 
 than being just representatives of their parents.' 
 
 Mrs. Palmer now congratulated the new-mar- 
 ried pair, as did also the rest of the party ; they 
 then returned to the hall, where an excellent but 
 plain dinner was provided, after which the day 
 was passed in innocent mirth and festivity, and 
 the evening concluded with a ball, after which 
 all parties retired to their respective homes. 
 Mrs. Palmer, at their departure, presenting Fan- 
 ny with a ring in token of her future friendship. 
 
INGLEWOOD FOREST. 61 
 
 Fanny stole a look at her father, for tho' she 
 would wilUngly have been excused, she well knew 
 his temper, and remembered his anxiety for a re- 
 newal of his lease. ' My father and Mr. Godwin 
 shall decide for me, Madam,' replied Fanny, mo- 
 destly courtesying. 
 
 'Nay,' hastily interrupted Bernard, *if my opi- 
 nion is asked, I think it will be the height of 
 ingratitude to refuse Madam's offer ; and as to the 
 wedding being private, had I my own way, I 
 should have invited half the country. I think a 
 good action cannot have too many witnesses ; but 
 Fanny is so sheepish and bashful, that she cannot 
 bear one to mention it to any one, though she 
 loves William as her own life, and is never happy 
 but when he is tied to her apron-string.' 
 
 'Well, Madam,' interrupted Godwin, 'as our 
 good girl has referred herself to us, and I see it 
 will gratify her father, with your leave we will 
 avail ourselves of the honour you intend to confer 
 on us, and our young folks will hereafter, 1 hope, 
 show they do not disgrace your kindness.' 
 
 Mrs. Palmer expressed the utmost satisfaction 
 at this determination, and after some general dis- 
 course bid them farewell, having first desired 
 them to breakfast at the hall previous to their 
 going to church, where she meant to accompany 
 them. 
 
 Mrs. Palmer was scarcely out of sight before 
 Bernard gave way to the transport that almost 
 overpowered him. 'There, girl,' said he, 'this 
 comes of my advice: 1 have no fear of my lease 
 now, and that will be so much the better for thee. 
 Well, well, thee be'est a lucky girl, Fannys and 
 
62 THE FARMER OF 
 
 so will my Agnes too, never fear. The next 
 thing will be, I suppose, our having news that 
 Edwin is quire a gentleman, and coming down to 
 fetch her.' AYiUiam sighed involuntarily, while 
 Agnes silently dropped a tear. Ambition she 
 had none, and would willingly have relinquished 
 all the flattering prospects of future grandeur to 
 have been seated by Edwin's side in similar cir- 
 cumstances with her sister Fanny. 
 
 All parties were loud in the praise of Mrs. Pal- 
 mer ; her person and affability furnished discourse 
 for the whole afternoon, except when the subject 
 gave way to the pity excited by her uneasiness ; 
 for she had lately buried an uncle, whose fortune 
 she inherited, and to whose memory she was said 
 to be most tenderly attached. 
 
 At an early hour they separated, William at- 
 tending Bernard and his daughter home, where 
 he lingered some time before he could bid them 
 farewell, though only for the night. At length, 
 tenderly saluting his destined wife, he whispered 
 in her ear, ' Thank God! my beloved Fanny, this 
 is the last night we have to separate ;' then, with- 
 out venturing another look, he ran from the house 
 and hastened home. 
 
 William arose with the sun the next morning ; 
 excessive happiness had kept him awake the whole 
 night; he counted the hours with impatience, and 
 beheld with rapture the stars give place to the 
 dawn of day. — He was soon equipped, a plain su- 
 perfine drab suit constituting his whole bridal 
 finery. His father was not yet risen. ' He has 
 surely overslept himself,' said William. The 
 clock struck. ' Pish !' continued he, ' that clock 
 
INGLEWOOD FOREST. 65 
 
 CHAP. VIII. 
 
 Mrs. Palmer was about thirty-six, her fortune 
 large, and entirely at her own command, being be- 
 queathed her by her lately deceased uncle, whose 
 death had spread a gloom over her natural cheerful- 
 ness; but nothing could obscure the philanthropy of 
 her disposition ; she had felt misfortune, therefore 
 knew how to compassioiiate it in others, while to 
 diffuse happiness was her highest relaxation. — 
 
 * Ah !' exclaimed she, when her guests departed, 
 
 * how have these honest folks beguiled me from 
 myself! What a respectable character is Godwin! 
 How forcibly does he bring my uncle to my me- 
 mory ! It is not in the bustle of public life my 
 mind can regain its wonted composure, it is in the 
 calm exercises of domestic duties, in the society of 
 a chosen few, in acts of beneficence, which my 
 fortune demands, and my heart applauds.' 
 
 As such V* as the disposition of Mrs. Palmer, it 
 may easily be supposed that her partiality for the 
 God wins increased daily; for joined to uncorrupted 
 honesty, they possessed a degree of understanding 
 that made them agreeable and conversible com- 
 panions. — Her superior rank had at first caused 
 some little restraint, but her constant affability 
 soon banished all reserve ; and though they con- 
 tinued to look up to her with respect, it was so 
 softened by affection and esteem, that her presence 
 ever increased their cheerfulness, and redoubled 
 their enjoyments. 
 
 3 I 
 
66 THE FARMER OF 
 
 William had immediately on his marriage writ- 
 ten to acquaint his brother, who had returned his 
 con2:ratulations. Edwin was now in Loudon, but 
 the situation Mr. Whitmore mentioned had been 
 disposed of previous to his application, he there- 
 fore was as yet unsettled, a circumstance that Mr. 
 Whitrtiore treated so lightly, saying ' the loss 
 would be soon supplied,' that it greatly contri- 
 buted to alleviate the vexation vvhich Edwin 
 would otherwise have experienced. Mrs. Delmer, 
 on her arrival in London, had immediately taken 
 a house, and Mrs. Whitmore \s perpetual engage- 
 ments left Edwin under the entire guidance of her 
 husband, who introduced him every where as his 
 protegee. This condescension did not fail of its 
 effect ; Edwin looked up to Mr. Whitmore as a 
 master-piece of perfection, for his fine person and 
 vivacity made him universally admired ; and as 
 for the spots of libertinism that shaded his charac- 
 ter, they sat so easy, and appeared so little re- 
 garded by the gay part of the word, that Edwin 
 began to think such errors not so very heinous as 
 he had once imagined, a doctrine which Whitmore 
 never failed to inculcate as often as occasion pre- 
 sented. This sophistry was proportionably dan- 
 gerous as it was pleasant ; the curb of education 
 and religion had hitherto kept the passions of 
 Edwin (which were naturally strong) in subjec- 
 tion ; but he was now become a pupil to a declared 
 votary of pleasure, who disdained to be \vithheld 
 by the contracted bounds of reason : Thus Edwin's 
 morals insensibly gave way, for though his heart 
 still revered virtue, yet he began to regard the 
 
INGLEWOOD FOREST. 67 
 
 practice as more difficult than he had ever before 
 experienced. 
 
 One evening', after having dined with Whit- 
 more at a tavern, among a mixed company (where 
 the glass was freely circulated, andEdwin, ashamed 
 by the ridicule of his friend, had forgotten his usual 
 temperance) as they adjourned homeward, Whit- 
 more suddenly seeming to recollect himself, said, 
 with a half smile, ' Apropos, I had forgot an in- 
 dispensable engagement which I mad e for to-night: 
 you must accompany me.' They then entered a 
 hired vehicle, and soon reached an elegant house, 
 where Whitmore appeared perfectly acquainted, 
 introducing Edwin to an elderly lady and three 
 young ones as his friend, at the same time desiring 
 him to cultivate the acquaintance of his cousins. 
 
 Edwin bowed, and blushing, replied * he was 
 too much honoured by the condescension of Mr. 
 Whitmore to neglect showing* his respect to any 
 of his relatives.' The ladies smiled archly at Whit- 
 more, and seemed to demand an explanation, when, 
 taking the youngest by the hand (a I^eautiful girl 
 of eighteen) he presented her to Edwin, saying;, 
 * Here, Sophy, take charge of this young man : 
 he is as bashful as you were a twelvemonth since, 
 and blushes as frequently ; cannot you give him 
 some advice how to get rid of such troublesome 
 appendages ? 
 
 T do not know,' answered she, in a lively accent, 
 at the same time fixing her eyes on his face, and 
 taking his hand ; ' let me first consider his features. 
 Why yes, I believe he will do in time. What say 
 you. Sir, will you be my scholar?' — Edwin was 
 confused, he knew not whatto reply ; he trembled. 
 
68 THE FARMER OF 
 
 his cheeks were dyed with crimson. Even imac- 
 qiuiinted as he was with the world, he coidd make 
 no doiiht, from the manner of the kidies, that they 
 were of the number liis education had taught him 
 to abhor ; yet, fearful of displeasing* ids friend 
 Whitmore, and ashamed of avowing his senti- 
 ments, he remained silent, his hand locked in 
 that of the youthful Circe, who appeared in no 
 haste to resign it. During the evening, mirth 
 even to licentiousness prevailed over the whole 
 party, except Edwin : He, pressed by the caresses 
 of his selected companion, and withheld by the 
 recollection of Agnes, knew not how to act, and 
 alternately underwent paroxysms of both fever 
 and ague. At length an elegant supper was 
 served up, the wine went briskly round, the most 
 lascivious songs were sung, Whitmore and the 
 ladies repeatedly pressing Edwin to drink, until 
 his natural timidity began to give way ; W hitmore 
 then pretending tirst to recollect the hour, ex- 
 claimed, ' It is past two, we shall but disturb 
 my family ; can we intrude on you, ladies, for 
 this niiiht T 
 
 The elder answered in the alfirmative, desiring 
 two of her daughters (as she styled them) to show 
 the gentlemen to their respective apartments. 
 
 Edwin hesitated, but his head giddy with wine, 
 and his heart intoxicated with a vicious incli- 
 nation, his wanton companion soon gained the 
 ascendancy, and led him on to his chamber, 
 where Inglewootl, Agnes, and virtue, were soon 
 forgotten! 
 
INGLEWOOD FOREST. 69 
 
 CHAP. IX. 
 
 As opium can for a while deaden the anguish of 
 the body, so may vice for a short time stifie the 
 pang of conscience ; but, as in the first instance, 
 when theetfect ceases, the pain returns, so in the 
 latter, reason no sooner regains her empire than 
 the delusion vanislies, and we view our deeds 
 simply as they are. Thus was it with Edwin : 
 witli the morning came disgust, and cahn reflec- 
 tion : in the bitterness of his regret, he cursed 
 Whitmore, detested his companion, and despised 
 himself, resolved to hasten back to Inglewood, 
 and endeavour to repair the error he had been 
 unwarily drawn into, by the future prudence of 
 his conduct. On his meeting with Whitmore he 
 was serious and reserved, being fully determined 
 to inform him, on the first opportunity, of his in- 
 tentions. Whitmore, on the contrary, was even 
 more than commonly cheerful, exerting his utmost 
 vivacity to entertain Edwin, but in vain ; and he 
 had undoubtedly declared his resolution, hao they 
 not been joined immediately on their quitting the 
 house by a friend of Whitmore's, who accompanied 
 them home. Edwin, on his arrival, immediately 
 retired to his apartment, where he for some time 
 had given way to the vexation that overpowerevd 
 him, when he was interrupted by the entrance of 
 a servant with a packet that had been left during 
 his absence. * It is from my brother,' said he, as 
 the man quitted the room, without regarding the 
 address, ' and contains others from my father, from 
 
79 THE FARMER OF 
 
 Agnes, and to whom? to a drunkard, a debauchee, 
 a perjured, execrable villain, whose contaminated 
 soui oughtforever tobedeprivedof such blessings. 
 — Ah, Agnes ! accursed be the hour I left thee, 
 and doubly accursed that in which I was proof 
 against thy tears ! I dare not open the letters, 
 they w ill contain nothing but expression of kind- 
 ness, and sooner at this moment could I face 
 death.' As he spoke he pushed the packet from 
 him, but his eye involuntarily glancing over the 
 direction, he perceived it was neither William's 
 nor his father's hand ; as he had no other corres- 
 pondents, a thousand fears at once agitated him, 
 and curiosity mastering every other sensation, he 
 hastily broke it open, and, to his infinite surprise, 
 instead of letters, found a commission for an en- 
 signcy, filled up in his o^vn name, and a bank-note 
 for a hundred pounds, but no line to infer from 
 whence the present came. Amazement kept him 
 for some moments silent; he could scarcely believe 
 his eyes, and every other idea being banished by 
 the present occurrence, he started up, and hastened 
 to Mr. Whitmore, whom he had no doubt had 
 chosen this method to surprise him. Whitmore 
 was alone, and if the astonishment of Edwin had 
 been great, his, if possible, was yet superior. The 
 army he had never thought of, nor had the most 
 distant idea of such a measure ever taken place in 
 the mind of Edwin, though to Mr. W hitmore he 
 was convinced he owed it; for, unknown to any 
 one in London, to whom else could lie suppose 
 himself indebted ? Mr. Whitmore at first strongly 
 denied it, but a few moments recollection made 
 him change his manner into simple congratulations 
 
INGLEWOOD FOREST. 71 
 
 on the event, neither absolutely denying, nor yet 
 positively acknowledging it ; then, after some 
 slight discourse, taking his hat, left the house. 
 Edwin remained alone some time, bewildered in a 
 multiplicity of different ideas', the errors of the 
 preceding night only lightly intruding on his 
 mind ; the return to Inglewood was also forgot- 
 ten, or at least delayed, until he should go to 
 claim Agnes as his bride, which he had now no 
 doubt of being soon able to perform, for imagi- 
 nation had already raised him from an ensign to 
 a colonel at least. 
 
 In the mean time Whitmore hastened to his 
 sister,on whom his suspicions immediately glanced 
 nor did he hesitate to disclose them. Mrs. Delmer 
 at first firmly denied any knowledge of the busi- 
 ness, but Whitmore's eyes and interrogatories 
 were too penetrating for him to be long deceived. 
 — At length, said he, ' You well know my senti- 
 ments in general ; yet I hold the good opinion of 
 the world of some moment, particularly when re- 
 lative to women, and more especially when they 
 are young and handsome; consider then how 
 this business, should it ever be known, would be 
 canvassed by the old and envious. I have indeed 
 myself for some time suspected you had a parti- 
 ality for Edwin, but hope your pride will always 
 prevent an improper step.' 
 
 ' I need not tell you, Whitmore,' said she, 
 laughing at his unusual gravity, 'that I am 
 twenty-seven, a widow, possessed of an affluent 
 fortune, and independent spirit, have m ell consi- 
 dered all those matters, and am predetermined to 
 
72 THE FARMER OP 
 
 act according to my own inclination. As for the 
 commission, if you will father that brat for me, I 
 shall be much obliged to you, as I would not wish 
 to encounter Mrs. Whitmore's raillery on the 
 occasion ; therefore, my friend, I am willing to 
 resign to you all the merit of doing a generous 
 action without the expense. In the army the 
 meanness of Edwin's origin will be the most effec- 
 tually concealed, as I have no doubt he may 
 speedily gain rank ; now, as to my having enter- 
 tained a partiality for the young man, admitting 
 the supposition, who has a right to restrain me ? 
 Have I not fortune enough for both ?' 
 
 Whitmore not being able to combat the force 
 of such irresistible arguments, thought it the best 
 policy to take the commission on himself, leaving 
 her in other respects to act without control, as 
 he well knew that contradiction would rather 
 strengthen than extinguish her predilection ; be- 
 sides, were she as partial to Edwin as he suspected, 
 yet he was unacquainted with her weakness, and 
 strongly attached to Agnes. 
 
 Whitmore, on his return home, though he still 
 denied sending the commission, gave Edwin every 
 reason, from his vague answers, to suppose at least 
 that it came with his privity. Edwin would have 
 fain returned the note, but this Whitmore strenu- 
 ously refused, saying, ' that he would want that 
 sum at least to equip him for his new employ,' for 
 w hich purpose a capital army tailor was immedi- 
 ately sent for to decorate his outside with the 
 usual ensignia of valour.^ — While these exterior 
 marks of a soldier were in preparation, W hitmore 
 
INGLEWOOD FOREST. 73 
 
 did not fail procuring other necessary appendages, 
 viz. a fencing-master, and a skilful teacher of 
 military tactics. 
 
 The occurrences of this busy, and, to Edwin, 
 pleasing day, were no sooner over, than he sat 
 down to write to the family at Inglewood, ac- 
 quainting them, ' that Mr. Whitmore had pro- 
 cured him a commission, and likewise had, with 
 unparalleled delicacy and generosity, presented 
 him with a sufficient sum to equip him in a man- 
 ner that should not disgrace it.' He likewise 
 wrote to Agnes ; as usual he lamented the sepa- 
 ration from her, and vowed to see her as soon as 
 possible; but, alas! in the exultation of the mo- 
 ment, even love appeared to hold only a second 
 place in his heart, ambition, like. an impetuous 
 torrent, bearing all before it. 
 
 CHAP. X. 
 
 Edwin's letter reached the family at Inglewood, 
 as they were seated in high glee in Godwin's par- 
 lour. — Bernard had some days before ventured to 
 the hall, and mentioned his wish of renewing his 
 lease, in which Mrs. Palmer had immediately ac- 
 quiesced, granting him a long term at his usual 
 rent ; a circumstance that exceeded Bernard's 
 most sanguine expectations, who, amidst a profu- 
 sion of thanks, concluded with saying, * I have 
 4 K 
 
74 THE FARMER OF 
 
 one more favour to beg, Madam, which is, that 
 the lease may be drawn in my son-in-law's name^ 
 but he shall know nothing- about it until it is 
 signed, for he is such an obstinate fellow^ I should 
 never get him to consent.' 
 
 Mrs. Palmer, pleased with the blunt integrity 
 of the Farmer, dismissed him, saying, ' she left 
 the whole business to himself, and would sign it 
 whenever he was prepared.' 
 
 Three days after, all being in readiness, Ber- 
 nard called on his son-in-law, desiring he would 
 accompany him to witness the completion of the 
 lease, a summons he immediately obeyed. Mrs. 
 Palmer, having ordered her steward to be sum- 
 moned, the parchments were produced, and Wil- 
 liam directed where to set his name, on the 
 supposition of witnessing the deed. The other 
 parties having likewise affixed their names, and 
 the whole concluded, Bernard could no longer 
 conceal his exultation ; but bowing to Mi-s. 
 Palmer, said, 'I thank you, Madam; William, 1 
 trust, will show himself a worthy tenant to so 
 kind a lady.' 
 
 ' I do not doubt it,' replied she, ' and had I 
 changed you for any other I should have felt dis- 
 satisfied; but as it is, I am rather inclined to 
 congratulate you, as the business will now fall on 
 one more able to support it. William, after a 
 moment's recollection, comprehended the whole 
 affair; but well knowing that all remonstrance 
 would be vain, he simply returned his thanks to 
 both parties, concluding by saying to Bernard, 
 < Though you have in this business acted in a 
 
 iftianner cojatrary to my wishes, I shall still regard 
 i:d lo 1ir/UH.j i»iii o«.y.' ;? ?/•.-> baa ,jaiiJjst- 
 
INGLEWOOD FOREST. 75 
 
 the farm as yours during your life; and should 1 
 survive you, as held in trust for my sister Agnes. 
 A dependance on my fVither I by no means wish 
 to shake off, nor does ray Fanny find it painful ; 
 why then, my dear Sir, would you wish us to 
 change V 
 
 ' You are too proud, AVilliam,' replied the old 
 man, with emotion, * you do not like to be obliged 
 to me, though I love you as well as your own 
 father.' 
 
 * And do I not revere you equally V answered 
 William. — ' He gave me life, and with the most 
 tender care watched over my childhood ; but you, 
 in giving me Fanny, bestowed a treasure far su- 
 perior to the whole w orld without her.' 
 
 The Farmer's reply was a hearty shake by the 
 hand, saying, — ' A good lad, a brave fellow, I can 
 never do enough for thee;' then making his obei- 
 sance to Mrs. Palmer, again repeated his thanks, 
 and with his son-in-law returned to Godwin. 
 
 As they walked the old man's heart seemed full. 
 At length, 'William,' said he, 'Agnes and I lead 
 but a dull life since thou hast taken Fanny from 
 us ; the foolish girl does nothing but sigh, and her 
 eyes are for ever red with crying after Edwin, 
 though she knows, and T am for ever telling her, 
 it is all for his good: now, if thou and Fanny 
 were with us, we should be as happy as the day 
 was long.' 
 
 William replied, ' it w as a case in which he 
 should be entirely guided by the joint agreement 
 of himself and Mr. Godwin ; that he tiidy con- 
 fessed he should be miich grieved to leave his 
 father, and equally so to refuse the parent of his 
 
70 THE FARMER OF 
 
 wife what would give him such apparent satis;-' 
 faction.' 
 
 This conversation brought them home, where 
 neither Bernard nor William appeared in hoste to 
 disclose the manoeuvre at the hall, until Bernard 
 after dinner ventured to inform them wliat he had 
 done, and which, to his great vexation, he found 
 all disapproved, except Agnes. Godwin indeed 
 consented that William should reside with Ber- 
 nard ; but the gloom which overspread his vene- 
 rable features, on the idea of his son forsaking his 
 paternal roof, plainly showed how reluctantly the 
 permission was given. — Emma had sat for some 
 time a silent observer ; when at length starting up 
 with great liveliness, she cried, ' Tiiough no one 
 has asked my opinion I shall give it notwithstand- 
 ing : I hate this division of families ; we all love 
 one another, why then cannot we live together? 
 Oar house is far larger than Mr. Bernard's, and 
 here is plenty of room for us all.' 
 
 Bernard made no reply, but fixing his eyes on 
 Mr. Godwin, appeared to wait his opinion with 
 anxiety. 'Indeed, Emma,' replied Godwin, *J 
 know but few things that would give me greater 
 satisfaction than the constant company of my 
 friend Bernard, if .' 
 
 'If what?' interrupted the Farmer. — 'Why, if 
 you and your good dame like on't, it's a bargain, 
 for I lead but a moping life yonder. With you I 
 shall be as happy as a prince ; we can smoke a 
 pipe, and drink a jug of ale, and envy no one 
 under the sun. Old age will steal on me unper- 
 ceived, and I shall die surrounded by those I 
 love best.' 
 
INGLEWOOD FOREST. 7T 
 
 Among a party so detennined to act in unison, 
 an agreement was soon made, and Emma em- 
 braced and caressed as the author of the present 
 happiness; for though it was apparent from the 
 conduct of allr, how much satisfaction the pro- 
 posal had given, yet, had not her vivacity started 
 it, in all probability it had never taken place. 
 
 ' Nay, nay, Fanny,' exclaimed Emma, ' don't 
 kiss me, you only do it to conceal your tears. 
 Here, William, pray comfort her, I have other 
 business to mind,' throwing her arms round Ber- 
 nard's neck, and saluting him with the affection 
 of a daughter: 'You are a good-natured man, 
 and I love you dearly.' Here the sound of the 
 post-man's horn at the gate broke off their mutual 
 greetings, and William hastening out, soon re- 
 turned with a letter addressed to his father. All 
 equally eager to hear from Edwin, Godwin began 
 to read the contents aloud ; but had no sooner 
 communicated the intelligence of Edwin's gaining 
 a commission than Agnes fell from Iier seat de- 
 prived of sense or motion. Every other idea was 
 now lost in her situation, until at length slowly re- 
 viving she was led to Emma's chamber, and laid 
 pn her bed, where, after some time, she enti-eated 
 to be left alone, which being complied with, and 
 the party again assembled, Godwin concluded the 
 letter, and each gave their respective opinions. — 
 Bernard was in raptures, Edwin was already a 
 gentleman ; for his part he had no patience with 
 Agnes, who could sutler herself to be depressed 
 by what ought to give her the highest pleasure. 
 * Yet, when you consider, my dear father,' inter- 
 rupted Fanny, ' that Edwin, by this step^ and in 
 
tS THE PARMER OP 
 
 all probability A^nes, will be for ever estranged, 
 and distant from us, yourself will surely not see it 
 in so flattering a point of view. Should we not 
 have been happier, fhink you, all together in our 
 original destination?' 
 
 ' True, true, girl, I can't say but it would have 
 been very comfortable ; but then only think, wiien 
 he comes to fetch Agnes, how the whole country 
 will stare—how I shall enjoy it! Besides, every 
 man has not the same luck ; and many men, many 
 minds. Edwin was born for a gentleman, and 
 William for a farmer.' 
 
 * So truly do 1 feel what you advance,' answere 
 William, ^ and so thoroughly sensible am I of the 
 blessings I enjoy, that were it in my power to 
 choose my situation I would reject a change. 
 Nature, in giving me a constitution able, and a 
 heart willing to labour, has done her part, and 
 never in my person shall the active farmer dege- 
 nerate into the useless gentleman. Edwin has 
 chosen a more distinguished part in the business 
 of life, a defender of his country's rights, and a 
 minister of its vengeance. Oh ! may equity guide 
 him, and success and honour attend him. For 
 me no aspiring thoughts find place in my bosom; 
 let kings defend their possessions and treasures, 
 sufficient to me is the defence of mine, to shield 
 those I love from care, to cultivate my lands, to 
 guard my flocks, and to shelter them from the 
 wintry blast. Thus let me live and die, too 
 humble to excite envy, and too happy to envy 
 any one. Can riches give more ; or rather, can 
 they give so mucli ? My heart says No, I feel 
 peculiarly blest, and can look down with pity on 
 
INGLEWOOD FOREST. 79 
 
 kings, and the painful uncertain splendour that 
 surrounds them.' 
 
 ' Ah! would to heaven,' exclaimed Mrs. God- 
 win, weeping, ' that my beloved boy had never 
 left us, to fall perhaps in a foreign land ; no care- 
 ful mother to soothe his dying hours, no tender 
 father to see him laid in the earth! Miserable 
 woman that I am, why did I consent to his de- 
 parture ?' 
 
 * Be comforted, dear friend of my youth,' said 
 the venerable Godwin, taking his wife by the 
 hand, 'never can my heart know peace while 
 thou art sad, neither can it ever be completely 
 overwhelmed while thou art spared to bless me. 
 Look,' continued lie, affectionately viewing his 
 family, * consider the blessings that surround thee, 
 and canst thou repine? Like thyself, I could 
 have wished Edwin's destination otlierwise ; but 
 as it is. Heaven speed him in the just cause, and 
 God's will be done.' 
 
 * My dear mother,' said Emma, drying her 
 tears, ' our Edwin will, I hope, be safe from 
 danger, and an honour to us. 1 think I already 
 see him so elegant and handsome in his fine scarlet 
 clothes, his hair powdered, and his sword by his 
 side; oh! I am sure I shall love him a thousand 
 times better than ever.' 
 
 ' I pray ye, Fanny,' said William, smiling and 
 wishing to enliven the discourse, ' if the old tailor 
 should call when I am absent, bespeak me a 
 scarlet coat, and when you go into the cheese- 
 chamber bring down the rusty cutlass ; it shall no 
 longer be employed against the rats, but hung to 
 Miy side; for I am determined that Emma shall 
 
80 THE FARMER OF 
 
 love me a thousand times more than ever, since 
 her affection is so easily obtained.' 
 
 ' You may say what you please,' replied Emma, 
 * but he will look delightfully : Oh ! how pleased 
 I shall be when he comes back ! The very first 
 Sunday he shall go with Agnes and me to church. 
 Lord ! not one of the girls, I'll be bound, will 
 know the text.' 
 
 * I fear,' answered Godwin, ' that you judge of 
 others by yourself, Emma ; but for the present 
 drop the subject, and go to Agnes, whose unas- 
 suming heart, like my own, I fancy, would prefer 
 a russet frock to a scarlet coat and cockade.' — 
 Emma obeyed, and during her absence it was 
 agreed, that, as the subject apparently gave so 
 much uneasiness to Agnes, it should be touched 
 upon as little as possible, and that the whole 
 party should appear to view the change in Ed- 
 win's affairs in a promising light. 
 
 The next day Godwin took the opportunity of 
 being alone to write to his son ; never before had 
 he found the task so painful. He wished not to 
 lessen the pleasure Edwin appeared to experience 
 from his success, yet how could he congratulate 
 him on a subject that overwhelmed his heart with 
 sorrow. — 'Merciful Creator!' exclaimed lie, laying 
 down the pen, ' what words can I use? My son 
 a soldier ; a man licensed to shed blood ; the blood 
 of those who never wronged him ; nay, perhaps, 
 to lose his own in quarrels in which his heart has 
 no share — a heart so tender, kind, and dutiful, to 
 become at once so hardened, as to triumph in the 
 destruction of his fellow- creatures ! Congratulate 
 him, ah ! no, it is impossible j I will simply tell 
 
INGLEWOOD FOREST. 81 
 
 liim that I am glad he is satisfied ; but that for 
 myself I should have preferred any other situation. 
 Fascmated as he appears 1 will not openly show 
 jny disgust, but by lenient methods endeavour to 
 awaken his real disposition, which for some time 
 has appeared clouded by ambition, or he had 
 never left his family and betrothed bride to follow 
 a vain and empty shadow.' 
 
 Godwin's letter was, as he expressed, mild, yet 
 energetic. He did not command his son's return, 
 but introduced subjects which he thought might 
 encourage it, as the happiness of William, the 
 kindness of Mrs. Palmer, the uneasiness of Agnes, 
 the new arrangement between the families, and 
 finally, if he did not find a very particular attach- 
 ment to the new profession he was engaged in, 
 Bernard's farm was entirely at his command, as 
 William only held it in trust for Agnes, and 
 would rejoice to relinquish it. — The letter con- 
 cluded, he showed it to no one, that, in case he 
 was disappointed, they might not judge of his 
 vexation, nor yet too harshly of Edwin ; he then 
 joined Bernard, who was seated with his jug of 
 ale before hhn. Filling a bumper he drank to 
 Edwin's health, concluding with a wish, that * he 
 might live to be a general.' 
 
 ' Heaven forbid !' involuntarily ejaculated God 
 win, 'for how much carnage must he wade 
 through before he could arrive at that height?' 
 
 \h.i 
 
8? THE FARMER QP 
 
 CHAP. XI. 
 
 Edwin's letter had reached the family at Ingler 
 wood, as they were in tlie midst of innocent joy 
 and friendship. Godwin's answer was also re- 
 ceived by Edwin in a moment of exultation, for 
 he had entered upon, and assumed the dress of^ 
 his new profession, gaudy distinguishing scarlet. 
 —Strange that the ministers of a business so re- 
 plete with horror, as that of war, shouUl wear so 
 ti'iumphant and gay a habit, whilst those of reli- 
 gion are clothed in mournful black, which appears 
 to denote their profession gloomy, mysterious, 
 and sad. — Hateful prevarication; true religion is 
 simple, clear, and open as truth, and needs no 
 habit of assume^ gravity to implant it on the 
 human heart, 
 
 * Since God is ever present, ever felt. 
 
 In the void waste as in the city full ; 
 
 And \vhere He vital spreads there must be joy.' 
 
 Whitmore had introduced Edwin in his new 
 decoration to his lady, saying, ' There, Madam, 
 what think you now of my pupil ? I don't believe 
 there is a handsomer fellow in the regiment.' To 
 confess the truth, Edwin's natural good person 
 showed to advantage in his miUtary ^accoutrements, 
 and which may be easily surmised by the ansAver of 
 the lady, who, viewing him from head to foot with 
 more than usual kindness, coincided in her hus- 
 band's opinion, as did also Mrs. Delmer, who 
 Boou after joined the party. Thus treated with 
 
INGLEWOOD FOREST. 83 
 
 uncommon kindness by Mrs. Whitmore, and en- 
 couraged by general approbation, Edwin felt a 
 self-satisfaction that he had never before expe- 
 rienced, and afterwards, when alone, as he passed 
 the large glass in the drawing-room, could not 
 avoid stealing a glance at his own figure, which 
 appeared both new and delightful to him.— At 
 this moment his father's letter was presented him; 
 its contents at once gave both pleasure and pain; 
 he rejoiced at their happiness and success, but 
 grieved at the uneasiness of Agnes, tenderness 
 and gratitude for a moment obliterating ambition. 
 
 * I will leave all,' said he, 'to show my affection: 
 I will relinquish my aspiring hopes, and once 
 more sink into a plain and humble farmer.'— -As he 
 spoke he raised his eyes from the letter to the 
 mirror, and vanity again resumed her sway. 
 
 * Fool that I was to leave the country, unless I 
 had courage to pursue my fortune ; it is but to 
 taste of the cup of prosperity, and then to dash it 
 from my lips. With what pleasure could I resume 
 my labour, when 1 recollected how dear it had cost 
 me, to drudge through the day in a coarse clumsy 
 habit, and at night to return to a mere cottage, 
 compared to the elegant mansions I am now ac- 
 customed to : Agnes cannot require such a sacri- 
 fice ; it would involve herself in the consequences 
 of my folly. — No, rather let me redouble my efforts 
 for advancement, which, once obtain&d, I will fly 
 to claim her, make her partaker of niy happiness, 
 and force her to confess that I took the most ef- 
 fectual means to show my affection.' 
 
 With such a resolution it may easily be conjec- 
 tured what answer lie returned to his father; it 
 
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86 THE FARMER OP 
 
 Edwin was too much confused to reply, but 
 the silence was short, for Mrs. Whitmore was too 
 lively to suffer her companion to be thoughtful, 
 and the time flew pleasantly till the clock struck 
 two, when Edwin apologized for breaking so long 
 on her rest, and soon after retired, Mrs. Whit- 
 more saying as he left her, ' You have hitherto 
 not considered me as your friend ; dream to-night 
 that I am truly such, and perhaps you may find 
 your dreams realized.' 
 
 Edwin retired too well satisfied to fall immedi- 
 ately asleep, and when he did, it was but to retrace 
 the objects that during the day had afforded him 
 such exquisite pleasure. At an early hourWhitmore 
 entered Edwins apartment, and hastily awakened 
 him : He had been up all night, and his dress in 
 consequence was disordered, but the animation of 
 his features was redoubled. ' Edwin,' said he, 'I 
 could not retire without informing you of my 
 success ; I have all night been engaged at hazard, 
 and have brought off two thousand pounds in 
 notes and cash, and shall to-morrow receive four 
 hundred pounds more, which makes the whole of 
 my winnings two thousand four hundred. You 
 shall accompany me when I go again, and try 
 your fortune.' Edwin congratulated his patron 
 on his success, who soon after retired to rest, 
 leaving Edwin possessed w ith an idea that, could 
 he but be lucky enougli to learn this charming 
 science, his fortune was indubitably made. 
 
 Whitmore was true to liis promise ; he intro- 
 duced Edwin the following evening, insisting 
 that for that night they should be partners in 
 their success. Edwin would have declined it, 
 
INGLEWOOD FOREST. 87 
 
 but Wliitmore was peremptory, for avarice was 
 not among his vices ; and fortune again favouring 
 him, he, the next morning, presented Edwin Avith 
 two hundred guineas, the moiety of what he had 
 won the evening before. Edwin now considered 
 gaming as a never-failing resource, and became 
 indefatigable in learning its arts and mysteries, 
 now playing on his own fund with various success, 
 but for the general part successfully. Whenever 
 he was disengaged from Whitmore, he was a 
 constant attendant on his lady, or Mrs. Delmer, 
 flattered by their attention, and through their 
 introduction universally well received. Mrs. 
 Pelmer he had ever regarded with gratitude and 
 esteem, as her behaviour had been uniformly 
 kind ; but his sentiments for Mrs. Whitmore 
 were of a different nature, he owed her no grati-^ 
 tude, nor could he in his heart esteem her ; yet 
 such was the beauty of her person, and the fasci- 
 nation of her manners, that he frequently could 
 not avoid envying W^hitmore the possession of so 
 charming a woman ; nay initiated as he now be- 
 came daily into life, he perhaps would not have 
 scrupled to tell her so, had she appertained to any 
 other man ; but his heart was not yet sufficiently 
 vitiated to attempt to debauch his friend's wife, 
 though the lady by no means appeared inclined 
 to cruelty, and Edwin was frequently obliged to 
 fly a temptation so hard to be resisted. 
 
 Whitmore, in the mean time, was perpetually 
 devising methods to get Emma into his power, 
 for though the ardour of his passion was some- 
 what abated by the length of time he had been 
 absent from her, yet her charms w ere not oblite- 
 
88 THE FARMER OF 
 
 rated from his memory. He had endeavoured to 
 persuade Mrs. Dehner, and also Mrs. Whitmore, 
 to invite her for a short space to town ; but both 
 ladies had received the proposal so coldljs that of 
 necessity he had been obliged to relinquish it. — 
 Ten months had passed since Edwin left Ingle- 
 wood, and in that short space he had so far im- 
 proved, that little was wanting to constitute him 
 a complete ' Man of the World.' A few glasses 
 of wine no longer discomposed his head ; he could 
 swear, and retire occasionally with a kind fair one, 
 without feeling such acute remorse as he had at 
 first experienced ; though, \o confess the truth, 
 these errors even yet gave him some compunction, 
 and w ere as frequently forsworn as committed ; 
 but the barrier of probity and truth once broken, 
 the violation of an oath was a trifle, and therefore 
 in this case constantly forfeited. He still main- 
 tained an uninterrupted correspondence with the 
 family at Inglewood, and determined to visit them 
 in a short time, preparing presents which he 
 thought might be acceptable, that for Agnes 
 being a miniature of himself in his unifornv Qne 
 evening, having repaired to the gaming-house as 
 usual, fortune was peculiarly unkind ; he lost, 
 doubled his bets, lost again, redoubled them, but 
 in vain every effort ; he was stripped of all his 
 ready money, and before he left off, found himself 
 considerably in debt. AVhitmore had also been 
 unsuccessful lately, therefore he could not think 
 of applying to him, though the stranger requested 
 either the payment or an acknowledgment for the 
 debt, which Edwin was necessitated to giyCj 
 tliough he knew not how to discharge it» \^ 1 1' 
 
INGLEWOOD FOREST. 89 
 
 Distressed what to do with himself, for it was 
 not yet his hour to retire, and well knowing 
 Whitmore and his lady were both abroad, he 
 called at Mrs. Delmer's, whom he found at home 
 and alone. She received him with her usual 
 kindness ; but gently upbraided him for so sel- 
 dom visiting her, expressing her fears that he 
 was not more properly engaged. Edwin defend- 
 ed himself with great gallantry for so young a 
 beginner, promising that hereafter she should 
 have no reason to complain, except it was of his 
 too frequently troubling her. 
 
 * You will do well,' replied the lady ; ' it is time 
 to know your friends ; I have been indefatigable 
 for your promotion, while you have hardly be- 
 stowed a thought on me ; nay, I can with certainty 
 assure you, that you will be raised on the first 
 vacancy that happens in your regiment, which I 
 have great reason to believe will not be long.' 
 
 ' Generous Mr. Whitmore !' exclaimed Edwin, 
 ' how shall I ever repay such unbounded obliga- 
 tions ? But, my dear Madam, when did he inform 
 you of this, for he never mentioned it to me ?' 
 
 ' It would be very strange if he should,' replied 
 the lady, ' as he is totally unacquainted with it 
 himself! In short, Edwin, not to keep you in 
 suspense, your entrance into the army was my 
 device, as I thought it the most speedy means of 
 raising you to notice. My first design was never 
 to let you know to whom you were obliged ; but 
 when I hear you are constantly engaged at the 
 gaming-table, or else with other loose company, 
 I think it but friendly to warn you of your danger, 
 and to tell you I do not approve your conduct.' 
 
 4 M 
 
90 THE FARMER OF 
 
 Edwin was too much astonished to reply for 
 some moments, but threw himself at Mrs. Del- 
 mer's feet, where, as soon as he could articulate 
 his thanks, he was profuse in his promises to act 
 in a manner as should hereafter deserve her favour. 
 As we easily believe what we wish, Mrs. Delmer 
 ■was not inexorable ; Edwin vowed his everlasting 
 gratitude; Mrs. Delmer, in return, promising her 
 friendship and protection : In fine, the conversa- 
 tion became almost critical before they parted for 
 the night, Edwin promising to breakfast with her 
 the next morning. 
 
 On a review of what had passed, he was not 
 now such a novice but to discover that he might 
 at once step into an independent fortune without 
 further trouble ; the only incumbrance a wife, and 
 that too a handsome, amiable woman : but then 
 Agnes, though absence and dissipation had weak- 
 ened his affection for her, yet liis promise, as well 
 as inclination, bound him. What would his father 
 say ? William, every one, they would reprobate, 
 curse and despise him, while Agnes herself might 
 perhaps die with grief. On the other side, what 
 did gratitude demand ? He now saw Mrs. Delmer 
 as his best friend ; through her he could discharge 
 all his obligations, and realize his most flattering 
 prospects. Such was the conflict in Edwin's bo- 
 som when he went to rest, still honest enough to 
 feel the pang of acting w rong ; yet too w eak to 
 relinquish grandeur, though at the expeuce ot 
 .pjobity, justice, and perhaps happiness. 
 
rNGLEWOOD FOREST. 91 
 
 CHAP. XII. 
 
 Edwin waited on Mrs. Delmer at an early Iiour, 
 and found lier already prepared to receive him. 
 xAfter breakfast the discourse of the preceding 
 evening Avas renewed : as before it became una- 
 voidably interesting, and Edwin, urged by ambi- 
 tion, before he was aware, had prostituted vows of 
 love at Mrs. Delmer's feet. The lady's partiality 
 was too obvious to suffer her to reject them; in 
 short, her affection made her as regardless of what 
 was due to herself, as ambition had made him of 
 every sacred and moral tie, and a mutual promise 
 was exchanged to be married the first opportunity, 
 the lady stipulating that the marriage should be 
 kept secret until his promotion took place. This 
 resolution was too agreeable for Edwin to contend 
 it ; he renewed his vows, and by agreement it was 
 at length resolved, that he should, even that very 
 day, apply for a license, and that their hands 
 should be joined on the morrow. Whitmore was 
 by no means to be apprised of this mana3uvrb, as 
 he might endeavour to prevent it, which, though 
 not in his power, might give them trouble. A mo- 
 mentary thought sti-tick Edwin, that this conceal- 
 ment bore the appearance of ingratitude ; but his 
 conscience had become daily more accommoda- 
 ting, and when he reflected that he should soon have 
 it in his power to pay all pecuniary obligations, he 
 presently. stifled the idea. The family at Ingle- 
 wood gave him yet more pain : ' I will see them 
 pnce more,' said he, ' before my marriage is an- 
 
-..r f 
 
 92 THE FARMER OF 
 
 noiinced, after which I will hasten abroad until 
 they are reconciled to the step I have taken, and 
 
 Agnes is perhaps married. — D — n is in that 
 
 thought, why did it interfere? I would sooner 
 see her dead th^n in the arms of anothei.' Every 
 thing being prepared, on the appointed morning- 
 Mrs. Delmer ordered her carriage to the Green 
 Park, where she dismissed it with the servants, 
 ordering them to return in a couple of hours. 
 Here she, as appointed, met Edwin, who led her 
 to a hackney coach, in which they soon reached 
 the church, where she plighted him her true faith ^ 
 for which he returned her a counterfeit, tlie real 
 jiot being in his power to give. 
 
 . The ceremony over they sepai'ated, and she re- 
 tiirned to her coach, which she immediately order- 
 ed home, where she found EdAvin already waiting 
 for her. The morning was passed in forming 
 plans for the future. Mrs. Delmer was half in- 
 clined, in defiance of her first resolution, to declare 
 her marriage immediately, that she might no more 
 be separated from a man she tenderly loved ; but 
 Edwin was by no means agreeable to this altera-- 
 tioft, for, though it Avoiild have gratified his pride 
 to have proclaimed his alliance without delay to 
 the world in general, yet he wished to protract 
 the discovery for some time from Inglewood ; 
 therefore calling hypocrisy to his aid, he declared 
 that, though to be perpetually with her was the 
 first of his wishes, yet, for her honour, which 
 was dearer than his own happiness, he determined 
 to relinquish it until his promoti()n took place, 
 which would render her condescension the less 
 conspicuous ; that in the mean time he should see 
 
INGLEWO OD FOREST. 93 
 
 Jier daily, and pass- every hour with her hecoukl 
 j steal from her brother.' 
 
 ■ ' But will not your constant visits,' replied she, 
 f give more disagreeable room for conjecture thau 
 even a piiblic avowal ? There is indeed one way, 
 if your father would permit your sister Emma to 
 pass some time w ith me, the visits might then be 
 attributed to her : Suppose you Avrite, and request 
 it, informing your father of our marriage, an^ our 
 reason for concealing it some short time V 
 haiij. ' My father,' replied Edwin, * is so great an 
 ^ fit enemy to all concealment, that he would never 
 ff consent to keep our secret ; but immediately ac- 
 cuse me of deceit to Mr, Whitmore, and disclose 
 it to him. As to Emma,' continued he, ' if you 
 condescend to receive? her, the best way will be 
 for me to fetch her, as I am certain he will not 
 ^H' otherwise suffer her to come.' 
 
 This plan was by no means agreeable to Mrs. 
 5 J Delmer ; she knew she had a beloved rival at 
 07 Jnglewood, and though Edwin had given her a 
 Ifi proof that Agnes had lost her power over his 
 heart, yet she feared, though he was irrevocably 
 pbr Jier own, to tlirow him into the way of so danger- 
 ous an object; she therefore dissented from this 
 proposal ; but Edwin, who ardently w ished to see 
 • bo ^lisfricinds once more while he could appear before 
 bsii; !them with the semblance of probity, pressed the 
 ^tli A business so strenuously, and declared himself so 
 floi; totally devoted to her, that at length he obtained 
 b' f the hard- wrung permission, provided he remained 
 
 at the Forest no longer than two days.j^' ^ 
 an'}*! «,' Whitmore was at that moment announced. 
 99?bj[|iW.)*erf^ the devil, Edwinj^' said he, ' did you 
 
U THE FARMER OF 
 
 hide yourself all day yesterday ? I sought yoa 
 half over the town.' . c jiii 
 
 Edwin ,who w as now become an adept in false- 
 hood, replied, ' that he had been engaged the day 
 before with the army agent, and likewise that 
 morning, and calling on his return on Mrs. Delmer» 
 she had detained him by a kind proposal of send- 
 ing for Emma to pass a few months with her.' 
 
 Few subjects could have given Whitmore so 
 much satisfaction ; he applauded his sister, and 
 was on the point of offering to accompany Edwin ; 
 but prudence soon pointed out the folly of such a 
 step, as it would only tend to awaken suspicion ; 
 he therefore simply congratulated him on tl;ie ap.- 
 proaching meeting with his friends, adding, with 
 a significant glance at his sister, * Apropos, you 
 may, I think, as well wed Agnes, and bring her 
 to town with you ; there is no doubt but you will 
 soon gain promotion, and I have no patience t;o. 
 see you at liberty while I am fettered.' ij-; 
 
 * Surely,' replied Edwin, colouring deeply, *i|i 
 would be highly imprudent for me to marry. — • 
 I 1 have no such intention.' 
 
 *Well said prudence,' returned Whitmore, 
 laughing, ' and to confess the truth, though the 
 girl is devilish handsome, she has such an air of 
 melancholy, that it is enough to give one the 
 ague.' 
 
 A sigh involuntarily escaped Edwin : — * Agnes,' 
 said he, ' used to be reckoned a very cheerful girl.' 
 
 * Perhaps so,' replied Whitmore ; ' but when I 
 saw her you know she was on the point of being- 
 separated from her lover. — Fanny now is more to 
 my taste, though perhaps not so critically beauti- 
 
INGLEWOOD FOREST. 95 
 
 M ; but your sister Emma is certainly much 
 handsomer than either.' 
 
 'Impossible that you should think so,' inter- 
 rupted Edwin; * Agnes ,past all dispute, is .' 
 
 ' Not so handsome as Emma,' exclaimed Mrs. 
 Delmer, hastily ; ' there is no comparison between 
 them.' 
 
 Edwin instantly saw his mistake, and gulping 
 a provoking sigh that had nearly escaped him, he 
 said, 'We seldom can judge so perfectly of our 
 relatives, as those who have not been so accustom- 
 ed to their features.' 
 
 Whitmore now proposed to depart, Edwin, as 
 he left the apartment, following him ; but pre- 
 tending to have left his glove he returned, whis- 
 pered a soft adieu to his bride, and promised to 
 see her again as soon as he could get rid of Whit- 
 more. 
 
 During the whole day Edwin was thoughtful 
 and absent. Whitmore observed it, and inquired 
 the cause. He complained of the head-ach, 
 making it a pretence for retiring early, leaving 
 Whitmore engaged at play, while himself kept 
 his appointment with Mrs. Delmer. 
 
 At this meeting the subject of his intended 
 journey to Inglewood was renewed, and was fixed 
 to take place in two days. Mrs. Delmer gently 
 whispered her fears that his attachment to Agnes 
 was not totally effaced. He vowed to the con- 
 trary on her lips ; in short, he strove to deceive, 
 and she loved him too well not to believe an asse- 
 veration so congenial to her wishes. 
 
 He left her early, that no surmises might take 
 place ; but before his departure she presented him 
 
96^ THE FARMER OP 
 
 with a pocket-book, desiring him to penise it at 
 his leisure. On his return he retired immediately 
 to his apartment to examine the contents, and on 
 the first leaf found the following words :— ' By the 
 will of the late Mr. Delmer I cannot alienate any 
 part of my jointure, which at my death returns to 
 his family. The ready money I possess is near 
 sixteen thousand pounds in the funds, and may at 
 pleasure be transferred. Enclosed are bills for 
 one thousand, with which, my Edwin, discharge 
 any obligations you may have contracted ; all I 
 ask in return is an undivided heart, and an affec- 
 tion as sincere as my own.' 
 
 Edwin was transported ; for some moments he 
 thought himself perfectly happy, until ' busy- 
 meddling memory' presented the disclosure of his 
 marriage at Ingle wood. This idea put all his 
 happiness to flight, and replacing the notes with 
 a sigli he retired to bed. He was so totally en- 
 gaged the next day with Whitmore, that he 
 found it difficult to see his bride until evening, 
 when he framed an excuse, that as he meant to 
 set off early, he would sleep at an inn, that he 
 might not disturb the family : He accordingly bid 
 Mr. Whitmore adieu about nine o'clock, bearing 
 with him a thousand remembrances to his parents, 
 and receiving a strict charge to return in the 
 course of the ensuing week. 
 
 From Whitmore he hastened to Mrs. Delmer, 
 who received him with unfeigned satisfaction : 
 With her he passed the remainder of the evening, 
 then retired, not to rest as he told her, but to a 
 chaise which he had in waiting, and in which ho 
 immediately set out on his journey. 
 
INGLEWOOD FOREST. 97 
 
 CHAP. XIII. 
 
 Edwin was too impatient to reach the Forest 
 to spare either money or horses, and accordingly 
 arrived the third evening after his leaving London,. 
 As his friends were unacquainted with his journey, 
 he promised himself great pleasure in taking them 
 by sui'prise, and therefore leaving the chajse at 
 some distance walked up to the house. — Edwin's 
 courage and spirits, as he approached, appeared 
 to forsake him ; his legs could scarcely support 
 his weight. ' 1 feel,' cried he, with anguish, ' that 
 I am a villain, a mean perjured villain, and shajl 
 but contaminate by my presence this seat of inno- 
 cence and virtue ; yet they know it not, they 
 think me honest as themselves, let me then once 
 more enjoy the pleasure of their artless caresses.';- 
 He had reached the kitchen window, and look-^ 
 ing over the shutter saw the family sitting round 
 the table, supper having just been removed, and 
 replaced by a jug of ale. Agnes sat opposite to 
 where he stood. He contemplated her with keen 
 self-reproach — her pale and altered features. He 
 heard Bernard drink his health, and saw the; 
 soft but expressive blue eyes of his daughter 
 raised in silence, as if entreating the same of hea- 
 ven. He could bear no more ; he forgot all but 
 the present scene before him, and rushing into the 
 house stood before them. For a moment all gazed 
 in silent wonder, but the next all was rapture and 
 confusion ; the mugs and glasses were overset, 
 the chairs thrown down, and surrounded ou all 
 
 5 N 
 
99 ^^THE FARMER OF 
 
 sides, tears, congratulations and embraces, be- 
 spoke his welcome. Agnes alone fixed in her 
 chair, appeared unable either to speak or weep. 
 Tearing himself from the circling embraces of 
 William and Fanny, he flew to her, and pressing 
 her to his bosom, forgot every other object in the 
 creation : * Speak, my beloved Agnes,' exclaimed 
 he, ' speak, and bless me with thy voice ; I am 
 but half welcome till I hear it from thee.* 
 
 * Ay do, my girl,' cried Bernard, ' bid the good 
 lad welcome ; I'll wager he's come to claim thee 
 for his own.' 
 
 This simple speech affected the guilty Edwin 
 like a stroke of lightning, and at once awoke him 
 from his transport ; his strength forsook him, and 
 unable to support the almost fainting Agnes, he 
 was obliged to reseat her in her chair, for some 
 moments remaining too much confused to reply. 
 The general joy was, however, so great, that his 
 disorder passed unnoticed. Agnes also began to 
 recover her surprise, and at length tranquillity re- 
 sumed her place in the mansion. Behold him 
 now seated at his paternal board between his ve- 
 nerable mother and Agnes, holding a hand of 
 each, and alternately pressing them to his lips, 
 Emma leaning over his chair, with one arm en- 
 circling his neck, while Godwin, Bernard, AVil- 
 liam and Fanny, sat round, contemplating the 
 change a few months had made in his person. 
 
 * Zooks !' exclaimed Bernard, ' how the boy is 
 altered ! why I scarce knew him when he came in. 
 If I did not wonder what fine gentleman we had 
 got ! ^I thought to be sure he came from the hall ; 
 but egad find me a likelier, come from where he 
 
INGLEWOOD FOREST. 93 
 
 will: What say you, Fanny? To be sure be is 
 rather pale, but that don't signify.' 
 
 * I think,' replied Fanny, *that Edwin looks 
 very well, though not better than I have seen 
 him ; if ever in my eyes he looked particularly so, 
 it was on Whitsuntide twelvemonth, on the day 
 our parents gave their consent he should address 
 Agnes, and promised in a year or two to unite 
 them. — Never shall I forget his appearance when 
 he came to tell her ; we were seated under the 
 great walnut-tree ; he leaped the gate, flew to her, 
 the utmost animation enlivening his features, his 
 hair in disorder, curling round his face ; he caught 
 her in his arms, breathless with haste, while his 
 eyes told his success before his speech returned.' 
 
 * Pshaw,' cried the old man, * thou wert always 
 a fool, Fanny ; as to his curls, when did you ever 
 see a gentleman wear natural curls, except here 
 and there a parson ? Why, his head's powdered 
 now and pinched, and as to his eyes, for ought I 
 see, they are just the same as ever ; eyes may do 
 very well for girls to understand, but plain Englisli 
 forme: But, Agnes, what say 'st thou, dost not 
 like him better than before V 
 
 * No, sir,' answered Agnes, timidly. — * Edwin, 
 as a farmer, or a prince, will be equally dear to 
 me ; dress can make no difference ; I love him 
 for himself, not for his clothes.' 
 
 * Did ever man see such foolish jades ! — Why, 
 the wenches have no more pride than my grand- 
 mother's cat ; but pr'ythee, Emma, what think you?' 
 
 * Think !' repeated she, ' why I think what I 
 told you before, that I love him a thousand times 
 better than ever, though he has not got his red 
 
100 THE FARMER OF '"^ 
 
 coat on. I declare it was very ill-natured not to 
 comein.it.' ^* 
 
 Edwin now produced the picture he had 
 brought for Agnes, who received it with a plea- 
 sure that found vent in tears ; all admired it, 
 even Godwin applauded the gallantry of his son.* 
 
 * Why, to be sure,' said Bernard, ' it is very 
 pretty, and very like ; but I'll lay you five shil- 
 lings to fivepence that Fanny will show you one, 
 ten times more natural, of William, in the course 
 of a month or two.' 
 
 Fanny's blushes immediately discovered the 
 secret to Edwin. * I thought, brother,' said God- 
 win, with a smile, 'you had promised me never 
 to mention that subject.' 
 
 * Why, no more I ever will among strangers, 
 nor among friends neither, if it vexes her.-— God 
 bless it, boy or girl, how I long to see it ; egad I 
 shall think I am grown a young man again as I 
 dandle it in my amis.' «' ■ ' '"^^ 
 
 Godwin, to put a stop to the discourse, begaii 
 to question his son respecting his situation and 
 future expectancies. Edwin painted them in the 
 most advantageous light, representing his promo- 
 tion as certain in a short time. Mrs. Delmer he 
 spoke of with the highest respect, saying, * that 
 lier interest had been employed equally with 
 her brother's, and that his present journey was 
 principally at her instigation, to entreat that 
 Emma might be permitted to pass a short time 
 with her in London ; that himself would see her 
 daily, and accompany her into the country on her 
 return, which he meant to do as soon as his pro^ 
 motion took place,' ' fi^r^ 
 
INGLEWOOD FOREST. m 
 
 *Ah, that's right, my lad,' replied Bernard; 
 * kill two birds with one stone ; bring down 
 Emma, and take back Agnes ; is it not so, 
 Edwin?' 
 
 * Agnes is dearer to me than life,' exclaimed 
 Edwin, ' and I can never know happiness without 
 her. But say, my dear sir, do you grant Mrs. 
 Delmer's request in respect to Emma?' 
 
 * I cannot spare her, indeed I cannot,' cried 
 Mrs. Godwin : ' to part with any more of my 
 children woidd kill me.' 
 
 Emma could not restrain her tears ; she had 
 long since given up all hopes of Mrs. Delmer's 
 promised invitation, and indeed had almost for- 
 gotten it ; but now to find she remembered lier, 
 and that it only depended on her parent's consent, 
 she knew not how to bear the disappointment, 
 particularly when she contemplated the improve- 
 ment that (in her eyes) had taken place in Edwin, 
 and had no doubt but her own might be equally 
 successful, 
 
 ' William looked at her reproachfully, and appa- 
 rently was on the point of expressing his thoughts 
 on the occasion, had not a beseeching look from 
 Fanny at once checked his design, and softened 
 his features into a smile. 
 
 * Emma,' said her father, < do you grieve be- 
 cause your mother loves you too well to part 
 with you ? Is that a requital for her tenderness V 
 
 'No, sir,' replied she, weeping; 'I love my 
 mother and yourself beyond the whole world ; 
 but my affection for Edwin for a moment over- 
 came every other consideration, and made me 
 wish to accompany him.' 
 
im THE FARMER OF 
 
 This conciliating speech reconciled all parties, 
 and they continued conversing far beyond thq 
 usual hour. Edwin was already too deeply 
 plunged in guilt to extricate himself, he therefore 
 determined to enjoy the present hour at all events, 
 though it was not to be done without additional 
 hypocrisy and falsehood ; he had therefore recourse 
 to both, and when his father, who had observed 
 he had given no direct answer in regard to Agnes, 
 again pressed the subject, he replied, with as- 
 sumed boldness, ' On my promotion I will re- 
 turn, and make her all my own.' 
 
 In the morning William, who was obliged to 
 go out on business, asked Edwin to accompany 
 him. If possible he would have excused himself, 
 for he dreaded both the penetration and aft'ection 
 of his brother : He could not, however, deny, and 
 therefore determined to be doubly on his guard. 
 * Edwin,' said William, ' I cannot express the 
 pain I have felt on your account ; my father too, 
 i am sure, has been equally unhappy, though I 
 carefully concealed whatever I thought would 
 increase it. Tour entrance into the army was, 
 I am convinced, totally repugnant both to his 
 feelings and principles. I had once hopes, my 
 brother, that you would have been sickened of 
 grandeur and folly, and returned to the bosom 
 of your family ; for you appeared dissatisfied : 
 whence then this alteration ? are your new friends 
 changed, or are you so?' 
 
 * Whatever change may have taken place,' re- 
 plied Edwin, * at least my ajffection for my family 
 has undergone no variation. When I first went, 
 unaccustomed to the world, I perhaps judged too 
 
INGLEWOOD FOREST. 103 
 
 harshly ; at present I view things through a dif- 
 ferent medium. To live with the world, it is, in 
 some measure, necessary to give into its manners.* 
 
 * It may be necessary,' returned William ; * but 
 believe me, I would prefer the meanest situation, 
 with liberty of word and action, to affluent slavery, 
 however dignified. I once thought your opinions 
 the same. But say, Edwin, in adopting their 
 manners, is it not also frequently necessary to 
 adopt their vices, or at least countenance them?' 
 
 * We certainly are not obliged to adopt them 
 People, William, accustomed to the great world, 
 have undoubtedly fewer prejudices than those 
 who live secluded from it, yet may possess both 
 probity and honour.' 
 
 * But from a long continuation of giving into 
 manners we insensibly imbibe them ; and if those 
 manners are not pure, may I not tremble for my 
 brother's morals ? Sacred to me are even the pre 
 judices that tend to the general good. You, per- 
 haps, Edwin, are divested of your former preju- 
 dices, but are you the happier, or more virtuous V 
 
 Edwin could not repress a sigh. 
 
 * As we are alone,' continued William, 'Ifrankly 
 speak my fears and wishes, though, except to your- 
 self, they shall ever be buried in my own bosom. 
 Nothing is wanting to complete my felicity but 
 your company ; yet not for myself alone, but for 
 your sake do 1 wish that you would relinquish 
 these hateful hopes of wealth that have lately pos- 
 sessed you. Oh ! Edwin, you know not the bliss 
 of possessing a tender, a gentle companion, in 
 whose bosom you can repose all your joys and 
 sorrows, or you would not hesitate to give up all. 
 
104 THE FARMER OF 
 
 take Agnes to your arms, and fix your future 
 home at Inglewood, where, surrounded by your 
 family in your youth, and in your age by your 
 children, you would live respected, and die be- 
 loved, after experiencing as much happiness as 
 falls to the lot of mortals. Do not, my dear 
 brother, decline it ; it may hereafter be impossible.' 
 
 * It is impossible !' exclaimed Edwin, involun- 
 tarily. 
 
 * Impossible ?' repeated William, starting, ' im- 
 possible, Edwin?' 
 
 * Yes, impossible !' replied Edwin, recovering 
 himself. ' Would you have me return Mr. Whit- 
 more's favours with ingratitude, and when I have 
 almost succeeded to the height of my wishes, re- 
 linquish them? No, William, it is indeed impos- 
 sible. Had I, perhaps, never left the country, it 
 had been as well ; but as it is, I am determined to 
 pursue my fortune.' 
 
 William sighed, and withdrew his suit, walking 
 some short way in silence, until they were joined 
 by iWr. Godwin, when Edwin's task was renewed 
 by the parental admonitions of his father. Thus 
 more and more in need of hypocrisy, he plunged 
 jet deeper in falsehood, and though his heart 
 stung him as he proceeded, his face was become 
 so accommodating as not to have disgraced an 
 adept. While the male part of the family was 
 absent, Emma was endeavouring to influence 
 Agnes to second her views in persuading her 
 mother to permit her to accompany Edwin td 
 town; nor was tlie proposal at all ungrateful to 
 Agnes ; she loved Emma, and would htive done 
 any thing to give her pleasure. In this case she 
 
INGLEWOOD FOREST. 105 
 
 had also another incentive, her beloved Edwin 
 would have an aftectionate sister near him, and 
 herself a friend, ever mindful of their mutual in- 
 terests. Agnes proposed consulting Fanny, who 
 was the darling of her mother-in-law, but Emma 
 declined it : — ' No,' said she, ' William I know is 
 against it, and she has no will but his. I saw hUn 
 frown last night : he was never like other young 
 people, and tlierefore can be no judge of their 
 feelings.' 
 
 *Nay, now you speak too petulantly,' replied 
 Agnes. 'William, I am convinced, possesses a 
 most susceptible heart, and, though I love all our 
 family equally, yet 1 look up to him with an 
 esteem and reverence I know not how to express, 
 and which I feel for no one else except your father.' 
 
 Mrs. Godwin at that moment entered, and, after 
 some little conversation, Agnes, to oblige her 
 friend, said, ' Indeed, my dear madam, I could 
 htave wished that our Emma had obtained your 
 permission to have accompanied Edwin to town. 
 He tnust, 1 am sure, pass many heavy hours, 
 which Emma's company would help to beguile 
 him of. He will doubtless come when Fanny 
 gives us a little one, and she could tlien have re- 
 turned with him ; in the mean time I would have 
 been doubly assiduous that you might not miss 
 her. Besides, Edwin looked as if it would have 
 greatly obliged him ; perhaps he fears Mrs. Del- 
 mer may think^us ungrateful.' 
 
 'My good girl,' replied Mrs. Godwin, 'Emma 
 well knows it pains me to refuse any thing that 
 gives her satisfaction. Edwin's absence has caused 
 me constant uneasiness ; yet, as she is so earnest, 
 
 o O 
 
166 THE FARMER OF 
 
 1 know not ; I will consider ; I will consult her 
 father.' 
 
 ' Thanks, thanks, my dearmother,' cried Emma, 
 in a transport ; ' I only ask until Edwin returns/ 
 
 'Your thanks are too warm on this subject 
 to be pleasing, Emma,' replied Mrs. Godwin, 
 gravely : ' I flatter myself neither Fanny nor Ag- 
 nes would express so much joy on the thoughts 
 of leaving me.' With these words Mrs. Godwin 
 quitted the apartment before either her daughter 
 or Agnes could reply. 
 
 * How cruel !' cried Emma ; * I protest I don't 
 think I'll go now, though even she should give 
 me leave.' 
 
 * I cannot advise you," replied Agnes ; * it dis- 
 tresses me to see her uneasy, and were she my 
 mother I would not go to London on such condi- 
 tions, though my heart was disengaged, and I was 
 sure to be made a queen when 1 arrived there.' 
 
 ' Oh, heaven, what an idea !' exclaimed Emma, 
 the seriousness vanishing from her features in an 
 instant : * Consider in such a case how soon you 
 could make her amends, power, grandeur, wealth.' 
 
 *They would not all compensate,' said Agnes, 
 ' for my breach of duty, nor yet call back the tears 
 she had shed for my absence.' Fanny here joined 
 them, and the conversation ceased. 
 
 At dinner Edwin informed them how extremely 
 he was limited in point of time, promising, how- 
 ever, to return at the period Agnes had before 
 mentioned, and again renewing his entreaty con- 
 cerning Emma. In the afternoon he found him- 
 self alone with Agnes, and, though it was wliat 
 he ardently wished, yet, when obtained, conscious 
 
INGLEWOOD FOUEST. 107 
 
 tluplicity for some moments rendered him unable 
 to articulate a syllable. At length, regardless of 
 all but the present, he renewed his vows of ever- 
 lasting truth, forgetting, as he sealed them on her 
 lips, that he had already prostituted them at the 
 altar. The guileless lamb is but ill prepared 
 to withstand the subtilty of the serpent. Agnes's 
 Words were the pure dictates of uncorrupted 
 innocence : she avowed her affection, and pro- 
 mised to follow the unworthy object, in wealth 
 or poverty, throughout the world. His expected 
 promotion, and the advice of Mr. Whitmore, 
 were the excuses fabricated to delay his marriage. 
 He affected to deplore them ; nay, at that mo- 
 ment he perhaps did deplore the fatal bar his 
 pride and avarice had everlastingly placed between 
 himself and Agnes, as he contemplated her beauty 
 and innocence, and reflected that he might with 
 honour have possessed them, respected by his 
 friends, and applauded by his own heart. 
 
 In the mean while Mrs. Godwin had consulted 
 with her husband respecting Emma. He by no 
 means approved of her going to London ; but the 
 subject had been so warmly pressed by Edwin, 
 and so earnestly desired by Emma, that at length 
 he gave his consent, on condition she should re* 
 turn at the appointed time. 
 
 The following morning Edwin and Emma pre- 
 pared to depart, the good farmer first drawing 
 his son aside, and strongly recommending him to 
 be careful of his sister : He then drew out his 
 pocket-book, and presenting him with some notes, 
 said, ' My dear boy, your obligations to Mr. 
 Whitmore are great, as he has assiduously endea- 
 
108 THE FARMER OF 
 
 voiired to serve you according to your own idea^ 
 of happiness; your pecuniary obligation must, 
 however, be painful. He advanced you a hundred 
 pounds ; with these repay it. The money I can 
 well spare; I have reserved it for this purpose,: 
 therefore no words ; receive it as freely as I give it.' 
 
 Edwin would fain have declined this present, 
 but could by no means without declaring the 
 truth ; he therefore was necessitated to put it in 
 his pocket, though with no very pleasurable sen- 
 sations, every fresh instance of affection he re- 
 ceived from his deluded family adding a pang to 
 his bosom. ' Accursed wealth !' exclaimed he, as 
 his father left him, 'that first induced me to for- 
 sake the paths of rectitude ; and doubly accursed 
 pride, that tempted me to sacriiice both probity 
 and happiness ! — Ah, Agnes ! thou wilt be suffi- 
 ciently revenged ; misery must be my portion if I 
 lose thee, and yet how to obtain thee without 
 plunging still further in deceit and villany.' 
 
 William at that moment entered. Among a 
 thousand kind wishes he recommended him to 
 watch carefully over his sister Emma : — ' I fear 
 for her,' said he, ' because her heart is disen- 
 gaged, and her natural thoughtlessness may lead 
 her to fix it on some unworthy object.' 
 
 All was now prepared, and the travellers de- 
 parted, bearing with them tlie ardent wishes of 
 their friends for their speedy return. 
 
INGLEWOOD FOREST. 109^ 
 
 CHAP. XIV. 
 
 Emma v«!oon dried the tears she had shed at parting" 
 from her parents, and would have entered into 
 conversation with her brother; but he, lost in 
 thought, was not sufficiently collected to anmse 
 or yet be amused. He had planted the seeds of 
 discontent and remorse in his own bosom, and 
 they every moment gained fresh strength ; the. 
 sight of Agnes had revived his half-extinguished 
 passion, and made him determine to possess her, 
 though at the loss of that wealth for which he 
 had sacrificed all those ties which render life de- 
 sirable. His marriage he well knew could not be 
 long concealed, it was therefore necessary that 
 on whatever he determined he should be speedy, 
 as that once declared, he, in all probability, 
 must take an eternal farewell of his native home. 
 
 Fearful that Emma might divulge any thing- 
 relative to his promise of returning to Inglewood 
 to espouse Agnes, he entreated her to be silent 
 on the subject, as it must at least be kept secret 
 some time, both Mr. Whitmore and his sister 
 having dissuaded him from such a step, though 
 he had forboine to mention it, fearful of giving 
 A«'nes uneasiness. 
 
 On the third day they reached Barnet, where, 
 to their great surprise, they found Mr. Whitmore 
 and his sister waiting for them. How flattering 
 this compliment to the unexperienced heart of 
 Emma ! AVhitmore could not conceal his pleasure, 
 it was expressed in every word and action, and 
 
no Tllfi FARMER OV 
 
 sparkled in his eyes. Mrs. Delmer\s satisfaction 
 was scarcely inferior, though obliged to dissemble 
 her tenderness: she^ however,endeavouredtomake 
 herself amends by representing to herself the plea- 
 sm*e Edwin would doubtless experience at this 
 proof of her affection and attention ; but she in 
 vain sought to find it expressed either in his eyes 
 or words ; the first were averted from her, the 
 latter cold, distant, and merely complimentary. 
 Love had stifled gratitude in his bosom, and he 
 could now only regard her as one who had de- 
 prived him for ever of his dearest hopes. 
 
 The party reached town in Mr. Whitmore's 
 carriage, and were set down at Mrs. Delmer's, 
 where an excellent supper was provided. Emma 
 had never before seen any thing so completely 
 elegant, for though, since Mrs. Palmer had fixed 
 her residence among them, Emma, with her pa- 
 rents, had frequently dined there ; yet her table, 
 though plentiful, was remarkably simple, and, 
 though served with peculiar neatness, was totally 
 devoidof show and parade. The repository of her 
 silver was not the sideboard, but the pockets of 
 the poor ; the former therefore was but thinly fur- 
 nished, while the latter were frequently replenish- 
 ed sufficiently to procure all tlie necessaries of life. 
 
 Emma, naturally volatile, was charmed with all 
 around her; no cloud, save one, obscured her sa- 
 tisfaction. — Whitmore was married ; that indeed 
 cost hera sigh, and she dreaded, she knew not why, 
 the sight of his wife. Edwin also became more 
 cheerful ; he contemplated all around as his own 
 when he should please to acknowledge his right, 
 and ambition once more began to resume her seat 
 
INGLEWOOD FOREST. Ill 
 
 in his bosom ; in short, before the evening closed, 
 all parties appeared perfectly satislied. 
 
 Mrs. Delnier's view in sending for Emma to 
 town, was to insure to herself, without scandal, 
 the company of her beloved Edwin; but, although 
 it gratified her in that point, it by no means an- 
 swered her expectation, as Whitmore ever accom- 
 panied him ; at home was of the party, and abroad 
 their constant escort, ever ready by the side of 
 Emma to render those nameless attentions which 
 insensibly steal on the female heart. 
 
 Emma, though she had at the Forest been 
 always accustomed to be perfectly neat and well 
 dressed, yet had never possessed any of those use- 
 less appendages tliat distinguish well dressed wo- 
 men in great towns ; but with all of which Mrs. 
 Delmer soon supplied her, for as she now, in some 
 measure, considered her asasister, she would have 
 been gratified to see her eligibly married, and was 
 therefore anxious to make her appearance as re- 
 spectable as possible. Emma had always been 
 partial to Mrs. Delmer; but this kindness re- 
 doubled that sensation, and in a letter, which she 
 wrote to Agnes, and sent enclosed in one of Ed- 
 win's, she said, after expressing the highest satis- 
 faction at her situation, ' Indeed, my dear girl, it 
 i& impossible to describe to you the kindness of 
 Mrs. Delmer ; I am equally well dressed as her- 
 self, and accompany her to every public place, 
 where I cannot frequently avoid hearing compli- 
 ments on my person enough to make me vain. 
 
 * Last night I heard a gentleman at tlie opera 
 say to his companion, that my complexion was 
 too glowing for a hlondcj and too fair for a bnmette. 
 
112 THE FARMER OF 
 
 but a happy mixiure of both. You may be sure 
 I did not rightly comprehend this luitil Mrs. 
 Delmer, who likewise overheard it, explained it 
 to me. I am convinced myself that I look much 
 better, for dress, Agnes, makes a great alteration ; 
 my feet in silk shoes are not like the same, thcj 
 appear almost too small to bear me ; and my arms 
 seem quite a different shape from the addition of 
 a beautiful pair of bracelets, which Mr. Whitmore 
 presented me. Edwin is equally favoured as my- 
 self, and I can assure you, when in his regimentals, 
 I think I scarcely ever saw so handsome a man ! 
 I have been introduced to Mrs. Whitmore, but 
 indeed, Agnes, I cannot love her ; she is very 
 handsome, but so hatefully proud, that I am un- 
 comfortable whenever we meet, for she stares at 
 me with such a contemptuous expression on her 
 countenance, that I am ready to sink. Oh, Agnes! 
 how 1 pity Mr. Whitmore ; how happy might his 
 wife be were she so inclined, for he is really one 
 of the most amiable men I ever saw ; but he is so 
 unhappy at home, that he is almost perpetually 
 with his sister. 
 
 * Not a word of this, my dear Agnes, to any 
 one, not even to your sister Fanny ; you know 
 my parents and William would say I should be 
 ruined with pride, and hateful vanity, and perhaps 
 send for me immediately home ; and that, before 
 the promised time, would break the heart of your 
 
 Emma Godwin.* 
 
 Emma had, on her first arrival, as she informed 
 Agnes, been introduced to Mrs. Whitmore ; but 
 that lady had treated her with the most forbidding 
 
INGLEWOOD FOREST. 113 
 
 distance; nay, even Edwin appeared lately to 
 have lost the ground he had lately gained in her 
 good graces. To confess the truth, the lady had 
 felt herself piqued at the particular attention he 
 had lately paid Mrs. Delmer, and had been at 
 some pains to learn how frequent his visits were, 
 and that he often stayed until a very late hour ; not, 
 however, of a temper for such trifles to give her 
 uneasiness, she immediately transferred the tran- 
 sient spark of inclination she had felt for Edwin 
 to a captain in the guards, called Darleville. 
 
 Notwithstanding the charge Edwin had receiv- 
 ed, botli from his father and William, to be care- 
 ful of Emma, he was too much employed in his 
 own pursuits, and devising means to get Agnes 
 into his power, to pay her any particular atten- 
 tion: to the gallantry of Whitmore he was too 
 much accustomed to think it any thing particular, 
 and as long as his sister was under the protection 
 of Mrs. Delmer, he had not the most distant idea 
 of danger. 
 
 One evening Whitmore joined them in appa- 
 rent disorder ; his wife, regardless as he was of 
 her, had forced him to notice her conduct, as it 
 became public enough to be censured in a para- 
 graph in the newspaper. Mrs. Delmer endea- 
 voured to palliate it, while Emma in her heart 
 reprobated her conduct, and dropped a tear on 
 the vexation Whitmore experienced from being 
 so unhappily married. 
 
 At that instant Mrs. Delmer's lawyer was an- 
 nounced : He came on business relative to a suit 
 she had lately gained, and to pay into her hands 
 a considerable sum. 
 
 5 p 
 
llf THE FARMER OF 
 
 * For heaven's sake !' cried Wliitmore, * do not 
 bring him here. I cannot at present bear the 
 loquacity of the law ; besides, it is the old rascal 
 that drew my infernal marriage articles ; pr'ythee, 
 my dear sister, see him below.' 
 
 Mrs. Delmer readily acquiesced, and leaving 
 her brother with Emma, attended her lawyer. 
 
 Both remained for some time silent ; at length 
 Whitmore said, ' You pity me, enchanting Em- 
 ma ; you feel for your unhappy friend : ah ! why 
 did we not meet when I might with honour have 
 offered you my hand and fortune? Nay, turn not 
 from me, I cannot bear your displeasure, tied as 
 I am to one whom my soul justly abhors, and 
 doomed to love where I can never hope a return ; 
 yet you wept for me, Emma,' — continued he, 
 sinking at her feet. ' You do not hate me, you 
 will 1 know pardon even the frenzy of this mo- 
 ment.' 
 
 ' For heaven's sake, sir, rise — nay, Mr. Whit- 
 more, I entreat — consider, should Mrs. Delmer, 
 or my brother, surprise you in this posture?' 
 
 *What if they should?' replied he, warmly, 
 *they will not hear me disavow my love: No, 
 they shall hear me proclaim it — glory in it. Mrs. 
 Whitmore's conduct will entitle me to a di- 
 vorce ; then say, Emma, you will not refuse me, 
 when in my power, to lay my fortune at your 
 feet?' 
 
 * I cannot bear this,' replied Emma, weeping; 
 ' I will return immediately to Inglewood.' 
 
 ' Go, then,' said he, * leave me to despair ; yet, 
 Pmma, you may hereafter repent not having 
 spoken comfort to a man who idolises you !' 
 
INGLEWOOD FOREST. 115 
 
 'Alas!' replied Emma, 'what comfort tan I 
 speak ? If my good wishes could make you happy, 
 you would have no reason to complain.' 
 
 ' Charming; angel !' exclaimed he, rising, and 
 kissing her hand, ' 1 will no more alarm you, but 
 conceal my sufferings in my own breast ; time arid 
 fortune may perhaps relieve them.' 
 
 ' For Heaven's sake then drop the discourse ; 
 your emotion distresses me.' 
 
 ' Your desires shall ever be commands,' replied 
 he, resuming his usual serenity. — ' Pardon my 
 behaviour this night, and I will offend no more.' 
 
 Whitmore was true to his word, or at least for 
 that time ; he was fearful of alarming Emma, 
 should he press the subject farther, and, fully sa- 
 tisfied with having broken the ice, determined to 
 leave the rest to time, and continued assiduities. 
 
 When Mrs. Delmer returned both parties were 
 tolerably composed, and Edwin joining them soon 
 after, they all adjourned to the play. Two months 
 had thus past with Emma in a continual succession 
 of amusements, when Edwin received a letter from 
 William, informing him, that his beloved Fanny 
 had made him the happy father of a lovely boy, 
 concluding with pressing his return with Emma 
 to be present at the christening. Neither Whit- 
 more nor Mrs. Delmer appeared greatly to approve 
 this invitation ; the former looking at Emma with 
 supplicating tenderness, said, ' Do, Edwin, devise 
 some means to excuse your return ; surely a few 
 months might be allowed your sister ; I was in no 
 snch haste to quit Inglewood.' 
 
 * Indeed,' replied Mrs. Delmer, ' I think the 
 reiquest very ill-timed ; Edwin cannot get leave of 
 
116 THE FARMER OF 
 
 absence for more than a few days, and surely it is 
 not worth while taking such a journey for that 
 period.' 
 
 * I have obtained a fortnight,' returned Edwin, 
 with a pleasure he could not entirely suppress. 
 I expected this event, and was prepared for it, for 
 my father would hold it unpardonable were I not 
 to attend.' 
 
 Mrs. Deimer appeared so highly dissatisfied at 
 this information, that Edwin, after having accom- 
 panied Whitmore home, again returned. Mrs. 
 Deimer was still up, but Emma had retired to her 
 apartment. He now exerted all his influence to 
 persuade her of the necessity of his paying tliis 
 one visit to Inglewood, and which he firmly de- 
 clared should be the last, unless accompanied by 
 herself ; that, though he knew his father would 
 be highly displeased, he would venture to leave 
 Emma, hoping that, in a short time, he should 
 gain promotion, and all restraint be naturally re- 
 moved. 
 
 This discourse was mingled with so many ca- 
 resses and protestations, that at length Mrs. Dei- 
 mer consented, though against her real inclination. 
 She had no wish that he should think jealousy 
 prompted her refusal, though inwardly determined 
 to declare her marriage in a short time, whether 
 he gained preferment or otherwise. 
 
 The permission granted he left her, and returned 
 home, determined to set out on his journey the 
 first moment he decently could. He ai'dently 
 wished to be at the Forest, as this was in all 
 probability his last opportunity to strike some bold 
 stroke that might give him possession of Agnes : 
 
INGLEWOOD FOREST. 117 
 
 * I know,' said he, as he reflected on the subject, 
 
 * her heart is enrirely mine, and in some liappy, 
 unguarded moment, could I but gain possession 
 of her person, I mighr afterward be able to divest 
 her of her pr<"judices, and persuade her to share 
 my fortune. My pay, if I gain preferment, will 
 amply supply us ; and for Mrs. Delmer's wealth, 
 let her keep it ; and accursed be the hour in which 
 I was infatuated enough to barter happiness for 
 gold.' 
 
 The next morning Emma was consulted respect- 
 ing her continuance in town, and very readily gave 
 into a concerted falsehood, that Edwin should ex- 
 cuse herabsence under a pretence of Mrs. Delmer's 
 ill health, and that she particularly entreated her 
 company some time longer. Whitmore came in 
 during this discourse ; he expressed the utmost 
 pleasure that Emma was not yet to leave them : 
 he had the whole night been revolving on some 
 means to prevent it, and was delighted to find the 
 business settled to his hand. Edwin's departure 
 was then fixed to take place in three days, the in- 
 tervening time being dedicated to pleasure and 
 dissipation. 
 
 Emma's conduct was weak, without being in- 
 tentionally wicked. She rather suffered than 
 approved the behaviour of Whitmore; she pitied 
 him on account of his wife, and that sentiment, 
 strengthened by the affection she undoubtedly 
 felt for him, induced her not to repulse him as 
 she ought properly to have done. Mrs. Deluier 
 could not at times avoid observing the attention 
 which Whitmore paid to Emma, but totally em- 
 ployed by her own passion for Edwin, and na- 
 
tU THE PARMER OF 
 
 turally unsuspicious, the idea of seduction nev6r 
 entered her imagination ; attributing his behaviour 
 therefore merely to his usual gallantry, she thought 
 it not necessary to be noticed, for, as Emma was 
 perfectly apprised of his situation, she could not 
 think her in danger, and to mention the subject 
 to Edwin would be only awakening suspicions 
 that had, perhaps, no real foundation, and the 
 cause of which would naturally cease as soon as 
 Emma was removed. 
 
 Edwin at the appointed time set off for Ingle- 
 wood, and on his arrival there, was received with 
 the utmost pleasure by the whole family, Wiiliani 
 presenting him his infant son with as much exult- 
 ation as if he had been heir to a diadem. The 
 absence of Emma at first greatly displeased her 
 parents ; but Edwin's excuses of Mrs. Delmer s ill 
 health were so adroitly fabricated, that they could 
 not fail of being admitted. The venerable Mrs. 
 Godwin at length observing that, though it would 
 have increased her satisfaction for Emma to have 
 been present on so joyful an occasion ; yet she 
 should have been sorry for her to have quitted 
 Mrs. Delmer under such circumstances. 
 
 Thus situated were the innocent family at Ingle- 
 wood, seated round the social board, recounting 
 old tales of past pleasures, and looking forward in 
 happy expectancy of new ones. Edwin was alone 
 an exception, he looked back with disgust, and 
 forward with horror ; but he had gone too far to 
 recede, and therefore boldly determined not to be 
 half a villain. 
 
 *I think,' said Godwin, looking round him, 
 ^ that I want nothing but the presence of Emma 
 
INGLEWOOD FOREST. 119 
 
 to call myself perfectly happy; we shall miss 
 her cheerful humour at our christening. Mrs. 
 Palmer being absent too is another misfortune ; 
 however, many are the blessings we enjoy, and 
 to repine at what we have not is to be unworthy 
 those we possess.' 
 
 The discourse then turned on Mrs. Palmer, 
 who had for some time past been at Bristol, on 
 business relative to her late uncle ; all joined in 
 her praise, wishing they had been favoured with 
 her presence, as she was by her own desire to be 
 godmother to the young stranger. 
 
 Three days after began the preparations for the 
 ceremony, the relations and friends were invited, 
 and as some lived too far distant to return the 
 same evening, Bernard's house was aired, and the 
 beds prepared for their reception. Geese, fowls, 
 turkies, and pigs, were slaughtered, pies and 
 plum-puddings prepared, the ale and made wines 
 tapped, and, in short, all that could contribute to 
 the festivity of the day, which was fixed for the 
 Sunday following, the month of Fanny's laying- 
 in being then complete, and herself thought able 
 to accompany them to church. 
 
 CHAP. XV. 
 
 While all parties at Inglewood were busy in 
 preparing for the christening, Whitmore's mind 
 was equally, though less innocently, employe^' 
 
120 THE FARMER OF 
 
 He had now an opportunity, such as in all proba- 
 bihty he might never again obtain, to address 
 Emma ; her brother was absent, and Mrs. Delmer, 
 for some reason which he did not give himself the 
 trouble to endeavour to develope, was frequently 
 engaged for several hours. At another time it 
 might have excited his curiosity, as she had, to 
 hisknowledge, sold out a considerable sum, which 
 she had in the funds, the very day after Edwin's 
 departure ; but his mind was too much occupied 
 about Emma for any other subject to engage him. 
 Mrs. Whitmore's conduct too became daily more 
 glaringly abandoned, and he was endeavouring 
 to procure a legal separation ; for as to a divorce, 
 whatever he said to Emma, he had no wish for it, 
 could he avoid it with honour, as her fortune was 
 large, and would greatly straiten his finances to 
 repay; besides, it certainly was in the lady's 
 power to recriminate, in which case all his at- 
 tempts would prove fruitless. 
 
 In the mean time he profited by the opportu- 
 nities his sister's absence gave him with Emma; 
 he was for ever offending, and as frequently beg- 
 ging pardon ; yet constantly ending with vowing 
 to be only hers ; that the conduct of his wife had 
 broken every tie between them, that the law 
 would soon pronounce it void, and he should be 
 the happiest of men. 
 
 The unthinking Emma had suffered this tale to 
 be so frequently repeated, that it insensibly be- 
 came less offensive to her ear, and as she really 
 loved Whitmore, could not avoid wishing the 
 event he appeared to desire so ardentlymight 
 speedily take place. 
 
INGLEWOOD FOREST. 121 
 
 One afternoon, after Whitmore had passed the 
 whole morning with Emma, Mrs. DehTier came 
 home in particular high spirits, and after dinner 
 sat down and wrote a letter, which was addressed, 
 to Emma's great amazement, to her brother Edwin 
 at Inglewood. 
 
