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 THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 LOS ANGELES 
 
 Ex Lihris 
 
 SIR MICHAEL SADLER 
 
 ACQUIRED 1948 
 
 WITH THE HELP OF ALUMNI OF THE 
 
 SCHOOL OF EDUCATION
 
 FMONTISI'IEC^. 
 
 •i .^Vllli;.iii.s.Ii,l. 
 
 • .~.\T\D<i : '^vA. 
 
 G^j<<5?s>i^ 
 
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 ^C^ a./z^t-'^e^^j'^'f////; r/^/t</ //ty/ffyt^fi^/ ^ryrJ 
 
 y a,ayc>^^^4€'f*yy; /-/^/k/ ^ /ty/<' w t^A^i^ 
 
 
 f/i/tr patfe 105
 
 CXEjRGTMANI^ WlBOV« 
 
 
 
 Ci^ ''^m^m^^Q^ 
 
 _y 

 
 THE 
 
 CLEEGYMAN'S WIDOW, 
 
 AND 
 
 HER YOUNG FAMILY. 
 
 BY 
 
 MRS. HOFLAND, 
 
 AUTHOR OF 
 
 *HE TODNG cadet; YOUNG CBCSOB ; BLIND FARMFB ; BARBAD0B8 GIRL; 
 merchant's widow; THB SISTgRS ; PANORAMA OF EUROPB ; GOOD GRAND- 
 MOTHKR; TOUNO NORTHERN TRAVELI.BB ; STOLEN BOY; ALICIA AND HER 
 
 adnt; blizabeth ; the affectionate bsothebs ; godmother's tales 
 oacghter-in-law, &c. &c. 
 
 Behold the ways 
 Of Heaven's eternal destiny to man — 
 For ever just, benevolent and wise.— Akbn side. 
 
 NEW EDITION, 
 
 LONDON : 
 
 ARTHUR HALL, VIRTUE AND CO, 
 
 PATERNOSTER ROW.
 
 
 THE 
 
 HISTORY 
 
 OF A 
 
 CLERGYMAN'S WIDOW, 
 
 AMD 
 
 HER YOUNG FAMILY. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 In the spring of the year 1793, as a young 
 Englishman was picking his way through the 
 streets of Lisbon, his attention was excited by a 
 gentleman who was slowly walking on the other 
 side of the street, supported by his cane. His 
 dress and appearance were those of an English 
 clergyman, and his apparent weakness induced 
 the young man to believe he was one of the many 
 who resort to the climate of Portugal, to ward off 
 the effects of a disease at once the most hopeless 
 and the most flattering with which human nature 
 is afflicted — a disorder which seems peculiarly to 
 seize on the most amiable and lovely of our species, 
 and to single out the beautiful and excellent as 
 its prey — a circumstance which gives to its sub- 
 
 629371 "'
 
 4 THE clergyman's WIDOW. 
 
 ject an immediate interest in evey bosom alive to 
 the claims of humanity ; and the youth who was 
 now gazing intently on the fine features, and 
 sighing over the broken form he contemplated, 
 was calculated, in no common degree, to feel the 
 purest sympathies, the best charities of the heart. 
 
 These strangers were just going to take advan- 
 tage of the crossing which was made over the 
 dirty street, now rendered impassable at any other 
 part by the late fall of a heavy shower, when a 
 tall Galician, loaded with a trunk on his shoul- 
 ders, rudely pushed past the feeble invalid, in 
 such a manner that he would have been com- 
 pletely overthrown in the mud, if the young man 
 springing forward, had not seized his arm and 
 helped him on his feet, while, with indignation 
 flashing in his eye, he turned to chastise the in- 
 solence of the Galician. 
 
 ' Patienza !' said the fellow, and stalked off. 
 
 ' Patience, my young friend,' said the clergy- 
 man, with a placid smile, ' is indeed a virtue we 
 must all practise in this country, and, as far as 
 I am concerned in this affair, I shall rejoice in 
 obeying its dictates, since the accident has given 
 me the pleasure of hearing the voice of a coun- 
 tryman, the first I have happened to meet with 
 since my landing.'
 
 THE clergyman's WIDOW. 5 
 
 Mr. H , the young man, replied, that the 
 
 circumstance was not less pleasing to himself; 
 and observing that the streets were very dis- 
 agreeable to delicate people, offered the gentle- 
 man his arm, which was thankfully accepted ; 
 and turning back with him, he saw his new ac- 
 quaintance safe to his lodgings, which he ob- 
 served with pain were by no means suitable for 
 the complaint under which he laboured. 
 
 It was impossible for a reflective mind not to 
 see at once that the interesting invalid had to con- 
 tend with the evils of confined circumstances, in 
 addition to the sufferings of bodily infirmity ; he 
 was alone too — he had neither a servant to ad- 
 minister to his wants, nor a wife or daughter to 
 alleviate his sorrows ; he was, indeed, a stranger 
 in a strange land; ignorant of the language, shock- 
 ed with the conduct, disgusted with the manners 
 of all around him, he seemed alone in the world, 
 an isolated and deserted being, cut off from the so- 
 ciety he was evidently calculated to adorn, and most 
 probably from a scene where every benevolent pro- 
 pensity of his nature had been daily exercised. 
 
 While thoughts like these were passing in the 
 mind of the youth, the good man on his part was 
 surveying his guest with looks of fond and grate- 
 ful approbation ; and after taking a restorative 
 
 A 3
 
 6 THE clergyman's WIDOW. 
 
 medicine, for which it was evident he had great 
 occasion, he informed him that his name was 
 Gardiner ; he was a clergyman who possessed a 
 small living in Devonshire ; that in going to bap- 
 tize a sick child at some distance during the night, 
 in the preceding autumn, he had caught a cold, 
 which had fallen on his lungs ; that after various 
 applications, all medicine appearing ineffectual, 
 he had been induced to try the celebrated air of 
 Lisbon — ' And who knows,' said he, faintly smi- 
 ling as he spoke, ' who knows but it may restore 
 me : I have only been three weeks in this place, 
 and I sometimes fancy my cough is abated, and my 
 fever less violent ; and these favourable symptoms 
 I communicated to my poor wife this morning.' 
 
 ' But, my good sir,' interrupted H , ' is 
 
 it not a pity but Mrs. Gardiner had accompanied 
 you?' 
 
 ' The thing was impossible, sir ; my poor wife 
 is far advanced in her pregnancy : besides,' added 
 he, in a tremulous tone, and his eyes glistening 
 as he spoke, with a tear that could not be re- 
 strained, ' there were other reasons. I have al- 
 ready five children, and this sickness of mine has 
 pressed very hard upon our little store ; for my 
 family would not rest without obtaining the best 
 advice for me ; and though the young man who
 
 THE CLERGYMAN S AVIDOAV. 7 
 
 has for some time done my duty accepts but a 
 very slender pittance for his services, yet every 
 thing, you know, adds to expence we are ill pro- 
 vided to bear : but you,' added he, ' you are 
 young, and cannot be supposed to understand 
 these things. Come and see me to-morrow, and 
 I will try to amuse you better.' 
 
 Deeply penetrated with sympathy and awa- 
 kened affection, the young man took his leave, 
 perceiving that a chord was awakened in the 
 heart of this tender parent, which vibrated too 
 strongly for his feeble frame to bear. On his re- 
 tiring, the good man sought repose where alone 
 he could find it — in the consolations of that reli- 
 gion which had been his guide through life, and 
 was his hope in death : with humble confidence 
 he devoted not only his own soul to the hands 
 of a merciful Redeemer, but the safety of those 
 so exquisitely endeared to him, that their welfare 
 appeared infinitely dearer than his own ; for them 
 he had lived, and still wished to live ; and if 
 ever he lifted up his eyes to God, to implore pro- 
 longed existence, for their sakes he looked — for 
 them he implored, but, with the submission of 
 his Great Master, concluded every orison with, 
 * not my will, but thine be done.'
 
 8 THE clergyman's WIDOW. 
 
 Mr. Gardiner had attached himself early in 
 life to a very amiable orphan, whose helpless 
 situation had first excited his pity, whose good 
 conduct secured his esteem, and whose many 
 amiable qualities, on a further acquaintance, en- 
 gaged his fondest affection : uniting the utmost 
 simplicity of manners with a sound judgment and 
 an active mind, Maria Benson appeared uncom- 
 monly calculated to fulfil the duties of a country 
 pastor's wife ; and as soon as the gift of a small 
 living, to which a little farm was attached, became 
 Mr. Gardiner's lot, he married her, and proved 
 her power of fulfilling them to the full extent. 
 