 Emma was at that moment alone with Mrs. 
 Delmer, who perceiving marks of curiosity on her 
 features, said, ' I have been writing to your 
 brother, Emma, on a subject that at present I 
 cannot disclose ; but which, I am convinced, will 
 give you pleasure. I shall send my letter by this 
 night's post, and on his answer, which by the way 
 I expect he will brmg himself, shall be able to 
 treat you with a surprise.' 
 
 Without farther explanation she rang for a 
 servant, delivered the letter to be put in the post, 
 and ordered tea. Whitmore had left them soon 
 after Mrs. Delmer's return, with a promise to join 
 them early in the evening ; it was now, however, 
 far beyond his usual time, but Mrs. Delmer was 
 too much accustomed to such disappointments for 
 them to give her any great surprise. Emma, on 
 the contrary, felt uneasy, though she endeavoured 
 to conceal it. — Whitmore had that morning, when 
 alone with her, proposed to pass the whole even- 
 ing there, and in such promises he had ever before 
 been strictly punctual. 
 
 It was near eleven before he joined them, and 
 then apparently discomposed. He pressed Em- 
 ma's hand between his, and turning suddenly to 
 Mrs. Delmer, said, ' Is it true, madam, that you 
 are married to Edwin?' 
 6 Q 
 
122 THE FARMER OF 
 
 For an instant the lady was too confused to 
 reply. At length she answered : ' Suppose it is 
 so, sir, who has a right to control me ?' 
 
 * Not I, by my soul,' repUed he, ' nor would I, 
 if I could ; but surely I might have been trusted ; 
 it had better been disclosed by you than by my 
 wife's gallant, Darleville, in a public coffee-house.' 
 
 ' Merciful God ! my brother Edwin married !" 
 exclaimed Emma. 
 
 ' I have neither acted by Edwin or you, madam,' 
 said WhitmOre, * in a manner to make secrecy 
 needful. You are the undoubted mistress of your- 
 self and fortune ; but Edwin methinks should have 
 consulted his friends.' 
 
 ' Agnes will die with grief,' sobbed Emma ; * he 
 has treated her cruelly.' 
 
 * At least, Emma,' interrupted Mrs. Delmer, 
 * I expected your approbation. — Do you think 
 your brother could have married better ? 1 first 
 procured him the commission, and have by pur- 
 chase now got him promoted ; that has been the 
 business which lately has so totally employed me, 
 and that will be completed to-morrow. We 
 agreed to keep our marriage secret till that event 
 took place, and I have this night written to inform 
 him that all restraint is removed.' 
 
 ' You cannot but be sensible,' replied Emma, 
 ' that I rejoice in my brother's good fortune, and 
 must indeed myself be unworthy your kindness, 
 did I not feel both affection and gratitude for you ; 
 yet, when I reflect on the confusion this will 
 occasion at Inglewood, I protest it frightens me. 
 I fear they will think I was in the secret. 
 
INGLEWOOD FOREST, 123 
 
 'Suppose you were,' answered Mrs. Delmer. 
 * Your father will surely be satisfied with the 
 prudence of his son's choice V 
 
 My father, you well know, madam, is ex- 
 tremely partial to Bernard's dau2:hters, and though 
 he will undoubtedly be sensible of the honour you 
 have done us, will resevit the insult oJfTered to Agnes.' 
 
 ' Farmers are plenty enough in y^ ur country,' 
 replied Mrs. Delmer, ' she will soon supply her 
 loss. For the present, however, let the business 
 rest; I am perfectly satisfied with what I have 
 done, and trust Edwin is the same.' 
 
 Vexed as Whitmore really felt, he was too 
 politic to quarrel with his sister, at a moment he 
 regarded so critical in his success with Emma ; 
 he therefore only replied, ' You say well, let it 
 rest. I again repeat, I do not blame you, except 
 for your want of confidence in me ; however let 
 even that pass, I will lay the fault to love, and 
 excuse it ; for, perhaps, in that same case I might 
 have been equally blameable.' 
 
 Mrs. Delmer was astonished at her brother's 
 moderation, while Emma was charmed with his 
 goodness in thus calmly bearing so unequal a 
 marriage in respect to fortune, and though in her 
 heart she could not avoid lamenting the falsehood 
 of Edwin to Agnes, yet her pride was gratified to 
 find herself so greatly allied. Edwin's behaviour, 
 when last at Inglewood, confounded her ; that be 
 was married at that time she could hardly believe, 
 yet she had been almost constantly with Mrs. 
 Delmer since she returned to town with him, and 
 had no reason to imagine their union had taken 
 place since that period ; in short, the more she 
 
124 THE FARMER OF 
 
 thought on the subject the more she was bewil- 
 dered, and soon after Whitmore retired, withdrew 
 to her apartment. 
 
 Mrs. Dehner was engaged early the next morn- 
 ing to conclude the business she had before men- 
 tioned, therefore, after taking a hasty breakfast 
 with Emma, during which little discourse passed, 
 she left her. 
 
 Edwins marriage now entirely employed Em- 
 ma's thoughts ; his reason for desiring her not to 
 mention to Mrs. Delmer what had been proposed 
 at the Forest was now accounted for ; her heart 
 revolted at his duplicity, while she pitied and 
 wept for Agnes ; ' yet, after all,' said she, men- 
 tally, ' the temptation was indeed hard to resist, 
 grandeur, wealth and pleasure. Heigho, I myself 
 once thought Inglewood the finest place in the 
 world ; at present how different. I know it to be 
 only a mean inconsiderable spot, with a few scat- 
 tered houses, for the most part covered with 
 tliatch, and am almost ashamed to say I was born 
 there ! I am sure I shall never be able to endure 
 it now, therefore how can I so much wonder at 
 Edwin : poor fellow, he is at once to be condemned 
 and pitied !' 
 
 1 hese deliberations were broken upon by the 
 sudden entrance of Whitmore, whose whole ap- 
 pearance announced that some extraordinary event 
 had taken place. He threw himself in a chair, and 
 after some moments' silence, his eyes fixed on the 
 astonished Emma, he said, taking her hand, ' I 
 have sometimes flattered myself that you regarded 
 me with kindness, Emma, now is the time to prove 
 it. I have this morning fought with Darleville, 
 
INGLEWOOD FOREST. 125 
 
 who, not content with the injury done me with 
 that infamous woman that bears my name, but 
 whom I despise too much to seek revenge, he last 
 night dared to speak disrespectfully of my sister 
 and yourself; but his life will repay that insult: I 
 have left him past hope. The friend who accom- 
 panied me already thinks me on my way to Calais, 
 where he wishes me to stay till I learn the event ; 
 but I cannot go, I will sooner await the worst 
 than leave you.' 
 
 * Great God !' exclaimed Emma, trembling, ' let 
 me conjure you to fly this instant, every moment 
 increases your danger. Would to Heaven you 
 had never known us. My brother's imprudence 
 has, I fear, involved you in this trouble.' 
 
 * My proofs are, I have no fear, strong enough 
 to procure a divorce : pardon, then, Emma,, a pro- 
 posal which nothing but the necessity of the mo- 
 ment should force me to make. Would you,' 
 continued he, throwing himself at her feet, ' nobly 
 show yourself above vulgar prt^udices, and con- 
 descend to accompany me, I will go when and 
 where you please, and the tirst moment in my 
 power make you mine for ever ; but I cannot, 
 will not, quit you, though death itself should be 
 the consequence. 1 ask no return to my affection, 
 but what modesty may grant, until I have a legal 
 right ; oh ! then, my beloved girl, for once step 
 ever those narrow bounds of cold prudence, and 
 show your friendship. Your brother is already the 
 husband of my sister, and you are the chosen of 
 my heart ; speak, then, my love, shall I owe my 
 life to your kindness, or will you suffer me to be 
 taken at your feet V 
 
I^ THE FARMER OF 
 
 * Oh ! Mr. Whitmore, what do you ask?' replied 
 Emma, weeping:; 'consider my parents, my brother.' 
 
 * Your brother Edwin, however, cannot blame 
 you ; it is in his quarrel, unkindly as he has treat- 
 ed me, that I have incurred this misfortune ; and 
 for your parents, when I present myself as their 
 son, all animosities will cease ; resolve then, my 
 Emma, and let me owe a debt to love, which cold 
 duty alone never yet formed an idea of.' 
 
 At that moment a loud knock at the door 
 alarmed Emma. — 'Oh ! hasten — hasten,' she cried, 
 ' perhaps you may be sought for even here, fly, or 
 my apprehensions for you will kill me.' 
 
 The cause of Emma's alarm was Whitmore's 
 valet. He came to press his master's departure ; 
 he said he had a chaise in waiting, and had just 
 heard that Darleville could not survive the day. 
 
 ' Begone,' replied Whitmore, ' I care not, I am 
 not ready, I am prepared to meet the worst.' 
 
 The man appeared surprised, and would have 
 ventured to expostulate ; but Whitmore inter- 
 rupting him, again commanded his absence in a 
 voice that demanded obedience. 
 
 Whitmore still persisted in pressing the alarmed 
 and half-wavering Emma to accompany him. For 
 some time she only answered with her tears : At 
 length she said, ' Let us consult Mrs. Delmer, I 
 will be guide(i by her.' 
 
 Whitmore, who dreaded nothing more than the 
 return of Mrs. Delmer, however, replied, taking 
 out his watch, ' Well, be it so; but what time do 
 you expect her?' 
 
 ' Oh ! — no — no,' exclaimed Emma, * it is impos- 
 sible, she will not return till near dinner time. 
 
INGLEWOOD FOREST. 127 
 
 and your safety demands that you depart this 
 instant.' 
 
 * My safety, or even my life, is to me of no 
 value independent of you, Emma, therefore 1 
 will wait the return of my sister ; yet has she not 
 shown, by her choice of your brother, that she 
 thinks a small share of the world's opinion is worth 
 sacrificing' to obtain happiness V 
 
 ' Ah !' sighed Emma, ' but she is married.' 
 
 * Well, my love, and shall we not also be mar- 
 ried as soon as possible ? Even with all the bigotry 
 that country education has implanted on your 
 mind, you must allow that a woman, who has 
 acted so shamefully as Mrs. Whitmore, is no 
 longer in the eye of Heaven, or the world, my 
 wife ; my marriage with her was merely a joining 
 of hands ; ours, Emma, will be an union of hearts. 
 To ease your delicate scruples, am I not content 
 to wait for all the formalities of law, and the 
 jargon of priestcraft ; though neither, Emma, can 
 make me more sincerely your's ; let me only, my 
 love, have to boast hereafter, that you nobly 
 showed your affection in the hour of my danger, 
 and accompanied, in his exile, a man who would 
 glory to place you on a throne.' 
 
 Emma, weak and irresolute, knew not how to 
 consent, yet feared to deny ; she loved Whitmore 
 too well for his safety not to be dear to her ; duty 
 for a while indeed struggled with passion, but 
 Emma's mind was too feeble to bear the conflict. 
 
 Whitmore saw his advantage, and pressing his 
 suit with redoubled ardour, prevailed, in an un- 
 happy moment, on the infatuated Emma, to de- 
 molish the fair structure of virtue her pai'ents had 
 
128 THE FARMER OF 
 
 so many years been endeavouring to rear in her 
 heart, by weakly yielding to accompany him.— 
 Delighted with his success, he hurried her instantly 
 to the chaise which he had in waiting, ordering 
 the post-boy to use the utmost speed. 
 
 Had Whitmore given Emma time to reflect, it 
 is probable she might have escaped the destruction 
 that awaited her ; but her sensibility awakened for 
 the safety of the man she loved, no friend near to 
 advise, or snatch her from the impending ruin, she 
 forgot all but his danger, regardless of the dagger 
 she was striking into the bosom of her parents, or 
 the never-dying anguish she was implanting in 
 her own. 
 
 They had hardly reached the end of the first 
 stage, when, even though supported by the en- 
 circling arm of Whitmore, his vows still sounding 
 in her ear, that silent but never-failing monitor 
 conscience awoke, and at once presented the 
 reverse of the fascinating picture that for a while 
 had intoxicated her senses. 
 
 * Oh ! my dear parents,' exclaimed she, in an 
 agony of grief, 'must I then never see you more ? 
 The lost, the abandoned Emma has forsaken all, 
 and for whom ? — Great God ! a married man ! 
 Oh ! Mr. Whitmore, if you really love me let me 
 return ; it will be the strongest proof of your aft'ec-/ 
 tion, and never shall it be forgotten.' 
 
 'Well, then,' replied he, reproachfully, 'let us 
 return, for I cannot see you thus ; I will resign 
 myself, and wait the event of Darleville's wounds. 
 At least you shall not accuse me, Emma, of want 
 of affection.' 
 
INGLEWOOD FOREST. 129 
 
 ' Ah ! no,' returned Emma, weeping, * let me 
 return alone ; have I not shown how clear I hold 
 your safety V 
 
 ' And after such a proof, think you it is possible 
 to tear myself from you ? No, Emma, any thing- 
 else I may be able to accomplish ; but, by all my 
 hopes of happiness, we will not part. If you 
 insist, I will accompany you home, let life or 
 death be the consequence.' 
 
 Emma again became irresolute ; again for a 
 while love overcame reason. In the mean time 
 the chaise proceeded swiftly, and momentarily 
 made her return less possible ; Whitmore alarm- 
 ing her feelings, and soothing her by turns, until 
 at length they reached Dover, where the wind 
 proving fair, a packet was immediately procured, 
 and all return entirely cut off for the lost Emma. 
 
 To divert her thoughts from dwelling on sub- 
 jects he wished her to forget, Whitmore related 
 the cause of his quarrel with Darleville : He had 
 in the public coffee-room declared, that if Mrs. 
 Delmer was not married to ensign Godwin, they 
 had a perfect good understanding, as he was fre- 
 quently with her at very unseasonable hours, (in- 
 formation he had received from Mrs. Whitmore) 
 as was also Mr. Whitmore tete-a-tete with Emma. 
 Whitmore on his entrance had been jested with 
 on the business, and congratulated on his good 
 fortune with the fair rustic ; but not being natu- 
 rally of a temper to hear the character of any one 
 he professed to esteem treated lightly, he immedi- 
 ately took tire, and insisted on the author of tlie 
 scandal being declared, which proving to be Dar- 
 leville, he determined to quarrel, and walking up 
 
 R 
 
130 THE FARMER OF 
 
 to him with assumed coldness, he said, ' I hear, 
 sir, yott have taken the liberty to speak very 
 freely this evening of my sister and Miss Godwin ; 
 I must therefore advise you in future to be more 
 cautious, or your want of prudence may put your 
 valour to the hazard, a circumstance that will, 
 perhaps, prove inconvenient, as the reality of 
 courage, as well as the reputation of gallantry, 
 is necessary for a soldier.' This affront, given in 
 a public coffee-room, was too gross to pass un- 
 noticed, an appointment was therefore instantly 
 made, after which Whitmore supped at Mrs. 
 Delmer's, when he questioned her on her mar- 
 riage, though he avoided particulars. 
 
 The next morning he met his opponent, whom 
 on the first fire he shot in the side, and left with 
 his friend, who had acted as second, while himself 
 hastened to Emma, determined, as he had such a 
 favourable pretence, to make a bold essay to get 
 her into his power, and in which he unhappily 
 succeeded. Such was the real state of the quarrel, 
 and its subsequent consequences, but which were 
 alternately heightened or softened in Whitmore's 
 relation to Emma, as might best suit his purpose. 
 
 So great had been Emma's confusion, that she 
 had not even thought of clothes ; but Whitmore, 
 on their arrival at Calais, soon removed that in- 
 convenience, and they continued their route to 
 Paris, where he supplied her with a profusion 
 and elegance that marked the power he supposed 
 show to have over the femnle heart. Emma un- 
 fortunately was not insensible to it : in contem- 
 plating the S])lendour that surrounded iier, her 
 sorrow^ gradually decreased, and her aratitude for 
 
INGLEWOOD FOREST. 131 
 
 the donor augmented, until at length, in an hour 
 of unguarded folly, she bartered her honour for 
 the gaudy and useless trappings of pride and vice. 
 Mrs. Delmer, on her return home on the day of 
 the duel, wondered at Emma's absence, or for 
 what purpose she could have accompanied her 
 brother, yet had no idea until late in the evening 
 of the real truth. — She feared Edwin would blame 
 her, and knew not what measures to pursue ; but 
 determined to give him immediate intelligence, 
 and accordingly wrote that night, expressing her 
 vexation at what had happened, and entreating 
 his immediate return. 
 
 CHAP. XVI. 
 
 While the unthinking Emma was flying from 
 her friends, and sacrificing her honour to gratify 
 the licentious wishes of her betrayer, all was joy 
 and festivity at Inglewood. The young stranger 
 was baptized by the name of Reuben, after his 
 grandfather, and the subsequent entertainment 
 having lasted until late on the second day, the 
 guests had taken leave, and returned home. Had 
 it not been for the tormenting pangs of conscience 
 Edwin would have felt himself perfectly happy, 
 for though he could sometimes forget every thing 
 but love and Ao^nes, yet reflection was sure to re- 
 turn with redoubled violence. He was a constant 
 witness to the happiness of William and Fanny, 
 
132 THE FARMER OF 
 
 and like a iiend of darkness their innocent plea- 
 sures increaised his torments, for in them he con- 
 templated what himself might have possessed. 
 
 The venerable Godwin sometimes suspected 
 that his son was not happy ; but attributed it to 
 his being necessitated to quit Agnes, and there- 
 fore wished their union to take place as soon as 
 possible. It indeed gave him some surprise that 
 Edwin himself did not press it more warmly ; 
 but waiting for the expected promotion was the 
 reason given, and readily believed by Godwin, 
 for his heart was too guileless for him to suppose 
 his son to be a villain. 
 
 After the departure of the guests, as the family 
 were sitting in cheerful conversation, the post- 
 boy's horn gave notice he brought letters, and a 
 moment after Margery entered, and delivered one 
 to Edwin, whose eye had no sooner glanced over 
 the direction (which was Mrs. Delmer's) than the 
 blood for a moment forsook his cheeks, but as in- 
 stantaneously again returned, and suffused them 
 with crimson. Without knowing what he was 
 about, he was instinctively going to put it in his 
 pocket, had not his eyes met those of his brother 
 William, in whose face he saw, in legible traits, 
 the strongest marks of surprise. 
 
 This discovery at once recalled him to recol- 
 lection, he endeavoured to conceal his confusion, 
 and opened the letter ; but had scarcely read two 
 lines, when it again visibly increased, for it was 
 Mrs Delmer's first letter, in which she began, by 
 informing him that all restraint was now removed, 
 and that their marriage might be declared, as she 
 had obtained the wished promotion for him. 
 
INGLEWOOD FOREST. 133 
 
 The joy Edwin experienced at this news, in 
 some measure, overbalanced his confusion. ' I am 
 preferred,' exclaimed he, in a rapture, ' and have 
 a prospect of yet further advancement.' He then 
 continued reading the remainder of his letter, 
 which he had no sooner concluded than he put it 
 in his pocket, simply relating what he thought 
 necessary of the contents to his friends. 
 
 ' And from whence comes it, Edwin V said 
 William, looking on him fixedly. 
 
 ' Comes — why — w hy, from Mr. Whitmore to 
 be sure,' replied Edwin, hesitating, and his down- 
 cast eye avoiding the scrutinizing gaze of his 
 brother ; ' you know I long expected this event, 
 yet it came so suddenly that it quite over- 
 came me.' 
 
 William, unwilling to make a reply that might 
 awaken suspicions against his brother, and which, 
 perhaps, in truth might be groundless, remained 
 silent, while Edwin received the congratulations 
 of the family, but particularly of Bernard, who 
 now tliought his hopes of Edwin's becoming a 
 general half verified. 
 
 When Edwin had recovered his first surprise, 
 he informed them he sliould be obliged to leave 
 them almost immediately, as the business required 
 his immediate presence. 
 
 ' Pies on that luck,' interrupted Bernard, * I 
 thought you would have stayed to take Agnes with 
 you ; and though I should be sorry to lose hrer, 
 yet, as you seem never happy apart, I am w illing 
 to consent when you please, on condition, how- 
 ever, that you let me have my girl with me two 
 or three months every summer.' 
 
mi THE FARMER OF 
 
 '* Alas !' said Edwin, with an hypocritical sigh, 
 
 * I would to Heaven I could now stay, or that I 
 had known ray advancement was so near ; but it 
 is in \ain to wish, for i must inevitably depart either 
 to-morrow night, or the morning following. Yet 
 there is one way, though 1 fear to propose it ; if 
 my beloved Agnes and our parents would consent.' 
 
 ' Consent ! why to be sure we will,' answered 
 Bernard. 
 
 * It is,' replied Edwin, hesitating, *if I might 
 be permitted to take Agnes to town with me, we 
 might there be married without delay. I have 
 made Mr. W hitmore a sort of promise that he 
 should be present at the ceremony, and as Emma 
 is already there, she would have a female friend 
 to accompany her.' >oi OJ ijiattna x 
 
 It may be easily surmised that Edwin had no 
 design to conduct Agnes to his sister, he simply 
 wished to get her from her parents, as he had then 
 no doubt but he should be able to deceive one so 
 innocent of guile, and in a short time bring her to 
 his wishes. 
 
 * My brother Godwin shall determine the busi- 
 ness,' returned Bernard. 
 
 * Then 1 by no means approve it,' said Godwin : 
 
 * Had Emma been here to accompany her the ob- 
 jection might have been less, but even then the 
 step would have been imprudent; what say you, 
 William ?' 
 
 * I am astonished that Edwin could ask it,' re- 
 plied William ; ' he surely did not consider the 
 impropriety of Agnes's leaving the country with 
 him unmarried. 1 think Fanny is, and ever was, 
 as dear to me as her sister can be to Edwin, yet 
 
INGLEWOOD FOREST. 13$ 
 
 passion should never transport me so far as to 
 suffer her to take a step that might subject her 
 even to a temporary humiliation. Edwin can 
 surely again get a short h^ave of absence, and if 
 Mr. Whiimore wishes to be present at the cere- 
 mony, he has nothing to detain him.' 
 
 ' I did not request your permission, nor yet 
 your advice, William,' said Edwin, with an emo- 
 tion of anger which he could not conceal* Luii^a 
 
 ' 1 he permission is alone in her fatherspowferto 
 grant,' replied William ; ' for my opinion my father 
 asked it, and as it coincided with his own I freely 
 gave it ; nay, had it not, in this case I should not 
 have scrupled to differ from him. Agnes has no 
 brother but myself, and I hold her fame too dear 
 to suff(er it to be sullied, however unmeritedly.' 
 ojf It is enough,' cried Edwin ; ' if frustrating my 
 happiness gives you pleasure, you have accom- 
 plished your end.' 
 
 ' Nay,nay,' interrupted Bernard, 'donotspeak 
 so harshly, William is a good lad : whatever he 
 says is for the best. I do not know how it is, but 
 he always brings me over to his opinion, and it is 
 generally right.' 
 
 ' I am sorry, in this instance, that he has such 
 power with you,' replied Edwin, sulkily. 
 
 * And why so, my brother V said Wuliam. ' On 
 calm reflection your own reason will applaud me; 
 and now, to prove how dear 1 hold your happi- 
 ness, I have a medium to propose ; if you should 
 find it inconvenient to return, prepare all for 
 Agnes's reception, and Mr. Bernard and myself 
 will accompany her to town. I think he would 
 take such a journey to oblige you, an<l I can 
 
13a THE FARMER OF 
 
 assure you I would, though I shouhl leave my 
 heart at Inglewood with this witch and little 
 sorcerer,' patting his young son on the cheek as 
 he lay at his mother's breast. 
 
 ' There, there now !' exclaimed Bernard, ex- 
 ultingly, ' I told you he would bring you round ; 
 his is the best plan after all, though I do not much 
 like your long journeys ; however, for once I do 
 not care. Come, then, do not look so glum, all is 
 settled : you know if the mountain cannot come 
 to us, why we must go to the mountain, as the 
 folks say.' 
 
 * I hope to spare you that trouble,' replied Ed- 
 win, after a short pause, during which he endea- 
 voured to collect himself; ' I trust I shall be able 
 to return. I certainly did not wish to be again 
 separated from Agnes, but I must submit.' 
 
 Mr. and Mrs. Godwin now declared themselves 
 of William's opinion, as did also Fanny, who 
 added, * Though, like my father, I do not approve 
 of long journeys, yet, in such a case as this, I shall 
 willingly spare you.' 
 
 The conversation now took a livelier turn with 
 all but Edwin ; his scheme frustrated of getting 
 Agnes in his power, he knew not what measures 
 to pursue ; the intelligence of his promotion liad 
 been unexpected, and, when the conditions an- 
 nexed were reflected on, unwelcome, for todeclare 
 his marriage was to lose Agnes for ever. His uneasi- 
 ness was too visible to be overlooked ; all tried to 
 enliven him ; and particularly Agnes, by a thou- 
 sand little artless caresses, endeavoured to make 
 him forget his vexation ; but in vain. Thesootliing 
 of Agnes, like oil on a flame, served but to in-' 
 
INGLEWOOD FOREST. 137 
 
 urease the distraction that overwhelmeid him. 
 At length the family retired to their apartments 
 for the night, and, undisturbed by guilt or sorrow, 
 the greater part soon fell asleep. 
 
 Edwin, however, felt he could not rest, the 
 attempt he knew would be fruitless, and for some 
 time he sat in all the gloom of despair. — ' Is it not 
 possible to see Agnes again this night ?' exclaimed 
 he. ' At least I shall take her unprepared ; it is my 
 last resource ; and if I succeed, William and virtue 
 I laugh at ye ; I can hereafter make my own con- 
 ditions ; if otherwise, at all events, it can but 
 hasten my departure a few hours from the Forest, 
 of which I must take an everlasting farewell.' 
 
 This resolution once formed, he determined to 
 accomplish it; and leaving his own room, ad- 
 vanced towards that of Agnes with the cautioi^s 
 and soft step of a midnight robber. At the door 
 he paused, a momentary pang of remorse seized 
 him : ' Monster !' said he, mentally, ' what vil- 
 vanyart thou about to perpetrate? Art thou. not 
 already sufficiently guilty? Thou wilt next be 
 capable of murdering the innocent as they sleep, 
 tliat neither their power or persuasion should 
 defeat thy purpose.' 
 
 As he spoke, his feet involuntarily turned 
 from the door : ' And can I,' resumed he, ' give 
 her up for ever ? Have I not it in my power to 
 make her amends for this one deviation from 
 rectitude? My fortune, — my life — all — all are 
 liers ; then let me not weakly abandon an oppor- 
 tunity which can never be recalled.' 
 
 With tliese ideas he determined to proceed in 
 his purpose, and gently opening the door of her 
 
 6 s 
 
138 THE FARMER OF 
 
 apartment, fearful of alarming her, lest she 
 should awake the family, he said, in a soft voice, 
 ' Be not surprised nor displeased, my beloved 
 Agnes, I have a few words to say to you, which 
 I wish to repeat without witness ; for William I 
 see is willing to protract my happiness as long 
 as possible.' 
 
 dm 8JS 
 
 CHAP. XVII. 
 
 Agnes had retired with a mind too much dis- 
 turbed by the visible uneasiness of Edwin to fall 
 asleep, and immediately started on his entrance ; 
 for she heard him not until he opened the cham- 
 ber-door and addressed her, so cautiously had he 
 stepped along the little passage that separated her 
 room from the other apartments. For a moment 
 she felt displeased at his intrusion ; but her heart 
 was too guileless to suspect his purpose ; and 
 affection and pity mastering every other senti- 
 ment, she replied to his address : — 
 
 * Retire, I entreat you, Edvvin. Were you not 
 so visibly uneasy, I could not forbear to chide 
 you ; — we will speak more fully to-morrow. You 
 ai'e displeased at William without cause : he is at 
 once a kind brother and a prudent and disinterest- 
 ed friend. Banish then these tlioughts that dis- 
 turb you ; — all, 1 doubt not, will be for the best." 
 
INGLEWOOD FOREST. 139 
 
 Edwin, who was charmed to meet with so 
 gentle a repulse, replied, ' And can you, Agnes, 
 so easily adopt his unfee/ing maxims ? But why 
 do I ask when 1 see you ? Absence has weakened 
 your afiection for me ; and it costs you no pang to 
 doom me to misery. 
 
 'Cruel, unjust surmise!' replied Agnes, ready 
 t o burst into tears : ' had your affection been as 
 great as mine, you had never, Edwin, sought a 
 change. No preferment, no greatness, should 
 have tempted me to quit you ; but I am wrong 
 to speak in a manner you may construe upbraid- 
 ingly. Your mind, my Edwin, is disturbed. 
 Retire, I again conjure you, to your rest, — this is 
 no place. In the morning you shall be convinced 
 that you are offended without cause. ^ 
 
 ' And will you not, Agnes,' replied he, ' allow 
 me a single half hour's conversation alone this last 
 evening I have to remain with you ? Will you 
 s uffer me to depart, overpowered as I am with 
 anguish V 
 
 'Good Heaven! — what would you request? 
 You know, Edwin, your uneasiness distresses me 
 more than my own ; but go down. If you desire 
 it, I will rise and join you in a few minutes.' 
 
 ' No,' replied he, ' we shall but awaken the 
 family, which will prevent me disclosing what I 
 wish to say to you alone. Can you not, my love, 
 suffer me for a few minutes to converse with you 
 here? You were not wont to distrust your Edwin. 
 Have I, Agnes, deserved suspicion?' 
 
 ' No, Heaven forbid !' replied the unsuspecting 
 victim. ' Withdraw while I dress : we can con- 
 verse for a short time at the window.' 
 
140 THE FARMER OF 
 
 Edwin, though he scarcely knew how to com- 
 mand himself, immediately obeyed, by retiring 
 into the passage ; w here he remained some mi- 
 nutes, then joined her at the window of her own 
 apartment. Persuaded it was his last resource, 
 he redoubled his former vows, until he thought 
 her heart was sufficiently softened to his purpose ; 
 ^ then entreated her, though with some cautious 
 preliminaries, to prove her affection by accom- 
 panying him to town. 
 
 ' Why will you ask me what you know is im- 
 possible V replied she. ' Does not our parents 
 think it wrong ? — and you as well as me, Edwin, 
 used to be satisfied with their decision ; but you 
 are grown strangely impetuous. A little time 
 cannot surely make much difference ; and then it 
 will be ray duty, as well as inclination, to accom- 
 pany you wherever you go.' 
 
 ' Ah, Agnes,' replied he, ' if you loved me, 
 you would not thus calmly speak of a separation, 
 though even for a short time ! My first leaving 
 the Forest was, I can truly swear, to procure you 
 additional happiness, as well as myself. Our 
 hearts, my beloved girl, have long been united ; 
 you can neither doubt my honour nor my love. 
 Consent then to go with me to town ; and let us 
 never more be separated.' 
 
 ' How can you press what you know is imprac- 
 ticable? Has it not been expressly denied ?' 
 
 ' But, — but,' hesitated he, ' could we not, my 
 beloved, find means to go without their permis- 
 sion ? It surely, Agnes, w^ould be a very venial 
 trespass. We could be married immediately ; and 
 you cannot doubt but we should be forgiven.' 
 
INGLEWOOD FOREST. 141 
 
 ' And do you think I would be guilty of so 
 cruel and despicable an act?' replied she, indig- 
 nantly, attempting to withdraw her hand. * No, 
 Edwin, my love for you, I confess, is interwoven 
 with my life ; but neither love nor life itself shall 
 make me so ungrateful and unwortliy of the best 
 of friends and parents ; for yours, Edwin, are 
 already mine : and shall I cloud their venerable 
 features with sorrow, and wound their worthy 
 hearts? No ! you are not yourself, or you could 
 not have proposed it !' 
 
 Though Edwin found his scheme frustrated by 
 this reply, he yet determined not to relinquish 
 his purpose; and summoning all his arts, by 
 soothing and protestations, he at length removed 
 the uneasiness his proposal had given, and his 
 pardon was sealed on her lips. — ' And now, Ed- 
 win,' said she, * retire, forget all vexation, and 
 believe me entirely yours.' 
 
 * Yet a moment,' replied he : ' in what haste you 
 are to banish me ! Are you not my wife in all but 
 the name? Suffer me, then, my love, to place this 
 ring upon your finger,' drawing one from his own 
 (which had been presented him by Mrs. Delmer) 
 and putting it on hers, ' and swear, Agnes, you 
 will never give yourself to another.' 
 
 ' Alas !' said Agnes, ' I know not what strange 
 idea has possessed you ! Have I not frequently 
 given you that assurance ? and can an oath be 
 more binding ? Surely not : I never repeated one 
 in my life, and have frequently wished you would 
 not, for they ever leave an uneasy sensation on 
 my heart.' 
 
14^ . THE FARMER OF 
 
 *You refuse me, then, Agnes?' replied he, 
 striking his forehead with his hand, ' and I shall, 
 accursed thought, lose you for ever.' 
 
 ' Good Heaven ! how you terrify me,' said 
 Agnes, trembling at his agitation. ' How can you 
 doubt me ? But dictate what I am to say, and I 
 will repeat it, if that will restore you to calmness.' 
 
 Edwin now proposed the oath ; and the gentle 
 Agnes sinking on her knees, exclaimed, 'Heaven 
 forgive me for an act against which my heart re- 
 coils ! but here I call God to witness never to have 
 another love ; and if you are not my husband, to 
 die unmarried.' 
 
 ' Enough, — enough,' cried Edwin, exultingly ; 
 ' my heart is now satisj&ed ; you are my wife ; and 
 from this hour I claim you as my own.' 
 
 Her gentle spirits were overpowered with the 
 scene that had taken place ; her head sunk on 
 Edwin's bosom, and she could scarcely preserve 
 herself from fainting. In that fatal moment the 
 guardian angel of virtue and innocence, for a short 
 time, left the unhappy and too susceptible Agnes, 
 ' — and the villain Edwin succeeded in his infernal 
 purpose. 
 
 Daughters of chastity, condemn not, but pity ! 
 May example warn you that Secrecy and Tempta- 
 tion are ever to be avoided. 
 
 The triumphant miscreant had now no doubt 
 but that all his desires would be complied with ; 
 he therefore again pressed her to accompany him, 
 unknown to their parents ; but in vain. 
 
 ' No,' cried she, weeping bitterly : * It is true 
 you have rendered me unworthy of our friends 
 
INGLEWOOD FOREST. 143 
 
 and yourself, yet will I not add ingratitude to 
 vice. — Begone, Edwin, nor tempt me further : 
 am I not already sunk enough in your opinion ? 
 Hateful folly ! despicable weakness ! Would to 
 heaven I had died yesterday, innocent and 
 happy !' 
 
 Edwin exerted all his art and influence to calm 
 her spirits ; and disappointed in his views of 
 persuading her to accompany him clandestinely, 
 changed his plan, sparing no vows to convince 
 Ker of his fixed intention to return in the course 
 of anionth and espouse her, being determined, if 
 possible, to keep his marriage for that time pri- 
 vate, and in the interim fix on some scheme to 
 get her into his power. 
 
 His repeated promises in some measure calmed 
 her agitation ; but she still pressed his absence 
 with an earnestness that all his arts could not 
 overcome ; and he was at length necessitated, 
 though sorely against his will, to return to his 
 chamber, as the only means to keep her sorrow 
 
 within bounds : for he dreaded, lest.it should Jbe 
 
 .)»■'.■ Mci iiiiiiii ^ iJiiJ 'Skit. ' 
 heard by the lamuy. ' j^..: 
 
 The remainder of the night was passed by the 
 unhappy Agnes in self-reproaches and tears, her 
 heart weakly endeavouring to exculpate her be- 
 trayer ; for the first time the dawning of morning 
 was displeasing to her ; she shuddered to appear 
 before her friends, and dreaded every eye, lest 
 her conscious face should disclose the w;efikness. 
 she had been guilty of. ' , . 
 
 In the morning her disorder and confusion was 
 visible to the whole family ; but^ all attributed it 
 to the same motive, the approaching departure of 
 
144 THE FARMER OF 
 
 Edwin, and endeavoured to console ahd cheer 
 her ; but in vain : she felt herself unworthy of 
 their caresses, and shrunk from them ; nor was 
 Edwin more calm, though actuated by very dif- 
 ferent motives. Triumphant villany, it is true, sat 
 enthroned within his heart ; but yet he was un- 
 certain whether he might not for ever lose Agnes, 
 of whom he was now more passionately ena- 
 moured than ever. 
 
 Edwin, though he ardently wished to assume 
 his new honours, could hardly determine to tear 
 himself away, and therefore thought of protract- 
 ing his stay until the following morning, in 
 order to exert his utmost endeavours in reassuring 
 Agnes, whom, as he found he could by no means 
 persuade to leave the Forest clandestinely, deter- 
 mined to return himself as speedily as possible, 
 seduce her to some distance, then carry her off in 
 spite of opposition, trusting to her affection to 
 plead his excuse. 
 
 In the evening arrived Mrs. Delmer's second 
 letter, containing the intelligence of Emma's 
 elopement with Whitmore. This was delivered 
 to Edwin when he chanced to be alone with Wil- 
 liam. Astonished at receiving another so speedily, 
 he hastily broke it open ; but had no sooner glanced 
 over the contents, than art, and^ its attendant 
 dissimulation, for a moment forsook him. — ' Dam- 
 nation seize the villain !' exclaimed he aloud, re- 
 gardless of William, and almost insensible he was 
 present : ' I will pursue him to t!ie verge of liell ; 
 am I to be thus immediately punished V 
 
 ' Good Heaven ! Edwin,' replied William, start- 
 ing, ' what do you mean? What has happened ? 
 
INGLEWOOD FOREST. 145 
 
 Speak, brother ; why are your features thus dis- 
 turbed with mingled rage and anguish ? Are we 
 not both the fruit of one kindly shrub ? Why will 
 you then unkindly have a separate interest? 
 .for surely withholding your thoughts must be 
 thus interpreted. My whole heart is yours ; 
 read it, it is open as my speech to a beloved 
 brother.' 
 
 ' Alas ! William,' replied Edwin, shrinking 
 within himself, 'what do you ask? — I, — I, — I 
 have no secrets ; or, if I had, what could it answer 
 to rack your bosom ?' 
 
 ' If you are so insensible to the consolations ot 
 friendship,' returned William, ' to prize them so 
 lightly, I will endeavour, though reluctantly, to 
 withdraw my claim ; my heart has hitherto forced 
 me to be an intruder in your interest : I will, how- 
 ever, hereafter strive not to hold it so inseparable 
 with my own, until, at least, you are cured of this 
 delirium of folly and grandeur ; then, my brother, 
 will I forget yourunkindness, and again open my 
 arms and heart to receive you. One only thing, 
 Edwin, would I wish to ask : If you have a sub- 
 ject for unhappiness, is London a place for Em tiia? 
 Can she be prudently left there alone?' 
 
 'D — n her!' involuntarily replied Edwin — 
 William made no answer ; he was unequal to any ; 
 he cast an eye of anguish on his brother, and 
 dropped on a chair in silence. 
 
 At that instant entered Godwin, with his wife 
 and Fanny, when both brothers endeavoured to 
 conceal their uneasiness, though from difterent 
 motives : Edwin, to hide his own villany ; and 
 
 7 T 
 
146 THE FARMER OF 
 
 William, to prevent their hearts being agonized 
 with he knew not what, and what he wished, but 
 dreaded to hear. .ns >'jr!« n^jii 
 
 Edwin was a far better dissembler than hfe 
 brother, and first overcame his confusion ; simply 
 informing his friends that he had received another 
 letter, pressing his immediate return ; but that he 
 hoped to see them again in the space of a month 
 at farthest ; that he would now take one of their 
 horses to the next market-town, from whence he 
 could immediately procure a conveyance. 
 
 His venerable parents would have questioned 
 him respecting this repeated and peremptory call ; 
 but Edwin appeared so enclosed in reserve and 
 caution, that the good man, with a sigh, withdrew 
 his suit ; and observing his son's impatience to be 
 gone, told him to take any of the horses he ap- 
 proved ; and fearing his uneasiness might proceed 
 from want of money, pressed him with a supply ; 
 which, however, Edwin declined, even to obsti- 
 nacy. He then left the party, and hastened to 
 take leave of Agnes, who was locked in her 
 chamber for the first time, perhaps, in her life ; 
 but she wished now to conceal herself from 
 herself; — but conscience, doubly poignant from 
 sensibility and wounded virtue, had fixed a 
 barbed arrow in her bosom, which she could 
 never withdraw, nor whose anguish she could 
 palliate. aioilv* 
 
 Edwin calling, she however replied, * I will 
 attend you directly below ;' and opening the door, 
 with a sigh, passed him and descended the stairs,— r- 
 he in vain attempting to detain her. .<{ jjofi) 
 
INGLEWOOD FOREST. 147 
 
 By this time he had entirely recovered his con- 
 fusion ; and renewing his promises, he received 
 their affectionate farewell, departing in two hours 
 after the receipt of his last letter. 
 
 loan b-^ 
 
 fitlJ ii'd ; fi'ioJ^f 'iJBib' 
 
 „, >dw mv.'j,jj^p jj.^,jj 
 
 Edwin was no sooner departed, than William, 
 drawing his father aside, with caution informed 
 him of Edwin's discomposure at receiving the 
 letter. — ' Believe me, my dear sir,' said he, ' I 
 should not have mentioned it, had I not thought 
 it for his happiness. Edwin's good nature, and, if 
 1 may call it so, constitutional cheerfulness, may, ^ 
 I doubt, have drawn him into some difficulty, 
 from which he cannot extricate himself. I almost 
 fear to speak my wishes, yet why should I hesi- 
 tate ? You have frequently honoured me by call- 
 ing me your representative ; would you conde- 
 scend to make me such now, I would go to 
 London, examine into the immediate situation 
 of Edwin ; if he has any pecuniary difficulties, 
 remove them ; and, finally, bring down Emma, 
 whom I well know you wish returned.' 
 
 Godwin for a moment regarded his son, unable 
 to reply, tears falling down his cheeks. At length 
 embracing him, he said, ' My son, my son, surely 
 thou art the favoured gift of God ! thou anticipa- 
 test my words, but not my wishes. I am not blind 
 
148 THE FARMER OF 
 
 to the cloud that hangs over Edwin, but for thy 
 offer should have suffered in silence, unable to de- 
 velope it; let us then form some excuse for thy 
 absence to thy mother, Fanny, and her gentle 
 sister : as for Bernard, 1 will tell him our inten- 
 tion; and, I doubt not, he will applaud our 
 honest deceit.' 
 
 Bernard entering in the height of the conversa- 
 tion, was informed of the whole, under promise, 
 however, of not revealing it to either of his daugh- 
 ters, w hich he firmly promised ; in the mean time 
 good-naturedly endeavouring to laugh them out 
 of their fears, observing, he was sure Edwin was 
 both a good and prudent lad ; and for any differ- 
 ence in his behaviour, they should consider his 
 change of situation, and that gentlemen had fre- 
 quently more to ruffle their thoughts than farmers, 
 though they might choose to keep it to them- 
 selves. 
 
 William, with his father's approbation, deter- 
 mined to depart on the following morning, and 
 join his brother in London ; and accordingly at 
 supper, Bernard, by agreement, asked him if he 
 could contrive to set off on the next day to York, 
 as he had a relation there who was sick, and 
 that he was unable to ride so far on horseback 
 himself. 
 
 ♦ William immediately expressed his willingness; 
 and the affair was soon concluded, unsuspected 
 by either Mrs. Godwin or Agnes ; but the keen 
 eye and attentive ear of tenderness was not so 
 easily deceived : Fanny read the unusual gloom 
 in her William's features, though determined to 
 conceal her suspicions. 
 
INGLEWOOD FOREST. 149 
 
 On their retiring to rest, William could not 
 avoid observing Fanny was unhappy. She was 
 silent, and appeared to press the young Reuben 
 with redoubled affection to her bosom, while a 
 tear would now and then escape her eye, and fall 
 on his dimpled cheek. 
 
 ' What is the matter, my love, ray wife ?' said 
 William ; ' you are unhappy, and I have a riglit 
 to claim a share.' 
 
 * Forgive me,' replied she, weeping ; — ' but you 
 are not, I think, going to York.' 
 
 * Suppose I am not, where can I go that the 
 remembrance of your tenderness and virtue will 
 not cheer me ? Dry your tears, love, and you shall 
 hear my destination ; for I know you will not 
 disclose it to my mother or Agnes, whom I fear 
 to alarm.' He then informed her of his deter- 
 mination of hastening to London, as he was 
 rather uneasy at the behaviour of Edwin, and yet 
 more concerned at the protracted stay of Emma. 
 
 Fanny entirely coincided in the prudence of his 
 journey, while she grieved at its necessity, yet 
 hoped all his fears were groundless ; then promised 
 to conceal her own uneasiness for the sake of his 
 mother and Agnes ; and finally, entreated him, in 
 such a great and hateful city, (as she had heard it 
 represented) to be careful of his own safety ; and 
 by no means to hurry back on her account, until 
 his heart was fully satisfied in respect to his bro- 
 ther; *as,' continued she, * an inconsiderate haste 
 might leave you still unhappy and uninformed in 
 respect of him. In the mean time, I will doubly 
 caress Reuben, — trace your features in the linea- 
 ments of his little visage, — talk to him of your 
 
150 THE FARMER OF 
 
 absence, — of your return; while the unfeeling 
 little varlet,' concluded she, fondly kissing her 
 son, ' will laugh at both.' tg *rtt ^Jfi^l^af. 
 
 William caught her in his arms, alternately 
 embracing her and the infant, then retired with 
 her to rest, happy as the first created pair, before 
 guilt had banished peace from their bosoms. 
 
 William arose at the dawn of day, and having 
 taken an early breakfast with his family, departed 
 on horseback for the metropolis, which he reached 
 five days after his brother, who rode post the 
 whole journey. 'ffjiait I 
 
 Edwin, on his arrival in town, had immediately 
 gone to Mrs. Delmer's, who confirmed the rexa- 
 tious tidings she had before sent him. At first 
 his rage knew no bounds ; he execrated Whit- 
 more, Emma, and himself; nor did he spare Mrs. 
 Delmer in his passion; then rushing from the 
 house, hastened to Whitmore's, where, however, 
 he could learn nothing more than he already knew 
 respecting their departure ; but was presented by 
 one of the domestics with a letter which had ar- 
 rived three days before, and which bore a foreign 
 post-mark. On opening it, he found it came from 
 Whitmore, and contained these words : — 
 
 'Dear Edwin, 
 , *,you have stolen my sister ; and as 1 hate to be 
 outdone, I have stolen yours : it is but a mere 
 exchange ; yet, as I wish to act generously, and 
 must confess that I have the best of the bargain, > 
 you are welcome to my wife, to make up the de- 
 ficiency. In the mean time I wish you all the 
 happiness attendant on the marriage state. You 
 
INGLEWOOD FOREST. 151 
 
 pleased yourself,— so have I ; and I trust you have 
 too much sense and knowledge of the world to be 
 angry at the step I have taken, particularly when 
 I assure you, that your sister is dearer to me than 
 life, and that her happiness shall be my particular 
 care. I presume you have heard of my affair with 
 Darleville. I was too much of a philosopher to 
 notice his amour with my wife; but to speak dis- 
 respectfully of my sister and my beloved Emma 
 was too much for even philosophy to bear. Adieu. 
 I shall make the tour of France and Italy before^ 
 I return ; but if settled in any place for a time/^ 
 you shall hear from me. 
 
 Calais. Whitmore.' 
 
 Edwin's rage was redoubled by this epistle, 
 with which, open in his hand, he flew to Mrs. 
 Whitmore's apartment, expecting that, although^ 
 the lady was faulty, she would in this case be as^ 
 outrageous as himself; but he was disappointed ;' 
 she only laughed at his emotion; ridiculing him 
 for being so vehemently exasperated at an occur- 
 rence which was so common in life ; and that, if 
 he had had the least penetration, must have fore- 
 seen. ' But what, in the name of wonder, does 
 he say?' added she: ' Does he congratulate you 
 on your marriage ? For my part, I knew of it a 
 week after it took place, though I did not mention 
 it to him ; and gave you credit for an apt scholar, 
 a pupil worthy your preceptor. But tell me, 
 does the letter contain any secret? or may I 
 see it?' 
 
 ^Take it,' replied Edwin, sullenly ; ' the letter 
 Sit least is worthy the writer.' 
 
152 THE FARMER OF 
 
 Mrs. Whitmore received it, but had not pro- 
 ceeded far wlien she began laughing immoderately : 
 ' By my life,' said she, ' Whitmore is a delightful 
 fellow, notwithstanding he treats me so cavalierly ; 
 was he not my husband I should certainly be in 
 love with him. Take my advice, Edwin; and do 
 not, when you meet, quarrel about trifles. Be- 
 lieve me, you have, whatever he may say to the 
 contrary, the best of the bargain, having not only 
 the woman but the fortune ; he the woman only. 
 Which, I pray then, in the eye of common sense, 
 has the advantage ? even though / should not be 
 thrown in to make up the deficiency.' 
 
 ' But suppose,' replied Edwin, half rallied from 
 his vexation, ' I should refuse any thing short of 
 the full compensation ?' 
 
 ' Why, in that case,' returned she, smiling, ' I 
 should say you was an avaricious wretch, and as 
 bad as your patron.' 
 
 This discourse was for some time pursued with 
 the same degree of spirit, until the subject be- 
 came so far realized, that Edwin at length de- 
 parted, impressed with the idea that he was 
 completely revenged on Whitmore. 
 
 On Edwin's return he found the domestics at 
 Mrs.Delmer's (who hereafter must be called God- 
 win) prepared to receive him as their master, the 
 lady having declared her marriage. Though his 
 promotion and this distinction would at any other 
 time have gratified his pride, and overbala,nced 
 every other idea, yet now he accepted tlieir atten- 
 tions with coldness. His heart was torn with 
 contending passions, which even his wished for 
 wealth could not alleviate, — the departure of 
 
INGLEWOOD FOREST. 153 
 
 Emma, which ahiiost drove him to despair ; and 
 the distempered frenzy of desire (which he called 
 love) for Agnes. To pursue Emma without any 
 certain route he knew would be vain ; besides, his 
 marriage in the meantime might reach Inglewood, 
 and Agnes be lost for ever. This idea soon banish- 
 ed all thoughts of following Emma, whose absence 
 he, however, determined to keep secret as long as 
 possible, at least until he got Agnes in his power. 
 
 Thus resolved, he endeavoured to conceal his 
 discontent under the specious guise of uneasiness 
 for his sister, his unsuspecting wife viewing him 
 with too partial an eyetosuspect his dissimulation. 
 '' Five days after, as before mentioned, arrived 
 William, who repaired immediately to the house 
 he thought Mrs. Delmer's, intending iirst to visit 
 his sister, supposing Edwin still resided at Whit- 
 more's. Though a stranger in London, as his 
 direction was clear, he had not ranch difficulty to 
 find it ; and, tying his horse to the rails, knocked 
 at the door, and inquired for the lady. Vt'illiam's 
 good person and natural affability was with every 
 one a powerful letter of recommendation ; and the 
 domestics immediately showed him into an apart- 
 ment, and requested his name. 
 
 ' William Godwin,' replied he; 'tell her from 
 Inglewood, and that I request to pay her my 
 respects.' 
 
 When the servants announced this unexpected 
 visitor, Mrs. Godwin was alone ; she was amazed, 
 as she was certain Edwin knew not of his journey. 
 He had told her that he had disclosed his marriage 
 to his father and William only, who were to de- 
 clare it on his departure ; as he had no wish to 
 
 7 u 
 
154 THE FARMER OF 
 
 distress Agnes, ^vho, he said, he feared was yet 
 rather attached to him. As for the elopement of 
 Emma, that he informed her he coukl not resolve 
 to mention, until at least he heard more of the 
 business. 
 
 The parties were thus in mutual ignorance 
 when they met, Mrs. Godwin shuddering that it 
 fell to her lot to disclose the flight of his sister, 
 particularly as it was with Whitmore. 
 
 Mrs. Godwin met him at the door, and holding 
 out her hand, bade him welcome, expressing her 
 sorrow that Edwin was gone out. This declara- 
 tion struck William as nothing uncomniori^^ as 
 Edwin he surmised might just have paid ner ^ 
 visit. Having returned Ids compliments, his eyes 
 wandered round the room in search of Emma ; 
 — ' and my sister, madam,' said lie, ' has long in- 
 truded on your kindness. 1 am charged with the 
 thanks of my parents, and mean to take her home 
 with me. At some future period, perhaps, you 
 will condescend to honour us at Inglewood with 
 a visit as you pass to your seat.' 
 
 Mrs. Godwin bowed ; she felt awkward that 
 William did not con2:ratulate her on her marriage, 
 and knew not how to reply to him respecting 
 Emma. 
 
 * You are silent, madam,' said William, w ith an 
 emotion he could not entirely suppress, observing 
 she made no answer : ' May I not see my sister?' 
 
 Thus urged, she could not avoid a reply. * For 
 pity's sake, Mr. Godwin,' said she, * do not press 
 the subject until Edwin's return; I expect him 
 momentarily. You may believe me, whatever 
 happens to disturb yourfamily isdistressingtome.' 
 
INGLEWOOD FOREST. J55 
 
 * If any thing has happened to my sister, for 
 heaven's sake disclose it instantly ; my soul can- 
 not bear suspense on a subject so near to us all. I 
 truly confess I suspected something; on Edwin's 
 receiving' the last letter, and could not rest satis- 
 fied until I hastened to town. Speak, madam, 
 my distress is not immaterial, — is Emma sick, 
 dead ? — I can hear of either as becomes a man — • 
 what I dread far more, disgraced herself and family?' 
 
 Mrs. Godwin still hesitated, until again pressed 
 with an earnestness that almost shocked her, she 
 replied, ' Indeed, my dear Mr. Godwin, this un- 
 happy business you may believe has greatly dis- 
 tressed me, particularly as the aggressor is my 
 brother.' 
 
 * Enough, madam,' interrupted William, im- 
 patiently ; ' I have heard enough to plunge my 
 unhappy parents into an untimely grave.' 
 
 ' My iiusband,' resumed Mrs. Godwin, ' would 
 instantly have pursued them ; but his absence, 
 and the uncertainty of their route, made such a 
 step fruitless ; they can be traced no farther than 
 iVbbeville.' 
 
 ' Abandoned, deluded girl!' exclaimed William, 
 his voice choked with contending passions, * is 
 this the return you make your parents for eighteen 
 years' watchful tenderness? — parents who never 
 regarded you but with a smile. Ungrateful 
 wretch ! I will, however, if possible, find you ; 
 and, if a spark of virtue remains in your bosom, 
 endeavour to revive it. Pardon me, madam, I 
 scarcely know what I sa}^ ; I think that you 
 kindly mentioned that your Iiusband would have 
 pursued them ; excuse me, I did not know you 
 
156 THE FARMER OF 
 
 were married : but why is Edwin supine in this 
 eruei busines-s?' 
 
 William's answer increased Mrs. Godwin's per- 
 plexity ; he expressed his ignorance of her mar- 
 nage, and spoke of her husband and Edwin as 
 separate persons. 
 
 * You,— you — are, I fear, Mr. Godwin,' replied 
 she, ' under some mistake.' 
 
 * For heaven's sake, then, madam, condescend 
 to set me right ; if you can lessen my tortures, I 
 wilt bless you ; at least,' continued he, ' I am 
 sure you cannot increase them.' 
 
 ' 1 would it were in my power to remove them!' 
 replied sh«. ' What I have to say will not, how- 
 ever, augment them. I surely misunderstood 
 Edwin when he informed me that he had di- 
 vulged his marriage to his father and yourself.' 
 
 ' His marriage !' said William, — ' his marriage !' 
 repeated he again, after a moment's pause ; ' whose 
 marriage, not surely my brother Edwin's ?' 
 
 ' Yes, sir, Edwin is my husband ; we have 
 been married these three months.' 
 
 ' Your husband ! tiien you are married to a vil- 
 lain,' exclaimed he, throwing himself into a chair 
 from whence he had j ust risen. ' Great God ! how 
 blind is man ! I thought my miseries incapable of 
 increase, and they are now fallen fourfold on me. 
 Parents, — Agnes, — Fanny, — all — all — will sink 
 Ijeneath this cruel stroke!' 
 
 * Surely, sir,' interrupted Mrs. Godwin, haugh- 
 tily, ' Edwin's marriage with me cannot have in- 
 creased your unhappiness V 
 
 * You, perhaps, did not know of his engage- 
 ments to Agnes ^ yet I thought you had. Ex- 
 
INGJLEWOOD FOREST. 157 
 
 cuse me, madam, I cannot stay ; my mind is too 
 much torn with anguish. Favour me with all 
 you know respecting- my unhappy sister : I would, 
 if possible, seek her, but fear my labours would be 
 vain. We will, if you please, banish all other 
 subjects.' 
 
 Mrs. Godwin then briefly related all she knew 
 respecting the elopement of Emma with Whit- 
 more ; saying the advantage was taken unsus- 
 pected by her, and in her absence ; and, finally, 
 that to purS:Ue them would be useless, as their 
 route was unknown. 
 
 When she concluded, William rose, and was 
 about to take his leave, saying he should set off 
 again immediately for the Forest ; being uncertain 
 what step to pursue until he had consulted with 
 his father, as he dared not trust to writing, know- 
 ing the stroke would fall so heavy as to need all 
 his precaution and care in divulging it. 
 
 ' You will not, sure,' said Mrs. Godwin, ' depart 
 until Edwin's return ? Let me entreat your stay 
 — he cannot belong, — and would, lam convinced, 
 blame me for suffering you to leave us so hastily.' 
 
 ' No, madam, he would rather thank you, liad 
 you even pressed my absence : but I must be 
 gone,' continued he, advancing towards the door ; 
 'and wish you more happiness than I have now 
 to expect.' With these words, in spite of her 
 entreaties, he left her, and mounted his horse, 
 first requesting the servant to direct him to Mr. 
 Whitmore's. 
 
 ' I will call there,' said he, mentally, as he rode 
 forward; *perhapsthe villain belied his wife: from 
 his conduct, it is more than probable he did. 
 
158 THE FARMER OF 
 
 Edwin, too, confirmed his assertions ; but what 
 are the w^ords of silch men ! . I will go ; and doubt 
 not to find their character of her false. Perhaps, 
 she was too virtuous to countenance their villany ; 
 and possibly from thence arose their dislike of her.' 
 Impressed with this idea, he rode to her house, 
 determined to procure from the lady more certain 
 information, not doubting but he should find her 
 overwhelmed with sorrow ; and firmly persuaded 
 that all he had before heard to her disadvantage 
 would prove false. On his arrival, fearful she 
 should refuse to see him, from his consanguinity 
 to Emma, he simply desired the servant to inform 
 her a person on particular business desired to 
 speak to her. 
 
 , The man led the way into an apartment, and 
 desired him to be seated; then proceeded to an- 
 nounce him in the adjoining room ; and presently 
 returning, informed him his mistress Avould wait 
 on him presently. — William, now left alone, was 
 for some moments lost in thought. The partition 
 between tlie rooms being however slight, his 
 meditations were soon interrupted by tw o voices ; 
 01^ of whom was singing, 
 
 ' Come, come, bid adieu to fear. 
 Love and Harmony live here ! 
 No domestic jealous jars. 
 Buzzing slanders, wordy wars. 
 In my presence will appear : 
 Love and Harmooy reign here.' 
 
 ' But I will neither sing nor say any more, till 
 I have dispatched my visitor,' continued the same 
 voice. ' By his nameless modesty, it is, I suppose, 
 
INGLEWOOD FOREST. 159 
 
 one of Mr. Whitmore's creditors, with a bill as long 
 as my arm ; but I shall dispatch him in an instant.' 
 
 With these words the lady opened the door, 
 atid assuming more gravity, said, ' If you please, 
 sir, I will now^ attend to your business.' 
 
 William, more overpowered than before with 
 vexation to find he had called on so despicable a 
 wretch, yet determined to advance and question 
 her ; but had no sooner entered the room, than he 
 became fixed as a statue with surprise and horror; 
 for on a sofa sat lolling his brother Edwin, appa- 
 rently quite at his ease. ' i^UfOi' 
 
 * Amazement !' exclaimed Edwin, starting from 
 his seat, hardly less astonished than AVilliam. * Is 
 it possible? my brother!' '^' 
 
 * No, you mistake,' replied William, putting 
 him back with his hand, for he had advanced 
 towards him, 'you have no brother; you lost 
 him when you became a villain!' 
 
 The first idea that struck Edwin was, tW;^!' fi^i 
 seduction of Agnes was discovered, and that he 
 should lose her for ever ; anger and distraction at 
 this thought mastered every other consideration ; 
 and humiliated to be thus treated before the 
 haughty Mrs. Whitmore by his rustic brother: 
 ' A villain !' echoed he, seizing William by the 
 arm : ' dare not repeat it, lest I indeed forget our 
 relationship.' 
 
 'Yes,' replied William, with equal heat, 'a 
 false and most despicable villain, destitute of ho- 
 nour and honesty ! Nay, unhand me,' continued 
 he, shaking Edwin off, who appeared almost 
 ready to strike him, ' lest I should be tempted to 
 chastise you on the spot.' *^-*"^^'"'^^^ ' -'^^C' 
 
160 THE FARMER OF 
 
 Mrs. Whitmore, by this altercation, discover- 
 ing her mistake in respect to the stranger, and 
 fearing some mischief, screamed aloud and vio- 
 lently pulled the bell ; on which three servants 
 rushed into the room, and in some measure calmed 
 the impetuosity of both brothers. 
 
 ' Edwin needs no protection,' said William ; 
 * he is beneath my resentment. I came to inquire 
 of my unhappy sister, whose fault is already less- 
 ened, when I see what dangers her inexperience 
 has been exposed to.' iU'-m^ 
 
 Mrs. Whitmore would, if possible, have adopted 
 her usual haughtiness, but her behaviour, like an 
 arrov/ drawn against an impenetrable target, only 
 rebounded without injury to the object. He did 
 not, it is true, return her scorn for scorn, btit ap- 
 peared to feel her efforts as little as doth a giant 
 those of a pigmy. Edwin too, after the first ex- 
 ertion of passion, seemed sunk within himself, 
 and blushing, in spite of all his pride, to appear to 
 owe his safety to the domestics, entreated Mi's; 
 AVhitmore to command their absence ; which 
 being at length complied with, unable to bear 
 the presence of his brother, he rushed out of the 
 room. ' ^^^ f 
 
 W illiam, who was anxious to gain some intelli- 
 gence of his sister, on Edwin's leaving the apart- 
 ment, made a cold apology to the lady for what 
 had passed, and began the discourse nearest his 
 heart ; but finding he could procure no informa- 
 tion, soon left her, ancl remounting his horse, with 
 a;iijea¥y liiearttook his way- towards Ingiewood. 
 
INGLEWOOD FOREST. 1(M 
 
 CHAP. XIX. 
 
 When Edwin left his brother he hastened home, 
 where he was soon informed of all that had passed in 
 the interview between WiiHam and Mrs. Godwin, 
 the lady not sparing her reproaches for his dupli- 
 city. Edwin was not in a temper to bear, much 
 less to palliate, and high words in consequence 
 ensued. To a charge of ingratitude, he replied 
 with a thousand curses against his own folly, until 
 at length the lady retired highly displeased, Ed- 
 win neither endeavouring to detain nor sooth her. 
 No sooner was he alone than he gave way to 
 the mingled passions that overwhelmed him. ' It 
 is now complete,' exclaimed he ; ' I have gained 
 the points on which I fixed my happiness, luealth, 
 and i]ie possession of Agnes, and yet am plunged 
 in the depth of misery — misery too great for hu- 
 man nature to bear ; for have I not lost all that 
 made life desirable ? Parents, — Agnes, — brother, 
 — that brother whose friendship was once so ne- 
 cessary to my happiness ; he spurned me — despised 
 . me ; that temper I never before saw ruffled with 
 passion was now ungovernable! By heil, vice 
 has made me a coward ; had he even struck me, I 
 think I could not have returned it. My sister 
 dishonoured too! — Accursed Whitmore, thou 
 shalt pay for all, for thou art the original cause ; 
 the tempter that first seduced me from home, 
 happiness, love, and virtue ; that first taught me 
 to laugh at vows, and gratify my passions at the 
 expence of innocence and honour. Mayesttlioa 
 7 X 
 
162 THE FARMER OF 
 
 be as acciused as I, — then annihilation will be 
 mercy ! Yet had I but Agnes to sooth my cares, I 
 could yet be comparatively happy !' continued he, 
 after a pause. ' By heaven I will : they already 
 hate, despise, and curse me, they can then do 
 no more ; and such a prize is worth a bold effort.' 
 Towards eveninj^ he returned to Mrs. Whit- 
 more, as he was curious to hear how his brother's 
 
 ill 
 
 f visit had concluded, having no doubt but that he 
 
 had immerliately set out on his return for the 
 country. — He likewise wished, if possible, to 
 escape from himself, and Mrs. Whitmore's levity 
 , was the only palliative he could think of. As for 
 , his wife, now she began as he surmised to suspect 
 his villany, she became almost hateful to him : so 
 true it is, that not unfrequently the aggressor 
 finds it most difficult to pardon. utivoi 
 
 Mrs. Whitmore rallied him on the whole trans- 
 , action ; his brother's behaviour she construed to 
 proceed from his displeasure respecting Emma, 
 and a supposition that Edwin had not been suffi- 
 ciently attentive to her; for anger at his marriage 
 she had not the most distant idea of; nay, she was 
 astonished that the satisfaction she supposed he 
 must feel from that circumstance had not oblite- 
 rated all other ideas. 
 
 ' I think,' said she, ' he might at least have be- 
 haved with more politeness before me ; but what, 
 in the name of wonder, would the handsome 
 rustic have had you done? keep a duenna to 
 guard her. Cry your mercy, she had one, though 1 
 confess not sufficiently vigilant, for she was en- 
 gaged in her own affairs. Or did he wish you, 
 now the mischief is done, to set off like another 
 
INGLEWOOD FOREST. 163 
 
 Quixote in search of the ravisher, and rescue 
 the damsel? Nay, never look serious ; have I not 
 equal cause, when I have lost my dear spouse ? 
 yet bear it with patience. Why did you not 
 answer your brother in the scriptural language 
 he is accustomed to, making Jree with the words 
 of Cain, "Am I my sister's keeper?" ' 
 
 'Damnation, madam,' replied Edwin, 'you go 
 too far!' then throwing himself on a sofa, he 
 muttered between his closed teeth, ' I am indeed 
 Cain, cursed of God and man.' 
 , i, Edwin's compunction was, however, far from 
 being permanent; before the night closed, the 
 , gompany of Mrs. Whitmore had greatly alleviated 
 ^^jit, though reflection, when he was alone, returned 
 j.with redoubled poignancy. He certainly did not 
 love her; but she was a voluptuary in pleasure, and 
 fascinated his senses at the expence of his reason. 
 <^Her passions were by nature violent, and, un- 
 j^|aught by education to subdue them, they had 
 jjgained fresh strength by the neglect of Whitmore, 
 ^.^vyhom she had long regarded with indifference, 
 ^^J^.J^nd amused herself as best suited her inclinations; 
 ..but, as until very lately she had been cautious in 
 her outward conduct, was universally well re- 
 ceived. — The affiiir with Darleville had been the 
 ^ most public, probably from his vanity ; for she 
 j^^ertainly felt no particular affection for him, 
 ^jj|javing dismissed him before the duel took place, 
 I and expressed no uneasiness when she heard he 
 1 .iwas wounded, nor pleasiu'e when informed he was 
 „ out 01 danaier. - - 
 
 While Edwin was endeavouring to dissipate his 
 merited uneasiness, William, as he advanced on 
 
164 THE FARMER OF 
 
 his journey, was forming a thousand different 
 plans to lessen the weight of the hews he had to 
 communicate to his friends, while his own heart 
 was distracted with grief and vexation. He had 
 made the journey comfortably to town on his own 
 horse ; but on returning, his anxiety and impa- 
 tience were so great, that contrary to his usual 
 custom, he rode so hard as to bring his horse into 
 a state of almost complete exhaustion. 
 
 William by this means reached the Forest much 
 sooner than either his father or wife, who knew his 
 real destination, could expect ; for Mrs. Godwin 
 and Agnes had no suspicion of the truth. As he 
 advanced towards home, the tidings he had to 
 communicate became so painful, that he slackened 
 his pace ; and the pleasure he would otherwise 
 have felt on the idea of embracing his beloved 
 Avife, smiling babe, and family, was lost in the 
 agonizing thought, that it should fall to his lot to 
 disclose events, whose effects he much feared 
 would have a fatal tendency. It was the close of 
 day when he reached home. Never before had 
 he thought it painful to cross the threshold : he 
 reflected with vexation on the speed he had used 
 on his journey. ' It is,' said he, 'as if I was in 
 haste to distress them as deeply as myself.' He 
 then, not meeting any one, turned his horse into 
 the stable, and with an irresolute step advanced 
 towards the door ; wlien in the kitchen, he heard 
 Fanny, whose voice was wild music, singing to 
 her infant. 
 
 There's nae luck about the house, ' 
 
 There's nae luck at a' ; 
 
INGLEWOOD FOREST. 165 
 
 ^i ri3fi,;, There's nae luck about the house, 
 i^RfJ '^r\ When our gude man's awa. 
 r Sae sweet his voice, sae smooth his tongue. 
 His breath Hke cauler air. 
 His very tread has music in't, 
 iiV/'T-ri' As he comes up the stair. 
 
 g(jfnj ' There's nae luck,' &c. 
 
 * Oh ! it is too much,' exclaimed William. ' In- 
 human, barbarous monster ! for I cannot call him 
 brother who rends asunder such ties, and agonizes 
 those he is bound, by every sentiment of honour 
 and gratitude, to protect. Alas ! I have now no 
 brother,— no sister ! would to heaven I never had, 
 or that they had died in infancy, — innocent and 
 happy !' 
 
 He now entered, and found his parents and 
 Fanny seated together : — all leaped up to receive 
 him. Fanny depositing her little charge in the 
 cradle, and flying into his arms, Mrs. Godwin 
 unsuspiciously inquiring after Bernard's friend, 
 while Godwin fixed his eyes in silence on the 
 altered and pale face of his son, and already shud- 
 dered at the expectation of what he had to repeat. 
 
 *- His brows the title-page. 
 
 That speaks the nature of a tragic volume : 
 
 Thou tremblest, and the whiteness of thy cheek , ' ^ 
 
 Is apter than thy tongue to tell thy errand. 
 
 E'en such a man, so faint, so spiritless. 
 
 So dull, so dead in look, so woe-begone. 
 
 Drew Priam's curtain in the dead of night. 
 
 And would have told him half his Troy was burnt ; 
 
 But Priam found the fire ere his tongue 
 
 William gave an evasive answer to his mother's 
 question ; and having returned his wife's caresses 
 
166 THE FARMER OF 
 
 anxiously cast around his eyes, and,inquir^4,ftftef 
 Bernard and Agnes. i.f'\j,u,{'ii ^.^f. .^,,, j^,^ 
 
 '* My father,' replied Fanny, 'is out: and our 
 dear Agnes has been very indifferent ever since 
 you went away, and is now retired to bed : but 
 how pale you are, William! Indeed, you are 
 sadly altered ! — I am sure you are ill. Perhaps 
 you have hurried too much: — I did not expect 
 you yet.' 
 
 Mrs. Godwin expressed the same idea respect- 
 ing his appearance, while the venerable father re- 
 mained silent and lost in thought ; for William's 
 speedy return without Emma confirQied all his 
 fears. At that instant entered Bernard singing, 
 blithe as a hale constitution and an upright mind 
 could make him. 
 
 A ' What, William !' cried he, ' art come, my lad ? 
 'Nothing but good news I know. My kinsman 
 is got well I hope?' winking significantly, 'and 
 thou art satisfied V 
 
 William sighed, and v*'runghis hands in silence. 
 
 'Why, what a pies art tired, or sick? thee 
 lookest quite ill ! And what poor horse is't in the 
 stable ? 'tis miserable thin, and as weary as a dog : 
 thee used to have more mercy on a dumb beast. 
 1 looked in as I came round, and could not think 
 whose half-famished creature it was.' 
 '^Before William could reply, Mr. Godwin took 
 his wife by the hand, and said, ' My beloved 
 friend, we have been married six and thirty years ; 
 in all which time I never before used deceit, and, 
 perhaps, it is even in this instance unjustifiable. 
 William, my love, has been to London, and I am 
 amazed at his speedy return : he appears ill too. 
 
INGLEWOOD FOREST. 167 
 
 1 myself fear all is not there as we could wish ; 
 but we are Christians, and will endeavour to re- 
 ceive the evilas becomes us in this transitory state.' 
 j-'Mrs. Godwin made no reply, maternal tender- 
 Mess swelled in her bosom, and was too poignant 
 to be relieved by Mords. 
 
 * Speak then, William,' continued Godwin, ' we 
 are prepared ; certainty cannot be more horrible 
 than this suspense.' 
 
 William, though thus pressed, appeared in no 
 haste to reply ; even Bernard's features v» ere 
 marked with alarm, while Fanny, as if William's 
 affection could secure her from sorrow, drew her 
 chair closer to his, and pressed one of his hands 
 between both hers. ; ■fi^tf! 
 
 ' Oh, my father !' at length hesitated William, 
 his voice hardly articulate, ' pardon your son for 
 being the messenger of tidings which must wound 
 you even more deeply than they have done me. 
 Edwin, anxious for independence and wealth, 
 
 has .' ' Gained it at the expence of honour 
 
 and rectitude,' interrupted Godwin. 
 
 William's affirmative was a sigh. 
 
 * No, — no,' exclaimed Mrs. Godwin, hastily, 
 *^it is a mistake ; you believe too easily; William 
 
 -^ is misinformed. Edwin is young and lively, and 
 may err, but not grossly. 
 
 * Ay — ay,' said Bernard, ' it is only so ; William 
 is so good him.self, he cannot make proper allow- 
 ance for common frailties. 1 am glad, however, 
 Agnes is not here. He has made a trip I suppose 
 — some girl I doubt. Nevermind, we must keep 
 it a secret; but what has that to do with J^ealth 
 
 " and independence V jq« aid )s basFtrrf 
 
163 THE FARMER OF 
 
 ' 1 will not believe it,' replied Mrs. Godwin ; 
 ' he loves Agnes too well to be guilty in the man- 
 ner you allude to. But where is my Emma — my 
 child — why is she not returned with you ? She 
 will next be scandalized, — suspected : — not the 
 world shall now keep her from her mother/ 
 
 * Alas ! where shall we find her V cried Wil- 
 liam, involuntarily. 
 
 ' Find her!' screamed Mrs. Godwin: — 'Is she 
 dead ? — for living, who shall hide her from me ? 
 
 ' None but herself, my mother,' replied Wil- 
 liam. ' Alas ! she is unworthy you ! she has fled 
 with a vile betrayer.' 
 
 A friendly insensibility for some moments de- 
 prived the wretched mother of her sense of an- 
 guish, and all remained silent ; but recovering, 
 by the aid of Fanny, tears in som.e measure eased 
 her overcharged heart. ' And what remains, 
 W illiam ?' said she, ' fear not now to speak — the 
 blow is struck. What of Edwin? is he too lost? 
 I charge you, by your love and duty to me, speak! 
 I will know the worst, and pray for patience to 
 support it.' 
 
 Godwin repeated the command, 
 
 William, thus pressed, with the utmost agita- 
 tion related all he knew respecting Emma, con- 
 cluding with the marriage of Edwin to Mrs. 
 Delmer, but suppressing his finding him at Mrs. 
 Whitraore's. 
 
 All remained for some time lost in astonishment, 
 until at length Godwin exclaimed, ' Cruel, deceit- 
 ful boy ! is this the return for my anxious cares for 
 your happiness ? — Alas ! I feared even to refuse 
 what my heart could not approve ; and by a false 
 
INGLEWOOD FOREST. 169 
 
 indulgence have undone you. Miserable man 
 that I am, how shall I bear this stroke ? or comfort 
 this unhappy sufferer/ looking with anguish on 
 his wife, ' when I cannot myself support it? Oh, 
 God of mercy !' exclaimed he, raising his clasped 
 hands, ' how did I pray for children ! and in thy 
 anger thou gavest them !' 
 
 Fanny dropped on her knees at his feet : ' Oh, 
 my father !' replied she, looking tenderly at Wil- 
 liam, ' all your children are not the gifts of anger.' 
 ' No, my daughter,' replied the old man ; ' Wil- 
 liam and thyself, nay, and my Agnes too, have 
 virtues to overbalance the others' errors ; for ye 
 are all mine : and from this hour, if my heart is 
 capable of distinction, Agnes must claim it ; for 
 who shall comfort her ? William, I doubt not, 
 will endeavour to requite thee ; for his love is 
 sincere, and worthy its object.' 
 
 As he spoke he raised his weeping daughter-in- 
 law, and pressed her to his bosom, while she hung 
 round his neck, and watered his grey hairs with 
 'her tears. 
 
 * Oh, Bernard !' cried Godwin, * let not this 
 blow divide our friendship— condemn not all for 
 the errors of one.' 
 
 Bernard held out his hand, and grasped that of 
 Godwin, exclaiming, (while sorrow almost choked 
 his speech,) ' Condemn you ! May Heaven con- 
 demn me if I do. No, my heart bleeds for you. 
 Ah, William ! thou wast right when thou blamedst 
 me for applauding his going to town.' 
 
 ' 1 will retire,' said Mrs. Godwin, rising ; but 
 sinking again into her chair, ' I am not well, my 
 head is giddy, and my heart is cold. Give me 
 8 Y 
 
170 THE FARMER OF 
 
 your hand, Fanny, and lead me to bed. Oh, my i 
 children!— my children !' 
 
 Fanny and William led their unhappy mother 
 to her chamber, where the former insisted on 
 attending her for the night ; but was refused by 
 Mrs. Godwin. ' No,' said she, ' you will hereafter, 
 my child, I fear, have to attend your suftering 
 sister ; surely she already suspects something, for 
 her health droops daily.' 
 
 Fanny again pressed to stay : ' Will not my 
 beloved husband be with me ?' replied Mrs. God- 
 win : ' we will pray and comfort each other. How^ 
 often have we passed the hours in exultation over 
 the growing virtues of our children ! to-night we 
 will weep their vices !' 
 
 Fanny retired, and joined the unhappy father 
 and William, who were devising means how to 
 disclose Edwin's perfidy to Agnes ; Godwin at 
 length taking the task on himself. The parties 
 then withdrew to their respective chambers, not * 
 to sleep, but to deplore the depravity tliat had 
 banished happiness from their bosoms, and con- J 
 verted the mansion of peace into a house of 
 mourning ! 
 
 CHAP. XX. 
 
 In the morning all met at breakfast but Mi-s. 
 Godwin, who appeared too much indisposed to 
 leave her bed. Agnes, apparently lost in melan- 
 choly, was not, however, insensible to the distress 
 
INGLEWOOD FOREST. 171 
 
 that hung on every face ; and with a feat-ful energy 
 entreated to know the cause. Godwin at length 
 informed her of Emma's flight, adding, as he con- 
 cluded, while tears streamed down his venerable 
 cheeks, ' But I will endeavour to tear her from 
 my heart : thou, Agnes, shalt supply her place, 
 and become doubly dear to me.' 
 
 * Oh! my beloved, my unhappy Emma,' cried 
 Agnes, w^eeping, ' how sincerely do I feel for you! 
 She has been deceived, deluded ; and, if she can 
 but be regained, forgive, my fatlier, and receive 
 her to your bosom. Oh ! she has a thousand 
 virtues to counterbalance this one error ; and will, 
 I hope, behave hereafter in a manner to make 
 even you forget it.' As none seemed willing to 
 continue the discourse, it ceased here ; and the 
 breakfast passed in silence, being removed almost 
 untouched, each appearing to shun the other, — 
 even little Reuben's smiles being disregarded. 
 
 The visible anxiety that already hung on Agnes 
 made Godwin doubly unwilling to disclose the 
 unhappiness that awaited her, yet he thought it 
 unjustifiable to lengthen the delusion; therefore, 
 after breakfast, being alone with her, he began 
 the painful task. As he proceeded, his tenderness 
 redoubled his emotion, and he was frequently for 
 some minutes inarticulate. 
 
 Agnes's behaviour, on the contrary, was ejen 
 painfully calm ; she shed no tears, vented no re- 
 proach, but listened in silence as one on w hom 
 neither joy nor sorrow could any longer make 
 impression. ' Oh, my beloved child,' concluded 
 the okl man, ' how shall I be able to obliterate 
 from thy memory the unworthiness of the ungrate- 
 
172 THE FARMER OF 
 
 fnl Edwin ? Yet it shall be my daily prayer to 
 heaven to effect it, and the constant endeavour of 
 lis all to love thee with redoubled affection, par- 
 ticularly o€ mine, my child.' 
 
 ' Oh ! I am unworthy,' exclaimed Agnes, break- 
 ing silence, ' I am unworthy ! call me not your 
 child : I am vile, abandoned, lost. In an evil 
 hour I forgot virtue, and heaven has forsaken me!' 
 
 ' Impossible, my love ! Distress has impaired 
 thy senses ; thou wert ever viituous as lovely, the 
 delight of the eye, and darling of every heart.' 
 
 'Ah! no, my more than father,' replied she, 
 falling at his feet, the scalding tears flowing in 
 torrents down her blushing cheeks, and conceal- 
 ing her face on his knees, ' I cannot deceive you — 
 you are too good to be deceived — your kindness 
 pierces my heart, and forces me to lay it open to 
 your view ; yet do not hate, do not banish me 
 your presence ; I cannot bear your displeasure. 
 Though I am not the virtuous Agnes you once 
 kne^v, do not spu rn me ; my life will pay the forfeit !' 
 
 A gloomy presage seized the mind of Godwin, 
 and transfixed his soul with horror. ' It is impos- 
 sible !' said he ; ' yet speak, my Agnes ; fear me 
 not ; Edwin cannot have been such a villain ! he 
 could not sure attempt thy innocence !' 
 t)i' Agnes for a moment made no reply ; at length 
 exclaimed, — ' Oh ! my father, Edwin is not more 
 guilty than the abandoned Agnes !' 
 OTi Godwin gave a cry of surprise and mingled 
 horror ; resignation and patience appeared totally 
 to have forsaken him : in speechless agony he 
 threw himself on the floor, and tore from. his head 
 its venerable honours. k Icvii viI /' * 
 
INGLEWOOD FOREST. 173 
 
 The affrighted family heard the noise, and rush- 
 ing- in, found him on ihe ground ; Agnes trem- 
 bling', and ready to faint, endeavouring to raise him. 
 
 ' Oh ! my father,' cried Fanny, ' why are you 
 thus? you will alarm my mother! Alas! I fear 
 she is already convulsed.' 
 
 ' May the villain who occasioned it be accursed,' 
 replied he, with vehemence, desj^air in his voice, 
 and his features distorted with anguish. 
 
 * Ah ! ivkom do you curse, my father ?' exclaimed 
 Agnes : ' recal, recal the cruel words, Edwin can- 
 not exist under a parent's malediction.' 
 
 ' It has involuntarily passed mv lips,' replied 
 Godwin; ' I cannot recal it. Merciful God! and 
 have I lived to curse my son ? But give me your 
 arm, my child, lead me to my wife ; I am sick 
 with sorrow; we will die together.' 
 
 William and Fanny raised their father, and led 
 him to his wife's apartment, Fanny remaining to 
 attend her mother, while William, who had no 
 suspicion of the last intelligence his father had 
 received, returned to Agnes, whom he endea- 
 voured, by every means in his power, to console; 
 and perceiving that his father having cursed Ed- 
 win hung on her spirits, endeavoured to remove 
 the impression. 
 
 ' I am equally displeased as my father,' said 
 William ; ' but I cannot curse, nor yet hate him, 
 though 1 despise him beyond the power of words 
 to express. Nay, weep not, Agnes, he is unwor- 
 thy your tears ; he merits only your disdain, as 
 he has mine.' wA ut^^iGHioi '3V(.»5 
 
 'Why will you speak tHtis?' ' icried Agnes ; 
 ' why recal a scene I have frequently endeavoured 
 
174 THE FARMER OF 
 
 to obliterate from my memory ? Unhappy Edwin ! 
 would to heaven thou hadst not sworn so rashly; 
 yet, I trust, thou art not ahandoned of God, 
 though, alas ! thou art cursed by thy father, de- 
 spised by thy brother, and by thy Agnes— ;/(»- 
 given.' 
 
 William knew not that she alluded to the curse 
 Edwin had called on his own head, should he 
 breakhis vows,-- and still continued endeavouring 
 to sooth her, when a cry of sorrow struck on their 
 ears, and banished every other idea. Both flew 
 in haste to Mrs. Godwins apartment, where a 
 sight presented that at once striick them with 
 grief and horror : she Avas struggling in a violent 
 convulsion that had just seized her; the terrified 
 Fanny, with the servant, endeavouring to snccour 
 her, while Godwin, in speechless agony, was on 
 his knees by her side. 
 
 William remained in the apaitment but a mo- 
 ment ; then hasted away, and mounting his horse, 
 rode oif full speed for the nearest medical help; 
 with whom he returned in little more than an 
 hour. Mrs. Godwin was still in the same situa- 
 tion ; and though at length in some degree re- 
 covered, yet w as so weakened and low, that the 
 assistance they called in pronounced her recovery 
 very doubtful. The shock she had received from 
 the conduct of her children had impaired her un- 
 derstanding ; and her constant dwelling on their 
 names, showed the impression still remained in 
 spite of agony, and even delirium. For three 
 days little alteration apj^eared, the unhappy family 
 fluctuating between hope and despair; and, to add 
 to their sorrow, Agnes, though she forced lierself 
 
INGLEWOOD FOREST. 176 
 
 to attend on Mrs. Godwin, yet it was plainly 
 perceptible that she was not equal to the effort- 
 At this period the convulsive spasms increased ; 
 and in two days more, the unhappy mother be- 
 came at once both speechless and insensible, and 
 was declared past all hope ! — Who, at that fearful 
 hour, can paint the agonies of the afflicted family ? 
 Edwin and Emma were forgotten in the greater 
 sorrow, or only at periods remembered as the cause 
 of all. On the bed, supported by pillows and the 
 arms of a husband, whose affection had increased 
 with growing years, sat Mrs. Godwin, placidity 
 on every feature, her half-extinguished eye raised 
 alternately with confident hope, or turned with 
 soft compassion on her weeping family. On his 
 knees, on one side, was William ; on the other, 
 Fanny and Agnes ; at the foot, Bernard ; and at 
 some distance the old servant, who had lived w^ith 
 them ever since their marriage, nursing Reuben, 
 and bathing his face with her tears. Mrs. Godwin 
 beckoned her to approach, and taking the hand of 
 Margery, put it into that of Fanny, as though she 
 commended them to each other. 
 
 'I understand you, my mother,' said Fanny; 
 ' I will regard the happiness of Margery as one of 
 your last commands, and hold it sacred; she is 
 too old to labour, Reuben shall henceforward be 
 her only care.' 
 
 Mrs. Godwin bowed her assent, and drawing 
 Reuben close to her, kissed his smiling mouth, 
 and by her raised eye appeared to ask a blessing 
 on him ; then holding a hand to each alternately, 
 she saluted all ; Bernard, as he received this last 
 token of her friendship and affection, sobbing 
 
176 THE FARMER OF 
 
 aloud, and wringing his hands in agony. His 
 emotion distressed her ; she endeavoured to speak, 
 but the effort was fruitless, and only brought on a 
 fresh convulsion, in which she struggled for some 
 moments, but at length recovered, though with 
 increased weakness, and additional symptoms of 
 approaching dissolution ; her speech too, though 
 almost inarticulate, wasreturned. ' Bless ye, bless 
 ye, my good, my dutiful children ! forgive, pray 
 for your deluded brother and sister. Agnes, be 
 comforted, — Edwin is most to be pitied, for you 
 
 are virtuous — he is ;' then turning to Godwin, 
 
 ' Friend, husband, companion, be comforted ; we 
 shall meet again.' As she spoke she extended her 
 arms, and was received into his ; where, after re- 
 maining some minutes, apparently in silent prayer, 
 she bowed her face, and articulately said, ' From 
 these arms, which have led me in innocence and 
 peace, oh! receive thy servant! Blessed, blessed!' — 
 her voice failed, respiration grew weaker, and in a 
 few minutes she expired on his bosom ! 
 