 They had at this period been married fifteen 
 years, and in that time she had been the mother 
 of seven children : two fine boys their pious pa- 
 rents had consigned to the dust ; but three fine 
 girls and two infant sons were still their pre- 
 cious companions. To educate those pledges of 
 a love which increased w^ith time, agreeable to 
 their rank in society, and their very bounded 
 prospects, was a task of no little difficulty ; but 
 it fell on those who knew how to discharge it 
 faithfully ; their good father had been their 
 only preceptor, their mother their only governess, 
 at such times as the many cares of her house- 
 liold allowed her to attend them ; at others, the
 
 THE clergyman's WIDOW. 9 
 
 ancient schoolmistress of the village supplied her 
 place. 
 
 The situation of Mr. Gardiner was such as to 
 call forth every benevolent exertion ; his parish 
 was extensive, but its inhabitants poor ; and he 
 found them ignorant, stubborn, and though not 
 always ill-natured, yet uniformly ill-bred : mild 
 by nature, and patient through principle, he ap- 
 plied himself with gentle diligence to cultivate 
 the sterile mind, and soften the stony heart ; with 
 some difficulty he prevailed on the peasantry to 
 suffer him to instruct their youth, for a few of 
 the first years of his residence — a task in which 
 his Maria took her share : with such happy ef- 
 fects was this care attended, that when the claims 
 of his own family obliged him to relinquish this 
 charge, the inhabitants of his village were become 
 willing and able to maintain a schoolmaster re- 
 spectably ; and so much was he beloved for his ex- 
 ertion, and revered for his steady exercise of every 
 Christian virtue, that at the time of his depar- 
 ture for Lisbon, not a being existed within the 
 circle of his duties, who did not feel they were 
 parting with a father and a friend : in every house 
 there were prayers offered for the restoration of 
 their minister : some were lamenting the teacher 
 who had instructed them ; others, the friend whose
 
 10 THE clergyman's WIDOW. 
 
 counsel and good offices had assisted them : and 
 all, the compassionate comforter, who, like the 
 angel of pity, at one time or other, had soothed 
 their afflictions, and wiped away their tears. 
 
 But this simple and affectionate people had of- 
 fered not only prayers and blessings for their good 
 rector's restoration ; some of them knew very well 
 the state of his finances, and would, according to 
 their own bounded power, have given more sub- 
 stantial proofs of their attachment ; but this the 
 delicacy of superior minds shrank from receiving ; 
 and one thing after another was parted with out 
 of the farming stock, to procure the means of 
 making the wished-for voyage, till nearly all was 
 gone : and one neighbour, whose only son Mrs. 
 Gardiner had nursed through a fever, was obliged 
 to insist on her accepting a cow, till his reverence 
 came back ; and another, whom the good pastor 
 had rescued from the horrors of a lawsuit, de- 
 clared, if she would not accept his wheat, ' he 
 zhould think her main cruel, zo he zhould.' 
 
 To glance on the feelings of such a wife and 
 such a parent, at the moment of departing on such 
 an awful occasion, is impossible ; those who have 
 suffered similar privations will see it all, and 
 sympathize with it ; the thoughtless and unfeel- 
 ing are unworthy of the picture : it is therefore
 
 THE clergyman's WIDOW. ] 1 
 
 sufficient to say, that after a tedious and unin- 
 teresting voyage, in which his disorder gained 
 ground, Mr. Gardiner arrived at Lisbon, with 
 not one friendly voice to greet him on the shore, 
 nor, indeed, any voice whose language he under- 
 stood ; that with some difficulty he procured 
 wretched lodgings, where the filthiness of the 
 inhabitants, and their execrable cooking, op- 
 posed to the neatness of his own comfortable 
 home, and the sweetness of those morsels pre- 
 pared by the hand of her he loved, destroyed 
 the little appetite he had, and thus hastened the 
 approach of that hour which had long hung 
 suspended, though inevitable : and the sense of 
 his forlorn situation, added to the consciousness 
 of what they were suffering for him, whose suf- 
 ferings were most painful to them, hung on his 
 spirits, and increased the consuming fever that 
 preyed on life. 
 
 Under these circumstances, the meeting which 
 took place between him and his countryman, as 
 we have seen, appeared a blessing of such conse- 
 quence as to call for especial gratitude to Heaven ; 
 and the good man laid not his sleepless head on 
 his pillow that night, till he thanked his Heavenly 
 Father for this precious prospect of consolation, 
 which fell like ' manna in the wilderness.'
 
 12 THE clergyman's WIDOW. 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 "When Mr. H paid his promised visit to his 
 
 new acquaintance, the following morning, he 
 found him tolerably cheerful, and extremely 
 grateful for the kind attention : he now spoke of 
 his family with composure, and even pleasure, 
 sometimes anticipating his return with sparkling 
 eyes, whose very brilliance proved its impossibi- 
 lity ; at others, expressed anxiety about his wife, 
 who was now near her confinement ; but in every 
 thing expressing submission to that divine hand, 
 who ' killeth and maketh alive.' 
 
 The mental acquirements of Mr. Gardiner kept 
 pace with his virtues ; and his interesting conver- 
 sation, and conciliating manners, endeared him 
 so much to his young friend, that, except at those 
 hours when it was his duty to attend to business 
 (being a junior partner in a mercantile house), 
 his whole time was given to the invalid, whose 
 increasing weakness proved but too fully that the 
 cares of friendship were drawing to a close. As 
 soon as their acquaintance warranted the offer, 
 
 H accommodated Mr. Gardiner with his own 
 
 lodgings, and slept on a mattress in the same
 
 THE clergyman's WIDOW. 13 
 
 room, attending to all his ailments with the most 
 sedulous affection; and, as far as his circum- 
 stances enabled him, relieved every want, and 
 supplied every deficiency to the departing saint, 
 whose spirit appeared to rise in proportion to his 
 sufferings, and whose faith shone brightest as the 
 glimmerings of life declined. 
 
 It was generally their custom to take two short 
 walks in the day, when the strength of the pa- 
 tient permitted it : these were frequently taken in 
 the burial-ground of the British factory, on ac- 
 count of its vicinity to their lodgings. This so- 
 lemn spot, where rows of tall cypresses shed a 
 deep gloom over the sacred ground, is peculiarly 
 calculated to awaken pensive reflection in the 
 minds of Englishmen ; for there lay many of our 
 countrymen, cut off in the very blossom of life, in 
 the very zenith of enjoyment ; it is the very ce- 
 metery of youth, beauty, and rank. How affect- 
 insr must it have been to these two, then, one of 
 whom knew not but on the morrow the very 
 ground on which he now stood might be opened to 
 receive him ; the other, rendered conscious, from 
 every inscription around him, that the strength he 
 now felt bracing his limbs, the health that now 
 mantled on his cheek, was no security for life, but 
 that he, like the companion that now clung shi-
 
 14 THE clergyman's WIDOW. 
 
 vering to his arm, might be blasted in his prime, 
 the fond expectations of his heart cut off, and 
 those he best loved sigh over his untimely tomb! 
 
 One day, as they were returning from their 
 melancholy walk, the good man paused at the 
 gate, turned round, and took a view of the ground 
 they had quitted, with an air of pensive satisfac- 
 tion in his countenance ; after a short pause, ' I 
 am thinking,' said he, ' that there is scarcely one 
 person in this burial-ground who has attained my 
 age. I have lived near forty years, most of which 
 have been passed in serenity and content, and 
 the last fifteen (with a few exceptions) in a state 
 of as much felicity as is consistent with proba- 
 tionary existence. For these wonderful bless- 
 ings ought I not to bow down in grateful ado- 
 ration to Him who ordereth all things well ? 
 Yes, my young friend, I ought ; and I do cry, 
 with humble thankfulness, " Be it unto me ac- 
 cording to thy will, my Father and my God !" 
 for thy promise is precious to my heart ; I can 
 " leave my fatherless children to Thee, and my 
 widow shall trust in Thee, and be at rest." 
 
 As the pious sufferer thus repeated the blessed 
 promises of the divine word, his pallid coun- 
 tenance glowed with the sublime emotion of de- 
 vout affection and stedfast faith, and his words
 
 THE clergyman's WIDOW. 15 
 
 were uttered with a precision and fervour, that 
 appeared an emanation of supernatural power 
 to the eye that glanced over his emaciated form. 
 With awful admiration and chastened pleasure, 
 to be felt, but not described, the young man gazed 
 on him, as he supported him, and, unable to 
 speak, could only lift up his heart to ' Him who 
 seeth in secret,' and pray that like composure, 
 might be given to hirn, when the same solemn 
 sentence should be passing on his head — Nor was 
 the prayer unheard. The exertion of this day 
 appeared too much for the enfeebled patient, and 
 his aifectionate young friend secretly resolved 
 that it should not be repeated ; he even inter- 
 dicted conversation for the rest of the evening. 
 In the course of it, an English officer, with whom 
 he had some acquaintance, came in, and earnest- 
 ly pressed him to accompany him to the opera ; 
 Mr. Gardiner joined in the entreaty, saying — 
 ' You have lately confined yourself so much with 
 me, that I really fear I am doing you an injury. 
 Your spirits and health will suffer from it. Do, 
 my dear fellow, leave me for once, and go with 
 your friend.' 
 
 Though Mr. H did not apprehend that his 
 
 suffering charge was materially worse this even- 
 ing, yet his mind was not in unison with objects 
 
 B 2
 
 16 THE clergyman's AVIDOW. 
 
 of frivolous pursuit, and he was aware that the 
 time would be very short in which he could drink 
 wisdom from the faltering lips which so kindly 
 urged him to depart ! he therefore positively re- 
 fused to go, and, in a short time, saw reason to 
 congratulate himself on his resolution, as the 
 patient was soon after seized with a fit of cough- 
 ing, so violent as for some minutes to threaten 
 suffocation. 
 
 When he was a little recovered from the state 
 of exhaustion this had occasioned, H pro- 
 posed putting him to bed, which was thankfully 
 acceded to, but was found unusually fatiguing 
 and distressing, but, when accomplished, seem- 
 ed to give him new spirits. Contrary to the in- 
 junctions of his anxious attendant, he indulged 
 himself in speaking of his wife and children, 
 with even more than his usual tenderness ; and 
 
 begged that H would promise him, that if 
 
 ever he went within fifty miles of their habitation, 
 he would visit them — a promise the young man 
 willingly made, but lamented that some years 
 would pass before he returned to England. ' No 
 matter,' returned he, with calmness, ' you will 
 write to them, I am certain, and you will arrange 
 all my afiairs in the way I wish. Yes, excellent 
 young man,' he exclaimed, with increased energy.
 
 THE clergyman's WIDOW. 17 
 
 * you will do all things well. Know, that much 
 as I thank you for your labour of love towards 
 me, a helpless stranger, and sincerely as I pray 
 that it may be repaid sevenfold to your own bo- 
 som, I yet rejoice most in your friendship, as 
 deeming it the especial gift of my Almighty 
 Guardian.' As he sj)oke, the last Avords were 
 uttered with difficulty, and his vivid eye said more 
 than his parched lip. In great agitation, the 
 youth besought him to speak no more, but endea- 
 vour to sleep. ' I am going to sleep,' he replied, 
 with a smile of heavenly calmness, ' and never 
 forget how sweet that sleep was made to me : — 
 let the remembrance of this houi- be your shield 
 and support in the world of sin and sorrow, whi- 
 ther you are going ; and then my dear, dear boy, 
 my God will be yow God also.' He ceased to 
 speak and to breathe. The youth stooped for- 
 wards, to catch the last precious sound, but all 
 was still — the last pulse had ceased to beat, and 
 the good man slept in peace. 
 
 b3
 
 18 THE clergyman's WIDOW. 
 
 CHAPTER HI. 
 
 When the first emotions of pity and regret were 
 
 subsided, Mr. H endeavoured to fulfil the 
 
 wishes of the departed, by examining the few 
 effects he had desired to be sent to his widow, 
 and arranging his funeral, which he determined 
 should be at his own expence. He likewise felt 
 it a painful duty to write to poor Mrs. Gardiner 
 as soon as possible — a task of severe suffering to 
 a mind of sensibility, especially in the circum- 
 stances under which she stood. This letter he 
 enclosed in one to the young man who was Mr. 
 Gardiner's curate at the time of his decease, and 
 who resided in the house with the family. These 
 melancholy duties occupied the next day : on the 
 evening of the following, he prepared to follow 
 the corpse of the man, so late a stranger to him, 
 to the house appointed for all living. When he 
 reflected on the shortness of their acquaintance, 
 and how much it had comprised, he was forcibly 
 struck with the last words of the departed, and 
 felt as if he had been indeed an instrument, in the 
 hands of an All-wise Disposer, to bless and protect 
 his servant. He saw clearly, that in every situ-
 
 THE clergyman's WIDOW. 19 
 
 ation the goodness of God can consistently raise 
 up help for those that trust in him ; and he re- 
 joiced in having been the means of comfort to 
 one so uncommonly worthy to receive it. This 
 sensation was still farther increased, when, on 
 looking over the deceased's pocketbook for his 
 commands respecting his interment, he saw 
 many passages respecting himself, addressed to 
 Mrs. Gardiner — such as these : — 
 
 * Oh, Maria ! I have got a good and tender 
 nurse, such as only thy love could exceed : let 
 this be thy comfort when I am in the dust — tell 
 my girls that this young man fulfils all their 
 duties, and is unto me even as a daughter.' 
 
 ' Help me, my dear wife, to thank Him who, 
 in the midst of judgement remembereth mercy, 
 a,nd hath sent me a friend in a strange land. 
 Assure yourself that I am surrounded with com- 
 forts ; the tedium of my languid state is assuaged 
 by the intelligence of my young friend, and my 
 sufferings soothed by his kindness,' &cc. Sec. 
 
 From the contemplation of these effusions of a 
 
 devout and tender heart, Mr. H was obliged 
 
 to tear himself for offices of a different nature. 
 The people of the house not only refused positive- 
 ly to assist in paying the last duties to the body 
 of a heretic, but with contradictory stubborn-
 
 20 THE clergyman's WIDOW. 
 
 ness, insisted on its immediate removal. He was 
 therefore under a necessity of entreating the 
 British consul to suffer his own English servants 
 to convey the good clergyman to his grave. They 
 came, accompanied by the chaplain, who preceded 
 them, while H , the one only mourner, slow- 
 ly followed the venerated clay. As they passed 
 through the gate where so lately those lips, now 
 cold and pale, had uttered the language of in- 
 spiration in the voice of hope — that eye, now 
 closed for ever, had beamed with the triumph 
 of faith and anticipated immortality, he felt the 
 full value of that religion which looks beyond 
 the grave, and he felt grateful that he had seen 
 its effects so fully and happily exemplified. But 
 while he stood at this last receptacle, where there 
 were only the two men who bore the body, the 
 chaplain, and himself, he could not help con- 
 trasting the forlorn attendance of the funeral 
 with what it would have been in the beloved 
 pastor's own country, surrounded by the flock 
 he had so long fed with the doctrines of life ; he 
 felt as if he should have had a mournful satis- 
 faction in witnessing the heartfelt tribute of their 
 tears, and knowing that his little ones had wept 
 over the ashes of their father. He deprecated 
 the cruel folly of sending a man in a hopeless
 
 THE clergyman's WIDOW. 21 
 
 disorder from the bosom of a family, then most 
 endeared to him, to seek among strangers for 
 comforts rarely found, and which no change of 
 air, or benefit of climate, can supply. The prayer 
 excited by this mournful contemplation was 
 answered to this excellent young man : in about 
 three years, he too fell a victim to consumption ; 
 but his sufferings were soothed by a wife and 
 mother tenderly, beloved, in whose arms he at 
 length expired. Surely we may say — ' The bless- 
 ing of the stranger was upon him.' ' The Lord 
 remembered him in the day of trouble.' 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 PooE Mrs. Gardiner was spared the agonizing 
 knowledge of her loss, till she had become 'the 
 mother of another son about three weeks, when 
 just as her eldest daughter was admiring the 
 baby, and observing with what delight her father 
 would see it on his return, the second entered 
 the room, to inform her mother that Mr. Wal- 
 lingford, the curate, had got a letter from Lisbon, 
 and she flattered herself that her father was on 
 his road home, and had wrote to Mr. Walling- 
 ford, to inform them of it at the best time.
 