 'And art thou gone for ever!' said Godwin, 
 after a long pause, at the same time laying his 
 wife's head on the pillow, and fixing his eyes upon 
 her lifeless face ; ' am I indeed left to weep thy 
 loss, to mourn thy untimely death ! Devoted 
 children, how will ye hereafter answer this ? Ed- 
 win, tliou hast gained wealth, but lost thine own 
 soul !' 
 
 William and the family were unequal to the 
 task of administering comfort, and stood around 
 weeping in silent anguish. ' But shall I selfishly 
 repine, blessed saint?' resumed the old man, kiss- 
 ing her hand : * Forbid it Heaven ! thy cares are 
 
INGLEWOOD FOREST. 177 
 
 past, and thy reward prepared. Be comforted, 
 then, my children, and bless the Power that spared 
 her thus long. Methinks she smiles upon us. Let 
 us kneel around her ; our prayers will ascend to 
 the Throne of Mercy, where we have now a 
 blessed mediatrix' 
 
 The family obeyed ; the old man prayed long 
 and fervently, until at length that resignation, 
 which true piety ever inspires, calmed the acute- 
 ness of their feelings, and left tlieni able to per- 
 form the last attentions which duty demanded 
 for the honoured clay. 
 
 .fcJDWO', 
 
 CHAP. XXI. 
 
 While sorrow and death had been busy at Ingle- 
 wood, Edwin, who carried a vulture in his own 
 bosom, which, in spite of all his efforts, he could 
 neither silence nor destroy, was endeavouring to 
 forget i^eilectionby plunging yet deeper and deeper 
 in error. His wife, who had raised him to what 
 he once thought the pinnacle of happiness, was 
 neglected, and almost abhorred, for being ihe 
 means of placing an insuperable bar between him 
 and Agnes ;^ — ^while the lascivious and wanton 
 Mrs- Whitmore, with whom he spent the greater 
 part of his time, was caressed, not from affection, 
 but because she possessed all the art of intoxicat- 
 ijig the passions, though at the expense of reason 
 8 z 
 
178 THE FARMER OF 
 
 and jiuigment. The idea of Agnes was, however, 
 a constant intrnder ; he reflected with horror on 
 the agonies he supposed she suffered ; nor was he 
 more easy on account of his family ; in spite of 
 vice and folly he loved them ; and his wealth lost 
 half its charms, as they could not share it. 
 
 Eager to find excuses to his own conscience for 
 his conduct, he regarded Whitmore as the cause 
 of ail ; and determined, should he ever meet him, 
 to take a full revenge. In the mean time, getting 
 Agnes into his power wa^ his constant determina- 
 tion, though he could not as yet devise by what 
 means. At first he expected to meet her anger 
 and resentment ; but had no doubt that he should 
 be able to calm the storm, especially as he had 
 so strong an advocate in her own heart. 
 
 Edwin, as soon as his marriage was acknow- 
 ledged, had hired a servant particularly tt) attend 
 him ; a shrewd and intelligent fellow, one vi^hom 
 he thought he could venture to trust on such an 
 occasion ; he therefore disclosed such part of the 
 business as was necessary for his purpose, and 
 that could be unfolded with honour to himself; 
 and determined to send him disguised to Ingle- 
 wood, to endeavour at least to inquire into the 
 health of the family; if possible, to speak to 
 Agnes, and declare his business ; which w as to 
 entreat her to form no decided opinion of Edwin's 
 conduct until she saw him, as he had been grossly 
 misrepresented ; and could not vindicate himself 
 from the imputation but by a personal interview. 
 
 This message was to be delivered verbally, as 
 Edwin feared that should he write, it might be 
 produced as fresh evidence of duplicity against 
 
INGLEWOOD FOREST. 179 
 
 him ; while in the first case there was no danger^ 
 as he coald easily on occasion forswear both the 
 message and messenger. 
 
 Thus determined, accompanied only by his 
 servant, he departed ; and reached a small Tillage 
 at about fifteen miles distance from Inglewood, 
 where he remained while his servant repaired 
 alone to the Forest ; from whence he did not re- 
 turn until the second day. 
 
 Edwin had waited for him with impatience; 
 and so numerous were his questions, that the 
 man knew not how to reply ; but entreated his 
 master to suffer him to relate the whole methodi- 
 cally. 
 
 ' It was,' said Harris, ' near four in the after- 
 noon before I got there. I meant to remain in 
 the vicinity until the evening; then, as I was on 
 foot, pi'etend to be benighted ; and inquire at 
 your fathers my way to the next market-town, 
 never doubting but they would have humanity 
 sufficient at least to offer me some refreshment, if 
 not a lodging for the night ; as I had all my story 
 ready, and thought in that case I should find an 
 opportunity to deliver my message. As it was 
 far too early to appear, I kept walking about at 
 some distance, fearful of being noticed; and at 
 length came to a little church ; and for a while 
 passed my time in reading the grave-stones until 
 the bell began to toll ; and I saw numbers of 
 people coming from all sides, and thronging the 
 church-yard. As I had plenty of time, 1 thought 
 I might as well stay and be a spectator; not 
 doubting but it was the funeral of some noble- 
 man, and muchbeloved, as almost every onewept.' 
 
180 THE FARMER OF 
 
 * D — n your funeral, come to the point : they 
 have lost their paragon I suppose. I have forgot- 
 ten her name, though I heard her praises suffi- 
 ciently sounded while I was at Inglewood ; but 
 my mind was too much engrossed with Agnes to 
 think of aught else.' 
 
 ' It was not the person you allude to,' replied 
 the man, in a voice that alarmed Edwin ; ' the loss 
 concerns you more nearly.' 
 
 'Distraction!' exclaimed Edwin, starting from 
 the chair, a cold sweat bedeM'ing his forehead, and 
 his knees knocking against each other. ' Say not 
 it is Agnes, unless you would lay me dead be- 
 fore you.' 
 
 'It was your mother's funeral,' replied Harris: 
 'I saw her laid in the earth.' 
 
 ' And art thou gone, mildest, best of women V 
 exclaimed Edwin, w eeping bitterly, regardless of 
 his servant. ' Any vexation I may have given her, 
 surely could not be violent enough to occasion her 
 death.^ — Emma's conduct must have wounded her 
 far more deeply. She was in years too, near sixty 
 I think, yet hearty, and apparently likely to live 
 much longer.' 
 
 Thus did he industriously endeavour to excul- 
 pate himself from any share in his mother's death ; 
 and finding the uncertainty respecting the rest of 
 his family painful, strove to calm his agitation ; 
 and ordered Harris to continue his narrative from 
 where he had left ojff, without the least reserve. 
 
 ' Well, then, Sir, ' said Harris, ' 1 mingled with 
 the crowd, and inquired wliat great personage was 
 to be buried, that caused, in such a scattered 
 neig'hbourliood, so great a number of people to 
 
INGLEWOOD FOREST. 181 
 
 assemble.' — 'It is neither lord nor lady/ replied 
 an old man; 'but the wife of an industrious 
 farmer, who was born and has ever dwelt among 
 us, easy in his circumstances, and universally be- 
 loved and respected, as you may judge by the 
 people assembled at the funeral. Ah ! well,' con- 
 tinued the old man, 'do I remember their mar- 
 riajo^e ; — he was the son of our rector, and she the 
 daughter of a neighbouring- farmer. She might 
 have matched higher ; but Godwin alone was her 
 choice, and truly a worthy one, for the longer 
 they lived together, the more they appeared to 
 love one another.' 
 
 'And what children have they?' said I care- 
 lessly, thinking the question might lead to some 
 other respecting Mr. Bernard's family. 
 
 'Two sons and a daughter,' replied he, 'fine 
 grown handsome young folks ; the eldest is mar- 
 ried, and accounted one of the best men, as well 
 as farmers, in the county : every thing thrives 
 with him, and every body loves him,—- andthat is 
 a bold word.' 
 
 'And the other two,' said I, 
 
 * Are of late become Londoners,' replied he : 
 more's the pity. But I know little of them ; they 
 went out of the country worthy their parents, and 
 I trust will come back the same.' Our discourse 
 was here interrupted by the approach of the fu- 
 neral ; the corpse was carried into the church, a 
 sermon preached, and a psalm sung by those whose 
 tears wouhl permit them to sing. On bearing out 
 the body I observed the mourners, and asked my 
 communicative friend (whom I kept close to) their 
 names.' 
 
182 THE FARMER OF 
 
 ' The first,' says he, ' is Mr. Godwin, supported by 
 his son. How the youth w eeps, while the father's 
 eyes are raised in anguish to Heaven ! God give 
 them comfort ! he alone can. The next is Farmer 
 Bernard and his daughter, an excellent girl, and as 
 handsome and good ; not a tongue but blesses her.' 
 He then mentioned the names of several others, all 
 relations or neighbours, and among them an old 
 grey-headed woman-servant, who, he said, ' had 
 lived with them six or seven and thirty years.' 
 
 ' I will not pain you, Sir, by endeavouring to de- 
 scribe the cry of distress which was uttered by every 
 one of the unhappy family on the body being laid 
 in the grave, each endeavouring to sustain the 
 other, though unable to support themselves. At 
 length, all being concluded, the people began to 
 separate, and the sorrowful party retook their way 
 homeward, the old man, who had been so com- 
 municative, joining one of the mourners, and ac- 
 companying them : a circumstance that greatly 
 disappointed me, as 1 wished much to question 
 him further. The night was dark and rainy, and 
 I ventured to walk several times around the house, 
 where, however, I heard so many voices, that I 
 relinquished my first purpose of pretending to be 
 benighted, lest I should meet among them the 
 old man I had conversed with ; besides, from the 
 badness of the weather, I had no doubt many 
 w ould stay all night ; I therefore proceeded about 
 four miles, where at a little alehouse I procured a 
 bed, and early next morning measured my steps 
 back, walking carelessly at a distance from the 
 house, which three horsemen were just leaving, 
 and passed me on the full gallop. Soon after, 1 
 
INGLEWOOD FOREST. 183 
 
 saw your father with Mr. Bernard, and your 
 brother, whom I instantly recollected, come out, 
 and take the road to the church. I determined 
 not to lose this opportunity, and walked up to the 
 house, where, to my good fortune, on tapping at the 
 door, it was opened by the beautiful girl I saw at 
 the funeral, and whom I instantly knew again. 
 Oh ! Sir, you will forgive my being the messenger 
 of such ill tidings, as I have succeeded in my 
 errand. She was alone; 1 therefore declared my 
 business ; which, when she had heard, she with- 
 drew, desiring me to stay, as she would write an 
 answer.' 
 
 ' Charming angel ! and how dared you keep me 
 thus in suspense ? By Heaven I will never for- 
 give it. Haste, — haste, — why did you not begin 
 by delivering it V 
 
 ' 1 kept it to make my peace after my bad 
 news,' replied Harris, with the freedom of a ser- 
 vant deeply in the confidence of his master's un- 
 worthy secrets ; ' and hope it will fully answer 
 your expectations.' 
 
 Edwin received it with a trembling hand, tore 
 it open, and read as follows : — 
 
 ' Inhuman Edwin ! 
 ' Was it not enough that but yesternight your 
 mother was laid in the earth, but you must seek 
 to redouble the blow, and pursue the devoted 
 Agnes to the brink of the grave? Ob, before it 
 is too late, repent of the death of your mother : 
 and soon that of Agnes will plunge you in guilt 
 beyond all hopes of pardon. With the riches you 
 have so dearly obtained, if possible, be happy, and 
 
184 THE FARMER OF ^ 
 
 by numerous good actions endeavour to obliterate 
 your past errors. Respect tiie woman thac has be- 
 stowed them, nor seek to injure her peace or ours, 
 by insulting those you are bound to honour ; for 
 every affront offered to Agnes, your father and 
 brother will look on as their own. 
 
 *As for your pander, I have left him in his mistake; 
 he thinks me Agnes. Alas ! I have not words to 
 throw away on such wretches ; but would advise 
 yon, for his own sake, to send him no more, as 
 the husband of Mrs. Delmer can have no corres- 
 pondence with Agnes ; and I shall not fail to 
 declare his errand to your father and brother. 
 Farewell, Edwin : review your actions and their 
 consequences, then can you not fail to repent; 
 and your mother will not have died in vain. 
 ^ ; r, ' F, Godwiii.' 
 
 ' Hell and destruction!' exclaimed Edwin, 'you 
 have mistaken my brother's wife for Agnes! The 
 letter is from her, and my father will be doubly 
 incensed against me.^ — Fool, — ^dolt, that I was to 
 trast you! How could you mistake, when the 
 direction I gave you was so plain ?' 
 
 ' If there is any mistake it cannot be my fault,' 
 replied Harris. 'Did you not. Sir, tell me a fine- 
 formed elegant girl, remarkably handsome, about 
 nineteen, with blue eyes, and auburn hair falling 
 in ringlets down her face? Besides, Sir, did not 
 the old fellow tell me she was Bernard's daughter ? 
 Surely, after all, I could not be mistaken.' 
 
 ' You were, you were,' cried Edwin, impatient>- 
 ly ; ' Fanny is the model of her sister, tliough not 
 so lovely. — Oh, you have ruined me beyond all 
 
INGLEWOOD FOREST. 185 
 
 hope! But tell me, relate the whole infernal 
 story of what you saw and heard in the house.' 
 
 ' Why, Sir, on my knocking- at the door, tliat 
 handsome girl, whom you say I mistook, opened 
 it ; I asked if her name was Bernard ? She bowed 
 slightly, and replied, viewing me with curiosity 
 as I thought, '*My father's name is Bernard." 
 Now, Sir, you may recollect, that, though you 
 told me your brother was married, you did not 
 say to a daughter of Mr. Bernard; how, therefore, 
 should I suspect it? I then opened my business, 
 declaring how unhappy you were, how greatly 
 you had been misrepresented to her ; and finally, 
 entreating her to give you an opportunity to ex- 
 culpate yourself. She heard me through with 
 tolerable patience, though I now recollect she bit 
 her lip, which, at the moment, I thought no very 
 good symptom ; but when I concluded, as she re- 
 plied, "1 have nothing to say to you, but will 
 write my answer to your employer," I thought all 
 was well, and waited accordingly. While she was 
 absent I cannot say but I was under some appre- 
 hension lest your father or brother should return^ 
 and suspect my business ; and, egad, Sir, I should 
 not much like a controversy with the latter, for 
 he seems a powerful man, and one that dont look 
 as if he would be trifled with. From the former 
 my heels might have saved me ; but against your 
 brother I am conscious none of my efforts would 
 have availed.' 
 
 ' Cease your digressions : what care I for your 
 fears or his prowess !' cried Edwin, impatiently. 
 
 ' Sir, I have just done. — She soon came down 
 with the letter, and said, "Take this, and give it 
 
 8 2 a 
 
186 THE FARMER OF 
 
 to your jTiaster ; but beware how you come any 
 more here : next time you may not escape so well." 
 
 ' I protest, Sir, I thought she meant kindly, and 
 thanl^/ed her accordingly : for if she meant other- 
 wise, and her voice is such music when she chides, 
 what must it be when she is pleased ! Her eyes, 
 to be sure, were red and swelled with weeping ; 
 and she spoke particularly serious ; but that I at- 
 tributed to her recent loss.' 
 
 'Enough, enough,' exclaimed Edwin, 'I will 
 hear no more ; — begone. — I will call w hen I want 
 you. Totally ruined with my father !' resumed 
 he, mournfully, 'detested by my brother! ray 
 mother dead !— and her death laid to me! — that 
 of Agnes too, her raven-like sister has predicted : 
 — distraction is in the thought! That alone is 
 wanting to complete my crimes, my misery ! — at 
 least it should be the signal for their conclusion,' 
 continued he, looking at his pistols, which were 
 hung up in the apartment; 'for I have not 
 plunged thus far in guilt to live without her.' 
 
 Edwin could not be long absent from, his regi- 
 ment, nor yet could heresolve tolive in continual 
 uncertainty respecting' Agnes ; he therefore at 
 length came to a determination to leave Harris 
 in the country, to send him constant intelligence, 
 which he determined to obtain by the means of 
 the landlord where they then were ; Edw in tell- 
 ing him he was Godwin's son, under some dis- 
 pleasure with his father, and on that account 
 particularly unliappy, and interested to hear con- 
 stantly of his family. 
 
 Old Godwin, though not personally known to 
 the host, was too mucli respected for his name to 
 
INGLEWOOD FOREST. m 
 
 be a stranger ; he, therefore, lamented that there 
 should be a difference between him and his son, 
 especially as Edwin's appearance and behaviour 
 much deli.^hted him, wondering within himself 
 how the former could be displeased with so fine a 
 gentleman, whom the servant assured him had a 
 very handsome fortune ; all which finally operated 
 with him to promise he would prociire the wished- 
 for intelligence, and keep the whole a secret, as 
 particularly recommended him. 
 
 Accordingly the farmers, who were continually 
 passingtolnglewood orreturning, were questioned 
 respecting the Godwins ; who were so generally 
 known and beloved, that every material occurrence 
 respecting their health or welfare usually trans- 
 pired ; the recent death of Mrs. Godwin furnishing 
 a pretence for the landlord's inquiries. 
 
 The whole family, they informed him, were 
 said to be in the deepest afBiction, not only for 
 the loss of Mrs. Godwin, but for the present un- 
 happy state of Bernard's youngest daughter Agnes, 
 who was seized, on the death of Mrs. Godwin, with 
 a delirious fever, which had increased to so great 
 a height that her life was despaired of. 
 
 With this intelligence Edwin was forced to set 
 off for London, not being able to procure any 
 more satisfactory ; leaving, however, strict charge 
 with his servant to write by^ every post. 
 
m THE FARMER OF 
 
 ... /:*- :^ .„ r 
 CHAP. XXII. 
 
 The intelligence of the farmers respecting tiie 
 Godwin family was strictly true. Agness sjiirit, 
 exerted to the uttermost, had supported her until 
 the death of Mrs. Godwin ; but that blow, added 
 to the preceding distress, was more than her na- 
 ture could sustain ; and a fever and delirium the 
 almost immediate consequence. Her cruel se- 
 duction by Edwin she had alone revealed to his 
 father, who had not the heart to disclose it to any 
 one, though the secret preyed on his vitals, and 
 redoubled his sorrow. — He was continually by her 
 side, praying with her, administering her medi- 
 cines, or endeavouring to calm her frenzy ; every 
 exclamation she uttered adding an additional 
 pang, as they usually respected Edwm and her 
 own happiness. 
 
 At the beginning of her illness the ring she had 
 received from Edwin she had put upon her linger, 
 saying she was his wife ; an asseveration no one 
 could deny ; the least contradiction making her 
 outrageous. 
 ,. ^ Eor two months her life was declared in the 
 utmost danger, and for a considerable time longer 
 continued in a very precarious state ; but at length 
 the fever gradually decreased, though the effects 
 still remained, her understanding having received 
 a shock the more alarming, as though her bodily 
 strength slowly returned, her mental faculties 
 remained equally deranged, though more calm, 
 her ideas still dwelling on her faithless lover, and 
 
INGLEWOOD FOREST. 189 
 
 usually concluding every subject with — I am Ed- 
 wins wife. 
 
 Mrs. Palmer, who had been absent from Ingle- 
 wood, returned at this period, and was both 
 grieved and shocked at the distress her favourite 
 family had experienced, though she knew not to 
 what extent. Eager to endeavour to alleviate 
 their woes, she immediately hastened to them, 
 ai^d did not refuse a friendly tear at the alteration 
 that had taken place in so short a time : her eye^, 
 whichever way she turned, that was wont to 
 meet placidity and happiness, now how changed ! 
 Mrs. Godwin's seat was vacant, Godwin much 
 thinner, and his form, which was used to be per- 
 fectly upright, bent forward, with the appearance 
 of an added twenty years, and his eyes fixed con- 
 ' stantly on the ground ; — Bernard with his arms 
 across, his head sunk on his bosom, his jollity fled, 
 his pipe neglected in the chimney comer, and his 
 jug empty on the shelf; — William endeavouring 
 to conceal his distress, fearful of increasing that of 
 his father and wife, while the sighs that frequently 
 escaped him, and the looks with which he viewed 
 them, bespoke the acuteness of his feelings ;— the 
 once cheerful and lively Fanny pale and melan- 
 choly; while Agnes, unconcerned at all, sat in a 
 corner amusing herself with trifles, a faint flush 
 spread over her cheeks, the mild lustre of her 
 soft blue eyes changed to a dazzling, but less 
 pleasing brightness, and perpetually cast around, 
 as in search of some object, which failing to meet, 
 they usually fell on the ring upon her finger, with 
 a ^sigh, and — / am Edtvin's wife. In short. 
 
190 THE FARMER OF 
 
 little Reuben was the oqly one who smiled ; he 
 appeared to thrive in calamity, laughing while his 
 mother wept, seizing his grandfather's buttons, or 
 sometimes his grey hairs, until he had forced him 
 to notice him, and for a moment beguiled him of 
 his sorrow. 
 
 Mrs. Palmer appeared particularly interested for 
 Agnes, and that with such sympathising tender- 
 ness, that she became more estimable than ever : 
 they saw her compassion, as well as curiosity, was 
 not a little excited by the constant allusion to 
 Edwin and the ring. She had frequently heard 
 the family say they were affianced to each other ; 
 but no word of inquiry escaped her ; she only en- 
 deavoured to sooth and prevent the attention of 
 Agnes being too much fixed on one object. 
 
 'My dear child,' said Godwin, addressing Fan- 
 ny, *my brother Bernard, William, and myself, are 
 going out for a short space, — our good and con- 
 descending friend will excuse us : in our absence 
 open your whole heart to her, spare not my un- 
 worthy son, nor yet more unhappy daughter ; a 
 female friend, of her judgment, will not only be 
 a comfort to you, but a blessing to us all, for she 
 will not deny her advice where she has not re- 
 vised a tear.' 
 
 When Godwin ceased speaking, Mrs. Palmer 
 arose from the side of Agnes, and taking his hand, 
 replied, 'Believe me, my good friend, not only 
 my advice, but any thing else in my power, is 
 entirely at your service in this unhappy juncture ; 
 which I hope will, however, terminate happily, 
 and more speedily than you expect. The de- 
 
INGLEWOOD FOREST. 191 
 
 rano-ements of A<rnes I regard as merely the effect 
 of fever ; and that once totally removed, the other 
 will naturally cease.' 
 
 Godwin bowed, repeated his thanks, and ac- 
 companied by Bernard, left her alone with Fanny 
 and Agnes. 
 
 Fanny was too much distressed to be in haste 
 to obey her father-in-law, and was likewise re- 
 strained by the presence of Agnes ; but on her 
 retiring to rest, with few words, and. many tears, 
 she related all that had passed, — the goodness of 
 her otvn heart prompting her to palliate the whole 
 as much as truth would allow. 
 
 As she concluded, Mrs. Palmer embraced her, 
 saying, ' Fear not, my amiable girl, your duty and 
 sisterly affection will meet its reward ; the present 
 trials are severe, but will, I hope be succeeded by 
 a calm. In the mean time, regard me as your 
 friend, mother, sister, or any title that best 
 accords with your own heart. I, alas! Fanny, 
 though enjoying wealth even more than I wish, 
 have room for all those claims, as I am literally 
 (though possessed of relations) alone in the world, 
 my dearest connexions being torn asunder.' 
 
 Fanny pressed the hand of Mrs. Palmer to her 
 lips, and bathed it with her tears. — ' Oh ! how 
 truly, Madam, did my father speak, when he 
 said yoiu wbuld comfort me! Alas!' said she, he- 
 sitating, ' I have secrets that I cannot reveal to 
 men, however dear.' 
 
 ' If necessary to disclose them, my dear girl,' 
 replied Mrs. Palmer, 'fear not to trust to my 
 prudence ; yourselfshall only withdraw them from 
 my bosom.' 
 
192 THE FARMER OF 
 
 Fanny wept, and seemed irresolute ; but the 
 kind assurances of Mrs. Palmer at length, in some 
 measure, reassuring her, with tears and glowing 
 blushes, she owned that she had a fear on her 
 sister's account, that overwhelmed her with shame 
 and confusion. In fine, that during the latter 
 part of her illness she could not avoid perceiving 
 an alteration in her shape, which but too truly 
 corroborated what she had revealed in her frenzy, 
 frequently speaking of an oalh ; and ever at the 
 time vie^ving a ring, (which was a diamond set in 
 the shape of a heart, and surrounded with rubies 
 and brilliants alternately,) repeatmg her favourite 
 adage, — / am Edwiyis ivife. 
 
 Mrs. Palmer, though shocked at this intelligence, 
 endeavoured all in her power to console her young 
 friend, representing it was very possible she might 
 be mistaken in her surmises ; but if not, thought 
 the unhappy Agnes so greatly to be pitied, that 
 she would devise means (if she survived) to con- 
 ceal the misfortune from the world. 
 
 Fanny could not speak her thanks, but threw 
 herself at Mrs. Palmer's feet, expressing her grati- 
 tude in a language far more emphatic than words. 
 
 Mr. Godwin and his companions, on their re- 
 turn, were pleased to find Fanny more composed 
 than usual ; and returned a thousand thanks to 
 Mrs. Palmer ; who, however, delighted more in 
 doing a good action than hearing itacknowledged ; 
 and cut them short, by saying, * You will fright 
 me from my purpose of visiting you daily if you 
 treat me thus.' 
 
 Mrs. Palmer was true to her word ; not a day 
 passed but she called at the farm ; and by her 
 
INGLEWOOD FOREST. 193 
 
 kindness and attention alleviated the sorrows of 
 all but Godwin ; who, though he felt her kind- 
 ness, could not forget the ingratitude of his chil- 
 dren, whose conduct, like a corroding poison, 
 was continually preying deeper on his heart. 
 
 Mrs. Palmer, with tlie characteristic goodness 
 that peculiarly distinguished her, on being in- 
 formed by Fanny of Emma's flight, and that, if 
 William could have discovered her route, he 
 would have pursued her, wrote to several corres- 
 pondents she had abroad, requesting them pri- 
 vately to inquire after Whitmore, and if possible 
 send her information. The only account she 
 gained >vas from Paris, where she learnt he had 
 remained a month ; and that he had a lady with 
 him remarkably handsome, who was said not to 
 be his wife, but apparently happy in her situa- 
 tion ; that he went from thence privately, and it 
 was uncertain what route he had taken. As this 
 account contained nothing satisfactory, Mrs. Pal- 
 mer communicated it alone to William ; who 
 could only thank her for the interest she took 
 ift their affairs. 
 
 The health of Agnes, in the mean time, con- 
 tinued in the same precarious state. An eminent 
 physician, who had been consulted, advised a 
 perseverance in their own lenient methods, to- 
 gether with music, exercise, and conversation ; by 
 pursuing which means, he entertained no doubt 
 but time would restore her reason ; but had far 
 more fear for her health, which he pronounced 
 had consumptve symptoms, very alarming at her 
 age. Her situation, which confirmed all Fanny's 
 fears, became weekly more conspicuous, though 
 9 2b 
 
194 THE FARMER OF 
 
 unsuspected by any of the male part of the family, 
 until unable to conceal it much longer, Mrs. Pal- 
 mer persuaded Fanny to suffer her to disclose it : 
 a step she thought the more necessary as Fanny 
 herself was pregnant ; and in such a perpetual 
 anxiety respecting her sister's situation, that it 
 materially injured her health. Godwin and Wil- 
 liam received this intelligence like a fresh stroke 
 of thunder, — Bernard, the big tears chasing each 
 other down his own cheeks, in vain endeavouring 
 to speak comfort to them. 
 
 Mrs. Palmer proposed that Agnes should be 
 removed to a house of hers on the borders of 
 Yorkshire, where she had a person she could 
 safely trust; and that F'anny might accompany 
 her, with any other of the family they thought 
 proper. This generous offer was, after some con- 
 sultation, accepted, but delayed as unnecessary 
 for two months at least. Mrs. Palmer, in the 
 mean time, as if the good of her fellow-creatures 
 was her nearest concern, was constant in her 
 visits to the farm, where she had caused a harp- 
 sichord to be brought, an instrument on which 
 she was an adept, and played to Agnes daily. 
 At first she tried sprigiitly music ; but it appear- 
 ed to increase her derangement, and Avas there- 
 fore immediately- changed for the penseroso, 
 which had a more happy effect, attracting her 
 attention, and calling forth her tears. This suc- 
 cess encouraged Mrs. Palmer to continue ; and 
 one day, after having played Pope's ode of Vital 
 spark of heavenly Jiame,, and accompanied it with 
 her voice, Agnes, for the first time since Mrs. 
 Godwins death, appeared to recollect her, 
 
 I 
 
INGLEWOOD FOREST. 195 
 
 «ind starting up, holding her hand to her fore- 
 head, she said, ' I will go to my mother's grave, 
 for / am Edwin s wife' 
 
 Mrs. Palmer desired she might be gratified ; 
 and sending for her carriage, Agnes was lifted 
 in, and accompanied by Fanny and her generous 
 friend. When they arrived at the church-yard, 
 leaning on Fanny's arm, she walked to the grave, 
 and sitting upon the ground, kissed the sod that 
 covered it, saying, ' Ah ! my dear mother, I am 
 ill, very ill, but do not forget you, though you 
 are in heaven, for / am Edwin s wife. I will 
 bring flowers and set them here,' continued she : 
 * Flowers for summer, autumn, winter, and spring; 
 nought but flowers should cover her grave : — and 
 who so proper to plant them as me ? for / am Ed- 
 tvins tvife.' 
 
 Fanny wept bitterly ; and though Agnes had 
 never before paid any attention to her tears, she 
 now noticed them. 
 
 'Why do you weep, Fanny?' said she: 'If it 
 makes you uneasy, you may plant the flowers for 
 spring and summer yourself, for you are Wil- 
 liam's wife, and your heart is warm : I will set 
 those for autumn and winter, for my heart is cold. 
 1 am Edwin s tvife.' 
 
 'Oh! I cannot, — cannot bear it!' cried Fanny: 
 'Inhuman, — barbarous,— degenerate monster !' 
 
 ' Of whom do you speak, Fanny V replied 
 Agnes ; ' not of Edwin I hope, — though now I 
 remember,' continued she, pausing for some mi- 
 nutes, as if endeavouring to recollect herself, 
 ' his father cursed him, and his brother despised 
 him ; I. however, forgave him : so you may all 
 
196 THE FARMER OF 
 
 do as you please, though it does not become me 
 to hear it, for / am Edwins ivife' 
 
 Mrs. Pahner, who perceived the effect this 
 scene had upon Fanny, by gentle means drew 
 Agnes from the grave ; and placing her with hei 
 sister in the coach, returned home with them. 
 
 From this time Agnes went daily to the 
 church-yard, usually accompanied by her bro- 
 ther or Margery ; for the whole family had join- 
 ed commands to entreat Fanny to keep from at- 
 tending her thither. 
 
 During the first two months of Agnes's illness, 
 Edwin's servant had remained at the inn, pro- 
 curing intelligence by various means ; but after 
 that period, being assured by the country people 
 it was a regular insanity, which they attributed 
 to her lover being false-hearted, (though her situa- 
 tion was a profound secret) he returned to his 
 master, leaving it to the landlord to give them 
 information by letter, from time to time; and 
 which he did not fail, as he was quite of his 
 wife's opinion, that captain Godwin (as she 
 called him) was a very handsome man, and as 
 generous as handsome. 
 
 In this state passed the time for near seven 
 months after Mrs. Godwin's death, when Edwin 
 received a letter from his correspondent in the 
 country to this purport : — 
 
 ' Honoured Sir, 
 * I think tit to inform you, that, three days ago, Farmer 
 Bernard's two daughters left the Forest in a post-chaise, at- 
 tended only by an old black servant, whom I never saw 
 before. As our house is the first stage from Inglewood 
 upwards, they changed horses, but never got out of the 
 
INGLEWOOD FOREST. 197 
 
 chaise ; nor should I have known them, but for the post- 
 boy, who informed me who they were. As the black came 
 into the house, I thought he might have given me an answer 
 like a Christian servant, and therefore asked him to take a 
 glass, which, as he accepted, I said, (not pretending to know 
 them) You are going to London I presume ? — To which he 
 replied, " No." — " Cross country?" — " No." — "To the races, 
 mayhap ? — '* No :" and throwing down the money for his 
 liquor, mounted his horse, and followed the chaise like a 
 pagan as he was. I am sure. Sir, you will allow with me, 
 that it is a wicked sin to prefer such blackaraore heathens to 
 good white servants, who know how to give a civil answer; 
 but, as my wife says, it is all owing to their want of educa- 
 tion, for they run wild before they are taken and tamed by 
 us Christians, — and know no religion but what their own 
 foolish nature prompts ; nor have any laws to restrain them ; 
 •which, indeed, don't signify, 'as they have no property to 
 secure ; but would make sad work in a Christian nation, 
 where people know right from wrong, and act accordingly. 
 But all this, good Sir, is from the purpose ; I was willing 
 to oblige you, and so by the post-boys traced them two stages, 
 where they were met by a plain chaise and pair, in which 
 they continued their journey ; but I know not whither. 
 
 ' I have no more to add, but my best wishes for your wel- 
 fare, and thanks for your kindness, and remain your obliged 
 
 Humble servant, 
 
 Jeremiah Jenkins.' 
 
 This intelligence added curiosity to the other 
 unpleasing sensations which possessed Edwin: 
 Where could Fanny and her sister be going, 
 while the health of the latter was in so precari- 
 ous a state? Their attendant too, what could 
 he be ? He appeared bound to secrecy, and 
 equal to the tioist. In short, the more he rumi- 
 nated, the more he was perplexed ; and at length 
 came to a determination to entreat leave of ab- 
 sence, and endeavour to develope the mystery 
 
198 THE FARMER OF 
 
 himself. The death of his mother, nor the sub- 
 sequent illness of Agnes, had not been able to 
 awaken him to a proper sense of his errors ; 
 he felt, but it was a momentary sensation ; for 
 scared at the very idea of reflection, he fled 
 to dissipation, and soon obliterated, or at least 
 protracted, the pangs of retrospection, by de- 
 bauchery, luxury, or gaming, neglected his wife, 
 and added ingratitude to the catalogue of his 
 crimes. Mrs. Godwin, whose only incentive to 
 maiTiage with Edwin was love, had alternately 
 recourse to tears, entreaties, reproaches, and 
 anger ; but equally vain, he fled from all ; home 
 he thought hell, and his wife the fiend commis- 
 sioned to torment him ; while he had constant 
 recourse to the sprightly wanton Mrs. Whit- 
 more, who laughed at his scruples, and gave 
 occasion for fresh ones. Yet Agnes was still 
 dear to him ; and he would willingly have re- 
 linquished all he possessed to have been re- 
 instated at Inglewood as he was before his 
 acquaintance with Whitmore. 
 
 CHAP. XXIIl. 
 
 When Agnes was supposed to be about seveu 
 months advanced in her pregnancy, accompa- 
 nied by her sister, she was moved to a small house 
 near Richmond, that appertained to Mrs. Palmer; 
 but in which she had lately settled the widow of 
 
INGLEWOOD FOREST. 199 
 
 a sea-officer, who had been left in indifferent cir- 
 cumstances. Here Fanny and Agnes were re- 
 ceived with true tenderness and respect, Mrs. 
 Pahner having' prepared Mrs. Smith, the lady of 
 the house, for their reception; and also sent them 
 attended by her favourite domestic Felix, the 
 negro, mentioned by Mr. Jeremiah Jenkins. The 
 separation was painful to the whole family, though 
 allowed by all as the most pmdent plan to conceal 
 the unhappy situation of Agnes, whose intellects, 
 though rather more settled, were yet far from 
 right ; and, to their farther uneasiness, her bodily 
 strength apparently weakened as her mind re- 
 covered its vigour. Mr. Godwin's health too, 
 daily declined since the death of his wife ; and 
 the effects of the misery that continually preyed 
 on him seemed hastening to a crisis. 
 
 The change from Inglewood to Richmond, 
 after some little time, appeared to have a happy 
 effect on the senses of Agnes ; she frequently in- 
 quired for her father, William, and particularly 
 Mr. Godwin, pressing Fanny to let her return to 
 him, in a manner that pierced her heart ; she ap- 
 parently too began to be sensible of her situation, 
 and frequ-ently wept for hours. 
 
 William, who had not attended them on the 
 journey, joined them soon after with his father; 
 and after some stay returned to the Forest, leav- 
 ing Mr. Godwin behind, as Agnes appeared 
 rejoiced to see him, and so greatly distressed 
 when they spoke of his departure, that he deter- 
 mined to remain and wait the event. 
 
 About a month before the delivery of Agnes, 
 her senses became perfectly collected ; but that 
 
200 THE FARMER OF 
 
 event, which they had so earnestly desired, served 
 but to increase their sorrow; her self-reproaches 
 were continual, and the kindness of her friends 
 apparently increased her distress ; thankful for 
 their constant attention, but ever declaring, that, 
 though they forgave her, she should never forgive 
 herself. Fanny was likewise advanced, though 
 not so forward in her pregnancy ; and the fatigue 
 and uneasiness she had undergone, on account of 
 her sister, had greatly impaired her health, though 
 she carefully endeavoured to conceal it, lest it 
 should increase the general uneasiness. 
 
 Mrs. Palmer, before they had been moved a 
 month to Richmond, came to see them ; her 
 general philanthropy easily accounted to her do- 
 mestics for her conduct to tlie sisters ; the only 
 one of them who had any knowledge of the real 
 situation of Agnes being Felix, whose attendance 
 Mrs. Palmer had judged necessary, as Mrs. Smith 
 kept but one female servant ; and it was thought 
 most prudent, at the present period, not to in- 
 crease the number. The chaise in which Mrs. 
 Palmer travelled was the same that had met and 
 conveyed Fanny and Agnes to Richmond ; at 
 which time the latter was so wrapped up in a long 
 cloak, that her shape was by no means discernible, 
 had the man who drove the vehicle been even 
 curiously inclined, which was far from the case, 
 for he had long resided with his mistress, was sa- 
 tisfied implicitly to follow her commands without 
 question, and loved her better than any other 
 object, except his horses. On her arrival at Rich- 
 mond, not choosing more inmates than absolutely 
 necessary, she had sent this servant with her 
 
INGLEWOOD FOREST. 201 
 
 carriage to an inn, Felix going with orders when 
 any were gi^en : tiius there was no apparent 
 secrecy affected in the retreat of Agnes, Mrs. 
 Pahner simply saying, among her own people, 
 that she was moved to try the change of air. 
 Felix had replied to Jenkins in the manner he 
 did, merely becanse he conceived his questions 
 impertinent ; for to every other person who in- 
 quired, Bernard and William, by agreement, 
 answered truly, that the sisters were at a house of 
 Mrs. Palmer's in Yorkshire, though wiihout sig- 
 nifying the immediate spot. — Mrs. Palmer, in the 
 kindest manner, endeavoured to cheer the de- 
 pressed spirits of Agnes ; and, having no musical 
 instrument, strove to divert her attention by va- 
 rious relations, some amusing, others melancholy ; 
 and, observing that she sometimes appeared to 
 regard Felix with an emotion of fear, said to her 
 one day, with a smile, when he was absent, ' My 
 dear girl, I think I can tell you a story that will 
 make you forget Felix's colour, or at least recon- 
 cile you to it ; besides, it will pass the time this 
 long evening, and banish more painful thoughts.' 
 
 Agnes bowed ; all subjects were immaterial to 
 her but that nearest to her heart; while Fanny, 
 glad of any attempt to divert her sister's melan- 
 choly, returned thanks for Mrs. Palmer's con- 
 descension; as did also Godwin, who declared he 
 was totally regardless of the complexion of Felix 
 when he conversed with him, as he appeared at 
 once well informed, and possessed of a good heart. 
 
 ' Well then,' said Mrs. Palmer, taking her seat 
 between Godwin and Agnes, ' I will simply relate 
 to you the events of my owji weary pilgrimage; 
 9 2 c 
 
202 THE FARMER OF 
 
 Felix has some share in them ; nor am I the only 
 one of my family on whom he has conferred 
 obligations ; but the occurrences before I knew 
 him will be best related by himself. 
 
 ' I am the only daughter of an affluent merchant, 
 called Sommertown; my grandfather, by the 
 mother s side, possessed a considerable estate in 
 Jamaica, and had only a son and daughter; the 
 younger of whom, my mother, was educated in 
 England, and by that means, in all probability, her 
 life was saved, for both her parents were killed in 
 an insurrection of the negroes; and from which fate 
 her brother was only preserved by the affection of 
 a slave. My mother, at this unhappy period, was 
 nineteen, and her brother a year older ; both were 
 left in the guardianship of a merchant, with whom 
 (as soon as her brother could reach England) they 
 took up their residence. The only son of this 
 gentleman, in about a twelvemonth after, married 
 my mother ; by whom he had several children, all 
 of whom died in their infancy, except myself, who 
 was the youngest. My uncle, whose name was 
 Walters, in the mean time, disliking an inactive 
 life, and being disgusted with the West Indies, 
 had sold off the greatest part of his possessions 
 there, and commenced merchant ; in which pro- 
 fession he was uncommonly successful. From the 
 death of a young lady, to whom he was contracted, 
 he had formed the resolution of remaining a ba- 
 chelor ; and to divert the melancholy occasioned 
 by his loss, frequently took long voyages ; so that 
 he seldom remained m England for any length of 
 time. He was tenderly attached to my mother, 
 who was equally so to him, and myself the darling 
 
INGLEWOOD FOREST. 203 
 
 ©f both ; my uncle, whenever he was at home, 
 loadmg- me with presents, and gratifying my 
 wishes even to profusion. 
 
 'In this manner passed my childhood until 
 my fourteenth year, when my imcle departed 
 for India, leaving my father the entire care of 
 his whole property in his absence ; and tenderly 
 embracing me before his departure, seeing me 
 weep, he said, " Cheer up, my girl, I am only 
 getting rich for thee;" and pulling out a valuable 
 watch, he presented it to me, adding, " Tliere, let 
 me see how carefully you will preserve this for 
 my sake ; and on my return I will change it for 
 one double the value." He soon after departed, 
 leaving me very melancholy, though I must con- 
 fess my grief was rather lessened at intervals on 
 contemplating the present he had made me ; it 
 vvas a gold watch, with tlie cipher of my name 
 enamelled on the case, and the foce surrounded 
 with pearls. His business, it was expected, 
 would detain him near three years, during which 
 time my father had a young man articled to liim ; 
 he was an orphan possessed of a decent proper- 
 ty, which his guardian wished him to better by 
 trade ; and, therefore, placed him for instruction 
 with my father. This young man was about five 
 years older than myself; and by his engaging 
 manners, before I was seventeen, he had made 
 an impression on my heart, which, however, at 
 that time was not suspected by any one. At 
 this period we received a letter, informing us, 
 that speedily we might expect to see my uncle, 
 as he proposed returning to Europe by the first 
 ship that sailed ; but, how great w as our sorrow 
 
204 THE FARMER OF 
 
 and disappointment, when, some time after, we 
 learned that he had indeed sailed, but that the 
 vessel had been cast away on the coast of Caf- 
 fraria ; and what became of the crew that esca- 
 ped the waves was uncertain ! This news was a 
 heavy blow to my mother, who loved her bro- 
 ther with unfeigned affection ; yet, for two years 
 we flattered ourselves with hope of his return ; 
 at which period our expectations began to de- 
 crease. For my own part, I confess, I loved 
 my uncle better than my father, for he was in- 
 dulgent to all my whimsies; while, on the con- 
 trary, my fatlier could not allow for the errors, 
 or even the playfulness of childhood, — you may, 
 therefore, readily judge my tears were sincere 
 for his loss. My father still continued the ma- 
 nagement of my uncle's property, as, in the case 
 of his death, ray mother was heir at law, he im- 
 prudently having left no will. 
 
 'I was just nineteen when young Palmer's 
 articles to my father expired, and he settled for 
 himself. He lamented vyith me the loss of my 
 uncle, as that event would apparently increase 
 my fortune beyond what he could expect, espe- 
 cially as my father was rather addicted to a love 
 of wealth, and my mother's will was ever subser- 
 vient to his. Thus were we situated when I 
 unhappily lost ray raother in an apoplectic fit ; 
 by which means my uncle's property became 
 totally vested in my father. I shall pass over 
 my grief for this loss, which, however, I assure 
 you, was great, as was also my f\ither's for a 
 considerable time, he applying himself with 
 redoubled earnestness to business to banish 
 
I 
 
 INGLE WOOD FOREST. 205 
 
 thought; and settling all my uncle's affah's on 
 the most lucrative principles, the estate which 
 remained unsold in Jamaica, he disposed of, 
 together with the negroes that cultivated it ; and 
 who, during my uncle's life, and indeed until 
 this period, had been so happily situated as to 
 have no wish to change, being only under the 
 command of tlie negro who saved my uncle's 
 life ; and who had from him received his liber- 
 ty ; making him also overseer of the plantation 
 he reserved : a trust he executed with justice 
 to his employer, credit to himself, and to the 
 universal satisfaction of his fellows. 
 
 ' My father was not only enabled to do this, 
 but also to make what other changes he thought 
 necessary, as, previous to my uncle's departure, 
 he had given him a letter of attorney to act in 
 case any alteration should be found necessary in 
 his absence. He had been gone five years at my 
 mother's death, and a year had elapsed since 
 that period, wiien my father formed a connexion 
 unworthy either his understanding, situation, or 
 age. In short, it w'as with the servant that 
 immediately attended me ; and who was about 
 four years older than myself. I was involunta- 
 rily a spectator of some little freedoms that pass- 
 ed between them ; but which I thought it most 
 prudent not to notice for some time, though she 
 grew negligent of her business, and was fre- 
 quently absent at those hours when she knew 
 I shovdd particularly want her. 
 
 ' I w as not weak enough to suppose I had 
 power to break this connexion ; but, on mature 
 deliberation, concluded it would be less vex- 
 
206 THE FARMER OF 
 
 atious to me, if pursued in any other place than 
 immediately in the house where I dwelt ; and 
 accordingly one evening;, after her remaining out 
 very late, I gave her a dismission, desiring she 
 would seek another situation, as I had no far- 
 tlier occasion for her services. I am not natu- 
 rally passionate, and gave this discharge m my 
 usual manner, and without entering into the 
 cause of my displeasure; yet she answered me 
 with uncommon insolence, saying, " You mis- 
 take. Madam, you will have more occasion than 
 ever for my services ; and mast likewise learn to 
 deserve them, or you may find yourself uncomfort- 
 ably situated." With this she bounced out of the 
 room, leaving me both distressed and astonished, 
 as her threats appeared to imply a greater power 
 over my father than I could eithersuspect ordread. 
 * The next morning, at breakfast, my father was 
 uncommonly serious, and continued to treat me 
 with a kind of gloomy reserve for some days, 
 without, however, mentioning the subject of his 
 displeasure, until one evening, after supper, first 
 increasing his courage with two or three glasses 
 of wine extraordinary, he ventured to tell me he 
 had been very uncomfortable since the death of 
 my mother. I naturally expressed my sorrow at 
 this information, lioping no neglect of mine had 
 added to it ; declaring he had only to name what 
 had given him displeasure, and I would be particu- 
 larly careful to remedy it. Before I could proceed 
 he interrupted me, saying, "No, no, I cannot ac- 
 cuse you of neglect ; but I liave thoughts, Anna, 
 of marrying again, and therefore would prepare 
 you to receive the woman 1 shall choose, with tlie 
 
INGLEWOOD FOREST. 207 
 
 respect becoming my wife and your mother." 
 'The business was now plain; but endeavouring 
 to conceal my dissatisfaction, though a bad dis- 
 sembler, I replied, - As the object of your choice, 
 Sn-, will doubtless be respectable, I must necessa- 
 rily esteem her, though I cannot flatter myself 
 with meeting the tender affection of a first parent.'' 
 " I possess the means of making her respect- 
 able," answered my father, drinking another 
 glass of wine; -and I have no one's inclination 
 to consult but my own." 
 
 'I bowed my acquiescence : he soon after re- 
 tired for the night ; and the first news that reach- 
 ed me the ensuing morning was, that at an early 
 hour he had taken Mary with him in the post- 
 chaise, and set off for the country. 
 
 ' Two days after, their marriage was publicly 
 declared, though they continued for a fortnio-ht 
 out of town. I leave you to judge the uneasiness 
 1 experienced. I was totally dependent on my 
 father, whom I had every reason to fear would be 
 a slave to the caprices of the woman he had mar- 
 ried ; and whom I naturally concluded would be 
 my enemy, were it not only that I was apprised 
 of her conduct before he espoused her. I can 
 truly aver, that had he married a virtuous and 
 worthy object, whatever had been her situation 
 my pride would never have overcome me so far 
 as to forget what was due to my father's wife • 
 but my heart recoiled both at her former conduct 
 and msolence, so that I knew not how to receive 
 lier. Deliberating on this subject two or three 
 days after the marriage, Palmer was announced 
 and immediately admitted. After the usual salu- 
 
208 THE FARMER OF 
 
 tations, " I will not congratulate you," said he, 
 "on your father's marriage; though I will, my 
 Anna, truly confess it has given rise to hopes I 
 before dared not cherish, as I think he may now 
 be the more inclined to part with you." 
 
 ' I have already said I was partial to Palmer, 
 and was yet more, for I sincerely loved him ; and 
 though possessed of nothing romantic in my dis- 
 position, had determined, that if ever I married 
 he should be my husband. Little persuasion 
 therefore obtained my consent that he should 
 apply to my father, as I had judged he would, as 
 well as his wife, be pleased at my removal. I 
 was, however, mistaken, my father desired time 
 to consider ; and consulting my new mother, an 
 absolute denial was the consequence. I could 
 attribute this but to one cause, which was, that 
 she suspected my affection for Palmer, and took 
 a malignant pleasure in thwarting my inclinations. 
 
 ' x4fter this refusal. Palmer wrote to entreat me 
 to accept his hand without the consent of my 
 father : his business, he said, was prosperous, and 
 my fortune never an incentive ; and that he was 
 convinced I was unhappily situated at home. 
 
 ' Pleased at the generosity of this offer, I how- 
 ever declined it, — at least for the present, as 1 
 wanted ten months of being of age, but promised 
 at that time to answer him more fully. I should 
 but weary you by relating all the despicable 
 methods my fatlier's wife ]>ut in practice to render 
 my situation unpleasant, while he, who was ab- 
 solute in my mother's life-time, had no will but 
 what this woman pleased, and was blindly sub- 
 servient to all her arts. We seldom met but at 
 
INGLEWOOD FOREST. 209 
 
 meals: I was polite, but cold, familiarity being as 
 much avoided by me as absolutely displeasing 
 her ; as in the first place [ must have been obliged 
 to suffer perpetually the empty vulgarity of her 
 conversation, and in the latter all the vindictive- 
 ness of narrow ideas, and confined education. My 
 father's fondness was entirely founded on her 
 person, which, indeed, was good ; his was likewise 
 flattered by the show of affection, which she was 
 continually and disgustingly bestowing on him ; 
 and if he had a grain of paternal love left for me 
 it entirely vanished, when six months after her 
 marriage she declared herself with child. 
 
 ' My father came from 'Change one day, accom- 
 panied by an elderly man, who was a drysalter of 
 considerable fortune, but had risen unexpectedly 
 to his present affluence by the death of a relation, 
 stepping at once into a great fortune, but destitute 
 of understanding, education, or even common po- 
 liteness. This man honoured me with his srood 
 liking, and made proposals to my father, whicli 
 his wife approving, were immediately accepted ; 
 and I was desired to regard Mr. Brewer (which 
 was his name) as my future husband. I have 
 already told you Iwas not romantic, therefore I 
 neither wept nor threw myself at my father's feet, 
 but before his lady simply desired him, on my 
 part, to thank Mr. Brewer for his good opinion, 
 but that I could not accept his offer. 
 
 * " And pray why not?" said my father; '' what 
 are your objections?" 
 
 "In the first place," replied I, "he is low-bred 
 and illiterate, which I think, my dearsir, is a power- 
 ful objection, and sufficient without any other." 
 
 9 2d 
 
210 THE FARMER OF 
 
 * Mrs. Sommerton looked as though she could 
 have struck me, while my father gave a hem, and 
 took a pinch of snuff. 
 
 " And pray what other great objection can you 
 make ?" said my father. 
 
 " As great a difference in age as disposition," 
 replied I. 
 
 " Yon perhaps," resumed my father, " have 
 forgotten the change in your circumstances, and 
 consider yourself as my immediate heir; but I 
 would wish you to recollect the alteration that 
 has taken place : I may now have a numerous 
 family to share my property." 
 
 * I could scarcely suppress a smile, but replied, 
 "To prove to you, Sir, that I have not dis- 
 regarded that circumstance, it was in order to 
 lessen your family that I consented to Mr. Pal- 
 mer's entreating your approbation to our union." 
 
 "So then, Miss," said Mrs. Sommerton, "it is 
 not matrimony that you object to, but the man?" 
 
 "Exactly so, Madam," replied I, forgetting my 
 usual coolness ; " there are some men as well as 
 women whom I view with peculiar dislike." 
 
 ' Mrs. Sommerton at once applied my answer 
 to herself, and choosing rather to interest my father 
 by her softness than by her spirit, pretended to 
 burst into tears and be ready to faint; my father, 
 in the mean time, entreating her to be pacified, 
 and vowmg no one should ofiend her with impu- 
 niiy, concluded with telling me that he regarded 
 Mr. Brewer's as an urxexceptionable offer, and 
 which, if 1 did not accept, he would totally dis- 
 claim me; biddnig me consider what he had said, 
 and on the morrow return my ans\v er. 
 
INGLEWOOD FOREST. 211 
 
 " It needs no time, my dear Sir," replied I ; 
 " to-morrow can make no difference, grieved as I 
 am, and ever must be at your displeasure ; yet 
 Mr. Brewer shall never be my husband." 
 
 " My dear love," said Mrs. Sommerton, ad- 
 dressing my father, " give way a little ; Miss 
 Anna is in love with Mr. Palmer ; and your se- 
 verity may make her regardless of consequences, 
 and elope with him." 
 
 " Do not think it. Madam," replied I, provok- 
 ed at her duplicity, " I will never forget what is 
 due to my father wliile he recollects that I am 
 his daughter ; nor willl ever form a connection 
 so serious as marriage without his consent, unless 
 absolutely forced to it : in that case, Madam, I 
 will neither leap out of w indow, nor fly to Gretna 
 Green, but wait until I am of age, which will be 
 in three months, then walk into the first parish- 
 church I meet with, and give my hand where I 
 have already bestowed my heart." 
 
 ' My father was so much provoked at this re- 
 ply, that he ordered me to leave the room : — a 
 command which I instantly obeyed. 
 
 ' My situation, from this period, was, if possi- 
 ble, ten times more irksome than before. My fa- 
 ther refused to dismiss Brewer ; I therefore took 
 that task upon myself, and was soon freed from 
 his persecutions, though his acquiescence re- 
 doubled the rancour of Mrs. Sommerton towards 
 me, and consequently the ill-will of my father. 
 The old servants, many of whom were grown 
 grey in our service, were discharged on various 
 pretences, the smallest particle of attention to me 
 being certain to procure their immediate disniis- 
 
212 THE FARMER OF 
 
 sion. Thus disagreeably passed my time until I 
 completed my twenty-tirst year, when Palmer 
 once more, at my request, pressed my father to 
 consent to our union ; nor did I scruple to second 
 the entreaty ; but fruitless was the attempt, though 
 Palmer's prospects might have entitled him to a for- 
 tune superior to what my father now^ declared he 
 meant to give me, if I married with his consent 
 (which was ten thousand pounds) ; but if I dis- 
 posed of myself without his concurrence, I was 
 to expect nothing. Mrs. Sommerton being like- 
 wise present when my father gave his final deter- 
 mination, appeared to exult in thus crossing our 
 wishes ; while Palmer seemed overpowered with 
 disappointment and vexation, declaring that his 
 solicitation was not with any interested view, but 
 merely to procure my father's approbation. As 
 he well knew I held his concurrence necessary 
 to my happiness, entreated to be informed if there 
 were any thing in his conduct or circumstances 
 that operated to his disadvantage, as he would 
 endeavour to remove it ; or if that was impracti- 
 cable, should at least have the satisfaction of 
 knowing why he was refused. 
 
 * All these concessions, however, were produc- 
 tive of nothing more than a repetition of the refu- 
 sal, Mrs. Sommerton adding, with her usual inso- 
 lence, that as matters stood, his visits at our house 
 would be dispensed with. 
 
 ' I kept silence until the whole conversation 
 was concluded, and Palmer was advancing to- 
 wards the door, when calling him back, I said, 
 *' I have listened with uneasiness through this 
 disagreeable business ; had my father any rea- 
 
INGLEWOOD FOREST. 213 
 
 sonable objection to you, and would condescend 
 to explain it, far be it from me to act in opposi- 
 tion to his wislies ; but as he advances none, I 
 naturally conclude it proceeds not from himself, 
 (looking firmly at Mrs. Sommerton) and there- 
 fore set it aside, and freely ofter you my hand, if, 
 poor as I am, you will accept it. The niece of 
 Mr. Walters should, indeed, have brought her 
 husband some fortune ; but which, if you can 
 overlook, I will never regret, and in its stead 
 endeavour cheerfully, with prudence and affec- 
 tion, to make up the deficiency." 
 
 *To describe what followed is beyond my 
 power. Mrs. Sommerton endeavoured to appear 
 shocked at my undutifulness and ingratitude, 
 while Palmer expressed his transports as though 
 I had a throne to bestow with my hand ; my fa- 
 ther alternately soothing his wife, and uttering 
 voAvs of vengeance against me ; finally declar- 
 ing, as I had formed my resolution, the sQoner I 
 left the house the better. 
 
 ' In this temper we separated, and I retired to 
 my own room for the remainder of the day, during 
 which I received a letter from Palmer, entreating 
 me to be prepared at eight the following morning ; 
 at which time he proposed to call for me, with a 
 license, and accompanied by his late guardian, 
 who would act as my father on the occasion at the 
 parish-church. 
 
 ' In the evening I wrote to my father, enclosing 
 Palmer s letter, entreating him, by every thing he 
 held most sacred, and by the beloved memory of 
 my mother, not to cast me olf ; but my writing was 
 equally ineffectual as my prayers, for he simply 
 
214 THE FARMER OP 
 
 returned for answer, — That I had chosen my fate, 
 and must abide by it ; all he desired was, to hear 
 no more of me. 
 
 ' The next morning Palmer was true to his time, 
 and, accompanied by his friend, we reached the 
 church ; where I was uniied to a mtin whom I 
 loved living, and whose memory must be ever 
 dear to me ; — the man who won my virgin heart, 
 and never gave me cause to repent its disposal.' 
 
 Mrs. Palmer's voice became tremulous, and 
 suddenly rising, ' I will relate the remainder to- 
 morrow night,' said she, ' it is now almost supper- 
 time.' 
 
 CHAP. XXIV. 
 
 The following evening Mrs. Palmer resumed her 
 narrative. 
 
 ' As I brought my husband no fortune, I 
 thought it my duty to be particularly economi- 
 cal ; and had the satisfaction, at the end of two 
 years, after our marriage, to find our expences 
 kept considerably within our income ; add to 
 which, I thought myself the happiest of wives 
 and mothers, for that time had given us a lovely 
 boy. My father's unnatural behaviour, and the 
 recollection of my uncle, were the only subjects 
 that gave me pain ; the former had a son born in 
 about two months after my marriage ; and the 
 death of the latter was no longer doubted. 
 
 ' My felicity had continued for two years, when 
 a capital banking-house at Amsterdam, and an 
 
INGLEWOOD FOREST. 215 
 
 eminent commercial one in London, in both of 
 which my husband was nearly concerned, stopped 
 payment, and gave at once a blow to our prospe- 
 rity and happiness ; for every effort to retrieve the 
 loss was tried in vain ; my husband was unavoid- 
 ably a bankrupt, and all our effects barely sufficient 
 to pay twelve shillings in the pound. So highly was 
 my husband respected, that had he but possessed 
 a sum to have enabled him to wait the returns of 
 trade, hemighthave obtained credit to any amount, 
 and surmounted every difficulty; but we had 
 given up all without reserve, and had no resource; 
 my father, to whom I, unknown to my husband, 
 applied, refusing to advance a single thousand 
 pounds; and to add to my calamity, Palmer's 
 health had received a blow, in consequence of his 
 misfortunes, that I much feared might terminate fa- 
 tally. Thus situated, we determined for some time 
 to remove a little distance from London for change 
 of air, which I hoped might prove salutary, and 
 accordingly took lodgings in the most private 
 part of Islington. The few valuables I possessed, 
 and my household linen, which had been spared 
 by the kindness of the creditors, being our whole 
 fund, and all the reserve we had to trust to. — 
 Though we lived with the utmost frugality, and 
 kept but one servant, yet our means daily de- 
 creased ; and I considered with anguish the 
 poverty that was ready to overtake us : determin- 
 ed to protract it as long as possible, I yet more 
 retrenched our expences, moving to a cheaper 
 lodging, and discharging the only servant I kept; 
 * In this manner passed the first year of our 
 misfortunes ; Palmer's malady, by almost imper- 
 
216 THE FARMER OF 
 
 ceptible degrees, undermining his constitution, 
 and rendering him unable to make any exertion 
 to extricate us from our unhappy situation, or 
 even to soften its asperity. 
 
 * One day, that he had been yet more disordered 
 than usual, he walked out for air into the fields, 
 leaving- me engaged in my domestic concerns; 
 but had not gone far when he was seized with a 
 pleuritic pain and shortness of breath, that render- 
 ed him unable either to proceed or return. 
 
 ' Hoping it would abate, he sat himself dow^n 
 in a field w here some hay-makers were at work ; 
 but in a short time became so much worse, that 
 his illness was perceptible to the labourers, several 
 of whom came and spoke to him ; and among 
 others a negro, whom, perhaps, you will truly 
 surmise w^as Felix. 
 
 ' Mr. Palmer by this time was almost unable to 
 speak, and could only faintly signify his desire to 
 get home : but his pain was too violent for him to 
 be able to walk; and in the middle of the fields 
 no conveyance could be obtained. 
 
 • In this dilemma Felix flew off with the utmost 
 speed, and reaching the town ran into the first 
 apothecary's shop he could meet with, entreating 
 the master, for the love of Heaven, to come into 
 the fields, for that a man had been seized with so 
 violent a pain in the side, that he feared, without 
 immediate assistance, it would prove fatal. The 
 apothecary, who doubtless surmised, from the ap- 
 pearance of Felix, it was one of his fellow-labour- 
 ers, replied, by desiring him to lead the sick man to 
 his shop, and he would bleed him, which he did 
 
INGLEWOOD FOREST. 21 
 
 not doubt would afford relief; but that himself 
 had not time to go so far.' 
 
 "Not time!" replied Felix, "then the poor 
 soul must die, for I am sure he cannot walk hi- 
 ther ; besides, I thought it was your profession 
 to attend the sick, not the sick to attend you." 
 
 " You are an impudent fellow," answered the 
 apothecary, " to suppose I should walk almost a 
 mile to bleed a man for sixpence, or, perhaps, 
 for nothing- ; but go about your business, there is 
 a barber a few doors farther, that will, perhaps, 
 suit your purpose ; for my part I never step over 
 tlie tiii'eshold to let blood under half a crown." 
 
 ' Felix paused, then fumbling for a moment in 
 his bosom, pulled out a dollar, in which a small 
 hole had been drilled, and a piece of ribbon drawn 
 through. " Here," said he, " 1 have no money but 
 this ; keep it till to-morrow night, and I will re- 
 deem it, if the sick man cannot pay you ; for he 
 must not die for want of help. I have then my 
 week's hire to receive : all I beg is, you will be 
 careful of it." As he spoke he held out the dol- 
 lar ; but the apothecary, doubtless ashamed to be 
 outdone by this simple child of nature, putting 
 back his offered hand, replied, " No ;" — and 
 snatching down his hat, bade Felix lead the way. 
 
 ' On th^ir arrival at the spot where Mr. Palmer 
 still sat he was immediately bled ; and in half an 
 hour so greatly relieved as to be able to walk 
 home, attended by the apothecary and the friend- 
 ly Felix, the former being now as assiduous as he 
 was at first careless ; for though we were in rea- 
 lity very much reduced. Palmer had still an ap- 
 pearance of respectability. 
 
 JO 2f 
 
218 THE FARMER OF 
 
 "Had you toklTne," said the apothecary, as they 
 wereheipmi^' Pahner home, " that it was a gentle- 
 man who was taken so ill in the fields, 1 should 
 not have hesitated a moment ; but as you spoke, 
 i protest I thought it was one of your comrades." 
 
 " I was not sufficiently acquainted with Euro- 
 pean customs, to know that such a distinction 
 was necessary," replied Felix, dryly ; " but you 
 may depend hereafter I will not fail to remember 
 it ; and every man that wants assistance shall be 
 by me st\ led a gentleman.''' 
 
 " Thou art an odd fellcw," said the apothe- 
 cary ; " have you been long in England ?" 
 
 " Long enough," replied Felix," to convince 
 me of the erroneous opinion I had formed for the 
 first forty years of my life of Englishmen, whose 
 iiearts, I had persuaded myself, were as good as 
 their faces ; but have learned to my cost, the only 
 diflference between many of them and us is, we 
 bear the black without— they within." 
 
 ' Palmer, in spite of pain, could not suppress a 
 smile : " I am glad," said he, " you do not inchide 
 «Z/in your account, as it seems to imply you have 
 met some few who deserve approbation." 
 
 " Approbation," replied Felix, " is a cold word ; 
 I could almost say adoration : but it is past ; 
 meteors are not frequent, nor in your country 
 subjects of worshi[5. I indeed knew one whose 
 virtues made this land dear to me ; but he is gone 
 to heaven, as you call it, or the land of souls, it is 
 the same thing ; and where even negroes will re- 
 joice to meet him." 
 
 * This discourse brought them home, and was 
 repeated to me botli by Palmer and the apothe- 
 
INGLEWOOD FOREST. 219 
 
 eary, the latter declaring it had made an impres- 
 sion on him never to be effaced, and which would 
 oblige him henceforward to attend sufferers with- 
 out questioning their pretensions to gentility. 
 Palmer was much better in the evening : at which 
 time Felix did not fail to come and inquire after 
 him with great respect. 
 
 ' Recovered from my first alarm, I was not yet 
 so destitute but that I had it in my power to offer 
 him some small compensation for his trouble and 
 the time he had lost ; but declining it, he drew 
 back, saying, "No, Madam, I labour for hire; — 
 1 have not laboured for your husband." 
 
 " But your labour," said I, "is not, I fear, suf- 
 ficient to support you in the necessaries of life : 
 stranger as you are, you cannot be supposed to 
 possess the resources of a native." 
 
 " Industry, Madam," replied he, " is universally 
 understood, and with health fully adequate to 
 sustain the wants of man. It procures me bread, 
 and sometimes meat; this habit to shelter me 
 from the weather ; and at night a place of rest 
 for my wearied limbs." 
 
 ' I put my money back into my pocket, at once 
 humiliated and pleased, saying, mentally, " A 
 diamond is equally precious whether enclosed in 
 a casket of ebony or ivory." 
 
 ' From this time our friendly negro, by my 
 desire, frequently called, and was ever anxious 
 to render us a number of little services that he 
 thought we might feel derogatory. My little 
 boy, who was now turned of two years old, had 
 at first been frightened at his appearance ; but by 
 
2-20 THE FARMER OF 
 
 the gentleness of his manners had grown so at- 
 tached, that he never failed to cry after him. 
 
 ' Three months had now passed since we knew 
 Fehx, whom I frequently determined to question 
 respecting his former life ; but w as so entirely 
 occupied by my domestic concerns, and the still 
 declining health of Palmer, that it was ever neg- 
 lected ; besides the name of muster never escaped 
 him unaccompanied by a tear ; and I could not 
 bear to gratify my curiosity by renewing his dis- 
 tress, which must apparently have been the case; 
 his stay too, whenever he called, was short, as he 
 constantly laboured in the fields or gardens near 
 Islington, his visits being merely, as his con- 
 duct shewed, to endeavour to do us services ; as 
 fetching me coals, cleaning Palmer's clothes, or 
 any other little office he could devise ; ever re- 
 fusing money ; at most accepting the remains of 
 our frugal table, and a draught of beer. 
 
 ' At this period my little darling was seized with 
 the small-pox, of a most malignant kind ; and for 
 three weeks my heart was alternately torn with 
 anguish, or revived by hope, as the symptoms 
 increased or abated. Regardless of my poverty, 
 so I could save my child, I spared no expence, 
 employing every able physician I heard recom- 
 mended ; but in vain : I was doomed to be child- 
 less, and to survive those ties dearer to me than 
 life.' 
 
 Mrs. Palmer ceased for a moment, and per- 
 ceiving Fanny and Agnes wept, she said, crossing 
 her own eyes with her handkerchief, ' I rejoice, 
 Agnes, at this proof of your sensibility ; it is a 
 plain demonstration that your own sorrows have 
 
INGLEWOOD FOREST. 221 
 
 wot selfishly narrowed your heart, as they yet 
 leave you a tear to bestow on others.' 
 
 * I shall pass over the death of my son,' con- 
 tinued Mrs. Palmer, ' for the subject even yet is 
 painful ; suffice it that i found myself not even 
 possessed of money to lay his beloved remains de- 
 cently in the earth ; all our little valuables and 
 linen had been disposed of; the watch given me 
 by my imcle alone remained, and which had been 
 preserved merely from affection to the giver. My 
 husband, depressed by along illness on the loss of 
 his son, appeared totally to sink under his cala- 
 mities, and to regard every thing around him 
 with an insensibility that cruelly alarmed me. To 
 consult him, then, in this dreadful crisis was use- 
 less, and could answer no end but increasing his 
 distress. To apply to my father I knew would be 
 unavailing ; nor could I bear the thought of giving 
 his unworthy wife the pleasure of triumphing over 
 my misery. Felix had been daily with us since 
 the child's sickness, and in spite of all opposition, 
 had frequently sat up with him, attending him 
 with a tenderness that, even yoimg as he was, he 
 was sensible of; for the evening before he died he 
 said, as he held Felix by the hand, " Dear papa 
 and mamma, always love Felix, for he loVes me." 
 But I wander from my subject, which was to pass 
 the child's death,' continued she ; ' but the fond 
 partiality of a parent involuntarily beguiled me. 
 Unable, as I before observed, to consult Palmer, 
 and without any resource but the waich given me 
 by my uncle, I determined to part with it ; and 
 for thai purpose, calling Felix into the garden, I 
 disclosed my intention, and asked if he could take 
 
'222 THE FARMER OB^ 
 
 it to London and sell it for me, as I really myself 
 was unable. Felix had been too much with us to 
 be ignorant that we laboured under disiiculties, 
 yet seemed distressed at this proof of it; but pro- 
 mised implicitly to obey me, and repair to a 
 capital watch-maker, whom I specified, and re- 
 turn with the money as speedily as possible. This 
 settled, Felix took the watch, and left me about 
 nine o'clock in the morning. As he had only to go 
 to Cheapside, I naturally suj}posed he might re- 
 turn in about a couple of hours ; but five had passed 
 without his appearance ; and I began to be uneasy. 
 1 did not doubt the honesty of Felix, but dreaded 
 some accident had befallen him ; yet did not ven- 
 ture to declare my fears to Palmer. At length I 
 heard a knock at the door, and hastening down I 
 met Felix in the passage ; but at the house-door 
 discovered a man apparently waiting. Wishing 
 to speak to him unheard, I stepped into tlie little 
 parlour, and was upon the point of questioning 
 him, when raising my eyes to his face, the ani- 
 mation of his features astonished me. — "What 
 has happened, Felix ?" said I, *' surely you have 
 met with something uncommonly pleasing !" 
 
 "Uncommonly pleasing!" repeated he. "Oh! 
 I am too happy :" but suddenly appearing to re- 
 collect himself, and to struggle with his feelings, — 
 " The man, Madam," continued he, " that is the 
 watch, Madam, — the gentleman waits." 
 
 " For Heaven's sake what do you mean, Felix?" 
 replied 1; "surely you do not drink?— Tell me, 
 what said the watch-maker ?" 
 
 " Say, Madam," answered he, apparently lost 
 in some other subject,—" Why, he blessed God, 
 
INGLEWOOD FOREST. 223 
 
 and said ten thousand pounds !" Again suddenly 
 endeavouring; to recall his mistake, he added, 
 " The gentleman waits ; do let me call him in." 
 
 ' Distressed for the loss of my child, and my 
 heart torn with anguish from my unhappy situa- 
 tion, I replied, peevishly, " What do you mean? 
 what gentleman? where is the watch ?" 
 
 ' Felix then gave me to understand, though in 
 the same incoherent manner, that the watch- 
 maker would not purchase it without seeing the 
 owner, lest it should be dishonestly obtained ; and 
 had sent a gentleman with him for that purpose. 
 ' Convinced that Felix was in liquor, I advan- 
 ced towards the door to call in the stranger ; but 
 regardless of compliments, he rushed before me, 
 saying, " Walk in. Sir, pray walk in. Heaven 
 bless you." 
 
 ' The stranger immediately entered ; he was a 
 man in the decline of life, and of a very respect- 
 able appearance. 
 
 " I am sorry. Sir," said I, "that you have taken 
 the trouble ; the watch is mine ; a cruel emergency 
 obliges me. Heaven knows how unwilling, to part 
 with it." As 1 spoke I could not restrain my 
 tears ; nor was the stranger unmoved. 
 
 " As you appear. Madam, to value it so highly," 
 replied he, " pardon me ; but can nothing else 
 supply this emergency, as trinkets, rings, or other 
 female decorations I" 
 
 " Alas ! they are all gone," cried I, weeping ; 
 " this only remains ; it m as the s^ift of mj^ more 
 than father ; and nothing but the distress of the 
 present moment could force me to part with it, to 
 lay the beloved remains of my infant in the earth. 
 
224 THE FARMER OF 
 
 and to nourish the expiring spark of life that re 
 mains in the best of husbands." 
 
 "And what, Madam, do you ask for it?" re- 
 plied he, turning aside his head. 
 
 " Alas !" answered I, " I am no judge ; I see 
 you feel for my distress, and will not, I am sure, 
 wrong me : I am w illing to abide by your decision." 
 
 ' On his first entrance he had drawn the w atch 
 from his pocket, and laid it upon the table that 
 stood between us. 
 
 "Well, then," said he, after a pause, and with 
 increased emoiion, " I think thirty pounds is 
 nearly the value; it has apparently been carefully 
 kept." 
 
 ' His offer was double what I expected ; for 
 the price obtained for the things already sold, 
 scarcely amounted to a third of their value. 
 
 " I am content," said I, weeping ; and taking 
 it, as I thought for the last time, in my hand, 
 could not refrain pressing it to my lips : " Fare- 
 well," cried I, "last token of the best beloved of 
 friends ! Could he even see me in this hour of 
 anguish, I should obtain his pardon." 
 
 " Thou hast it, my Anna — my child," — exclaim- 
 ed the stranger, clasping me in his arms; " hence- 
 forward doubly endeared by thy misfortunes." 
 
 ' I was so lost in astonishment, that I had not 
 power to repulse the stranger had I been so in- 
 clined ; but. fixing my eyes in silence on him, I 
 eagerly endeavoured to trace the person of my 
 uncle Walters, but in vain ; my uncle was fair, 
 lusty, and wore a brown wig ; while tliis stranger 
 was uncommoidy dark complexioned, thin, and 
 wore his own hair, which was as white as flax. 
 
INGLEWOOD FOREST. 225 
 
 *'And has ten years totally obliterated thy 
 uncle Walters from thy memory, Anna?" cried 
 he : " Indeed, 1 believe my person is changed, 
 but my heart is still the same." 
 
 My pleasure and amazement were too great, 
 for words ! I threw myself on his neck, and wept 
 in silence. Felix, who had withdrawn as soon as 
 my uncle entered, had in the mean time been 
 , with Mr. Palmer, to whom, not being charged to 
 keep silence as he was to me, he had disclosed the 
 happy meeting that was taking place, and return- 
 ed down stairs with him at the moment I was 
 weeping on the neck of my uncle. 
 
 ' In a few moments Mr. Walters seated me in a 
 chair, and affectionately saluted my husband, tell- 
 ing him all his pecuniary difficulties were over, 
 and to look forward to health and happiness. 
 
 ' In the mean time the behaviour of Felix was 
 still far from calm, and Inight have alarmed an 
 uninformed spectator for his intellects : he walk- 
 ed round his master, (for Felix was the identical 
 slave that had before saved his life) examined 
 his foce, touched his hair, rubbed his own hands 
 in an ecstasy of joy, and finally snatching up my 
 uncle's hat, that lay in the window, kissed it with 
 transport. 
 
 ' Our tumults being a little subsided, my uncle 
 bestowed a tear to the memory of my child ; but 
 peremptorily insisted that all the care of the 
 funeral should centre in himself; thus kindly en 
 deavouring to spare me what he truly surmised 
 must increase my sorrow. 
 
 10 2f 
 
226 THE FARMER OF 
 
 CHAP. XXV. 
 
 ' A FEW days after the remains of my infant were 
 consigned to the earth, Mr. Pahner and myself, 
 at the express desire of my uncle, removed to his 
 house, which he commanded me henceforth to 
 consider as my own. 
 
 ' The first emotions of grief for the loss of my 
 son, and the joy of meeting my uncle, were no 
 sooner subsided, than mutual inquiries took place 
 of all that had befallen us during a ten years 
 separation. 
 
 ' My uncle informed us that he had, as we truly 
 heard, been cast away, on his retiu'n from India, 
 on the coast of Caffraria, about three years after 
 he left England ; that the greater part of the 
 crew had perished in tlie wreck, twenty-four only 
 escaping, twenty of whom had endeavoured to 
 explore their way to the Cape of Good Hope, but 
 had doubtless perished either by hunger or from 
 the natives, as they had never reached it. For 
 the others, two were my uncle's domestics, and 
 the third, a young man, his clerk, who attended 
 him on his voyage ; all of whom determined to 
 share his fortunes when he refused to accompany 
 the party who sought the Cape, being convinced 
 it was imj)racticable without knowing the country ; 
 and a store of provisions, the small stock they 
 had been able to procure from the wreck, being 
 soon expended. 
 
 ' The inhabitants of the coast had at iirst be- 
 
INGLEWOOD FOREST. 227 
 
 haved with ferocity ; but finding- the unhappy in- 
 truders too few in number to give them alarm, 
 and likewise unarmed, and willing- to part with 
 any thing they possessed, as their clothes, watch- 
 es, or money, (the two last-mentioned of which 
 they converted into ornaments) they soon became 
 familiarized, and supplied them with milk, rice, 
 and venison, sufficient for their support. My 
 uncle's design was, if possible, to gain their confi- 
 dence sufficiently to persuade some, who were 
 best acquainted with the country, to accompany 
 them to one of the Dutch settlements ; for to un- 
 dertake to walk such an extensive tract of land, 
 penetrate the thick forests, cross such rapid ri- 
 vers, or climb the almost perpendicular moun- 
 tains, without a guide, was at once vain and im- 
 practicable. None, however, of the inhabitants 
 of the settlement had ever been at any great dis- 
 tance from home, (as they informed them when 
 they began to comprehend a little of the lan- 
 guage), nor would, for any reward, undertake 
 such a journey. Thus circumstanced, my uncle 
 thouoht his destination fixed, and endeavoured to 
 comfort his companions. — With the approbation 
 of the natives they erected themselves a hut, and 
 surrounded it in the manner of the Caffi'es, >vith 
 a plantation of rice. The clerk, who was a youth, 
 and one of the domestics, who was likewise young, 
 by infinite perseverance, learned to throw the as- 
 sagay with so much skill, that it not only procur- 
 ed them plenty of food, but raised them much in 
 the opinion of the inhabitants, who saw tliem with 
 pleasure give into their customs, and adopt their 
 weapons. 
 
228 THE FARMER OF 
 
 ' In this manner passed three years, my uncle 
 and his eldest domestic convinced they should 
 draw their last breath in this country ; and the 
 youni^er people only withheld from the wild un- 
 dertaking- of exploring their way to the Cape, by 
 affection for their companions. At this period 
 two brothers, (natives) who liad been made prison- 
 ers in a contest with some neighbouring nations 
 returned, after five years absence, the greater part 
 of which time they had resided in the distant 
 country of the Auteniqnas. Travelling, or per- 
 haps the difficulties they had endured, had en- 
 larged their minds ; for they treated the strangers 
 with more humanity than any of their compa- 
 nions, and, after holding various discourses with 
 them, as they now perfectly understood the lan- 
 guage, said, that affection for their father had 
 alone induced them to return, being much better 
 pleased with the inland country than the coast ; 
 and that, was their parent no more, for i proper 
 reward they would not scruple to risk the jour- 
 ney; but that, daring his life, nothing should 
 tempt them to forsake him. 
 
 ' This discourse again revived their hopes, for 
 the traveller's father was very old and infirm, 
 which gave them daily expectations of their wish- 
 es being soon fulfilled ; but, to their great disap- 
 pointment, he lingered two years. He was no 
 sooner dead than my uncle renewed his promises 
 of reward, and, in short, soon obtained what he 
 had so long solicited, they agreeing to accompany 
 him to the first Dutch settlement, where he had 
 no doubt but, by making himself known, he could 
 obtain credit for the promised reward, which was 
 
INGLEWOOD FOREST. 229 
 
 to consist of iron, tobacco, and other articles con- 
 sidered by them as particularly desirable. 
 
 ' The difficulties they encountered during this 
 journey were innumerable ; and would have been 
 impossible for them to support but for the re- 
 sources which necessity had taught the natives, 
 whose skill at their weapons constantly procured 
 food, the country abounding in elks, &c. They 
 were likewise well versed in the necessary pre- 
 cautions to secure them from the attacks of "vvild 
 beasts. Some days they could not advance more 
 than four or five miles, from the obstacles they 
 met with, as tliick woods and steep mountains ^ 
 at other times were detained by waiting the reflux 
 of prodigious rivers, which they were obliged to 
 cross, or to coast along the banks at the expence 
 of both time and fatigue. At length, however, 
 they reached a Dutch settlement, where their 
 appearance caused no small surprise; for my 
 uncle, as well as his companions, were naked, 
 the small remains of covering the natives had 
 left them having been so long worn out, that 
 they were grown perfectly familiarized to the 
 omission, and their skins changed to the com- 
 plexion of copper. 
 
 CHAP. XXVI. 
 
 * The Dutch factor received them with tolera- 
 ble kindness ; but did not appear willing to ad- 
 vance a reward my uncle thought adequate to 
 the services of the Caffres ; he therefore, without 
 
230 THE FARMER OF 
 
 much difficulty, persuaded them to accompany 
 him to the Cape ; and after some stay they re- 
 sumed their journey, and to their great satisfac- 
 tion at length reached it. 
 
 ' My uncle was well acquainted with two capi- 
 tal merchants there ; one, to his great disappoint- 
 ment, he found was dead ; but was more fortu- 
 nate in his second inquiry, though this friend at 
 first did not know him ; but after some few pre- 
 liminaries, acknowledged and readily embraced 
 him, insisting that he should take up his residence 
 at his house, and draw on him for what sums he 
 found necessary. 
 
 ' My uncle at first thought to write to England ; 
 but after a short time determined to surprise his 
 friends. The merchant's offer he willingly ac- 
 cepted ; his first care being to reward his guides 
 to the utmost extent of their wishes, dismissing 
 them with four oxen loaded with what they 
 thought most valuable. 
 
 ' The business settled, he waited for a home- 
 ward-bound Indiaman, and at length embarked 
 with his three faithful companions for Europe, 
 which he reached after a pleasant voyage. 
 
 ' On his first landing he immediately j^epaired to 
 my father's ; and though his appearance was now 
 very respectable, yet the change his person liad 
 undergone rendered him perfectly unknown : lie, 
 however, soon made himself acknowledged, and 
 then learned, to his grief, that his sister was dead, 
 and myself, his great favourite, married toawortli- 
 less man, who had lately become a bankrupt, and 
 with whom I was now withdrawn, no one khew 
 whither. It was not my uncle's custom to con- 
 
INGLEWOOD FOREST. 231 
 
 demn imlieard ; he therefore determined, if pos- 
 sible, to see me, for he found no great predilection 
 for my father's wife ; and even declined taking up 
 his residence with them. He had been but a 
 fortnight in England when he met with Felix; 
 and had already advertised three times, desiring 
 me, if alive, to apply lo his attorney; or, if any 
 one could give intelliijence respecting me, offering 
 a reM'ard. This kindness had, however, been fruit- 
 less, for we never saw the newspapers ; nor did 
 any one, since our last removal, know where to 
 find us, as we wished to conceal our miseries from 
 the world. 
 
 ' The morning my uncle fortunately met Avith 
 Felix, he had accidentally, in passing along 
 Cheapside, recollected that he wanted a watch ; 
 and walking into a shop, the man had showed him 
 several, and they were on the point of making 
 an agreement when Felix entered. My uncle 
 recollected him at once, but astonished to find 
 him in England, stood for a moment lost in sur- 
 prise, and seeing him offer a watch for sale, de- 
 termined, if possible, to remain undiscovered, and 
 wait the event ; but what was his astonishment, 
 on taking the watch from the hand of the shop- 
 keeper, to recognise it for the same he had former- 
 ly given to me ! " How came you by this watch, 
 my friend ?" said my uncle, addressing him in a 
 kind voice ; "it appears to be a woman's, and of 
 some value." 
 
 ' Though my uncle's person had totally escaped 
 the notice of Felix, yet the sound of his voice 
 startled him, and viewing him for a moment with 
 fixed attention, he answered, withdrawing his eyes 
 
232 THE FARMER OF 
 
 with a sigh, " Bless your voice, it is like music to 
 my heart! — The watch is not mine, but a lady's, 
 who must sell it to pay those rites which your 
 country's custom demands before the body of her 
 child can be permitted to mingle with the dust ; 
 to hire men who assume the semblance of sorrow 
 with a black coat, and pay for a peculiar spot of 
 earth, as if all on which the sun shines was not 
 equally hallowed !" 
 
 "And what is the lady's name?' said my 
 uncle. 
 
 " Palmer," replied Felix. 
 
 ' My uncle made no reply ; but seating himself 
 by the counter remained lost in thought. 
 
 "And what do you ask for the watch?" said 
 the shop-keeper, addressing Felix. 
 
 " She leaves it to yourself," returned he ; " she 
 is no judge: but I conjure you, by the God you 
 profess to serve, consider her distress, and do her 
 justice; — a dead infant!— an almost dying hus- 
 band !— weigh these sorrows ere you speak. Ah ! 
 had you seen her part with it, you could have 
 judged of its value. It was the gift of my best 
 friend, said she ; then pressed it to her lips and 
 wept :— it is yet dull with her tears !" 
 
 " I will kiss them off," cried my uncle, snatch- 
 ing the watch. " Ten thousand pounds shall not 
 purchase it." 
 
 ' Th€ shop-keeper looked astonished, while Fe- 
 lix again fixed his eyes attentively on the face of 
 my uncle with visible agitation. 
 
 " Have ten years hardship and grey hairs made 
 such an alteration, Felix," said my uncle, " that 
 1 have lost a friend the preserver of my life?" 
 
INGLEWOOD FOREST. 233 
 
 * Felix gave a loud cry, and fell senseless at 
 his feet. 
 
 ' By the care of the master of the shop Felix 
 was soon restored ; but his effusions were ungo- 
 vernable ; he could neither ask nor answer ques- 
 tions ; all was genuine transport, unmixed with 
 form or restraint, and spoke the unadulterated 
 language of nature. 
 
 * At length, being somewhat calmer, my uncle 
 informed him, that he suspected the owner of the 
 watch was his niece ; and desired to know how 
 he became accpiainted with me. 
 