 22 THE clergyman's widow. 
 
 The heart of the poor mother throhbed -vio- 
 lently in her bosom ; life and death seemed sus- 
 pended before her ! she durst not hope with her 
 children, nor had she courage to embrace that fear, 
 which, in her situation, was best. The innocent 
 children, whose buoyant spirits in every case of 
 doubt look on the brightest side, were shocked 
 at the speechless dismay which appeared in their 
 mother's countenance ; and little George, who, 
 on his knees, was playing with the baby's fingers, 
 gave a loud shriek on seeing her sink back on 
 her chair. This sound induced Mr. "VVallingford, 
 who, with eyes dimmed with tears, w^as perusing 
 Mr. H 's letter, to conclude that the fatal se- 
 cret was by some means anticipated ; he flew into 
 the chamber, exclaiming — ' Dear, dear madam, 
 do try to support yourself, for God's sake ! for 
 your children's sake !' This well-meant, though 
 ill-heard exhortation, unfolded to all the dreadful 
 truth — a shriek of distress rent the room ; the 
 widow fell senseless from her chair ; deep and 
 silent agony succeeded the burst of frenzied la- 
 mentation — it was the calm of despair. 
 
 * Maria,' said the curate, ' help your mother 
 — she is only faint ; exert yourself my good 
 girl ; prove worthy of the father you have lost — 
 of the mother you have left. — Sarah, take these
 
 THE clergyman's WIDOW. 23 
 
 dear little ones down stairs ; they will be good, 
 and make no noise — for their mother's sake, they 
 will control their grief.' 
 
 The curate had a right to conclude, as he did, 
 that Maria would exert herself; for though only 
 now entering her fifteenth year, she possessed 
 acuteness and strength of mind to an uncommon 
 degree, and added to great suavity of manners a 
 degree of fortitude rarely found. She succeeded 
 in restoring her mother to animation, who, moved 
 by her tender assiduities, and still more by her 
 repressed emotion, happily found relief for a 
 bursting heart in an abundant flow of tears. 
 From this natural eflusion no one sought to di- 
 vert her ; the children were suffered to mingle 
 their sorrows with hers, till exhausted nature 
 took refuge in temporary repose. 
 
 But short and broken is the widow's slumber ; 
 and she who, to the poignant anguish of being 
 severed from that beloved being who has been to 
 her as the light of life — who, for years together, 
 has been the father, lover, and brother of her soul^ 
 adds the misery of being mother to many un- 
 provided babes, will seldom taste the blessings 
 of repose ; care and anxiety corrode the little 
 peace which violent sorrow failed to destroy, and
 
 24 THE clergyman's widow. 
 
 leave the mind to the gloom of despondency, or 
 the helplessness of despair. 
 
 But, happily for herself and for her children, 
 this good woman had been not only the companion 
 of her husband's gay hours, but the partaker of 
 his most awful cares ; they had taken sweet coun- 
 sel together, and walked in the house of God as 
 friends.' She firmly believed that the union begun 
 on earth would be perfected in heaven ; that the 
 hand which had blighted her joys in this world, 
 would bid them reblossom in another to eternity. 
 
 In what way so large a family could be pro- 
 vided for, in even the poorest way, was a con- 
 sideration that not only distressed the poor mo- 
 ther and the good curate, who, though very 
 young, partook her cares, but every person in 
 the village. Those who had not shed the tears 
 of grateful affection literally over his grave, gave 
 full testimony of their sorrow, when on the fol- 
 lowing Sunday, the young minister, in a plain 
 impressive manner, preached a funeral sermon, 
 not calculated to exhibit his o^vn eloquence, but 
 to awaken their remembrance, which was done 
 still more effectually by his reading a short ad- 
 dress to his parishioners, written a little before his 
 death, and found among the papers transmitted to 
 his widow. Thus attached to the memory of
 
 THE clergyman's WIDOW. 25 
 
 their minister, the people naturally wished to re- 
 tain his family amongst them : but it was soon 
 found that she must quit the parsonage ; and 
 though several were ready to offer a part of 
 her family a temporary accommodation, yet there 
 appeared no possibility of procuring the means 
 of a permanent residence amongst them. 
 
 Mrs. Gardiner had only three relations in the 
 world, to none of whom she could apply for 
 assistance ; two of them were nephews of her 
 mother, who had offended her family by her 
 marriage with Captain Benson, who as a younger 
 brother, was unable to support his wife in the 
 circle she had been accustomed to move. These 
 gentlemen were strangers to Mrs. Gardiner, and 
 little likely to regard her, especially as one had a 
 large family, to whom the other had attached 
 himself, in a manner that allowed no hopes for 
 his humbler relatives. 
 
 The other relation was likewise a cousin, but 
 on the mother's side ; he was an apothecary, and 
 she had been told, in good business ; but she 
 knew he was married, and had a family ; and as 
 he lived at a considerable distance, she had not 
 heard any thing of him for some years : nor had 
 her late husband any relation with whom he kept 
 
 c
 
 26 THE clergyman's widow. 
 
 up an intercourse ; having been an only child, the 
 nearer connexions of life were unknown to him. 
 Something, however, must be done, for the 
 house must be evacuated. Happy would the 
 parishioners have thought themselves, if their 
 young curate had obtained the living ; but this 
 was in the gift of a great man who gave it, as he 
 happened to be asked first, contrary to the ex- 
 ample of his predecessor, who knew the value of 
 the man he had served ; but the young man was 
 informed, that as it was understood he was the 
 schoolmaster of the village, and was much ap- 
 proved in it he would be retained in his present 
 capacity, notwithstanding the residence of the in- 
 cumbent, and allowed thirty pounds a-year for 
 his services. Happy in this addition to his in- 
 come, the young man hastened to the widow, and 
 having told her of his advancement, entreated 
 permission to take little George under his pro- 
 tection, assuring her, that he had already engaged 
 for the board of both at a neighbouring farmer's ; 
 * and his education,' added he, ' I am sure you will 
 trust me with, as I received mine from his excel- 
 lent father.' To this offer Mrs. Gardiner could 
 make no objection, and Mr. Wallingford wanted 
 no thanks. The little boy loved his protector so 
 well, that he made no objection to accompany
 
 THE clergyman's WIDOW. 27 
 
 him ; and though the poor widow felt as if this 
 was the first limb torn from her of a family about 
 to be dissevered, perhaps for ever, yet she felt 
 the value of the protection demanded a cheerful, 
 as well as grateful compliance ; and she parted 
 from her eldest boy without a tear. 
 
 The goods of her neat dwelling — the farming 
 utensils, and stock, were appraised, and bought 
 partly by the neighbours, and partly by the cler- 
 gyman who succeeded. From this disposal of 
 all her worldly property, except a little linen, 
 she raised a sum of between two and three 
 hundred pounds ; and with this she prepared to 
 set out to the nearest market-town, to take a 
 cheap lodging, and endeavour to get into some 
 employment which might find bread for her little 
 ones. 
 
 Desirous to remain in a house so long endear- 
 ed to her till the very latest moment, Mrs. Gar- 
 diner did not avail herself of the invitation of 
 her neighbours, but with calm fortitude saw one 
 thing after another taken out of her house, till 
 it was the very picture of desolation. She was 
 sitting on a broken arm-chair, with her babe at 
 the breast, and little William on the floor at 
 her feet, while her daughters were seated on the 
 kitchen-table, vainly endeavouring to suppress
 
 28 THE clergyman's widow. 
 
 the tears this terrible reverse occasioned, when 
 farmer Gooch, who had been busy about the 
 place all day, came again into the kitchen, and 
 hoped she would change her mind, and take her 
 bed at their house ; he said he could not bear to 
 think of her sleeping in that place, it looked so 
 forlorn and poor-like. 
 
 ' I thank you, friend,' said Mrs. Gardiner, 
 * very sincerely ; but as your wife has kindly lent 
 me beds, I prefer using them : we shall manage 
 very well, I assure you.' 
 