 'Felix disjointedly related what he knew; 
 mixing the whole with encomiums on myself 
 and Mr. Palmer; not forgetting a tear to my 
 little one. 
 
 ' My uncle then determined to accompany him 
 back ; charging him to say nothing of what had 
 passed, but to introduce him as a person sent to 
 conclude the bargain for the watch. 
 
 ' Felix certainly obeyed him to the best of his 
 power ; but nature in him was superior to art, 
 and, in spite of all his endeavours, could hardly 
 be restrained. 
 
 * I have now informed you how my uncle and 
 Felix met ; and have only to tell you that, even 
 when sun*ounded with affluence, I was to feel 
 yet more acutely than ever ; for in three months 
 after finding my uncle, I lost my beloved hus- 
 band ; his misfortunes had made an impression 
 never to be erased, and which totally ruined his 
 health. Bath and the various watering-places in 
 the kingdom were tried in vain ; he died in my 
 arms, one of his hands locked in that of my iiiicle, 
 
 10 2 G 
 
234 THE FARMER OF 
 
 blessing the Almighty that he had lived to see me 
 secm*ed from want, — and perfectly resigned to his 
 fate.— Pardon me, my friends ; though time has 
 also taught me resignation, yet can I not forget 
 that I was once a wife and mother:— tender 
 claims, ye are written on my heart in traits never 
 to be obliterated.' 
 
 Mrs. Palmer ceased, and for some time gave 
 vent to the emotion painful recollection occasions ; 
 nor were her auditors unmoved, all bore silent 
 sympathy. Godwin rose and walked to the win- 
 dow ; Agnes had involuntarily laid lioid of her 
 hand ; and Fanny instinctively drawn her chair 
 close to hers. 
 
 ' It is past,' said Mrs. Palmer. ' I will conclude 
 a narrative that I am not sorry to see has interest- 
 ed you ; it will teach you, Agnes, that there are 
 others equally unfortunate with yourself.' 
 
 ' Equally unfortunate,' replied Agnes, ' they may 
 be ; but few, I hope, have equal cause for self- 
 reproach.' 
 
 Mrs. Palmer, to prevent farther discourse on 
 the subject, resumed her narrative. 
 
 'Though I by no means aggravated the behavi- 
 our of Mrs. Sommerton, and totally endeavoured 
 to exculpate my father, yet my uncle came to an 
 immediate settlement with him, reimbursing him 
 for the trouble he had taken, and having a prodi- 
 gious sum to receive, the interest having accumu- 
 lated on the principal for ten years. 
 
 ' A coldness had subsisted between them ever 
 since my uncle discovered me ; and tlie business 
 between them was no sooner completed than an 
 entire alienation took place, which my father's 
 
INGLEWOOD FOREST. 235 
 
 wife did not fail to attribute to the influence my 
 art had gained over my uncle. 
 
 ' He next settled his domestic economy, giving 
 me the entire command, and retaining Felix, by 
 his own desire, about his person, rendering him 
 first independent, that in case his mind should 
 hereafter change, he might be under no re- 
 straint. 
 
 ' For the faithful attendants who were ship- 
 wrecked with him, the clerk he retained as stew- 
 ard to his estates ; and for the other two, the 
 elder retired upon a comfortable provision ; and 
 the younger married, and was by my uncle set- 
 tled in a lucrative business. 
 
 ' I have now but little more to tell you. My 
 friendly kind uncle survived his return ten years : 
 in him at once I lost a tender parent and a sincere 
 friend ; nor could his whole fortune, whicli he left 
 me without restriction, have any eft'ect but making 
 me more sensible of my loss, as it plainly proved 
 how truly he esteemed me. The disposal of my 
 uncle's effects, as you may suppose, was very dis- 
 pleasing to my father, whom, however, I have never 
 seen, though he is still living. On my uncle's death 
 I endeavoured to banish my melancholy by travel- 
 ling and change of place. Inglewood I had fre- 
 quently heard him speak of, but never seen, as it 
 was purchased before he w^ent abroad, and had 
 not been visited since his return ; his precarious 
 health usually confining us in the neighbourliood 
 of the capital, for the advantage of medical assist- 
 ance. The situation particularly pleased me ; 
 and disliking a town life, I determined to fix my 
 residence there : a resolution I do not think I shall 
 
236 THE FARMER OF 
 
 change, as I esteem my neighbours, and hope 
 they do the same by me.' 
 
 Mrs. Palmer ceased, and received the thanks 
 of Godwin and his daughters ; the former of 
 whom saidi 'Esteem, Madam, however flatter- 
 ing the term may be, when applied from you to 
 us, is not comprehensive enough to express what 
 we owe'to you : add to it gratitude and affection, 
 and it will more nearly declare the sentiments 
 your kindness has inspired.' 
 
 ' Ah !' said Agnes, ' I shall nevermore, Madam, 
 look on Felix's face with dislike ; I shall consi- 
 der him as attending the little sufferer, and for- 
 get his complexion.' 
 
 ' I always liked him,' added Fanny ; ' but from 
 this day he will be yet more estimable to me.' 
 
 ' I shall leave you to-morrow,' replied Mrs. 
 Palmer ; ' and will desire him in my absence to 
 relate to you how he saved my uncle's life, — the 
 reason of his leaving Jamaica, — and his subse- 
 quent distress in England. I should not neglect 
 to tell you that his grief on my uncle's death was 
 equal to my own ; and, though I offered to dou- 
 ble the independence my uncle had left him, he 
 declined it, entreating that he might never leave 
 me.' 
 
 " Do not banish me. Madam," said he ; " I am 
 almost sixty years old ; and shall die with grief 
 if I am again driven into the world." 
 
 * You will easily suppose he was not necessi- 
 tated to press his suit ; I assured him he was 
 free to choose, and in consequence he remains 
 my confidential servant ; and I do not blush to 
 add, — my friend.' 
 
INGLEWOOD FOREST. 237 
 
 Fanny and Agnes then retired to their cham- 
 ber ; after -svhich Godwin and Mrs. Pahner con- 
 versed for some time, both coinciding in their 
 fears that Agnes would hardly sm-vive the event 
 that was now almost daily expected : — a thought 
 that wounded Godwin to the soul, and grieved 
 the friendly Mrs. Palmer. 
 
 CHAP. XXVII. 
 
 On the morning following, Mrs. Palmer arose 
 early, and taking leave of Godwin and the sisters, 
 returned to Inglewood, leaving Felix to execute 
 any commission they might want, or, in case of 
 any alteration, ride over to the Forest; for though 
 he was in years he was strong, and able to under- 
 take a far longer journey. She likewise desired 
 him to relate such events as might illustrate her 
 own story, and pass the time in her absence. 
 
 The evening after her departure, Fanny re- 
 minded him of the promise, desiring him to take 
 a seat among them ; which, however, he declined 
 until much pressed ; then drew a chair at a re- 
 spectful distance, and began as follows : — 
 
 ' I was born on the coast of Guinea, and kid- 
 napped from thence when about twelve years old, 
 and brought to Jamaica, where I was exposed to 
 sale. Among others my late master's father, Mr. 
 Walters, came to view me, but thought me not 
 
238 THE FARMER OF 
 
 fit for labour ; his son, who was about my own 
 age, was with him, and looked upon me with 
 such compassion, that, sensible of my situation, 
 I could not avoid saying, " If I must be a slave, I 
 had rather be so to you than any other." I was, 
 however, not understood ; my melancholy there- 
 fore rather interested him than my words ; for 
 running up to his father, he pressed him so warmly 
 to purchase me, that he at length consented . The 
 bargain concluded, I was ordered to follow them 
 home, and introduced to my mistress, who was 
 a West Indian by birth, but had married Mr. 
 Walters, who was an Englishman, when on a visit 
 in that country, where her children had liiiewise 
 both been born. Education and example had 
 rendered Mrs. Walters harsh and unfeeling : as 
 she was so to her husband and son, you may 
 therefore readily suppose the slaves were not 
 exempt. I know not whether you are acquainted 
 with it, but it is the custom to mark the newly- 
 purchased slaves just above the shoulders with the 
 initials of their owner's name : an operation that is 
 performed by heating a piece of silver, on which 
 the letters are engraven, over a flame of spirits, 
 and pressing it on the back. This ceremony Mrs. 
 Walters always performed herself, affirming, that 
 the slaves never pressed the stamp sufficiently to 
 make the letters legible. After finding number- 
 less faults (at least I judged so by lier actions and 
 countenance) she made ready to give me the 
 usual mark, which, though in reality no more than 
 a common burn, appeared doubly horrid, from 
 the preparation. My young master, who was 
 Called Henry, was not present, but enteretl at tlie 
 
INGLEWOOD FOREST. 293 
 
 moment: I knew not then what he said, yet 
 could plainly understand by his gestures that he 
 was pleadmg for me, for I was crying bitterly 
 from the mere dread ; but I afterwards learned 
 from an old slave who was present, that he insisted 
 to his mother, who, in spite of her temper, was 
 extravagantly fond of him, that his father had 
 bought me for him, and that he had determined 
 I should be marked with his initials only. A short 
 contention ensued ; but my young master got the 
 better, and bore me off with my back unmarked,— 
 but his goodness engraven on my heart in far more 
 indelible characters. 
 
 ' From this time I can truly say I loved him ; I 
 wished to learn his language, to express my grati- 
 tude. He was sensible of my endeavours, and 
 would frequently condescend to teach me my 
 letters ; and finding I was not dull, persevered 
 with an attention uncommon for his youth, until 
 I could write to make myself understood, and 
 read passably well. By this time I was about 
 fourteen, and perfectly understood my situation, 
 which 1 considered as fixed for life, yet cannot 
 say the thought on my own account gave me 
 much pain ; so true it is that kindness and huma- 
 nity may make even bondage bearable. About 
 this time my mistress, who was extravagantly 
 fond of china, had a present of a valuable set from 
 England ; and which was placed on a table in the 
 saloon. One day that my master and mistress 
 were gone some miles on a visit, Mr. Henry and 
 myself were trying who could leap the farthest in 
 the same apartment, when unfortunately he fell 
 against the table, and totally demolished the 
 
240 THE FARMER OF 
 
 tvhole. For a moment our fears kept us silent : 
 to conceal it was impossible ; and we well knew 
 that her rage would exceed all bounds. At 
 length we agreed to retire to a pavilion in the 
 farthest part of the garden, until the first storm 
 should be blown over, and that Mr, Henry should 
 present himself, and express his contrition. We 
 accordingly went thither : I could not but see 
 that this silly accident made him uneasy, and 
 racked my mind how to exculpate him from any 
 share of the blame. At length, having remained 
 until we were assured my mistress must have 
 been some time returned, and have discovered the 
 mischief, as she always sat in the saloon, I pro- 
 posed that I should repair to the house, and dis- 
 cover how she bore the loss : if with calmness I 
 wovild wait for him at home ; but if, on the con- 
 trary, she was outrageous, I was to return in tlie 
 course of an hour, and let him know. He con- 
 sented to this conditionally : I was, as the secret 
 was entirely between us, not to confess I was 
 even present when it happened, but to say my 
 young master had told me of the misfortune, and 
 was under great concern for it. 
 
 ' This plan settled, I returned home ; but T 
 know no terms strong enough to paint the confu- 
 sion I was witness to : all the slaves had been 
 called, and accused with the mischief, but their 
 innocence alone had been a poor defence ; she had 
 buffeted and struck them with her own hand, 
 Mr. Walters in vain endeavouring to pacify her. 
 I entered at this moment. I was a new object : 
 screaming with passion, she exclaimed, *' It is this 
 young villain that has done it ; I see it by his face : 
 
INGLEWOOD FOREST. 211 
 
 1 will have him flayed alive." Summoning all my 
 courage, which 1 confess was inferior to the love I 
 bore Mr. Henry, (for liad not the latter supported 
 me I should certainly have relinquished my pur- 
 pose) I replied, If I have done it, Madam, I am 
 willing to pay the forfeiture.' 
 
 " And pay it you shall," furiously exclaimed 
 she ; and without further question, ordered me to 
 be taken into the court and severely whipped. 
 Had not my pride supported me at that moment, 
 I know not what might have happened ; but the 
 idea of showing my young master of what I was 
 capable of bearing to screen him from blame, ren- 
 dered me equal to the effort ; and I accompanied 
 the men who were to punish me, without resist- 
 ance, tears, or entreaties ; my mistress, with an 
 inhumanity unbecoming her sex, placing herself 
 at a window to see her commands properly obeyed. 
 I was tied to a post, my crime proclaimed aloud, 
 my back uncovered, and the scourge raised to 
 strike, when Mr. Henry rushed so suddenly be- 
 tween myself and the executioner, that he could 
 not withhold his hand, the blow fell on liis 
 shoulders, and dyed his cotton waistcoat (which, 
 except a shirt, was his only covering) with blood. 
 Distracted at the sight, I cried aloud, and strug- 
 gling with violence broke the cord that lield me, 
 covering his body with my own ; but there was 
 no occasion, the man who inflicted the punish- 
 ment stood aghast, without attempting another 
 stroke, my mistress at the same time making the 
 colonade resound with her screams ! — " Strike," 
 said my young master, " I alone am guilty ; think 
 you I will see another punished for it ? If the 
 
 11 2 H 
 
242 THE FARMER OF 
 
 paltry china must have a victim, let it be me, I 
 am the offender; and if blood must be the expia- 
 tion, it shall be mine." 
 
 'The behaviour of my young master put an 
 entire stop to the business ; my mistress was 
 shocked, and ordering me to my work, called Mr. 
 Henry to attend her to her chamber ; where see- 
 ing her weep as his shoulder was bathed with 
 spirits, he said, "Ah ! Madam, hereafter remem- 
 ber that the unhappy men, whom fortune has 
 placed at your command, have also equal feel- 
 ing, and perhaps parents, who may contemplate 
 their wounds with as much anguish as you do 
 mine !" 
 
 * Mr. Henry, almost immediately on my leaving 
 him, had followed me: he feared I should incur 
 his mother's anger for only bearing the news ; and 
 throwing off all fear, generously determined to 
 meet the storm himself. In a w ord, he arrived in 
 the critical moment I noticed, saved me from the 
 stroke of the whip, and wrote a fresh obligation 
 on my heart. 
 
 ' The favour of my young master procured me 
 the kindness of the slaves ; and from this time 
 until I was near twenty, at which period my 
 master and mistress Avere unhappily killed, my 
 sitilation was far from unpleasant. 
 
 * The estates adjoining to my master's were 
 very extensive, and belonging to two gentlemen 
 particularly disliked ; the one employed about 
 two hundred negroes ; and the otlier a yet supe- 
 rior number. These men, from repeated pro- 
 vocations, had formed the design of rising and 
 revenging themselves on their persecutors, and 
 
INGLEWOOD FOREST. 243 
 
 accordingly seizing an opportunity which they 
 thought favourable, tliey joined and executed 
 their purpose, killing their tyrants, and deluging 
 the estates with the blood of their oppressors. 
 
 ' This event had been planned by the slaves of 
 both plantations, and who, having satiated their 
 vengeance at home, hastened to the estate of Mr. 
 Waiters, which they reached by break of day, 
 (and w^hose wife, I am grieved to say, was parti- 
 cularly disliked) and, removing all opposition, 
 rushed in, and sacrificed both her and her too 
 complying husband to their resentment. 
 
 ' My young master's apartment was on the 
 other side the yard, and I, by his own desire, lay 
 in the ante-chamber : the noise awakened us, and 
 hastening to the window, what was our alarm to 
 see the carnage that had taken place? Mr. and 
 Mrs. Walters dead, — naked, and disfigured, were 
 carried and exposed in the open court, together 
 with several overseers, whom the negroes consi- 
 dered as their oppressors. The sight was too 
 much for an affectionate and dutiful son ; he fell 
 on the ground in a state of insensibility, which, 
 dearly as I loved him, I at that moment thought 
 happy. After hastening to fasten the doors of all 
 the outw ard apartments, I returned to the win- 
 dow, where I had the mortification to see that 
 many of our own slaves had joined them; and, 
 though not absolutely active, were at least passive 
 in the mischief. Throwing up the vv^indow, I cried 
 aloud to be heard ; but the general confusion for 
 some time rendered it impossible. " Give us your 
 young master," cried the strange slaves ; " we 
 have dug up the root, and will cut down the 
 
Ui THE FARMER OF 
 
 branch." With these words they advanced to 
 the outward door, and all hope nearly forsook 
 me, when calling aloud to several of our own 
 people by name, I said, " Hear me but a moment, 
 I have sometliing material to say ; I will then 
 throw open the doors, and leave you to act as 
 you please." 1 have already said I was fortu- 
 nate enough to be beloved by the companions of 
 my slavery, and the present instance proved it ; 
 for, crying aloud, they stayed their companions, 
 and entreated I might be heard, saying I was 
 their countryman, and a desirable ally, as I not 
 only understood the use of fire-arms, but could 
 also decipher the thoughts of Europeans, as they 
 expressed them in black characters on white pa- 
 per, and by tliat means might forewarn them of 
 threatened danger, if any such communication 
 should fall into their hands. Fortunately, this 
 reason procured a short cessation from violence, 
 and 1 was permitted to speak ; when address- 
 ing particularly our own people, who were 
 about two hundred, I said, as nearly as I can 
 recollect, — 
 
 " Friends, countrymen, and fellow- sufferers, it 
 is an European saying, tliat time and chance 
 happeneth to all : in you it is verified, the present 
 time is yours, and your enemies are crushed be- 
 neath your feet. But may not hereafter the same 
 chance make you the vanquished ? for what so 
 variable as fortune ? not even the moon itself is 
 lialf so inconstant. Then may not they redouble 
 our hardships, and plead for excuse that we set 
 the example of blood, and are only to be ruled 
 with a rod of iron. Their powers and resources 
 
INGLEWOOD FOREST. 245 
 
 in this island are numerous : what are ours ? A 
 ■herd of naked, unarmed men, whose sole defence 
 against their luinerous engines of death is bodily 
 strength and undaunted courage ; jDOor auxiliaries 
 to ward off the thunder of their cannon, or yet 
 more certain musket-shot. You have been cruelly 
 oppressed, I confess it ; but your tyrants have paid 
 the forfeit ; their blood rest upon their heads. To 
 the slaves of this plantation I v/ould simply direct 
 a question: What has Henry Walters done? If 
 he is the son of one of your oppressors, is that his 
 fault ? Is he to suffer for the errors of his parents ? 
 Let the man speak whom he has injured, and I 
 here pledge my truth to his, to yield him instantly 
 to his power. It is not yoii, Peter ; for I remem- 
 ber he saved you, at the expence of blows, from 
 his mother : — nor is it you, Caesar ; for when you 
 were ill how tenderly did he visit you, supplying 
 all your wants unknown to the family ! You, 
 Juba, I think, he purchased with the money 
 given him to expend in pleasure, because with 
 your former master you were harshly treated : it 
 is not therefore you, nor yet Stephen there ; for I 
 remember when his wife and child lay dying of 
 the small-pox, though he had never had that in- 
 fectious distemper, he came to see them, brought 
 them wine, and when they died he wept." 
 
 ' I here paused a moment ; but all being silent 
 I resumed, " If none answer, I must then pre- 
 sume none have been offended ; — why then do ye 
 seek the life of one who never wronged ye ? For 
 me, my friends, I freely declare, my own safety 
 i^ not dearer than his. Ingratitude is not a negro 
 vice, it is the produce of colder climates. He is my 
 
246 THE FARMER OP 
 
 friend ; his shoulders yet bear the scar of the whip 
 that would otherwise have marked mine; pain 
 with him was not to be put in competition with 
 truth ; he saved me at the expence of himself. I 
 have no more to say ; he is in this apartment; vain 
 would be our struggles against a multitude ; we 
 will make none : 1 will, as I promised, unbar the 
 doors, and if your hearts will let you, kill the 
 truest friend you have among the Christian men, 
 and stab the bosom who would willingly bleed to 
 give you liberty and happiness; for I will not 
 survive him: we will die together." 
 
 ' With these words I opened the doors ; my 
 master, who had recovered the first shock, ad- 
 vanced to meet them, presenting his breast, and 
 saying, *' I am prepared, strike." My country- 
 men, at these words, set up a loud cry, exclaim- 
 ing, " Live, white m^n ; live to conquer black 
 man by humanity." 
 
 * Soon after this the strangers began to disperse, 
 our own men who had been in any means instru- 
 mental to the mischief accompanying them, the 
 rest hanging their heads in mournful silence, or 
 falling at my master's feet, and entreating his 
 compassion and pardon. 
 
 ' My master, soon after this event, sailed for 
 England, and settled there; the melancholy scene 
 that had passed had disgusted him with Jamaica, 
 he therefore sold off the greater part of his posses- 
 sions, reserving only one small plantation, whose 
 situation he was particularly fond of. 
 
 ' At the earnest entreaty of tiie negroes he made 
 me the overseer ; first giving me my liberty, and 
 investing me with the entire command. 
 
INGLEWOOD FOREST. 247 
 
 ' I was very unwilling to be left behind ; but 
 my dear master so clearly pointed out that my 
 stay nearly concerned his interest and the quiet of 
 the plantation, that I consented. For twenty 
 years I fulfilled the duty he enjoined me with 
 great satisfaction to him, and also to those over 
 whom he had given me command ; and if I have 
 any thing in the world to boast of, it is that, by 
 mild measures, fifty negroes on our plantation did 
 as much labour as double that number on most 
 others. During the period before mentioned I had 
 seen my master four times, in the last of which he 
 informed me he should, in the year following, go to 
 India. Alas ! you know the event of that voyage ; 
 I even now tremble at the recollection. The news 
 of his being cast away, I can truly assure you, was 
 sincerely lamented by all his dependants ; but how 
 much more, I leave you to judge, was their sorrow 
 increased, when the year after they received the 
 dreadful tidings that the plantation was to be sold, 
 and the labourers disposed of to the best bidder ! 
 For myself I was ordered to England to render 
 up my accounts. With a heavy heart I bade 
 adieu to my faithful companions ; and on my 
 arrival in England immediately repaired to the 
 house of my master's brother-in-law : but what a 
 difference in manners ! — Mr. Sommerton was nar- 
 row-minded and avaricious; and having examined 
 my accounts, which he found perfectly just, he 
 discharged me entirely from his employ, present- 
 ing me with five guineas in recompence for my 
 services. I well knew my master had a niece ; 
 but what had I to expect from her, when her 
 father had treated me so inhumanly ! for had he 
 
248 THE FARMER OF 
 
 only empowered me to go to Jamaica, many 
 gentlemen would have been glad to employ me. 
 Tliank Heaven, hoM^ever, lie did not ; for by that 
 means I not only met my generous mistress, whom 
 1 did not even know by name, but also my revered 
 and lamented master. 
 
 ' Stranger in England, new to the customs and 
 manners, I at first found it difficult to get employ ; 
 but after some time was seldom at a loss, the 
 gardeners and farmers about Islington almost 
 constantly employing me. Here it was, as I be- 
 lieve you are informed, that I first met with Mr. 
 Palmer, and had some difficulty to persuade an 
 apothecary to walk into the fields to bleed him, 
 and which, I verily believe, he would not have 
 done, but from shame of my offering him a dollar 
 to keep until he was paid for his trouble. — Alas ! 
 nothing but the distress of a fellow-creature could 
 have forced me to make the offer, for the dollar 
 was presented me by Mr. Walters on the day he J 
 rescued me from being marked on the back ; 
 since which period I had ever worn it in my 
 bosom, having drilled a hole, and fastened it to 
 a ribband for that purpose. 
 
 ' When I met my long-lost master at the watch- 
 maker's, his person was so altered, that it totally 
 escaped my recollection ; yet the sound of iiis 
 voice attracted my attention, and made me anxi- 
 ously examine his features ; which, tliougli I found 
 exactly formed like those of the person I lament- 
 ed, yet the difference of ten years, complexion, 
 and grey hairs, deadened my hopes, until he 
 blessed me with a certainty, by calling me the 
 preserver of his life. 
 
INGLEWOOD FOREST. 249 
 
 'To paint my joy is impossible; let it suffice, 
 that I confess it the most happy day I ever expe- 
 rienced, save one, that on which I enjoyed the 
 pleasure of recalling to the minds of my country- 
 men the virtues of their master. Often has he 
 flattered me by naming* me the preserver of his 
 life, but it was his goodness and gratitude alone 
 that gave rise to the idea. His virtues alone pre- 
 served him ; they wanted only to be remembered, 
 to operate in their full force.' 
 
 When Felix ceased Mi*. Godwin arose, and 
 stretching out his hand, said, ' To express the 
 sentiments your narrative has inspired would, I 
 am sure, be displeasing to you ; I can therefore 
 only say, that for the time I have to live, I shall 
 be much gratified by being ranked among the 
 number of your friends.' 
 
 Felix took the offered hand, pressed it to his 
 bosom, and expressed his gratitude. 
 
 ' Ah !' said Agnes softly to Fanny, ' I would 
 compound for all men's faces to be like Felix's, 
 to make them equally virtuous.' 
 
 Fanny too expressed the satisfaction the narra- 
 tive had given her, after which the conversation 
 took a more general turn, the favourite topic, 
 however, being Mrs. Palmer's goodness, number- 
 less instances of which Felix repeated ; and among 
 others told them, that not only Mrs. Smith, where 
 they now were, but also her brother, the surgeon, 
 were totally indebted to her for their present hap- 
 piness, which he concluded by observing, they 
 were perfectly deserving of. 
 
 From this evening Felix rose considerably in 
 the opinion of the family ; Godwin ever assidu- 
 
 n 2 I 
 
250 THE FARMER OF 
 
 ously seeking his company, and frequently be- 
 guiling his sorrow for an hovu' by his conver- 
 sation. 
 
 CHAP. XXVIII. 
 
 At length the hour arrived when the uniiappy 
 Agnes was to feel the pangs of a mother ; her 
 strength before exhausted, and her spirits sunken, 
 she was ill able to bear the struggle of nature, 
 which was long and dreadful, being attended with 
 repeated faintings and returns of delirium, that 
 left little hopes of her recovery, should she even 
 live to be delivered. The kind and attentive 
 Fanny, almost equally agonized, kept close to 
 her side, praying, whispering comfort, and entreat- 
 ing her beloved sister to support her spirits, and 
 forget every thing but — that on her recovery 
 depended the happiness of her friends. 
 
 At length the practitioner, who was particularly 
 skilful, delivered her of a living daughter, which 
 he gave into the hands of the trembling Fanny, 
 who pressing it to her bosom, wept over it in 
 agony, Agnes being insensible for several hours 
 that she was a mother. 
 
 When the child was presented to Mr. Godwin, 
 he received it in his arms ; and raising his eyes to 
 heaven, exclaimed, ' May the blessing of an old 
 man, oftspring of sorrow, hover over thee ! may 
 
INGLEWOOD FOREST. 251 
 
 thou never feel the ingratitvide of a beloved son, 
 nor the shame of a deluded daughter ! may peace 
 and innocence attend thy steps ! and, to conclude, 
 may thou be more vntuoas than thy father, and 
 happier than thy mother !' As he ended he press- 
 ed its face with his lips ; and returned it to Fanny, 
 who laying it tenderly to sleep, was soon after 
 obliged to retire to her own bed, which was in 
 the same room with that of her sister. 
 
 Agnes slept long and heavily during the night 
 after her delivery; but the effort had been too 
 much for Fanny, who grew so ill that Mrs. Smith, 
 who sat up with them, thought it necessary to call 
 in the medical practitioner, who declared, that the 
 emotion and fatigue she had sustained had brought 
 on a premature labour ; and in two hours delivered 
 her of a dead child. 
 
 Agnes was perfectly collected when she awoke, 
 though disturbed by the general confusion ; and 
 sensible of what had passed, the pangs of her 
 sister redoubled her own. Weeping over her 
 sleeping infant, ' Alas ! child of sorrow and 
 shame !' cried she, ' thy birth has cost the life of 
 one who might have been the pride of its parents, 
 and produced to the world with honour, while 
 thou, unhappy babe,' continued she, 'if thou 
 livest, wilt be scorned by the rigid virtuous, and 
 pitied by the gentle. Ah ! may the same hour 
 that closes thy unhappy mother's eyes, close also 
 thine ! and in my bosom thy imiocent shame be 
 buried with my weakness !' 
 
 Fanny, who was declared in no danger if kept 
 quiet, ordered her bed to be placed close to that 
 of Agnes ; and taking the infant to her affection- 
 
252 THE FARMER OF 
 
 ate bosom, soon forgot she had given birth to a 
 dead child. 
 
 Mr. Godwin, on the first alarm, had sent Felix 
 to Inglewood, and wlio retm'ned the next day 
 with William and Mrs. Palmer. 
 
 William at once felt the sorrow of a dutifid son, 
 a tender brother, and an affectionate husband. 
 His father's health was visibly on the decline ; 
 Agnes grew daily weaker ; his beloved Fanny 
 was confined to her bed ; and he had lost the 
 second pledge of her affection. Godwin led the 
 way into the apartment, and casting his eyes 
 mournfully around, said, in a low voice, ' Alas ! 
 Edwin, couldst thou but see this thy work, it 
 surely would awaken thee to repentance !' 
 
 Mrs. Palmer drew near the bed of Agnes, and 
 seeing her overcome with confusion, took her 
 hand, saying, ' Banish your fears, my good girl ; 
 I came but to endeavour to speak peace to your 
 wounded spirit. I have long learned to distin- 
 guish betw een guilt and weakness ; yours is for- 
 given by your earthly father, and I have no doubt 
 by your heavenly one. Bear up, nor sink under 
 calamity ; your life is dear to your friends, and 
 necessary to this little one; endeavour then to 
 overcome the unhappy sensibility that destroys 
 you, and live to fulfil those claims which friend- 
 ship and paternal care have on your heart. 
 
 ' It will not be,' replied Agnes : ' though sensi- 
 ble of the kindness of my friends, I rejoice that 
 my dismission is at hand, and like a tired travel- 
 ler, look forward to the hour of rest. For the 
 little unfortunate I have no fears ; if it surA ives it 
 will not miss a mother's tenderness,' looking on 
 
INGLEWOOD FOREST. 253 
 
 Fanny. ' Would you believe it,' continued she, 
 * she gives it suck ; and, although a child of 
 shame, lulls it to sleep in her virtuous bosom !' 
 
 William, who was leaning over the bed of his 
 wife, dropped a tear on her face, and pressing her 
 hand to his lips, said, in a low voice, ' Oh ! Fanny, 
 how is it possible you can love Edwin's brother?' 
 
 ' Because I love virtue,' replied Fanny, warm- 
 ly ; ' and revere her in William Godwin.' 
 
 ' One thing alone,' continued Agnes, after a 
 long pause, during which no one broke silence, 
 ' hangs on my spirits : My unhappy child, should 
 its birth transpii'e, may be claimed by Edwin ; — 
 and Edwin, though alas! he must be beloved 
 until my heart shall cease to beat, is not I fear 
 virtuous enough to educate a daughter. But what 
 is education, or even example !' looking at Fan- 
 ny ; ' all I would, therefore, ask is, that, as she 
 cannot be produced at the Forest without divul- 
 ging my shame, and incurring the danger 1 dread, 
 that she may be put to nurse under the guidance 
 of Mrs. Smith, who is a good woman; my Fanny 
 will at least see her yearly, or perhaps oftener ; 
 and when time shall have obliterated my memory 
 from all suspicion, she will perhaps condescend 
 to take lier under her own care, and at a proper 
 age tell the story of her unhappy mother, but 
 conceal her father ; for Edwin's child, thou2-h 
 unknown, ought to respect him.' 
 
 Fanny attempted to reply, but Mrs. Palmer 
 prevented her, by saying, ' Warmly interested for 
 your family, from the iSrst moment I saw you, I 
 flatter myself I have a proposal to make, which 
 yet may be more agreeable. Fanny has already 
 
254 THE FARMER OF 
 
 the cares of a mother ; and, from her age, those 
 claims may be greatly increased, and sufficient 
 for her to fulfil. I have none of those cares, no 
 fears to apprehend, no scandal to dread, and 
 have frequently wished, as I am fond of children, 
 for one whom I might rear from its infancy, and 
 be witness of the growing virtues I would endea- 
 vour to inculcate ; for if I failed, at least my heart 
 should exculpate me. I propose then to adopt 
 this little stranger, — will hire a nurse, — take her 
 home with me in a short time, — guard her during 
 my life with care ; and, at my death, place her 
 above those temptations which frequently prove 
 so fatal to poverty.' 
 
 ' Best of women !' exclaimed Godwin, bending 
 his aged knee, ' accept an old man's thanks ; but 
 that God, whose precepts you follow, can alone 
 requite you.' 
 
 Mrs. Palmer raised him : ' Speak,' said she, 
 addressing Agnes. ' Do you approve my ofler V 
 
 Agnes clasped her hands, but could only arti- 
 culate an almost incoherent blessing. 
 
 ' I know not,' said Fanny, ' whether gratitude 
 should compel me to silence, or affection force me 
 to speak ; but, sure of favour from all, affection 
 for once sliall get the better. From tlie hour 1 
 found my little one was dead, J formed a plan, 
 which, I trust, will meet the approbation of all ; it 
 is to substitute this infant for my own, and to take 
 it home as such. My pregnancy,' continued she, a 
 slight blush crossing her cheek, ' was visible, and 
 known long before I left the Forest ; who then 
 can suspect the deception ? Surely none. The 
 secret will rest with ourselves and Mrs. Smith, 
 
INGLEWOOD FOREST. 255 
 
 whom we can trust. To your proposal, Madam,' 
 added Fanny, ' I would also make a reply, but 
 am unequal to the task ; to refuse your generous 
 offer would be to be unworthy of it ; let the cares 
 of the first year or two be mine, the rest will more 
 worthily fall on you, and may she live to prove 
 her gratitude !' 
 
 Agnes raised her eyes to heaven, and, after 
 strugo'iing a moment with her emotion, exclaim- 
 ed, ' Merciful God ! I thank thee, thou forgivest 
 me, or blessings would not thus be multiplied 
 upon me !' 
 
 Mrs. Palmer applauded Fanny, warmly saying, 
 ' Be it as your tenderness has best devised, most 
 exemplary of sisters ! To ask the opinion of either 
 your father-in-law or husband would be super- 
 fluous, their eyes sufficiently speak their senti- 
 ments ; the little one shall be baptized here, and 
 on your return acknowledged your child and my 
 god-daughter, which will, in some measure, ac- 
 count for her hereafter residing with me.' 
 
 The preliminaries thus settled, Mrs. Palmer, as 
 Agnes appeared exhausted, proposed to retire, 
 and was accompanied by Godwin and William ; 
 the first in silence contemplating on the arrange- 
 ment that had taken place ; and the latter in ex- 
 ultation, which he could not suppress, blessing 
 the hour that allied him to Fanny. 
 
 They were soon after joined by Bernard, who 
 had just arrived, anxious to see his daughters. 
 He was informed of all, and expressed the high- 
 est satisfaction at the arrangement, repeating his 
 unpolished thanks with a sincerity that politeness 
 <"annot always boast of. 
 
256 THE FARMER OF 
 
 On being introduced to his daughters, he scarce- 
 ly knew wliich to caress most ; and was not a little 
 dehghted to find Agnes better than he had dared 
 to hope, the return of her senses being regarded 
 by him as a certain symptom of her recovery; 
 embracing both his children, kissing the infant, 
 and assuring the weeping Agnes it was as dear to 
 him as herself. 
 
 He then observed that the absence of Godwin 
 and William from the Forest made more inquiries 
 than that of his daughters, and pressed them to 
 return with him the following day, observing, with 
 Mrs. Palmer's leave, the babe might be baptized 
 that evening, and all settled; that when he reached 
 home he should give out that Fanny had mis- 
 reckoned her time, and been unexpectedly de- 
 livered; and that Agnes was somewhat recovered, 
 and, with her sister, expected to return speedily. 
 
 * Ah ! my father,' cried Agnes, ' I shall, indeed, 
 speedily return ; but never more shall these eyes 
 behold the Forest of Ingle wood. Lay me by 
 Mrs. Godwin ; living she would not have despised 
 me, nor have forbidden my dust to be mingled 
 with hers. Fanny, my beloved Fanny, shall re- 
 turn with my unhappy babe drawing life from her 
 bosom ; hers shall return to moulder in mine.' 
 
 ' Why wilt say so V said Bernard, ' thou art 
 better I am sure, and do not make thy father un- 
 happy ; all will yet be well.' 
 
 Mrs. Palmer changed the discourse, by giving 
 her approbation to Bernard's plan of immediately 
 baptizing the child, that they might return, at 
 least all but Godwin, whom Fanny and Agnes 
 both (^treated mi2,ht remain. 
 
INGLEWOOD FOREST. 257 
 
 The curate of a neighbouring village was then 
 procured, and the child, by Mrs. Palmer's express 
 desire, baptized after her, Anna Palmer, and truly 
 registered as the daughter of Edwin Godwin and 
 Agnes Bernard, — the generous sponsor first taking 
 the clergyman aside, entrusting him with the un- 
 happy state of the mother, and entreating his 
 secrecy ; which he promised. 
 
 The ceremony was just concluded when the 
 medical practitioner entered, and pronounced 
 Agnes on the whole better, and Fanny almost 
 recovered ; entreated both might be kept quiet, 
 and soon after took his leave. 
 
 The following day Bernard and William de- 
 parted for the Forest, and soon after Mrs. Palmer; 
 first bidding an affectionate adieu to tlie sisters, 
 and promising to see them again speedily. 
 
 CHAP. XXIX. 
 
 Edwin, as before observed, had determined to 
 get leave of absence, and endeavour to develope 
 all that was passing at Inglewood ; he had no 
 doubt but Fanny had revealed to his father the 
 business of Harris ; and immediately surmised 
 that the health of Agnes was restored, and she re- 
 moved from the Forest, to be out of his power. 
 Full of this idea, he prepared for his departure ; 
 neither the entreaties of his wife nor yet the 
 11 2 k 
 
258 THE FARMER OF 
 
 ftiscination of Mrs. Whitmore having power to 
 alter his purpose, or even to procure intelligence 
 where he was going, Harris alone being in the 
 secret. Mrs. Godwin, whose temper was naturally 
 violent, and whoseconduct had proved how much 
 she was attached to Edwin, could ill brook such 
 constant neglect from a man she had raised even to 
 the height of his own wishes ; and havmg in vain 
 tried entreaties, could no longer conceal the senti- 
 ments his conduct inspired, and gave free vent to 
 her anger, reprobating her own folly and his in- 
 gratitude in the strongest terms ; all of which had 
 no effect but increasing his dislike to her, and 
 forcing expressions that wounded her in propor- 
 tion as she loved him. In short the agitation of 
 her mind brought on a fever, which raged with 
 such violence that her life was pronounced in the 
 greatest danger, and IM win's journey in conse- 
 quence stopped, not from affection, but merely to 
 preserve appearances. Harris, however, he im- 
 mediately sent off to Mr. Jeremiah Jenkins, to 
 procure all possible intelligence, and endeavour 
 to discover the retreat of Agnes. Mrs. Godwin's 
 fever, from its first appearance, had been declared 
 of the malignant kind, and on the tenth day ma- 
 nifested the most alarming symptoms : Edwin 
 was therefore, with all due preliminaries, desired 
 to prepare for an event, which gave him the 
 highest pleasure in expectancy, the death of his 
 wife. His conscience would, indeed, in spite of all 
 his endeavours, be troublesome, and present his 
 ingratitude in strong and glaring coloifrs ; but 
 these qualms were more than counterbalanced by 
 the rapturous idea of being at liberty to address 
 
INGLEWOOD FOREST. 259 
 
 Agnes, whose forgiveness he could not doubt, 
 circumstanced as they were, and he possessed of 
 a fortune which, even disinterested as she was, 
 could not fail of having its proper weight. 
 
 The cold severity of his father, and the warm 
 resentment of William, gave him some uneasi- 
 ness ; but even these he thought could be easily 
 surmounted ; he should represent his former con- 
 duct as an error he was unwarily drawn into, and 
 throw himself totally on the mercy of Agnes. Not- 
 withstanding these meditations, he was so good an 
 adept in the art of dissimulation, as to conceal his 
 pleasurable sentiments, under the specious guise 
 of concern and tenderness, attending his wife 
 with unwearied care, which was applauded by 
 the spectators, and highly grateful to the unhappy 
 object, who still loved him well enough to believe 
 every excuse he chose to advance for his past 
 conduct, and every asseveration for the future, if 
 she was spared to him. 
 
 Thus, for her own satisfaction, happily deceiv- 
 ed, she forgave all, and expired as he was seated 
 by her side, the unhappy victim of a misplaced 
 aft'ection, to which she had first sacrificed her 
 person and fortune, and lost her life ! 
 
 Though this event was more wished than 
 dreaded by Edwin, yet, when it arrived, it made 
 an impression which he could not immediately 
 shake off, particularly as he had no pleasurable 
 resources in his own mind to banish the uneasy 
 sensation, nor could he in such a case seek tiiera 
 abroad. 
 
 Mrs. Godwin had particularly desired to be 
 carried to the family vault of her parents in 
 
260 THE FARMER OF 
 
 Leicestershire ; and partial, even in her last mo- 
 ments, to the unworthy object of her affection, 
 had requested he would attend her remains : all 
 whicli he faithfully promised, and as truly per- 
 formed. 
 
 During Mrs. Godwin's illness Edwin had 
 heard twice from Harris, but nothing satisfac- 
 tory, except that it was reported Agnes's unhap- 
 py malady was rather decreased ; and that she 
 had only been removed for a change of air. 
 
 Possessed of this intelligence he attended his 
 ^vife's funeral, which was no sooner over than he 
 returned post to London, determined to settle his 
 affairs with all possible dispatch, repair to Ingle- 
 wood, procure his pardon, abjure his errors, and 
 wed Agnes as soon as her consent and decency 
 would allow. 
 
 He felt the influence wealth had on his own 
 heart, and doubted not but it must also have 
 some on that of Agnes ; and therefore determin- 
 ed, on what he thought a master-stroke, to silence 
 all reproaches. This was no other than causing 
 a deed to be properly executed, by which he en- 
 dowed her on their marriage with the entire com- 
 mand and disposal of the sum of ten thousand 
 pounds, which was more than the half of his pro- 
 perty ; and that he thought a full compensation 
 for past errors, and what must effectually silence 
 all present objections. 
 
 Thus prepared, he determined to depart and 
 join his servant at Jenkinss, make every neces- 
 sary inquiry, then act accordingly ; but the ev en- 
 ing previous to his journey received the following 
 letter from Hanis: — 
 
INGLEWOOD FOREST 261 
 
 'Sir, 
 
 * I have been indefatigable in the business in which you era- 
 ployed me; and hope this time to retrieve my error at Ingle- 
 wood. All my inquiries to discover the retreat of the sisters 
 were fruitless until yesterday morning, when I saw a chaise 
 pass the inn full speed, followed by your brother, and soon 
 after by the negro whom Jenkins mentioned. I lost no time; 
 but mounting my horse, kept them in view the whole day; and 
 towards evening saw them stop at a small house near Rich- 
 mond, where your brother handed out a lady, and dismissed 
 the chaise. 
 
 ' As this plainly proved it the place of their destination, I 
 rode into the town, entered an inn, and having ordered supper, 
 asked several questions, and among others, describing the 
 house and pretending to admire the situation, inquired to 
 whom it belonged. The waiter replied, it was originally pur- 
 chased by a lady of great fortune ; but who was supposed to 
 have given it to a Mrs. Smith, the widow of a sea-officer, and 
 sister of a surgeon in the town, whose name having inquired, 
 I ceased my questions, fearful of incurring suspicion. The 
 next morning being for your service. Sir, conveniently seized 
 with a bilious complaint, I walked to the doctor's to procure 
 a medicine, or rather intelligence ; but found the principal was 
 engaged with his patients, and a deputy, exactly suited to my 
 wishes, left in care of the shop. 
 
 ' After drinking one of his infernal potions, Avhich nothino- 
 but my respect to you. Sir, could have made me swallow, I 
 retired, entreating he would call on me at my iuii in half an 
 hour; as I assured him my disorder sometimes increased 
 very suddenly, and required immediate assistance. The 
 fellow was punctual ; but being quite recovered by the first 
 salutary draught, I generously. Sir, as I knew you would 
 approve, presented him with a couple of guineas for himself, 
 and called for a bottle of wine. In short. Sir, the money and 
 my elocution charmed him ; and the wine warming his heart, 
 he grew communicative, and before we had finished the second 
 bottle, perfectly understood each other ; he answering niy 
 questions as readily as I asked them. His master, he said, 
 was a close old fellow, whom it would be useless to iiiterro- 
 
262 THE FARMER OF 
 
 gate ; and that for his own part he knew little of the ladies 
 at Mrs. Smith's, except that one had just recovered from a 
 melancholy state of insanity, but was supposed in the last 
 stage of a consumption ; yet, on the whole, she was, he heard 
 his master say the evening before, better than he had seen her. 
 Not being able to procure more satisfactory information, I 
 dismissed him, having first finished another bottle, and ob- 
 tained his promise of calling on me again in the evening. I 
 was, however, much vexed and disappointed, for he returned 
 in an hour miserably drunk ; and, with a melancholy face, 
 informed me his employer had discharged him in consequence 
 of his being in liquor. 
 
 * Sincerely vexed at this, I entreated him to go back, and 
 endeavour to make his peace ; but he assured me his master 
 was so obstinate a dog it would be of no avail ; nor did he, 
 as he said, much care, as he had long purposed to go to 
 London. Thus obliged to acquiesce, I bade him farewell, and 
 sat down to give you this information, waiting your orders at 
 the Angel Inn in this town, and not venturing near Mrs. 
 Smith's, lest I should be discovered by your brother's wife, 
 and give suspicion. Waiting your answer with impatience, 
 ' I am. Sir, 
 
 ' Your humble servant, 
 
 ' Edward Harris.' 
 
 Edwin had no sooner read this letter, than 
 instantly ordering a post-chaise and four, he de- 
 parted, travelling day and night until lie had 
 reached Richmond, rejoicing at the intelligence 
 that Agnes's senses were restored ; and never 
 doubting but, as her malady proceeded from his 
 falsehood, liis return, ready to espouse her on any 
 terms, would remove it. 
 
 At first he thought of writing to his father or 
 Agnes ; but soon relinquished that project, say- 
 
INGLEWOOD FOREST. 263 
 
 ing, as he considered on the subject, ' No, no, 
 a personal interview, and that unexpected, will 
 be most decisive for me; a letter would be 
 only productive of a consultation, in which cold 
 prudence would be predominant, and our meet- 
 ing protracted ; while, on the contrary, if I take 
 them unprepared, on my knees entreat to be 
 heard, plead for pardon, and promise never 
 more to err, nature will at once incline my fa- 
 ther to pity, and love force my Agnes to forgive, 
 and once more receive my vows, — vows which 
 I henceforward mean to hold sacred ; for where 
 can I find such another angel? — Methinks I 
 already feel the exultation I shall experience on 
 presenting her to the world — she universally ad- 
 mired — myself universally envied: thus at once 
 gratifying botli my pride and love. 
 
 The ill state of health of Agnes would now and 
 then intrude ; but elated w ith the flattering pic- 
 ture ardent fancy had painted, he endeavoured to 
 cast off all uneasy reflections, and think alone of 
 the pleasure that awaited him. 
 
 On his arrival at Richmond he ordered the 
 bost-boy to the inn Harris had mentioned, and 
 found him waiting for either a letter or his arri- 
 val ; he could however inform him nothins: far- 
 ther than what he before knew, except that he 
 believed there were none of the male part of the 
 Inglewood family at Mrs. Smith's, as William 
 and Bernard had passed him on horseback on 
 tlie high road the afternoon he wrote the letter 
 which brought Edwin with such speed ; and 
 who arrived at Richmond the seventh day after 
 Agnes's delivery. 
 
264 THE FARMER OF 
 
 This news was not unpleasing to Edwin ; he 
 flattered himself he should be more successful by 
 taking Agnes alone, or at least only supported by 
 Fanny ; and therefore regardless of fatigue, he 
 determined to lose no time, but visit them that 
 very evening. 
 
 Harris would have dissuaded him from this step 
 as it was late, and he apparently much tired ; but 
 in vain ; he ordered him to show him the house, 
 which beforfe they reached it was nine o'clock, 
 and the night completely dark. 
 
 Arrived at the gate, Edwin dismissed his ser- 
 vant, and entered the court before the door. An 
 unusual tremor seized him as he raised his hand 
 to pull the bell ; and withdrawing it without the 
 effort, he paused a moment to reflect and recover 
 his emotion : ' Why do I tremble thus V said he. 
 ' What have I so much to dread, or whose frowns 
 need I fear? An hour's anger will be the most 
 of the business, or a few reproaches, which I shall 
 long to silence while uttered from the beautiful 
 lips of my Agnes : away then w ith this childish 
 folly ; I am determined to conquer and triumph 
 over every difficulty.' 
 
 During this soliloquy he was walking round 
 the house, the garden of which joined the fore- 
 court, and completely surrounded the dwelling. 
 
 In the back front was a door ; and what gave 
 no small pleasure, it was half open. Determined, 
 if possible, to discover whom he had to expect to 
 meet with, he cautiously entered, and for a mo- 
 ment stood still to listen ; but all was dark and 
 quiet, except on one side, in a parlour fronting 
 the garden, where he perceived a light under the 
 
INGLEWOOD FOREST. 265 
 
 door. Emboldened by the solitude around he 
 advanced, and lent an attentive ear; but no 
 sound reached it. His eye was next applied to 
 the key-hole ; but the apariment was apparently 
 deserted, though he could not see to the farther 
 end ; but plainly perceived two large candies 
 burning" on a table in the centre. At that mo- 
 ment he heard a walking over head, and was on 
 the point of retiring hastily ; but again all was 
 still, and he regained his post. 
 
 He now repented that he had not written first 
 to Agnes, to inform her of all that had passed, — 
 his contrition and intention ;---but it was too late. 
 ' Yet,' continued he, after a pause, ' as I am so 
 ridiculously weak to-night, I am half inclined to 
 retire, first leaving on the table in this apartment 
 the deed which makes the greater part of my 
 fortune over to Agnes : I have it in my pocket. 
 It will show her I am free to offer her my heart, 
 and prepare her for my reception to-morrow. It 
 is sealed and directed ; so there can be no danger 
 of leaving it; or should it by any means fail 
 into other hands, it would be useless. — Fortunate 
 thought ! it will save me a world of explanations, 
 nor can she be insensible- to it. I am to-night 
 overpowered with fatigue, and slrall to-morrow 
 urge my suit with redoubled ardour.' 
 
 Thus resolved, he opened the door with cau- 
 tion ; and, convinced the apartment was empty, 
 advanced ; but a scene at once presented, that 
 struck him with astonishment and horror ; for on 
 the side of the room he had not before seen stood 
 on tressles a coffin, smiply decorated with the 
 usual ensignias of death. A cold sweat bedewed 
 
 12 2 L 
 
266 THE FARMER OF 
 
 his forehead, his knees knocked together, and for 
 some moments his feet seemed rooted to the 
 gronrid. 
 
 At length, 'What business had I here?' ex- 
 claimed he; ' yet -what is this to me? — Cannot 
 people die without causing me this alarm ? I 
 blush at my folly to be thus startled at the sight 
 of a mere w )od8n case. Yet, merciful God! 
 should it contain my father, for he was said to 
 be ill ! but, fool that I am, he is doubtless at 
 Inglewood. Distraction,' continued he, viewing 
 the coffin, without approacliing it ; ' I can bear 
 no more ! Away foolish fear : I will be satisfied, 
 whatever be the consequence.' 
 
 With these \v ords he approached, and, with a 
 forced courage, snatched one of the candles from 
 the table, and advanced towards the object of his 
 terror, twice raising his hand before he could find 
 strength to remove the lid ; which at length push- 
 ing aside, regardless of the inscription, he dis- 
 covered, in the calm sleep of death, the beautiful 
 and once blooming Agnes, with an infant on her 
 bosom. 
 
 CHAP. XXX. 
 
 fli)\viN ga^e a cry of horror, — his strength for- 
 sook him, — the candle dropped from his enervated 
 hand, — and lie ftH senseless on the ground bv tlie 
 
INGLEWOOD FOREST. 267 
 
 side of the coffin. The noise alarmed the house; 
 and Godwin, leaving Mrs. Smith with Famiy, 
 ran towards the apartment, being joined on the 
 stairs by Felix, who had heard the noise, and who 
 was also hastening to learn the cause. Though 
 astonished on their first entering tlie room to find 
 a man extended, in all appearance lifeless, on the 
 floor, yet that sensation was speedily banished by 
 humanity ; curiosity, and every other idea, giving 
 Avay to the situation of the intruder. 
 
 Edwin was in deep mourning, and had fallen 
 on his face; which circumstance, added to his 
 dress, totally concealed liim from the knowledge 
 of liis father. Felix, most alert, ran to raise him, 
 and turning him from the position in which he 
 had fallen, at once discovered to Godwin the face 
 of his guilty son. 'Execrable murderer!' ex- 
 claimed the old man, withdrawing the hand he 
 had stretched out to assist him, as if it had touched 
 a serpent ; ' dost thou persecute her even in death V 
 
 By the application of water to his temples, 
 and the care of Felix, Edwin began to recover. 
 ' Cease your attention,' continued Godwin, gazing 
 on him with a countenance impressed with min- 
 gled grief and resentment ; ' let him die, lest he 
 live to commit more crimes, and swell the ac- 
 count beyond the reach of mercy.' 
 
 Edwin slowly revived ; and though neither fear 
 nor superstition had any share in his character, 
 yet his eyes first fixing on the figure of Felix^ bend- 
 ing over him (so powerful was the sense of guilt) 
 that, striving to disengage himself, he exclaimed, 
 shuddering with horror, ' Merciful God ! what 
 art thou ?' His eves at that moment met those of 
 
268 THE FARMER OF 
 
 liis father, and the emotion occasioned by the 
 person of Felix, as the lesser evil, instantly 
 vanished, and hiding his face on his shoulder, he 
 cried, 'Hide me, — save me, — my father's pre- 
 sence is too much, — all else I can bear.' 
 
 ' Unhappy, guilty wretch !' exclaimed Godwin: 
 'if you slu'ink tlius from my sight, liow w^ill you 
 meet that of a justly offended God, from whom 
 neither your crimes or murders are hidden ? The 
 longest life spent in contrition and penitence can 
 scarcely atone for parricide, perjury, the violation 
 of innocence, and the fell consequences of your 
 depravity, the death of one wliose only fault was 
 her misplaced tenderness ; and, finally, that of 
 an unhappy babe doomed even in its mother's 
 womb to fall a victim to your offences ! Can 
 Such deeds, Edwin, hope for mercy ? If they 
 can, delay not, but repent; and with a sincere 
 contrition seek for pardon.' 
 
 ' I dare not hope nor ask it,' answered Edwin ; 
 ' I am forsaken of God, and ere this you must 
 have cursed the day in which I received my being.' 
 
 'Alas!' replied Godwin, 'in an unhappy hour 
 of distraction, I indeed did more, I cursed thyself: 
 but what is my curse ? Seek to deprecate that of 
 Heaven. Guilty as you were, the mild angel 
 most injured, forgave, and even with her last 
 breath entreated pardon for thee!' 
 
 'Enough,' cried Edwin, 'it is complete; my 
 own curse is fallen on my devoted head ; repent- 
 ance and contrition are vain. Can they recall the 
 past, — reinstate me in innocence and your affec- 
 tion, — bring back my mother from tlie grave, or 
 awaken xA^gnes and her infant to life?' 
 
INGLEWOOD FOREST. 269 
 
 ^ Her infant!'' replied Godwin; but instantly 
 recollecting himself, and giving- into Edwin's mis- 
 take, he added, ' Thank Heaven her infant is 
 beyond the reach of iis inhuman father!' 
 
 ' Oh, God !' cried Edwin, in an agony of grief, 
 as he gazed on their lifeless forms, ' could I have 
 suspected this ! — a child!— Oh! Agnes— Agnes-— 
 what must have been thy sorrows ! This babe, 
 that might have been a pledge of love between 
 us, is but a fresh weiglit to plunge me yet deeper 
 in perdition ! Oh ! had she but lived to hear my 
 penitence, to know my sorrow ; or had even the 
 infant been spared, that I might repair to it the 
 wrongs done to its unhappy mother ! But it seems 
 as if all the avenues of mercy w^ere closed against 
 me. Yes, I feel the hand of Heaven is upon me, 
 and to struggle with my fate is vain L. You weep, 
 my father ; but what do I say ! I have no father, 
 —no brother,— lam alone,— cursed even in exist- 
 ence ! Could tears of blood obliterate my offen- 
 ces — yet what would they avail ! Oh ! that look 
 of innocence,' his face falling on the bosom of 
 Agnes, 'will sentence me to everlasting perdition!' 
 
 The distress of Godwin w^as too powerful to be 
 expressed in words ; he leaned against the foot of 
 the coffin, and appeared ready lo sink on the 
 floor from the violence of his emotion. 
 
 ' You have called me your friend,' said Felix, 
 addressing Godwin ; ' at this time permit me to 
 use the influence of one. Withdraw from this 
 scene ; consider the situation of your daughter- 
 in-law, and the anxiety she is now labouring 
 under.' 
 
 With these words Felix gently took the arm of 
 
270 THE FARMER OF 
 
 Godwin, who made no reply, and led him from 
 the sight of Edwin's unavailing sorrow. 
 
 Edwin now left alone, gave way to the most 
 frantic grief; he called aloud on Agnes,— execrat- 
 ed himself, — wept over her, — kissed her cold lips 
 and her right hand ; then raising her left, what 
 was his surprise to see on lier finger the ring w hich 
 he had placed there on the fatal night of her un- 
 doing ! This silent bat painful remembrancer re- 
 doubled his anguish and distraction ; he started, 
 the hand dropped from between his, and striking 
 his forehead w ith his clenched hands, he rushed 
 out of the apartment, exclaiming, ' Hell,— hell, 
 thou canst not give more extreme torture !' 
 
 Felix in the mean time led Godwin to his 
 daughter-in-law's chamber, wliere he forced him 
 to swallow a glass of wine, then hastened down to 
 the room where he had left Edwin, who was gone, 
 as already related ; and in such confusion that his 
 hat still lay on the floor, where it had at first fallen. 
 
 Felix had bat just communicated this intelli- 
 gence to Godwin, when a ringing was heard at 
 the gate, and which proved to be William, who 
 was arrived from Ingle wood. His sorrow for the 
 loss of Agnes was not inferior to that of his wife 
 and father ; and w as greatly increased by the 
 scene which he heard had just passed. The news 
 of Agnes's death had reached him two days before; 
 but the distress of Bernard had rendered liim in- 
 capable of attending them there; the particulars of 
 the unhappy event were therefore unknown to him. 
 
 Agnes had died on the third day after her deli- 
 very, the flat tering symptoms so frequent in decays 
 having suddenly disaj)peared, and given place to 
 
INGLEWOOD FOREST. 271 
 
 the immediate prognostics of approaching- dissohi- 
 tion. Calm and resigned, she endeavoured to 
 speak comfort to her weeping sister and the still 
 more nnliappy Godwin ; gave the kindest remem- 
 brances of duty to her father, and gratitude to 
 Mrs. Palmer and William ; and, finally, in the 
 broken snatches of her breath, fervently prayed 
 for her infant and Edwin. 
 
 ' Oh, Father of mercy !' cried she, ' by the peace 
 thou hast deigned to shed on my soul, I trust I 
 am forgiven ! Oh ! extend thy goodness to the 
 partner of my crime, awaken him to repentance 
 and virtue ; his faults are not beyond thy power 
 to pardon ; error to man is as inherent as mercy 
 and forgiveness are to thee. Bless my babe ; may 
 every sorrow I have felt be repaid by a blessing on 
 my child ! Make her worthy those friends Avhom 
 thou hast raised to shield her from the opprobrium 
 that must have otherwise fallen on her helpless 
 innocence. At some distant time may her father 
 love her as I would have done ; so shall my spirit, 
 if permitted to look down on earth, be gratified.' 
 
 Agnes ceased for a few moments, and appeared 
 to struggle for breath ; but recovering in some 
 degree, she resumed, addressing Godwin: — ' Oh! 
 my dear, my honoured parent, for so I Avill call 
 you for this last time, give not way to sorrow ; 
 weep not for me ; Fanny will repay my debt of 
 love and duty. Fanny, my beloved companion, 
 sister, friend, what words can I find to address 
 thee, or what blessings equal to my wishes ! The 
 strongest I can express is, thy own deeds hang- 
 over thee : Assist my worthy brother in comfort- 
 insr my father : tell him I wished to fix mv last 
 
2^2 THE FARMER OF 
 
 looks on biiii.' Then turning her exph'ing eyes 
 towards Godwin, she added, after a painful and 
 convulsiYe pause, ' Bless all my friends !•— Par- 
 don, my father, pardon the deluded Emma ! — tell 
 her I remembered her at this awful hour. And, 
 Oh God of mercy, hear my prayer!— forgive ray 
 unhappy Edwin !' 
 
 This sentence she pronounced with energetic 
 earnestness, her eyes raised with fervent hope, 
 and a sweet smile of placid happiness enlivening 
 her features ; then gently bowing her head for- 
 ward, as she pronounced the last word, expired 
 without a groan, struggle, or any con^ ulsion, that 
 might mark the tinal separation of the active spirit 
 from its earthly tenement ! 
 
 Though this event had long been expected, yet 
 the shock it occasioned was dreadful. Had not 
 Godw in s grief been divei;ted by the situation of 
 his daughter-in-law, he had undoubtedly sunk 
 under it ; but her sorrow, in some measure, be- 
 o-uiled him of his own. She iiad been delirious 
 the whole night after her sisters death, calling 
 aloud on Agnes, and struggling to get out of bed 
 to go to her ; but exhausted by the exertion, to- 
 wards morning had fallen into a heavy sleep, 
 during which Mrs. Smith had persuaded Godwin 
 to have the body of Agnes removed, as the sight 
 at a future period would but increase her grief. 
 Fanny, after a ^ew hours rest, aw akened, relieved 
 from the fever, and resigned to her loss, the acute- 
 ness of her first sorrow sinking into a serenity that 
 at once bespoke her fortitude and religion. 
 
 At first she seemed dissatisfied that Agnes w^as 
 moved ; but her father's reasons were admitted 
 
INGLEWOOD FOREST. 273 
 
 with a sigh of acquiescence, and pressing the babe 
 to her bosom, she exclaimed, ' Agnes, if ever 1 
 forget thy worth, so far as to love any child more 
 than this thy sacred deposit, may the Almighty 
 show me my error and ingratitude by depriving 
 me of it.' 
 
 In the morning a man had been sent off to 
 Inglewood by the surgeon, as Felix could ill be 
 spared in the general distress, to convey the news 
 by letter to Mrs. Palmer, entreating her to break 
 it to Bernard and William, the former of whom 
 had been so violently shocked at the intelligence, 
 that William, however distressed, and anxious to 
 attend his wife and father, could not determine to 
 leave him until he became more calm. 
 
 Agnes, in this interim, had been put into the 
 coffin, and the babe of Fanny, conformable to 
 what she had herself expressed, placed by her side. 
 This arrangement had likewise another incentive; 
 Fanny wished her infant to be buried at Ingle 
 wood ; and by this means she was conveyed 
 thither without the questions which a second 
 coffin would doubtless have occasioned. 
 
 On Agnes being placed in her last receptacle, 
 Mrs. Smith had attempted to draw the ring from 
 her finger; but either from the stiffness of death, 
 or its swelling, had found this difficult to effect, 
 and therefore had referred the task to lier brother, 
 in which interim Edwin had arrived, and added 
 redoubled anguish to the yet bleeding wounds of 
 the family. 
 
 William, on his first arrival, hastened to the 
 chamber of Fanny, whom he found employed in 
 endeavouring to restore his father to some degree 
 12 2 m 
 
274 THE FARMER OF 
 
 of calmness. He looked at her in silent admira- 
 tion ; traces of the most poignant affliction sat on 
 every feature, yet she evidently endeavoured to 
 suppress her own feelings, fearful of adding to the 
 general unhappiness. Having first embraced his 
 father, he advanced towards her, and throwing his 
 arms about her as she sat up in bed, could only 
 express his sorrow by speechless agony. For 
 some time she joined her tears with his ; but soon 
 recovering her emotion, she said, ' Is this, Vv il- 
 liam, the way you should teach me fortitude? 
 We both loved Agnes, as our actions to this little 
 one shall prove ; but we have also other duties to 
 fulfil, to comfort our parents by conquering our 
 own grief, and enabling them to bear theirs, by 
 showing them they have children yet left to soften 
 the sorrows of their age.' 
 
 ' Matchless woman!' cried Godwin ^ — with 
 such a monitor should Wilham ever err, how 
 heavy must be his condemnation !' Then strug- 
 gling with his emotion, he entered into tlie par- 
 ticulars of what had passed, expressing his con- 
 cern at the outrageous grief of Edwin, and his 
 surprise how he could enter the house, and also 
 depart so privately. This mystery was, however, 
 soon explained by Felix, who informed them that 
 the glass door to the garden had been left open, 
 and that he had doubtless entered and departed 
 that way. His discovering their retreat was also 
 a subject of wonder ; but his apparent ignorance 
 respecting the infants convinced them his intel- 
 ligence could not give them material uneasiness, 
 as he would not fail to keep secret the share bci 
 liad in Agnes's death. ., 
 
INGLEWOOD FOREST. 275 
 
 * Good Heaven !' cried Godwin, ' should the 
 unhappy boy, in this hour of anguish, rush into 
 the presence of his Creator ! Ahis ! I even yet 
 tremble at the remembrance of the horror and 
 despair which dist(^Tted his features !' 
 
 William made iio reply, but soon after leaving 
 his father and Fanny, he, with Felix, walked into 
 the town, and inquired at the various inns for his 
 brother, both by name and describing his person. 
 At the last he called, he was told that such a 
 gentleman had that very evening arrived about 
 seven o'clock, and inquired for a man who had 
 resided there near a week ; that both had gone 
 out together, but returned separately ; the first 
 returned in a short time, tlie other after some 
 stay, and in a state of frenzy ; that he had struck 
 his companion, and ordered a chaise and four 
 almost instantly after his return, and finally had 
 been gone, accompanied by the man who was 
 apparently his servant, near two hours. 
 
 With this intelligence William hastened to his 
 father, to whom he disclosed it, both being more 
 reconciled on the reflection that Edwin was not, 
 at such an hour of deserved punishment, left en- 
 tirely to himself. 
 
 William, before he retired for the n^'ght, stole 
 alone to the receptacle that contained his sister 
 Agnes, and, kissing her cold lips, cheeks, and 
 forehead, bade her a final adieu. 
 
 'Merciful God !' exclaimed he, as he gazed on 
 her, ' is this all that is left of the beauteous and 
 blooming Agnes, who two years since was hailed 
 the Queen of May, whose lively harmonious note 
 was most distinguished in the song, and whose 
 
27« THE FARMER OF 
 
 active step was foremost in the dance? Cruel 
 Edwin, what hast thou done? grasped at a vain 
 shadow, and cast from thee a treasure never, — 
 never to be regained.' 
 
 By Fanny's desire the burial was delayed until 
 she should be able to return to Inglewood ; the 
 coffin therefore on the following day was closed, 
 the surgeon first taking off the ring, which was 
 now removed without difficulty, the swelling 
 having entirely subsided. A few evenings after 
 arrived the friendly and humane Mrs. Palmer : 
 William now lost no time, but taking an afiec- 
 tionate farewell of his wife and father, delighted 
 to leave them in such hands, he hastened away^ 
 in order to administer comfort to the distressed 
 Bernard. 
 
 CHAP. XXXI. 
 
 Edwin, on his rushing out of the house, bad, as 
 the man truly told William, returned in a state 
 little short of frenzy, and having no other object 
 on w horn to vent his rage, had struck Harris, and 
 cursed him in the bitterest terms, accusing him of 
 twice drawing him into the most horrible dilem- 
 mas. IlaiTis, however, had borne all with temper, 
 endeavouring to persuade his master to go to bed, 
 but in vain ; he insisted on a chaise being instantly 
 made ready, and setting off immediately for Lon- 
 don. ' I will fly,' said he, in a ])aroxysm of rage, 
 ' I will fly, and forget them all ! a father too ! 
 
INGLEWOOD FOREST. 277 
 
 Accursed night in which I purchased a momen- 
 tary gratification at the expence of years of pain ! 
 infernal villain that I was, to take advantage of 
 the alarm and emotion my arts had created ! But 
 I am justly punished, the pangs of hell cannot 
 equal those I feel. My wife too, accursed name, 
 died, as if on purpose to mock my hopes ! Ano- 
 ther murder 1 Well, — well,— well — is not my 
 number yet complete ? For what have I now to 
 live ? Nothing. My dearest hopes destroyed, 
 and by whom? — Fool, knave, idiot, miscreant, 
 that I am, by myself!' 
 
 The chaise being prepared, he threw himself in, 
 and had advanced three stages towards London 
 by the next morning, when he found himself too 
 ill to proceed, and was unwillingly obliged to 
 give way to Harris's entreaty, and retire to bed. 
 Rest, however, was not to be procured, even by 
 the fatigues he had undergone. The horrors that 
 distracted him redoubling by quiet and inaction, 
 in a few hours his overcharged brain lost the 
 faculty of distinctly thinking, and was bewildered 
 in frenzy. Harris immediately called in medical 
 assistance, who pronounced him in a high fever, 
 and used the necessary means to relieve him ; but 
 all their cares were unavailing : for three Aveeks 
 his delirium continued with short intervals, the 
 paroxysms being not only dreadful to the suffer- 
 er, but also to the beholders, dashing his head 
 against the bed-posts, striking his forehead, gnash 
 ing his teeth, and calling perpetually on Agnes^ 
 his wife, or mother. 
 
 * Take them away,' cried he ; ' drive them back 
 to the grave— they torment me to death— my wife 
 
278 THE FARMER OF 
 
 lias poisoned me — my mother has shot me through 
 the head — and Agnes,' exclaimed he, with re- 
 doubled emotion, ' has struck a poignard through 
 my heart.— Murder — murder— who has commit- 
 ted murder?— Not I — I can kill without poison — 
 pistol — or dagger — my love can do the business. — 
 Now see, — seetheyalllaughatme;— nay, then, I'll 
 laugh too-— ha— ha— ha.-— Oh ! oh ! Agnes ! Agnes!' 
 
 These paroxysms were usually followed by in- 
 sensibility, nor was his delirium always ravings 
 but frequently partook of the melancholy cast, 
 yet always referred to the same objects.-—' Hark!' 
 said he, 'they are letting Agnes's coffin down into 
 the grave, they are placing her on my mother-— the 
 worms that devoured the first will now feast on 
 the last.-— See, two are already fixed on her ruby 
 lip, and one in the dimple of her downy cheek ! 
 will no one remove them? Call my wife, she 
 can take them off, for she helped to fix them 
 there-— Tell her I'll give back all her wealth. 
 What, cannot ye find her? Seek her tlien in the 
 cliarnel-house ; bid her take all, but save my 
 Agnes.' 
 
 Such was the unhappy state of Edwin, a victim 
 to his own crimes, and a terrible example that the 
 pangs of conscience can render even this life a 
 hell, though possessed of youth, strength, beauty, 
 understanding, and wealth. 
 
 At length he began slowly to recover, but was for 
 above three months unable to leave the inn where 
 he was taken ill. When he gained a little strength, 
 he made short excursions round the country, care- 
 fully avoiding all correspondence with his family, 
 whom he could not now bear to think of, as he wa? 
 
 { 
 
INGLEWOOD FOREST. 279 
 
 convinced that they must regard him as the cause 
 of all their misfortunes, and hate him accordingly. 
 
 A month after Agnes's death she was removed 
 to Inglewood for interment, Godwin, Bernard, 
 and William preceding the hearse on horseback, 
 in deep mourning, and with hearts yet more 
 gloomy than their habits.— At a short distance 
 behind was Mrs. Palmer's chaise, containing her- 
 self, Fanny, and the little one, attended by Felix 
 on horseback ; in which order they reached the 
 Forest in two days, the scattered inhabitants of 
 which, being informed by the distressed Bernard 
 of the time the body would arrive, having collected 
 to receive it at the distance of a mile from home, 
 the elders on horseback,' the youths on foot, in 
 their best habiliments, attending the maidens in 
 white gowns, and muslin hoods. On meeting the 
 cavalcade the hearse was stopped, and six young 
 farmers drawing out the coffin, proceeded with it 
 to church, two young girls walking before strew- 
 ing flowers, eight supporting the pall, and the 
 remainder following, with the youths smging a 
 funeral hymn. 
 
 The whole family, togetlier with Mrs. Palmer, 
 had so strongly urged Fanny to be taken iffime- 
 diately home, that she consented, though witli 
 difficulty, the lady accompanying her. 
 
 The alteration that three months had made in 
 little Reuben, who was now near a year old, his 
 artless caresses, the jealous curiosity with which he 
 appeared to view the young stranger, all conspired 
 to blunt the acuteness of her grief. He viewed 
 the infant's hands, touched its feet, chuckled, and 
 finally held up his chubby face to kiss her. Fanny 
 
282 THE FARMER OF 
 
 CHAP. XXXII. 
 
 Edwin had in some degree recovered his health, 
 as before observed, but his spirits had received a 
 blow not easily overcome; he determined to 
 hasten to London, dispose of his commission, 
 retire abroad, and endeavour, by travelling, to 
 conquer his melancholy ; but before he went, 
 resolved to ride over to the Forest, visit the grave 
 of Agnes, and take an everlasting farewell of the 
 spot. One fine morning he accordingly executed 
 his purpose, having been for some days within a 
 few miles, and leaving his horse at a house of 
 entertainment at the village, walked forward to 
 the well-known church-yard. A plain stone, 
 with his mother's name, marked the spot where 
 she was laid, and by its side stood one equally 
 simple, with this inscription : 
 
 n i 
 
 U Asrues Bernard. f^* 
 
 I Died September 10, 17 — , I 
 
 |;| III 
 
 I Affed 19. i 
 
 His mind, though inured to sorrow, was not 
 proof against this trial ; he threw himself on the 
 ground, and wept aloud for a considerable time, 
 until a labourer coming over the stile whistling, 
 disturbed him from his posture ; the man, by his 
 
Q>ttC(/{/?2yya/^lne ,>^/?e/ e^J^a^^t^ 
 
INGLEWOOD FOREST. 283 
 
 spade and shovel, showing he was gomg to make 
 a residence for some new inhabitant. 
 
 The fellow, who had only come to the Forest 
 to assist the sexton, who was a man in years, 
 since Edwin's departure, seeing a fine gentleman, 
 pulled off his hat, made a leg, and said, ' Mayhap, 
 Sir, if you be a stranger, you may wish to see our 
 church V 
 
 Edwin conquered himself sufficiently to reply 
 in the negative, and was about to depart, when 
 the countryman added, 'You ha' been reading the 
 grave-stones belike : I used to read them myself 
 before I was so much among them ; many a time 
 have I spelled over them till I cried again, but 
 now I think little about such matters, or if I do, 
 I sing or whistle to drive it out of my head.' 
 
 Edwin made no answer; he wished to tear 
 himself away, but could not remove his eyes from 
 the grave of Agnes. 
 
 ' Ah ! master, you be looking at that there new 
 stone,' said the man ; ' if you had but seen the girl 
 it cover!^-, you would have owned you had never 
 met her like !' Poor soul, she went mad for love, 
 and died.— D—n the fellow, say I, that occasion 
 ed it •, he could never have the heart of a man, for 
 had 1 been king of England, member of parlia- 
 ment, or even lord-mayor of London, I would 
 sooner have took her with a single smock than 
 any far-fetched princess, though she had brought 
 her weight of gold and diamonds.' This simple 
 eulogium struck Edwin to the heart. He could 
 hear no more; so hastily throwing the man a 
 crown, he covered his eyes with his handker- 
 chief, and precipitately departed. 
 
284 THE FARMER OF 
 
 He had not proceeded fai- when he perceived 
 a woman andlwo children at some distance, and 
 soon discovered it to be Margery. He would 
 fain have avoided her ; yet a thousand fond re- 
 membrances rose on his heart, softened as it was 
 by the foregoing scene, and determined him not 
 to shun her. 
 
 Anna, now near four months old, was in her 
 arms, while Reuben, holding by her apron, trot- 
 ted by her side. Margery gave a cry of surprise ; 
 her master's children had all been fondled in her 
 arms, and were as dear as though they had been 
 her own. She was shocked at the wan and lan- 
 guid countenance of Edwin, and readily agreed 
 to sit down and converse with him. ' Lovely 
 children,' said he, caressing them, ' 1 did not 
 know my brother had a second : happy William ! 
 thou art blessed, while I am cursed ! Thy virtue, 
 indeed, is rewarded, and my voice is punished. 
 This little one I think, ' continued he, with a sigh, 
 'has the features of a girl, born, I suppose, in the 
 height of calamity.' 
 
 ' She was born, ' replied Margery, ' three days 
 before Agnes's death ; my mistress was fiighten- 
 ed into labour by her agonies ; but, thank God, 
 the child is strong and hearty.' 
 
 Edwin gnashed his teeth in anguish, and for 
 some moments was unable to reply. At length 
 he uttered, in a tremulous tone, ' Well, well, say 
 no more ; I am punished, even sufliciently to gra- 
 tify the most rancorous hatred.' 
 
 * And who hates you?' said Maigery : 'If 
 wishes for your repentence is hatred, then do 
 they, indeed, hate you ; for prayers are never 
 
INGLEWOOD FOREST. 285 
 
 said at night without you and Emma being par- 
 ticularly remembered.' 
 
 ' I thank them,' replied Edwin, haughtily, pride 
 for a moment overcoming every other sensation. 
 ' But let us banish this subject ; tell me, Margery, 
 all that relates to my Agnes, and I will sit 
 while 1 have life to hear. You, I am sure, know 
 every secret, and are acquainted with all my 
 follies.' 
 
 * Follies!' replied Margery ; 'that is the London 
 name, I suppose, for wickedness. Little did I 
 think, when I nursed you in these arms, that you 
 would turn out such a bad man !' 
 
 Sickness and sorrow had depressed the spirit of 
 Edwin, he therefore bore the reproaches of Mar- 
 gery with more temper than he usually possessed, 
 and at length conciliated her so far, that she re- 
 lated to him the whole process of Agnes's illness, 
 her delirium, and constant allusion to the ring, 
 with the repetition of — / am Edwins wife. 
 
 Edwin's heart was pained with the recital ; he 
 wept aloud, but entreated her to continue. ' 1 
 have no more to say,' answered she : ' 13y what I 
 have heard, you know the rest too well. How 
 you could seduce her I could never devise, for 
 surely a better, or a more modest girl was not 
 under the sun. You must have used some of 
 your London potions I suppose, for I have heard 
 of such things, or surely she never could have 
 been overcome.' 
 
 Ed\vin denied the accusation. ' No, Margery,' 
 said he, ' I am sufficiently guilty without i\\^i 
 crime : but relate to me every circumstance ; why 
 was ray beloved removed from Inglewood V 
 
286 THE FARMER OF 
 
 ' Why marry, to hide your shame, for I cannot 
 call it hers ; she was removed to lie in privately, 
 and there .' 
 
 'Died!' groaned Edwin. 'Alas! too well do 
 I know that.' 
 
 ' Her pangs were so heavy, that they frightened 
 your brother's wife into labour : Agnes died in 
 three days, and the child was buried with her!' 
 
 'Enough, — cease,' exclaimed Edwm, 'unless 
 you would drive me to distraction. Methinks I 
 see them now; never will the remembrance be 
 effaced from my memory !' 
 
 Margery was, as Edwin truly observed, in all 
 the secrets of the family ; a faithful service of 
 thirty-seven years had entitled her to confidence, 
 and she was most worthy the trust. Her answers 
 to Edwin were strictly true, yet they disclosed 
 nothing she was bound to conceal. 
 
 ' And now, Margery,' said Edwin, after a pause, 
 ' I will bid you farewell, a long farewell ; for Hea- 
 ven only knows whether we may ever meet again.' 
 
 ' What ! w ithout seeing any of the family ;' re- 
 plied Margery : 'Surely you cannot mean it.' 
 
 ' I would sooner face death than either Bernard 
 or my father,' answered Edwin ; ' and, for Wil- 
 liam, even when he was in town, and did not 
 know the extent of my follies, he shook me from 
 him like an adder, whose very touch was ve- 
 nomous; what then should I expect now? No, 
 Margery, they all hate me, and I will leave them 
 for ever. Had Agnes lived I might have sued 
 for pardon, and they, perhaps, have bestowed it ; 
 as it is, all is now immaterial ; my destiny is fixed^; 
 I will seek the villain that seduced my sister, and 
 
INGLEWOOD FOREST. 287 
 
 on his accursed head revenge the misery he has 
 for ever entailed on me !' 
 
 ' God mend ns all,' sighed Margery. ' I w^ish 
 you would not be so passionate ; but leave ven- 
 geance to God, you may be sure it will overtake 
 him ; besides, the Scripture says, *' Pluck the 
 beam out of thine own eye before thou takest the 
 mote from thy neighbour's," or words to that pur- 
 pose ; but I suppose you have forgot your religion 
 since you turned rich gentleman. Your fine 
 London wife too, God rest her soul, I hear is 
 dead ; she was surely greatly to blame, for she 
 well knew you was engaged to Agnes. I have 
 seen enough of Londoners to make me dislike 
 them as long as I live ; they well repaid your 
 father's kmdness. But for them all liad been right, 
 — your mother alive,— Emma virtuous,— Agnes 
 a blessed wife and mother !— and you, instead of 
 being an unhappy fine gentleman, a plain, honest, 
 cheerful farmer, like your father, beloved by the 
 whole country, and almost adored by your family? 
 
 Edwin was for a few minutes too much affected 
 by the reflection to reply, and wept bitterly ; while 
 little Reuben, who had stuck himself between his 
 knees, peeped up in his face with mournful sympa- 
 thy, and taking up his frock, wiped off the falling 
 tears. 
 
 ' It grows late,' said Edwin, ' and I must be 
 gone. Tell my father and William tliat you have 
 seen me, and that if I hear of Emma, they shall 
 know it. Say to Bernard, that would my life, 
 and all I possess, recall the pas^ , I would rejoice 
 at the forfeiture.— Say also to Eanny, tiiat if she 
 knew what passes here, (laying his hand on his 
 
288 THE FARMER OF 
 
 heart,) though she must hate me, yet her pity 
 would far surpass her hatred. Farewell,' con- 
 tinued he, kissing first Reuben, and then the 
 little girl, who ciiuokled at the ])ressure of his 
 lips. ' By Heaven,' cried he, ' she has the smiling 
 mouth of Agnes, and the beauteous dimple of her 
 cheek. Oh ! may they Jiereafter tempt no villain 
 to destroy them! or, if they should,' continued he, 
 after a pause, ' may he, if possible, be still more 
 cursed than 1 am /' With these words he rose 
 hastily from the turf on which he was sitting, and 
 waving his hand as he ran, ere Margery could 
 make a reply was almost out of sight. 
 
 What had passed seemed to Margery almost a 
 dream ; she, however, as speedily as possible re- 
 turned home, and related all to the family. Ed- 
 win's pallid and altered person she did not fail to 
 describe, together with his apparent contrition 
 and sorrow for the past ; his observing the like- 
 ness between the infant and Agnes ; his vowed 
 vengeance on Whitmore ; and his firm conviction 
 that he was too much abhorred by the whole 
 family ever to meet their pardon. 
 
 ' We hate him not,' replied Godwin, ' but ab- 
 hor his crimes : to expiate them is impossible, 
 unless repentance could awaken the dead. Let 
 him, by the most exemplary conduct, endeavour 
 to make his peace with heaven, which is far more 
 material than the pardon of a -sveak old man, 
 which, however, shall not be withheld if he re- 
 turns to virtue ; for shall an erring mortal deny to 
 his fellow-sinner what God hath promised to all? 
 But, for my part, F will not scruple to say, that 
 this frenzied sorrow and contrition appears to me 
 
INGLEWOOD FOREST. 289 
 
 rather the effects of his disappointed passion than 
 sincere repentance; penitence is calm and humble, 
 and by the most blameless conduct, endeavours to 
 obliterate the errors of the past by the innocence 
 of the future. It is not so with Edwin ; did he 
 not say he meant to seek revenge on Whitmore ? 
 and for what ? a crime that he has himself more 
 than doubled ; for no promise, or expectancy of 
 marriage, could seduce Emma ; she was acquaint- 
 ed with his situation, and voluntarily rushed into 
 ruin, while Edwin's was a premeditated and cruel 
 seduction, rendered doubly atrocious by his re- 
 peated perjuries, when even at the moment he 
 was the husband of another. Is he then a man to 
 draw the sword of vengeance? Surely no ! — his 
 heart must fail him in such a rencounter, and his 
 guilt-struck conscience enervate his arm. Had he 
 indeed said, I will leave those scenes which first 
 seduced my unsuspecting innocence, fly from 
 pride and ambition, seek Emma, and by my own 
 repentance and conduct endeavour to influence 
 hers ; or, if I fail, retire to some peaceful retreat, 
 and dwell in inoffensive obscurity, then indeed 
 might my heart have cherished hope ; but, as it 
 is, I fear this contrition will wear ofl"; and his 
 vitiated mind, like a rank soil, produce fresh 
 thorns to wound us.' 
 
 ' Though I am convinced,' replied Bernard, 
 * that your opinion is usually better than mine, 
 yet, in this case, I must difler from you ; and I 
 cannot say but he would make a great step to- 
 wards my forgiveness, if I heard he had fairly 
 killed that villain Whitmore.' 
 
 ^ Would murder then, think you, lessen his 
 13 2 o 
 
290 THE FARMER OF 
 
 crimes ?' answered Godwin ; ' for a duellist is at 
 once a suicide and a murderer. If he falls, does he 
 not rush uncalled into the presence of his God ? 
 or, if he conquers, hateful alternative ! has he not 
 sought and spilled the blood of his fellow? There 
 does not live the man, Bernard, no, not even 
 Edwin, who has most injured you, that you 
 Avould slay ; nor, on calm consideration, would 
 you approve the action in another. Reason dis- 
 claims it, it is merely the offspring? of false honour, 
 which sacrifices the nobler feelings of the soul at 
 the altar of pride and vain glory: —a mask of 
 bravery to cover cowardice, big words, and rash 
 actions, frequently concealing a trembling and 
 dastardly heart. — True courage, in my opinion, 
 consists in bearing the common ills which attend 
 human nature with calmness, not suifering our 
 own temper to be ruffled at the folly or knavery 
 of others ; to be able to repulse violence or insult 
 with a firm coolness ; to defend the weak and op- 
 pressed with steadiness ; in fine to seek the life 
 of no man ; but if our own is attacked, to defend 
 it as a sacred trust deposited in our hands by our 
 great Creator, and not to be pusillanimously 
 surrendered. — Oh, my friend! can the blood of 
 Whitmore recall the past ? Can it wash out the 
 stains of the polluted Emma ? Can it restore us 
 peace, or her innocence ? Ah no ; it can do 
 none of these; it can only plunge his corrupt 
 soul beyond all repentance, and heap fresh crimes 
 on the head of Edwin.' 
 
 * With your approbation, my father,' said Wil- 
 liam, ' 1 will write to Edwin, and give liim our 
 joint opinion on the subject : a letter will doubt- 
 less find him at the house of his late wife.' 
 
INGLEWOOD FOREST. 291 
 
 * The action will become you, my son,' replied 
 Godwin, ' and acquit you to your oXvn heart, 
 whatever may be its success.' 
 
 William in the evening wrote to his brother, 
 not it is true with the same friendly spirit that 
 formerly dictated his letters ; but with manly 
 firmness, and without reproach, conjured him to 
 abstain from every action which might contribute 
 to increase his father's uneasiness ; and that, if by 
 any means he should meet Vi ith Emma, to endea- 
 vour, by lenient measures, to draw her from guilt, 
 and leave vengeance to that Power who had called 
 it his own peculiar province. 
 
 CHAP. XXXIIl. 
 
 Edwin had no sooner parted with Margery, but 
 he hastened forward to the little ])ublic-house 
 where he had left his horse ; and mounting him 
 set off full speed, in vain endeavouring to banisli 
 the uneasy reflections that oppressed him. At 
 night he slept at the distance of thirty miles from 
 the Forest, and next day joined his servant, who 
 waited for him at Ferrybridge. He ordered him 
 to prepaie to depart the next moming for Lon- 
 don ; and, upon the whole, Harris considered 
 him as more calm than before his journey. 
 
 On his arrival in town he repaired to his own 
 house, and for the first time sincerely lamented 
 his wife. ' At least, had she lived,' said he, * I 
 should have had one friend. Unhappy woman, 
 
292 THE FARMER OF 
 
 she proved how much she loved me by the sacri- 
 fice she made ; and I requited her as I did all the 
 rest. Henceforward I must live for myself alone : 
 if life is desirable on such conditions, money must 
 purchase substitutes for happiness, for the reality 
 is for ever vanished from me.' 
 
 Three days after his arrival he received Wil- 
 liam's letter. ' They have not quite cast me off,' 
 said he ; ' but hovv^ altered ! William's letters 
 used to breathe nothing but friendship ; this con- 
 tains only cool advice ; and that given, methinks, 
 as if he felt the superiority of his virtue ; and is 
 rather dictated to preserve the peace of the family, 
 than out of affection to me. I will therefore sim- 
 ply thank him in his own style ; and act as my 
 fate shall direct, for my life is neither valuable to 
 myself nor others.' 
 
 He then sat down and replied to AVilliam's 
 letter, thanking him for his advice, saying, that 
 though he had been heretofore unfortunate enough 
 to cause his father great unhappiness, yet he hoped 
 in future to give no fresh subject ; that he meant 
 to relinquish his commission and go abroad ; from 
 whence, if his present disposition continued, he 
 should not, in all probability, return ; concluding 
 the whole by expressing his best wishes for the 
 happiness of the family, and duty to his father. 
 
 His next care was to settle his money concerns, 
 dispose ofhis house, and relinquisii his commission. 
 His favourite companion (Mrs. Whitmore) had 
 been gone two months to the continent ; but lier 
 place of destination was uncertain, nor had Edwin 
 the most slender wish to be apprized of it ; for the 
 hearts of neither had any share in this connection. 
 
INGLEWOOD FOREST. 293 
 
 On Mrs. Whitmore's part it was only to gratify 
 her pride, by having so handsome a fellow in her 
 train; but after in vain expecting his return for 
 six weeks, her patience was exhausted, and she had 
 sought amusement in the gayer scenes of France. 
 Edwin's attachment was merely licentious, and 
 consequently the sentiments she inspired on calm 
 reflection rather caused disgust than pleasure. 
 During his stay in the country he had scarcely 
 thought of her ; and even now, on his return, felt 
 no inclination to renew the acquaintance, had 
 she been even on the spot. 
 
 All his business settled, he set off for Paris, 
 which he reached in safety, where a new scene of 
 dissipation presented ; and sometimes, for a short 
 season, banished the cruel remembrances that de- 
 stroyed his peace. His fortune procured him ad 
 mittance into the most fashionable parties ; and 
 his pride was gratified at the expence of large 
 sums which he was perpetually losing at play. 
 One evening, that he happened to be at the 
 French comedy, he discovered Mrs. Whitmore in 
 the opposite box, who also soon perceived her 
 recreant lover, and gave him a smile of invitation ; 
 but he only replied by slightly bowing, without 
 offering to move from his situation. 
 
 ' And is it possible,' said a sprightly Frenchman, 
 who was present, and spoke English, ' that you 
 can be insensible to so charming an invitation ? 
 The lady, however, will be soon consoled ; she is 
 universally admired as an English beauty with 
 French manners.' 
 
 Soon after, two gentlemen of distinguished rank 
 entered Mrs. Whitmore's box, and appeared to 
 
294 . THE FARMER OF 
 
 pay her the most marked attention. — ' There 
 now,' said the Frenchman, * I told you the lady 
 would soon be revenged on your coldness You 
 have missed an opportunity not to be re|2fained ; 
 for Dumaresque is at once the most gallant, as 
 well as the most handsome man in Paris.' 
 
 It has been before observed, that vanity was 
 one of the most predominant passions of Edwin; 
 therefore, though his heart was totally indifferent 
 in regard to Mrs Whitmore, he resolved to show 
 the Frenchman his mistake, and immediately re- 
 paired to the lady's box. At first she received 
 him with coldness ; but after a time with her 
 usual indulgence. She observed he was much 
 altered, and uncommonly dull ; a circumstance 
 he accounted for by informing her of his late ill- 
 ness. In short, the meeting, after some little dis- 
 course, appeared rather agreeable to both; Ed- 
 win's vanity being gratified by showing the 
 Frenchman that he could easily regain the oppor- 
 tunity he had apparently lost. 
 
 At the conclusion of the piece Edwin waited 
 on the lady home, where she ventured some 
 questions respecting the business that had so com- 
 pletely concealed him since the death of his wife ; 
 but he was in no humour to gratify her curiosity, 
 and she soon changed the discourse to more live- 
 ly subjects. After supper, having drank plenti- 
 fully of wine, he grew cheerful, and, for the first 
 time since Agnes's death, a smile enlivened his 
 features. Before they separated for the night 
 they agreed to keep house jointly ; for who 
 could presume to scandalize a lady who was un- 
 der the protection of her brother ! 
 
INGLEWOOD FOREST. 295 
 
 Edwin now no longer felt his former compunc- 
 tion; he was rejoiced that he had met with one 
 who could help to divert his chagrin, and some- 
 times banish painful remembrances from his fan- 
 cy. His temper, however, had suffered beyond the 
 fascination of Mrs. Whitmore to remove ; to his 
 domestics he was harsh and unkind, was frequent- 
 ly inebriated, and gave way to the most out- 
 rageous passion on most trifling subjects. 
 
 After four months stay at Paris, Mrs. Whit- 
 more expressed a wish to see Brussels ; to which, 
 Edwin having no objection, they departed, and 
 reached that city ; where they entered with 
 avidity into the various amusements ; the lady 
 from a natural love of dissipation and pleasure, 
 and her companion as a kind of soporific, to lull 
 the torments of reflection. 
 
 Harris being sent before, had hired apartments 
 in a large furnished hotel ; and in about a fortnight 
 after the remainder of the house was engaged for 
 an English family that were daily expected ; and 
 who accordingly arrived late one evening after 
 Edwin and his companion had retired to rest. 
 
 The following morning, as Edwin was descend- 
 ing the stairs, he was surprised by the sight of 
 Whitmore's valet on the lower story; and the 
 moment after by Emma herself, who came out of 
 one of the apartments to give orders. He imme- 
 diately hastened down, opened the door, and the 
 room she had re-entered, and presented himself 
 before her. An exclamation of mingled astonish- 
 ment and pleasure escaped her, and opening her 
 arms to embrace hhn, she cried — ' Is it possible, 
 my dear brother, that I meet you here?' — But 
 
296 THE FARMER OF 
 
 putting her back, he answered, ' I have nothing to 
 say to you, infamous girl ; with your paramour I 
 have a long account. How is it possible, at your 
 age, to have so soon forgotten the precepts incul- 
 cated from your youth V 
 
 ' Ay, how is it possible, indeed, Edwin,' an- 
 swered she, ' to forget the lessons of whole years 
 in an instant ? To confess the truth, my dear 
 brother, (for I cannot adopt your coldness or 
 anger) I but followed your lead; your marriage 
 with Mrs. Delmer but paved the way to my 
 flight, as it furnished opportunities too difficult 
 to be resisted. But smooth your ruffled brow, and 
 tell me all the news : your wife we have heard is 
 dead. Are you prepared to do justice to Agnes ? 
 Ah, Edwin, that was a bad business ! How are 
 all the dear family at Inglewood ? for though I 
 have learned to laugh at their prejudices, I have 
 not learned to forget them ; — yet I fear they have 
 forgotten me.' 
 
 ' Your mother at least has forgot you,' replied 
 Edwin. ' Your conduct has ' 
 
 ' Oh, God !' interrupted Emma, trembling, 
 ' do not speak what I dread to hear ! for though 
 I am convinced that I have acted right by follow- 
 ing the dictates of reason and nature, unshackled 
 by the ties of priestcraft, yet I cannot bear to 
 think it should be fatal to her.' 
 
 ' The dictates of hell and damnation !' exclaim- 
 ed Edwin. 'The infernal sophistry of Whitmore 
 has plunged your family into misery, and your 
 mother in the grave ; and by her side lies ' 
 
 ' Whom V demanded Emma, with a look of 
 horror. 
 
INGLEWOOD FOREST. 297 
 
 * Agnes,' rej3lied he, with scarcely less emotion. 
 ' Alas ! Agnes,' repeated Emma, ' cruel Ed- 
 win! has my conduct caused her death too? 
 
 ' No ; the cause was the natural depravity of 
 my own heart, aided by the accursed maxims of 
 Whitmore. Ambition tirst beguiled me from home, 
 and the wealth of Mrs. Delmer tempted me to 
 falsify my vows ; but unable to live without 
 Agnes, I, in an accursed hour, seduced her ! Her 
 death has been the consequence; she is now an 
 angel, and I living bear the pangs of hell !' 
 
 ' Oh, my dear mother ! my sweet Agnes ! and 
 are ye both gone?' cried Emma, weeping. — ' Ah, 
 Edwin ! such cruel consequences are enough to 
 force us to lament not following the precepts 
 implanted in our infancy.' 
 
 ' May the villain be accursed,' replied Edwin, 
 ^ who taught us to despise them ! But where is 
 he ? say, is he in the h use ?' 
 
 ' He is not,' answered Emma, ' if you mean 
 Whitmore. But why, Edwin, will you speak 
 thus of a man to whom you have been so highly 
 obliged. You will not surely raise your hand in 
 a«ger against the father of the infant I bear, and 
 particularly when you remember he is the brother 
 of a woman who has made your fortune.' 
 
 ' Say marred it rather,' replied Edwin ; ' for can 
 paltry gold recompense me for what I have sacri 
 ficed to obtain it — Parents,— brother,— Agues— - 
 all ! But tell me, Emma, will you return to 
 Inglewood, if the family consent to receive you V 
 ' Never,' replied she, with energy ; ' I would 
 die for their service, but never more will I behold 
 them. Think you, Edv/iu, T could meet the eye 
 13 2 p 
 
298 THE FARMER OF 
 
 of my father, or even that of William, prejudiced 
 as they are ? — How despicable — how sunk must 1 
 appear before them ! No, Edwin, I have chosen 
 my fate, and will abide by it.' 
 
 At that moment Whitmore entered. ' Ah, 
 Edwin, well met,' said he ; 'I have just heard 
 you were in Brussels from my servant ; you have 
 a fair companion too I find. I hope you behaved 
 well to my sister; — for aught else I am your 
 humble servant.' 
 
 ' We are indeed well met,' cried Edwin, ' for 
 \ve have a long account to settle on pecuniary 
 subjects, and a yet larger on the score of honour.' 
 
 ' Honour r repeated Whitmore, with an ironi- 
 cal laugh ; 'you will remember that it is through 
 me you were first entitled to use the word honour. 
 But as these are subjects on which I never balk 
 my man, nor talk of before women, let us for the 
 present banish the discourse. Come, tell us w hat 
 is passing in England.' 
 
 ' For your pecuniary favours,' replied Edwin, 
 taking a draught on his banker for three hundred 
 pounds from his pocket book, and throwing it on 
 the table, ' this may repay them, for I acknow- 
 ledge no other ;— to your sister were the rest due. 
 Would to Heaven I had perished before I ac- 
 cepted of either.' 
 
 ' I have, indeed, heard it whispered,' saitl Whit- 
 more, ' that you were not altogether so sensible of 
 her condescension as might have been expected ; 
 but could never believe it until this confession.' 
 
 * For goodness sake do not quarrel,' cried Em- 
 ma ; * my heart is already almost bi'oken. My mo- 
 ther and Agnes are, Edwin informs me, both dead !' 
 
INGLEWOOD FOREST. 29a 
 
 Whitmore endeavoured to banisJi her fears and 
 comfort her, while Edwhi, caslmg a look of rage 
 at both, left the apartment. 
 
 About an hoar after, Harris, by Edwin's order, 
 found an opportunity to give a note privately to 
 Whitmore, containing an appointment for the 
 next morning, which was immediately accepted. 
 
 CHAP, xxxiy. 
 
 The following morning Whitmore, attended by a 
 gentleman of considerable fortune, with whom he 
 had formed an acquaintance since his residence 
 abroad, met Edwin at some distance from the city, 
 who, on his part, was accompanied by a young 
 officer, whom he had known in England, and acci- 
 dentally encountered at one of the places of public 
 amusement. The weapons chosen by both were 
 swords, as their skill was pretty equal. The first 
 passes were made without effect on either side; but 
 the second essay was more fatal ; for Whitmore re- 
 ceived athrust in the side, and instantly fell. — ' The 
 chance is yours, Edwin,' said he, with his usual 
 levity, 'and in faith I deserve it for substituting the 
 sword for the dung fork ; but why the devil could 
 ■ not you have rested as satisfied with your sister's 
 chastity as I was with my wife's ? Confound all 
 new candidates for honour say I ; they take such 
 a d — d deal of trouble to establish their fame, that 
 a man is never safe with them.' 
 
300 THE FARMER OF 
 
 A surgeon, who was in waiting at some small 
 distance, was now called, and stopped tlie effusion 
 of blood ; but declared tiiat he entertained the 
 most alarming doubts respecting the wound : Ed- 
 win therefore determined to lose no time, but 
 hasten back to France. 
 
 On his licentious companion (Mrs. Whitmore) 
 he hardly bestowed a thought, simply giving 
 Harris orders to follow with his baggage ; first 
 leaving a letter to be delivered to Emma. 
 
 Whitmore was immediately carried home, where 
 his wound was pronounced mortal ; and was in- 
 formed that, in all probability, a few hours would 
 terminate his life. Though this information could 
 not fail of being peculiarly displeasing to a man 
 of Whitmore's character, yet he received it with 
 his accustomed carelessness. ' If,' said he to the 
 gentleman who acted as his second, ' I had fallen 
 by the hand of a virtuous man whom I had injur- 
 ed, it would have forced me to believe somewhat 
 of retribution ; but as it is, this convinces me that 
 chance directs all, for Edwin is certainly as faulty 
 as myself. To be sure I found him virtuous ; but 
 he was as ready to learn as I to teach ; and if I 
 seduced his sister, has he not returned the favour 
 with my wife, and by my sister's folly stepped 
 into an easy fortune ? One thing only concerns 
 me ; my estate is greatly entangled, and if I die 
 will immedhitely be seized by the next heir; nor 
 have I it in my power to make any provision for 
 Emma : — a circumstance that gives me great un- 
 easiness, both on account of her situation and 
 future comfort.' 
 
INGLEWOOD FOREST. 301 
 
 ,' Let not that disturb you,' replied his friend, 
 whose name was Hartford: ' I give you my word 
 to protect her.' 
 
 Tliat moment Emma entered, in a state little 
 short of distraction : she wrung her hands in 
 agony, and in the bitterness of her grief cursed 
 her brother Edwin. The letter which he had 
 sent her, and that simply contained his desire she 
 would join him at Paris, with a note of fifty 
 pounds, she tore in pieces. Whitmore, as well 
 as he was able, endeavoured to comfort her, but 
 in vain ; her grief knew no bounds, until nature 
 exhausted sunk into a fainting fit, in Avhich she 
 was removed from the apartment, and a few hours 
 brought on an abortion. 
 
 Whitmore passed a dreadful night, and on the 
 following morning death was legibly painted on 
 his countenance; but firm to his accustomed 
 tenets, he appeared to treat its approaches with 
 contempt, recommending Emma warmly to the 
 protection of Hartford, saying, with a faint smile, 
 ' Though, by Heaven, I would not living have suf- 
 fered a rival in her love, yet I liave no objection to 
 a worthy successor ; she is too charming a girl to 
 be buried in obscurity, and cost me some pains to 
 eradicate the follies of a country education. Be 
 kind toiler, and suffer her grief to weaken itself; 
 it is violent, and tlierefore cannot last long.' 
 
 The surgeon entered soon after ; his face, rather 
 than his words, declared his opinion.— 'Why, 
 man,' said Whitmore, ' your features may serve 
 as a kind of thermometer to prognosticate the 
 situation of your patient ; to me they appear be- 
 yond the freezing point. Pish, hang grief, ever 
 
502 THE FARMER OF 
 
 live while you can, and banish painful reflection. 
 It has hitherto cost me some trouble to do it, but 
 I at length came off conqueror ; and have enjoyed 
 life as much in twenty-seven years as many in sixty.' 
 
 A violent convulsive pang here put a stop to 
 Whitmore's speech, and he struggled for some 
 time in great agony ; from which at length he 
 was, in a small degree, recovered, but appeared 
 much weakened, his spirits more depressed, and 
 likewise seemed shocked at the awful crisis that 
 was approaching. 
 
 Towards the close of day, and just before his 
 dissolution, his attendants declared him delirious ; 
 for, starting as from a kind of dose, he exclaimed, 
 ' The farce is over,— the curtain drops, — darkness 
 and— doubt! old Godwin'skindnesswasillrepaid. 
 
 I wish I had left Edwin in his native . Emma 
 
 too, -"tell her ' A dreadful spasm here for some 
 
 moments stopped his utterance : at length, faintly 
 struggling, he added, ' Her father !— forgiveness ! 
 — Inglewood !'— -and with another pang expired. 
 
 Thus fell, in the prime of life, the gallant, gay 
 Whitmore, a victim to his own follies, and the 
 vices he had inculcated. 
 
 Whitmore's death was a dreadful blow to 
 Emma, as it not only deprived her of the man for 
 whom she had sacrificed every thing, but left her 
 in a situation she could not contemplate Avithout 
 horror. A return to Inglewood appeared the only 
 alternative ; for the decorations of luxury he had 
 lavished on her, with some trifle of money, was 
 all she possessed. ' And how,' cried she, * can I 
 ever stand in their presence ? They will accuse me 
 with the death of my mother, and view me with 
 
INGLEWOOD FOREST. 303 
 
 hatred ! The country people too will point at me, 
 and say the fine London Madam was obliged to 
 come back to her old home. Oh ! I can never, 
 never bear it ; I will sooner labour in the most 
 menial manner than submit to — . Would to God 
 I had never left them, or that Edwin had died 
 before this horrid meeting ! Join him at Paris !— 
 No, never. — The murderer of Whitmore !— I will 
 perish first.' 
 
 At that moment a person was announced from 
 Mrs. Whitmore, who laid claim to whatever pro- 
 perty might be left at Whitmore's decease ; and 
 of which she should, as his wife, render the proper 
 account to the next heir. Emma, in this distress, 
 knew not what method to have recourse to ; her 
 distress was almost too great to bear ; the man she 
 loved dead in the house ; herself confined to her 
 bed ; in a strange country, and on the point of 
 being deprived of the paltry baubles for which she 
 had bartered both her peace of mind and inno- 
 cence! — Uncertain what measures to pursue, she 
 was lost in the most distracting reflections, when 
 a note was presented her from Hartford, and con- 
 tained as follows :— 
 
 * Madam, 
 * The fear of intruding on your distress has alone withheld 
 me from offering my services to settle your affairs ; but as I 
 understand Mrs. Whitmore's conduct has made it necessary^ 
 beg you would command me to the utmost. 
 ' I am, Madam, 
 
 * Your humble servant, 
 
 ♦E. Hartford; 
 
 Emma immediately replied, by requesting Hart- 
 ford to act for her as he should think most proper, 
 
BU THE FARMER OF 
 
 expressing- her thanks for his kindness. Hartford, 
 thus empowered, waited on Mrs. Whitmore, and 
 by his rlietoric and well-placed compliments pre- 
 vailed on the lady to decline her first intention, 
 and the more easily as he assured her the effects 
 were of little value. The burial of Whitmore he 
 also ordered ; had him enclosed in lead, and sent 
 to England, to be laid by his parents and sister 
 in Leicestershire. 
 
 Emma in the mean time had recovered from 
 her indisposition ; and her grief, at the end of two 
 months, began to lose its bitterness. To Edwin's 
 letter she wrote an answer, and sent, according to 
 the address he had specified, to Paris. 
 
 * Though at the first receipt of your hateful letter 1 had 
 deteniiiued not to answer it, yet, on mature deliberation, I 
 have resolved, for this last time, to address \ou, though 
 only to say how much I despise you. What had I ever 
 done that you should seek to make me wretched ? Or, why 
 was Whituiore's friendship to be repaid by murder ? I re- 
 member, when we met at Brussels, you said that your errors 
 were owing to his pernicious tenets : how weak must you 
 naturally be to blindly adopt principles that your own heart 
 told you were erroneous ; for surely, if thei/ occasioned the 
 death of Agnes, the effect must have been easily foreseen. 
 Seek not then such paltry subterfuges to palliate your vices ; 
 they but add the name of Fool to that of Villain. Did the ex- 
 ample of Whitmore influence you to forsake Agnes, wed his 
 sister clandestinely, and afterwards offer the most sacred pro- 
 mises to your deluded victim ? No, it taught you none of these ; 
 the depravity of your own heart alone prompted them ; ai^d 
 now, coward-like, you would fain cast the opprobium on 
 another. Think you, woman as I am, that I will have re- 
 course to such despicable evasions ? Never : — my follies be 
 on my own head. I imbibed Whitmore's opinions from 
 reason ; and though when I fled with hiu) I certainly ex- 
 
INGLEWOOD FOREST. 305 
 
 pected he would procure a divorce from his wife, and marry 
 me ; yet, when I found that step was impracticable, and must 
 materially injure his fortune, I readily relinquished it, prefer- 
 ring the interest of the man I loved in dctiance of the weak 
 censure of a few. And though you were pleased to say that 
 my conduct occasioned my mother's death, I have no doubt 
 but your own had at least an equal share in it. 
 
 ' You ask me to return to luglewood. I answer you defini- 
 tively. No. The dear inhabitants I love and honour ; for 
 they act up to the principles they profess, while you have 
 behaved with constant duplicity, and been a slave to the most 
 unpardonable avarice, not only deceiving your parents, but 
 falsifying your vows both to your wife and Agnes, — a girl 
 whom a monarch might have gloried to obtain ! Then, to 
 complete all, you have basely shed the blood of a man to 
 whom you owed your advancement : and what is your excuse? 
 The seduction of your sister — while you are revelling in the 
 wealth of his, and living in bold adultery Vvith his wife ! 
 
 * I have nothing more to add, but that, whatever may 
 hereafter be ray destiny, my firm resolve is, to avoid you as 
 I would a pestilence ; not from fear, but hatred. In my 
 father's or William's presence I might shrink ; but in yours 
 my soul could feel no sentiment but contempt, aversion, and 
 disdain ; therefore pursue me no more. I leave Brussels this 
 day ; and my utmost wish respecting you is, that my eyes 
 may never more be tortured with your presence ; or, if they 
 are, that they had the power not to strike you dead, but to 
 dart never-dying anguish in your heart. 
 
 'Emma Godwin.' 
 
 Edwin's rage at the receipt of this letter was 
 beyond all bounds ; liis sister's reproaches stung 
 him to the heart ; and had she been in his power 
 at that moment, he would willingly have sacri- 
 ficed her to his fury. 
 
 He immediately wrote to Brussels, to the 
 master of the hotel ; and enclosing a gratuity, 
 
 13 2q 
 
306 THE FARMER OF 
 
 entreated to be informed whether Emma was in 
 reality gone, or had only deceived him on that 
 subject. 
 
 By the most speedy conveyance he received for 
 answer, that she had indeed left her lodgings 
 about a fortnight before, and gone away in the 
 company of Hartford, apparently very melan- 
 choly, and in deep mourning ; but that he was 
 uncertain as to their place of destination. Weari- 
 ed with France, and determined to take no more 
 heed of his sister, Edwin resolved to return to 
 England, inform his friends by letter of what had 
 passed, and as he still continued unhappy, to 
 devise some new means, if possible, to banish 
 reflection, and recover lost peace. 
 
 This resolution w^as directly put in practice ; 
 and the family at Inglewood three weeks after 
 received the intelligence that the seducer of 
 Emma had fallen, but that herself was totally 
 abandoned ; for that she had taken another para- 
 mour, and withdrawn herself from the know- 
 ledge of her brother. 
 
 < 
 
 CHAP. XXXV. 
 
 Edwin's letter caused great uneasiness at Ingle- 
 wood, renewing the wounds that, though far from 
 healed, were at least palliated by time. GodN^in 
 by no means approved Edwin's behaviour ; he had 
 but increased his own crimes, and plunged Emma 
 
INGLEWOOD FOREST. 307 
 
 into fresh guilt, which would yet more familiarize 
 her with vice, and render prostitution habitual. 
 
 ' Had he but sent us word when he found 
 her,' said Godwin, ' inconvenient as such a 
 journey must have been, William should imme- 
 diately have undertaken it, and, perliapsby lenient 
 measures, have prevailed on the poor misguided 
 girl to return ; for the seeds of virtue cannot be 
 totally eradicated from her heart, and would, per- 
 haps, have revived at the sound of forgiveness ; but 
 Edwin has rendered all fruitless, and by his violence 
 forced her to have recourse to deeper guilt, rather 
 than trust to a parent's mercy, whose daily prayer 
 is her return to virtue, and a sense of her error.' 
 
 He then replied to Edwin's letter, totally blam- 
 ing his whole conduct in the business, and desir- 
 ing him, that if ever, in future, chance should throw 
 Emma in his way, he would give them informa- 
 tion, without first having recourse to violent mea- 
 sures ; lamented that he had added to his former 
 guilt by the death of Whitmore; and finally 
 desiring him to review his conduct and repent. 
 
 This letter increased the vexation of Edwin. 
 ' I might have been certain,' said he, ' of meeting 
 their displeasure ; it is only for the calm dispas- 
 sionate William to act with propriety. However, 
 in this case I am satisfied with my own beliaviour, 
 and am careless of their opinion. Emma may 
 hereafter act as she pleases ; I have done with 
 her, and, in all probability, with them all : they 
 have no affection to bestow on me ; and I do not 
 want their advice.' 
 
 Edwin, thus resolved, returned no answertohis 
 father's letter, but sought as usual to lose reflection 
 
308 THE FARMER OF 
 
 in dissipation ; bnt finding it unavailing, and that 
 both his fortune and health w;-re evidently im- 
 paired, in twelve months after his wife's decease 
 he began seriously to repent his giving up the 
 army, as it would at least have served to employ 
 some part of his thoughts, and divert more acute 
 sensations. 
 
 These sentiments made him again resolve to 
 seek military promotion ; and by dint of applica- 
 tion, and money well applied, he soon got rein- 
 stated in his former rank, but in a regiment which, 
 to his peculiar satisfaction, was ordered abroad. 
 He felt some uneasiness at not informing his fa- 
 mily of this new resolve; but certain that this, as 
 well as ail his other late conduct, would not meet 
 their approbation, he left the kingdom without 
 even a single line to inform them of his destination. 
 In the mean time the family at Inglewood had 
 no cares but what were occasioned by the thoughts 
 of Edwin and Emma. William was regarded as 
 one of the most prosperous and happy young men 
 in the whole county ; his land was highly culti- 
 vated, his barns well stored, and his house a little 
 paradise ; the satisfaction of the old men, the 
 smiles of his wife, and the cheerful antics of the 
 little ones, repaying all his toils. Reuben was 
 now in his third year, Anna in her second, and a 
 young son, called Edward, after Bernard, again 
 filled Fanny's arms, and shared her maternal 
 tenderness. 
 
 Mrs. Palmer, who was their constant visitor, 
 and more affectionately attaclied to them than 
 ever, now proposed to take Anna, who was grown 
 the pet of the whole family, and particidarly of 
 
INGLEVVOOD FOREST. SOD 
 
 Godwin, on whose knee she never failed to climb ; 
 while Reuben took the same place on Bernard's. 
 To reconcile Anna to the chan<^e of situation, 
 Reuben was for sometime to accompany her; 
 and both grew so perfectly familiarized to their 
 new situation, that they appeared to consider it 
 as much their home as the farm. Mrs. Palmer 
 taught Anna to call her mamma ; and, indeed, 
 nothimr but the name was fictitious, for her care 
 and affection was truly maternal. Anna she had 
 designed for her particular favourite; and Reuben, 
 by a thousand little beguiling words and actions, 
 contrived to share her tenderness. If Anna called 
 her mamma, he was sure to say ' and Reuben's 
 mamma too ;' or if Mrs. Palmer kissed her adopted 
 child, Reuben was ever ready to hold up his head, 
 present his ruby lips, and claim the same favour. 
 Mrs. Palmer, vi^hose attachment to the parents 
 increased with her affection to the children, had 
 for some time formed the design of rendering 
 William independent, though she could not exact- 
 ly fix on the means, until one day happening to 
 be at Godwin's, when he received a letter to in- 
 form him of the death of the person who had 
 hitlierto managed his money business, and in 
 whose hands his savings had been constantly de- 
 posited ; the heir at law requesting to be informed 
 of his pleasure ; adding, that he was ready to pay 
 up the sums in his hands at a week's notice. 
 Godwin expressed his sorrow at this intelligence, 
 and immediately had recourse to Mrs. Palmer, to 
 advise on the best means of disposing of the sum 
 he possessed, which, though but a few hundreds, 
 was to him too considerable to be neglected. 
 
310 THE FARMER OF 
 
 ' Suppose,' replied the lady, ' you made a pur- 
 chase, sJiould you meet a good offer; I think that 
 an eligible method of disposing of money.' 
 
 ' I am of the same opinion,' said Godwin ; ' and 
 the only objection is, that it Avould be extending 
 our cares with our property. The money was ori- 
 ginally, or at least the greater part, laid by for a 
 little fortune for our unhappy Emma: she, alas! I 
 fear will never claim it, oi' still "would I regard 
 four hundred pounds as hers, not as a marriage 
 portion, but to place her with frugality above 
 want. I liave, however, other duties,' continued 
 the old man, wiping off a starting tear, and looking 
 fondly on his grandchildren ; ' I would therefore 
 willingly place our little all in safe hands ; or, as 
 you say. Madam, make a purchase for their future 
 benefit.' 
 
 ' Well, then, what say you to buying the whole 
 of the land you rent of me? which, w ith w hat you 
 already possess, will be a respectable property.' 
 
 ' Madam !' replied Godwin, astonished at the 
 proposal, ' we have not half the sum your land is 
 worth, the purchase of which was the farthest 
 from my thoughts ; for so kind are you, tluit the 
 most distant idea of a change never entered my 
 mind.' 
 
 * It is, however,' answered she, ' as you have 
 asked my advice, the most prudent plan ; besides, 
 now I think of it, I may have an occasion for six 
 or seven hundred pounds, and would sooner let 
 you liavc a bargain than another.' 
 
 ' Pardon me. Madam,' replied the old man; *if 
 your generosity forces you to be extravagant, it 
 must not make us, the most obliged of your de- 
 
INGLEWOOD FOREST. 811 
 
 pendents, improperly impose on that goodness. 
 Extensive as are your charities, I have heard you 
 aver that you always lived within your income ; 
 and can but regard your offer as an effusion of the 
 friendship with which you have honoured us. 
 Condescend, Madam, to place our money with 
 some you may doubtless have out at common in- 
 terest ; it is the utmost I aspire to. Hereafter, if 
 ever it should be in William's power, for he is 
 uncommonly prosperous, to make an honest pur- 
 chase, I have no doubt, to possess the land which 
 gave his father bread, would be the height of his 
 ambition ; at present it is as far beyond our abili- 
 ties as our wishes. A dependence on you, I am 
 convinced, we shall never find painful.' 
 
 ' I have ever thought,' replied Mrs. Palmer, 
 Vtith a smile, ' that you was much unacquainted 
 with the ways of the world.— Pray, what business 
 have you to value my land? to state the price 
 is my business, and yours to get it as cheap as 
 you can.' 
 
 ' Not at the expence of your generosity and my 
 own probity,' answered Godwin. 
 
 ' To make your son William independent has, 
 for some time, been my intention,' replied she ; 
 ' but I could not conveniently before devise the 
 means : 1 have now discovered them, and shall 
 feel myself offended if not suffered to gratify my 
 inclinations at the expence of what is to me — 
 a trifle.' 
 
 Godwin was unable to reply, sentiments too 
 great for utterance swelled his b'osom, and pre- 
 vented speech, while Fanny, who was alone pre- 
 sent at tlie discourse, remained also silent, over- 
 
312 THE FARMER OF 
 
 come at once with gratitude and pleasure. Wil- 
 liam and Bernard at that moment entered, and 
 Mrs. Palmer, in a lively manner, immediately 
 referred the dispute to them. A crimson flush 
 for a moment overspread William's face ; but 
 having expressed his thanks, he begged leave to 
 decline what he must ever consider, should he 
 accept it, as an imposition on her generosity. 
 
 ' Simply then,' replied the lady, ' you refuse 
 what would give me the highest satisfaction, as I 
 should consider myself instrumental to your wel- 
 fare, and take delight in it accordingly. If you 
 outlive me, you may chance to have the land at a 
 cheaper rate ; but then remember I shall not have 
 the pleasure of contemplating my own work.' 
 
 This last observation was too much for all ; 
 but Fanny, whose affection was far superior to 
 her respect to Mrs. Palmer, threw Iier arms 
 around her neck, and wept on her bosom. * Ne- 
 ver, never may I live to see that day,' said she : 
 ' again should I lose a sister, and again would 
 my Anna become an orphan.' 
 
 ' Not so,' replied Mrs. Palmer, looking affection- 
 ately round her : ' Anna can never be an orphan 
 while any of these survive. But, however, for a 
 moment attend to me ; then, if you decline my 
 offer, I have done, and withdraw it. My ideas on 
 some subjects are singular; and I, perhaps, have 
 ideas of gratification peculiar to myself. What I 
 die possessed of will doubtless be disposed of to 
 my friends, or for purposes which I may think for 
 the best; but believe me 1 had ratlier bestow, living, 
 wliat cannot injure my fortune, and see the effect 
 of my gifts, than have afterwards statues erected 
 
iNGLEWOOD FOREST. S13 
 
 to my memory when I am insensible what fruits 
 they have produced. Let me then contemplate 
 your rising prosperity ; let me have the satisfac- 
 tion to think I contributed towards it ; nothing 
 but either a false idea of probity or pride can 
 make you decline it. I have no relations who 
 want it, no claims but what my fortune can ten- 
 fold repay ; and to reconcile you to the business, I 
 offer to take the whole of the money you possess, 
 yet would far more willmgly make it a gift : what 
 then have you to object ? If you accept my offer 
 I shall be obliged and gratified ; if you do not, I 
 shall look upon you as a proud family, who des- 
 pise even the assistance of a friend.' 
 
 ' God forbid that,' said Bernard ; * not one here 
 but what loves you dearly, but at the same time 
 are fearful of imposing on your good-nature and 
 kindness. I am an old man, Madam, and simple ; 
 but, with your good liking, if you accept the 
 ready money, to Avhich 1 can add about three 
 hundred pounds, I think William, by continuing 
 his usual payments, in a few years might be able 
 to discharge the whole.' 
 
 'I will accept only of seven hundred,' returned 
 Mrs. Palmer ; ' if the estate is worth more, to you 
 I will leave it in trust, to pay the overplus to 
 Reuben and Anna, whom I regard as my peculiar 
 charge ; the first from the recollection of my own 
 beloved boy ; the last from both promise and 
 affection. Nay, no reply ; be it as I have said, or 
 I must regard my friendship as spurned, and act 
 accordingly. The deeds shall be immediately 
 ready ; and I expect your concurrence without 
 further hesitation, as you value my good opinion ' 
 14 2 R 
 
314 THE FARMER OF 
 
 ' May we never forfeit it, Madam!' replied 
 Godwin : ' Be all as you have said ; Heaven 
 make us worthy your goodness!' 
 
 This concluded the business that placed the 
 farmer above dependence, and gratified the gene- 
 rous mind of Mrs. Palmer. 
 
 The writings of the estate were regularly as- 
 signed to William in a few days, and seven 
 hundred pounds paid down ; which Mrs. Palmer 
 declared to be her full demand, while William, on 
 the other hand, protested he could only regard 
 that sum as one-third of the purchase. 
 
 From this time Godwin's consequence increased 
 in the country ; for tliongh he did not proclaim 
 whathad passed, yet Mrs. Palmer made no scruple 
 to declare she had sold the estate, and who was the 
 purchaser. The title of Esquire nov*' began to be 
 tacked to the name of Godwin ; but this was so 
 peremptorily refused, that it was speedily dropped. 
 ' The appellation of Esquire,' said William one 
 day to a farmer who thus addressed him, * by no 
 means belongs to me. I am like yourself, a plain 
 farmer; and superior success entitles me to no such 
 distinction. Had I lived, indeed, in the days of 
 chivalry, I might, perhaps, have imbibed the folly 
 of the times, in thinking the name glorious ; and 
 have possibly thrown away my life in the service 
 of some silly knight who chose to affirm his para- 
 mour a miracle of chastity, or constellation of 
 beauty ; but these Quixotisms are past, simple 
 reason prevails, and knights are no longer sp 
 valorous, nor esquires put to so hard a service. 
 The name now in general implies either a fox- 
 hunter, or a man wiio can exist without laboiu'. 
 
INGLEWOOD FOREST. 315 
 
 1 am not the first of these, nor can I live without 
 industry. I am therefore plain William Godwin, 
 or fanner Godwin, no 'squire; but, I trust, an 
 honest man, and as such at your service.' Not- 
 withstanding these contracted ideas, William was 
 universally esteemed ; not a respectable man in 
 the whole country passed him unnoticed, nor a 
 poor one without a blessing. 
 
 In the midst of happiness, anxious for Edwin 
 and Emma, he had by every possible means in- 
 quired after tliem ; but in vain ; and was at length 
 obliged to struggle to forget them, in the harmony 
 of his domestic circle. 
 
 CHAP. XXXVI. 
 
 Thus passed days, months, and years, honour in 
 creasing with age in the one part of the family, 
 and reason, affection, strength, and beauty, with 
 the other; until Reuben had attained his four- 
 teenth, and Anna her thirteenth year: — a period 
 that had given William two more children, Ed- 
 ward and a blooming girl, called Agnes, all happy 
 as they were innocent ; their hearts as free from 
 guile as sorrow. 
 
 Th€ education of the boys was now the amuse- 
 ment of Godwin ; w ho, surrounded by his grand- 
 children, forgot the seventy winters that had 
 passed over him. The remembrance of the un- 
 grateful Edwin and Emma alone cast a cloud over 
 the otherwise serene evening of his days, though 
 
316 THE FARMER OF 
 
 he now had not any doubt but that both were dead, 
 as no tidings had transpired for so long a time. 
 
 Edward was somewhat more than two years 
 younger than Reuben— Agnes in the same pro- 
 portion from himself, of similar tempers, open, 
 cheerful, and humane, and tenderly attached to 
 each other : but if there was any particular parti- 
 ality, it was evidently between Reuben and Anna, 
 who, although they did not live together, (Reuben 
 residing at his father's) could not pass a day asun- 
 der. Anna, educated from her most tender infancy 
 by Mrs. Palmer, knew no difference between the 
 affection she felt for her and her reputed mother ; 
 she looked np to both with duty and tenderness, 
 and would frequently, in the ovei*flowings of her 
 little heart, exclaim, ' What a happy girl am I to 
 have two mothers!'— an expression that never 
 failed to force a tear from Fanny, and cast a mo- 
 mentary gloom over the party. 
 
 Bernard was still strong and hearty, and appa- 
 rently as happy as his grandchildren ; he sung 
 with them, played with them, and was ever fore- 
 most in devising sports for their amusement. 
 Godwin and William were his oracles — Fanny his 
 paragon ; but the children yet more than all vvere 
 his pride, his delight, and his companions 
 
 -:700;'5 ■ H 
 
 '^From morn to noon, from noon to dewy eve.' . 
 
 ■:••■■ Of vniici:.';i»ijr.- i^ * *^ a i^n 
 
 AboiH the peViod before mentioned Mrs. Pal- 
 mer's steward dying, and having no one she could 
 immediately ap[)oint, with the assistance of God- 
 win and Felijf, she for some time transacted her 
 own business ; during the course of which a lease 
 of considerable value expiring, she entreated Wil- 
 
INGLEWOOD FOREST. 317 
 
 liam to take a journey to London, and renew it 
 to the former holder on terms she specified. 
 
 William accordin2:ly departed, taking Reuben, 
 who was now almost as good a horseman as him- 
 self, for a companion ; and after a pleasant and 
 easy journey reached the metropolis. 
 
 The business that brought him to town was his 
 first care, and which completed he would willingly 
 have hastened immediately back ; but Reuben's 
 curiosity had a number of incentives, which his 
 father chose rather to gratify than, by opposition 
 and uncertainty, leave him to suppose they were 
 more pleasing or desirable than they really were. 
 
 They visited the tower, St. Paul's, the abbey, 
 and lastly the theatre, where, happening to be 
 late, and on an evening when the house was un- 
 commonly crowded, William, sooner than disap- 
 point his son, went into the boxes. Until near 
 the end of the fourth act their attention had been 
 totally drawn towards the scene; but William 
 then casting his eyes around, discovered, in one of 
 the opposite boxes, a person that at once attracted 
 his whole attention. It was a woman past the 
 bloom of youth, but yet extremely lovely, though 
 art appeared in some measure to supply the 
 ravages that intemperance had made on beauty. 
 Her arms were naked far above the elbow, and 
 her bosom uncovered, even sufficiently to have 
 occasioned disgust in any but the breast of a liber- 
 tine ; nevertheless, this woman entirely attracted 
 William's attention, and, for the time, he n(^t only 
 banished the play, but every other object from his 
 thoughts. He gazed as if he doubted his sight- 
 sighed— got up— sat do wn— and at length, unable 
 
.318 THE FARMER OF 
 
 to bear the torments that distracted him, fondly 
 as he loved his boy, desired him to remain where 
 he was until he again rejoined him. 
 
 The lady, whose eyes had been thrown around 
 in search of prey, had observed the peculiar atten- 
 tion she inspired, and in her turn had carefully 
 examined the person of William, who was as dis- 
 tinguishable from the surrounding beaux by the 
 manly beauty of his person, as by the plainness of 
 his habit. Though emotions of the tender kind 
 are seldom felt by ladies of her description, yet 
 her heart sympathized with the emotions of Wil- 
 liam ; her bosom swelled almost to suffocation ; 
 her eyes overflowed with tears, and raising them 
 towards heaven with a look of despair, she hastily 
 left the box in w hich she was sitting, the moment 
 after William quitted his. 
 
 Unacquainted with the theatre, William mis- 
 took his way; and though he hastened round, was 
 too late to meet the object he sought, who had 
 already left the house. All his inquiries to trace 
 her were fniitless. The only intelligence he could 
 procure was from the boxkeeper, who informed 
 him she had been a celebrated courtezan, but was 
 now on the decline, and usually attended the 
 boxes every night. 
 
 William, more unhappy than he had been for 
 some years, returned immediately to Reuben ; and 
 though he forced himself to sit out the rest of the 
 play, was so evidently disordei'ed, that Ueuben, 
 wholly interested for bis father, saw the curtain 
 drop with pleasure, and attended liim to the inn 
 where they lodged, more concerned at his melan- 
 
 \A 
 
INGLEWOOD FOREST. 3X9 
 
 choly than amused with the remembrance of wliat 
 he had si^en. 
 
 The idea of the lady banished rest during the 
 whole niglit from William's pillow ; and rising at 
 the dawn of day, leaving his son in a sound sleep, 
 and in the care of his hostess, he inquired ihe way 
 to the ])rinters of several newspapers ; in all of 
 which he ordered the following advertisement to, 
 be inserted :■. — 
 
 ' If E — m — a G — d— n, who fourteen years since left hef 
 friends, through the artful persuasions of a worthless man, 
 and who is now known to be very unhappily situated, will 
 return to her relations in Cumberland, or inquire for her bro- 
 ther W— I — m G — d — n, at the Swan, in Lad Lane, he will 
 receive her with oji£n arms ; and she may yet meet the for- 
 giveness of a parent before he drops into the grave.' 
 
 This advertisement, though repeated for a whole 
 month, duiing whicli he remained in town for 
 that purpose, met no reply, nor were liis visits 
 to the theatres more availing. At length he was 
 obliged to depart ; leaving, however, with his 
 hostess a very particular message respecting the 
 person who might apply, and an order for any 
 money she required. 
 
 During William's s-tay in London he also made 
 particular inquiries after Edwin ; but uncertain 
 where to apply, was obliged to have recourse to 
 the heirs of Mr. Delmer, as his lady's jointure 
 falling to them, he conjectured they might be ablQ 
 to afford some information ; but they simply knew 
 that Edwin had turned the whole of his property 
 into money, entered again into the army, and was 
 gone a1>road. With some pains William at length 
 
320 THE FARMER OF 
 
 found out to what regiment he belonged, and on 
 applying to the agent, gained the further infor- 
 mation that Edwin had, years before, a second 
 time resigned his commission, since which he 
 knew nothing respecting him ; but recollected to 
 have heard one of the officers who belonged to 
 the same regiment say, he was advantageously 
 married. 
 
 On William's return to Inglewood he disclosed 
 the intelligence he had received respecting Edwin ; 
 bat remained totally silent in regard to Emma to 
 all but Mrs. Palmer and Fanny, as that informa- 
 tion could but unavailingly have given fresh 
 anguish to his father. 
 
 Reuben was pleased to find himself once more 
 at home; and hastily embracing his family in- 
 quired for Mrs. Palmer and Anna; but had 
 scarcely given them time to tell him that both 
 were well, when he declared that he was not in 
 the least tired, but would go and see them ; then, 
 with the speed of a greyhound, flew from home, 
 and took the road to the manor-house. 
 
 Mrs. Palmer and Anna appeared to participate 
 the pleasure he felt at this meeting. Anna hung 
 round his neck, and wept witli joy, while Reuben 
 fondly kissed her lips, cheeks, and forehead, say- 
 ing, ' I will never go to London again, Anna ; 
 indeed I have been very unhappy.' 
 
 ' Unhappy !' replied Mrs. Palmer, — ' Pray, my 
 young friend, what made you so ?' 
 
 * Why, in the first place, Madam, my father 
 w^as uncommonly melancholy, and when we sat 
 down to our solitary meals, and 1 looked round 
 and saw neither my mother, ray grandfathers, my 
 
INGLEWOOD FOREST. Ssf 
 
 brother, little Agnes, you Madam, nor my Anna, 
 my heart sunk m my bosom, and I was more rea- 
 dy to cry than to eat : then, as I slept in the same 
 room with my father, in the night he would sigh 
 bitterly, when he thought I was asleep. But I 
 was as little inclined to forget myself as he was ; 
 for wlien all was quiet 1 remembered the plea- 
 sures of home, and comparing them with the bus- 
 tle of London, wished we were safe back, and 
 never more to leave Ingiewood.' ■^^^^^^^^■'■■■■ 
 
 ' But surely, Reuben, some of the pleasures, or 
 at least sights of London, amused you ?' answer- 
 ed Mrs. Palmer. 
 
 ' They rather surprised than amused me, except 
 the theatres,' replied Reuben ; * for example, one 
 morning, after pushing through numberless crowds 
 and narrow diny streets, we came at once to that 
 magnificent building called St. Paul's, which 
 struck me in a manner I cannot describe ! With 
 my father's permission, I walked round it in Won- 
 der and admiration, as I had riot before supposed 
 such an edifice in the whole world I From thence 
 we proceeded somewhat farther, to a place where 
 the noise and confusion of languages brought the 
 tower of Babel so strongly to my mind, that I 
 could not forbear laughing ; but my mirth was of 
 short continuance, for a little on one side we 
 passed a place full of the most ill-looking gloomy 
 beings I ever saw, many of whom were silent, 
 and apparently lost in thought, their eyes fixed 
 on the ground, their foreheads knit, and their eye- 
 brows scouling ; others were talking fast and' loud, 
 and seemingly, by the little my ear could catch, 
 enumerating.' e^ ^M^^^^^ ' ■^^^~-^' "'^ ' ^^"'^ 
 
 14 2s 
 
322 THE FARMER OF 
 
 'Well, but Keuben/ interrupted Mrs. Palmer, 
 ' you saw the tower, did you not ? What did 
 you think of that?' 
 
 ' Why, that was among my disappointments, 
 Madam : I expected quite a different building ; 
 and when I found a mere jumbled crowd of 
 houses, I was disgusted before I entered.' 
 
 ' Buc the inner part certainly repaid you for 
 your disappointment,' said Mrs. Palmer : ' Did 
 you not admire the armoury ?' 
 
 ' I was astonished at the ingenuity, or rather at 
 the patience of the man who placed the weapons : 
 perhaps I should have viewed them with some 
 pleasure, liad not my father given rise to a vei-y 
 disagreeable idea, by saying, How many widows 
 and orphans, think you, Reuben, those instru- 
 ments of death have made? This remark dis- 
 gusted me with them, and on reviewing them 
 I could almost have fancied the points of the 
 speai's w ere stained with blood.' 
 
 ' But then the other curiosities ; — the jewel- 
 office, and the wild beasts.' 
 
 ' For the first, Madam, I am no judge, though 
 I think they would have delighted my sister 
 Agnes. My father particularly called my atten- 
 tion towards them, by observing how very much 
 to be pitied was the virtuous man whom fate had 
 destined to support such a weight of care as must 
 ever accompany a crown. But, Madam, pardon 
 me asking you a question :— -What are the use of 
 the wild beasts ?' 
 
 ' Indeed, Reuben,' replied Mrs. Palmer, * I 
 cannot well answer you : but I suppose they nrr- 
 kept either for curiosity or amusement," 
 
INGLEVVOOD FOREST. 333 
 
 " 1 would sooner keep a lamb or a dove,' said 
 Anna: ' I am sure such ferocious monsters could 
 never amuse mc.' 
 
 ' The beasts, I see, we must give up,' added 
 Mrs. Palmer ; ' but the abbey, — were you not 
 charmed with that, Reuben?' "' 
 
 * Yes, Madam, it inspired both pleasure and 
 awe : I was delighted to see monuments erected 
 to genius and merit, and reflected with reverence 
 on the once distinguished cliaracters that sur- 
 rounded me. At that moment I could almost 
 have wished I had been born to be a warrior ; but 
 my father again called ofl*my attention, by point- 
 ing to a worm that had been thrown out with some 
 earth, desiring me to notice the difference be- 
 tween that and the -worms that fed on ple1)eians 
 in the churchyard at Inglewood.' 
 
 ' And pray what might be the purport of your 
 observation?' said Mrs. Palmer, laughing. 
 
 'Very trifling. Madam,' answered Reuben, join- 
 ing her mirth ; ' but I was aware why my father 
 advanced the subject. He observed with what 
 pleasure I contemplated the tombs of particular 
 characters I had either heard or read of: I there- 
 fore pretended to look carefully at the worm, and 
 replied, the only diflerence I believed was, that 
 this was rather fatter. " An excellent incentive 
 for a man to become a hero," ^returned my father 
 " Yet so far, I must confess, heroes are the best 
 friends to worms, as they procure them most food." 
 * We were then shown the wax-work,' continued 
 Reuben; ' a number of strange, unmeaning, taw- 
 dry, ill-dressed figures, with fix^d eyes, and that 
 neither give pleasure, nor cause any emotion, one 
 
324 THE FARMER OF 
 
 only excepted ; this my father regarded with so 
 much respect, that I involuntarily caught it from 
 him.' 
 
 'Was it General Monk?' interrupted Mrs. 
 Palmer. 
 
 ' No, Madam, it was Lord Chatham. My fa- 
 ther afterwards, as we passed through the park, 
 related sucli things of him, as made rae almost 
 ready to run back and look at him again.' 
 
 * But the theatres, Reuben,' said Mrs. Palmer. 
 
 'Oh! they delighted me,' replied he. 'I saw 
 some of Shakespeare's plays ; and while my eyes 
 were wet with the sorrows of one scene, the wit 
 and humour of the next made me almost ready to 
 burst with laughter.' 
 
 ' Well, after all,' said Anna, ' if the pleasures of 
 London are only what you describe, T see nothing 
 among them to be preferred to a dance on the 
 green in summer, or in tlie manor-hall in winter.' 
 
 ' Preferred !' replied Reuben, ' there are none 
 equal to it, or at least none to my fancy ; and if 
 my father goes again, it is Edward's turn to ac- 
 company him ; I am sure I shall not envy him.' 
 
 Tlie discourse was here put an end to by the 
 arrival of William, and some others of the family, 
 who, after passing a cheerful evening with Mrs, 
 Palmer, returned home. 
 
 CHAP. XXXVIL 
 
 For near four years after the journey to London, 
 no material occurrence disturbed the hai*mony at 
 
INGLEWOOD FOREST. 825 
 
 Inglewood. The old men, though now both 
 verging towards eighty, were still able to walk 
 about, their senses perfect, and were neither 
 troublesome to themselves nor others. No news 
 had yet transpired of either Edwin or Emma ; 
 and Wiiiiam cherished a hope that his unhappy 
 sister's vices were terminated by death. 
 
 Mrs. Palmer, who Imil the newspapers regularly 
 remitted, one day, in reading the contents of one, 
 became iniormed that the estate in Jamaica, which 
 bad formerly appertained to her uncle Walters, was 
 to be sold, together with the stock and negroes. 
 
 ' I have a strong inclination,' said she to Godwin, 
 who was present, ' to make inquiry whether any of 
 the slaves formerly belonging to my uncle are 
 living ; J would freely purchase and restore them 
 to liberty. Though I am unacquainted with them, 
 Felix can direct me on the occasion, and will in 
 this case be the most proper commissioner.' 
 
 The Godwins all warmly applauded the motive ; 
 and Felix, being called and consulted, accepted 
 the office with a joy little short of rapture. He 
 was now turned of seventy ; but declared, that 
 was it not possible to transact the business in 
 Jjondon, he would willingly undertake a voyage 
 toJam^aicaon such an occasion; but which doubt- 
 less would be unnecessary, as the estate was to be 
 sold publicly at Garraway's, if not previously dis- 
 posed of by private contract; and there must ne- 
 cessarily be an agent in town, who perfectly un-- 
 derstood the whole, and what negroes were uponit. 
 
 Reuben, it has been before observed, was not 
 particularly partial to London, he therefore had no 
 inclination to take a second jouraey ; but Edward, 
 
326 THE FARMER OF 
 
 who was now sixteen, felt the warmest desire to 
 accompany Felix ; and whispering his wishes to 
 Reuben, they were soon conveyed to his father, 
 who, willing to gratify him, immediately proposed 
 his accompanying Felix — an offer that was ac- 
 cepted with the utmost pleasure. 
 
 F'urnished with a letter ofcredit on Mrs. Palmer's 
 banker, a few days after, they set off for London, 
 travelling by easy stages in a post-chaise ; for Felix 
 grew too advanced in years to ride far on horse- 
 back. After reposing one day on their arrival, 
 they repaired to the agent, who, however, was 
 unacquainted with any thing but the gross of the 
 business ; but referred him to a lady of the name 
 of Fitzmorris, who was sister to the owner, whom 
 he observed was out of town ; but that he had no 
 doubt the lady could give every information, 
 as she had resided some years on the estate, and 
 Avas also now accompanied by the owner's daugh- 
 ter, who might assist her recollection. 
 
 Thus informed, Felix and his young companion 
 waited on Mrs. Fitzmorris, and were immediately 
 admitted. The lady was not alone ; the daughter 
 of Mr. Fitzmorris, a tall girl of fourteen, was seated 
 at work by her side, and possessed one of those 
 fascinating countenances that might almost be said 
 to be impossible to be looked on without inte- 
 resting the beholder. Her features were exquisitely 
 formed ; her complexion brunette, but so clear, that 
 every variation of the mantling blood was discern- 
 ible ; her eyes were black and sparkling, but, soft- 
 ened by modesty and gentleness, they appeared 
 rather formed to steal into the heart tJian take it 
 by surprise ; her hair was dark brown, and waved 
 
INGLEWOOD FOREST. 327 
 
 in luxurious negligence down her waist, which 
 showed the perfect symmetry that might be ex- 
 pected when its growth was completed. 
 
 Felix and Edward were received by the eldest 
 lady with politeness, and being informed of the 
 business coolly approved the motives, while Miss 
 Fitzmorris applauded it with warmth ; and laying 
 down her work viewed the strangers with a plea- 
 sure that sparkled in her eyes. 
 
 ' I have a list below,' said Mrs. Fitzmorris, ' of 
 the persons, ages, and names, of all the negroes 
 which my brother desired me to send to the 
 agent; but I have omitted it through forgetful- 
 ness. If you please we will refer to that ; and if 
 any of the negroes are among those you wish 
 to liberate, I will desire the agent to accommo- 
 date you, as Mr. Fitzmorris is now at Bath, and 
 will not, I am sure, disapprove my obliging you.' 
 With these words the lady ordered the list, and 
 with Felix examined accurately the persons and 
 names : Felix, however, only found two of his 
 old acquaintance among them, and those very 
 much advanced in years. While they were thus 
 busied, Miss Fitzmorris had withdrawn for a few 
 minutes, but returned before they had concluded ; 
 and drawing near Edward, while her aunt leaned 
 over the table, gave him a small parcel undirected, 
 and that so cautiously, that it was unobserved by 
 any but the party to whom it was presented, who 
 instinctively put it in his pocket, though with a 
 trembling hand. 
 
 Felix, furnished with the intelligence he wished, 
 retired with his young companion, wlio soon in- 
 formed him of the strange occurrence. Thev 
 
328 THE FARMER OF 
 
 immediately adjourned into the first house of 
 entertainment they found for their purpose ; and 
 Edward, with an agitated hand, hastily broke the 
 seal, and found, to his utter astonishment, five 
 bank-notes for ten pounds each, enclosed in a 
 paper containing these lines : — 
 
 ' As I know neither of you, I cannot address you by name ; 
 but my heart whispers you are possessed of humanity, or the 
 good lady, whose charity leads her to liberate those unhappy 
 negroes, would not make you her agents. My father and aunt 
 are both goad people; but are too much accustomed to the 
 West Indies to think on those subjects as your employer does, 
 and have therefore refused me the freedom of a woman-slave 
 and her son, whom I dearly love, for the woman attended my 
 mother in her last illness. What I would request therefore is, 
 that you would condescend to mention this circumstance to 
 the lady, and entreat her to buy them among her number ; the 
 purchase will, I fear, be more than T have enclosed, which is 
 all I at present possess, and what I have been these two years 
 accumulating for that purpose : but tell her, if I live, I will 
 gratefully repay the overplus, — ever esteem myself her debtor, 
 and love her dearly for interest. 
 
 ' Editha Fitzmorris. 
 
 * P. S. Let me know the lady's name, if she condescends 
 to grant my request. The slave alluded to is called Julia, 
 and her son Scipio.' 
 
 The amazement of Felix and Edward at the 
 contents of this letter, is easier to be conceived 
 than described. The open freedom of the young 
 lady charmed the old man. — ' Ah, sweet maid !' 
 cried he, ' I am sorry your father is going to sell 
 the plantation ; my poor countrymen will not, I 
 fear, find such another kind mistress.' 
 
INGLEWOOD FOREST. 329 
 
 ' Then she is such a lovely girl, Felix,' returned 
 Edward, ' I thought she looked like an angel, even 
 before she spoke. I wish she lived near Ingle- 
 wood ; my sister Anna would, I am sure, be 
 charmed with her : as it is, we shall never see her 
 more. But what do you mean to do in regard to 
 the woman and her son whom she has mentioned?' 
 
 ' Free them most certainly,' answered Felix : ' I 
 am worth more than twice as much money as will 
 do that, and will willingly expend it in such a 
 cause. Her notes I will return ; she will find 
 many uses for them ; and there is no occasion to 
 let her know the address, as it will but put her 
 to straits to endeavour to repay the money.' 
 
 ' Then,' replied Edward, ' we shall not even 
 hear of her again ; yet, perhaps, as you say, it 
 would but distress her.' Felix and Edward then 
 adjourned to their lodging, where, on farther in- 
 vestigation of the business, it was agreed that 
 Felix, on the next morning, should again wait on 
 Mrs. Fitzmorris, pretend to look over the list of 
 slaves, and fix on the two additional ones speci- 
 fied by the young lady. 
 
 Felix then enclosed the notes ready to return to 
 her : Edward wished to write a line with them, 
 and sat down to execute his purpose, but in vain. 
 After repeatedly beginning, and tearing the paper, 
 he gave up the attempt, unable to satisfy himself 
 in what he wished to express. ^ 
 
 The next day Felix and his yo<ing companion 
 waited on Mrs. Fitzmorris so early that the lady 
 was not risen, but sent down to request they 
 would wait a quarter of an hoiu% when she would 
 attend them. . 
 
 14 2 T 
 
330 THE FARMER OF 
 
 They were then shown into a parlour ; but had 
 scarcely taken a seat when Miss Fitzmorris enter- 
 ed : a crimson blush for a moment dyed the cheeks 
 of Edward, which as speedily communicated to 
 those of the young lady. ' Ah !' said she, ' 1 fear 
 you think me a strange bold girl ; but, indeed, 
 necessity forces me to be so ; for if my poor Julia 
 and her boy were sold, it would break my heart. 
 The money allowed for books and my pocket I 
 have long been hoarding, and will as soon as 
 possible make up the remainder of the sum.' 
 
 'They shall be freed, young lady,' replied Felix, 
 ' never fear ; but as I am ready to oblige you in 
 this business, you must also, in your turn, favour 
 me, by taking back your money; a heai't like 
 yours will often find occasion for it. For me I 
 am an old man, and liave an earnest wish to do a 
 good action before I die ; let this be it. You look 
 too gentle to be proud, and I flatter myself will 
 not disdain to be obliged by a negro.' 
 
 * Disdain !' replied she, holding out her hand 
 with the freedom of an old acquaintance, ' no ; I 
 will think of your kindness as the kindness of a 
 father. Alas!' continued she, 'my father called 
 my request folly, and so did my aunt ; but you 
 have complied with it, and made me happy : 
 though, indeed, you must take the money.' 
 
 * Not now,' replied the old man, ' I m ill demand 
 it hereafter. If I humour you, you must also 
 humour me.' 
 
 Felix now presented the notes, which were with 
 great reluctance received by the young lady ; and, 
 Mrs. Fitzmorris entering soon after the business 
 was brought forward, Felix again examined the 
 
INGLEWOOD FOREST. 331 
 
 list, and fixing on the mother and son, requested 
 tliey might be added to the number, saying, that 
 he had some confused recollection of knowing the 
 former when he resided on Mr. Walters's estate, 
 though she then belonged to a different master. 
 
 This request was readily agreed to ; and Felix 
 departed with a line from Mrs. Fitzmorris to the 
 agent, requiring him to suffer the bearer to pur- 
 chase the slaves specified. Felix and Edward 
 being fortunate enough to meet with him at 
 home, the business was completed ; and a sum, 
 over and above the agreed price, left in his hands 
 to transmit to the persons liberated, either to assist 
 them in Jamaica, or to enable them to reach their 
 benefactress, to whose lawyer in town they were 
 directed. 
 
 Felix and Edward passed some short time after- 
 wards in London, to gratify the curiosity of the 
 latter ; and then returned to Inglewood, where 
 they were received with delight, though Mrs. 
 Palmer was grieved that no more of her uncle's 
 slaves survived to experience her bounty. 
 
 All were particularly pleased with the behaviour 
 of Editha Fitzmorris, in whose praise Edward was 
 never weary. The purchase of her favourites had 
 €Ost an hundred pounds, which no persuasion 
 could make Felix swerve from insisting to pay, 
 though Mrs. Palmer would willingly have had the 
 young lady her debtor : she was, however, con- 
 strained to resign in his favour. 
 
 Editha was now the constant theme of the 
 younger part of the family ; Anna would frequently 
 wish she m as acquainted with her ; and Reuben did 
 
332 THE FARMER OF 
 
 not fail to express pleasure at her character. But 
 all praise was cold to Edward's ; for with him she 
 was at once a miracle of goodness and beauty. 
 
 *Ah, Reuben!' said he, one day when alone 
 with his brother, ' I have often thought our sister 
 a lovely girl, but she is not to be compared with 
 Miss Fitzmorris ; her fine hazel eyes are far supe- 
 rior to Anna's blue ones ; and do not you think 
 dark hair more beautiful than light?' 
 
 'Not I, indeed,' replied Reuben, warmly: 'I do 
 not dispute but she may be a likely girl ; but to 
 say that she is handsomer than Anna is ridiculous. 
 No one can persuade me that any eyes can exceed 
 hers in loveliness ; the sky itself is not of a more 
 charming colour. And then Anna's hair ; can any 
 dark locks equal that ? No ; surely, Edward, you 
 must be a very bad judge, for Anna's hair is the 
 finest I ever saw ; it is the first shade of bright 
 brown, and in the sun looks like threads of 
 waving gold.' 
 
 Felix at that mhiute entering, the dispute was 
 referred to him, and he was appointed judge be- 
 tween them, ' Indeed,' said he, ' young men, you 
 have set me rather a difficult task. Your sister 
 Anna is a lovely fair girl, and Miss Fitzmorris, 
 though brown, equally lovely ; therefore I cannot 
 give to either the superiority. Your opinions of 
 beauty, it seems, are different, and opposite to your 
 own persons ; for Reuben himself has dark eyes 
 and hair, yet he admires fair complexions ; while 
 Edward, on the contrary, is light-coloured, and is 
 charmed with the brown. My countrymen,' added 
 the old man, laughing, ' are not so puzzled ; our 
 beauties are all of a colour.' 
 
INGLEWOOD FOREST. 333 
 
 The warm attachment between Reuben and 
 Anna, while it pleased the family, yet sometimes 
 gave them a sentiment of sorrow. Fanny parti- 
 cularly would frequently lament that she had 
 acknowledged her, as otherwise she might have 
 become the wife of her son. 
 
 The partiality of Mrs. Palmer for Anna, added 
 to her own lovely form, in the mean time, not- 
 withstanding her youth, brought her some unex- 
 ceptionable offers ; but, as both her reputed pa- 
 rents and Mrs. Palmer declared her at liberty on 
 that subject, they were rejected. 
 
 'Ah! Madam,' said she to Mrs. Palmer, ' I will 
 never leave you ; for where can I be so happy ? 
 Not my mother herself is dearer to my heart; 
 she, Heaven be praised, has many to comfort her; 
 but you,' continued she, fondly kissing her, ' have 
 only your poor grateful Anna!' 
 
 ' Far be it from me,' replied Mrs. Palmer, ' even 
 to wish to be separated from you, my love ; yet, 
 Anna, I cannot but say I should like to see you 
 happily settled.' 
 
 * And so I am,' replied she. 'Ah! Madam, I 
 always pray that you may live to such a good 
 age as my grandfathers ; and then, youknoAv, we 
 shall be both old together.' 
 
 ' Six or seven-and-thirty years will always make 
 some difference between us,' answered Mrs. Pal- 
 mer, with a smile ; ' however, be assured in the article 
 of marriage you are totally your own mistress.' 
 
 The affection of Mrs. Palmer for Anna knew 
 no bounds ; she regarded her as a tender blossom 
 she had reared, and gloried in the expansion of 
 virtues she had inculcated, introducing her to 
 
334 THE FARMER OF 
 
 those few friends she regarded, as a beloved child ; 
 and ever, when speaking of her, using the name 
 of Anna Palmer : an appellation, as it gratified 
 her benefactress, that she w^as generally called by, 
 not only by the domestics, but even by the whole 
 neighbourhood, — Mrs. and Miss Palmer being 
 the common distinction. 
 
 CHAP. XXXVIII. 
 
 Mrs. Palmer had now passed near nineteen 
 years in the peaceful retreat which her heart ap- 
 proved, when she one day received a letter from 
 her attorney in town, entreating her to hasten to 
 the metropolis, as her father, who was now above 
 eighty, and not expected to live long, had ex- 
 pressed the most ardent wish to see her before he 
 died. His son had been some years dead ; since 
 w hich event, the influence of his wife had been in 
 vain exerted to divert him from the earnest desire 
 he had to embrace once more his now only child. 
 Determined, at all events, to satisfy himself on a 
 subject so near his heart, he had employed her 
 attorney to make his will, and likewise requested 
 him to send her word that he wished to see lier in 
 town. 
 
 Mrs. Palmer immediately replied to her corre- 
 spondent tliat she would set off" for London as 
 speedily as possible, entreating him, in the mean 
 time, to procure her either a small house ready 
 furnished, or convenient lodgings, as she did not 
 
INGLEWOOD FOREST. 335 
 
 choose, if even invited, to be under the same roof 
 with her mother-in-law. Anna she proposed to 
 take with her ; but her old and faithful Felix was 
 now too feeble to undertake such a journey, the 
 last being almost too much for his strength. 
 
 Anna, though tenderly attached to Mrs. Pal- 
 mer, felt but little predilection for the journey; 
 and the evening before they were to depart, when 
 she took leave of the family, appeared overwhelm- 
 ed with grief. 
 
 * With no one but your best friend, my love, 
 would I trust you,' said Fanny, as she embi'aced 
 her : ' but under her guidance you are safe ; for 
 though bred and educated in that nursery of vice, 
 how spotless and unblemished has ever been her 
 conduct ! I shall anxiously wait your return, for 
 my happiness can never be complete while any of 
 you are absent ; and 1 sincerely confess, I hope to 
 find you as little pleased with London as your 
 brother Reuben was ; for I cannot but say I fear 
 my Edward was rather partial to it.' 
 
 * No, indeed, my dear mother,' replied Edward ; 
 ' I certainly should like to see it once more, though 
 not from any particular attachment to the place. 
 I only wish to hear what Miss Fitzmorris says 
 respecting her slaves, and to know whether she is 
 well ; she must surely have a cruel father to refuse 
 her such a request. Ah !' continued he, with 
 energy, * I wish she was your daughter, or any 
 farmer's daughter near Inglewood ; she would 
 then, I think, be much happier, and I am sure 
 I should never wish to see London again.' 
 
 Fanny saw with concern that young as her son 
 I Edward was, his heart was prepossessed in favour 
 
336 THE FARMER OF 
 
 of Editha ; but trusting to time to remove so 
 early an impression, she passed from the subject 
 to some other less interesting' to him. 
 
 * Mrs. Palmer,' said Anna, resuming the con- 
 versation, 'has determined to visit Mrs. Fitz- 
 morris when she goes to town, and thank her 
 for the trouble she took concerning the slaves, 
 if it is only to form an acquaintance between her 
 niece and myself.' 
 
 ' Oh ! how kind and good !' exclaimed Ed- 
 ward ; ' how charmed will you be with her, An- 
 na ! I am sure you must love her. Tell her we 
 talk of her at Inglewood, and wish her as happy 
 as her company would make us.' 
 
 ' You, Reuben,' said Anna, ' will write to me, 
 I know, and tell me every particular respect- 
 ing home ; and in return I will inform you of every 
 circumstance that happens in town.' 
 
 Reuben threw his arms fondly round her, a 
 tear trembling in his eye. ' Ah, Anna,' said 
 he, * I have frequently lamented that you were 
 brought up from home ; had not that been the 
 case, we should not now have been separated.' 
 
 ' It will be but for a short time, my brother,' 
 replied she, kissing his cheek,—' and I shall re 
 turn to Inglewood with rapture; for what can 
 make me amends for being separated from such 
 dear friends? I am sure, Reuben, if I had my 
 will, 1 would wish never to be parted from you.' 
 
 Fanny regarded them in silence, while a tear 
 stole down her cheek ; but Mrs. Palmer at that 
 moment joining them, the conversation became 
 general, until the parties se})arated, after repeated 
 adieus, embraces, and tears. 
 
INGLEWOOD FOREST. . 337 
 
 On the morning following- Mrs. Palmer and 
 Anna set off for London, where they arrived after 
 a pleasant journey of five days ; and found all pre 
 pared for their reception, Mrs. Palmer's corre- 
 spondent having- punctually obeyed her orders. 
 
 CHAP. XXXIX. 
 
 It was in the beginning of the month of January 
 that Mrs. Palmer and Anna set off for London, 
 leaving the family at Inglewood more oppressed 
 with their absence than the gloom of the season. 
 The weather was particularly severe, the snow 
 had fallen in great quantities, and prevented the 
 poor from having recourse to their usual industry. 
 In this distress William had stepped forth, though 
 without ostentation, and supplied them with corn 
 at a reduced price, and even to many, who were 
 yet more distressed, without payment: a conduct 
 that, if he was before beloved, made him now 
 perfectly idolized. 
 
 One night, after being employed during the 
 whole day in these humane and charitable distri- 
 butions, he retired early to rest, satisfied witli 
 himself, and recounting every particular to his 
 Fanny. 
 
 The clock had struck eleven before either felt 
 inclined to sleep ; the wind blew a perfect hurri- 
 cane, the rain and mingled snow beat against the 
 window, and Fanny, in the charity of her heart, 
 had recommended to the protection of Heaven all 
 
 15 2u 
 
338 THE FARMER OF 
 
 who were exposed to the inclemency of the night, 
 when, in the intervals of the tempest, a kind of 
 hollow moan struck her ear. She listened, and 
 again heard the same sonnd ; but so blended with 
 the storm as to render it uncertain from whence 
 it could proceed. Alarmed, she shook William, 
 who was almost asleep, and bade him listen ; but 
 all was again quiet, except the weather; and 
 William would fain have persuaded her that what 
 she had heard was merely the wind. 
 
 ' Alas ! I fear not,' said Fanny ; ' I rather dread 
 it is some unhappy creature who is lost in the 
 snow, and perhaps by this time is incapable of 
 any exertion, for the voice seemed faint and near, 
 and I am convinced was human.' 
 
 Nothing more was necessary to awaken the 
 humanity of William. He arose hastily, and put- 
 ting on his clothes, as did also Fanny, they de- 
 scended, calling first to awaken their sons, and to 
 tell the old men, wlio asked the reason of their 
 rising, that they feared some one was bewildered 
 in the snow, as Fanny had heard a voice of distress 
 apparently very near, desiring them to lie still, 
 and they should be informed of their success. 
 Reuben and Edward were dressed in a moment, 
 and sallied out, accompanied by their father, in 
 search of the cause of their alarm. After havina; 
 repeatedly hallooed round the house and adjacent 
 grounds without receiving any answer, they de- 
 termined to return from their successless errand. 
 Fanny in the mean time had not been idle ; 
 hoping they would meet with the distressed 
 object, she had stirred up the kitchen fire, and 
 fetclied out a bottle of wine and spice, in order to 
 
INGLEWOOD FOREST. 339 
 
 prepare what she thought necessary on such an 
 occasion, when agam, in an interval of silence 
 from the storm, she heard the sound that had 
 first alai'med her; but more faint, and, to her 
 imagination, almost close to the house. 
 
 Fanny was no coward ; and placing her candle 
 in a lantern she went out, and looked cautiously 
 around, but could see nothing ; yet again heard 
 a groan. Convinced now that it proceeded from 
 the wood shed, she hastened thither, and holding 
 up her light, said, ' If any one is near, let them 
 speak, and they shall have immediate assistance.' 
 1^ Her only answer was another groan ; but the 
 light at that moment discovered to her sight a 
 human form lying on the ground, if not lifeless, 
 at least so benumbed with cold as to be almost 
 reduced to the last extremity. Fanny now felt 
 greatly alarmed, though not sufficiently so to pre- 
 vent her using means to assist the sufferer ; and 
 finding she was unable alone to be of much service, 
 left the shed to call her servant-maids ; but meet- 
 ing with her husband and sons, wlio were return- 
 ing from their fruitless errand, informed them of 
 the discovery she had made, and that the unhappy 
 object was a womaij. Reuben being first, lifted 
 her in his arms, and carried her into the house, 
 where all were now employed in her service ; 
 Edward in heaping piles of wood on the fire, 
 Reuben in warming wine, and their father and 
 mother in chafing and endeavouring to recover 
 the stranger. Her face was distorted by convul- 
 sions, the pale livery of death appeared to over- 
 shadow every feature, and for some time all their 
 cares were iueffectual; but at length the convul- 
 
UO THE FARMER OF 
 
 sive spasms, being solely occasioned by cold, ap- 
 peared to decrease, and her features to settle into 
 their regular form. 
 
 William and Fanny had their eyes fixed upon 
 her; but as her features recovered their proper 
 symmetry, theirs became imprinted with hoiTor, 
 amazement, and pity; and withdrawing their look 
 from the object that had before totally employed 
 them, they now endeavoured to read each other's 
 thoughts. — ' It isimpossible !' exclaimed William ; 
 ' yet surely I cannot be mistaken ! — It is, it is my 
 sister— the unhappy lost Emma !' 
 
 ' It is indeed our Emma !' replied Fanny, ' and 
 blessed be the hour that restores her to us ; it is a 
 proof that she has abjured her errors ; and who 
 can refuse her forgiveness ? You have frequently, 
 my sons, heard us lament her unhappy deviation 
 from rectitude,-— which, from what you now see, 
 has been followed by the most direful conse- 
 quences. Retire; her senses may speedily re- 
 turn, and it might occasion a relapse to find other 
 'witnesses than your father and myself; we will 
 call if more help is necessary. In the mean time, 
 let not a word transpire to your grandfather of 
 what has passed ; for if he is informed too sud- 
 denly it may prove fatal.' 
 
 ' Be it as your mother has said, my sons,' added 
 William ; * her prudence, even in this surprise, I 
 feee has not forsaken her." 
 
 Reuben and Edward immediately withdrew in 
 silence, deeply impressed with compassion. A 
 few spoonfuls of warm wine were with much dif- 
 ficulty got down Emuia's throat, and her senses 
 began to return ; but fixing her eyes on AVilliatn, 
 
INGLEWOOD FOREST. ^41 
 
 she slid from her seat to the ground, holding- her 
 hands in a suppliant posture. 
 
 Fanny dropped by lier side, and pressing her 
 to her bosom, exclaimed, ' Fear not, Emma, you 
 are thrice welcome to your native home. Have 
 you forgotten that there is more joy in heaven 
 over one sinner that repenteth, than over ninety 
 and nine just persons who need no repentance ? 
 And shall it not on earth be the same ? Nay, 
 weep not, nor wring your hands thus.' 
 
 * Oh, say !' at length sobbed Emma, in a voice 
 far from articulate, ' is not my father dead ? Mi- 
 serable wretch that I am, I can never receive his 
 forgiveness.' 
 
 ' Not so,' replied William ; ' he is yet spared to 
 afford you that comfort, if you merit it ; but for 
 the present, endeavour to recruit your strength 
 by refreshment and rest. Our father must not this 
 night be told of your return; his age, and the re- 
 peated shocl^s he has received, might render such 
 information dangerous. He shall simply be told we 
 have succoured some one bewildered in the snow.* 
 i . ' And can you, William,' answered Emma, as 
 jioshe yet more recovered, ' and you, virtuous Fan- 
 tay, can you forgive a wretched prostitute? Ah. 
 no ! you cannot when you know the extent of 
 my crimes ; they are beyond human forgiveness ; 
 nay, I fear, beyond the reach of Divine mercy !' 
 As she spoke, her head sunk on her bosom, and 
 5 f for some moments she appeared overpowered with 
 .anguish. ' Ah ! happy abode of my youth and in- 
 nocence !' at length she exclaimed, gazing around 
 her, ' and shall I be permitted to draw ray last pol- 
 luted breath under this roof, stained as I am with 
 
342 JUK i:ARIVlER OF 
 
 a thousand vices ? Will heaven permit it ? Ah, 
 no ! when you know all, you will spurn and de- 
 test me, as 1 do myself.' 
 
 ' Alas !' answered Fanny, ' whatever may have 
 been your faults, repentance and your present 
 misery will, I trust, atone for them. William, 
 your sister is at present unable to walk, let us 
 bear her to bed ; after which go to our parents, 
 und if they are not asleep, relate what has hap- 
 pened, without mention of person.' 
 
 William now bore Emma in his arms to the 
 bed chamber, where he left her with his wife, who 
 undressed her ; and was not a little shocked to see 
 the emaciated state of her body, her bones being 
 almost sharp enough to break through the skin 
 that covered them. 
 
 Having placed her in bed, Fanny would fain 
 have persuaded her to take some refreshment, but 
 she declined it. Fanny judging rest the most 
 salutary to her exhausted frame, for a short time 
 retired, and joined William, who waited for her 
 |:)elow stairs. 
 
 The strangeness of the whole occurrence em- 
 ployed all their thouglits and conjectures. Em- 
 ma's dress was clean, though of the most simple 
 kind. Her features, though much emaciated, 
 were yet lovely ; and, notwithstanding she was 
 past the age of thirty-six, might still have been 
 accounted captivating. 
 
 Several times during the night did the kind and 
 attentive Fanny steal into the apartment to look 
 on the poor penitent ; but constantly found her 
 awake; and listening at the door, heard her 
 always earnest in prayer. 
 
INdLEWOOD FOREST. 3iS 
 
 CHAP. XL. 
 
 In the morning Godwin and Bernard inquired, iii 
 the kindest manner, after the stranger, of whom 
 they had no suspicion beyond what had been told 
 them, until after breakfast William, having sent 
 his sons and servants on different errands, deter- 
 mined to disclose the truth of the business. 
 
 ' My father,' said he, addressing Godwin, ' I 
 grieve whenever I reflect on the many sorrows 
 that have imbittered your life ; it is a proof to me 
 that even virtue is not a security for happiness 
 here below ; for whose life has been more spotless, 
 and yet who has felt more calamity ? But, my 
 father, you have borne up nobly, have struggled 
 with affliction, and will not, I trust, sink under a 
 surprise, which on the whole must give you more 
 pleasure than pain.' 
 
 ' My son,' replied the old man, calmly, ' the 
 Power w^ho has hitherto supported, will not at this 
 hour, I trust, forsake me. Speak then, and fear 
 not. I feel thy care ; thou watchest my age with 
 the tenderness of a parent, and hast been the prop 
 of my declining years. But for thee, William, and 
 thy angel wife, I had long since sunk into the 
 grave ; but thy duty and affection have supported 
 me, and I have lived even to the time when 
 man's days are said to be labour and sorrow ; yet 
 it is not so with me, — wherever I look round I 
 see blessings, and bow with reverence to Heaven ; 
 ivho, though it has afflicted, has also blessed me 
 bevond the common lot of man.' 
 
344 TFJE FARMER OF 
 
 * Best of men and parents !' replied William, 
 * our sister Emma is returned penitent, and I hope 
 worthy your forgiveness.' 
 
 Neither age nor time had sufficiently blunted 
 the feelings of Godwin to hear this intelligence 
 without emotion. The old man turned pale, an 
 universal trembling shook his frame, and for a 
 moment he cast his eyes anxiously around, then 
 snnk senseless on the bosom of his son. His 
 situation for some time caused alarm ; but by the 
 cares of his attentive children he was at length 
 recovered ; and rising", he said, ' Lead me, lead 
 me to my misguided daughter ; if she is indeed 
 repentant, I have but one wish remains unsatisfied, 
 and that is, if Edwin lives, that he may be the 
 same.' 
 
 ' Precipitation, my father,' replied William, 
 ' might be fatal ; Emma is greatly reduced ; we 
 will first, if you please, inform her you conde- 
 scend to see her, and that she may hope for your 
 forgiveness.' 
 
 ' Be it so,' replied Godwin ; 'in the mean time I 
 will retire, and offer up my heart-felt thanks for 
 this unexpected blessing.' 
 
 Godwin now took the arm of his son, while 
 Fanny retired to inform Emma that her father 
 was apprised of her arrival, and to prepare her for 
 his presence. 
 
 Durmg the absence of Fanny, Enjma, weak as 
 she was, had risen, and sat dressed by the bed- 
 side ; she had apparently been wpeping ; and on 
 the entrance of her sister dropped on her knees, 
 and entreated her to plead for her with her father. 
 
INGLEWOOD FOREST. 94B 
 
 Fanny, in the most gentle terms, told her that 
 he was informed of what had passed ; at the same 
 time conjuring her to be careful of her behaviour, 
 as she dreaded any strong emotion at that time of 
 life might be fatal. 
 
 At length the sound of feet on the stairs gave 
 notice of William and his father's approach ; and 
 Emma, unable to suppress the alarm that over- 
 powered her, sunk on the bed, exclaiming, in a 
 Voice of terror, * Open, earth, and hide from the 
 presence of a virtuous father a monster unworthy 
 to see the light, — a prostitute,— a parricide, — a 
 
 < ! Oh, great God ! my crimes crush me! and, 
 
 infinite as is thy mercy, I dare not hope to meet it." 
 
 At that moment the door opened, and Emma, 
 with more exertion than she appeared capable of, 
 threw herself from the bed at the feet of her 
 father, crying, ' Mercy ! mercy !' while Godwin 
 could not speak, but gazed in silence on his once 
 beautiful and innocent daughter. ' Oh, my father!' 
 added she, ' you cannot forgive me ; but crush 
 me even beneath your feet, and I will bless you.' 
 
 The old man for a moment raised his eyes to 
 heaven, then turned with a look of compassion, 
 and sobbing aloud, exclaimed, * Oh blessed saint, 
 if thou art permitted to view us at this moment, 
 plead at the throne of Mercy for this thy unhappy 
 daughter, who, I trust, has abjured her errors.' 
 
 * Oh, my father !' cried Emma, ' does the 
 slaughtered lamb entreat for the wolf tliat shed 
 its blood ? How then can a murdered parent 
 plead at the throne of Mercy for the parricide 
 that plunged her into an untimely grave ? Ah! 
 Heaven would reject the prayer, and pour fresh 
 
 15 * 2x 
 
346 THE FARMER OF 
 
 horrors on my devoted head. Yet curse me not, 
 my father ; my guilt is sufficient ; and my punish- 
 ment, tliough perhaps not adequate to my faults, 
 yet has been severe. The hand of God, I am 
 convinced, is on me ; then add not your hatred 
 to the blow.' 
 
 ' If my forgiveness can sooth thee, thou hast 
 it,' replied Godwin. ' Thy errors have been 
 great ; let thy repentance be exemplary.' 
 
 Emma was for some moments unable to reply ; 
 she clasped her father's knees, and, in the humi- 
 liation of her heart, kissed the ground on which 
 he stood. At length she exclaimed, ' Ah ! you 
 know not the extent of my crimes, or you would 
 not pardon me. Vice has brought me to tlie 
 very gates of hell. Atrocious in guilt, heaven 
 has been exemplary in my punishment.' 
 
 ' Whatever may have been thy errors,' replied 
 Godwin, ' I trust, sincere repentance may oblite- 
 rate them ; to thy own heart recapitulate, and to 
 God alone confess them. Thy pallid counte- 
 nance betokens ill health ; soon mayest thou, 
 perhaps, be summoned before that awful Tribunal, 
 from whose justice there is no appeal. The for- 
 giveness of an earthly father thou hast, Emma ; 
 none but thyself can procure that of thy heaven- 
 ly one.' 
 
 William, who dreaded to prolong a scene so 
 painful to both, now addresi^ed his father, saying, 
 ' Our sister. Sir, requires rest ; sutler me to attend 
 you for a while ; in an hour or tw'O both will be 
 more composed, and equal to another meeting.' 
 
 ' Be it so,' replied Godwin, taking his son's 
 arm. ' Emma, seek repentance, and lliou shalt 
 
INGLEWOOD FOREST. 847 
 
 even yet find peace. Farewell ! thoa shalt not 
 want my prayers.' 
 
 ' Blessings on his honoured head !' cried Emma, 
 as he left the apartment. ' Alas ! how has soitow 
 changed him !' 
 
 * Time, as well as sorrow,' replied Fanny, 'have 
 contributed tow^ards the alteration : His health, 
 however, thank Heaven, is far better tlian it was 
 some years back ; your return too will, T trust, 
 add to his comfort. Could we now but hear that 
 Edwin, if he is living, had renounced his vices, we 
 should have but little to wish.' 
 
 'Edwin living!' replied Emma, shuddering. — 
 ' Alas ! do you not know he lives V 
 
 * No,' answered Fanny, ' he has not been seen 
 by any of his family since about four months after 
 my beloved Agnes's death, which is now near 
 seventeen years ago. On that event he quitted 
 the army, but has since re-entered it, as we learn- 
 ed ; and also a confused account that he was 
 again married to some woman of large fortune. — 
 Oh ! may Heaven, if it is so, inspire her with the 
 power to lead him back to virtue !' 
 