 The farmer looked wistfully round, and stroked 
 his hand across his eyes, but did not offer to go. 
 
 ' Do you want to take away any thing more 
 to night, Mr. Gooch ? I think every thing seems 
 gone.' 
 
 'Why, yesz, madam, to be sure moast oth 
 things be gone, more'z th' pity ; but I be come 
 to tak zummit, zure enough ; but I doezn't 
 know how to ax verry weel, that I doezn't.' 
 
 ' I beg,' said Mrs. Gardiner, earnestly, you 
 will tell me what you mean. Do we owe you 
 any thing ? Did my dear husband get any 
 money of you for his journey ?' 
 
 ' Noa ! noa ! what I meanz is this ; woife and 
 I settled a week sin to take little William, if zo 
 be you can spare he ; we haz but one, and we
 
 THE clergyman's WIDOW. 29 
 
 may thank yo for he ; but I could na fashion 
 to ax yo, becaze we know how much it would 
 cut ourselves to part wi' owr own like ; but if 
 ye'U part wi' Willy, he shall go to schoal wi' 
 his brother, and yer zure my woife '11 be good 
 to him, and he'll have his health far better here 
 than in a gret toon, maist likely ; and when, 
 please God, ye can do wi' him back, we'll not 
 be zae wicked to rob ye o' your child.' 
 
 To part with Willy was indeed a trial, but to 
 leave him in such kind and tender hands, was 
 amongst the greatest comforts to this good mo- 
 ther ; with many tears and thanks, she placed 
 her blooming boy in the rough arms that were 
 stretched out to receive him, and which clasped 
 him to a heart not only more benevolent, but 
 more delicate, than thousands that boast re- 
 finement — a heart that thanked her for having 
 permitted him to be generous, and on which, 
 from having tried its worth, she could repose 
 unlimited confidence. 
 
 With her two boys thus happily provided for, 
 the heart of the poor widow would have been a 
 little lightened of its load, but for the pang of 
 leaving a place still so dear to her. But finding 
 the new rector was to come in a few days, she 
 determined on setting out the following morn- 
 
 c 3
 
 30 THE clergyman's widow. 
 
 ing ; and having procured lodgings, she desired 
 another farmer, whom we formerly mentioned, 
 to convey her and her children thither in his 
 covered cart, with which he complied, with a 
 grateful bow. Her little luggage was easily 
 packed, and sent to be placed in the covered 
 cart. The sound of the farmer's whip was heard 
 in the yard, and the widow, finding that delay 
 only increased the pang of parting — a pang in- 
 creased by the bitter grief of her poor servant, 
 snatched her infant to her arms, and hastily kiss- 
 ing her boys, passed on to the cart. A post- 
 chaise stood at the garden gate ; the girls were 
 standing at the cart, and assured her it was so 
 full there was no possibility of getting in. 
 ' Noa, Miss, it wazn't meant for madam nor ye to 
 get in nather !' exclaimed a dozen voices at once. 
 
 ' But, my dear friend,' said Mrs. Gardiner, ' I 
 must get in somewhere ; there is the rector come 
 in that chaise, and indeed I cannot — cannot see a 
 stranger.' 
 
 ' Madam,' said a miller, pulling off his white 
 hat, * here's nae boddy near you but your own 
 foaks ; we haz made free to get this chaize for 
 you to go in, being az how mare properer for 
 you ; and az to the cart ye zee, we ha put a few 
 things in it to be uzeful, if so be yc"ll excuse
 
 THE clergyman's WIDOW. 31 
 
 uz ; we couldn't let you go without a token 
 o'love — his reverence made uz better Christians 
 than that, I hopes. Farmer Eade will drive it 
 for you, and 'frae him we sail hear ye got safe 
 — God grant it !' 
 
 Strangely blended were the sensations that 
 now rushed on the widow's heart ; grief, grati- 
 tude, and^admiration, combined to affect her, 
 especially as she saw the whole yard, and the 
 lane^ through which she must pass, filled with 
 her^^husband's parishioners. Some aged people, 
 to whom she had been kind, clung to the heads 
 of the horses, as if to stop her progress, and 
 wept aloud ; but the more sensible part of the 
 crowd repressed their own feeling, as if out of 
 compassion for hers : to those around her she 
 offered her hand, but words were utterly denied 
 her ; the children ran with alacrity, though 
 drowned in tears, among the crowd, and shook 
 hands with all within their reach, till the curate, 
 trembling for the effects of such an affecting 
 scene on the weakened frame of their mother, 
 placed them in the chaise with her. The car- 
 riage drew slowly off, hindered by the crowd 
 around, who*, in silent sorrow, watched it turn 
 the corner of the lane : the moment it was out 
 of sight, a Inirst of general sorrow was heard,
 
 32 THE CLERGYMAN S WIDOW. 
 
 and a thousand blessings, mingled with a thou- 
 sand sighs. Little George and William, each 
 held in the arms of their respective protectors, 
 next attracted the homage of the crowd: and 
 the good curate, anxious to imprint the best 
 lessons on their young hearts, taught them to 
 learn from this impressive spectacle, how much 
 they owed to the virtue of their parents, and how 
 sure were the rewards of piety, even in a world 
 of sorrow. 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 As the crowd were slowly dispersing on all sides 
 of the parsonage, and the widow, with heiv fa- 
 therless children, pursuing their melancholy jour- 
 ney, a smart gig, with two clerical gentlemen, 
 attended by a servant, drove down the lane. 
 
 ' What a number of people,' said the driver of 
 the gig, ' are standing about the house ! Are 
 they attending the sale, or are they looking out 
 for me, I wonder ? I shall be cursedly vexed if 
 I do not find the house empty ; and yet it may 
 be my own fault too, for I sent the widow of the 
 last owner a message, importing my arrival would 
 not take place till Saturday.'
 
 THE clergyman's WIDOW. 33 
 
 ' * You had better have written to her,' said his 
 friend, ' and then no mistake could have arisen.' 
 
 ' But I detest writing. I sent down a man on 
 whom I could depend, to buy up the best of the 
 furniture, and to lock it up ; of course I con- 
 cluded she would leave the house when it was 
 empty.' 
 
 ' A fair conclusion certainly.' As these words 
 were spoken, the gig was drawn up to the garden - 
 gate, and the last lingering group of parishioners 
 were modestly withdrawing, when the new rector, 
 addressing the nearest, cried out — ' Harkee, my 
 honest fellow, are all these people assembled to 
 meet me ? or what are they about, hey ?' 
 
 * Ye, zur ! why noa, we none on us thout 
 about ye, loike ; we be comed to bid madam fer- 
 weel, and to wish her good luck, and such loike, 
 that be all ; we hopez no offence : 'tis an ill day 
 to we, God knowz.* 
 
 ' Oh, 'tis all very well, I find ; the widow is 
 gone then ?' 
 
 * Yeez, more'z the pity ; ^zhe be gone, zure 
 enough.' 
 
 ' This same widow, or her late husband, or 
 both,' said the rector's friend, ' must have been 
 people of no common character, to have attracted
 
 34 THE clergyman's widow. 
 
 these people's attention and attachment so 
 strongly ; from the grief expressed in their coun- 
 tenances, I fear she is poorly provided for.' 
 
 ' Very poorly, your honour,' said Mrs. Gooch, 
 dropping a low curtsey, as she applied the corner 
 of her apron to her eye ; ' and zhe do dezerve 
 richez without end, zo zhe do. This be her zun ; 
 your honour never zeed a zweeter ; we do all 
 call um zweet William, zo we do ; he be the 
 immage of his feather, zo he be.' 
 
 * And how happens this little boy to be left 
 with you, good woman ?' inquired the clergy- 
 man, as he patted sweet William's rosy cheek, 
 still moistened by the parting tear. 
 
 ' Why, zur, what cud her do wi zix childer ? 
 It brak her poor heart to part, to be zure, wi' 
 thiz'n ; but still zhe were fain to put him under 
 huzband and I, for zhe did know we would feed 
 him o'th best we had, and the curate in good 
 time will see after his larning.' 
 