 ' To virtue !' repeated Emma, wildly. ' No ; 
 
 Edwin is not returned to virtue, except :' 
 
 then becoming more calm, she continued, ' We 
 began the course of vice together, monsters in 
 iniquity; may our crimes have terminated to- 
 gether !' 
 
 'You know then that he is living!' replied 
 Fanny, astonished at the manner in which she 
 spoke. 
 
 ' Too well I know it,' answered she ; ' yet, for 
 pity's sake, ask me not how ; nor am I informed 
 
348 THE FARMER OF 
 
 of particulars,— only that he is rich, and equally 
 abandoned of God as myself!' 
 
 * We will not tlien name him to our father,' 
 returned Fanny, with a sigh. 'He had better 
 think him dead, or entertain the most distant 
 hope of his reformation, than be told what would 
 lie heavy on his heart.' 
 
 As Emma appeared faint and exhausted by the 
 conversation, Fanny persuaded her to endeavour 
 to rest, and soon after left her, to disclose to Wil- 
 liam what she had heard respecting Edwin, and 
 the emotion she showed at the mention of his 
 name. 
 
 ' iVlas !' said she, ' I am convinced she is in- 
 formed of some horrid circumstance, which, per- 
 haps, we are happier to be ignorant of. Heaven 
 has brought back one wanderer ; in its own time, 
 perhaps, it may also lead back the other.' 
 
 CHAP. XLI. 
 
 Emma, after she had been returned a week to the 
 farm, so far recovered from her fatigue, and the 
 misery she had undergone, that she was able to 
 leave her room ; but her health was visibly de- 
 clining, and a hectic cough, with an expectoration 
 of blood, daily reduced her, though by almost 
 imperceptible degrees. The whole family treated 
 her with peculiar kindness, and spared no pains 
 to recover both her health and spirits : a circum- 
 stance that ever called forth the most bitter self- 
 accusation. Her person was even yet lovely, but 
 vanity was dead in her bosom ; her hair, which 
 
INGLEWOOD FOREST. 349 
 
 had been uncommonly fine, was cut off before her 
 retiuTi to the country, and her dress she continued 
 equally simple as that she then wore. In the 
 morning she arose with the earliest dawn, and 
 after passing an hour or two in prayer, wrote 
 until breakfast time, when her eyes were usually 
 swollen with weeping. She afterwards, in spite 
 of all Fanny's entreaties, would assist in domestic 
 occupations until dinner, of which she eat very 
 sparingly, drinking nothing but water ; and in 
 the evening a draught of milk, which concluded 
 the regimen of the day ; tlien retired very early, 
 though not to rest, two or three hours being de- 
 voted to the same duties as in the morning. 
 
 The name of Edwin ever caused her the most 
 violent emotion, and was therefore, as much as 
 possible, suppressed by William and Fanny, 
 without giving suspicion to their father. To the 
 little Agnes, Emma was particularly attached ; 
 and if ever for a moment she forgot the sorrow 
 that devoured her, it was in her company. 
 
 In the mean time Mrs. Palmer and Anna were 
 settled in town, wliere they much feared they 
 should be long detained, as Mr. Sommerton's 
 health was in a most precarious state ; and he liad 
 lived to be sensible of the attentions of a virtuous 
 daughter, from whom he declared he would be no 
 more separated. 
 
 His temper naturally bad, was now yet more 
 embittered by illness and age ; and though he 
 had some years before left his only daughter, her 
 husband, and infant, to perish with want, yet now 
 expected that daughter to devote herself to him. 
 She frequently lamented having brought Anna to 
 
350 THE FARMER OF 
 
 London with her, as she was under the necessity 
 of either confining her to a sick chamber, or 
 leaving her for whole days together. This con- 
 sideration determined her to hasten to form an 
 acquaintance, if possible, with the Fitzmorris's 
 family ; for if she found them agreeable, Editha, 
 though younger than Anna, would prove an 
 agreeable companion. 
 
 One morning therefore with Anna she paid the 
 preliminary visit, and was received with particular 
 respect. Mrs. Fitzmorris, according to the com- 
 mon acceptation of the word, was a good sort of 
 woman, but possessed none of those humane sen- 
 timents that distinguished her new visitor ; of her 
 niece she was particularly fond, and being pleas- 
 ed with the person of Anna, readily acquiesced 
 with Mrs. Palmer in the wish of a farther acquain- 
 tance with them. The young girls were mutually 
 delighted with each other ; nor was Editha less 
 pleased with Mrs. Palmer, Avith whom she vvish- 
 ed to converse without the restraint of her aunt's 
 presence, and give vent to the overflowings of 
 her heart. 
 
 The next morning Mrs. Fitzmorris, to gratify 
 her niece, returned Mrs. Palmer's visit, and in- 
 vited her and Anna to dinner on the day follow- 
 ing: an invitation which, though her attention to 
 her father obliged her to decline for herself, she 
 accepted for Anna, whom she proposed to call 
 for in the evening on her return home. 
 
 Anna was delighted with the invitation, and 
 charmed with Editha, who, though not much 
 above fourteen, possessed an understanding un- 
 commou at her years. In the course of the after- 
 
INGLEWOOD FOREST. 351 
 
 noon Mr. Fitzra orris was announced, business 
 calling him to his sister's, whom he seldom visited 
 on any other account; possessing none of that 
 parental fondness for Editha, who constantly re- 
 sided with her aunt, that many parents might 
 have felt for so amiable a daughter. 
 
 On his entrance, the appearance of a stranger 
 excited only an inclination of the head ; but after 
 a few minutes the beauty of Anna more particu- 
 larly engaged his attention, and he condescended 
 not only to address her, but also to congratulate 
 his daughter on so amiable an acquaintance. 
 
 Mr. Fitzmorris was apparently not beyond the 
 middle age, but bloated ; and bore the appearance 
 of a free liver. In his manners he was haughty 
 and imperious, and in his disposition at once 
 avaricious and prodigal ; by every means in his 
 power accumulating wealth, and squandering it 
 in the gratification of every favourite vice ! 
 
 Such was the father of the artless, open-heart- 
 ed Editha, who from her tender years had trem- 
 bled at the presence of a father, and whose youth- 
 ful mind had received a severe shock two years 
 before when she lost a mother, from whom alone 
 she had ever experienced parental affection. 
 
 Fitzmorris had also a son, two years younger 
 than Editha ; but for whom he appeared to have 
 as little affection, and that he kept constantly at 
 school, — perhaps fortunately for the youth ; for, 
 at least, it preserved him from the contagious 
 poison of ill example. 
 
 Fitzmorris's ideas were too depraved to admire 
 beauty without wishing to possess it ; he therefore 
 contemplated the innocent atti-actions of Anna as 
 
B52 THE FARMER OF 
 
 the kite doth the dove whom he means to devour; 
 and on her leaving the room for a short time 
 with his daughter, questioned his sister respect- 
 ing this new acquaintance. Mrs. Fitzmorris, 
 who judged from the behaviour of Mrs. Palmer, 
 and the appellation by which Anna was distin> 
 guished, that she was undoubtedly her daughter, 
 replied, by informing him that she was actually so. 
 
 ' And who,' said he, ' is Mrs. Palmer ? Have 
 you long known her?' .-ti jio. 
 
 His sister replied in the negative, saying, * I be- 
 came acquainted with her merely in consequence 
 of her purchasing, while you were at Bath, those 
 old negroes that I mentioned to you. She is the 
 only daughter to Mr. Sommerton ; and is reputed 
 to be immensely rich.' 
 
 This intelligence was not so pleasing to Fitz- 
 morris as if he had heard Anna was poor and 
 unprotected, for, in that case, his fortune might 
 have assisted his designs ; as it was, he regarded 
 success to be almost impracticable. 
 
 Anna and Editha in the mean time were ce- 
 menting their new friendship by numbers of little 
 interesting communications. ' Ah, Miss Palmer,' 
 said Editha, ' how happy are you to possess such 
 a mother! Indeed I do envy you ; but her ten- 
 derness, when she addresses you, brings my own 
 so strongly to my remembrance, that my eyes, 
 notwithstanding all my endeavours, overflow with 
 tears. Ah ! if you had known her, you must 
 have loved her : — even our negroes idolized her. 
 Their bitter lamentations on her death even yet 
 make my heart sink when 1 reflect on them ; she 
 was ever their mediatrix, and frequently turned 
 
INGLEWOOD FOREST. 35» 
 
 the anger of my father from them to herself. How 
 often have I wished I had died with her!' 
 
 * That wish is wrong, my dear Miss Fitzmor- 
 ris,' replied Anna, * and almost ungrateful to 
 those dear friends you have left. Have you not 
 a tender father and a good aunt?' 
 
 ' That is true,' answered Editha ; ' but my fa- 
 ther's manner is so distant, that, though I often 
 long to embrace and clasp liis neck, yet I dare 
 not, he looks so coldly on me. I hope he loves 
 me, Anna ; but I sometimes fear he does not.' 
 
 * He must love you,' replied Anna, warmly. 
 
 * How can he avoid it, when even I that know you 
 so little love you ? Mrs. Palmer too, the worthy 
 Felix, my brother, and all are charmed with you.' 
 
 ' Your brother ! Was that youth your brother 
 then that accompanied the good old man who 
 came to purchase the negroes, and to whom I am 
 so much indebted for his goodness V 
 
 ' Yes, my younger brother Edward,' answered 
 Anna. ' I have also a brother called Reuben ; 
 and a sweet young sister, named Agnes.' 
 
 ' Bless me,' cried Editha, ' you amaze me ! I 
 understood you were Mrs. Palmer's only child, 
 by the manner in vvhich she spoke of you.' 
 
 ' You misunderstood her kindness, my dear,' 
 replied Anna; ' Mrs. Palmer is only my god- 
 mother ; but, brought up with her from my in- 
 fancy, the name is more familiar to me than my 
 own. I love her equally with my mother; and 
 she, I am sure, loves me as her child.' 
 
 'That is sufficiently evident,' answered Editha. 
 
 * Happy, happy Anna, to have two mothers, and, 
 perhaps a tender father!' 
 
 15 2 Y 
 
354 THE FARMER OF 
 
 ' Yes, my love, a dear, kind, and affectionate 
 one ; and who, though only a farmer, is univer- 
 sally respected and beloved.' 
 
 ' Rich, rich Anna!' exclaimed Editha; ' I would 
 I was your sister, and my poor brother also yoitrs!* 
 
 Thus ended the discourse, — but not the impres- 
 sion it made on both. Anna's heart was afflicted 
 for the gentle Editha, who appeared to deserve 
 more tenderness than she apparently met with. 
 Editha, on her part, reflected on the happiness of 
 Anna ; and was astonished to find she was not 
 Mrs. Palmer s daughter, as that lady always ad- 
 dressed her with my dear child; or speaking of 
 her, said, Anna, or Miss Palmer. That she was 
 a farmer's daugliter did not lessen her in Editha's 
 opinion ; but she was too well acquainted with 
 both the disposition of her father and' aunt not 
 to know it would have a contrary effect on 
 tliem ; yet, too delicate to mention this to her 
 new friend, she determined to say nothing about 
 it to either, but leave the disclosure to chance. 
 
 After passing a very agreeable day, Anna re- 
 turned home with Mrs. Palmer, wlio called for 
 her at Mrs. Fitzmorris's ; and, having thanked 
 that lady for her kindness to Anna, obtained her 
 promise that Editha should pass the ensuing day 
 at her house. 
 
 From this time the acquaintance became j^er- 
 manent, and the young folks were seldom a day 
 apart. As Mrs. Palmer was constantly confined 
 with her father, she was overjoyed to find such 
 amusement for Anna; who, in company with 
 Editha, her aunt, and fatlier, the latter frequently 
 condescending to be of the party, vi.sited several 
 
INGLEWOOD FOREST. 355 
 
 public places; yet such was the coldness of man- 
 ners natural to Mrs. Fitzmorris, and the some- 
 thing still more disgusting in those of her brother, 
 that Anna at most but respected them ; and, na- 
 turally timid, seldom spoke more in the presence 
 of either than what was absolutely necessary; 
 while, on the contrary, every moment passed alon^ 
 with Editha was employed in the exchange of 
 their mutual thoughts and observations. Editha, 
 who was less timid, had in the meanwhile insensi- 
 bly made herself an interest in the heart of Mrs. 
 Palmer, whom she would run to meet, if she 
 heard her coming; or when at her house, and 
 only her and Anna present, would steal softly 
 behind her chair, and taking her round the neck, 
 kiss her cheeks, saying, ' I have no other way of 
 paying tlie debt of love I owe you, and I am 
 determined you shall take it thus,— -thus,— and 
 thus,'— repeatedly saluting her. 
 JbAnna, though she was truly attached to Mrs. 
 Palmer and her friend, yet sighed after the calm 
 pleasures of Inglewood ; she wrote frequently to 
 the family, and expressed the warmest wishes that 
 her return might be speedy. One of her letters 
 to her supposed mother runs thus : — - 
 
 * My dear, dear mother ! 
 *I am sick of this great, noisy, dirty town, and am hourly 
 •wishing that ray good n>amma's duty would permit her to 
 return to Inglewood; but as yet we have no prospect of such 
 happiness, as Mr. Sommerton's health is still in the same 
 precarious state. We have formed an acquaintance with the 
 Pitzmorris family ; and I am quite delighted with Editha, 
 who, I truly believe, is one of the best, as she is the hand- 
 somest girl I ever saw. Her aunt, Mrs, Fitzmorris, is a very 
 
356 THE FARMER OF 
 
 good woman, and fond of her ; but her partiality is so strangely 
 shown, that it does not reach the heart like such kindness as 
 my father and you ever express for me. She never says My 
 love, — nor Editha, — nor My child, as you address us, but 
 Miss Fitzioorris, or Miss Editiia, as if she was speaking to a 
 stranger ; then holds long tedious discourses about the dis- 
 tinctions due to birth and fortune. She likewise frequently 
 chides Editha for addressing the domestics as if they were her 
 equals, though I can assure you it has no bad effect, for they 
 almost adore her, and are ready to dispute who shall first fly 
 to serve her. 
 
 * Mr. Fitzmorris has been a handsome man, and appears 
 about ten years older than my father, yet perhaps he is not 
 so much ; but he has a fixed gloom on his features, and a habi- 
 tual frown that keeps one at a distance, and which Editha 
 feels as much as me, though she is his only daughter, and is 
 accustomed to it ; yet he is very kind, and I feel myself un- 
 grateful in thus finding fault with him. 
 
 * Editha has a brother at Winchester school, whom she is very 
 fond of, but whom she sees rarely, as her father does not 
 suffer him to come home except at the vacations. Oh ! my 
 mother, how unlike you and my father ! I am vain enough 
 to think you have as often wished for me at home again as I 
 myself have sighed after it. 
 
 * 1 have seen a great many fine things ; but indeed several of 
 them tired me even at the moment, and yet more so were I to 
 attempt giving a description of them ; I shall therefore omit 
 them until we meet round our dear fire-side : I will then j)ro- 
 duce them against Reuben and Edward, who have been travel- 
 lers as well as myself, and the first of whom I well remember 
 was a^ glad to get back as I shall be. My dear mamma yes- 
 terday made me a present of a purse, containing so much mo- 
 ney that I >vould fain not have taken it, as I had in reality no 
 occasion for it ; but she insisted on my obedience, and not 
 only BO, but of my buying what was most pleasing to me : I 
 have, therefore, purchased knee and shoe-buckles for my father 
 and brothers, -two walking canes for my dear grandfathers, — a 
 gown for you, — a frock for Agnes, and, what she will like still 
 better, the prettiest doll I couhl meet with. 
 
INGLEWOOD FOREST. 3*7 
 
 ' Adieu, my beloved mother. I need nqt bid you remember 
 me in your prayers. Kiss all the dear family a hundred times 
 for me ; and believe me your 
 
 • Grateful and affectionate daughter, 
 
 'Anna Palmer Godwin. 
 
 ■ * I had almost forgot to tell you that I am so fine some- 
 times when I go out with Mrs. Fitzmorris, that I feel un- 
 ^corafortable ; but it has been merely to gratify her taste for 
 show, as I now frequently accompany her in public. Mrs. 
 Palmer said the other day, "My dear Anna, we will throw 
 by all these useless decorations when we get home ; and ii 
 pur unadorned manners and persons cannot procure us re- 
 spect, we will endeavour to be satisfied without it." ' 
 
 CHAP. XLII. 
 
 Anna's letters were ever received with delight at 
 Iiiglewood, particularly as they all breathed the 
 pure spirit of a heart uncoiitaminated by either 
 pleasure or pride. Fanny and Emma were alone 
 when the former received this last epistle, and 
 having- read it, reached it to her sister : ' Charm- 
 ing innocence!' said she, as she returned it, 'may 
 Heaven, at least, not be deaf to this prayer! 
 mayest thou walk through life untainted as thou 
 art at present! But I have no doubt thou wilt, 
 for thou possessest not those detested seeds of 
 vanity that wrought me to my ruin. Ah ! Fanny, 
 well do I remember my unnaturally pressing my 
 mother to suffer me to go to London. Agnes too 
 asked it for me; yet she wept to see my mother's 
 
358 THE FARMER OF 
 
 reluctance, and said, that, had she been m my 
 place, she would not have made a parent so un- 
 easy to purchase a kingdom. But I was deaf to 
 all but my vanity, though I was then far from 
 thinking of committing evil, and only wished to 
 be dressed, and partake of those pleasures which 
 the unhappy Whitmore and his sister described 
 to me. He had awakened those sentiments of 
 pride that were natural to me ; and I longed to 
 show myself, and be admired.' 
 
 ' Alas !' replied Fanny, ' how deceived was 
 your father and mother in the character of that 
 unhappy man! His sister, poor woman, was 
 punished I fear ; for it is plain Edwin never laved 
 her.' 
 
 ' Edwin!' repeated Emma, with the usual emo- 
 tion the name ever occasioned : * Edwin ! — would 
 to God he had perished in the cradle, or I in my 
 mother's womb !' 
 
 ' My dear Emma,' replied Fanny, ' far be it 
 from me to wish to distress you ; but the impres- 
 sion the name of Edwin makes on you is almost 
 dreadful ! That he was Whitmore's murderer is 
 too true ; but the hand of God alone suffered 
 Edwin to become the avenger of his family, and 
 to be the scourge of those vices he liad so perni- 
 ciously inculcated. Endeavour then, my sister, to 
 think on him with less anguish.' 
 
 ' Never!' interrupted Emma : ' for the death of 
 Whitmore, Heaven forgive both him and me ; 
 for surely my follies contributed towards it, as 
 much as his false idea of honour. Eut there are 
 more latent causes,— causes which, once known, 
 would make you shrink, though guiltless, nay, 
 
INGLEWOOD FOREST. 359 
 
 spurn me again to misery ! Never, my virtuous 
 sister, can I shock your chaste ears with recitals 
 so horrid as the events of my life ! It was, indeed, 
 my first intention, but I found it would be impos- 
 sible ; I have therefore done as my father advised ; 
 I have recapitulated my errors to my own heart, 
 and confessed them to God. Ah! would to 
 Heaven my present contrition or tears could 
 obliterate them. But it is in vain ; my repentance 
 comes too late. Ah ! how often in my sleep has 
 my mother seemed to stand before me, and re- 
 proach me with her death, the vices of my own 
 life, and prognosticate the final destruction that 
 awaited me !' 
 
 Though Fanny endeavoured, by every means 
 in her power, to soften the poignancy of the grief 
 that evidently undermined the constitution of 
 Emma, yet all was unavailing ; she grew daily 
 weaker, and at length was unable to leave her 
 chamber, though she still employed herself in 
 writing, and never laid down to sleep without first 
 imploring not only the forgiveness of heaven for 
 her offences, but also of her father. In short her 
 penitence and humility interested all, giving at 
 once pain and pleasure ; the first from the cruel 
 reflection that her vices had made so severe a 
 penance necessary; and the last, that her life 
 had not only been happily prolonged beyond her 
 ffuilt, but that heaven had given her time and 
 /inclination for repentance. 
 
 At length she was reduced so much as to be 
 obliged to keep her bed ; at times was delirious, 
 and so violently agitated, that her sufferings were 
 terrible to the spectators. 
 
360 THE FARMER OF 
 
 Fanuy now, even upon her knees, entreated 
 her father-in-law to be absent from such a scene 
 of horror. 
 
 ' No,' said the old man, ' my child is penitent, — 
 and shall I abandon lier at this hour? In her 
 lucid intervals I will pray by her, and endeavour 
 to inspire her with hope. Ah ! Fanny, thou art 
 thyself now a parent, and at once nobly per- 
 formcst the duties of a daughter and a mother ; 
 say, couldst thou,— though heaven forbid thou 
 shouldst ever have the trial,— couldst thou at 
 such a fearful moment, refrain from adminis- 
 tering all the comfort in thy power V 
 
 'Alas! no, my father,' replied Fanny; 'but 
 my fear for your health makes me thus anxious. 
 The loss of Emma, just restored to us, and as 
 suddenly snatched away, will, indeed, be hard 
 to bear: and should it also deprive us of you, 
 we shall sink beneath the blow.' 
 
 ' The consciousness of having acted right, even 
 in that case, Fanny, will support you.— It is 
 now nineteen years since the happy day that you 
 became the wife of William ; nor have I, in that 
 period, seen one morn cr eve without blessing 
 the hour that united you. You are the mother 
 of my old age, and your children tlie comforts 
 of my second childhood.' 
 
 Bernard, who was sitting by the fire-side with 
 Agnes between his knees, nursing her new doll, 
 raised his eyes as Godwin ceased speaking, and 
 replied, ' Sure enough Fanny has ever been a 
 dutiful daughter and a good wife ; but if «he 
 is ten times better, William is deserving of 
 her,' 
 
 
INGLEWOOD FOREST. 361 
 
 * They are worthy of each other,' returned God- 
 win ; ' nor, to my knowledg;e, has one a virtue 
 the other does not equally possess.' 
 
 Godwin then adjourned to his daughter's cham- 
 ber, Avhom he found calm, but extremely weak 
 and exhausted. Kneeling by her, he prayed long 
 and fervently ; then, in a discourse replete with 
 true devotion, pointed out the infinite mercy of 
 God, blessed, and kissed her.-—' Emma,' said he, 
 * thy life has been short, and full of sin and sorrow ; 
 mine has been long, and also replete with error ; 
 yet, I doubt not, with true repentance, we shall 
 meet again in the land of Peace to part no more !' 
 V Emma was at first too much affected to reply, 
 but pressed her father's hand, and bathed it with 
 her tears. At length, struggling with her emo- 
 tion, she exclaimed, faintly, ' Ah ! my father, the 
 polluted parricide Emma will never be permitted 
 to share the rewards of the righteous.' 
 
 'Desponding woman!' answered Godwin, 'shall 
 tliy contracted understanding set limits to God's 
 mercy ?— Never, never yet, Emma, did he reject 
 a penitent and contrite heart.' 
 
 Godwin soon after withdrew, and Emma fell 
 asleep ; during which Fanny was joined by her 
 husband ; both anxiously remaining by her until 
 she awoke. 
 
 Her strength being somewhat recruited by the 
 rest she had obtained, her delirium on her first 
 awakening was uncommonly vehement, and re- 
 quired all William's tenderness to at once oblige 
 and sooth her to remain in bed. 
 
 '1 will go to Inglewood,' exclaimed she; 'ray 
 mother commanded it. Your paths are the paths 
 16 2 z 
 
362 THE FARMER OF 
 
 of hell ; my soul shall never agam know pollution ; 
 I despise your threats; what are prisons to me?' 
 Then looking at William with a fixed horror, she 
 cried, ' Begone, Edwin,— fiend,— monster, — any 
 thing but brother !' Then in a lower voice, ' You 
 are, I know, a man of blood,— you murdered 
 Wliitmore ; but tliat you may wash your hands 
 from,— his wife will forgive you, for she set you 
 upon the deed I suppose. But who shall forgive 
 
 you this last,-~this worst,— this detestable ?' 
 
 Exhausted by the exertion, as she uttered the last 
 word, she sunk on the pillow, and after some 
 little time appeared to sleep, while William and i 
 his trembling wife looked at each other in silent 
 terror. After remaining tolerably composed for j 
 half an hour she awoke, but more placid, and ap- 
 parently insensible of her last delirium. ' My kind 
 Ibrother and sister,' said she, ' for you permit me 
 to call you so, unworthy as I am. Heaven will, I 
 hope, requite your goodness to me. In the little 
 drawer belonging to the table is a manuscript , 
 which contains the fatal history of my errors. 
 I could not have a heart to relate them, but im- 
 posed the penance on myself of recapitulating them 
 thus. Oh ! do not hate and despise me while you 
 read, nor, unless you hold it particularly necessary, 
 do not show it to my father ; not to conceal my 
 own shame do I speak, but because the recital 
 would sink him to the grave. Nay, why do you 
 both weep? My father bids me trust to the 
 mercy of God, and even thinks I may be foi'given. 
 Alas ! he knows not half my crimes : his words, 
 prayers, and blessings, liave, Iiowever, comforted 
 me, and my heart is no longer sunk in despair. 
 
INGLEWOOD FOREST. 3«3 
 
 One thing now alone presses heavy on my spirits, 
 which, perhaps, you will only attribute to the 
 Wanderings of sickness, yet which to me always 
 appeared the effect of a divine mission. From the 
 time of my mother's death, in my dreams I fre- 
 quently saw her, but always with a severe and 
 angry countenance ; and in particular, about a 
 month before I came to Inglewood, heaven alone 
 knows the impression she made on me ! Since 
 that time, restless as have been my nights, I have 
 never since seen her ; methinks it seems as if she 
 had totally abandoned me ; for though she frown- 
 ed and chid me, her anger has been salutary to 
 my soul, and I feel I could die satisfied were I 
 even for a moment to see her a^ain.' 
 S ' My dear sister,' replied William, ' the life'of 
 ^ri'oryou were wont to lead being, as I trust, con- 
 trary to your natural disposition and education, 
 both conspired to give rise to ideas which, how- 
 ever you might banish waking, you could not stifle 
 in those hours when we retrace, with mingled truth 
 and fiction, various subjects. Your mother's 
 death had doubtless made a particular impres- 
 sion on you, and caused you frequently to dream ; 
 she uttered those reproaches which your own heart 
 alone dictated. Since your return to virtue, Em- 
 ma, those self-reproaches have, in some measure, 
 subsided ; and your agonized fancy no longer 
 presents the image of an unhappy angry parent.' 
 * It is a natural conclusion, William, for you 
 to make,' replied Emma ; ' yet you know not 
 how strong, how awful the last injunction, which 
 I strictly obeyed ; yet, my brother, she has since 
 abandoned me !' 
 
364 THE FARMER OF 
 
 'We will then suppose, my dear sister,' replied 
 Fanny, ' that the errand of mercy on which she 
 was permitted to come is fulfilled, and that she 
 has no farther business until she greets you in a 
 most happy eternity.' 
 
 ' Blessed thought,^ replied Emma ; ' yet if I 
 could but once more have seen her without that 
 frowning countenance, I confess it would have 
 made me die happy : but God's will be done.' 
 
 CHAP. XLIIL 
 
 For two days after the foregoing discourse, 
 Emma yet struggled hard with anguish ; but to- 
 wards the close of the second evening her ap- 
 proaching dissolution became apparent. Her 
 senses had been perfect since the last-mentioned 
 delirium, and her death was as edifying as her 
 life had been erroneous. Surrounded by the 
 whole family, even the old men, she joined her 
 prayers and blessings with them, particularly 
 admonishing Reuben and Edward to beware of 
 "vice, and tread firm in the paths of rectitude. 
 
 The youths listened with pious attention ; the 
 dying moralist made an impression more per- 
 manent than all the eloquence of learning or 
 pedantry of books. They beheld a woman yet 
 in the prime of life, and uncommonly lovely, 
 sinking into the grave, the victim of her own 
 errors, and a striking example of tJie inefficacy 
 of every human endowment without virtue. 
 
INGLEWOOD FOREST. 365 
 
 The youths; each held one of lier hands, ah'eady 
 covered with the coh] damp of death, and pressing 
 it to their lips, promised to remember her injunc- 
 tions, rendered yet more sacred by the solemn 
 hour in which they were given. 
 
 The friendly Bernard kissed and wept over 
 her. * Ah ! Emma,' said he, ' thou shouldst 
 have striven against this unhappy dlness ; thou 
 shouldst have lived to nurse us old men ; not 
 thus have hurried to tlie grave before us. What 
 if thou hast been faulty, thou art not the first : 
 God has forgiven thee I am sure ; and let him 
 that hath no sin throw the first stone.' 
 
 Godwin next approached, his venerable form 
 bent to earth, but his eyes raised to heaven, and 
 praying, he blessed, and repeatedly forgave his 
 dying daughter. 
 
 ' I had a wish,' said Emma, faintly, ' to see 
 your Anna ; but, deprived of that pleasure, say I 
 blessed her. Agnes, my love,' turning to the 
 little girl, ' ever be attentive to your parents ; 
 forget not your duty, and God will not forget you.' 
 
 William then approached ; his manly cheeks 
 covered with tears, and unable to speak, he press- 
 ed her hand to his lips:---' William,' said she, 
 ' my best, my dearest brother, whose worth, alas ! 
 I was sensible of too late, do not hate my memory. 
 My Fanny too, kind sister ! nay, weep not : how 
 worthily have you fulfilled the duty which I am 
 ashamed to have neglected ! Long may ye be 
 happy, worthy pair, and may the blessings of 
 heaven be multiplied on your heads !' 
 I Emma now appeared exhausted, even to al- 
 most fainting : Fanny therefore entreated her to 
 
S66 THE FARMER OP 
 
 cease speaking, and endeavour to sleep : a desire 
 she immediately complied with, first looking 
 kindly, but fixedly, around on every particular 
 object, as though she would impress her person 
 on their memory ; then desiring to be placed ra- 
 ther lower in bed, she, after some time, fell into an 
 apparent heavy sleep, in which she continued 
 without struggle, or the least convulsion, for 
 more than two hours, all sitting round in silent 
 dejection, and waiting the event of her next 
 awaking, which they feared Avould be decisive. 
 
 At length she began to stir ; and the attentive 
 Fanny was instantly by her side. ' My sister,' 
 cried Emma, with a smile, which was the first 
 they had seen enliven her features since her re- 
 turn, — ' Oh ! you know not how happy I am ; I 
 have again seen my mother ; and she told me 
 that I am forgiven. Ah ! Fanny, I have nothing 
 now to wish :— nay, look there,' cried she, with 
 exultation, ' she comes again ; see, she smiles, 
 and beckons me! Blessed sight! I come, my 
 mother,' stretching out her arms : * receive youf 
 repentant,— happy,— happy daughter!'— As she 
 uttered the last word her voice died on lier lips^ 
 her head reclined, and her contrite spirit left its 
 once frail tenement. '^^ 
 
 ' God of mercy and compassion, accept my 
 penitent child!' cried Godwin, falling into the 
 arms of his son ; ' let her repentance atone for her 
 offences ! and may we hereafter meet in heaven !' 
 
 ' Ah ! my father,' replied William, ' how few 
 have died like Emma! we will therefore bear 
 our sorrow with resignation. Had slie indeed 
 died in her errors, we should have had cause to 
 
INGLEWOOD FOREST. 367 
 
 mourn ! As it is, how great the mercy of God, 
 not only to awaken her to a sense of her guilt, 
 but bring her home, that we might witness her 
 i^turn to virtue !' 
 
 Godwin raised his head from the bosom of his 
 son, and ejaculated, ' Blessed be the name of 
 God!' Then taking his arm, he said, ' I will go 
 forth. My presence is no longer useful, and the 
 sight is more than my age can well bear !' 
 
 William and Reuben immediately accompanied 
 
 him into another apartment, and were soon after 
 
 joined by the rest of the family, except Fanny, 
 
 who stayed behind with her maids, to perform the 
 
 l^.st moiu'nful rit^es to the once beauteous and 
 
 admired Emma,— to shut those now dim eyes, 
 
 whose brightness had frequently been extolled 
 
 beyond every thing human ; and to close those 
 
 livid lips, which had been celebrated above the 
 
 ruby and the damask rose. ' Alas ! friend, sister, 
 
 companion of my childhood, w hy has this task 
 
 devolved on me V said Fanny, kissing her. ' Thy 
 
 sorrow and repentance have, F trust, atoned for 
 
 thy errors. Would to God thou hadst been 
 
 spared ! the sister of my beloved husband should 
 
 I have shared all my tenderness, and our kindness 
 
 would at length have forced her to forgive herself.' 
 
 William at that moment entered. ' Fanny, my 
 
 lo^e,' said he, ' in our affliction for the dead, we 
 
 must not forget our duties to the living. Suffer 
 
 me to lead thee from this scene of mortality,— 
 
 thou hast performed all that duty and tenderness 
 
 require ! Oh, Fanny, in how many sorrows have 
 
 my unhappy family 'involved thee! When I 
 
 contemplate thy patience and virtues, how often 
 
 i 
 
368 THE FARMER OF 
 
 do I complain of my own iinwortliiness, and ex- 
 claim, that I am blessed above the lot of man !' 
 
 ' And I above that of woman!' replied Fanny, 
 throwing her arms ronud his neck, and pressing 
 her lips to his. * Best of sons, fathers, and hus- 
 bands, blessed be the hour that made me thine! 
 and may I never be less sensible of my happiness 
 than I am at present !' 
 
 William clasped her to his bosom, and placing 
 his arm round her w aist, drew her from the apart- 
 ment with the attentive kindness of a bridegroom. 
 Seven days after, the last remains of Emma were 
 deposited at the foot of her mothers coffin, in the 
 church-yard, the whole family, except Godwin 
 and Bernard, attending the funeral, and who w^ere 
 both so warmly entreated to relinquish it, that 
 they at length consented. 
 
 CHAP. XLIV. 
 
 While the foregoing scene was taking place at 
 Inglewood, Mrs. Palmer, on her part, was also 
 surrounded with uneasiness in London ;— her fa- 
 ther's health grew daily worse; and his peevish- 
 ness increased to so great a degree, that he could 
 Sjcarcely bear her out of his sight. 
 
 The hours therefore she had to pass with Anna 
 were few ; yet she was in some measure consoled, 
 by having found her so agreeable a companion 
 as Editha, and so respectable a protectress in hei* 
 absence as Mrs. Fitzmorris. It is true, the ladv 
 
INGLEWOOD FOREST. 369 
 
 was one for whom she never could have experi- 
 enced a tender friendsliip, as she wanted that 
 similarity of disposition* that unites hearts ; but 
 was, notwithstanding', a desirable acquaintance, 
 and a very proper person to be entrusted with 
 the guidance of youth, as slie was particularly 
 careful of their morals,— -saw little company ; that 
 chosen, and of a description that the most rigid 
 prude could not have objected to. 
 
 One evening, after Mrs. Palmer had returned 
 from her father's, she received a note from her 
 attorney, informing her, that in the Jamaica 
 fleet, just arrived, was the female negro she had 
 purchased of Mrs. Fitzmorris ; but that of the 
 other three, two had chosen to remain behind, 
 with the stipend allowed them : that the son of 
 the woman just arrived was dead ; and iier money 
 in consequence would be returned ; concluding 
 his note by entreating her further orders respect- 
 ing the business. 
 
 Mrs. Palmer immediately answered, by desir- 
 ing him to send on board the vessel for the wo- 
 man, and cause her to be conducted to her on 
 the following morning,-— to pay all expences, 
 and place it to her account. The next day early, 
 Mrs. Palmer sent a card to Mrs. Fitzmorris, re- 
 questing the favour of Editha's company for the 
 whole day ; a desire that was readily complied 
 with ; and she soon after entered. 
 
 The expectancy Mrs. Palmer had of Julia's 
 arrival she resolved not to mention, but deter- 
 mined to surprise her agreeably ; and accordingly, 
 about an hour after, on the attorney's being an- 
 nounced, apologized for introducing him. He 
 
 16 3 a 
 
370 THE FARMER OF 
 
 entered, followed by the liberated female, who no 
 sooner perceived her young mistress, and giving- 
 an exclamation of pleasure, she rushed forward, 
 and throwing herself at her feet, embraced her 
 knees, while Editha fell on her neck, unable to 
 articulate a word. 
 
 'Julia free, Missey !' cried she. 'Poor Julia 
 free! Come, live, die, willing slave to dear 
 Missey !' 
 
 ' My good Julia,' replied Editha, recovering her 
 surprise, ' hoAV I rejoice to see you here! But 
 where is my poor Scipio ? I expected him too.' 
 
 ' Ah, Missey !' answered Julia, a tear stealing | 
 down her cheek, ' Scipio die ! Ah, Missey! when 
 I see no move, no speak, hand cold,-— my heart 
 how sink ! But when I tink again poor Scipio be 
 free, I laugh, clap hands,— say, Scipio free ividout 
 buy ! Gone home \—dere no white man whip, 
 no black slave cry : dis comfort poor Julia,— dry 
 up tear! Ah, good Missey, you cry too,— cry 
 for poor negro Scipio !'— Then perceiving a tear 
 that had dropped from Editha on her hand, she 
 kissed it off ; adding, ' White man's smile and tear 
 gain negro heart. Missey warm mine, — make 
 forget sorrow.' 
 
 'To this lady,' answered Editha, taking Julia's 
 ebon hand with her own ivory one, and leading 
 her toward Mrs. Palmer, 'we owe every thing. 
 You must love her, Julia, as you loved my 
 mother; and must serve her as faithfully.' 
 
 ' Julia will serve as faithfully,' repeated she, 
 laying her hand on her heart, with a sigh. I 
 
 'And you will love her too,' replied Editha, 
 * as I love her. She did not know you ; yet she 
 
 t 
 
INGLEWOOD FOREST. 371 
 
 would have bought you, together with your 
 Scipio, and now gives you freedom.' 
 
 ' Julia will give her life ! Lady make Julia 
 love ; but no promise before know.' 
 
 * I like your honesty,' returned Mrs. Palmer. 
 * Love me only as you find I deserve.' 
 
 Editha then explained to her more particularly 
 
 I the obligations she had to Mrs. Palmer, and the 
 
 I necessity there was of neither Mr. nor Mrs. Fitz- 
 
 morris knowing that she had been instrumental 
 
 in procuring her freedom, as it might be construed 
 
 a wilful disobedience of her father s commands. 
 
 Mrs. Palmer then told her she should for the 
 present remain with her, and attend on Anna ; 
 and having already spent more time than she 
 could well afford from her father, she took her 
 leave, and left them together for the day. 
 
 Mrs. Palmer, on reaching her father, found him 
 I yet worse than she had before seen him ; but still, 
 notwithstanding his great age, so attached to 
 life, that he had just resolved to try the Bath 
 waters, which had been casually mentioned ; and 
 warmly pressed his daughter to accompany him 
 there immediately. This request was particularly 
 unpleasant to Mrs. Palmer, as she could not well 
 refuse a parent in such a situation ; and yet knew 
 not how to dispose of Anna, whom, if even she 
 took with her, she knew not where to place when 
 i she arrived there, as the same objections would 
 hold at Bath as on her arrival at London. 
 
 After repeated deliberation, she at length de- 
 termined to intrude so far on Mrs. Fitzmorris's 
 kindness, as to entreat to leave her there until 
 her father could fetch her back to the Forest, 
 
372 THE FARMER OF 
 
 Thus determined, she waited on the lady, and 
 apologizing for the liberty, proposed her suit, 
 which was immediately granted ; insisting, how- 
 ever, that Miss Anna's visit should be prolonged 
 until their return from Bath. 
 
 These preliminaries settled, Mrs. Palmer found 
 herself more at ease ; and, on her return home, 
 informed Anna and Editha of the arrangement 
 that had taken place. 
 
 This news had at once the most opposite 
 effects ; Editha was enraptured to have Anna 
 entirely with her, while Anna was overwhelmed 
 with grief, on the idea of being separated from 
 Mrs. Palmer. 
 
 ' My dear child,' said that lady, ' was I not so 
 unhappily situated, nothing should part us ; but, 
 my love, the absence will be short, . and your 
 grief, however flattering to me, is ungenerous to 
 your friend Editha.' 
 
 This gentle reprimand dried Anna's tears ; she 
 was hurt to appear ungrateful, and determined 
 to conform to what appeared most convenient, 
 without showing any more uneasiness, whatever 
 it might cost her. 
 
 Mrs. Fitzmorris's carriage soon after fetching 
 Editha, they separated for the night, Mrs. Palmer 
 promising to take Anna in the morning. 
 
 On Edith a's departure Mrs. Palmer entered 
 more fully into the business. She informed 
 Anna that her father had insisted on her staying 
 in the same house with him when they reached 
 Bath; and, that thus situated, she had no other 
 feasible measure to pursue; but left it to her 
 own choice whether she would remain at Mrs. 
 
INGLEWOOD FOREST. 373 
 
 Fitzmorris's, or whether she should write to her 
 father to fetch her home as speedily as possible. 
 
 * My dear Madam,' replied Anna, ' I feel I be- 
 have like a pelulant spoiled child, and yet you 
 condescend to humour me ! I will not trouble 
 my father to take such a journey at this time of 
 the year, when there is no absolute necessity. I 
 love Editha, and I respect Mrs. Fitzmorris, and 
 will, if you please, remain with them until your 
 return. To part with you, I confess, is unplea- 
 sant to me ; but I will endeavour not to disgrace 
 your goodness by my behaviour.' 
 
 ' My beloved child,' answered Mrs. Palmer, 
 ' a separation cannot be more displeasing to you 
 than to me. You are become essential to my 
 happiness ; I am arrived at that age when attach- 
 ments so long cemented are painful to be bro- 
 ken, — and nothing but the duty I owe my father 
 could force me to be a day deprived of your 
 company. You are every where received, my 
 love, as my daughter ; nor, were you truly so, 
 could you be dearer to my heart. Mrs. Fitz- 
 morris's hospitality must be requited, for my 
 Anna must not be under an obligation ; there 
 are a pair of bracelets in my casket that I would 
 wish you to present to Editha ; her aunt is fond 
 of show, and will doubless be pleased with this 
 mark of attention. I would also wish you, while 
 there, to dress more than you usually do, as it 
 will gratify her to introduce you to her company, 
 while you yourself have too much good sense 
 to suffer your mind to attach itself to such 
 frivolities; you shall, therefore, my love, take 
 that casket of glittering toys with you, and wear 
 
374 THE FARMER OF 
 
 occasionally such as may best please you, pre- 
 senting first the pearl bracelets to Editha.' 
 
 * Oh ! Madam, how good, how considerate 
 are you for your Anna! Can you wonder I 
 should dread even a week's separation?' 
 
 Mrs. Palmer then asked Anna's opinion of 
 Julia; and finding it conformable to her own, 
 it was agreed that, if Mrs. Fitzmorris had no 
 objection, she should accompany Anna thither 
 as her attendant. 
 
 The next morning the separation took place, 
 — both Mrs. Palmer and her young friend strug- 
 gling with their own feelings, fearful of distress- 
 ing the other. 
 
 Mrs. Palmer conducted Anna to Mrs. Fitz- 
 morris, into whose care she resigned her ; and 
 finding she had no objection to Julia's attending 
 her, soon after sent her for that purpose. 
 
 In the afternoon Mrs. Palmer departed for 
 Bath, writing first to Inglewood, and inclosing 
 a letter from Anna, informing them of the change 
 that had taken place, and desiring them to make 
 themselves happy on her account, as she was 
 placed in perfect security. 
 
 This letter reached them about a week before 
 Emma's death, and when she was judged in the 
 most imminent danger. The removal of Anna 
 gave them some uneasiness ; but the prudence of 
 Mrs. Palmer was so well known to them, that 
 no idea of her being in any danger from the 
 change obtruded on their imagination. 
 
INGLEWOOD FOREST. 376 
 
 CHAP. XLV. 
 
 On the same day that Anna became an inmate at 
 Mrs. Fitzmorris's, that lady towards evening com- 
 plained of a sore throat ; and on the following 
 morning found herself so ill that a physician was 
 called in, who declared her disorder to be a malig- 
 nant fever. In the course of the morning Fitz- 
 mon'is dropped in ; and being in expectancy heir 
 to the lady, was by no means the least interested 
 of the family. He was astonished to find Anna a 
 permanent visitor, but too good a dissembler to 
 show the pleasure that circumstance gave him. His 
 prudence, or rather his cunning, seldom forsook 
 him, unless he was inebriated, which, however, 
 was frequently the case ; on which occasion he 
 possessed more of the brute than the man, giving 
 way to the most unbridled passions, his affrighted 
 family flying before him like sheep before the 
 hungry wolf. At other times his hypocrisy sur- 
 passed his other vices, — for it was great enough to 
 cover all the rest : and even those who were net 
 thoroughly acquainted with him found an excuse 
 for his excesses, if by any chance they were dis- 
 covered, being pitied for the unhappy propensity 
 he had to liquor, which could transform so respect- 
 able a man into a creature so unlike himself. 
 
 For two days Mrs. Fitzmorris grew worse, and 
 on the third was declared in great danger ; Mr. 
 Fitzmorris in consequence was advised to move 
 his daughter, as the malady was very communi- 
 cative, and might endanger her health. 
 
376 THE FARMER OF 
 
 Editha had lived entirely with Mrs. Fitzmorris 
 since her mother's death, now two years past ; 
 and looked forward with horror to the loss of 
 that friend, as she then must indubitably return 
 to her father's ; an event she dreaded. 
 
 Mrs. Fitzmorris loved her as much as the cold- 
 ness of lier disposition w^ould permit : an aftec- 
 tion which Editha returned with interest, regard- 
 ing her as her mother, and obeying her as such. 
 Her grief, tlierefore, at this event required all An- 
 na's tenderness to sooth, while Editha's sorrow 
 taught her how keenly susceptible her heart was 
 to the sufferings of a friend ; as in her calamity 
 she almost forgot her own grief on parting with 
 Mrs Palmer. 
 
 Mr. Fitzmorris, apprised of the danger of the 
 malady, immediately determined to remove his 
 daughter and her companion to a hou^se he had, 
 situated on one side of Hounslow^ Heath ; where, 
 he informed them, they should remain until tiie 
 event was known. Ediiha, though she grieved 
 to leave her aunt, yet dared not dispute the will 
 of her father, and accordingly promised to be 
 ready to accompany him on the next morning, , 
 Fitzmorris assuming the utmost complacency,^ 
 and entreating the removal might not deprive , 
 them of Miss Palmer's company.' 
 
 On his departure Anna sat down to write to 
 Mrs. Palmer an account of what had passed ; ex- 
 pressing her satisfaction that, as such an unhappy 
 event had occurred, she was on the spot to console 
 the afflicted Editlia ; and requested Mrs. Palmer's 
 opinion in regard to informing her parents of what 
 had passed, as she was rather inclined to remain 
 
INGLEWOOD FOREST. 377 
 
 silent on that score, as it might probably give 
 them uneasiness, — spoke highlyof Mr.Fitzmorris's 
 kindness,— and entreated her immediate answer. 
 
 On the removal of the young ladies to Houns- 
 low, they found all prepared for their reception ; 
 Fitzmorris receiving them with a pleasure which 
 struck Anna as unfeeling, at a period when his 
 sister was in dan2:er. 
 
 The only domestics were his valet and an old 
 woman, who usually kept the house; and who, 
 liaving daily assistance, made other servants un- 
 necessary, especially as Fitzmorris seldom slept 
 there for more than a night or two together ; and 
 then usually accompanied by people before whom 
 he coukl throw off all disguise, and with whom 
 little ceremony was necessary. 
 
 Editha, as her father had not expressly com- 
 manded it, did not presume to take a servant wiih 
 her; but was not so scrupulous on account of 
 Anna, and, therefore, before her departure, had 
 ordered one of Mrs. Fitzmorris's servants to con- 
 duct Julia to the stage, and give a proper direc- 
 tion where to leave her. Fitzmorris, who simply 
 knew that some slaves had been purchased by 
 Mrs. Palmer, or her agent, had never given him- 
 self the trouble to inquire into particulars, and 
 was therefore not a little astonished, on the coach 
 stopping, to see Julia, whom he particularly dis- 
 liked, enter his house. Inquiring into the cause, 
 he found slie was one of those liberated, and now 
 the attendant of Anna. 
 
 In the first paroxysm of his rage, he gave his 
 sister, Mrs. Palmer, Julia, and the whole :; -onpe, 
 to the devil, cursmg his own folly for vesting any 
 
 16 3 p 
 
378 THE FARMER OF 
 
 power in Mrs. Fitzmorris; but luckily not sus- 
 pecting his daughter, who, as she was before a 
 stranger to the parties, he could not include in 
 the offence, though he well knew she was partial 
 to Julia, who had attended his late wife- To 
 show his dislike would, he considered, only serve 
 to expose himself; he therefore determined to con- 
 ceal it, and even treat her with a kindness he had 
 never shown before. Julia, in the mean time, 
 was as little satisfied with her old master, at 
 whose sight she even yet shuddered. However, 
 being warmly attached to Editha, and pleased 
 with the gentle demeanour of Anna, she consoled 
 herself with the idea that he had no longer an 
 unlimited power over her. 
 
 The apartments of the young ladies were on 
 opposite sides of the house ; a circumstance un- 
 pleasing to both, and which Editha mentioned 
 to the housekeeper ; but on her replying it was 
 by Mr. Fitzmorris's particular order that Miss 
 Palmer should be accommodated with the best 
 bed-chamber, she did not presume to say more. 
 
 On Fitzmorris's retiring for the night to liis 
 own apartment, being alone with his valet, (who 
 was nothing mferior in villany to his master,) he 
 asked him, with a more complaisant smile than 
 usually enlivened his features, what bethought of 
 their new visitant. 
 
 * Why, in good faith,' replied the man freely, 
 * I scarcely know ; she is a charming girl ; and I 
 think, Sir, you look as if you would have no 
 objection to give us a new mistress.' 
 
 ' No, on my soul,' replied Fitzmorris, ' I never 
 iTitend to commit matrimonv more. I cannot say 
 
INGLEWOOD FOREST. S7d 
 
 but, if the girl had not been so confoundedly well 
 born and provided for, in point of fortune, I would 
 have endeavoured to make her easy ; but, as she 
 is situated, any attempt would be fruitless.' 
 
 * You were not used to be so easily disheart- 
 ened,' replied the confidant; 'you have taken 
 some pains on less interesting subjects.' 
 
 ' True ; but I am no longer of a temper to 
 dance attendance, and sue for favours which man 
 ought to command. The women in Turkey are 
 more properly educated, and know how to esteem 
 a compliment offered them. But, now I think on 
 it, how the devil came Julia among the number 
 
 of slaves liberated by their d d humanity, and 
 
 my sister's cursed officiousness ? She was not 
 one of the old incumbrances, for my father-in- 
 law, I am sure, purchased her.' 
 
 'That is more than I can tell,' replied the 
 man, ' for I well know you never meant hereto 
 be fi'ee; but the business is past recall. She 
 was, if I mistake not, acquainted with the affair 
 of the little mulatto ; and gave a hint to my mis- 
 tress, who never held up her head afterwards.' 
 
 ' Perdition seize you,' answered Fitzmorris, 
 ' for introducing such a subject; it will banii^h 
 sleep : fetch me a glass of brandy. Curse the 
 slut! 1 wish she was poisoned.' 
 
 The servant soon brought tlie soporific, and 
 then continued the discourse : — * I attempted to 
 sift her to-night,' said he ; * but she either knows 
 nothing, or is obstinate. Thinking the old im- 
 pression might remain, tried a trifling threat; 
 but it was of no use, for she seems to be aware 
 
380 THE FARMER OF 
 
 of the advantage of liberty, grinned in my face, 
 and snapped her fingers.' 
 
 'D n her! it is better to sooth than to 
 
 anger her ; for it may prevent her i)rating. We 
 must find some way, if possible, to get rid of 
 her. In the mean time be still.' 
 
 Such was the conversation of this detestable 
 pair ; after which the servant retired, and left his 
 master to his own thoughts and machinations, 
 The valet, by mentioning the little mulatto, had 
 not only given rise to several very disagreeable 
 reflections, but had also reminded him of another 
 circumstance, not altogether so unpleasant, as 
 it was an almost certain recipe for villany to 
 triumph over innocence. 
 
 CHAP. XLVI, 
 
 In the morning, while the party were at break- 
 fast, they received a message from town, inform- 
 ing them that Mrs. Fitzmorris was better,— news 
 which conveyed the utmost satisfaction to Editha, 
 and also to Anna, who sympathized in her grief; 
 but was totally disagreeable to Fitzmorris, who, 
 the day before, had flattered liimself he had an 
 additional ten thousand within his grasp. 
 
 During the afternoon there was something in 
 the looks and behaviour of Fitzmorris so diflerent 
 from what Anna had been accustomed to, tliat 
 she shrunk from his ardent gaze, and her face was 
 covered with blushes. Editha too percei\ cd the 
 
INGLEWOOD FOREST. 381 
 
 change; and well knowing how addicted her 
 father was to liquor, trembled lest lie should ex- 
 pose himself before her new friend ; for the alter- 
 ation she was too innocent to attribute it to any 
 other cause, particularly as she remarked he drank 
 iincommonly during dinner. 
 
 Until this day Anna had been perfectly satisfied 
 with her situation : it now began to be disagree- 
 able ; and though, like Editha, she totally attri- 
 buted the cause to liquor, yet she determined to 
 write to her father on the ensuing mornmg, to 
 signify that she wished to return home. 
 
 At supper, Fiizmorris was outwardly cheerful ; 
 but at intervals seemed lost in reflection,— a sud- 
 den gloom at those times overspreading his fea- 
 tures : his confidential servant he had sent that 
 evening to town, with orders not to return till 
 the next morning with an account of Mrs. Fitz- 
 morris's health. Daring supper he apologized to 
 Anna for absence of his domestics, who were all, 
 he truly said, at his town-house, presenting both 
 her and his daughter with what they wanted. 
 After supper, as they had drank nothing but 
 water, Fitzmorris warmly pressed them to pledge 
 him in a glass of wine to his sister's health, at the 
 same time reaching eacli one from the side-board ; 
 and so peremptorily urging them, that they could 
 
 j(i not refuse. Soon after the young friends with- 
 drew ; Editha accompanying Anna to her cham- 
 
 ii ber, in the most delicate manner excusing her 
 father's unhappy propensity to wine, and conjuring 
 her not to let it weaken their friendship. 
 
 Fitzmorris now left alone, his head resting on 
 his hand, for some time remained lost in thought. 
 
S82 THE FARMER OF 
 
 At length breaking silence, ' What am I about to 
 do V said he ; * violate the rites of hospitality ! 
 and, perhaps, involve myself in ruin ! for, should 
 it be discovered, what will be the consequence? 
 —Consequences ! I defy them ; none can arise; 
 m two hours she will be insensible to every thing, 
 and I may in safety seize what J should in vain 
 entreat ; for well can I read the coldness of her 
 heart in her averted eye and distant behaviour. 
 
 D d reflection, enemy to pleasure, begone !' 
 
 drinking a goblet of wine. 'With my fortune, 
 am I to shrink at such a trifle ? Surely not : if it 
 is discovered, who will believe such a tale? My 
 fortune and character will protect me ; besides, I 
 have, prudently in this case, no accomplice, and 
 therefore need not fear discovery.' 
 
 While the villanous Fitzmorris was thus plot- 
 ting the most infernal scheme that could disgrace 
 manhood, Anna and Editha were in sqcial con- 
 versation in the chamber of the former, who, in 
 the confusion of Mrs. Fitzmorris's ill health and 
 their removal, had not until now recollected the 
 pearl bracelets that her best friend had desired her 
 to present to Editha. Taking them therefore 
 from the case, which she had in her pocket, she 
 fixed them on the arms of her companion, who 
 received them, saying, * Anna, I will keep these 
 for your sake and Mrs. Palmer's; but, indeed, on 
 my own account, did I possess all the jewels in 
 the universe, I would give them, never to see my 
 father inebriated again.' 
 
 They then examined the contents of the casket," 
 which contained a pair of ear-rings and necklace 
 of pearl, a locket, and several rings ; on which 
 
INGLEWOOD FOREST. 383 
 
 trinkets, having no more material conversation, 
 they discoursed, trying on some and admiring 
 others, until at length Anna complained of being 
 uncommonly sleepy ; and Editha kissing her, 
 bade her good night. 
 
 Anna, when alone, endeavoured to undress her- 
 self, but was uUfible : she felt sick ; her hands 
 became listless ; and confused ideas, on different 
 subjects, at once floated on her disordered fancy. 
 * Oh !' said she, faintly, ' it is surely the hand of 
 death;— the wine has killed me ;— it tasted bitter, 
 and my heart recoiled. Fitzmorris's looks fright- 
 ened me as he presented it ; and I scarcely knew 
 what I did, or I should not have drank it. I shall 
 never more see my family,— parents,— mamma, — 
 nor yet Reuben ! Oh, God ! protect and guide 
 them ! Oh, Editha, Editha ! why,— why have 
 you left me ?' As she concluded she arose from 
 her seat to call, but found the giddiness in her 
 head too great to suffer her to make any exer- 
 tion ; and reeling towards the bed, she threw her- 
 self upon it, convinced she should rise no more. 
 
 All was now still throughout the house.| Lust 
 and villany alone were waking, and in the form 
 of Fitzmorris, stole into the chamber, like the 
 hateful foe of mankind. Darkness was best suit- 
 ed to his deeds ; he therefore had extinguished 
 his candle before he entered, and was greatly 
 surprised to find a light burning on the table, and 
 Anna dressed, though in a lethargic and death- 
 like sleep ; her cap, handkerchief, and the con- 
 tents of the casketj lying scattered on the 
 floor, where they had fallen as she attempted to 
 rise. 
 
384 THE FARMER OF 
 
 He judged rightly, that the strength of the 
 potion had overpowered her ; and rejoiced to find 
 the effect so favourable to his \vishev«!. Deter- 
 mined to feast his eyes with her beauty before he 
 extinguished the light, as there was not the most 
 distant prospect of her awakening, he approached, 
 and for a moment contemplated the enchanting 
 loveliness of her face and person, licentiousness 
 adding a deeper crimson to his cheek than even 
 the flush of wine. He stooped to embrace her; 
 but a convulsive smile at that instant overspread- 
 ing her face, displayed the beauteous dimples of 
 her cheek, which, however they might have 
 charmed any other beholder, appeared to have a 
 different effect upon Fitzraorris, who gave a mo- 
 mentary start ; but instantly recovering himself, 
 snatched up her hand, and imprinted it with an 
 ardent kiss ; but as suddenly again dropping it, 
 he stood transfixed with astonishment, — a voice 
 more than human appeared to sound in his ears,— 
 a clammy sweat hung on his forehead,— the in- 
 temperate fever of passion gave way to the cold 
 shivering of an ague, and desire was lost in amaze- 
 ment and horror ! 
 
 CHAP. XLVH. 
 
 ' Infernal remembrancer, what dost thou here V 
 at length exclaimed Fitzmorris. ' Not all the 
 malice of Hell could have conjured up such an- 
 other petrifying, though silent monitor. Is it not 
 sufficient that my whole life has been embittered 
 
0^m^^^U^Jy^ ,J^Am' 
 
INGLEWOOD FOREST. 38o 
 
 by my weak contrition, but that 1 must also be 
 moved thus by the sight of a paltry ring ? May 
 not two be alike ? Doubtless they may ; and 
 though alone, I am ashamed to give way to so 
 womanish a folly.' 
 
 With these words he again, yet with the ut- 
 most agitation, raised her hand, and drew off the 
 ring that caused his alarm, Anna at the same 
 moment uttering a deep and piercing groan, 
 which added fresh terror to his guilt-struck heart; 
 but soon recovering, he hastily approached the 
 candle to examine the trinket more minutely ; 
 but, far from deriving the satisfaction he expected, 
 found, to his yet greater dismay, it was the very 
 , identical one he dreaded, and particularly iden- 
 tified by the initials on the reverse. His first 
 surprise had in a great measure overpowered the 
 fumes of wine, and contributed not a little to 
 recal some painful and long banished remem- 
 brances. Seating himself by the table, lost in 
 thought, he fixed his eyes on Anna with a curio- 
 sity that totally overcame every other sensation : 
 this, however, soon gave place to alarm ; for he 
 now perceived her so violently disordered by the 
 potion she had swallowed, that her whole frame 
 appeared universally convulsed. 
 
 Fear was now his predominant passion; for 
 should she die thus suddenly, it might have se- 
 rious consequences. Mrs. Palmer would be im- 
 mediately apprised, and miglit cause her to be 
 opened; in which case, perhaps, the whole vil- 
 lany would be discovered. In short, his sensa- 
 tions were of that kind, that such men alone 
 could only deserve, or ever experience. 
 
 17 3 c 
 
386 THE FARMER OF 
 
 He now hung over her, not with passion— fA«f 
 was vanished, — but with the most acute anguish; 
 dreading, as the convulsions increased, that he 
 should see her expire. At length, though still 
 senseless, she began to scream, and that so loud, 
 that he was convinced it must echo throughout 
 the house, and perhaps waken Editlia or Julia, (for 
 he did not much fear the housekeeper) whom he 
 had no doubt would immediately hasten to the 
 spot. This supposition made him at first deter- 
 mine to leave the room; but Anna becoming 
 suddenly more quiet, though evidently struggling 
 for life, he listened, and the house appearing per- 
 fectly still, ventured to remain and sprinkle her 
 face with water ; at the same time vowing, that 
 if she escaped with life he would never more 
 have recourse to such desperate means ; even the 
 horror and amazement occasioned by the ring 
 vanishing on the contemplation of her agonies. 
 
 While thus employed he was suddenly alarmed 
 by the hasty opening of the door ; and turning 
 round, to his still further dismay and vexation, 
 perceived Julia at his elbow, who, awakened by 
 the screams, had only stayed to put on a petti- 
 coat before she ran to the spot from whence she 
 conjectured they proceeded. 
 
 Though Julia started at the sight of Fitzmorris 
 thus employed, and at such an hour, yet his con- 
 fusion more than doubled hers ; but passion, as- 
 sisted by his natural arrogance, after a moment 
 overcame every other feeling, and he bade her 
 begone, demanding what business she had there. 
 * Business !' repeated Julia, ' business !— more 
 proper me ask what business you here?— -No you 
 
INGLEWOOD FOREST. 387 
 
 slave now, massa. Me dream horrid dream- 
 hear poor Missey cry out-— so run to see what 
 matter.' 
 
 ' And so did I also,' replied Fitzmorris, recover- 
 ing; his usual cunning, and smoothing liis ruffled 
 brow. ' 1 heard Miss Palmer scream ; and not 
 being gone to bed, hastened hither, and found her 
 as you see, I fear in the agonies of death! You 
 observed, Julia, that I was sprinkling her face 
 with Water when you entered.' 
 
 ' Oh, yes ! me see dat sure enough ; but, massa, 
 why you no call ? Poor soul,' continued she, 
 hanging piteously over Anna, ' she die. Oh, she 
 never wake more ! den her moder die too. Oh ! 
 wish never come here.' 
 
 'Wish you had never come here!' answered 
 Fitzmorris, in a rage, which he could not imme- 
 diately repress : ' What do you mean by that, you 
 black devil ? Do you think any body has killed 
 her?' But instantly recollecting the folly of ex- 
 asperating her, added, ' I am much grieved for 
 her ; can you judge what ails her V 
 
 * No, bless heart!' answered Julia, gazing on her. 
 ' Never see nobody so but once— she die ! Poor 
 mulatto ! you remember pretty Jenny, massa?' 
 
 ' D^ n you !' exclaimed Fitzmorris, rage 
 
 again overpowering cunning. ' Name her again, 
 and you shall have cause to repent it.' 
 
 ' Repent, massa ? for what— for speak truth ? 
 Dat no harm sure in free country ? No slave 
 here— no whipping post.' 
 
 ' But there are pistols, infernal torment !' replied 
 Fitzmorris, ' and if you do not hold your tongue» 
 those, or something worse, shall be your portion.* 
 
388 THE FARMER OF 
 
 Anna at that moment began to struggle afresh, 
 and to scream more \iolently than before ; the 
 disf)ute was therefore forgotten in her danger, 
 Fitzmorris and Julia both assisting her to the 
 utmost of their power. 
 
 In this manner passed the whole night; Fitz- 
 morris, with seeming concern towards morning, 
 calling the housekeeper and Editha, informing 
 them that he had been first alarmed by hearing 
 Anna's screams ; and fearing some ill had befall- 
 en her, had repaired to her apartment, and found 
 her as they now beheld her. 
 
 Editha, half distracted at the situation of her 
 friend, was the first that mentioned medical assist- 
 ance ; nor had the frowns of her father, which 
 used to silence her in a moment, the least effect : 
 ' Alas !' cried she, ' wliat was night or the dis- 
 tance from Hounslow ? I would myself have 
 almost flown in such a case for any human crea- 
 ture, and much more for my beloved Anna.' 
 
 FitzQioriis, thus pressed, ordered his old house- 
 keeper to go to the town and procure help, as he 
 well knew she would be absent the longest time ; 
 judging that, if Anna survived, the effects of the 
 })otion must, by her return, be exhausted, and 
 beyond the power of being discovered by the 
 person she brought Avith her. 
 
 Fitzmorris judged lightly, the strength of his 
 infernal dose being evaporated, but not so its 
 effects. Anna soon after, with heavy and repeat- 
 ed groans, opened her eyes, and casting them 
 mournfully around they rested on Editha, who, 
 enraptured to see her a moment free from the 
 dreadful convulsions in which she had so long 
 
INGLEWOOD FOREST. 399 
 
 struggled, threw herself by her side, and watered 
 her face with her tears. Anna in a few minutes 
 began to appear sensible of her attentions ; and 
 throwing her arms around her neck, exclaimed, 
 though faintly, ' Oh ! the wine ! the wine !' 
 
 Had the sentence of death that moment been 
 pronounced against Fitzmorris, it could not have 
 produced a more striking effect: he trembled 
 from head to foot ; his face turned to a ghastly 
 pale, and his teeth chattered as if in the paroxysm 
 of an ague. * She— she— is delirious !' at length 
 hesitated he : ' she drank no wine but a glass with 
 you, Editha ; that, you know, could not hurt 
 her ! Her head is affected ; and she merely says 
 what first strikes her imagination !' 
 
 Fitzmorris's agitation was not lost on either 
 Editha or Julia, but caused different siumises in 
 each bosom ; the former simply wondered at his 
 confusion, while the latter found her suspicions 
 corroborated by his behaviour, and surmised the 
 truth ; for she knew her former tyrant capable of 
 similar villany. 
 
 At length the old housekeeper returned, accom- 
 panied by a surgeon, who, examining the state of 
 Anna, declared her in a high fever. Fitzmorris 
 immediately caught at this report, and affirmed 
 that she was delirious, as a fresh proof to strength- 
 en the decision. Rejoicing to find himself so ap- 
 parently safe from detection, he now collected 
 his scattered spirits, and became as boldly calm 
 m guilt as others are in conscious innocence. 
 
 Fitzmorris's assertion that Anna was delirious 
 was not, however, entirely without foundation ; 
 
390 THE FARMER OF 
 
 for though she had intervals of recollection, yet 
 her head was greatly deranged. 
 
 At length she began to appear more com- 
 posed, and Fitzmorris left the apartment, order- 
 ing the reluctant Editha to attend him, and make 
 breakfast. 
 
 The discourse turned entirely on Anna ; con- 
 cerning whom Fitzmorris, more particularly than 
 before, questioned his daughter ; who, however, 
 without falsehood, gave simply such answers as 
 she conceived would raise her in his estimation, 
 being well aware of the difference he paid to 
 fortune, showing him also the pearl bracelets 
 which she had the evening before presented her ; 
 and asking timidly, in her turn, * if he did not 
 think it necessary Mrs. Palmer should be imme- 
 diately acquainted with her illness.' 
 
 ' By no means,' replied he, peremptorily ; * a 
 few days Avill, I hope, render it needless ; it would 
 therefore be only alarming her to no purpose.' 
 
 Fitzmorris would fain have introduced the 
 subject of the ring, but guilt made him cautious : 
 he dreaded lest Anna might hereafter recollect 
 she went to bed with it on; and also had no 
 expectation that his daughter knew any thing re- 
 specting it. 
 
 ' Do you not think it very extraordinary. Sir,' 
 said Editha, ' that Anna's mind should dwell on 
 the wine she drank last night at supper ? I recol- 
 lect too, that even before she went to bed, she 
 said the wine had disordered her, and that it was 
 very disagreeable when she drank it. Had not 
 that circumstance better be mentioned to the 
 doctor when he comes again ?' 
 
INGLEWOOD FOREST. 391 
 
 Fitzmoms muttered an oath between his teeth 
 unnoticed by his dauj^hter, to whom he replied, 
 *]No, fool, if the wine had been injurious, would 
 it net also have affected you?' 
 
 ' I should suppose so, Sir,' answered Editha, 
 mildly ; ' yet she, it is plain, attributes her illness 
 to that cause : and I have heard my aunt say that 
 wine is frequently adulterated with unwholesome 
 drugs to render it intoxicating.' 
 
 ' Dolt I idiot !' exclaimed Fitzmorris, stamping 
 on the ground with rage, 'begone! leave the 
 room. — No, now I reflect,' continued he, calling 
 her back, ' the fever may be communicative ; do 
 not therefore go into Miss Palmer's apartment ; 
 you will only humour her whimsies ; and, with- 
 out being of service, catch the malady.' 
 
 ' Not go into Miss Palmer's chamber. Sir!' said 
 Editha, bursting into tears. ' Oh ! do not keep me 
 from Anna! she loves me, as I do her dearly; and 
 no one's attentions will be so well received as 
 mine. Indeed, I mean no offence; — I simply 
 thought the wine ' 
 
 ' Curse the wine ! — again am I to be tormented 
 with the subject! Fool, would you infer that, as 
 I served her with it, she was poisoned V 
 
 ' Poisoned, Sir !' repeated Editha, shuddering : 
 
 * Oh, my father ! how can you thus cruelly treat 
 your poor child?' 
 
 ' Begone then to your own apartment,' said he; 
 
 * I will think,— consider, — and let you know my 
 resolution in half an hour.' 
 
 Editha immediately obeyed and retired, shock- 
 ed at the behaviour of her father, and deeply 
 impressed with sorrow at the situation of Anna. 
 
392 THE FARMER OP 
 
 Fitzmorris, on being left alone for some time, 
 walked up and down the apartment in great dis- 
 order : he saw witli horror that the allusion Ann^ 
 made to the wine had impressed itself on the mind 
 of his daughter, and trembled for the consequentee.' 
 At length he, however, resolved to remove Editha, 
 under pretence that the fever was communicative ; 
 to call in more assistance, if necessary, to Anna ; 
 and at all events, if there was no change for the 
 better in two days, to send off an express to Bath 
 for Mrs. Palmer. 
 
 Editha, on leaving her father, had retired to her 
 own room, and sat weeping alone when Julia en- 
 tered; she having left Anna for a few minutes 
 under the care of the housekeeper. ' Ah, Julia '/ 
 said Editha, ' what shall I do ? my father has for- 
 bidden me to come into Anna's chamber, lest I 
 should catch the fever !' ^^ ^iii" 
 
 * You no catch the fever, Missey,' replied Jiilia; 
 * she say only wine make sick. Ah ! Missey, me 
 see all night long, when massa no let you be call, 
 —so fast sleep,— eyes open,— shock your heart, 
 —laugh,— scream,— cry — never wake Missey.' 
 
 ' It is very odd, Julia,' said Editha ; ' I never 
 heard of any one before being attacked in so 
 f>trange a manner.' 
 
 * Nor me, only once before. Poor mulatto 
 Jenny, she more worse than Missey.— O ! me 
 glad me bad dream last night— make me hear 
 poor child scream.' 'i.-m;t 
 
 ' And could you conjecture,' replied Editha, 
 ' what had disordered the mulatto ? I remember 
 her well ; she died about a year before my 
 mother.' ' ■■-■■■" ^'''^- 
 
INGLEWOOD FOREST. 393 
 
 *Ah, Missey! me know very well— your moder 
 well know too what kill her. Your fader tease, 
 tease poor mulatto, because she pretty ; but Jenny 
 love your moder, have no ting to say with your 
 fader. One night your fader make she drink glass 
 punch— den poor Jenny sleep, — sleep, — sleep, — 
 no strength, no life, — den massa use ill. Poor 
 Jenny cry so sadly, and tell me — me tell you 
 moder — moder try comfort poor Jenny — Jenny 
 have no comfort — poor Jenny die — Missey not 
 live long — so grieve !' 
 
 * Great God !' exclaimed Editha, her face and 
 neck covered with a deep crimson, ' you must 
 surely mistake. Did you see Jenny during the 
 time she slept V 
 
 ' See ! ah, see sure enough. — Jenny sleep all day 
 — only fit make know she alive— just like Missey^ 
 only more worse.' 
 
 Editha's head now sunk on her bosom ; and she 
 only replied, by entreating Julia on no pretence 
 whatever to leave Anna a moment. She was no 
 sooner alone than she gave free vent to her tears, 
 and recollected with horror some circumstances 
 that corroborated Julia's story, such as the affec- 
 tion and pity her mother always expressed for the 
 young mulatto, and the dislike her father had to 
 hear her named. She also remembered that, on 
 the evening before, he had fetched their wine from 
 the sideboard, though there was a bottle on the 
 table : — a trifle which she at that time thought 
 immaterial, but now assisted to strengthen her 
 fears. 
 
 Editha knew not what measures to pursue; 
 she wished to save her father's honour ; but de- 
 
 17 3d 
 
394 THE FARMER OF 
 
 termined also, thoui^h she should never see 
 Anna more, to rescue her from the danger Julia 
 had imprinled on her mind ; she therefore re- 
 solved, should her father insist on separating 
 hei' from Anna, to write to Mrs Palmer, though 
 without a signature, and inform her that Anna's 
 health was in a very precarious state. 
 
 Fitzmorris at that moment sent for her down 
 stairs ; and on her entrance informed her, with 
 more than usual kindness, that the surgeon had 
 again seen Anna, and declared the fever yet 
 higher than in the morning, therefore he could 
 not risk her life by continuing her in such a 
 situation, but would forthwith take her to a 
 school in Hounslow until the danger was over. 
 He also told her his valet was arrived, and Mrs. 
 Fitzmorris was much the same as the day before. 
 Editha courtesied acquiescence, though never had 
 her heart felt so cold to the commands of her 
 father; never before had she contemplated him 
 with so little reverence ; but tlve sorrows of her 
 mother, the death of the mulatto, and the situa- 
 tion of Anna at that moment, obliterated every 
 other idea. 
 
 It may easily be surmised it was not the fever 
 Fitzmorris was fearful of; he dreaded even the 
 eye of his own child, and shuddered lest her 
 belief should strengthen the assertion of Anna 
 respecting the wine. 
 
 Editha had no sooner returned to her apart- 
 ment, (for the old housekeeper remaining with 
 Anna, she did not dare to enter that, lest her 
 father should hear of it,) than she sat down and 
 
INGLEWOOD FOREST. 395 
 
 wrote a letter to Mrs. Palmer, but without sig- 
 nature, and simply containing- these lines : — 
 
 ' Madam, 
 ' Your dear daughter has been taken suddenly ill ; I wish 
 you could come to her. I hope, however, she is in no im- 
 mediate danger. Show this to no one. 
 
 ' From your friend.' 
 
 When Editha had concluded and folded her 
 letter, it first struck her that she did not know 
 Mrs. Palmer's address at Bath, not being aware 
 that the residence of all new-comers in that city 
 are easily discovered. For some time she was 
 puzzled how to act, but at length cletermined to 
 send it at all events, and also to write, in case 
 that should miscarry, one to Godwin, whose ad- 
 dress she well knew, having often seen Anna 
 direct letters to her mother and the family. 
 
 Her letter to Godwin contained nearly the 
 same words, with the addition of a postscript, 
 signifying where Anna then was. Edith a's in- 
 vention was not put to the rack, to devise means 
 how to send her well-meant epistles. At last she 
 recollected, that as the post-man every evening 
 when he passed the house blew his horn, they 
 might easily be conveyed to him by Julia, whom 
 she well knew would readily obey her. Julia 
 some time after calling in to inform her that Anna 
 was more composed, she told her of the step she 
 had taken, and entreated that no persecution nor 
 menaces might force her, who was now Mrs. 
 Palmer's servant, from her young mistress. 
 
 Julia faithfidly promised to watch over Anna 
 with the utmost care, as also to give the letters 
 
396 THE FARMER OF 
 
 the following evening to the post-man ; and Fitz- 
 morris sending soon after to infonn his daughter 
 that his chaise was at the door, Edicha again 
 warmly recommended Anna to the care of Julia; 
 and, with a heavy heart and overflowing eyes, 
 attended him to the school where he proposed 
 to place her. 
 
 CHAP. XLVIII. 
 
 FiTZ MORRIS, though he had designed to have no 
 confidant nor accomplice in his plot against Anna, 
 yet found himself so tortured with the pangs of 
 conscience, or something like remorse, that he, 
 on the following evening, determined to reveal 
 the whole of what had passed to his old friend 
 and counsellor, the valet before mentioned, who 
 had grown grey-haired in the service of iniquity, 
 and well knew every occurrence of his past life. 
 
 Anna being in some measure more composed, 
 his anxiety became considerably relieved on that 
 head ; but curiosity and mingled anguish, occa- 
 sioned by the ring, again disturbed his imagina- 
 tion ; and while he was undressing, prompted 
 him to consult his staunch emissary. The fel- 
 low, however, presumed to censure his master 
 on the subject of the dose that had been ad- 
 ministered to her. 
 
 * I wonder, Sir,' said he, * you would venture 
 it, when you had already witnessed its effects. 
 
INGLEWOOD FOREST. 897 
 
 'To be sure it was only a mulatto wench, and her 
 death of little consequence ; but in the present 
 vcase it might cause inquiries that would produce 
 serious consequences. As for the ring, I am 
 amazed that it can give j ou the least uneasiness ; 
 for what, except money, is more commonly trans- 
 ferred than rings? It may have appertained to a 
 dozen owners since it was in your possession ; 
 for it is not probable that it should have been 
 preserved as a pledge of ' 
 
 'My perdition!' exclaimed Fitzmorris: 'but 
 to appear at such a time and place strikes me 
 with horror and amazement, and miglit almost 
 surpass belief, — to rise, as it were, from the bow- 
 els of the earth, where I thought it deposited, to 
 snatch the victim who was incapable of resist- 
 ance from my eager embrace. By Hell, I could 
 almost think the interference supernatural ! The 
 sight in a moment petritied me; even yet my 
 blood chills at the recollection !' 
 
 Much more passed on the subject ; but before 
 the conclusion of their discourse, the valet had, in 
 some measure, calmed his master's emotion, by 
 persuading him that chance alone had most pro- 
 bably placed it in the hands of its present owner. 
 He also persuaded his patron from any more at- 
 tempts on the innocent Anna, as her birth and 
 fortune might make it dangerous. 
 
 Fitzmorris was too much alarmed by what had 
 passed not to resolve to take this advice, as far 
 as it regarded the infernal arts he before had re- 
 course to,— yet could not determine wholly to 
 give her up. ' I will,' said he, when alone, * if 
 possible, persuade her, by fair means, to love me 
 
398 THE FARMER OF 
 
 after my own method, and fly with her to the 
 Continent. If this fails, I will sooner marry 
 than lose her. Her fortune will, no doubt, be 
 large; and, hateful as matrimony is to me, 1 
 shall at once gratify ray love and interest.' 
 
 Thus resolved, Fitzmorris retired more com- 
 posed in his mind,-— the most distant idea of a 
 refusal never obtruding on his imagination. 
 
 On the following morning Anna was some- 
 what better. Her fever being considerably low- 
 er, she particularly inquired for Editha; and 
 being informed she was removed, appeared great- 
 ly depressed. ' Alas !' said she, weeping, ' how 
 unhappy am I ! Had I been ill at home, I 
 should at least have had the satisfaction of 
 being surrounded by my friends ; now F ap- 
 pear alone, and shall die without being blessed 
 with seeing them.' 
 
 ' No, no, Missey,' replied Julia, who was 
 alone with her, ' see all soon ; and no die me 
 hope. Julia nurse day and night, and make 
 well, to show good moder she no buy Julia for 
 nothing !' 
 
 Anna felt soothed by the unaffected kindness 
 of Julia, who informed her, though without hint- 
 ing her suspicions of Fitzmorris, that Editha had 
 written privately to Mrs. Palmer, and also to 
 her father, as she thought the presence of either 
 would be consolatory in her present situation. 
 
 This intelligence was a powerful restorative to 
 the spirits of Anna, who flattered herself, that in 
 a short time she should see some of her friends. 
 She then inquired after Fitzmorris, whom Julia 
 told her was yet in the house ; to which Anna 
 
INGLEWOOD FOREST. 399 
 
 replied, ' I am grieved to give him such trouble : 
 he is very kind to me, and I know not what 
 makes me so ungrateful ; but I hope he will not 
 come to see me.' 
 
 In two days the youth and natural good con- 
 stitution of Anna, assisted by tlie indefatigable 
 cares of Julia, began to overcome the shock it 
 had sustained ; but she was even yet incapable 
 of leavmg her bed. Fitzmorris had not pre- 
 sumed to visit her ; but contented himself with 
 sending into her apartment frequently, to inquire 
 after her health. 
 
 CHAP. XLIX. 
 
 fi 
 
 While the innocent Anna was thus in the 
 power of a wretch whose passions knew no con- 
 trol, the family at Inglewood were performing 
 the last duties to Emma ; whose request respect- 
 ing the manuscript had been strictly obeyed. 
 
 William and Fanny, truly judging it could 
 contain nothing but what would tend towards 
 giving additional pain to their aged parent, 
 determined to have no auditors whatever to the 
 perusal, willing to draw a veil over the errors of 
 Emma, even to their own children. 
 
 Accordingly one night, when the whole family 
 were retired to rest, they, in their own chamber, 
 prepared to begin the narrative, — William taking 
 up the manuscript, which in many places was 
 
400 THE FARMER OF 
 
 scarcely legible from tears, — Fanny, her head 
 reclined on her hand, listening- with attention, 
 sorrow, and mingled dread, to the recital of 
 vices that filled her with horror, wliiie William 
 began as follows :-— 
 
 ' Confess your sins to God, and recapitulate them to your 
 own heart, were the words of the venerable man to whom I 
 owe my being ; and who yet, in spite of my manifold trans- 
 gressions, has poured balm into my soul, by not spurning 
 my unfeigned, though late, contrition. I dare not, how- 
 ever, prefix his honoured name to this black recital, for 
 prostitute has no claim to that of a worthy family; —to such 
 she is civilly dead, and like a rotten branch cut off from the 
 parent stock. Emma alone will I then call myself; and 
 may the name be forgotten and obliterated with me ! for I 
 have overwhelmed a father with sorrow, and raised the 
 burning blush of shame on the cheeks of a mother ! 
 
 * With a bleeding heart I will truly retrace my crimes. 
 Ah ! would to Heaven that either tears or prayers could 
 obliterate them !^ — but they are too heinous, and though 
 they have rendered life hateful, yet my guilty soul sinks at 
 the thoughts of death ; for the fascinating tenets that first 
 beguiled me are vanished. Horror alone now strikes my 
 guilty mind, and loudly proclaims, that even the grave affords 
 no peace for such as have wilfully incurred such a weight of 
 sin and shame. 
 
 * Oh, painful remembrance of forfeited happiness, and the 
 pleasurable days of innocence ! — would I could recall ye ? — 
 But ye are fled for ever ; and nothing is now left of the once 
 gay and happy Emma but an emaciated, polluted shadow ! — 
 sad monument of the effects of vice ! Ah ! would to Heaven 
 I could persuade one misguided daughter of folly to dash 
 from her lips the gilded cup which holds the empoisoned 
 draught of flattery, or snatch back one victim from the paths 
 of destruction ! But as I have lived, so shall I die in vain ! 
 
 ' When you read this, my beloved friends, I trust I shall 
 be consigned to the silent grave, insensible of the shame 
 that must otherwise overwhelm jjie on having my crimes 
 
INGLEWOOD FOREST. 401 
 
 i\hus laid open. Oh, William, on you, at this awful moment, 
 I particularly fall, Avhen my guilty soul is shuddering be- 
 Vfore its Creator ! Hear my request, — hale me not, my 
 brother.-r— Alas ! 1 repent ; and my sin is ever before me ! 
 Remember our days of happy infancy, when hand in hand 
 we walked together. At a more advanced age you saved 
 my life from the fury of an enraged bull. Oh, William, 
 had I died then, how happy ! — what guilt had I been 
 .spared !— what anguish would you have escaped ! Oh! i*e- 
 m'ember your joy as you bore me home unhurt to my parents ! 
 how fondly you kissed my cheek as you gave me to my mo- 
 ther's arras! Remember all this, my brother, and do not 
 curse my memory. 
 
 ' I will now begin the narrative of shame ; but, alas! my 
 a^nd trembles, and my eyes are dim with tears ! -Unavailing 
 'sorrow t— thou art now too late ; in the days of my delusion 
 my hand was steady, and my eyes sparkled with the intoxica- 
 tion of vanity ! You know all previous to my going abroad ; 
 I will therefore speak from that period. Yet no, it is not suf- 
 ficient ; I will probe my guilty heart with the recapitulation 
 pf the insensibility T showed to my mother's grief at my de- 
 parture, and the little respect I paid to my father's admoni- 
 tions. I tore myself from their encircling arms ; pleasure ap- 
 peared almost to give me wings to reach London. You, Wil- 
 liam, seemed hurt at my unfeeling conduct, and bade me fare- 
 ■W(b1L in a voice less tender than usual ; but I was deaf to all, 
 ,atid leaping into the chaise, soon Aviped oft* tlie tears that had 
 involuntarily escaped me. 
 
 * Edwin was uncommonly thoughtful during the whole jour- 
 nev, and I recollect, told me not to mention to Mrs. Delmer, 
 on my arrival, how much he was attached to Agnes, as, he 
 said, she had dissuaded him from the match, and it m^ght, 
 irapropei'ly divulged, injure his future prospects. 
 
 ' On my arrival in town all contributed towards my undoing. 
 Dress, pleasure, flattery, at once assailed my weak mind. 
 Whitmore had the art to persuade me he should obtain a 
 divorce from his wife, and would marry me. I also, by de- 
 grees, imbibed his tenets, and became a professed free-thinker; 
 for he used to engage me in controversies that I was not able 
 17 3e 
 
402 THE FARMER OF 
 
 to defend ; and to bear down my reason by his volubility and 
 erroneous maxims, dressed in flowery language, until I was 
 forced to yield the point, though at the same time my heart 
 bore testimony of their fallacy. The discovery of Edwin's mar- 
 riage was first revealed to me by Whitmore, who had heard it 
 from his wife's gallant; and who doubtless gained the intelli- 
 gence from that lady's having caused Edwin to be watched. 
 
 ' Alarmed at a quarrel he had in cofisequence with Darle- 
 ville, in an evil hour, forsaken of God, I consented to accom- 
 pany him, firmly persuaded that in a short time I should be 
 his wife. But in France, fascinated by pleasure and dress, I 
 became his mistress ; and by a natural degradation was soon 
 perfectly satisfied with my situation, having sufficiently imbibed 
 his ideas to pride myself in seeing how much he was devoted 
 to me, uncompelled by religion or law : so that, when he after- 
 wards informed me how greatly a divorce must injure his for- 
 tune, I readily gave up the thought. In short, my only am- 
 bition was to reign in his heart ; I knew no happiness but his 
 affection, no wish beyond giving him pleasure. All, how- 
 ever, was not calm within ; my heart frequently reproached me, 
 and I stifled reflection as much as possible. I sometimes wept 
 at the remembrance of my friends, whom I regarded as given 
 up for ever : for I could not bear the most distant idea of a 
 meeting with those, whose tenderness I had so ungratefully 
 repaid. 
 