 ' How you stand, Simpson, listening to that 
 woman's palaver,' cried the new rector, ' while 
 I am quite at a nonplus about dinner ! I came 
 here as hungry as a hunter, and had set my heart 
 on a boiled fowl and a slice of ham for my din- 
 ner, things one expects, of course, to find in a 
 country village ; and here's one fellow tells me
 
 THE clergyman's WIDOW. 35 
 
 he had but three chickens, and his wife put them 
 into Mrs. Gardiner's cart ; and another informs 
 me very coolly, that he put the only ham in the 
 village into the same cart himself — what the 
 devil shall we do ?' 
 
 * I am thinking,' said his friend, awaking from 
 a reverie, ' I am thinking we must procure ' 
 
 ' We can procure nothing but a beef steak 
 and a leg of mutton.' 
 
 ' 'Tis but a trifle, indeed, among so many ; 
 but still it will be a great matter to her.* 
 
 * To her ! to m5, you mean ; then you think 
 we can manage with these things ?* 
 
 ' I will never rest till I have managed it ; and 
 I have two friends on whose services I can rely. 
 
 ' Two friends ! why, for such a dinner, one cook 
 is as good as a thousand.' 
 
 ' Cook !' cried the benevolent absentee ; ' yes, 
 Cook is the very man who is most likely to se- 
 cure the bounty.' 
 
 ' Bounty ! what are you talking about ?' 
 
 ' Queen Anne's bounty to be sure, which we 
 must get immediately for Mrs. Gardiner; and 
 by-and-by, when this little man is big enough, 
 surely either you or I can find interest to get him 
 into Christ's school.' 
 
 * May God in heaven bless your worship, and
 
 36 THE clergyman's widow. 
 
 your worship's children after ye !' cried Mrs. 
 Gooch, dropping on her knees ; ' Christ's zchool, 
 indeed ! ay, that be the school where ye were taut 
 yourself, zo it waz, I be zure. I think i' my heart, 
 zo I do, yer juzt zuch another az our own parzon > 
 and may the bleszing of bleszings be on ye !* 
 
 The emotion of the honest dame attracted the 
 remaining group, and they all fervently joined 
 in invoking good for him who sought it for the 
 widow and the fatherless. 
 
 The rector was moved with this scene, for he 
 was a good-natured man ; and while with a re- 
 laxed countenance and conciliating voice, he led 
 his friend into the house, he assured him, that 
 after dinner, he would gladly concert any mea- 
 sures most likely to procure the wished-for an- 
 nuity for Mrs. Gardiner. 
 
 This business the benevolent clergyman did not 
 suffer to pass unnoticed. When the proper let- 
 ters were dispatched, the evening shut in, and the 
 hour of social intercourse returned, after thank- 
 ing the rector for his attention to a subject which 
 was so interesting to him, he inquired farther, 
 what motive had induced him to take up his re- 
 sidence in a house, which, though neat and 
 pleasant, was far inferior to the vicarage of his 
 more beneficial living in Staffordshire ?
 
 THE clergyman's WIDOW. 37 
 
 * Dear me, what a question ! I thought I told 
 you, when I asked you to induct me to this, that 
 it is the very best sporting place in the West of 
 England. I know I shall not be able to live here 
 after Christmas, but, in the mean time, I expect 
 much amusement. I have engaged a curate on that 
 account — the young man you saw in the garden.' 
 
 * Whose modest deportment, I confess, inter- 
 ested me much. Did you tell me what you 
 meant to give him ?' 
 
 'I do not recollect; he is the schoolmaster 
 here, and as I concluded he could live somehow, 
 even if he had not my curacy, I settled to give 
 him thirty pounds a-year.' 
 
 ' You forget yourself ; it is your footman you 
 give that.* 
 
 ' No, I am right. I give my footman twenty- 
 five guineas, and find him in boots ; so, as yoii 
 say, 'tis much the same.' 
 
 ' No,yoM are mistaken there ; 'tis by no means 
 the same, for your footman lives in your house — 
 your curate has to pay for his board.' 
 
 ' True, very true ; but what can we do } one 
 cannot live without servants ; and these fellows 
 are so scaucy now-a-days ; and then, as to the 
 curate, poor man, if he is co?itent, you know, 
 why, that is every thing.*
 
 38 THE clergyman's -widow. 
 
 ' Not every thing, my dear sir. Many of our 
 cloth practise resignation as a duty, whose exter- 
 nal calmness induces the unthinking to mistake 
 it for content ; but, alas ! the feeling heart can 
 be seldom blessed with the sweet cheerfulness of 
 content, when it is burthened with the cares of 
 poverty, or smarting under the sneers of vulgar 
 pride, too often bestov/ed on that very delicacy 
 which is the natural offspring of superior educa- 
 tion and conscious worth. The situation of such 
 men presses heavily on my heart, not the less so 
 because their sufferings are endured in silence, 
 and their sighs breathed only in secret.' 
 
 * 'Tis a sad thing indeed, and I wish the legis- 
 lature would think about it.' 
 
 ' As you say, 'tis a sad thing. I hope some- 
 thing will be done by-and-by ; mean time, do 
 you think it would be right for me to give Wal- 
 lingford forty pounds a-year ?' 
 
 ' I think it would be a very good thing in- 
 deed ; 'tis a very excellent thought ; I give you 
 great credit for it.* 
 
 * And when I am not here, he may as well 
 live in the house ; 'twill save him some expence, 
 you know, hey ?' 
 
 ' This too is an admirable thought,' said Mr. 
 Simpson, rising ; ' you are going to use your
 
 THE clergyman's WIDOW.' 39 
 
 new acquisition as you ought, I perceive ; and I 
 wish you good night, under the most pleasing 
 impressions both of the parishioners of White- 
 chapel and their new rector.' 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 We will now return to Mrs. Gardiner and her 
 daughters, who arrived in due time at the town 
 of S , and were civilly received by the mis- 
 tress of the house, who conducted them into a 
 neat small parlour, which had been hired for 
 them by farmer Eade, who shortly after arrived 
 with his store-cart, the contents of which con- 
 siderably enhanced the consequence of her lodgers 
 in the eye of the hostess. The good farmer took 
 a hasty but most affectionate leave, followed by 
 the heartfelt thanks and good wishes of all the 
 party. Mrs. Gardiner, extremely fatigued, though 
 less by her journey than her feelings, lay down 
 with her infant on the bed, while her affectionate 
 children undertook to dispose of their clothes and 
 provisions in the new apartments : while they are 
 doing this, and getting ready a cup of tea for their 
 mother, we will introduce our young readers to 
 each of them personally, as well as we are able. 
 
 D 2
 
 40 THE clergyman's WIDOW. 
 
 Maria, the eldest, was a tall, handsome, fine- 
 looking girl, with dark-brown hair, that hung in 
 clustering curls upon her forehead, and shadowed 
 her bright hazel eyes ; the rich glow of health ani- 
 mated her features, and gave strength and agility 
 to her motions : to the most lively sensibility she 
 added a sweetness of temper, patience of disposi- 
 tion, and firmness of mind, not often united with 
 acute feeling ; and the quickness of her penetra- 
 tion, the extent of her capacity, and the solidity of 
 her judgment, gave promise of an early but not 
 premature maturity ; she appeared likely to be not 
 only as a second mother to the younger branches 
 of her family, but in some measure to supply to 
 their surviving parent the friend she had lost. 
 
 Sarah, the second daughter, was a most amia- 
 ble girl, but of a very different character to that 
 of Maria. Her form was elegant, but delicate 
 even to fragility ; and though her health was very 
 good, the exquisite fairness of her skin, and the 
 slight texture of her frame, conveyed the idea of its 
 instability, in a manner which increased the inter- 
 est her beauty excited ; she appeared like an exo- 
 tic flower, which will shrink beneath the first blast 
 of winter, and wither under the first touch of 
 pain. Her manners were so gentle and meek, her
 
 THE clergyman's AVIDOW. 41 
 
 voice so sweet and deprecating, that her good 
 father used to call her his ' lily of the valley,' and 
 often observed, that she was a kind of privileged 
 being in the house, for though she might often 
 err, yet she never offended ; and as the angry 
 passions never reached her heart, so the voice of 
 reproof had been a stranger to her ear. 
 
 Though the timidity of this lovely child threw 
 a veil over her talents, yet, like her eldest sister 
 she too was blessed with an excellent understand- 
 ing, to which was added intuitive taste, a fine 
 perception of excellence in whatever was present- 
 ed to her mind ' of beautiful and good,' and a 
 faculty of pursuing and combining ideas not 
 often found in early life. 
 