 * We stayed some short time at Paris, and from thence travel- 
 led to Montpelier, then returned again to Paris, and from 
 thence to Brussels, where the unhappy Whitmore lost his life 
 in the prime of his days, and in the height of his sins. Oh, 
 merciful Father, have pity on him ! Nursed in the school of 
 vanity, he imbibed vices and destructive tenets from those im- 
 properly placed around him ; had his education been virtu- 
 ous, he, perhaps, had been so too. How much greater my 
 crime!— born and reared with beings faultless as Heaven ever 
 created man, I rushed into guilt, and erred against my own 
 heart! 
 
 * The death of Whitmore was to me a severe blow, though 
 it did not awake me to repentance, my whole animosity resting 
 against Edwin. Heaven, alas ! suflfered him to be the scourge 
 
INGLEWOOD FOREST. 403 
 
 ©f my offences, and, Great God ! to be also the terminator 
 of them. 
 
 * Perhaps, at the time of Whitmore's death, the voice of 
 gentleness might have recalled me to the paths of rectitude ; 
 but Edwin's was harsh and hateful to me ; for how could a 
 man, who had violated the most sacred duties, who lived 
 himself in open adultery, and whom I considered as the 
 murderer of Whitmore, have influence to pei'suade me to 
 abjure vices he was equally guilty of? To return homeu 
 was horror, — my mother dead, and I the guilty cause, what 
 reception could I hope ? Let me also confess, the thoughts 
 of giving up the grandeur and luxury in which I had lately 
 lived had its weight with me. 
 
 • A gentleman of the name of Hartford, who attended 
 Whitmore at the meeting with Edwin, endeavoured all in 
 his power to serve me, or rather to gratify himself, by 
 plunging me yet deeper in error; he had, however, art 
 enough to assume merely the appearance of friendship to 
 beguile me: — a trap that my youth and inexperience readily 
 gave into ; and to avoid my brother Edwin, I readily agreed 
 to accompany him to Holland : from thence I was to embark 
 for England. Naturally volatile, travelling soon overcame 
 the bitterness of my sorrow. Hartford was profuse in his 
 attentions and presents, and plainly began to show his 
 views. My heart was cold to love, but not to pride. I deli- 
 berated; and the consequence was, that, oh shame! I 
 thought his protection preferable to humiliating myself be- 
 fore my family. In short, in five months after Whitmore's 
 death I became his mistress. 
 
 ' All thoughts of England were now given up ; I strove 
 to banish reflection ; and, firm to the doctrines implanted by 
 Whitmore, regarded the life I led as nothing more than 
 acting according to reason and nature. The temper of 
 Hartford was not dissimilar to that of Whitmore ; he loved 
 show and pleasure, and spared no expence to gratify my 
 taste for dress ; but he played deep and without skill, and 
 was frequently duped. 
 
 ' When I had been with him somewhat more than a 
 twelvemonth, we agreed to pass a winter at Paris ; and 
 
404 THE FARMER OP 
 
 soon reached that city. I was now quite inured to my 
 situation: — my appearance usually procured me admiration^ 
 and I sought no farther. Character I regarded as a trifle 
 below the consideration of a woman of understanding and 
 spirit. I must, however, confess that I dreaded to be alone, 
 as a thousand unpleasant ideas were sure to intrude ; and 
 even in dreams respecting my family, have I frequently 
 awakened myself with violent paroxysms of* grief. 
 
 * One evening that Hartford had been in company with 
 some Englishmen, where the play was more than commonly 
 deep, he lost considerably, — doubledand trebled his bets, but 
 was still unsuccessful ; at length, in a lit of desperation, he 
 made a final throw for the shattered remains of his fortune, 
 which was before this considerably irupaired. The cast was 
 decisive, and Hartford found himself in a moment deprived 
 of all ; his opponents receiving draughts and securities for 
 the whole he possessed. 
 
 ' On his return home his appearance alarmed and shocked 
 me. He threw himself on a chair, uttering an unconnected 
 string of curses ; and I believe, had not my screams alarmed 
 the domestics, he would have terminated his life even in my 
 presence! When he was rather more calm, I learned the 
 extent of his loss, and was not a little grieved to find it so 
 heavy, both on his account and my own ; for, though I 
 could not love him, his kindness and generosity had attached 
 me to him. 
 
 " Emma," said he, " you are universally admired in Paris, 
 and I cannot be so greatly your enemy as to Avish you to 
 suffer for my misconduct; I would therefore advise, and 
 indeed wish you, to accept the protection of some man of 
 fortune, who might be able to more than repay you for the 
 loss of me ; — for my own part I have no resource but return- 
 ing to England, where I believe I can make suflicient interest 
 to procure a commission: but was I even to obtain that, 
 must be obliged to my uncle, Avho has very rigid notions : 
 I dare not take a female companion with me. I have about 
 fifty pounds in my escrutoire, which we will divide ; half 
 that sum will carry me thither; and, perhaps, with the 
 remainder, and by the sale of some of your superfluous 
 
INGLEWOOD FOREST. 405 
 
 appendages, you may be able to make yourself tolerably easy 
 until sume fortunate circumstance occurs." 
 
 ' Prostitution was not, yet so habitual to me, but my soul 
 sunk with horror at the idea of another change ; and I know 
 not wh'it resolution I might have formed, had not tempta- 
 tion, which my accursed vanity tor.ld not withstand, again 
 fallen in my way. I wished to assist Hartford, for I could 
 not bear the idea that he should go to England so slenderly 
 provided ; I therefore, two days before his intetided depar- 
 ture, went in the hired carriage, which we had not yet dis- 
 charged, to a jewellei''s, and informed him, that, having a 
 new necklace and ear-rings setting, I wished to part with 
 those I showed him. While yie were bargaining a carriage 
 stopped, and an elderly gentleman stepped out to give some 
 orders. He viewed me attentively ; and I soon recollected 
 him for a financier, whom I had frequently seen at different 
 public places, and whose name was De Forlaix. As I did 
 not choose to continue my business before a third person, I 
 left the jewels, and desired the man to let me hear his deter- 
 mination on the day following, the financier very politely 
 leading me to my carriage. 
 
 ' Hartford's loss was so considerable that it had been much 
 talked of, and in consequence reached the ears of De For- 
 laix, who, on the jeweller's informing him of my business, 
 readily surmised the truth, and took his measures accordingly. 
 
 * The jeweller called on me in the eveniug, and having 
 agreed for the jewels, he respectfully took his leave, hoping, 
 as he expressed himself, that they were not going to lose the 
 finest woman in Paris. Compliments, however gross, were 
 always pleasing to my depraved heart ; I therefore eomplai- 
 sand\ replied, that I should at least remain some time longer 
 in that city. Having forced Hartford to take about seventy 
 pounds, we separated with concern on both sides, but 
 with' lut anguish ; for, as I had never loved him, my greatest 
 affliction was how I should afterwards dispose of myself. — 
 Sometimes I tiiought of parting with all my superfluities, of 
 returning to England, and learning some business, by which 
 I might obtain a livelihood ; but I had been too long accus- 
 tomed to idleness and dissipation to form a determined 
 
406 THE FARMER OF 
 
 resolution on the subject,— though I must do myself the jus- 
 tice to say, that I believe I should have adopted it, had not, 
 as I before said, temptation again beguiled me, as I regarded 
 such a step as a kind of preliminary to a reconciliation with 
 my friends. 
 
 ' On the morniug after Hartford's departure, my servant 
 informed me a gentleman requested to speak with me on 
 business. Having admitted him, I was not a little surprised 
 to find it De Forlaix. " Madam," said he, " I have done 
 myself the honour of waiting on you with the new jewels 
 that you expected some days since ; I hope they will meet 
 your approbation ; if not, any alteration shall be made that 
 you can wish." 
 
 " New jewels !" replied I, with astonishinent, " I expected 
 none; nor can I judge from whence such a mistake pro- 
 ceeded." 
 
 " Pardon me. Madam, it is no mistake. Did you not 
 say some days past to the jeweller, where I had the honour 
 of seeing you, that you had a new necklace and ear-rings 
 setting ?" 
 
 " It is true I said so," answered I, somewhat confused at 
 my duplicity being discovered; "but these are not what I 
 expected." 
 
 ** Indeed but they are," replied he ; " for I have the 
 jeweller's receipt in your own name for them, and you would 
 hardly have paid four hundred louis for what you did not 
 approve." 
 
 ' He then placed the jewels and receipt, which was in the 
 name of Hartford, before me ; adding, " He has also com- 
 missioned me to return your jewels, as they do not suit him ; 
 and there is likewise an acknowledgment for the two hundred 
 which he advanced for them, and which you cannot deny 
 to have repaid, as I know to the contrary, being your agent 
 in the business. I have only to add, that if you have any 
 more commissions to execute, you see before you the most 
 attentive of your servants." 
 
 * De Forlaix's intentions were too manifest to be mistaken ; 
 1, however, for the present declined accepting his jewels ; 
 but he was too profuse and assiduous to be long denied by a 
 
INGLEWOOD FOREST. 407 
 
 woman so naturally depraved. In fine, a short montli beheld 
 me transfeired to a third keeper ! 
 
 * De Forlaix knew no bounds, either in his affection or s;ene- 
 rosity towards me. He had a wife ; but that circumstance I 
 was too vile to make an objection ; and as I had an ample 
 allowfjnce, and was inferior to no kept woman in Paris for 
 splendour, gave myself no concern on any other subject. 
 
 ' I had lived in this state for near six years, when one even- 
 ing, in the public walks, I contracted an acquaintance with 
 an English adventurer of the name of Davis. He was about 
 my own age, handsome and accomplished ; but dissipated and 
 thoughtless, having in the preceding seven years expended a 
 respectable property. For this man I conceived a most 
 violent affection ; and, regardless of the kindness of De For- 
 laix, prostituted my person without any former incentives, 
 for I had no wish for grandeur or dress unsatisfied : it was 
 therefore depravity, and the satisfaction of unbi'idled passion 
 that alone led me to this fresh vice. 
 
 * Some short time previous to my forming an acquaintance 
 with Davis I became pregnant : a circumstance that gave the 
 utmost pleasure to De Forlaix, who had no children ; but was 
 not powerful enough to restrain me from forming a detested 
 intimacy with a stranger. About two months after this new 
 connexion Madame de Forlaix died suddenly ; and some time 
 after, my situation being then visible, M. de Forlaix, as near- 
 ly as I can recollect, thus addressed me: — "Your conduct, 
 my dear Emma, during an intimacy of more than six years, 
 has been all I could wish, and your present situation adds to 
 my affection ; I therefore propose, when a decent time has 
 elapsed, to make you my wife. I am rich enough to def\ c n- 
 sure ; we will retire to one of my country-seats, where I trust 
 you will make me a happy father." 
 
 * The generosity of this offer overcame me, and conscious 
 unworthiness made me unable for some moments to reply ; 
 but De Forlaix resuming the conversation, said, " You do not 
 answer me, Emma; you change colour: surely my proposal 
 does not meet your displeasure ?" 
 
 " Displeasure !" cried I, at length, "alas! how is that pos- 
 
408 THE FARMER OF 
 
 sible ? But you do not consuler what you say. My former 
 life, before I became acquainted with you, I have openly re- 
 vealed ; and can you be generous enough to make such a 
 woman your wife V 
 
 "I can," replied he ; " for a woman who has behaved as 
 you have done for six years, I can venture to trust through 
 life ; besides our marriage will legitimate my child, who will 
 by that means become heir to my fortune. — Your former mis- 
 conduct shall be entirely forgotten. I regard your first devi- 
 ation as an error of youth ; the second occasioned by neces- 
 sity, and but the effect of the tirst ; in which point of view I 
 also consider your complying with my proposals at the begin- 
 ning of our acquaintance. You have frequer.tly lamented 
 being estranged from your family : this step, I flatter myself, 
 may conciliate them. We will send them a certificate of our 
 marriage ; and some months hence, perhaps, I may take you 
 to England ; for they will hardly refuse you their forgiveness 
 when they find you so advantageously married." 
 
 ' The compunction for my falsehood to so generous a man 
 was too powerful to suffer me to thank him as I ought ; but he 
 was too partial to me to attribute my emotion to the right 
 cause; and repeating his determined I'esolution, he left rhe. 
 1 was no sooner alone than I began to reflect o)i what had 
 passed. The advantages I must unavoidably reap from a 
 marriage with De Forlaix I was by no means blind to. It 
 would at once give me respectability with the world ; at 
 least, where my former life was unknown. I should be secure 
 of a competency, my child of a good fortune, and what had 
 also its weight with me, perhaps in time I might presume to 
 hope for a reconciliation with my friends. My affection for 
 Davis was a considerable impediment to this scheme, but 
 not violent enough to influeiice me to decline it ; for De 
 Forlaix was most indubitably the father of my child, as 1 
 was pregnant two months before I became acquainted with 
 Pavis ; I therefore determined to inform him of De Forlaix's 
 generous offer, and in future declined all acquaintance witii 
 him ; for, abandoned as I was, I could not endure the 
 thought of so grossly abusing his kindness; and bitterly re- 
 
INGLEWOOD FOREST. 409 
 
 proached myself with my former misconduct. Thus deter* 
 mined, I wrote to Davis, declaring ray resohition, and 
 ^ entreating him to give up all future thoughts of me ; ex- 
 pressing, however, the pain this eiFort cost me. Davis was 
 if a disposition not easily to be repulsed ; he replied, that 
 of I was determined, he must per force submit; but that he 
 was resolved to see me at all events once more, and therefore 
 warmly pressed me to meet him at his own lodgings ; where, 
 shame to say, I had frequently been before. 
 
 ' Had my intentions been really virtuous, I should have 
 answered this letter with a positive denial, confessed my 
 unworthiness to De Forlaix, and have thrown myself and 
 • expected infant on his mercy ; but not so did I act, the 
 measure of my iniquities was not complete, and the sword 
 of vengeance trembled over my guilty head. For some 
 time I wavered ; but at length concluded that one more 
 meeting could not make much difference, as I wished to 
 part amicably with a man whom I persuaded myself I loved : 
 I therefore returned him an answer by my own servant, 
 who well knew letters had frequently passed between us, and 
 agreed to see him on the following evening, provided he 
 would promise to require no future interview. To this he 
 acquiesced ; and in an hour fated for the commencement of 
 my earthly punishment, I repaired alone to his lodgings, 
 little aware that the treachery of my maid had that very 
 day revealed the whole correspondence to De Forlaix. My 
 own conduct had taught her dissimulation and ingratitude, — 
 could I then wonder that she followed my example ? Davis 
 lived at about the distance of a mile from Paris, in a house 
 situated in a garden belonging to a widow woman, who, 
 with his servant, composed the whole family. 
 ' * The fatal night of this meeting, Davis had sent his man 
 out on business ; so that the woman alone remained below. 
 I had scarcely been there live minutes before a loud knock- 
 ing was heard at the door, and the moment after, to my 
 inexpressible confusion, the voice of De Forlaix, who ex- 
 claimed in answer, as I suppose, to the woman who had 
 denied my being there, " It is false, I saw her enter ; deny 
 her at your peril !" These words were scarcely articulated 
 when we heard his steps on the stairs ; and a moment 
 
 1« 3 F 
 
410 THE FARMER OF 
 
 brought him to the dooi% which was only secured by a slight 
 and crazy lock. There was no time for reflection, nor was 
 I capable of any ; for, overpowered with shame and confu- 
 sion, I had sunk into a chair, and concealed my face with 
 luy hands. Davis, in the mean time, had snatched up a 
 pistol, the report of which, and the forcing of the door, 
 wei*e both instantaneous, and filled me with despair and 
 horror ; for starting from my seat, the first object that pre- 
 sented itself was De Forlaix on the floor, weltering in his 
 blood : " Ungrateful woman !" exclaimed he, in a faint voice, 
 " is this the return for my partiality and unbounded affec- 
 tion ? Was it necessary to add murder to ingratitude ? 
 Weak deluded wretch that I was, I could not believe the 
 evidence of your confidential servant. Alas ! conviction has 
 cost me dear ! the hand of deatli is on me !" 
 
 ' Exhausted by the loss of blood, he fainted as he uttered 
 the last v.'ord, when, thinking he had expired, I entirely lost 
 all knowledge, and fell on the floor ; in which situation 
 Davis took me in his arms, and bore me into the next apart- 
 ment '.—seating me on a chair he returned to the chamber 
 where De Forlaix still remained on the floor, and the woman 
 of the house weeping and wringing her hands over him, ex- 
 claiming she was ruined for ever, and should be punished as a 
 principal in the murder. 
 
 ' Davis, as he afterwards informed me, laid De Forlaix 
 on the bed, bound up the wound, which Avas in the shoulder ; 
 and when he came to himself, assured him he should have 
 immediate assistance, then left him alone with the woman^ 
 secui'ing both by bolting the door of a passage that separated 
 that apartment from the rest : he then returned to me, who 
 was just recovered from my swoon. 
 
 " Emma," said he, in great agitation, " we have no time 
 to lose ; De Forlaix, I fear, is dying. I have secured him 
 and the woman, at least for some time, for the house is too 
 distant from the public road for them to give a speedy alarm; 
 the present moment is therefore ours, an dperhaps all that is 
 left us is to escape, for certain death awaits us if we remain^ 
 Let us fly then ; my servant will return in an hour at farthest; 
 and procure assistance, if De Forlaix still survives : — nay, d<» 
 
INGLEWOOD FOREST. 411 
 
 not hesitate, we may now escape, but the least delay will ren- 
 der it impossible." 
 
 " I will not go," replied I : " Unhappy wretch that I am, 
 I am still no miirderer." 
 
 "In this case," answered he, "you will be equally involved ; 
 I therefore again entreat you to fly. Say, can you calmly 
 resolve to stay and bear the torture ?" 
 
 "Oh, heavens!" exclaimed I, "I dare not ; I will indeed 
 fly; but whither? without friends or money where can I go?' 
 »y •' To Flanders," replied he ; "I myself am but indifferently 
 provided ; however, at all events, life is worth preserving." 
 More conversation passed ; but the distraction of the moment 
 prevents my recalhng it to memory ; I ojily recollect that 
 I obliged Davis, before I would leave the house, to go again 
 to De Forlaix, whom he found much in the same state he had 
 left him in, except that his binding the wound had stopped 
 the blood. He then again secured him with the woman ; and 
 taking my trembling hand, we left the house together, our 
 whole property consisting in about fifty louis d'ors, which we 
 had in our separate pockets." 
 
 When William reached thus far in the manu- 
 script he paused, and for a moment laying it 
 down, thus addressed his wife : ' I wonder not, 
 my beloved, that you cover your face ; such re- 
 citals, I thank Heaven, we are not accustomed 
 to ; even my blood appears to chill in my veins, 
 on the reflection that such a woman ever called 
 me brother.' 
 
 ' Her crimes, I trust, are expiated,' replied 
 Fanny ; ' and, thank Heaven, we alone shall be 
 acquainted with the extent of them ; for not for 
 the wealth of India would I ever have our dear 
 parent shocked with the recital. But proceed, 
 my love ; we will not break on the peace of 
 another evening", if possible, with even the re- 
 membrance of what we hear to-night.' 
 
412 THE FARMER OP 
 
 CHAP. L. 
 
 William again took up the manuscript, which 
 for nearly a page was almost unintelligible, the 
 letters being in several places effaced by tears, 
 but which appeared to contain bitter self-accusa- 
 tions and expressions of despair ; he therefore 
 ])assed it over, and began as follows : — 
 
 ' We travelled night and day until we passed the frontiers, 
 and even then only stayed until we could get safely to England, 
 where we arrived almost without clothes or money. It was 
 now that Davis began to show himself in his true colours 
 too indolent to exert himself for his own support or mine, 
 he urged me to prostitute myself for both ! I had, however, 
 sufficient spirit to resent this proposal in the highest terms; 
 and completed the disgust I had for some time entertain- 
 ed for the man whom I regarded as the author of all my mis- 
 fortunes. 
 
 'The benefits of De Forlaix now returned with double 
 force to my memory ; and being deprived of them enhanced 
 their value. 1 saw myself also on the point of becoming 
 a mother to an infant who would be bound to curse me, as its 
 birth must now be infamous; whereas, but for my vice and 
 folly, its mother's shame would have been concealed under 
 the name of a respectable father, and itself heir to a consi- 
 derable fortune ; while now, on the contrary, I dreaded its 
 birth, lest it should share, or perhaps increase ray own 
 miseries. 
 
 'Davis finding his endeavours ineffectual to reduce me to 
 his infamous intentions, even treated me with brutality 
 and one evening so far forgot himself as to give me repeated 
 blows. Stung to madness by this insult, my rage knew no 
 
INGLEWOOD FOREST. 41S 
 
 bounds ; I cursed him and myself, and calling him by every 
 epithet that passion could dictate, rushed out of the sorry 
 apartment where we lodged, leaving him, doubtless, very glad 
 to be rid of me. 
 
 * Behold me now a wanderer in the streets of London, 
 without money, or even a place to rest my head ! Suicide 
 was my resolve ; and inquiring the road to a village I had 
 heard named, had no doubt but in the way thither I should 
 meet with some piece of water, where I at least might termi- 
 nate my earthly woes ; for the reflection of what might hap- 
 jPeu hereafter never obtruded on ray imagination ! 
 
 * Heaven, however, saved me from that crime ; I wan- 
 dered through the fields in vain, and found only ditches or 
 stagnated pools too shallow for my purpose. At length, 
 exhausted by fatigue, I sunk under a hay-stack in a pa- 
 roxysm of despair, where I sought my pockets for some 
 instrument of death ; but found neither knife nor scissars. 
 Tears were now my only refuge; I wept until, like a wearied 
 child, I fell asleep, my late pampered body exposed to the 
 night wind, and my only canopy the spacious blessed firma- 
 ment. I awoke at day-break, my spirits not only recruited 
 by rest, but also the idea of suicide much weakened : I sat 
 for some time pausing what method I should pursue; but 
 could fix on none determinedly, for poor, friendless, and 
 pregnant, the prospect was cold and dreary before me. All 
 application to my friends, however, I was now more firndy than 
 ever determined against, both on account of my poverty and 
 
 i^ situation. 
 
 ^D. " I will walk," said I, " through this great and busy city to- 
 day, and resolve on future prospects ; some lucky thought 
 may, perhaps, occur ; if not, 1 can but again rest here, or 
 adopt the determination of yesterday. Oh, Inglewood ! 
 Inglewood ! happy residence, why did I ever leave thee ? 
 Thou hadst no grandeur to bestow, but thou hadst content; 
 no riches, but peace and an unblemished conscience ; no 
 pleasures that leave a sting beiiind, — no pangs of remorse 
 such as I now feel." 
 
 \^i 'The rising of the sun, ancs the cheerful matins of the lark, 
 
 'I had long been a stranger to. "Ah!" cried I, "I once 
 celebrated the return of morn as cheerfully as ye do ; but, 
 
414 THE FARMER OF 
 
 dead to happiness, the glorious sua has now no charms for 
 me 1" I advanced towards London, ruminating on my melan- 
 choly situation ; for the clothes I had on, and a few half- 
 pence, were all I possessed. I had some few articles of 
 raiment at Davis's lodging, but those I determined never to 
 claim, as it could not be done without again seeing the man 
 whom I now detested. 
 
 ' After I had wandered some hours I] began to experience 
 tlie cravings of hunger ; and again the idea of self-destruc- 
 tion came strong into my fancy ; when passing a shop, con- 
 taining a variety of articles, I was struck with these words 
 on the window: — "Money lent on Pledges." This imme- 
 difttely gave rise to a thought that I before had no idea of- 
 I had in my pocket-book a miniature of Whitmore, set with 
 brilliants, that I had, for some years, always carried about 
 me; and this for two reasons; the first of which was, that 
 he was particularly dear to me ; and the second, that the 
 picture being once seen by De Forlaix, he had appeared 
 dissatisfied that I preserved so carefully the remembrance of 
 another man. From this period I had constantly kept it 
 concealed ; nor had Davis ever seen it, or he had doubtless 
 deprived me of it, as he had before done of my watch : — 
 drawing it, therefore, from my pocket-book with a heavy 
 heart and tottering frame, I entered the shop, and j)re- 
 senting it to the man behind the counter, requested him 
 to favour me with the utmost sum he could advance on it. 
 
 * The fellow having viewed me with an impudent stare, 
 doubtless taking me for a woman of the town, replied, " A 
 devilish handsome fellow, egad ; you have been crying I 
 see, — one of your old favourites I suppose ; — well, never 
 mind, — he will be perfectly safe here, — worse luck now, 
 better another tii>ie, — drink a glass, and keep up your spirits; 
 you are too fine a woman not to have plenty of business." 
 
 ' Humiliated as I was, I, hoM'ever, replied tartly to this 
 insult ; and the man, after a number of preliminaries, lent 
 me the sum of ten pounds, declaring he could not advance a 
 shilling more. With this I departed, comparatively happy 
 to what I was before, determined to provide some food 
 imnicdiately, and a lodging before night. Having satisfied 
 my appetite, I walked in pui'suit of an apartment, and soon 
 
INGLEWOOD FOREST. 415 
 
 iound one suited to my circumstances, being only three 
 s'.iilliiigs per week, and in the house of a widow who kept a 
 shop. I here purchased a change of raiment, and likewise 
 some of the cheapest things I could procure for my expected 
 thild ; for every trifle I expended made me tremble for the 
 future. One day, that I had been out to buy a loaf, turning 
 hastily round the corner of a street, to my great surprise 
 I encountered Hartford in regimentals. He expressed at 
 once pleasure and pain to see me ; the distress I had under- 
 gone being visible both in my person and habiliments. He 
 informed me that his uncle, with some difficulty, liad procured 
 him a commission, on his arrival in England, which was all 
 iie had now to trust to ; and that he was, in the course of a 
 ) few days, to embark for the West Indies, where his regiment 
 was ordered, — desired to know my address, — and promised to 
 call on me the ensuing morning. 
 
 * Hartford was true to his appointment ; and I related all 
 that had befallen me without equivocation. He expressed 
 much concern for my misfortunes, as also at his inability to 
 assist me as he wished ; but, before he took his leave, being 
 to depart on the morrow, presented me with a bank-note for 
 twenty pounds. 
 
 * In about a month after this I was seized with the pangs 
 of labour, and delivered of a lovely girl. Oh, God ! the 
 cruel remembrance yet wrings my heart ! with what anguish 
 
 I did I weep over her ! — with what bitterness did I accuse 
 myself, deprecating my folly and vice, that had ruined her 
 even before she saw the light ! She was now all the world 
 to me ; and nursing her at my bosom, I appeared to live for 
 her alone. 
 
 * By the strictest economy my money lasted seven months ; 
 at which time my babe was uncommonly strong for her age. 
 It was now that poverty appeared to me with redoubled 
 horror, as the slender diet I could obtain likewise deprived 
 her of her proper nutriment. I can truly affirm, that I had 
 no intention of returning to a life of prostitution, but rather 
 thought of gaining a livelihood, if possible, by industry; 
 and therefore inquired of my landlady repeatedly whether 
 she could not procure me any needle- work. 
 
416 THE FARMER OF 
 
 ' Her endeavours had been, until the period before Bteu- 
 tioned, unavaiUng, when one morning she informed rae, that 
 some ladies, who hved fronting us, had inquired for a semp- 
 stress, and desired me to apply. Taking my infant in my 
 arms, I went immediately, and was introduced to an old 
 lady and two young ones, who received me very politely ; 
 but I was not such a novice but I could immediately dis- 
 cover that they were women of loose character. They ad- 
 mired my child, and paid me many compliments on my own 
 person ; the old woman particularly inquiring my age ; and 
 on my answering I was in my thirtieth year, appeared not to 
 credit me, saying, that I did not look more than twenty-two. 
 In short, they kept me all day ; and before we parted, the 
 old woman had proposed to take me into her society, and 
 furnish me with whatever was necessary. 
 
 ' I gave no immediate reply to this offer, being determined 
 to try what I could earn by my work ; but at a week's end 
 found it so little that 1 began to deliberate on the subject; 
 and, going home the same evening with what I had been 
 intrusted, found the old woman in earnest conversation with 
 a man elegantly dressed, but who bore the appearance of an 
 emaciated debauchee. He greatly admired my infant, paid 
 me many extravagant compliments, and finally presented me 
 with a note for fifty pounds, — a temptation which my poverty 
 could not resist; and I promised to sup there the following 
 evening. 
 
 ' Accursed promise ! would I had perished before I pro- 
 nounced it ! or would to God my infant had been nourished 
 with my blood before I consented to support her at such a 
 price! — Oh! cruel, — deadly, — horrid! my brain burns, and 
 I must lay down my pen ! I will go and pray ; but will 
 Heaven hear the contrition of such a wretch as the abandoned 
 Emma ? 
 
 * I resume my pen : I will probe this guilty heart by the 
 recapitulation ; I will relate how I murdered my infant, — 
 the smiling angel, to whom I, infernal prostitute ! adminis- 
 tered poison in the salutary form of milk ! Enabled by the 
 present I had received, I dressed myself with more care than 
 
INGLEWOOD FOREST. 417, 
 
 I had dotie for many months, and repaired to the old woman, 
 where I found the wretch I had seen the day before, and 
 who received me with peculiar pleasure. In short, tempta- 
 tion again fell in my way, and I purchased a hundred 
 pounds at tlie expence of what was a thousand times dearer 
 to me than the vital blood that warmed my heart. The old 
 woman could not now bear me to leave her ; my child also 
 was the darling of the whole set ; and all was riot, \\ hicli 
 they called pleasure, for three days, wlien I began to liud 
 my health uncommonly disordered, as well as that of my 
 child, and soon discovered, (do I live to relate it !) that her. 
 pure blood was contaminated as well as my own, in conse- 
 queuce of the acquaintance I had so lately formed. I can- 
 not proceed ! I have in vain tried to describe the agonies my 
 cherub suffered, until her once clear and transparent com- 
 plexion was changed to the deadly hue of safl'ron ; suffice it, 
 she died, and left me the most unhappy, — most cursed ! 
 Oh! my head, — my heart, — pardon me, — the recollection 
 even yet disorders my brain ! 
 
 li- 
 
 - * I was mad for six months after her death, in which state 
 medicines were forced down my throat that restored my 
 bodily health ; but my senses were long imperfect; during 
 which period I can only remember I was frequently cruelly 
 and brutally treated. 
 
 ;v* When I regained my understanding, for the first time 
 in my life I stifled reflection by the use of spirituous liquors; 
 for the old wretch had made me considerably her debtor, 
 and now commanded my obedience to all her infamous de- 
 mands. In short, I became regardless and hardened to all 
 that befel me. I had been in this situation about four years, 
 when one evening at the play, casting my eyes around, I 
 discovered my brother WiUiam, who was so little changed 
 that I instantly recollected him ; and seeing that be also 
 apparently knew me, determined to fly him : for, degraded 
 as I was, how could I bear !:is presence ? My father too^^ 
 I- had no doubt, must be dead; and reproaches and hate 
 were all I could expect. Had I at that period been for- 
 tunate enough to be apprised of his kind intentions. Oh ! 
 
 18 3g 
 
418 THE FARMER OF 
 
 how joyfully could I have submitted to be the most menial 
 of his servants! but I was destined to suffer more miseries, 
 and feel how far guilt and sin may lead their votaries. — For 
 six weeks after I saw my brother I never left the house, so 
 fearful was I of meeting him ; nay, I believe I could have 
 preferred instant death to standing in his presence, so truly 
 sensible was I of my own unworthiness. At length, driven 
 by the repeated threats of the old woman whose slave I com- 
 pletely was, 1 again ventured abroad, and in St. James's 
 park, by chance, met with the servant whom Davis in his 
 flight left at Paris. 
 
 ' We recollected each other instantly, nor Mas I displeased 
 at this rencounter, as I had ever ardently wished to learn the 
 termination of a business to which I owed my final ruin ; I 
 therefore entreated him, after common inquiries had passed, 
 to gratify my curiosity on the subject. 
 
 " You may suppose," answered the man, " that I was 
 greatly surprised, on my return home, to find the doors fast, 
 and to learn what had happened from the window where the 
 ■woman of the house stood watching for me, requesting me 
 to climb to one of the lower casements and release her. I 
 immediately did so, and next fetched assistance to De For- 
 laix, whose wound, though severe, was not found dangerous ; 
 for in six weeks it was completely healed." 
 
 " Blessings attend you for that intelligence," exclaimed I, 
 interrupting him in a transport of pleasure, " you have re- 
 moved one mountain of guilt from my surcharged bosom. 
 But proceed, I am all attention." 
 
 " On his recovery he caused diligent search to be made 
 after you ; and soon learned your destination, and how you 
 was accompanied. This intelligence appeared to grieve him, 
 and he retired to his seat in Picardy, where he died about 
 five months since. But before I proceed, tell me. Madam, 
 whether the infant you was pregnant with be living?" 
 
 " No," replied T, with astonishment at the question ; " it 
 is dead, and with it all that could make life bearable to 
 me." 
 
 " I am sorry for it," resumed the man : " You doubtless 
 a^e unacquainted that M. De Forlaix had left it, on being 
 
INGLEWOOD FOREST. 419 
 
 properly authenticated, a handsome fortune, whether boy or 
 girl, and to the guardianship of his brother !" 
 
 " Generous, noble De Forlaix, what a viper didst thou 
 foster in thy bosom ! But proceed, Sir," continued I, in de- 
 spair : "I poisoned my child, the darling of my heart! But 
 go on, let nie hear all." 
 
 'The man looked shocked; he doubtless thought me 
 distracted.— "I have nothing- more to add," returned he, 
 ** nor should I have known so much, but that I, having 
 no money to bring me to England, procured a service in 
 Paris, where I have remained till lately ; for Mr. Davis 
 owed me a year's wages when you went away, and his clothes 
 were stopped for arrears by the landlady." 
 
 ' This intelligence disordered me too much to hold more 
 conversation ; I therefore soon after bade the man farewell. 
 On my return home I gave way to the anguish of my heart, 
 and from that time sunk into a gloom that nothing could 
 overcome ; threats of being thrown into prison I disregarded, 
 and grew daily more callous to ill usage, which the old 
 woman was by no means wanting of. Liquor alone now re- 
 duced me to her purposes, and this was not spared, for, 
 though no longer young, I was a favourite in the house, my 
 understanding being rather more cultivated than that of my 
 companions, and likewise from some acquirements I had 
 obtained. 
 
 ♦ One night, about eight months since, she pressed me so 
 earnestly, that I consented to go to a masquerade with two 
 unhappy girls that were lately become inmates of our house : 
 during the amusement I sat wrapped in my usual gloom, and 
 at an early hour returned home, leaving my companions 
 engaged in riotous parties. 
 
 * I expected to be reproved for my haste : but, on the 
 contrary, the old wretch expressed her satisfaction, inform- 
 ing me that a gentleman who frequented the house had beea 
 there that evening, and introduced one of his friends, a man 
 of considerable fortune, but who was so much in liquor that 
 he was obliged to be put to bed ; concluding by desiriu"- me 
 to take my place by his side. — I had drank a great deal of 
 wine at the masquerade, and made no objection, but pre-^ 
 
420 THE FARMER OF 
 
 pared to act as she desired, by taking a candle and going to 
 the apartment. 
 
 ' The stranger, by his breathing, appeared completely in- 
 toxicated, and to sleep uneasy ; I therefore determined to 
 undress myself as quietly as possible, for I wished him not 
 to awake : for, though vice was' become habitual, yet it was 
 hateful to me siiice the death of ray child. An uncommon 
 ' heaviness and dread also hung on my spirits, and the scenes 
 of my youth dwelt strongly on my imagination. Deter- j 
 mined to banish remembrance, I went to my closet, and i 
 drank a glass of spirits, when a whim seized nie to look at ^ 
 my companion : I therefore took the candle and opened the 
 curtams ; his arm was thrown over his face, so that little of 
 it was discernible ; but the light causing him to move, T 
 hastily snatched it back, until perceiving he was again per- 
 fectly still, I seated myself on a sofa at the farther end of 
 the apartment. 
 
 ' I had accustomed myself to give way as little as possible | 
 to reflection, but this night it involuntarily stole upon me : 
 " Ah !" sighed I mentally, " accursed be the hour that first 
 I saw the light ; born to plunge my parents in dishonour 
 and an untimely grave ; to destroy my beauteous smiling 
 infant, yet to live myself, though daily involved in fresh 
 crimes, abhorred by the virtuous, scorned even by my part- 
 ners in vice, hateful to myself, and abandoned of God ! 
 Horrid retrospection ! when will this scene of depravity end ? 
 When will my eyes close in everlasting forgetfuliiess ?'' 
 
 ' A dread of futurity at that moment suddenly flashed on 
 my fancy, and made me shudder ; but determined to shake 
 it oft', I started up, and had recourse to a second glass of 
 spirits to deaden the pang of conscience. Powerful as was 
 this soporific it did not immediately take eff"ect : I reseated 
 myself on the sofa, and for some time remained lost in 
 thought, until the liquor I had drank overcame me, and I 
 dropped asleep, my head resting on the back of the couch. 
 My eyes were no sooner closed than either the thoughts that 
 had employed me waking, or the immediate providence of 
 Heaven interposed to snatch me from destruction, to save 
 me from a crime against which nature revolts, and that must 
 have plunged me in yet tenfold guilt. 
 
INGLEWOOD FOREST. 421 
 
 ' In my sleep, which was uncommonly heavy, I dreamed 
 tliat Whitraore, Hartford, De Forlaix, Davis, ai:d several 
 other men, were pinsuiiig and driving me with swords and 
 difterent instruments of torture, through a narrow and thorny 
 road, until I I'eached the top of a prodigious mountain, where 
 there stood a monster so horrible, that in spite of all their 
 weapons I started back ; but the beast advancing towards me, 
 and finding no resource, methought I leaped the tremendous 
 steep, where I must have been nifallibly dashed to pieces, 
 had not my mother caught me in her arms, saying, " Misera- 
 ble wretch, is it not enough that you have plunged me into 
 the grave, but you must recall me again to earth to snatch 
 ^->you from destruction?' 
 
 ' The alarm occasioned by this dream made me cry out 
 aloud in my sleep, which disturbed the stranger, who jumped 
 out of bed, asking what was the matter? This totally awaken- 
 ed me, though I could not for some moments reply ; but 
 sitting up, I endeavoureil to recover from my terror, relieving 
 my overcharged heart by a flood of tears, and at length 
 excloiming, " Ah ! uo^ it is indeed too late : shouldst thou 
 even, Oh, blessed sphit! be permitted to return to earth, 
 thou couldst not now snatch the devoted Emma fi*om destruc- 
 tion ! the doom is passed, and my torments here are but the 
 preludes of those to come !" 
 
 'The stranger replied by a loud and tremendous oath ; and 
 snatching up the light which was burning on the table, pre- 
 sented it full in my face, — he at once discovering the wretched 
 Emma — and I the abandoned Edwm ! ******* 
 
 At this passage the manuscript fell from the 
 hands of William ; who, struck with horror, fix- 
 ed his eyes in silence on the pale cheeks of his 
 trembling wife. 
 
 ' My beloved friend,' at length cried Fanny, 
 pressing him affectionately to lier bosom, " be 
 not thus moved ; the mercy of Heaven providen- 
 tially saved them.' 
 
422 THE FARMER OF 
 
 ' Saved them !' repeated William :— ' Oh, God! 
 is it possible that such should be the children of 
 our virtuous father and sainted mother ?' 
 
 ' Alas !' answered Fanny, ' vu'tue is not heredi- 
 tary. But for Emma all our fears are now calm ; 
 .she rests, I trust, in the bosom of peace : her 
 errors were indeed great, but her expiation was 
 terrible. Ah, William! the situation of Edwin 
 is far more dreadful ; perhaps even yet revellinj^ 
 in vice until, like a blast of lightning', it shall 
 strike him without time or preparation. But pro- 
 ceed, my love ; you have, I doubt not, heardjthe 
 last of Emma's errors. This w arning was surely 
 decisive.' William again took up the manuscript 
 and continued. 
 
 * Oh, God ! what were my sensations at that moment ! 
 Edwin, as well as myself, was unable to articulate a word, 
 but remained for some time with his eyes fixed on me with 
 an expression of horror; for astonishment had overcome the 
 fumes of wine. Like myself, I trust he felt the hand of 
 heaven upon us, and resolved to tempt destruction no far- 
 ther ; but, alas ! if he felt contrition, his expression of that 
 sentiment was very different from what I experienced ; for 
 being in some measure recovered from his first surprise his 
 rage knew no bounds. — Nevei', depraved as were the com- 
 pany I was accustomed to, did I ever before hear such 
 dreadful and tremendous execrations ; justly, however, up- 
 braiding me with my infamy ; and, finally, dressing himself, 
 he hastily rushed from the house, before the anguish and hor- 
 ror, occasioned by the foregoing scene, had left me sufficiently 
 able to reply by aught but tears. ' - 
 
 ' Midnight brawls were too common in this detestable 
 house for this to be noticed ; I passed the remainder of the 
 night alone ; and, for the first time for many years, threw 
 myself on my knees, thanking my Creator that he had. 
 
INGLEWOOD FOREST. 423^ 
 
 amidst my numberless transgressions, at least saved me from 
 so deadly a sin as that, whose very name chilled ray blood 
 with horror. 
 
 * I remained in this posture until day, and during the 
 time formed the determined resolution to brave the worst 
 that could befal me, rather than have recourse to my usual 
 way of life. My spirits were, however, overpowered with 
 the shock they had received ; I found my head giddy, my 
 tliroat parched with drought, and by noon was in a burning 
 lever, which, for near a month, baffled all the power of me- 
 dicine, and which, when even vanquished, left rae in a state 
 of melancholy that frequently impaired my senses. 
 
 ' I had never failed, in my lucid intervals, informing my 
 abandoned hostess of my resolution of embracing death 
 rather than returning to my former vices ; but she regarded 
 this merely as the effect of sickness, and doubtless thought 
 she could, as she had before done, seduce me to her Avishes ; 
 her rage was therefore unbounded when she found me de- 
 termined, and equally regardless of threats as promises, and, 
 above all, strictly resolved to drink nothing but water. 
 
 * One day that she particularly pressed me to renew my 
 former infamous course, I hastily snatched up a pair of 
 scissors, and clipped off my hair, saying, " There is one of 
 my flattered ornaments destroyed ; and know, that if nothing 
 else could save me, I would make myself a spectacle of 
 horror and disgust sooner than I would again submit ; but 
 that is not necessary, I am a free woman. If your conscience 
 will permit you to swear I am indebted to you, do so ; I 
 am willing to go to prison ; it will be heaven to this polluted 
 house." 
 
 " Then go you shall," replied she, with an oath, leaving 
 the apartment ; and next morning was true to her Avord, for 
 I was arrested and thrown into the Fleet pris,on. 
 
 ' I bore this calamity with thankfulness, as it removed rae 
 from such a scene of guilt. Money or valuables 1 had none, 
 for the old wretch had stopped all, and I must have perished 
 but for the humanity of my fellow-prisoners ; the virtuous 
 part of whom, however, treated me distantly, when it was 
 known from Avhat house I came. 
 
424 THE PARMER OF 
 
 ' I had l)een in this place about four months, when one 
 night I again dreamed of my mother, who I thought still 
 looked with great severity, but presented me with a Bible ; 
 and putting it in my hand vanished. 1 immediately awoke, 
 and determined, as soon as it should be light, to ask all over 
 the prison until I had borrowed a Bible; and accordingly in 
 the morning applied to several of the prisoners before I could 
 procure one, and which I at length obtained from a poor 
 widow, who was confined for the funeral expenses of her 
 husband. 
 
 * From the time I left Inglewood to the present moment I 
 had never opened that Sacred Volume, whose doctrine I had 
 learned to contemn, and whose precepts I had derided : I 
 now seized it with avidity, and ran to my own apartment, 
 where, having seated myself, I casually opened it at the 
 fifteenth chapter of St. Luke, where these immediate words 
 struck me : — " I will arise and go to my Father, and will say 
 unto him. Father, I have sinned against Heaven, and before 
 thee, and am no more worthy to be called thy son." 
 
 * For a moment the book dropped from my hand ; but 
 snatching it up again in a transport, I pressed it to my lips, 
 and vowed, if ever in my power, though I should beg my 
 way home, to obey what I regarded as a sacred injunction. 
 
 * About a month after this, as I was reading, one of the 
 unhappy girls, who resided with my wicked creditor, called 
 to inform me that their house by some neglect had taken 
 fire in the night, and that its vile mistress had been so 
 severely burnt that her life was despaired of; in consequence 
 of which she had sent to entreat the presence of a sister, 
 with whom, for many years before, she held no communica- 
 tion, being as respectable a character as my creditor was the 
 reverse. 
 
 ' This relation, however, obeyed the summons, as the girl 
 informed me, bidding me hope the best, as she was certain 
 I should not long remain a prisoner,— a prediction that was 
 verified that very day-week, when I was infornu'd an elderly 
 lady inquired for me, and who, on my attending her, 
 
 announced herself the sister of my creditor. "You are 
 
 free," said she, viewing me with a look of pity ; '• 1 have 
 
INGLEWOOD FOREST. 425 
 
 discharged your prison dues, and you are at liberty to go 
 when you please ; the unhappy woman,, at w hose suit you 
 were confined, is dead, and has left me heir to what ill- 
 gotten wealth she possessed : but never shall my children 
 be' enriched by the spods of prostitution ; it siiall be ex- 
 pended in the relief of those wretched women to whose 
 misery she has so largely contributed. — I iiave heard your 
 unhappy story ; and to you, as a proper claimant, I present 
 the first offering, entreating you to pray that Heaven may 
 grant her that mercy she denied to you." 
 
 'As she spoke she gave me a paper containing twenty 
 guineas ; adding, " You are, I hope, fixed in the resolution 
 that caused your removal hither. And should you want a 
 friend, apply to me ; you shall meet every assistance in my 
 power." 
 
 'I threw myself at the feet of this generous woman, thank- 
 ing her as well as my emotion would permit ; and when some- 
 what calmer recapitulated my intention respecting my journey 
 home, and also the previous eveats of my life. 
 
 ' She did not listen to them unmoved ; and when I con- 
 cluded, replied, — " By the common course of nature your 
 father is dead. I however applaud your motives ; but 
 should you find it as I predict, and' circumstances render 
 home inconvenient, return to me ; I am not rich, but can, 
 with the exertion of your own industry, secure you from want 
 or shame." 
 
 ' She soon after left me, giving me her address ; and this 
 woman, so generous, disinterested, and humane, was simply 
 the wife of a linen-draper; but whose humble virtues might 
 have dignified a coronet. 
 
 ' On her departure, after returning my unfeigned thanks 
 to the Power whose hand had led me through this affliction, 
 I prepared to depart, calling first on the widow of whom I 
 had borrowed the Bible, and insisting on sharing my purse 
 with her : an ofl'er she would fain have declined ; but in 
 j which I was so peremptory that she at length acquiesced ; 
 and I had the pleasure to see her compound the debt with 
 her creditor, and regain her liberty at the same time with 
 myself. As few objects, in respect of raiment, could be 
 Ui 3 H 
 
426 THE FARMER OF 
 
 more wretched than myself, my first care was to purchase a 
 change of linen ; and the gown I wore on my return to 
 luglewood, in which I went to bid adieu to my benefactress, 
 who received me kindly, and would willingly have advanced 
 me more money ; but I declined it, assuring her I had a suf- 
 ficiency to carry me liome. 
 
 • From her I went to procure a place in one of the Carlisle 
 coaches, but all were full ; and it was two days before any 
 were to set off again. Disappointed at this intelligence, I 
 took a place in one that was on the point of departing for 
 Grantham, as that would at least advance me above a hun- 
 dred miles on my way. The money paid, I entered the 
 vehicle, my whole baggage contained in a pocket handkerchief. 
 
 * I had but one fellow-traveller, a woman, and remained 
 lost in thought, revolving on the reception I might expect 
 to meet at Inglewood, when a few miles beyond Barnet I 
 was alarmed by the cry of Stop ; and a moment after, a 
 horseman made up to the carriage, presented a pistol, and 
 demanded our money. The moon shone bright, and re- 
 flected full on the face of the highwayman, whom, to my 
 inexpressible terror, I recognised to be Da\is! — An involun- 
 tary scream escaped me ; but he repeating his demand with 
 execrations, and my companion having given her purse, I 
 also presented my little all, which he snatched from my 
 hand, and galloped off full speed. 
 
 ' Though deprived of the means by which I meant to reach 
 home, I, however, could not avoid looking back with thank- 
 fulness to the Power who had awakened me to a sense of my 
 errors, and retraced with agony the effects of debauchery and 
 sin, my heart blessing God in silent adoration for having 
 separated me from so infamous a companion, and likewise 
 that I was unknown to him, as I sat in the corner of the coach 
 with my face totally concealed by my bonnet. 
 
 ' At length we arrived at Grantham, where I had not 
 . even the means to procure a breakfast, and with a heavy 
 heart leaving the coach, my little bundle in my hand, I 
 pursuing my way on foot, contemplated how my exhausted 
 frame could ever reach the end of my journey, which was 
 yet a hundred and seventy miles. Determined, however. 
 
INGLEWOOD FOREST. 4^ 
 
 to persevere, I walked until evening;, when, being almost 
 frozen with cold, I entered a cottage, and entreated assist- 
 ance, offering the contents of my bundle for a quarter the 
 money it had cost me. The woman of the house refused 
 my offer ; but, bidding me draw near, stirred up the fire, 
 and soon set meat before me, telling me I was welcome, and 
 that, poor as she was, she would sooner give than tai<e from 
 me. In short, this good creature kept me all night ; and in 
 the morning, before my departure, gave me a small loaf, a 
 piece of bacon, and a slice of cheese ; bidding me farewell in 
 a manner that called forth my warmest gi'atitude. 
 
 'The weather was uncommonly severe, and during the rest 
 of the journey, which I was a fortnight in performing, I met 
 with no similar instance of humanity ; so that, though I sold 
 ray few trifles, I was almost perished with hunger, as well 
 as overcome with cold and fatigue. At length I reached 
 the entrance of the Forest, and began to retrace the happy 
 haunts of my youth and innocence ; but my heart sunk with 
 conscious guilt, and I dreaded to stand in the presence 
 of any of my family. My father I represented to myself 
 as dead, and feared the reproaches of my brother. I had 
 'leaten nothing all that day, and it was night when I reached 
 the neighbourhood of my nativity ; the snow too began to 
 fall in such quantities that the face of the earth was covered, 
 and it was with much diificulty, as I passed the church, 
 that I could find the spot where our family are buried ; 
 I nor should I but for the old yew-tree that distinguished 
 it. Concluding that the grave of my mother was not far 
 distant, I knelt and prayed aloud, regardless of the time 
 or the weather that had drenched my garments, until I was 
 almost unable to rise. At length the church clock struck 
 ten ; and again entreating the protection and support of Hea- 
 ven in the arduous scene I had to undergo, I resumed my 
 way ; but exhausted with fatigue, and cramped with cold, my 
 limbs refused their office, and I fell several times in my road 
 from the church home. 
 
 ' When I reached the gate, how can I describe my sen- 
 sations ! In spite of the cold, that had nearly frozen my 
 blood, a genial warmth for a moment seemed to revive my 
 
428 THE FARMER OF 
 
 heart ; and I can truly declare I entered it with more pleasure 
 than I had before abandoned it; but soon again ray spirits 
 forsook me : I contemplated the dire effects of my crimes ; 
 and my heart failed. The house was all dark and silent; — • 
 nor for worlds could I have assumed the courage to knock. 
 I stood trembling with dread and irresolution, until my 
 wearied limbs would no longer support me ; when, making a 
 last effort, I determined to crawl to the wood-house ; and 
 there said, " If I die before morning, I shall at least have the 
 satisfaction of resigning my spirit near the happy dwelling 
 where I received it." 
 
 'Thus determined I reached the shed; but there soon 
 lost all remembrance. A heavy sleepiness appeared to op- 
 press me ; but I felt no pain, nor knew .any thing more, until, 
 blessed moment ! I found myself once again in my father's 
 house, with an affectionate and merciful brother hanging 
 over me. 
 
 * Oh, William, may this act of tenderness and humanity 
 berfewarded ! May thy children be (he glory of thy present 
 day, and the blessing of thy old age ! May they never cause 
 a frown .on thy brow, nor a blush on their mother's cheek ! 
 May they grow up examples of virtue and innocence, worthy 
 to live, and not afraid to die! May thy unhappy sister be 
 the last, as she is the first, disgrace to her family ! and with 
 her death, m.ay both her errors and her sorrows be forgotten ! 
 
 * Oh, my beloved friends, I have but little more to add ! 
 I feel the hand of death is on me ; and my short day of 
 vanity is terminating with a long and gloomy niglit ! Oh, 
 pray for me, my brother, — my sister, pray for me ! Let 
 your pure souls intercede for the wretched Emma, — Heaven 
 is never deaf to the prayers of the virtuous; and will hearken 
 to you, though its gates of mercy should be barred against 
 my petitions ! Pray too for the lost, unhappy, abandoned 
 Edwin ! 
 
 * Oh, my father, I cannot close without imploring a bless- 
 ing on your venerable head ! — Though it passes my polluted 
 lips, Oh, let it be heard at the Throne of Mercy ! and may 
 
INGLE WOOD FOREST. 429 
 
 the tears you have shed for your unhappy chikl be the last 
 that ever may wet your cheek ! — May blessings multiply 
 around you, until the hour you shall be called to a happy 
 eternity ! — But, Oh, there, my beloved parent, must the 
 wretched Emma be for ever shut out ! Oh, mercy, mercy ! 
 Methinks a tremendous voice sounds in my ears, "Go, thop 
 accursed !" Ah ! no, my father, you said it was sinful to 
 despair; I will go pray, and endeavour to hope ! 
 
 'Another day do I behold the glorious sun, — auothcr day 
 is given me for repentance ! IVIerciful God, I thank thee ! 
 Something whispers me, that I have but few more remain- 
 ing. On, that I had profited of the many I have thrown 
 away! — Alas! my eyes grow dim, and weakness pervades 
 my whole frame ! Perhaps, it is the last time I may be 
 able to hold the pen ; if so, heaven have mercy on me, and 
 bless my dear friends !' 
 
 Thus ended the narrative of the unhappy Era- 
 ma, which Fanny and William bedewed \^tl> 
 their tears. At length they retired to rest, 
 shocked at what they had read, and determined^^ 
 ^t all eients, to conceal it from their parents. 
 
 CHAP. LI. 
 
 On the following morning, when the family met 
 at breakfast, the maternal eye of Fanny fixing 
 on her eldest son, read an uncommon anxiety in 
 his features, and immediately inquired the cause ; 
 which, however, Reuben passed ofl^ as a trifling 
 indisposition; and soon after accompanied his 
 father to a neighbouring village, where some 
 business called him. 
 
430 THE FARMER OF 
 
 * What is the matter, my son ?' said William, in 
 his way thither. ' I see with concern that your 
 health declines, your usual spirits are fled, and 
 some concealed uneasiness appears to prey on 
 your mind. I had flattered myself, that in a 
 family so affectionate as ours, one would not 
 have had a thought necessary to conceal from 
 the whole.' 
 
 * Nor have F, my dear father,' replied Reuben. 
 * I am uneasy almost without knowing why ; and 
 frequently, even myself, endeavour to account for 
 the melancholy that overpowers me. I can truly 
 say, that was the whole world laid before me, 
 and I had the choice of my state, I would not 
 change my present one. It is true, I wish that 
 Anna was not in that hateful London. Do you 
 not think it strange, my dear father, that the 
 post brought us no letters last night ?' 
 
 ' Rather so ; but we can have no fears for her 
 safety; — next post we shall doubtless hear of 
 her. Mrs. Palmer is, perhaps, returned to Lon- 
 don ; and they may be on the point of setting 
 out for Inglewood.' 
 
 ' May they never E^gain leave it !' replied Reu- 
 ben, warmly. ' Surrounded by my family, I feel 
 myself the most blessed of human beings, — not an 
 individual in it but what seems necessary to my 
 happiness ; but deprive me of one, and my heart 
 is cold ; and though I accuse myself continually 
 with ingratitude to the rest, yet were my life at 
 stake I cannot banish it.' 
 
 More conversation of the same sort passed be- 
 tween the father and son ; but all of which tended 
 
INGLEWOOD FOREST. 431 
 
 towards confirming the former that the latter had 
 conceived an affection for Anna ; which, however 
 it might be restrained within the bounds of rea- 
 son, would nevertheless embitter the peace of his 
 future life. On their return home, William find- 
 ing no one present but Godwin, Bernard, and 
 Fanny, began a conversation on the subject; 
 giving his opinion respecting the uneasiness of 
 his son, and asking their joint advice. 
 
 ' Were it not,' said he, ' for the unhappy ex- 
 amples we have had in our own family, of the 
 effects of trusting youth in large towns, I should 
 think of placing Reuben where he might study 
 some profession which might divert his mind 
 fi'om this unhappy inclination ; as law, physic, or 
 divinity.' 
 
 ' Nay,' interrupted Bernard, ' for his soul's 
 sake, never make the boy a lawyer : it would be 
 a wicked action ; and you would have it here- 
 after to answer for.' 
 
 ' Why, surely, my dear father,' replied William, 
 with a smile, ' you would not infer that all law- 
 yers are Avicked ? Doubtless, there are many 
 virtuous.' 
 
 ' Like enough,' answered Bernard ; ' but they 
 never came within the scope of my knowledge.' 
 
 * Indeed, my dear father,' returned William, 
 ' you are wrong to condemn a whole body of men 
 for the errors of a part. Believe me, there are 
 many worthy pillars of the law, whose merits ex- 
 ceed all praise ; and that, written in the hearts of 
 their countrymen, will be transmitted from gene- 
 ration to generation, though writing should be 
 prohibited, and printing destroyed.' 
 
432 THE FARMER OF 
 
 'I knock under,' cried Bernard. 'Herein the 
 health of all such in a bumper: and in their 
 journey through life, may they never meet a man 
 that reveres and honours them less than I do ! 
 Let the boy be a lawyer then; for as for a par- 
 son, his face has not the right cut, and would 
 never do for a pulpit.' 
 
 ' And why,' inquired old Godwin, 'should you 
 think so ?' 
 
 'Why? — why, because he looks too merry. 
 The dog too has a sly look. A parson's face 
 should be like a standing pool, unruffled with 
 any breeze, except when it " creams and mantles'* 
 with the prospect of a good fat living. Besides, 
 I do not think the boy w ould like to be a parson.' 
 
 ' Perhaps not,' answered William. ' But what 
 say you to physic, or rather surgery ? 
 
 ' Why those will never do,' returned Bernard. 
 ' A fme surgeon truly ! Why he cannot kill an 
 old hen. Oh, he w ould cut a sorry figure for a 
 surgeon ! Then for your physic : it would surely 
 be a sin and a shame for such a strong handsome 
 fellow as Reuben to waste his time in listening to 
 the complaints of old women, (for who the pies 
 would be fool enough to trust him with the 
 young ones,) spreading of plasters, rolling up 
 pills, or making drenches that would poison a 
 horse! Besides he would have no business in 
 the country : he must go to London ; and tliere 
 we should lose hii;n for good.' 
 
 * If he must be a profession,' said the elder God- 
 w in, ' I must confess I see none equal to the 
 church ; for what man so truly respectable as the 
 worthy minister of his Creator ?—-tlie comforter of 
 
INGLEWOOD FOREST. 438 
 
 the afflicted, — tlie reprover of the wicked, — the 
 protector of the widow, — the father of the orphan, 
 — and the friend of all mankind !' 
 
 ' Bat where will you find him?' answered Ber- 
 nard, drily. ' 1 never heard much of our parson's 
 comforting the afflicted ; then for reproving the 
 wicked, I suppose it is for that purpose he gets 
 drunk four times a week with Squire Joice ; and 
 as for protecting widows, and being a father to 
 orphans,— who helped the poor old widow and 
 her children at the mill ? Not the parson I trow. 
 Nay, never frown, I have let the cat out of the 
 bag undesignedly ; but the widows' prayers and 
 the children's blessings ' 
 
 * We w ill change the discourse, if you please,' 
 mternipted Godwin, gravely. 
 
 'Ay, ay,' answered Bernard, 'you may hide 
 your light under a bushel ; but it will burn 
 through and blaze out. However, I mean no 
 offence ; so let us, as you say, change the subject: 
 I vote for the law.' 
 
 * Nay,' answered William, ' if we find it abso- 
 lutely necessary, Reuben must determine for him- 
 self. Were it not for this unhappy prepossession, 
 the avocation of his father is wliat I would have 
 chosen for him: — the profession of man, in the 
 unvitiated state of nature, who reaps what he 
 sows, and feels the power of his Creator in every 
 wind that blows, and his providence in the glori- 
 ous sun-shine. But why are you silent, my love V 
 continued William, addressing his wife. ' Your 
 counsels ever better my opinion, and are desirable 
 to us all.' 
 
 ' My advice then,' replied Fanny, ' is that you 
 3i 
 
434 THE FARMER OF 
 
 think no more of a change for Reuben. We 
 know him now strictly virtuous, and all our 
 hearts can w ish ; but who could answer for his 
 stability at so early an age, were he thrown into 
 alluring and dangerous situations ? Let him then 
 remain at home a farmer, like his father. Time 
 may, perhaps, remove this partiality for Anna, if 
 it is so ; but should it not, and we find it mutual, 
 we are not without resource.' 
 
 * Name it,' returned William. 
 
 ' Bid defiance to censure, which can never in- 
 jure us, declare the truth, and unite them,' replied 
 Fanny. ' Think you not, that could my beloved 
 sister look from her seat of blessedness, she would 
 say as I do ? for can you suppose she would doom 
 the son of my bosom, and the child who has cost 
 lier so dear, to misery ? Surely not ; my Agnes 
 had a soul superior, — she would have stepped over 
 such narrow bounds, joined their hands, and, for 
 their happiness, liave been regardless of the finger 
 of Calunmy, if any sucli could point at so gentle 
 and, I will add, so innocent a victim.' 
 
 * First of women!' exclaimed William, 'how 
 truly might I say thy counsels ever bettered my 
 opinion ! The disgrace would indeed fall wliere 
 it is most due, — on my unhappy brother ; whom, 
 in all probability, it would never reach. But wliat 
 say our parents ? Their advice sliall determine us.' 
 
 ' My brother Bernard's 0])inion shall be mine," 
 replied Godwin. 'As the most injured person, 
 he shall decide.' 
 
 . 'Well then,' said Bernard, 'I coincide witli 
 Fanny ; for what could give us more pleasure 
 than joining the hands of that good boy and dear 
 
INGLEWOOD FOREST. 435 
 
 girl : I am sure it would leave me nothing- to 
 wish for on earth ; and could my poor lost child 
 rise from her grave, I am convinced she would 
 applaud it.' 
 
 »t * And for me,' added Godwin, ' I truly confess 
 I know no event that could confer equal satisfac- 
 tion on me as that of seeing the child of our dear 
 and lamented Agnes united for life to our worthy 
 Reuben. Notwithstanding all the precautions 
 we have taken, I have frequently dreaded, lest 
 some unforeseen accident should discover her 
 birth to her unworthy father, if he yet survives, 
 I and that he should claim her from us. By this 
 I step she would be secure for life, and safe in the 
 bosom of Truth and Affection. But, my children, 
 the concurrence of Mrs. Palmer is also neces- 
 sary, and should guide us all: she has in our 
 I calamities been a true friend, and Anna is 
 peculiarly hers.' 
 
 * Nor would I advance a single step without 
 her advice,' replied William. ' On her return we 
 j Avill resume the business, and endeavour to dis- 
 j cover whether Anna's affections are in unison 
 I with Reuben's ; if they are, with our good friend's 
 I approbation, we will then bid defiance to all but 
 their happiness.' 
 
 Reuben and Edward at that moment enter- 
 ing, the conversation gave way to more general 
 subjects. 
 
 The day following was the return of the post. 
 William had his eyes on his son, who could not 
 settle to any business ; but ten times in each Jiour 
 walked to the gate, listening to every noise. At 
 length the sound of the horn struck his ear ; and. 
 
436 THE FARMER OF 
 
 with the speed of lightning, he rushed to meet 
 the welcome postman, who presented a letter, 
 directed in an unknown hand, to his father. An 
 unusual trepidation seized his whole frame ; for 
 a moment his heart ceased to beat ; but the next, 
 its motion returned with redoubled violence. 
 Hastening to his father he presented the letter in 
 silence, fixing his eyes on his face, as though he 
 would read the contents there ; but though tiiese 
 were not discernible, the effect they produced 
 plainly evinced something more than common ; 
 for the flush of health gave place to a sudden 
 paleness, an unusual gravity at the same time 
 overspreading his whole countenance. 'For 
 Heaven's sake, my dear father,' exclaimed Reu- 
 ben, * speak J Pardon my impatience, — you have 
 surely received some disastrous news. Say, what 
 of Anna ? I am sure it concerns her.' 
 
 * Anna is not in perfect health,' replied William, 
 with as much composure as he could assume. ' We 
 will go to London, and bring her home with us.' 
 
 Reuben for a moment made no reply ; but at 
 length exclaimed, ' Oh, my beloved Anna, my 
 heart sunk at thy departure, and too truly fore- 
 boded that I should never see thee more ! 
 
 ' It would better become us as men, Reuben,' 
 replied his father, ' to consider how we may soft- 
 en this news to your mother and our aged pa- 
 rents, than give way to anguish that merely in- 
 terests omselves; but prepare, we will depart 
 this night, for the manner of the intelligence yet 
 more alarms me tlian her sickness.' 
 
 He then gave his son tlie letter, whose anxiety 
 "was redoubled by the perusal. While he was 
 
INGLEWOOD FOREST. 4S7 
 
 expressing his surprise at the contents, Edward 
 entered ; and was immediately informed of the 
 intelhgence his father had received. Anna's situ- 
 ation he lamented with truly fraternal aflfection : 
 he, however, had no sooner looked at the letter 
 than a loud exclamation escaped him : * It — it — 
 it is Miss Fitzmorris's hand !' said he. ' The 
 gentle Editha is alarmed for our sister; and this 
 information comes from her.' 
 
 * From what reason should you suppose so V 
 
 replied William, ' How is it possible you should 
 
 »be able to ascertain the young lady's hand ? 
 
 '.< * Nothing more easy,' replied he, producing his 
 
 pocket-book, and drawing forth a letter. 'See, 
 
 there is what she wrote concerning the slaves; com- 
 
 j)are them, and you will find the characters agree.' 
 
 jv; William did so; and was entirely of his son's 
 
 opinion. Then informing him of their intended 
 
 jxjurney, was putting up both letters : '. You, — 
 
 you have not returned my letter, father,' hesitated 
 
 Edward ; • and may, perhaps, lose it out of your 
 
 pocket.' 
 
 y; William thus reminded, gave it back to his son, 
 •whose face at the moment was covered withaburn- 
 ing crimson. ' And may not I also accompany you, 
 my dear father?' said he. ' My heart is anxious 
 for my sister; and I may be of some service.' 
 
 ' You will be most so, my son, by using every 
 means in your power, during my absence, to sup- 
 port the spirits of our aged parents and your dear 
 mother, to whom I am going to disclose this disa- 
 greeablebusiness;Tshall then departwithout delay.' 
 / , Edward made no answer but by a deep sigh ; and 
 immediately followed his father to join the family 
 
438 THE FARMER OF 
 
 The intelligence, though communicated with 
 every caution tliat tenderness could suggest, fell 
 heavy on all. Even Fanny's usual presence of 
 mind forsook her; and she lamented with am 
 guish the situation of Anna. '•; >iij; 
 
 ' Oh, fly, my beloved husband !' cried she ; 'fly: 
 to the darling of my heart ! Oh, gracious Heaven! 
 
 spare all that is left me of my dear , restore 
 
 her to my maternal arms, —or never, never will my 
 soul know peace ! Where, at this disastrous mo- 
 ment, is our best friend? — where is Mrs Palmer?' 
 
 * By this time she is doubtless with her,' replied 
 William. ' Cheer, my love, or indeed I cannot 
 leave you. The next post will, I trust, bring you 
 good news.' 
 
 Every thing being ready, William and his son 
 soon after departed, on their own horses for the 
 first stage, and on hired ones the remaindei* of the 
 journey. 
 
 CHAP. LH. 
 
 Though the letter which Editha had written to 
 William Godwin had reached him, yet that de- 
 signed for Mrs. Palmer had failed, — as it was 
 addressed to her at Bath, and that lady was re- 
 moved to Bristol. Her father being disgusted 
 with the former place after a week's residence, 
 had insisted on repairing to the latter ; which he 
 reached in so weak and exhausted a state, as to 
 make it apprehended that he would have expired 
 on the road. 
 
INGLEWOOD FOREST. 439 
 
 On his arrival, he found himself so much worse, 
 I that, unwilling as he was to acknowledge it, he 
 ! declared it was fruitless to attempt any longer to 
 ! fly from death ; and accordingly began to bustle 
 j about the mighty work of repentance, being 
 ' determined to rub out the accumulating sins of 
 j fourscore and seven years between the rising and 
 going down of the sun ; for he survived but little 
 more than that time after his arrival! 
 
 Mrs. Palmer left no duty unperformed while he 
 was living, nor yet after his decease ; for finding 
 by his will that lie desired she would see him laid 
 in the vault of his ancestors, she determined to 
 obey him. To his wife he had left five hundred 
 pounds a year, and the bulk of his fortune to his 
 daughter; to whom this acquisition was, until 
 lately, totally unexpected. 
 
 The second day after his death, Mrs. Palmer 
 had written to Anna, signifying the event that 
 had taken place; also her intention of accompany- 
 ing the body to Derbyshire, desiring her not to 
 write, as she should have left Bristol ; and tliat 
 immediately after the funeral, she would return 
 to town post,— expressed the sorrow she felt at 
 Mrs. Fitzmorris'si llness, (Anna's letter respecting 
 her having reached Mrs. Palmer the day before 
 she left Bath,) declaring her obligations to Mr. 
 Fitzmorris, hoping that gentleman would permit 
 his daughter to accompany them the ensuing- 
 summer ; desired her not to inform her parents of 
 Mrs. Fitzmorris's illness, as it woidd give them 
 unnecessary uneasiness ; and, finally, she con- 
 cluded the whole by saying, she expected to 
 embrace her in a fortnight at farthest. • 
 
410 THE FARMER OF 
 
 This letter reached Anna ; but not until after it 
 had been perused by Fitzmorris, who had the sa- 
 tisfaction to find, that, in all probability, the lady 
 was safe for a fortnight ; during which time, if he 
 determined to give up Anna, her health would 
 be entirely re-established ; or if, on the contrary, 
 he adopted other measures, he would have time 
 to execute any thing he might resolve on. 
 
 This letter arrived on the sixth day after Editha's 
 removal, and when Anna was sufficiently reco- 
 vered to leave her bed. 
 
 Previous to this event Fitzmorris had not in- 
 truded his presence on Anna ; but now secure of 
 Mrs. Palmer, and apprised that her health was 
 almost restored, his usual spirits returned, and he 
 determined to lose no time, but to press his suit 
 with all the earnestness he was master of, and ac- 
 cordingly sent his compliments, and entreated the 
 favour of personally inquiring after her health. 
 Anna, who felt a repugnance she accused hereelf 
 with for Fitzmorris, returned to this message an 
 obliging answer, determined, as her health was so 
 much restored, to entreat she might be permitted 
 to go to Editha, whom she longed to question 
 respecting her writing to her parents ; and Mrs. 
 Palmer, as she could not conceive why it had 
 been done privately, truly surmising, by the re- 
 moval of the last mentioned, that the letter to her 
 had failed. 
 
 On Fitzmorris's entrance he was struck witit 
 the alteration his diabolical arts had made in her 
 beautiful face; but, nevertheless, complimented 
 her on her recovery, expressing the alarm it at 
 first had occasioned him, when he rushed, without 
 
INGLEWOOD FOREST. 441' 
 
 ceremony, into her apartment, and asking, with 
 well-dissembled curiosity, if this was a first at- 
 tack, or whether she was subject to fits. 
 
 ' Never,' replied Anna ; ' and I trust I never 
 shall again. The wine I drank at supper was 
 particularly disagreeable to me ; and to that I at- 
 tribute my illness.' t^f^to 
 
 Fitzmorris, vexed to find that she still perse- 
 vered in the real cause, endeavoured all he could 
 to divert that opinion, which Anna's timidity did 
 not suffer her to persist in ; but turning the dis- 
 course to EdiUia and her aunt, desired to be in- 
 formed respecting the health of the latter, and 
 whether she might now be permitted to see her 
 friend. 
 
 ' My sister's health is still very precarious,' re- 
 plied Fitzmorris ; ' and for my daughter, in a few 
 days I shall be happy to present her to you, for 
 then all danger will be over.' 
 
 Anna sighed. ' I thought. Sir,' replied she, 
 with great gentleness, ' that fits were never com- 
 municative.' 
 
 . ' But, my dear Miss Palmer, yours were accom- 
 panied by a degree of fever that rendered them 
 alarming. I fear you received some infection 
 from my sister previous to your coming hither : 
 but why does that melancholy overspread your 
 lovely face ? Is Editha the only one in the family 
 for whom you have the least esteem ? Command 
 here, you are mistress, and myself the most de- 
 voted of your servants.' 
 
 Such a speech from the gloomy, harsh Fitzmor- 
 ris at once surprised and overpowered Anna with 
 confusion. ' I should be very ungrateful, Su-,' 
 
 19 3 k 
 
442 THE FARMER OF 
 
 replied she, ' not to respect the whole family, to 
 whom I have been so highly obliged.' 
 
 ' Respect, charming Anna, is too cold a return 
 for the affection my heart acknowledges for you ; 
 so gentle a mind cannot surely be cruel enough 
 to doom me to despair, wlien I lay myself and 
 fortune at your feet.' 
 
 'Good Heaven! Sir, you shock me. Editha's 
 father! Indeed you distress me beyond measure!' 
 
 * How so?' replied ritzmorris: ' Is my affection 
 then so dreadful ? and is Editha to monopolize all 
 your love V As he spoke he attempted to take 
 her hand ; but Anna shrunk back, and appeared 
 ready to faint. 
 
 ' Nay,' said he, ' why that averted look ? Say, 
 lovely girl, will you give me leave to apply to 
 Mrs. Palmer? I flatter myself my fortune " 
 
 'Will have no effect on her,' replied Anna, re- 
 covering from her confusion. ' She loves me too 
 well not to leave me, in a cause of so much conse- 
 quence, to my own choice, and that is never to 
 quit her: I have therefore only to entreat, tiiat 
 while 1 intrude on your hospitality, you will cease 
 a conversation that gives me so much pain.' ' By 
 Heaven, it is impossible!' exclaimed he, attempt- 
 ing to embrace her : ' I must be more or less than 
 man not to resolve to conquer this soft timidity,— - 
 this childish declaration.' 
 
 Anna screamed aloud ; and in a moment Julia 
 rushed into the room: 'What be de matter?' 
 cried she, ' you fright away my sense! Sure you 
 not drink wine again!' 
 
 ' Btgone,' exclaimed Fitzmoms, ' why this in- 
 solent intrusion? You were not called.' 
 
INGLEWOOD FOREST. 443 
 
 ' Me was,' replied Julia. ' Young Missey no 
 rtcream widout want me. Julia know duty, and 
 more from love den fear.' 
 
 'I charge you stay,' said Anna; ' I have busi- 
 ness for you.' 
 
 * I then take my leave,' rejoined Fitzmorris, 
 malignantly. ' You will consider of what 1 have 
 said ; and I trust will answer me more kindly in 
 the eveninj*;.' 
 
 Anna made no reply, and Fitzmorris immedi- 
 ately after withdrew. ' What shall we do, Julia?' 
 cried she, ' that odious man has frightened me to 
 death. Oli! that I had never entered his house! 
 Mrs. Palmer, from her removal, I fear, has never 
 received Editha's letter.' 
 
 ' But de oder, Missey. Friends get dat, no 
 doubt — soon be here,'' replied Julia. 
 
 'That thought alone, Julia, enables me to keep 
 up my spirits ; for the bare idea of passing a fort- 
 night here would kill me. But have you heard 
 where Editha is placed V 
 
 * No, I ask footman, for more servants be come 
 now, Missey ; but no tell me, only laugh my 
 face.' 
 
 ' I will go,' said Anna : ' I can hire a post-chaise 
 to take us home ; there is less danger on the high 
 road than under the roof of this odious man.' 
 
 Julia advised her against this step, as by that 
 means she would probably miss of her friends, 
 whom she might soon expect ; adding, ' No fear 
 dat little time, Missey ; me take care me warrant, 
 — beside me tink massa no let us go.' 
 
 * Not let me go, Julia !' repeated Anna ; ' you 
 astonish me ; he will not surely dare to detain me.' 
 
444 THE FARMER OF 
 
 ' Dare !' repeated Julia. ' Ah, Missey, you no 
 know what he dare, —he fear noting.' 
 
 Anna shuddered at this account; but, never- 
 theless, determined to mention her intention 
 when next he should visit her. 
 
 Fitzmorris retired to dress in the mean time ; 
 and to his trusty confidant declared what had 
 passed, vowing that Anna should not escape 
 him ; for he was determined, if all other means 
 failed, to carry her out of the kingdom, and se- 
 crete her until she consented to his terms ; adding, 
 that the death of old Sommerton (whom iie sup- 
 posed her grandfather) would make a fine addi- 
 tion to her fortune, and concluded with saying, 
 ' Between ourselves, such a recruit may not prove 
 amiss, for I have lost considerably since I came 
 to England. Had the old woman died, her ten 
 thousand, indeed, might have made up the de- 
 ficiency ; but I have scarcely any hopes of that 
 now, for she is much better.' 
 
 Fitzmorris, to his great vexation, was prevent- 
 ed- repeating his persecution to Anna that day 
 by the unwelcome visit of three of his London 
 companions ; who knowing he had a house on 
 the Heath, called to take a dinner, and sat drink- 
 ing with him until the night was far advanced, 
 leaving him in a state of almost brutal intoxica- 
 tion ; in which situation, taking up a candle, he 
 declared he would go to Anna's apartment. But 
 his trusty valet, who saw he was in no situation 
 to recommend himself to a lady, prevented him, 
 by assuring him she had long since retired to rest; 
 and soon after persuaded him to do the same. 
 While Fitzmorris and his domestics had been 
 
INGLEWOOD FOREST. U6 
 
 employed in the entertainment of the guests, 
 Anna had written to Inglewood, without, how- 
 ever, mentioning the extent of her uneasiness, but 
 entreating to be fetched home without delay, 
 Julia conveying the letter to tlie postman, as she 
 had done those of Editha. 
 
 CHAP. LIII. 
 
 FiTZMORRis rose earlier than usual, his head 
 aching from the last night's debauch, — his blood 
 fevered with what he called Love, -and his con- 
 science agonized with all the torment that vice 
 gave rise to. 
 
 In order to reduce his spirits to some degree of 
 calmness, he walked into his garden, and was ap- 
 parently lost in thought ; when Anna, leaning on 
 Julia, crossed the path before him, and for a 
 time banished his unpleasant reverie. * Abroad 
 so early!' said he; 'I am fortunate this morning!' at 
 the same time offering to place her arm under his. 
 * May I flatter myself you will breakfast with me V 
 
 'I CB,me merely to try my strength. Sir,' re- 
 turned Anna, withdrawing her hand, ' as I pro- 
 pose going to town to see Mrs. Fitzmorris to-day.' 
 
 * You jest, surely !' answered he ; ' you cannot 
 think of putting your health to so dangerous a 
 hazard, or that 1 am so little sensible of the value 
 of my charge as to permit so improper a step !' 
 
 * I was intrusted. Sir,' replied Anna, ' to Mrs. 
 Fitzmorris's care; I am not afraid of fevers; and 
 as Miss Editha is not here, — -' 
 
446 THE FARMER OF 
 
 ' I will, on my honour, fetch her in two days,' 
 interrupted he. ' But favour me, charming Anna, 
 by dismissing your servant ; I have something to 
 communicate which requires your private ear.' 
 
 ' I hear no subject. Sir,' replied Anna, ' that 
 needs concealment; and, for myself, would only 
 entreat that you will permit one of your domestics 
 to fetch me a chaise from Hounsiow.' 
 
 ' And will you favour me with no answer to 
 what I requested yesterday ?' said he, angrily, — 
 'since I must speak before this black devil.' 
 
 ' You call devil black, massa V inteiTupted 
 Julia. ' Negro call devil white : me believe no 
 colour, only bad heart, make devil, — wicked con- 
 science hell.' 
 
 'D — _. n you,' exclaimed Fitzmorris, losing 
 his temper ; ' I merit this for permitting you to 
 torment me after what passed in Jamaica.' 
 
 * Ah ! much pass dere massa ; if you forget, 
 your memory no so good as Julia's.' 
 
 Fitzmorris raised his hand, and was only pre- 
 vented from striking her by the presence of Anna. 
 * I see,' said he, * I have nothing to expect, and 
 shall act accordingly ; yet must inform you. Ma- 
 dam, that to Mrs. Palmer only will I resign you ; 
 she, perhaps, may be more sensible of my atten- 
 tion than you are.' 
 
 With these words he turned away in a rage, 
 and soon regained the house, leaving- Anna 
 amazed at his brutality, and shocked to fmd her- 
 self in the power of so bad a man, 
 
 Fitzmorris saw Anna in the afternoon in lier 
 jown apartment ; he attempted, as before, to send 
 away Julia, but in vain : liberty had made her 
 
INGLEWOOD FOREST. 447 
 
 bold ; and she now openly despised the tyrant, 
 wliOvSe frown had heretofore made her tremble. 
 
 From Anna he was ( onvinced he had no favour 
 to expect ; he saw he was detested ; and ani>:fer, 
 as much as love, sthniiiated hmi to revenge the 
 affront. He had been particularly favoured by 
 the ladies ; and was enraged to find her blind to 
 those attractiv)ns that had subdued so many, never 
 considering that her heart might be pre-engaged, 
 or that he was no longer so young, or possessed 
 of so attractive a person as formerly ; though, to 
 confess the truth, his dissipated life, more than 
 age, had caused the alteration. 
 
 ' I have no time to lose,' said he to his colleague 
 in vice ; ' and it is but labour lost to try gentle 
 means ; force and fear can alone conquer so obsti- 
 nate a spirit; she shall find I am not to be trifled 
 with.— 'Sdeath, have I lived until now to be van- 
 quished by a girl ! Beside, should I let her escape, 
 she would but relate what has passed, and make 
 me ridiculous. By Heaven, I will bear her to 
 France, and there, wife or mistress, her choice 
 shall determine. 1 have nothing to fear in this 
 case, but the tongue of her mother; and that, 
 until I can make all secure, I will keep at a dis- 
 tance. She has no heroic brotiiers ; but if she had 
 I care not ; my arm never yet failed me, nor do I 
 fear it now.' 
 
 ' I must confess,' replied the valet, ' I am not 
 quite so sanguine in this business as I have 
 been in some in which I have had the honour to 
 serve you. Mrs. Palmer is rich, and will doubt- 
 less spare no pains or expense to discover her 
 daughter.' 
 
448 THE FARMER OP 
 
 * True, nor no expense to heal her reputation ; 
 for who will believe she was not const nting to the 
 elopement? Besides, the young vixen will very 
 soon be glad to salve so desperate a case with the 
 old remedy, Matrmiony. But enough of this. 
 Prepare me post-horses to-morrow night by nine 
 o'clock ; I shall settle all my business ni the day. 
 You must ride forward, and obtain relays ; and 
 give out, in case of question, that I am conveying 
 an imprudent daughter to France. We shall reach 
 Dover early in the morning, and will go directly 
 on shipboard to prevent all alarm.' 
 
 ' But what, Sir, do you mean to do with Julia?' 
 
 * D n her, if it was not for her infernal 
 
 yells on the road I would take her too, if it was 
 only for the pleasure of pushing her overboard 
 into the sea. As it is, we will lock her up, and 
 l^ave her under the care of your sister, whom you 
 must command, as she values her place, not to 
 release her until the next day.' 
 
 ' But Miss Editha, Sir, and your son ?' 
 ' Pish, if my sister gets well, the girl will natu- 
 rally return to her; and I may make a merit 
 hereafter of sending for her abroad. As for the 
 boy, he cannot be better than at school ; therefore 
 no more questions, but prepare to obey me.' 
 
 * After so many proofs of my attachment, Sir,' 
 replied the man, ' I shall not now forfeit your 
 friendship.' 
 
 ' After so many proofs of my gratitude, I hope 
 you will not,' answered the master. 
 
 With these words the ivorthy pair separated 
 for the night. 
 
INGLEWOOD FOREST. 449 
 
 CHAP. LIV. 
 
 In the morning all was preparation for the in^ 
 tended expedition. Fitzmorris wrote to his sister, 
 who was yet in a very precarious state of health, 
 that immediate business demanded his presence in 
 a distant pai't of the kingdom ; and entreated tliat, 
 when it should be convenient, she would again 
 take the care of Editha. To his son's preceptor 
 he likewise sent, signifying iiis intention that he 
 should remain at school until they heard farther 
 from him. He also settled his domestic economy 
 for the country with his housekeeper, whc was the 
 valet's sister, and remitted an order to his attorney 
 to discharge his house in town, together with his 
 domestics. Thus all was prepared, and Fitzmorris 
 looked on his success as certain. 
 
 Julia, whose eyes and ears were attentive to 
 all that passed, was not unmindful of the more 
 than usual business that seemed in agitation, but 
 which, perhaps, had made no material impression, 
 had she not heard the valet and housekeeper in 
 close conversation. The former witli a bitier im- 
 precation cursing the new folly tiiat actuated his 
 master, and declaring it was the last he would be 
 engaged in, concluded with saying, 'The pitcher 
 goes often to the well, but at last comes home 
 broken. Never had man such devilish warnings 
 and hair-breadth escapes ; but it is all in vain ; 
 tjiey only, I think, make him more daring. And 
 for this attempt on Miss Palmer, ' 
 
 19 3l 
 
450 THE FARMER OF 
 
 His eye at that instant met the fissure of Julia, 
 Avho was standing- in the cioor-way ; bat uncertain 
 whetiiershe had beard, and concluding* that if slie 
 hi d she could make nothmg of it, he turned the 
 discourse to common occurrences until her de- 
 parture. 
 
 Julia had but just related to Anna what she 
 had heard, when Fitzmorris sent his compliments, 
 and desired to be admitted. It was now after- 
 noon, and he had been endeavourini^ to drown 
 thought in wine ; he therefore behaved with less 
 caution than formerly, urging- his suit with much 
 vehemence, until at lengih, seeing the trembling 
 Anna terrified, and almost ready to faint, he de- 
 sisted, and left her alone with Julia. 
 
 ' Oh» my God, protect me!' cried Anna. 'What 
 can I do? Surely, if you love me, you will not 
 deny my request. The attempt you heard them 
 mention, and his behaviour, all conspire to show 
 I have no time to lose. Let us then this very night 
 privately leave the house; I am strong, and can 
 walk a great way ; neither am I without money. 
 Heaven will, I am sure, protect us, and we shall 
 reach home in safety.' 
 
 ' Wid all my heart,' replied Julia. ' Ah ! i^e 
 hope some friend come before now.' 
 
 ' It is impos^sible they could reach here, were 
 they even to come post, before to-morrow or the 
 next day : and oh ! Julia, what may not happen 
 in that interval ! No, I will brave the w orst sooner 
 than remain longer under this hated roof.' 
 
 Tliey then determined, as soon as the house 
 should be settled for the night, to endeavour to 
 escape, and reach Hounslow on foot: — 'From 
 
INGLEWOOD FOREST. 45* 
 
 whence,' said Anna, ' we will, my faithful Julia, 
 procure a chaise, and travel all the way post. By 
 morning we shall be safe from pursuit, should we 
 even be followed ; but that I think improbable, as 
 1 itzmorris will be uncertain of our route.' 
 
 This resolution supported the spirits of Anna 
 during the evening ; in the course of which Julia 
 made up a little bundle of necessary apparel, 
 which she proposed to take with them. 
 
 At length the clock struck nine, and an instant 
 after, a chaise drove into the court. Anna scarcely 
 breathed, though she thought it impossible it 
 j shouldbringany one from Inglewood ; but all her 
 hopes vanished, when a moment after Fitzmoms 
 desired to be admitted. ' I am sorry, charuiing 
 Anna,' said he, ' to be the messenger of bad 
 tidings; but Mrs. Palmer is taken ill at Derby, 
 and has sent to require your immediate attendance.' 
 ' Preserve her, merciful Heaven !' exclaimed 
 Anna. ' I will fly to her ; the fatigue she has un- 
 dergone has killed her, and I shall be deprived 
 of my dearest friend.' 
 
 ' 1 received the intelligence near an hour since,' 
 returned Fitzmorris, ' but could not assume cou- 
 rage to declare it to you : I, however, immediately 
 ordered a chaise for your conveyance, and, with 
 your permission, will accompany and deliver you 
 safe to her.' 
 
 * Julia will be sufficient,' replied she, recoiling 
 at this ofter; 'I have no fear but for my beloved 
 mamma.' 
 
 * Excuse me, I will not trust you alone to this 
 dangers of the night; for 1 presume you will de- 
 part immediately. Julia can follow in the morn- 
 
452 THE FARMER OF 
 
 iug by the stage. Come, you lose time, all is 
 prepared,' concluded he, presenting iiis hand. 
 
 Anna drew back, and paused for a moment, 
 while Julia replied, ' No leave Missey ; me run 
 after coach sooner den be leave here behind.' 
 
 ' Has my dear mamma sent no letter, nor yet 
 her servant to accompany me?' demanded Anna, 
 fixing her soft but inquiring eyes on Fitzmorris. 
 
 * No,' replied he ; 'a horseman brought t!ie 
 message, and departed immediately for London.' 
 
 * It is strange,' answered Anna, pausina;: 'I 
 
 should have thought that But come, Juiia, 
 
 we will go ; and I can but thank Mr. Fitzmorris 
 for all his kindness.' 
 
 ' On my life,' interupted he, impatiently, 'you 
 shall not go unprotected.' 
 
 * Heaven will protect me,' replied Anna, rais- 
 ing her eyes. ' No action of my past life has, I 
 trust, made me forfeit that blessing' 
 
 . ' Doubtless not,' answered Fitzmorris, with a 
 sneer; 'but in this case it delegates its power to 
 me. Come, — come, on my honour I will guide 
 you in safety.' 
 
 ' Slender barrier !' said Anna, aside, — the dis- 
 course which Julia had overheard recurring fresh 
 to her memory ; then turning to Fitzmorris, with 
 as much firmness as she could assume, she added, 
 ' Pardon me, Sir, for declining your offer ; but, 
 indeed, I will not go without Julia.' 
 
 ' By my soul but you sliall,' returned he, losing 
 his patience, and stamping with rage: * I wished 
 to woo you to love and happiness, but will not be 
 trifled with; and therefore now throw off the 
 mask, and boldly tell you that I am determined. 
 
INGLEWOOD FOREST. 458 
 
 All resistance is vain ; you must, and shall ac- 
 company me.' 
 
 ' Oh Gcd, protect me!' cried Anna, trembling; 
 1 then, pernaps, my dear, dear fri nd is not ill.' 
 
 ' i neither know nor care,' exclaimed he, rudely 
 seizmg hti- hand : ' she is an old woman, and fit 
 only for worms' meat, while yon, glowing with 
 
 youth and beauty, ' 
 
 ' Unhand me, monster!' screamed Anna, at the 
 same time releasing herself and flying to Julia, 
 who clenched her fists, and grinning horribly, 
 placed herself before her, bearing no indifferent 
 resemblance of a fury defending an angel. 
 
 ' No go widout like,' sputtered Julia, almost 
 inarticulate with passion : ' Bad w hite man- 
 wicked Christian, — me die before let take away 
 Missey.' 
 
 ' Die then, and be d d !' exclaimed he, at 
 
 the same time with unmanly brutality striking 
 ihev over the face (which was instantly covered 
 with blood) with such force as caused her to re- 
 coil several paces, and but for the timely suc- 
 cour of Anna she must have fallen to the ground. 
 ' Monster ! villain !' screamed Anna, rendmg 
 the air with her cries : ' Murder us together, for 
 we will never separate.' 
 
 * I. have business for you living,' replied he, 
 tauntingly; 'resistance is useless.'— With these 
 words, like a fell kite seizing a dove, he snatched 
 up his prey, and in spite of her cries and resist- 
 ance bore her down the flight of stairs into 
 the hall, covered as she was with the blood of 
 Julia, who, from the blow, lay senseless on the 
 ground. 
 
454 THE FARMER OP 
 
 ' For Heaven's sake, Sir !' exclaimed the valet, 
 who was waiting- in the hall, ' cover her with a 
 cloak ; it will not delay a moment. See, she has 
 fainted.' And indeed, Anna, exhausted by the 
 exertion she had made, had suddenly become 
 inanimate, and now lay motionless in Fitzmor- 
 ris's arms. 
 
 The door of the hall had been opened in readi- 
 ness, as Fitzmorris descended the staircase. At 
 that instant William Godwin and Reuben arrived, 
 who rushed in, having heard the screams as they 
 alighted from their horses at the gate, there being 
 no one to oppose their passage, the postillion alone 
 being on the outside. The first object that pre- 
 sented itself was Anna, covered with blood, and 
 apparently dead in Fitzmorris's arms. Reuben, 
 his eyes sparkling with rage, flev/ to him, and in 
 a moment, with the vigorous arm of undebauched 
 youth, snatched, in spite of resistance, the sense- 
 less Anna from his grasp, while his father second- 
 ed his efforts by knocking down the valet, and 
 seizing another villain, who came to the assist- 
 ance of their infamous master. 
 
 Fitzmorris, whose fury knew no bounds, find- 
 ing himself deprived of Anna, hastily drew a pis- 
 tol from his pocket, and levelled it at William. 
 At that instant their eyes met, — they became fix- 
 ed as statues, the guilty Fitzmorris recoiling a 
 few steps, and dropping the pistol from his ener- 
 vated hand. 
 
 ' Is it possible,' at length exclaimed William, 
 'that my eyes do not deceive me? Doth the 
 earth yet shudder with thy impious weight ? De- 
 generate monster ! guilty of every crime that dis- 
 
INGLEWOOD FOREST. 4S^5 
 
 graces human nature ! The death of thy own 
 daughter was alone wanting to complete the 
 number! Oh, murdered child of sweet Agnes! 
 I here devote myself to revenge ; the ties of biood 
 I tear from my heart, and even here on earth shall 
 thy detested father pay the dues of offended 
 justice.' 
 
 Daring as Fitzmorris, or rather Edwin, was in 
 vice, he appeared petrified with horror, rolling 
 his haggard eyes ai'ound, and gnashing his teeth 
 with anguish. 
 
 . ' She is not dead, my father ! — she breathes, and 
 will yet live to bless us !' exclaimed Reuben, in a 
 transport. 
 
 ' For that, Heaven be praised ! But say,' de- 
 manded William, turning indignantly towards 
 his brother, ' what does this mean? You cannot 
 surely have been so abandoned of God as to have 
 injured this innocent 1' 
 
 ' She at least has not been abandoned of God,' 
 replied Edwin ; ' her person is as uncontaminated 
 as it is beautiful. But speak, for I have but 
 little time to lose ; did not you say she was the 
 child of Agnes?' 
 
 ' I did,' returned William. ' In the horror of 
 the moment prudence was lost, and I now will 
 conceal the truth no longer. She is your own 
 daughter : but build not upon that, for no human 
 pow er shall snatch her from my protection ; there- 
 fore attempt it not, I warn you ; it will be in vain. 
 As soon as she recovers we will be gone. You 
 have my pity, and Heaven forgive you ! Oh ! 
 will no warning move that obdurate heart ? Sure- 
 ly the meeting with Emma would have deterred 
 
456 THE FARMER OF 
 
 any other but yourself from vice for ever, and 
 made them penitent as she was.' 
 
 'Well, — well, — well, — you know that too ; but 
 enough. Answer me a few questions, and I will 
 swear never to attempt removing the child of — 
 my Agnes from you.' 
 
 ' 1 ask no oath,' replied William : ' but propose 
 your questions ; Anna recovers, and 1 aminhasie.' 
 
 ' x4nd so am I,' returned Edwin, frantically. 
 * If Anna is the ciiild of Agnes, whose mfant did 
 I see dead on her bosom ?' 
 
 ' Mine,' answered his brother, — ' an unhappy 
 innocent, who even in the womb fell a sacrihce 
 to your offences, by the anguish they caused its 
 mother.' 
 
 ' Enough !' cried he, striking his forehead. ' One 
 more question, and ihen farewell for ever : Who is 
 Mrs. Palmer ? — Oh ! that subterfuge destroyed me !^' ^ 
 
 ' The present owner of the estate upon the Fo- 
 rest, and a more than parent to Anna, whom she 
 received from her dying mother.' y^ 
 
 ' The mystery of the ring is then explained^ ^ 
 said Edwin, without regarding his brother. * No 
 warning could, indeed, awaken me !' Then turn- 
 ing towards Anna, who was almost recovered, but 
 in silent terror clasping Reuben's neck, he viewed 
 her with attention for some minutes ; then, with 
 a look of despair, rushed out of the room. 
 
 William now caught Anna to his bosom, speak- 
 ing comfort, and tenderly inquiring if she was able 
 to accompany them, for that he was determined to ^ 
 be gone as speedily as possible. 
 
 ' O let us hasten!' at length said Anna. 'Bu|;. 
 where is my poor Julia? This blood is hers, and 
 
INGLEWOOD FOREST. 457 
 
 was spilled in my defence.' — William then ask- 
 ed where she had left her ; and being informed, 
 v^ithout fm'ther question, ascended the staircase, 
 and found Julia recovered from insensibility, but 
 so much hurt, that she could not leave the apart- 
 ment without his assistance. 
 
 Having led her to Anna, and bound up her 
 head, they were about to depart in the chaise, 
 which had been prepared for other purposes, 
 when the report of a pistol alarmed them. Wil- 
 liam, prepossessed with the horrid trutli, left 
 Anna and Julia with Reuben, and rushed for- 
 ward into the house to demand the cause, which 
 was soon discovered ; for on the floor of the par- 
 lour lay extended, in the agonies of death, the 
 guilty Edwin, who had placed a pistol to his ear, 
 and thus, uncalled, rushed, widi all his vices on 
 his guilty head, into the presence of an oflended 
 Creator ! 
 
 i^y^TAfe, however, had not quite forsaken him ; he 
 fixed his eyes on his brother, and after various 
 efforts to speak, all of which were unavailing, 
 pointed to the table ; then grasping the hand of 
 William, who had forgotten the vices of the man 
 in the situation of the brother, with an agonizing 
 pang expired ! 
 
 Depraved as Edwin had been for years, Wil- 
 liam was shocked at his death, particularly as it 
 precluded all repentance, and appeared a com- 
 plete seal to his numerous offences. For some 
 time he remained in speechless anguish, bending 
 1 over the disfigured body : at length he recollect- 
 I ed Edwin's pointing to the table ; and on approach- 
 ' ing it found a paper, wherein was written, — 
 I 20 3 m 
 
458 THE FARMER OF ' 
 
 ' 1 appoint my daughter Anna Godwin, my son William 
 Fitzmorris, and his sister Editha, joint heirs and inherifeors 
 of all I die possessed of; and I leave them in the care, and 
 under the sole guardianship of William Godwin, whom I 
 once called Brother. 
 
 ' Edwin Godwin Fitzmorris.' 
 
 This had apparently been written but a few 
 moments previous to the rash act, and plainly 
 evinced that, however destitute he was of virtue 
 himself, he revered it in his brother, by wishing 
 him to take charge of his children. 
 
 Oppressed witli the scene before him, together 
 with the fatigue of a long journey, performed with 
 scarcely an interval of rest, William for some 
 time was almost overpowered with the shock ; || 
 but, struggling Avith his feelings, he at length turn- 
 ed to the domestics, who stood around in stupid 
 amazement, and gave the necessary orders, which 
 they immediately showed a disposition to obey, as 
 the valet, who, as may be surmised, was no other 
 than Harris, informed them he was their late 
 master's brother. 
 
 William returned to the hall, desiring Reuben 
 and Anna to depart immediately to an inn at 
 Hounslow, where he would join them in half an 
 hour. Reuben, notwithstanding the situation of 
 Anna, had heard part of the discourse that passed 
 between his father and Fitzmorris, and by that 
 had learned he was no other than his uncle Ed- 
 win, and, to his utter amazement, the father of 
 Anna ; and now readily surmised the fatal event 
 which had taken place. As for Anna, her alarm 
 and fainting had rendered her insensible to every 
 thing, until Fitzmorris rushed out of the hall. 
 
INGLEWOOD FOREST. 459 
 
 She now would fain have questioned Godwin re- 
 specting the cause of the fresh confusion ; but he 
 only replied by giving her in charge to Reuben, 
 who placed her with Julia in the chaise, and ac- 
 companied them to Hounslow. Reuben, however, 
 previous to his entering the vehicle, stepping back 
 to his father, said, ' When I have seen Anna in 
 safety, may I not return? My heart recoils at 
 leaving you even for a moment in such distress, 
 as your features too legibly display.' 
 
 * No, my son,' replied William, ' I will soon join 
 you. Alas ! the unhappy man is dead by his own 
 hand; and, though nature abhors the deed, as 
 well as many other of his actions, yet he was my 
 brother.' 
 
 William now re-entered the house, and calling 
 
 for Fitzmorris's confidential servant, demanded 
 
 r where the children of his unhappy brother were 
 
 placed ? To which Harris replied, that the boy 
 
 was at Winchester, and Editha at a school not 
 
 more than two miles from Hounslow. William 
 
 then ordered the domestics to attend him, and 
 
 ^^ walking through the house he placed his seal on 
 
 the escritoirs in behalf of the children, and soon 
 
 after left the house for the night, 
 ft' . 
 
 ^ Reuben in the mean time, with his charge, had 
 
 reached an inn at Hounslow, where Anna began 
 to look around lier without fear, anxious only for 
 the return of him whom she called her father, and 
 whose conduct truly entitled him to that appella- 
 tion. At length Godwin entered, and Anna flew 
 i- .... 
 
 ,, to embrace him, inquiring what had detained 
 
 him, — at whom the pistol had been fired, — and^ 
 finally, what uneasmess oppressed him. 
 
460 THE FARMER OF 
 
 * Ask me no questions to-night, my love,' an- 
 swered Godvvin : ' to-morrow I have much to 
 disclose to you; but at present let us retire to 
 rest, the events of the day have nearly overcome 
 me.' 
 
 They soon after withdrew ; and Godwin's hor- 
 ror for his brother's death was fur some hours 
 lost in sleep, the extremity of fatigue mastering 
 every other sensation. 
 
 In the morning all met with recruited spirits ; 
 Godwin only was depressed and unhappy, and 
 being with Reuben and Anna alone, after break- 
 fast, addressed the latter thus : — ' My dear Anna, 
 a number of unhappy circumstances that preceded, 
 and likewise followed yom* birth, rendered it ne- 
 cessary that I should adopt and pass you to the 
 world as my child ; and I can truly say I have 
 loved you as such: but, my Anna, the deception, 
 for many reasons, must now cease, but not my 
 affection, — that must remain strong as ever, be- 
 yond the power of time or chance to alter.' 
 
 * Am I not then your daughter ?' cried Anna, 
 turning pale, and trembling. ' Oh ! my dear father, 
 do not disclaim your child.' 
 
 * Disclaim thee !' repeated he, folding her in his 
 arms: * Never! never! Anna. Family reasons 
 now require the secret to be divulged to the world ; 
 but for thyself, think me thy parent as thou didst 
 before.' 
 
 ' Alas !' said Anna, ' if it must be so. But have 
 1 a father? — a mother? Ah! my heart will lead 
 me to her ! It is, it must be Mrs. Palmer.' 
 
 ' IN ot so,' returned God wm : ' Your mother died 
 soon after your birth ; she was the beloved sister 
 
INGLEWOOD FOREST. 461 
 
 of my wife, and called Agnes. Her loss you have 
 often heard us deplore.' 
 
 * But my father, is he too dead ?' 
 .> ' Alas ! I tremble to name hhii, fori fear he has 
 made thee suffer much. But remember, he knew 
 thee not, and has paid his follies with his life ; let 
 therefore pity draw a veil over the eiTors of thy 
 father and my brother.' 
 
 'Good Heavens!' cried Anna, scarcely arti- 
 culate, ' surely I dream ! you cannot mean Fitz- 
 Imorris ?' 
 
 ' I do, indeed,' answered Godwin. * By what 
 means, or for what reason, he was called so, I 
 know not, for we have been many years estranged ; 
 but some future time you shall know all.' 
 
 'Oh! I know too much,' cried Anna. 'Heaven 
 pardon me, I hated him ! I called him names ! 
 But — but— alas! that fatal pistol is explained! 
 Did you not say he was dead too ? Oh ! I can 
 never be forgiven !' 
 
 ' You are indeed,' returned Godwin ; ' for see 
 the paper he has left; does he not mention yon 
 with his other children V 
 
 'Oh! I want it not — I do not deserve it,' said 
 she, weepino;. ' Let me still be your child : I have 
 no wish for his wealth. But is my beloved 
 Editha, indeed, my sister V 
 
 ' She is. I am now going to her,' replied God- 
 win. ' Reuben will remain here in my absence : 
 I shall return to dinner.' 
 
 Godwin then departed, leaving Anna and Reu- 
 ben ; the former of whom, lost in thought, re- 
 mained for some time silent, until the latter 
 taking her hand, and tendeiiy pressing it, said, 
 
462 THE FARMER OF 
 
 ' Oh ! my Anna, is it possible ? and are you, in- 
 deed, not my sister?' 
 
 ' Your father hath said so,' answered Anna, 
 weeping. ' But, good Heaven, how dreadful! he 
 is no longer my father! I have now lost all those 
 ties so dear and necessary to my happiness, for 
 you are not now my brother !' 
 
 ' Happy thought 1' exclaimed Reuben. 
 
 * Happy, Reuben V repeated Anna : ' And can 
 you be so cruel as to say so,— -you whom I have 
 loved so dearly V 
 
 * And do I not love you equally, Anna V re- 
 turned Reuben. ' Heaven is my witness, that in 
 your absence I have been the most miserable of 
 mankind !' 
 
 ' I will never leave Inglewood more,' said Anna, 
 * but endeavour to forget all the troubles I have 
 suffered, and regard those disagreeable subjects as 
 a painful dream. But Mr. Fitzmorris's death (for 
 I cannot indeed call him father) will ever hang 
 heavy on my spirits ; yet I hope I was not the 
 cause.' 
 
 Reuben said all he could to comfort her ; and 
 they soon after visited Julia. She was much bet- 
 ter, but the surgeon had ordered her to be kept 
 quiet for a day or two. 
 
 Godwin rode directly to the house of his late 
 brother, and gave Harris the necessary orders re- 
 specting the funeral, and other business, particu- 
 larly inquiring after Mrs. Fitzmorris ; and being 
 told she was better, wrote a few lines, to inform 
 her of the melancholy event that had taken place. 
 
 ' And now,' said Godwin, coldly addressing 
 Harris, 'how long have you lived with my 
 
INGLEWOOD FOREST. 463 
 
 brother ? and how came you so readily to know 
 me?' 
 
 * I have been his servant near eighteen years,' 
 replied Harris ; ' and as for knowing you, Sir, 
 I had seen you some years back, and you are but 
 little changed.' 
 
 ' I do not recollect it,' answered William. 
 ' Mention the time and place.' 
 
 ' At your mother's funeral,' replied Harris, ' I 
 brought a letter from my master.' 
 
 ' And gave it by mistake to my wife. Was it 
 not so V returned Godwin, a momentary flush of 
 anger crossing his cheek. 
 
 * It was, Sir ; and I beg pardon : I but obeyed 
 the commands of my master.' 
 
 Godwin sighed. ' And how,' said he, ' came 
 my brother to be called Fitzmorris V 
 ^^ ' By his marriage, Sir,' replied Harris : ' an act 
 of parliament was obtained for that purpose. 
 But, if you will permit me, I will relate all the 
 material events that happened to him after his 
 leaving England.' 
 
 ' Some time hence I will trouble you,' replied 
 Godwin ; ' at present you will more oblige me by 
 executing those orders I have given.' 
 
 Harris bowed, and William walked into the 
 apartment where the remains of Edwin were de- 
 posited ; he remained for some time alone ; when 
 he retired, his features plainly pourtrayed how 
 much he was affected, being swollen and inflamed 
 with tears. 
 
 Previous to his visiting Editha, he returned to 
 the inn, and finding Anna more calm, proposed 
 she should accompany him in a post-chaise, in 
 
464 THE FARMER OF 
 
 which they soon reached the school where EcJitha 
 was boarded. Godwin was at once struck with 
 her appearance, while Anna throwins: her arms 
 around her, in broken sentences, called her, her 
 beloved, her dear, dear sister ; and Editha, with 
 the most lively affection, returning her caresses. 
 
 When they became composed, William as- 
 tonished Editha by informing her he was her 
 uncle, — the relationship she held to Anna, ---and 
 at length, in as gentle a manner as possible, that 
 her father had died suddenly; hoping that in 
 future she would regard him as an affectionate 
 representative of the parent she had lost. 
 
 Harsh as Fitzmorris had ever been to his 
 daughter, she bewailed him with unfeigned sor- 
 row, though it was somewhat mitigated by the 
 soothings of Anna, and the tenderness of her 
 uncle. ' And shall I, indeed, live with Anna V 
 said she, raising her fine dark eyes sparkling 
 through tears to his face,— ' and will you let me 
 be one of your children ? and may T be permitted 
 to love as well as honour you?' 
 
 ' You shall, my Editha, my child,' replied he, 
 tenderly saluting her; 'we will all love you.' 
 
 ' Ah ! then you will spoil me ; for alas !' said 
 she, ' 1 have not been used to be loved, except by 
 Anna here, and my poor brother.' 
 
 ' You deserve to be beloved by all the world,' 
 cried Anna; 'at Inglewood every one will be 
 sensible of your merit.' 
 
 'And shall I accompany you thither?' said 
 Editha. ' But my poor aunt, she is not yet reco- 
 vered, and I cannot leave her ; for she has been 
 very kind to me.' 
 
INGLEWOOD FOREST. 465 
 
 * We will,' replied Godwin, 'persuade her to 
 visit Mrs. Palmer in the summer*, for njy habita- 
 tion is merely a farm, and not ftt for the reception 
 of great ladies.' 
 
 ' Perhaps so,' returned Editha, ' but it will 
 please me : for neither line houses nor fine clothes 
 have ever yet afforded me much satisfaction.' 
 
 Godwin and Anna soon after took leave of 
 Editha, promisinoj to see her the next day, and to 
 take her into the country with them, if Mrs. 
 Fitzmorris consented. 
 
 Godwin, on his return to the inn, wrote to his 
 wife, informing her that Anna was perfectly re- 
 covered, and with him ; but as Mrs. Palmer 
 would be in town in the course of a few days, he 
 did not think of returning till he had seen her. 
 
 ' I will not,' said he to Reuben and Anna, 
 * shock your beloved mother with an account of 
 the disasters that have happened, until we are on 
 the spot to offer her comfort; nor will I, if pos-t 
 sible, ever let our aged parents be informed of ihej 
 real death of my unhappy brother. Nature, att 
 my father's age, could not bear so severe a blow : 
 I shall simply therefore say that he died suddenly, 
 and expect you both to be equally cautious, not 
 only at home, but also to Editha and her brotlier, 
 from whom, if possible, I mean to conceal th^^ 
 unhappy catastrophe.' 
 
 ^0 3 N 
 
 •Ol'^l 
 
 01 i^^lLd 'izy 
 
46« THE FARMER OF 
 
 CHAP. LV. 
 
 <»+1^.f9 
 
 On the folloAving morning Godwin and Reuben 
 accompanied Anna to her sister's, where they left 
 her for the day ; Godwin having determined to go 
 to London and inquire respecting Mrs. Palmer, 
 and also to make arrangements for the future with 
 Mrs. Fitzm orris. 
 
 He found that lady somewhat recovered, but 
 still very weak from her illness. She received 
 Godwin and his son coldly, but expressed her 
 concern at the death of her brother-in-law ; and 
 inquired particularly whether he had left any 
 will. 
 
 * I have not, Madam, found one,' replied he ; 
 ' for as yet I have been unable to make any search ; 
 but I should rather suppose he had not made any 
 regular one, as this paper was on his table.' 
 
 Godwin then presented it to Mrs. Fitzmorris, 
 who considered it some time in silence. At length 
 she Said, ' I have frequently found your brother 
 guilty of duplicity, but never suspected it could 
 extend so far. In the first place he passed himself 
 on my father as the onli/ son oi a Scots gentleman, 
 who had left him a fortune often thousand pounds. 
 This sum he undoubtedly possessed ; but his birth 
 was a falsehood. He likewise, for I know not 
 what reason, concealed his name, and mamed my 
 sister by that of Edwin, which now appears to be 
 only his baptismal one ; the marriage I therefore 
 
INGLEWOOD FOREST. 467 
 
 conceive not valid, consequently the children must 
 be illegitimate. Now though I should not be in- 
 clined to notice this, yet you may be assured my 
 sister will. She married without the consent of 
 my father, who was never reconciled to her; and, 
 having a large family, will hardly lose this oppor- 
 Jtunity of gaining her share of the property ; you 
 jmay, therefore. Sir, expect a law-suit.' 
 
 *■ Indeed 1 shall not,' replied Godwin ; ' for I will 
 readily, in behalf of the children, relinquish it, if 
 not indubitably their right; nevertheless, if, on 
 inquiry, I find justice on their side, I will defend 
 them to the extent of all I possess. They are a 
 Jegacy left me by an unhappy brother ; and are 
 welcome claimants both on my love and pro- 
 tection.' 
 
 ' May I ask. Sir,' said Mrs. Fitzmorris, * whe- 
 ther the ten thousand pounds your brother pos- 
 sessed was his paternal fortune V 
 
 ' It was not. Madam,' returned Godwin ; ' it was 
 left him by his first wife. IJis paternal fortune 
 would have been, simply, the reversion of a farm, 
 much integrity, and unblemished honesty. Alas ! 
 had he never left us, he had possessed them.' 
 . ' You do not sure mean to infer, that you are at 
 ^his time a farmer. Sir?' 
 
 * I am, indeed, Madam,' 
 
 Mrs. Fitzmorris paused for a moment, then 
 said, * And pray who is this Anna Godwin, whom 
 he has so liberally made a sharer in my sister's 
 fortune ?' 
 
 ' His daughter. Madam. Had she not the ho- 
 nour to be for some time under your protection V 
 
 vYou cannot surely mean Miss Palmer? The 
 
46S THE FARMER OF 
 
 lady who introduced her to me is a woman ot' 
 family and fortune, and would scorn such a de- 
 ception.' 
 
 Godwin explained how he surmised the mistake 
 liad arisen ; and though Mrs. Fitzmorris, in the 
 continuation of the discourse, beliaved with in- 
 creased coolness, still he preserved the equality of 
 his temper ; but finding his visit neither likely to 
 prove satisfactory to himself, nor advantageous to 
 his brother's children, he at length took his leave ; 
 having signified that he should consult his friends 
 on what she had advanced, and let her know the 
 result after the funeral, 
 
 Godwin then called at the house that Mrs, 
 Palmer had occupied in town, and left a letter for 
 her, should she return ; then with his son rode 
 back to Hounslow, and leaving Reuben to take 
 care of Anna, went on alone to the house of his 
 brother on the Heath, as he wished to obtain 
 what intelligence he could, that he might be able 
 either to defend, in case of necessity, the claims of 
 the children ; or, if he found the business hopeless, 
 to give it up without further trouble. Harris he 
 apprehended was thoroughly acquainted with the 
 whole; and, therefore, sending for him into a 
 private apartment, he addressed him thus : — 
 
 ' You will oblige me by relatinj^ all you know 
 respecting my brother from the time he left 
 England. Circumstances have arisen that render 
 it necessary I should hear that which 1 would 
 otherwise be excused from; nor will I be unmind- 
 ful of the trouble I give you.' 
 
 * Ah, Sir,' replied Harris, ' before I begin I 
 must entreat you to summon all your fortitude ; 
 
INGLEWOOD FOREST. 469 
 
 and also that you would remember that, though I 
 have not behaved with the strictest rectitude, still 
 I was only a servant, and acted under the in- 
 fluence, and by the commands of a master.' 
 
 ' Renounce your errors, and hereafter you shall 
 not want encouragement to act uprightly,' replied 
 Godwin. 
 
 Harris bowed, and, after a pause, began his 
 recital. 
 
 CHAP. LYI. 
 
 *My master. Sir,' said Harris, 'never, 1 believe, 
 rightly recovered the death of the lady who died 
 in child-bed ; for ever after that event he gave 
 mto a habit of drinking, and, I truly believe, 
 rushed into every other species of dissipation, 
 merely to stifle reflection. 
 
 ' On his re-purchasing into the army, the regi- 
 ment was on the point of embarking for the West 
 Indies ; but a storm overtaking us as we left the 
 Channel, we beat about some time, and at length, 
 with much difficulty, made Jersey, where we 
 stayed to refit. 
 
 ' In tlie same regiment was a Mr. Darleville, 
 who some time before had fought with Mr. Whit- 
 more ; he knew my master perfectly well ; and 
 for some spite he bore him (I suspeci on the ac- 
 count of Mrs. Whitmore) was continually endea- 
 
470 THE FARMER OP n 
 
 vouring to degrade him to the rest of the officers, 
 reflectmg on his birth or circumstances of the 
 like nature. My master, — pardon me, Sir,-^had 
 great pride; and resented this so highly that he 
 challenged Darleville, who not only received a 
 slight wound, but was also obliged to ask bis 
 pardon. This business, however, disgusted ray 
 master totally with the army ; and before the 
 regiment left Jersey, determined him to relinquisli 
 it; which at length he did with some loss. 
 
 ' Soon after, the ship sailed ; and a few days 
 after, we embarked for Southampton, m here we 
 had been but a short time, when my master un^ 
 luckily had a quarrel with a gentleman at the 
 hazard-table. High words ensuing, they with- 
 drew together, and, in the heat of passion, settled 
 their difference by the sword, without secoixds or 
 witnesses , - 7? h • rr 
 
 * The consequence of this duel was the immedi- 
 ate death of my master's opponent; and he had no. 
 resource to avoid the hand of justice but flight ; 
 without loss of time, therefore, we set off for 
 Portsmouth, where we arrived in a few hours. 
 On inquiry we found a West India ship, bound 
 to a different part from that where my master s 
 late regiment was destined. As they only waited 
 for a wind, my master immediately adopted the 
 plan of going with them, taking his passage by 
 the name of Thomas Edwin, Esq. to prevent all 
 suspicion. 
 
 ' On board the same vessel were Mr. Fitzmorris 
 and two daughters, wlio had been some time in 
 England for the benefit of that gentleman's liealth, 
 but were now returning to their estate, which lay 
 
T NGLE WOOD FOREST. 4^ 
 
 some distance from Kingston in Jamaica. The 
 elder of the ladies was Mrs. Fitzmorris, now liv- 
 ing, and the other Miss Editha, afterwards my 
 master's wife. To this family he passed himself 
 as the only son of a Scots gentleman lately dead ; 
 and added, that he proposed, provided he liked 
 the West Indies, to purchase an estate there, as 
 his fortune was too small to support him as he 
 wished in Europe. 
 
 * Few men were more calculated to please than 
 my master at that period, and not only Miss 
 Editha, but her father also, was greatly taken with 
 him ; so that before the end of the voyage the old 
 gentleman, whose favourite daughter she was, 
 had told him that he would willingly give her to 
 him with fifteen thousand pounds on their amval. 
 
 * Mr. Fitzmorris was a man of strict morals, 
 and would as soon have married his daughter to 
 a robbei' as to a duellist ; my master, therefore, 
 did not dare reveal to him the real reason of his 
 leaving England, nor yet his change of name; 
 neither was it consistent with his own safety, as 
 the man was dead. 
 
 * One evening, being alone with him in his 
 cabin, after some previous discourse, he addressed 
 me thus :—" Harris, I have such an opinion of 
 your fidelity, that I shall not scruple to declare 
 my real designs ; to confess truly, my lieart never 
 loved but once, nor can it ever more ; but Miss 
 Fitzmorris's fortune is too great an offer to be 
 slighted ; her person too is amiable, and I think I 
 cannot do better than marry her, as such a con- 
 nexion will at once increase my fortune, and give 
 me respectability in the country. Mr. Fitzmorris 
 
472 THE FARMER OP 
 
 has a large portion of family pride ; should I, 
 therefore, disclose my real origin, he would dis- 
 card me in an instant. I will, for that reason, 
 still retain the appellation he is acquainted with, 
 which will be prudent both on that account and 
 in regard to my own safety. My own family, I 
 am convinced, despise and hate me, and I am 
 <letermir!ed to endeavour to forget them ; Mr. 
 Fitzm orris too hinted the other day, that as he 
 had no son, he could wish his daughter's husband 
 to assume his name, for which purpose an act of 
 parliament could be easily obtained : that cir- 
 cumstance too will also assist in concealing me, 
 for the name of Godwin would immediately tend 
 to a discovery, whereas in that of Fitzmorris all 
 ;will be forgotten." 
 
 ■c: *On our arrival in Jamaica the marriage took 
 place, and my master, for the first six months, 
 kept so strict a guard on himself, that he stood 
 highly in Mr. Fitzmorris's opinion. At that 
 period the old gentleman died, and left ten thou- 
 sand pounds to his eldest daughter, and the re- 
 sidue of the estate to your brother, provided that, 
 within the course of one year, he assumed the 
 name and arms of Fitzmorris ; his other daughter 
 he did not mention, as she had married sometime 
 before without his consent. 
 
 va ' This event was higlily gratifying to my mas- 
 ter, who immediately took the necessary step3. 
 Mr. Fitzmorris's old agent in London was em- 
 ployed, and the business effectually settled within 
 the specified time. ;;nij,f ,;> 
 
 ' I will not scruple to say, that I believe he con- 
 sidered himself greatly in my power, for he be- 
 
INGLEWOOD FOREST. 473 
 
 haved with more kindness to me than to any 
 other of his domestics ; and was likewise particu- 
 larly generous to me. In short, Sir, it was no 
 wonder I was attached to him. 
 
 * Mrs. Fitzmorris, who was both a charming 
 woman, and possessed of an excellent temper, he 
 never loved, though he always endeavoured, when 
 sober, to beliave with politeness to her ; but any 
 one might plainly see his conduct preyed on 
 her spirits, and undermined her health. In ten 
 months after the marriage Miss Editha was born, 
 and the year following a son, who was christened 
 William, after his grandfather Fitzmorris. But 
 even these events gave my master no apparent 
 pleasure; his temper became daily more over- 
 bearing and insufferable to his dependants, and 
 his slaves only, who had no resource, would bear 
 with it. In his fits of intoxication, his passions, 
 however excited, knew no bounds ; and in those 
 moments he has even been known to correct the 
 female slaves with his own hand, that perhaps the 
 day before he had taken to his embraces ! But 
 you shudder, Sir! shall I fetch you a glass of 
 wine ?' 
 
 * A glass of water,' returned Godwin; 'and 
 afterwards, if you please, abridge your narrative 
 as much as possible.' 
 
 Harris, having presented the water, continued 
 thus : — ' My master had engaged, almost immedi- 
 ately after his father-in-law's death, a surgeon to 
 attend the estate ; this young man in time became 
 his favourite companion, and I believe was the 
 instigator of much of the mischief that was perpe- 
 
 •20 3 o 
 
474 THE FARMER O^ 
 
 trated ; for, previous to his living in Jamaica, h^ 
 had been snri>:eon to a Guinea trader, and held 
 the life of a slave only at the exact price it would 
 brin;j^. The mfirm and aged therefore experienced 
 but little mercy from him ; and I sincerely believe, 
 that many on our estate perished from want of 
 care, when they began to be past their labour. 
 My mistress, however, I must say, to the extent 
 of her power, assisted them when she knew of 
 their sickness, or any other calamities. 
 
 * When my master had been married about 
 eleven years, a number of nes^roes were to be dis- 
 posed of at an adjoining^ plantation. At the sale 
 he purchased two, a mulatto boy and girl ; the 
 first about eighteen, the latter two years younger, 
 and remarkably handsome, notwithstanding her 
 complexion. She unhappily pleased my master, 
 arid I believe he spared no pains to seduce her ; 
 but in vain, as she became particularly attached 
 to my mistress, which possibly might assist to 
 render his attempts fruitless, though I am well 
 aware that both promises and tlireats were em- 
 ployed. 
 
 ' One evening that I happened to carry some 
 wine to my master and the surgeon in the parlour, 
 I heard the latter say, " You are too scrupulous: I 
 will give you something to-morrow, which, admi- 
 nistered in ^ glass of wine or punch, will silence 
 all objections." I heard no more, nor indeed did 
 I think about it until two days after, when I was 
 informed that the handsome mulatto was dying, 
 and had declared to Julia that it was occasioned 
 by something administered in punch! It then 
 
INGLEWOOD FOREST. 474 
 
 struck me that the discourse I had heard was rela- 
 tive to it ; and in this supposition I was confirm- 
 ed by the behaviour of my master, who during 
 the day appeared peculiarly unhappy, or rather 
 half frenzied. And, though doubtless every pre^ 
 caution was used, the girl at length died, though 
 not before she had told Julia that your brother 
 had taken advantage of the stupor in which she 
 at first lay. 
 
 * Julia, who was a great favourite with my mis- 
 tress, did not fail to inform her of this ; and whe- 
 ther her health declined from that time, or from 
 any natural cause, orthat grief by degrees under- 
 mined her constitution, I know not ; but she 
 never, I believe, smiled afterwards ; and in less 
 than a year died apparently of a consumption ; 
 but I believe never complained to any one, not 
 even to her sister, who lived on a small estate 
 adjoining us. 
 
 * About six weeks previous to this event, as my 
 master was returning home on horseback from a 
 visit, on passing a small wood, he received a pistol- 
 shot on his shoulder, and had doubtless fallen, as 
 -the fire was repeated, but for the fleetness of his 
 horse. Fortunately, however, he escaped with 
 .only one wound, which did not prove dangerous. 
 At first we could not by any means surmise who 
 Mras the author of this attempt ; but we were not 
 Jong in suspense, for the following evening the 
 «ijrgeon was mortally wounded, in crossing a plan- 
 tation, by the mulatto lad who was purchased with 
 •the girl, and was said to be her lover. Though 
 the surgeon was senselei^s when first discovered, 
 
476 THE FARMER OF 
 
 he survived some hours, and recovered sufficient- 
 ly to disclose who had wounded him ; hut not- 
 withstanding all possible search was made, it 
 was without effect ; the man was never taken, 
 having doubtless either made away with himself, 
 or escaped to the mountains and joined the rebel- 
 lious negroes. 
 
 ' These events all conspired to render Jamaica 
 hateful to my master, and he talked of returning 
 to Europe, and settling in France, as he might 
 live there in safety : however, after much delibe- 
 ration, he came to the resolution to send me first 
 to England, to inquire into every thing that might 
 concern his return thither : " For," said he, 
 " though I believe I am much altered, yet pos- 
 sibly not enough to prevent my being known by 
 any of my former acquaintance; and then the, 
 subterfuge of my name and that accursed duel 
 will be remembered. During my thirteen years 
 residence here I have never seen but one person 
 that I was acquainted with in England ; and he 
 knew nothing of the rencounter at Southampton, 
 nor that I had ever changed my name to any 
 other than Fitzm orris ; and that man, I was in- 
 formed by the newspaper, lived but a short time 
 after he reached England ; I have therefore little 
 to apprehend from him." 
 
 'Yet in all probability it was from him the 
 agent heard it,' said Godwin ; ' for he informed me, 
 on my inqiiiry, that my brother was advantage- 
 ously married : but he knew nothing farther.' 
 r,y, * Well then,' resumed Harris, 'my master ob- 
 served, " you shall go to England, make particular 
 
INGLEWOOD FOREST. 477 
 
 inquiiy after the few people I was known to, 
 especially Mrs. Whitmore and Darleville ; for if 
 eiiher of those are in England 1 will not return : 
 but u" they should be either dead or gone from 
 thence, I shall not hesitate, as I had very few 
 casual acquaintance, and should be scarcely re- 
 cognized alter such an absence, particularly un- 
 der another name." 
 
 * This resolution was not suffered to cool ; 1 
 departed in the first vessel, and reached England 
 in safety, where, on inquiry, I found Mrs. Whit- 
 more had been dead two years ; that Darleville 
 had made interest, and was settled at Madras in a 
 lucrative situation; and, finally, what I knew 
 would give my master great satisfaction, the man 
 who kept the hazard -table at Southampton, and 
 was the only witness of the quarrel, though not of 
 the duel, was dead ; so that I soon wrote back 
 word that I believed he had nothing to fear, but 
 might return when he pleased. 
 
 * Soon after he came to England, and deter- 
 mined to return to the West Indies no more; 
 therefore put up the estate and negroes for sale. 
 
 -You know the rest. Sir ; and I have only to add, 
 that he now drank harder than ever, gave more 
 w ay to passion, and seldom slept at home. 
 
 ' From one of those nocturnal revels he return- 
 ed one morning before break of day, in a state of 
 absolute distraction, beating his head against the 
 wainscot, and acting a thousand extravagances, 
 the cause of which T could never truly learn ; 
 but he once hinted that he had by some chance 
 met a relation.' -^ ^-^ *- 
 
478 THE FARMER OF 
 
 Godwin sighed, and judged it to he Emma 
 
 * Enough,' said he, ' I have but one more question: 
 
 * Had we not come at that fortunate moment to 
 Anna's rescue, where was she to have been con- 
 veyed ? And say, has she suffered grosser insults 
 than I was witness to ?' 
 
 Harris hesitated ; but a stern look from God- 
 win urged him to proceed : ' My master, Sir,' 
 resumed he, ' meant to carry her to France ; he 
 was charmed with her at first sight, and would 
 have married her.' > •t.a} 
 
 * I had,' replied Godwin, ' this morning a few 
 minutes conversation alone with the negro wo- 
 man, whom you call Julia, and was inquiring of 
 her respecting Anna's illness. She said something 
 that at once arrested my attention, and almost 
 petrified me with horror, when Anna opened the 
 door, and she prudently dropped the discourse, 
 and I my questions ; but her answers seemed to 
 imply that my brother was the cause of her 
 illness. Say, was it so? you doubtless are ac- 
 quainted.' 
 
 Harris, finding by this that all would doubtless 
 be discovered, replied, ' I call God to witness, 
 that in this 1 at least wiis innocent, for my master 
 Jiad sent me that evening to London with orders 
 to stay until the morning, and bi-ing back word 
 of Mrs. Fitzmorris's health ; nor did I know any 
 thing of the business in agitation until his alarm 
 at the danger of Miss Anna proclaimed it.' 
 
 ' I have not questioned her,' replied Godwin, 
 
 * because I would not shock her with the remem- 
 brance, — but shall require the truth of Julia.' 
 
INGLEWOOD FOREST. 479 
 
 'Alas! Sir, Miss Anna knows nothing, and 
 Julia only from surmise ; for she, as I have in- 
 formed you, had attended the mulatto.' 
 
 '■■ Great God !' interrupted Godwin, — 'you surely 
 
 cannot mean it. Edwin could not be such a ' 
 
 villain he would have said, but the word died on 
 his lips as he recollected the expiation. 
 
 'My master, most undoubtedly,' resumed Har- 
 ris, *(for he confessed it to me in his fright,) had 
 administered a dose of the same kind that he gave 
 that unhappy girl ; but a most miraculous circum- 
 stance prevented it being favourable to his wishes.' 
 
 ' Be quick,' interrupted Godwin, ' and relieve 
 ray suspense.' 
 
 * My master, %vhen he thought she was asleep, 
 entered the apartment, where he found her com- 
 pletely dressed ; but on approaching to gaze on 
 her, a sight instantly struck him, that at once 
 removed all the ideas with which he entered the 
 chamber ; for on her hand, which lay crossed over 
 her bosom, was the identical ring that he had 
 made the pledge of his faith to his fust love, and 
 which he afterwards saw on her finger when in 
 the coffin. 
 
 ' This sight had so violent an effect, as he in- 
 formed me, that he sunk into a chau' by the bed- 
 side. The words of your sister-in-law, whenever 
 she looked at the ring during her insanity, and 
 which your old servant had informed him ofj 
 seemed to sound in his ears, — *< I am Edwin's 
 wife." He likewise told me, that in the frenzied 
 anguish of the moment, he looked round, expect- 
 ing to see her stand beside him. 
 
48© THE FARMER OF 
 
 * After he was a little recovered he withdrew 
 the ring from her hand, hoping to find he had 
 been mistaken ; but the initials of his own name, 
 engraven on the reverse, confirmed his terror and 
 'amazement ; in addition to which, at that instant 
 Miss Anna was seized with fits. Her screams 
 alarmed Julia, who immediately came to her, and 
 remained during the night. I must confess I 
 persuaded my master that the ring had merely 
 come into her possession by chance; and he, 
 eager to quiet his own uneasiness, endeavoured 
 to believe it was so ; but I am convinced it caused 
 him great alarm, as well as increased unhappi- 
 ness.' 
 
 Godwin now rose from his chair, and soon after 
 withdrew, without visiting the apartment where 
 his brother's body was deposited. 
 
 CHAP. LVII. 
 
 Godwin returned to the inn in a state of mind 
 that shunned all observance, and retired for some 
 hours to his chamber before he could assume 
 sufficient composure to join Anna and Reuben, 
 the former of whom he could not look upon with- 
 out execrating the villany which could plot the 
 destruction of such innocence. 
 
INGLEWOOD FOREST. 481 
 
 Two days after, at a very early hour, the re- 
 mains of Edwin were privately interred in the 
 nearest burial-place ; and, to the great relief and 
 satisfaction of all, the evening following brought 
 their beloved Mrs. Palmer. In embraces, ques- 
 tions, and tears, the hours were passed until the 
 night was far advanced, all at length retiring to 
 rest with minds much relieved by the soothing 
 interference of true friendship. 
 
 On the morning following, Godwin, drawing 
 Mrs. Palmer aside, requested her opinion respect- 
 ing his brother's children ; at the same time ac- 
 quainting her with all that had passed. 
 
 ' My heart,' said he, ' prompts me to relinquish 
 such ill-gotten wealth, even for them ; but if you 
 think it my duty to endeavour to defend it, I 
 will do violence to my inclination and attempt it; 
 but never shall Anna share money thus ]3rocured.' 
 
 * My advice then, my good friend,' replied she, 
 * will, I fancy, be conformable to your wishes. A 
 law-suit would but reveal the actions of your un- 
 happy brother ; and, perhaps, be productive of no 
 real advantage. Some way may be found,' con- 
 tinued she, with a smile, * to recompense them 
 for their loss, if they are virtuous ; for you know 
 not how rich I am become since we parted.' 
 
 Tlie entrance here of the Avaiter with a letter 
 put a stop to the discourse; it was from Mrs. 
 Fitzmon'is, and contained tiiese words : — 
 
 *Sir, 
 
 ' Since I saw you I have heard from my sister, and though I 
 have had no coninmnication with her for several years, yet I 
 thought justice required I should inform her of the business 
 
 21 .3 P 
 
482 THE FARMER OF 
 
 in question ; and the result is, that if you do not relinquish it, 
 we shall jointly sue for the purchase-money received for the 
 estate, and likewise what property your brother died possess- 
 ed of, to make up the deficiency. As you were candid enough 
 to mention your real circumstances when you called on me, I 
 by no means wish to encumber you with the expense that 
 must naturally attend the care of William and Editha, whom, 
 though the children of my sister, I must hereafter blush to 
 produce to the world as such. My sister and self shall not 
 proceed until we have your answer. 
 
 • I remain, Sir, your humble servant, 
 
 ' L. Fitzmorris.' 
 
 Godwin presented tlie letter with a smile to 
 Mrs. Palmer, who, having read it, answered, 
 'Poor narrow-minded woman! I should sincerely 
 pity the children were they to be dependent on 
 her. I have already given you my opinion ; and 
 while you reply to her letter, shall take Reuben 
 and Anna with me to visit Editha.' s'u^m^i'fi '■ 
 
 Godwin, being left alone, immediately answered 
 Mrs. Fitzniorris's letter as follows : — 
 
 * Madam, 
 * Before the receipt of yours my determination was taken. I 
 have neither time nor inclination for a law-suit, and trust I 
 shall be able to provide for my brother's children without 
 having recourse to such disagreeable means, though I am of 
 opinion that justice would give a verdict in their favour, their 
 right being obvious. But to have done with this subject, I 
 could wish you to send some one, or be present yourself, at the 
 opening of my brother's escritoir, which I sealed up. His 
 papers, of no value, I shall undoubtedly claim ; but will give 
 up every other property, there or elsewhere, to whom you 
 shallappoint^. Your olFer, respecting the children, I must beg 
 leave to decline ; the expense of them I shall not feel ; and as 
 you candidly own, you who are the sister of their unoffending 
 mother, that you should blush hereafter to produce them to the 
 
INGLEWOOD FOREST. 483 
 
 world, what reception may they not expect from strangers ? I, 
 however, wish to spare both them and you such mortitication, 
 as my feelings are fortunately not so acute, nor my friends of 
 that class who will blame them for the errors of their unhappy 
 father. I have nothing more to add, but to request you would 
 let all business be settled between us as speedily as possible, 
 as I shall send for my nephew from school immediately, intend- 
 ing to take him home with me. 
 
 ' I am, Madam, your humble servant, 
 
 'W. Godwin.' 
 
 Mrs. Palmer, who soon after returned with 
 Anna and Editha, whom she had taken from 
 school, approved of the letter, which was sent off 
 immediately. 
 
 On the day following, Mrs. Palmer went to 
 London alone ; and though she had not mentioned 
 it to Godwin before her departure, called on Mrs. 
 Fitzmorris. That lady received her with more 
 coolness than usual, and appeared violently piqued 
 at Godwin's reply to her letter. 
 
 * I came. Madam,' said Mrs. Palmer, ' to thank 
 you for your kindness to my Anna, and also to 
 congratulate you on your recovery from so severe 
 an indisposition.' 
 
 Mrs. Fitzmorris bowed. ' I understood. Ma- 
 dam,' replied she, ' that the young person you left 
 with me was your daughter, or I cannot say I 
 should so readily have accepted the charge.' 
 
 * Indeed I am so accustomed to call Anna my 
 child, and to treat her as such,' said Mrs. Palmer, 
 
 g£ * that I do not wonder at your mistake. But I 
 gui hope she has not disgraced your kindness V 
 
 * She is, I understand,' replied Mrs. Fitzmorris, 
 haughtily, ' a natural daughter to that man whom 
 
484 THE FARMER OF 
 
 I was unfortunate enough for many years to call 
 my brother, and who had the assurance not only 
 to bequeath her a share of the fortune he had no 
 right to, but also to leave my sister's children to 
 tlie care of his brother, a farmer.' 
 
 'I am informed of it,' replied Mrs. Palmer; 
 ' but you, I fancy, misconceive the real situation 
 in life of Mr. Godwin, or you would not find him 
 inferior to a planter. It is true he is a farmer ; 
 but his farm, which is considerable, is his own ; 
 and I can give you my word that his children will 
 have very respectable fortunes, 
 
 * As for the father of Anna I never saw him 
 but twice, and that was here when I called for 
 her ; and as he then knew not her person, neither 
 did he when he wrote that paper know her con- 
 nexions and expectances, which I assure you are 
 considerable enough to make her look down on 
 any bequest he might leave her, and transfer it to 
 her brother and sister.' 
 
 r-,,This was spoken intentionally to punish Mrs. 
 Fitzmorris's pride ; it did so, and the lady became 
 more condescending, promising to attend person- 
 ally the day following at Hounslow. 
 
 The following morning Mrs. Fitzmorris was 
 true to her appointment, and with his attorney, 
 Godwin and Mrs. Palmer went to the house that 
 was lately Edwin's. The escritoir and drawers 
 were opened in hei* presence, and securities found 
 to the amount of thirty thousand pounds, all of 
 which Mr. Godwin surrendei^d to Mrs. Fitzmor- 
 ris, on receiving an acquittal from her and her 
 sister ; after which they separated good friends, 
 
INGLEWOOD FOREST. 485 
 
 Mrs. Fitzmorris proposin<r to see therti in two 
 days ; their intention being to depart for Ingle- 
 wood on the third. 
 
 • On the morning before, Godwin had sent 
 Reuben, accompanied by Mrs. Palmer's servant, 
 to fetch his nephew William from Winchester, 
 with whom they arrived the second day after. 
 
 If Mrs. Palmer and Godwin were pleased with 
 Editha, they were not less so with her brother, 
 who was equally artless and affectionate, and as 
 much flattered by being beloved. Reuben with 
 tenderness had informed him of his father's death, 
 though not of the means, before they began the 
 journey; and though his grief had at first been 
 bitter, yet the many claims that seemed to replace 
 the loss of a parent, who had never treated him 
 with kindness, soon calmed his afliiction. 
 
 Tl>e following morning brought Mrs. Fitzmor- 
 ris, who in reality appeared luirt to part with 
 Editha. At the repeated entreaty of Mrs. Palmer, 
 she at length condescended to promise to visit lier 
 the ensuing summer ; and, at her departure, pre- 
 sented her nephew and niece wath a fifty pound 
 pote each, for pocket-money. 
 
 Godwin then sent for Harris, and takmg him 
 apart, inquired how in future he meant to dispose 
 of himself. 
 
 ' I have wished, Sir,' replied Harris, * to retire 
 to my own country, which is Somersetshire ; and 
 for that purpose have for some years been endea- 
 vouring to realize a sum sufficient to purchase an 
 annuity for my life, that might enable me to live 
 decently.' 
 
486 THE FARMER OF 
 
 * And have you obtained the means V demanded 
 Godwin. 
 
 * I have about five hundred pounds,' replied 
 Harris ; ' but the purchase, I am, told, will take 
 another hundred.' 
 
 * On my return home I will remit what will 
 make up the deficiency,' said Godwin ; * and I 
 hope the remainder of your life will make amends 
 for the impropriety of the earlier part of it.' 
 
 Harris expressed his thanks, tlien added, —'Mrs. 
 Fitzmorris, Sir, ordered me this morning; to bring 
 my master's watch to you, and receive your orders 
 concerning his clothes.' 
 
 * Give the watch to William,' answered Godwin ; 
 * for the clothes, they are yours.' 
 
 He then pulled the bell, and desired the waiter 
 to send up his nephew ; who obeying* the com- 
 mand, Harris presented him with the watch, 
 which the youth received with a moistened eye, 
 and an expressive look at his uncle, — then at 
 Harris. 
 
 ' If I understand that glance aright, William,' 
 said Godwin, ' it requires this answer, — Your in- 
 tention is praiseworthy, act as your heart directs.' 
 
 William wanted no second permission, but 
 presented the note, given him by Mrs. Fitzmor- 
 ris, to his father's servant : Harris having repeated 
 his thanks, Godwin bade him adieu, and with his 
 nephew joined his friends, who waited his pre- 
 sence to supper. 
 
INGLEWOOD FOREST. 487 
 
 CHAP. LVIII. 
 
 At five the next morning the party journeyed 
 homeward, Mrs. Pahner, Anna, Editha, William, 
 and Julia, in a post-coach, and Godwin and his 
 son on horseback. On the fifth evening they 
 arrived within sight of home, Godwin at once 
 elated with the thoughts of embracing his family, 
 and depressed how to break the death of Edwin 
 to his father; for every occurrence was unknown 
 to them, as he had only specified in his letter that 
 Anna was with him and well, and tliat he only 
 waited for Mrs. Palmer to return. The noise of 
 the carriage announced them ; and in a moment 
 the whole family were at the gate. Pleasure for 
 some time overcame the curiosity that the appear- 
 ance of strangers would otherwise have excited, 
 Edward alone being acquainted with Editha, and 
 flying to her with a rapture too great to suffer his 
 welcome to be eloquent. A little recovered, they 
 entered the house, where Godwin taking his 
 nephew and niece by the hand, led them towards 
 his father, saying, as they knelt to the venerable 
 old man, * The blessings of Heaven, my beloved 
 parent, multiply upon us ! Receive those inno- 
 <ients, — their claim upon you is great ; they are 
 the children of my brother' 
 
 The elder Godwui was for some time too much 
 amazed to reply ; at length bursting into a flood 
 of tears, he threw his feeble arms around their 
 necks, and blessed them. 
 
48» THE FARMER OF 
 
 William Godwin, fearing the surprise would 
 be too much for him, desired the young people to 
 withdraw for a few minutes : a command that was 
 instantly obeyed, and he was left with his father, 
 Bernard, Mrs. Palmer, and his wife. 
 
 'Oh speak, my son!' cried Godwin; 'what 
 means this ? Say, have my prayers been heard ? 
 Is Edwin repentant? for you have doubtless seen 
 him. Shall I be so blessed before I die?' 
 
 'Alas! my fathei',' replied he, 'Edwin is no 
 more ! His last request w as my protection of his 
 children.' 
 
 ' May his errors be obliterated, and may he rest 
 in peace !' ejaculated Godwin : ' But say, my son. 
 hav« not these children a mother V 
 
 Wiiliam then, in as careful a manner as pos- 
 sible, infonned his father of his brother's change 
 of name, his marriage in Jamaica, and its subse- 
 quent consequences, suppressing every thing he 
 possibly could that would give pain, and soften- 
 ing what he could not absolutely conceal ; finally, 
 concluding by informing him that Edwin's death 
 was sudden, and almost immediately after their 
 meeting. 
 
 'God forgive him!' replied Bernard, wiping 
 off a tear that hung on Ms cheek ; ' I once loved 
 bim as my own son ; and I dare say he was sorry 
 after all. As sure as can be, it was the surprise 
 of seeing William that overcame him ; for I re- 
 member when I was young, and any thing gave 
 me particular pleasure, I used to feel as if at 
 once all the blood in my body rushed to my head 
 and heart.' 
 
INGLEWOOD FOREST. 489 
 
 ' *The effects of surprise are frequently fatal,' 
 replied Mrs. Palmer. 
 
 Whether Godwin was of the same opinion is 
 uncertain ; but he made no observation respectin;^ 
 his son's death, but rather appeared to declhie the 
 subject ; and, turning to William, said, * Thy 
 family is increased, ray son ; I trust thy blessings 
 will do the same.' 
 
 * I doubt it not, my father,' returned he, ' if 
 they admit of increase, which I think on earth is 
 almost impossible.' 
 
 The young people were now called in, and the 
 venerable Godwin saluting them round, retired, 
 saying, ' I will leave you this night ; to-morrow 
 my spirits will be more composed. The ways of 
 Providence are ever just; but the weakness of man 
 doth not always submit with becoming resignation.' 
 
 After some trivial refreshment Mrs. Palmei^ 
 proposed to go to her own house ; but the whole 
 party had so many questions to ask, and so much 
 information to receive, tliat the night was far ad- 
 vanced before they separated, Editha accompany- 
 ing Mrs. Palmer, and Anna attended by Julia. 
 
 William Godwin, being left alone with Fanny, 
 related to her the whole that had passed respecting 
 his brother, and also his resigning the fortune that 
 appertained to the children : ' A step,' concluded 
 he, ' that 1 did not at first propose ; but when I 
 heard Harris's account of my brother, I must con- 
 fess I thought it at once just and prudent, as 
 Edwin certainly became entitled to it by dis* 
 honourable means, which I would rather die than 
 have laid open to the world. His children will, I 
 
 2) 3 Q 
 
49d THE FARMER OF 
 
 trust, be of the same opinion ; and we must en- 
 deavour, my love, to make up to them in affection 
 what they hav€ lost in fortune.' 
 
 Fanny, who seldom had a separate opinion 
 from her husband, immediately acquiesced, add- 
 ing, ' If I mistake not, Editha may some time 
 hence become yet nearer related to us, for Edward 
 has scarcely talked of any one else since your 
 departure ; and however highly he has spoken of 
 her, I cannot say I think he has flattered hex^ for 
 she appears to merit all his encomiums.' -..-. .^ 
 
 CHAP. LIX. 
 
 Though a cloud for some time appeared to hang 
 over the spirits of the family at Inglewood, at length 
 it began to disperse, and cheerfulness to resume its 
 place among them. The sprightly good humour of 
 Editha made her universally beloved ; and the 
 pains she took to amuse her grandfather whenever 
 she read a trait of melancholy on his face, even 
 on a less susceptible heart, could not have failed 
 of its effect. * Go along, Anna,' would she say, 
 if she saw her attending Godwin, ' you have had 
 a grandfather all your life, and have liad your 
 share of caresses ; and he can spare no more until 
 he has paid me the fifteen years arrears he stands 
 indebted to me. You have another advantage 
 over me too ; you call Mr. and Mrs. Godwin 
 father and mother, while I say uncle and aunt, 
 
INGLEWOOD FORESr. ,491 
 
 which is a very provoking circumstance, and 
 what I shall not allow ; for you shall either sink 
 to my level, or I will rise to yours. Nay, I will 
 put it to the vote : my grandfather and Mr. Ber- 
 nard will, I know, be for me.' 
 
 * You have used bribery there,' replied Fanny, 
 laughing ; ' for you are for ever courting my father.' 
 
 * And are you proof against it V answered 
 Editha, throwing her arms about her neck. ' Can 
 j/ou refuse me ?' 
 
 , ' Not I, indeed,' returned Fanny, pressing her 
 to her bosom. ' Call me henceforward what best 
 pleases thy affectionate heart.' 
 
 ' My mother, then,' answered she, bending her 
 knees before her ; then turning to William God- 
 win as he embraced her, she added, ' Ah ! how 
 happy am I to have a father who suffers me to 
 love him, and boldly tell him so.' 
 
 The last seijtence brought an uneasy remem- 
 brance on all, even Editha's own eyes filled with 
 tears ; but hastily wiping them off, she added, 
 * See, T believe they are all jealous ; not one con- 
 gratulates me : truly I believe they all expect to 
 be bribed,' 
 
 ' Fee them,' returned William Godwin, * and 
 you are sure of their suffrages.' 
 
 ' And so I will,' kissing the old men, and then 
 Reuben; but advancing to Edward, she hesitated 
 a moment, but at length presented her glowing 
 cheek, saying, archly, as she replaced herself by 
 the side of Fanny, * I am glad it is over, for 
 Edward look^ as if he would have demanded 
 a double fee.' 
 
492 THE FARMER OF 
 
 Some days after this conversation Reuben 
 found courage to address his father on the sub- 
 ject nearest his heart, namely, an union with An- 
 na. His father promised to consult Mrs. Palmer, 
 and to let him know the result in a short time. 
 
 A council of the elders of the family were a few 
 days after summoned to meet at Mrs. Palmer's, 
 where it was settled that the senior Godwin, ac- 
 companied by that lady, should declare, on the 
 ensuing Sunday at church, that Anna was the 
 daughter of his youngest son Kdwin, lately dead, 
 but from prudential motives had been passed as 
 the child of the elder until the present time : a 
 truth w hich Mrs. Palmer would confirm. It was 
 also resolved, that Reuben should have permis- 
 sion to address Anna ; but that their marriage 
 should not take place until he had attained the 
 age of twenty-one, which was yet two years dis- 
 tant ; and that, finally, when it did, the new-mar- 
 ried pair should entirely reside with Mrs. Pal- 
 mer, * as,' added that lady, ' in my life I have 
 loved them, — so at my death they shall not find 
 themselves forgotten,' 
 
 These resolves were communicated to Reuben 
 by his father, who approved all but the length of 
 time ; for which, however, he had no remedy bijt 
 patience. 
 
 The declaration was accordingly made the en-t 
 suing Sunday after service ; and though at first it 
 occasioned great surprise and many whispers, yet 
 Godwin was too greatly respected, and Mrs. 
 Palmer too much honoured, for it to have disa- 
 greeable consequences ; the old folks only recalling 
 
INGLEWOOD FOREST. 493 
 
 the piteous story of Agnes to their remembrance, 
 -who they doubted not was the mother, and re- 
 lating it to their children, the girls dropping a tear 
 at her fate ; and the boys declaring that falsehood 
 would have been impossible, had she been as 
 handsome as Anna. 
 
 ■ About six months after this event an express 
 arrived at Mrs. Palmer's from Mrs. Fitzmorris, 
 desiring that lady to request Mr. Godwin would 
 permit her nephew and niece to come immediately 
 to town, as her health, which had never been 
 completely rercstablished, declined daily. God- 
 win immediately consented, and Mrs. Palmer, 
 with her usual kindness, proposed to accompany 
 them, — an event that had much weight with Mrs, 
 Fitzmorris, who not only expressed great pleasure 
 on their arrival, but also at the account Editha 
 had frequently given her, by letter, of her situation. 
 
 Mrs. Fitzmorris was apparently in the last 
 stage of a decline on their arrival, which she 
 survived barely six weeks, leaving Mrs. Palmer, 
 whom, in spite of her former prejudices, she was 
 become attached to, her executrix ; and William 
 and his sister joint heirs to fifteen thousand pounds 
 she possessed from the death of Edwin ; together 
 .with her own paternal fortune of ten thousand. 
 
 Her funeral over, and the business settled, all 
 impatiently longed to return to Inglewood, where 
 ?ilhey were received with equal pleasure, William 
 Godwin rejoicing that his brother's children had 
 now their right, without the perplexities of law, 
 or exposing the errors of a parent. 
 
494 THE FARMER OF "^ 
 
 lifO'f ^B emit 
 
 CHAP. LX. 
 
 Two years had passed in the calm of miioceitt 
 delights, when Reuben claimed the promise of 
 uniting' liim to Anna ; and all was prepared ac- 
 cordingly. The marriage being, to the great satis- 
 faction of Bernard, a public one, all the neighbours 
 and tenantry were invited, Mrs. Palmer behaving 
 to Anna as if she had been her own daughter. ;5* 
 
 At the altar, Bernard, who acted as father; 
 presented the trembling hand of Anna to the 
 enraptured Reuben, the venerable Godwin stand- 
 ing on the right side of the happy pair. On the 
 ceremony being concluded, his emotion was too 
 great to be suppressed, and dropping on his knees, 
 he softly ejaculated, 'Spirits of peace! sainted form 
 of my beloved wife, and the gentle Agnes ! for a 
 moment may ye be permitted to witness this 
 imion!' — then, after remaining in silent devotion 
 for a short time, he arose, saluted, and blessed them. 
 
 During some days all was rejoicing ; and Ed- 
 ward, emboldened by the happy scene around 
 him, pleaded his cause so successfully to Editha, 
 who, at her sister's marriage, was in her eighteenth 
 year, that she gave him a sort of half permission 
 to make some proposals to his father respecting «^ 
 similar event. 
 
 * Indeed, Edward,' replied Godwin, ^ I know 
 not what to say in tliis case ; Editha will have a 
 considerable fortune. However, should it even 
 take place, I must insist on your waiting the same 
 
INGLEWOOD FOREST. 495 
 
 time as your brother Reuben ; but, before we 
 
 speak decidedly, yourmothershalltalktoEditha.' 
 
 Mrs. Palmer being consulted on this subject, 
 
 gave it in favour of Edward. * Reuben,' said she, 
 
 * I now regard as mine ; and Mr. Godwin's pro- 
 perty, in common justice, ought to revert to his 
 second son ; therefore, if even you think on pe- 
 cuniary matters, I cannot see a reasonable ob- 
 jection.' 
 
 Editha was then called, and Fanny gently 
 represented to her, that with her property she 
 might marry far more advantageously than her 
 cousin Edward ; and desired her to think seriously 
 on the subject before she finally determined. 
 
 ' I know not, my dear mother,' replied Editha, 
 
 • how you might like to part with me ; but for my- 
 self, I can but answer you in the words of Ruth, 
 *^ I will never leave thee ; but live where thoii 
 livest, and die where thou diest; and there also 
 will I be buried." As to Edward,' continued she, 
 with more vivacity, ' I would not have you think 
 1 care so much for him ; not but that I like him 
 better than any young man I ever saw, or in all 
 likelihood I ever shall.' 
 
 With these words away she ran, and saw the 
 family no more until supper- time. 
 
 Suffice it, the venerable old men, Godwin and 
 Bernard, lived to witness this union; before which 
 event took place, their aged arms had nursed a 
 great-grandson, and they were looking forward 
 yet to another alliance in the family, namely, 
 William and the youthful Agnes, for whom a 
 house was erected adjoining Godwin's. The 
 
496 THE FARMER, &c. 
 
 consolations of an upright mind attended both 
 Wilham Godwin and his Fanny ; the former had 
 truly spoken, their blessings could hardly admit 
 an increase ; for their children were virtuous ; and 
 they possessed not only the comforts of plenty, 
 but hearts to dispense it around them. 
 
 The faithful Margery lived to behold the great- 
 grandchildren of her respected master ; and be- 
 loved by all in the weakness of age, met a 
 grateful return for her former cares. 
 
 Felix was still living ; and, though enervated 
 with age, made shift, almost daily, to walk to the 
 farm, smoke a pipe, and drink a glass of ale with 
 the seniors ; enjoying life while it was granted 
 him, and not fearful of leaving it. 
 
 Julia, happy in the protection of Mrs. Palmer, 
 had not a wish unsatisfied ; and being particularly 
 fond of children, claimed the office of nurse to 
 the little one, who she declared almost comforted 
 her for the loss of Scipio. 
 
 The young people, blessed in each other, re- 
 garded Mrs. Palmer as their general parent, and 
 the immediate instrument, in the hand of Heaven, 
 of all their happiness ; w hile she, looking around 
 tvith satisfaction on her own deeds, was insensible 
 of the advances of age, which stole on her like a 
 mild autumn, enriched with the fruits of summer. 
 
THE 
 
 XIZWARDS OF 
 
 VIRTUE AND VICE, 
 
 BY MR. MARTYN. 
 
 JlT has been so often asserted, that virtue is its own reward, 
 and that vice brings with it its punishment, that it would be 
 little short of folly to oppose an opinion which seems to have 
 obtained the concurrent assent of all mankind. 
 
 Nor do we feel ourselves at all disposed to dispute a point 
 of which we are so well inciiued to be convinced, that we re- 
 cite the following story as a confirmation of the doctrine. 
 
 Delia Downton was the orphan daughter of a clergyman of 
 character, perferment, and some fortune ; and she was mater- 
 nally allied to a family not less noble in blood, than in those 
 virtues wliich dignify rank, and add lustre to distinction of 
 birth and titles of honour. 
 
 She lost both her parents at a very early age ; and the care 
 of her person, as well as of her fortune, which was about fif- 
 teen thousand pounds, devolved on her grandmother on the 
 side of her fathor ; a venerable matron, whose unbounded affec- 
 tion, and unremitted attention, left her darling ward little to 
 regret in the loss of relatives she was unable to recollect ; 
 and whose endearments, could she have recalled them to her 
 memory, could hardly have exceeded in tenderness those 
 which she received from the most amiable and most aflection- 
 ate of women. 
 
 Mrs. Downton had resided in the country till her grand- 
 daughter arrived at the age when it was necessary she should 
 acquire those accomplishments which are neither so easily nor 
 so happily attained under private tuition ; where there is no 
 competition to inspire emulation, nor any expectation of praise 
 to excite a laudable ambition to excel. 
 
 At this time of her precious charge's life, (that is, when she 
 had just entered her eleventh year) Mrs. Downton removed 
 
 21 3r 
 
49S THE REWARDS OF 
 
 with licr to , where she could procure instructions in music, 
 
 dancing-, drawing, and the modern languages, not inferior to 
 the best which could be obtained in the metropolis ; and the 
 good old lady enjoyed the pleasing satisfaction of watching the 
 improvements of her grand-daughter, in a progress which kept 
 pace with her warmest wishes and most sanguine expectations. 
 
 At eighteen. Miss Downton was equally celebrated for the 
 beauty of her person, and the cultivation of a mind, in the en- 
 dowment of which nature had been so liberal, that good sense, 
 prudence, afl'ability, politeness, and good humour, were ap- 
 pai'ently native graces ; and all the advantage she seemed to 
 have derived from education, was its having called forth those 
 virtues and perfections into action, which would have been ob- 
 scured by the artless innocence of uninformed and unconscious 
 modesty. 
 
 At an assembly, to wish Mrs. Downton was a constant \ isi- 
 tor, that her fair trust might be indulged in every proper 
 amusement, and have opportunities of mixing with that rank 
 of life in which her birth and fortune had placed her, she en- 
 gaged the notice, and as she was soon taught to believe, the 
 afiections of Mr. Arabin, an officer belonging to a regiment of 
 dragoons, which had its quarters in that town and the neigh- 
 bourhood ; who, the very next day, waited on Mrs. Downton, 
 and supporting his pretensions by a candid account of his for- 
 tune a:id fam'ly, entreated her permission to pay his addresses 
 to her grand-daughte'r. And as no objection could be made 
 to the account he gave of himself, and the propriety of his 
 conduct had in some degree recommended him to her esteem, 
 she made no scruple to comply with his request, and ad<led to 
 this indulgence assurances of her best offices in his favour. 
 
 Nor was his suit to the fair Delia long preferred in vain. 
 Mr. Arabin's person was pleasing, and his manners were en- 
 gaging : he had lived with the worhl, and was what is com- 
 monly called a polite and accomplished man ; though his 
 understanding was only of the middle rate, and his knowledge 
 of that superhcial kind which is acquired without study by a 
 pretty general converse with the higher classes of mankind. 
 As Delia's heart was wholly unengaged, and Mr. Arabia was 
 the first who had seriously offered incense at the shrine of her 
 beauty, she was soon prevailed on to acknowledge a prefer- 
 ence for him ; and though his fortune was rather inferior to 
 her own, no difficulties arose on that account: Mrs. Downton 
 W'as generous, Delia was disinterested, and the lover profess- 
 e(i!y above the paltry consideration of pecuniary advantages. 
 With such sentiments on all sides, settlements were soon ad- 
 justed ; ami a union took place, in which every circumstance 
 concurred to promise complete and lasting felicity. 
 
 But the views of mortals, at best short-sighted, and too often 
 clouded by the mists of passion, prejudice, and impatient- 
 
VIRTUE AND VICE.; 499 
 
 curiosity, extend not to the distant prospects of future events : 
 too eager to hesitate, too opinionated to doubt, and too deter- 
 mined to be convinced, we rush blindly into siurdti<tns replete 
 \vith danger; and, urged on by delusive hope, embrace the 
 shadowy phantoms of untried expectation, which, in the event, 
 cliange their appearances, and exhibit the horrid spectres of 
 disappointment, dissatisfaction, and disgust. 
 
 Such was the case with the unfortunate Mrs. Arabin: the 
 gay, the smiling, the obsequious lover, was soon metamor- 
 phosed into the insipid, the dull, the morose husband ; and all 
 her dreams of connubial happiness vanished with the unsub- 
 stantial pleasures of the nuptial pageantry. 
 
 And too late also did she discover that Mr. Arabin was, in 
 all respects, a man of the world. Having quitted the army, 
 and taken up his residence in the capital, the lirst three months 
 were spent in arranging his establishment, and exhibiting his 
 wife at public places : but the former was soon completed, 
 and the latter became as quickly tiresome and unpleasing ; 
 and before six months were expired, one half of his time was 
 engaged at the gaming-table, and the other in the pursuit of 
 pleasures equally unlawful, injurious, and disgraceful. 
 
 To add to the disquietudes of the neglected fair, at this cri- 
 tical period, she had the misfortune to lose the representative 
 of her parents, her kind, her indulgent grandmother ; and the 
 mortification to be refused the solicited company of Mr. Ara- 
 bin, in her journey to pay the last tribute of grateful affection 
 to the honoured protectress of her infant years. 
 
 Yet she endeavoured, by assuming appearances of satisfac- 
 tion vihich were very far from her heart, to retain some por- 
 tion of the regards of the man to whom she had devoted her 
 life ; and she cheerfully gave up, by degrees, all the power 
 she possessed over her fortune ; though she could not, w ith- 
 out regret, remark the mouldering state of their circumstances ; 
 nor he!p repining at being assured, that the sacrifices she 
 majcle were offered up to vice, dissipation, and dishonour. 
 
 Nor did her husband long maintain even the appearances of 
 civility ; every run of ill luck produced a chagrin, which was 
 sure to find vent upon his unfortunate wife ; and every disap- 
 pointment in his more criminal pursuits, was the source of 
 contempt and insult to the wretched partner of his bed. 
 
 As his circumstances grew more desperate, he proceeded to 
 still greater outrages ; nor did he refrain from laying viole=it 
 hands on the innocent and amiable Delia, who, with exem- 
 plary patience, scarce remonstrated against this treatuie.jr; 
 and in the arguments which she sometimes r.tfered, to di5.si:a<!e 
 him from the ruinous course of life m v^hich he had engageu, 
 carefully avoided even the most distant hints of the injuries he 
 had heaped on herself. 
 
 As he never condescended to make her his confidant, she 
 
500 THE REWARDS OP 
 
 was a total stranger to the real state of his affairs, though she 
 knew, generally, that they were extremely embarrassed. And 
 as she had succeeded to the effects of her grandmother, which 
 were by no means inconsiderable, she thought it prudent, 
 when she surrendered them to her husband, to make a trifling 
 reserve ; as he was now so sparing of his purse to her, that she 
 could hardly obtain enough from him to purchase the little 
 necessaries, which could not be comprised in those tradesmen's 
 bills, the payment of which she saw daily protracted. And, 
 with a view to prevent the necessity of those applications to 
 Mr. Arabin, which always occasioned ill-humour, and not 
 unfrequently ill-usage, she laid by three hundred pounds 
 when she presented her husband with twice as many thou- 
 sands. 
 
 After spending the night abroad, Mr. Arabin returned one 
 morning, at a time rather unusual, and found his wife at break- 
 fast in her dressing room ; into which he rudely entered, and 
 without givii'g himself the trouble to speak to her, threw him- 
 self into a chair, and Avith wild and disordered looks directed 
 a servant to order a chaise for Newmarket. 
 
 Mrs. Arabin, who well knew by his countenance that he 
 laboured under some pecuniary distress, and recollecting the 
 sum she possessed, was tempted.to try how far a seasonable offer 
 of it might rescue him from the anxiety under which he appa- 
 rently laboured, and beget some return of gratitude and re- 
 gard. With this view she arose from her seat ; and approach- 
 ing her husband, in her way to the cabinet where her treasure 
 was deposited, she laid her hand on his, and kindly told him 
 she was sorry to see him unhappy, and flattered herself she 
 could contribute to his relief. 
 
 Roused from a state of sullen stupidity by this tender ap- 
 plication, he started from his chair, and with the most brutal 
 rage made a blow at the devoted Delia, with such violence 
 and effect, as to lay her senseless and bleeding at his feet ; 
 and leaving her in this wretched state, he rushed out of the 
 house, informing the servant who opened the door to him that 
 his mistress was ill, and wanted the assistance of her maid. 
 
 As he verily believed he had dispatched his unfortunate wife, 
 he thought it prudent to take shelter for a while on the conti- 
 nent ; and having procured a small sum of money from one of 
 the companions of his iniquity he hasted to Dover, and em- 
 barked in a packet, which he found just ready to sail for 
 Ostend, leaving injunctions with his friend to learn and com- 
 municate to him the consequences of his brutality. 
 
 But the event proved less fatal than might have been 
 expected : the blow, which deprived her of her senses, occa- 
 sioned no lasting injury ; and the blood, which had excited 
 such terrors in her husband, had flowed only from her nose, 
 aud not from the wound which he naturally supposed be had 
 
VIRTUE AND VICE. 601 
 
 inflicted. The unfortuniite lady was soon recovered by the 
 assiduity ofherattcuda ts, and she was shortly after informed 
 of the flight of her husband, under the impressions of that fear 
 V'hich his guilt had naturally produced. 
 
 After this fresh prr-of that her life was in extreme danger, 
 if she continued to cohabit with a ruftian devoid of even the 
 common principles of humanity, and a stranger to those seu- 
 satioiis which create tenderness and respect for the female sex 
 from tbe most savage nations of the world ; she delermined to 
 retire from the house of her husband, and seek protection 
 where she might avoid his farther persecution, by remaining 
 uni<nown, and in a situation not to be discovered. 
 
 To this eu'i she withdrew (witiiout making any of her domes- 
 tics acquainted with her desigi) to the house of a female friend, 
 on whose tideiity she was sure she could rely ; who heartily 
 entered into her plan of separating herself from her husband, 
 and offered her advice and assistance in fixing on such mea- 
 sures as might place her beyond the reach of his brutality. 
 
 In consequence of these deliberations, it was resolved that 
 the most likely way to elude the searches of her husband, and 
 to provide that maintenance which her scanty provision, con- 
 sisting only of her little reserve, would by no means furnish, 
 would be to place herself as a companion to a lady in some 
 respectable family ; a situation in which she would not incur 
 the smallest risk of discovery. 
 
 The inquiries of her friend were successful, and a very few 
 days placed her in a station, for which she was only qualified 
 by an accommodating mind, which enabled her to forget her 
 birth, fortime, and early expectations, and submit to such a 
 change of condition without a complaint or a murmur. 
 
 The ladies to whom she engaged herself were the sisters of 
 the Earl of Cranmer ; two amiable women, whose penetration 
 soon discovered that there was some secret in the history of 
 their new companion, — a discovery which excited an additional 
 degree of that tenderness to which they were by disposition 
 naturally inclined. Yet though they were every day more 
 strongly convinced that she was now in a sphere very inferior 
 to that in which she had been accustomed to move, they for- 
 bore to perplex her with questions which they were aware 
 would only prove troublesome ; and, with a delicacy peculiar 
 to exalted minds, they strove, by the assiduities of kindness, 
 to lessen the weight of misfortunes, into the nature of which 
 they did not think themsehes at liberty to inquire. 
 
 Nor did the appearance of this new inhabitant of his house 
 escape the notice of the virtuous and elegant Earl of Cranmer. 
 Disappointed by the authority of a stern father in the gratifi- 
 cation of his first passion, his heart had remained free from a 
 second enthralinent; and he had reached the age of thirty- 
 two, without having been prevailed on, by the solicitations of 
 
50!* THE REWARDS OF 
 
 his friends, to enter into engagements which might afford 
 hopes of perpetuating a family, the honours of which would 
 exj)ire with himself. 
 
 But the still lovely Delia excited sensations in his mind to 
 which he had long been a stranger ; and the conversation 
 which he enjoyed at those meals of which the indulgent ladies 
 had constantly compelled her to partake at their own table, 
 having assured him that he could find with her that happiness 
 the loss of which he had so long lamented, he meditated the 
 means of discovering the real name and condition of the fair 
 inmate, and determined, if it should turn out as he expected, 
 to offer her his hand and his heart. 
 
 Mean time, Mrs. Arabin was informed by her friend that 
 her husband had returned to England as soon as he was 
 assured of his safety ; but had expressed much less concern 
 at the flight of his wife, than at the other consequences of 
 his absence ; advantage of which had been taken by his cre- 
 ditors, whom he found in possession of his house and effects ; 
 but which proving insufficient to satisfy their demands, he had 
 been arrested by one of them for 1501., and noAV remained 
 imprisoned for that sum. 
 
 On the receipt of this intelligence, she hesitated not a 
 moment to enclose, in an anonymous letter written in a feigned 
 hand, two-thirds of her little stock; earnestly exhorting him, 
 as a friend who did not choose to discover himself, to engage 
 in some honourable employment, and to abandon those paths 
 which led to certain destruction. But she had the mortifica- 
 tion to learn that her advice proved unavailing ; and that, 
 after his release from confinement, he had pursued the same 
 line of conduct, till some disgraceful and dishonourable trans- 
 action had compelled him to disappear; and that, for some 
 time, his retreat had not been known even to his most parti- 
 cular friends. 
 
 Matters were in this situation, when, on a journey from his 
 house in town to his villa in the neighbourhood of the metro- 
 polis. Lord Cranmer's coach, which contained his sisters, Mrs. 
 Arabin, and himself, was stopped by a siiigle highwayman, 
 during the absence of the only servant who attended it, and 
 who had accidentally loitered behind the carriage ; and the 
 highwayman having presented his pistol to the bosom of one 
 of the ladies, they were busily erijployed in collecting their 
 money, Avhen Mrs. Arabin, lifting her eyes to the invader of 
 their property, gave a loud shriek, and instantly fainted. 
 
 At this moment the servant, alarmed at the shriek, hastened 
 to get up with the carnage ; which being observed by the 
 robber, he withdrew his pistol from the coach, and discharged 
 it unsuccessfully at the servant, who returned the fire, and 
 lodged the contents of his pistol in the body of the unfortu- 
 nate plunderer. 
 
VIRTUE AND VICE. 503 
 
 During this transaction, iVIrs. Arabin had remained in a 
 state of insensibiHty, from which she recovered by the assi- 
 duities of Lord Cranaier ; but had no sooner opened her eyes, 
 than she turned them on the body of the highwaynian ; and 
 having exclaimed, 'My husband !' she r-lapsed again into the 
 state from which she had been sunimcned to inexpressible 
 anguish. 
 
 It is impossible to describe ihi' horror of the scene, or the 
 consternation of the ternfied ladies, and their still more 
 anxious brother. The first care of the latter was to get the 
 body re'.iioved to the next villa<:'e, which was effected by the 
 opportune arrival of an empty post-chaise, Mhich v>as on its 
 return frnm the metropolis; the second, and more important, 
 was the recovery of the afflicted widow: and in this, too, he 
 had the happiness to succeed, though he was obliged to sus- 
 pend s. curiosity, which was far from being disinterested, for 
 some days, during which he employed himself in preventing 
 disagreeable discoveries at a coroner's inquest, which was 
 necessary on the occasion, and in directing the interment of 
 the unfortunate i\rabin. At length, however, the afflicted 
 Delia grew more composed ; and at the earnest request of the 
 ladies, sugs;este(i by their impatient brother, entered on a 
 detail of those circumstances which had produced such afflict- 
 ing and alarming events, — a recital which, while it excited the 
 tenderest pity in the breast of the amiable sisters, conveyed 
 inexpressible satisfaction to their no less worthy brother, who 
 now saw no impediment to the ho])e he had long entertained 
 that he might be at liberty to ofter the participation of his 
 honours and fortune to her who had already possessed his 
 heart. 
 
 Nor was the gentle Delia insensible of the virtues and per- 
 sonal qualifications of the generous Cranmer : with modest 
 diffidence she avowed eternal obligation ; and, in the acknow- 
 ledgments of her gratitude, betrayed the situation of her 
 heart, — a discovery of which her admirer did not fail to avail 
 himself, in earnest solicitations to render his happiness com- 
 plete, which she was easily prevailed on to promise ; and as 
 soon as decency would permit, she received the reward of her 
 virtues in the hand of the truly noble Cranmer, — a much more 
 valuable gift than the honours and fortunes with which it was 
 accompanied. 
 
 Hence let not the virtuous doubt but they are the peculiar 
 care of that Being whose dispensations are always just ; and 
 who, even in this life, seldom fails to distinguish them, by 
 bestowing his choicest and most desirable blessings ! Nor let 
 them repine, even though adversity should attend them to the 
 close of a life which, while they have preserved the conscious- 
 ■ess of integrity, cannot have been spent without the enjoy- 
 
504 THE REWARDS OF, Ac. 
 
 nient of a degree of hajipiness to which the most splendid 
 iniquity will ever remain a stranger! 
 
 Hence let the vicious tremble ! and while he beholds the 
 unoffending victim of brutality prove the innocent instrument 
 of punishment, let him learn, that the laws he has transgressed 
 are never to be violated with impunity ; and that, however 
 long he may escape receiving the reward of his crimes, ven- 
 geance will surely overtake him at last, and that too in a de- 
 gree strictly proportioned to the nature and extent of his 
 offence. 
 
 FINIS. 
 
 DIRECTIONS FOR PLACING THE PLATES. 
 
 Page 
 Frontispiece to face Vignette 
 
 Whitmore entreatinje Emma to elope 125 
 
 Edwin's Surprise at seeina; the Coffin 266 
 
 Edwin at the Tomb of Agnes 282 
 
 Emma discovered by Fanny 339 
 
 Fitzmorris's Plot to ruin Aatia 384 
 
 3. OLEAVE, PRINTER. 
 
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