 Retired and enthusiastic, her acute sensibility 
 and vivid imagination had induced her to suffer 
 more than either of her sisters on the late griev- 
 ous loss, while with less activity, either from 
 nature or habit, she had fewer resources to fly to ; 
 and notwithstanding the many excellent reasons 
 urged by her mother, and her own strong sense 
 of their propriety, she sought to indulge the 
 sorrow which increased her own helplessness and 
 her mother's tender solicitude. 
 
 Betsey, the youngest girl, was just turned 
 eleven ; in her person she greatly resembled her 
 
 D 3
 
 42 THE clergyman's widow. 
 
 eldest sister : but the arch glances of her black 
 eyes, and the smile of playful roguery that dim- 
 pled round her mouth, attracted more general 
 admiration. There was a spice of waggery in all 
 she did, that made her at once the delight and 
 torment of the house ; and but for the excellent 
 education, and the undeviating propriety of all 
 around, she had become that dangerous thing, a 
 female wit ; but as far as there is mischief in this 
 character, the innocent mirth of Betsey, and the 
 good-humoured raillery with which she sought 
 to raise a smile on the faces of her own dear cir- 
 cle, will be found exempt. She was an industri- 
 ous little girl, as well as a clever one, and gave 
 promise of possessing those kind of powers her 
 forlorn situation so peculiarly called for. Being 
 very near the age of George, who was only one 
 year younger, she had found it a great trial to 
 part with him ; but when Maria had assured her 
 that her crying would ^make her poor mother 
 suffer more, Betsey struggled with her feelings, 
 and smiled through her tears. 
 
 Such where the daughters that the widowed mo- 
 ther, on her arising, found waiting, with anxious 
 looks for her return. Maria approaching, took 
 her little brother from her mother, while Betsey 
 drew her chair to the tea-table, and begged her
 
 THE clergyman's WIDOW. 43 
 
 to eat the nice toast Maria had j ust made. Sarah 
 sat still, gazing on her with looks that spoke 
 volumes of kind things to the mother's heart, 
 yet pained while they consoled it. 
 
 How various were the plans, no sooner form- 
 ed than rejected, that now passed through the 
 mind of the agitated parent, as she surveyed 
 these lovely blossoms, whose humble hopes 
 thus blighted on the very entrance of life, left 
 them exposed to all its hardships, at the very 
 time when they would feel them most severely ! 
 they were too old to enjoy the happy ignorance 
 of infancy, too young to feel the salutary in- 
 fluence of reason and religion. We can all feel 
 long before we can argue ; but it is likewise the 
 happy characteristic of youth to feel sorrow ra- 
 ther as an acute pain than a corrosive disease, 
 and easily to throw off the burthen of grief, at 
 the first dawn of hope, the first promise of relief. 
 
 Nearly a fortnight had passed in their new 
 habitation, in which time the extrem^e anxiety of 
 her mind had made Mrs. Gardiner's cheek look 
 more pale than even the sorrow of the preceding 
 month ; and yet she had not been able to form 
 any feasible plan, or adopt any mode of employ- 
 ment that appeared likely to afford a prospect 
 of subsistence for herself and children ; but,
 
 44 THE clergyman's widow. 
 
 though, distressed, she was not despairing ; day 
 by da)'^ she looked up to Him who can make 
 ' rough places plain, and crooked paths straight, 
 before those who put their trust in Him.' 
 
 One day, as these thoughts were passing in 
 her mind, with her hand before her eyes, she 
 happened to withdraw it hastily, and saw her 
 eldest daughter looking at her with a counte- 
 nance so full of tender solicitude and anxiety, 
 that she felt the amiable girl was justly entitled 
 to share every thought, as she partook every care 
 of her bosom ; and she therefore freely told her 
 all that was passing in her mind, her plans for 
 future ^life, and the many fears those plans in- 
 volved. 
 
 ' My dear mother,' said the good girl, ' you 
 do not mention the necessity you will undoubt- 
 edly be under for parting with us, at least with 
 me. I see all your kindness, in trying to save 
 me the pain of this information, and my heart 
 thanks you for it ; but I beg you will not distress 
 yourself on my account : I can indeed, mamma 
 —I can do any thing you wish me.' 
 
 The fond mother clasped her daughter to her 
 full heart, and for some minutes their tears were 
 mingled together in silent emotion ; but as soon 
 as Mrs. Gardiner was able to speak, she desired
 
 THE clergyman's avidow. 4.5 
 
 Maria to tell her what had passed in her own 
 mind respecting her situation. 
 
 ' Why, mother,' said Maria, endeavouring to 
 compose herself, ' as far as I can learn, there are 
 only three ways in which a woman can gain her 
 own subsistence ; the first and best is being a 
 private governess, or teacher in a school ; the 
 second is being a milliner ; and the last is being 
 a lady's maid. Now I am too young for either 
 the first or last ; besides, my education is too 
 unfinished for the one, and yet too refined for 
 the other : the middle place appears, therefore, 
 every way the best. I have hands, and I know 
 how to use them now, thanks to your care ! and if 
 I am taught a business, in a very short time I may 
 use them for you and the baby, my dear mother.' 
 
 ' But, my dear Maria, you are fond of reading; 
 you have even a passion for study ; I fear the em- 
 ployment you speak of will never be sufficiently 
 interesting to you. If I had the means of finish- 
 ing your education — but alas ! 
 
 ' Do not think of it, dear mother. I assure 
 you I have examined my own heart ; I know 
 where my weak place lies,' said the sweet girl, 
 forcing a smile. ' Yes, I remember stealing the 
 Grecian history out of the study to read it in the 
 hayloft, when I ought to have been stitching
 
 46 THE clergyman's widow. 
 
 wristbands ; but I was then a thoughtless little 
 girl ; I know better now, and you shall see, dear 
 mother (if you dare trust me), you shall see that 
 when it is my duty, I can sew the whole year 
 through, without reading a single page.' 
 
 * And when you are grown a great woman,' 
 said little Betsey, pressing in between them, 
 * will you teach me to make things, and get mo- 
 ney for my mother, and send some to brother 
 George ?' 
 
 ' I will do the best I can, my love,' returned 
 Maria ; ' but you are too young yet ; you must 
 go to school before you can do any thing.' 
 
 * To school !' said Mrs. Gardiner ; ' alas ! that 
 is impossible.' 
 
 ' No, indeed, mother,' interrupted Maria, eager- 
 ly, ' it is not ; there is a boarding-school only a 
 mile out of town, where they take little girls who 
 are sharp and active, as a kind of apprentices, 
 for fifty pounds ; they would take Betsey for 
 seven years ; they would teach her every thing 
 that would qualify her to teach others ; but then 
 she must be obliging, industrious, and ' 
 
 ' Oh !' cried the child, ' I will do all, every- 
 thing they ask me ; you know father used to 
 call me his little bee, I mended his stockings so 
 nicely.
 
 THE clergyman's WIDOW. 47 
 
 ' ' But then,' said Maria, gravely, ' you must 
 not laugh at the young ladies, not make game of 
 the maids, nor have any of your old tricks, 
 Betsey.' 
 
 To this Betsey, with a deep sigh, replied, she 
 would not do any thing naughty, if she could 
 help it. 
 
 * Pray, Maria, how came you by this know- 
 ledge of the school ?' interrupted the ruminating 
 mother. 
 
 ' Mrs. Robinson, the mistress of the house, 
 told me,' said Maria ; ' and by the same channel 
 I have learned that Mrs. Ideson, the milliner, is 
 in want of an apprentice. I assure you, dear 
 mother, I did not begin the conversation with 
 Mrs. Robinson ; but people in towns, I suppose, 
 make themselves free with the business of other 
 people.' 
 
 'The poor and dependent,' said the widow, 
 * are every where made free with, my love ; but 
 Mrs. Robinson, I doubt not, meant very well ; 
 and her information is of great consequence to 
 us. I will endeavour to call on Mrs. Ideson to- 
 morrow, and, at least, hear her terms ; and I 
 will lose very little time in applying for the va- 
 cancy at the boarding school.' 
 
 ' But, mother,' said Sarah, raising her long
 
 48 THE clergyma-n's widow. 
 
 silken eyelashes, and looking wistly in her mo- 
 ther's face, * you have said nothing about me.' 
 This appeal was answered only by a shake of the 
 head. She turned to her sister — ' Maria, what 
 am / to do ?' 
 
 ' You must muse, and draw, and poetize, and 
 nurse little Henry, my love, and comfort our 
 mother ; you can do nothing better than that, my 
 dear Sarah, for then you will do us all good.' 
 
 The tear of conscious helplessness was mingled 
 with a smile of gratitude at the conclusion of 
 this speech ; and Maria closed the conversation, 
 by throwing her arms round Sarah's neck, and 
 declaring that if it pleased Heaven to prosper 
 her endeavours, she should feel it her greatest 
 delight to place Sarah under such instruction as 
 would expand her talents, and enable her to be- 
 come as much the benefit as she was now the 
 ornament of her family. 
 
 CHAPTER VH. 
 
 The day following, Mrs. Gardiner, consigning her 
 infant son to the tender Sarah, took the arm of 
 her eldest daughter, and for the first time left
 
 THE clergyman's WIDOW. 49 
 
 her lodgings, to make the necessary inquiries of 
 Mrs. Isedon, the milliner. 
 
 It would not be easy for the most gay and 
 light-hearted mortal to have beheld this interest- 
 ing woman, now in the very prime of life, grace- 
 ful in her person, elegant in her manners, and 
 dignified even by her sorrows, thus slowly moving 
 on, supported by her blooming child, without 
 feeling the finest chords of sympathy awakened 
 in the heart ; and the worthy woman to whom 
 her visit was paid was capable of feeling all the 
 claims of compassion ; she received Mrs. Gardiner 
 with the deference due to her virtues, and the 
 consideration necessary to her circumstances ; 
 and so much courage did the poor widow gain 
 from the unaffected friendliness of her manners, 
 and the comfort she found in her first reception, 
 that she advised with her on the establishment 
 of her younger child, and had the satisfaction 
 of hearing an extremely-favourable account of 
 the governess and her establishment. 
 
 Having settled with Mrs. Ideson that her 
 daughter should be taken as an apprentice, for 
 the easy fee of twenty guineas, she was rising to 
 depart, when the good woman, in a kind of half- 
 thoughtless way, took up a linen glove, and, as 
 if she had been addressing a customer, observed, 
 
 E
 
 50 THE clergyman's WIDOW. 
 
 such, gloves were very much worn at present, 
 especially by children, for whom they answered 
 exceedingly well. 
 
 ' Then my children must learn to make them,' 
 said Mrs. Gardiner, laying the glove upon the 
 table. 
 
 The milliner looked a little disappointed, but, 
 as if not willing to relinquish her point, she said 
 — ' If you, ma'am, or any of your daughters, 
 should like to make such, I will give you a pat- 
 tern, and teach you in a leisure hour any day. 
 I buy a great many of them, and there is no 
 person in this town who makes them.' She 
 paused. 
 
 The widow now caught her meaning, and 
 overwhelmed with a sense of the Divine Hand, 
 which, by various channels, was thus relieving 
 her oppressed heart, she sat down on the chair 
 she had just quitted, pale and agitated, almost to 
 fainting. 
 
 * I hope, dear madam,' said Mrs. Ideson, with 
 evident alarm, ' I have not grieved or offended 
 you ; God knows, it was very far from my in- 
 tention,' and her streaming eyes proved the truth 
 of this assertion. 
 
 As soon as the widow was able to speak, she 
 assured her of her gratitude for the kind interest
 
 THE clergyman's WIDOW. 51 
 
 she had taken in her welfare, and declared her 
 intention of taking the earliest opportunity of 
 accepting her instruction respecting the gloves, 
 as an employment peculiarly adapted to her re- 
 tired habits, and those of the daughter that 
 remained with her ; and after taking an affec- 
 tionate leave of the first acquaintance she had 
 formed in her new place of residence, she re- 
 turned, with a heart greatly lightened of its 
 burthen, to her dear little circle, who, with gra- 
 titude and pleasure, saw the first dawnings of 
 hope shed a lustre on her lovely, though still 
 pallid features, and joined with her in devout 
 acknowledgments to Him who causeth ' light to 
 spring out of darkness,' and giveth the ' spirit 
 of joy for the garments of heaviness.' 
 
 Mrs. Gardiner found that Maria's information 
 respecting the school had been pretty correct ; 
 and having duly considered the matter, she settled 
 it as the best plan she could possibly adopt for 
 her youngest daughter, who accordingly in a few 
 ^ays removed to her new habitation, as did Maria 
 to that of her worthy mistress. 
 
 When these important matters were arranged, 
 
 Mrs. Gardiner began seriously to apply herself to 
 
 the making of gloves, in which she was assisted 
 
 by Sarah, who, though not possessing the quick- 
 
 E 2
 
 52 THE clergyman's widow. 
 
 ness of either of her sisters, excelled them both 
 in neatness. 
 
 The mistress of the boarding-school, who soon 
 felt for her new pupil that preference her talents 
 and temper were equally calculated to inspire, no 
 sooner learnt Mrs. Gardiner's mode of employ- 
 ment, than she sent her a large and profitable 
 order ; and in a short time she found herself 
 quite unequal to finishing the work before her ; 
 while demurring on the possibility of the thing, 
 she was surprised by a visit from farmer Gooch, 
 accompanied by her sweet William, who, the 
 very picture of health, ran into her arms with all 
 his accustomed fondness. 
 
 After the first surprise was over, Mrs. Gardiner 
 informed the honest man of all that had befallen 
 her since she had left the parsonage, and received 
 from him an account of the welfare of her eldest 
 son, who, he said, often visited the old spot, as 
 the new rector was very fond of him — ' But, 
 odds boddikins !' cried the farmer, recollecting 
 himself, ' I ha got a letter in my pocket fra he ; 
 and I beez very near forgetting he, zo I be.' 
 
 This letter was a very short but very pleasant 
 one, and not less surprising than agreeable. It 
 contained the information that the bounty for 
 clergyman's widows was granted to her ; and it
 
 THE clergyman's WIDOW. 53 
 
 contained an enclosure advanced for the first half- 
 year. The honest man exclaimed with joy at 
 the sight of the bank-bill — ' Why, there now, 
 look you, I hopez az how when I goez back, 
 ye'U let me zend yer maid Nanny agen ; zhe be 
 gon to live wi neighbour Eade, but zhe do na- 
 thing but fret after ye, and I 'zure, so I be, that 
 ye'll never be able to nurze that beaby without ; 
 za next markit day I'll zend her, zo I will.' 
 
 Well aware that Nanny would be of the 
 greatest service, Mrs. Gardiner gladly accepted 
 this offer : and the farmer, after spending a few 
 hours, which, as Ossian says of the joy of grief, 
 were * pleasant though mournful,' he took his 
 leave, accompanied by his young charge, from 
 whom the poor mother found it an increased 
 pang to part. She had written a grateful letter 
 to the new rector, and likewise a few lines to her 
 son George ; on receiving the latter, the farmer 
 once more drew out his well-worn pocket-book, 
 and produced a letter from the child, which, as 
 he justly observed, was as nigh forgotten as need 
 be, for being no scholard himself, he was mighty 
 apt to look over such things. The fond mother 
 seized it with avidity ; and having bade one ^boy 
 adieu, consoled herself with perusing the simple 
 epistle of another ; and little boys who have 
 
 E 3
 
 54 THE clergyman's widow. 
 
 mothers, and mothers who have little boys, may 
 not find it wholly uninteresting. 
 
 * MY OWN DEAR MOTHER, 
 
 * I am very glad Mr. Gooch is coming 
 to see you, because I can assure you I am very 
 well ; and every body is good to me, and I am 
 very happy ; and I do not cry but when I have 
 been at the church, or at our own house, and 
 then I cannot help it ; and I'm sure you know 
 why. Mr. Wallingford says I do very well at 
 my Latin, and I go on with geography, the 
 same as Maria told me. Mr. Wilson at the par- 
 sonage was so good as to give me my own little 
 garden ; but I feel as if I had rather not go and 
 dig it now ; and so I go to work in Willy's; and 
 Mrs. Gooch is so glad to see me, she gives me 
 pie, and clotted cream ; but I know it is all for 
 love of you and dear father. Pray tell Betsey 
 to write me a long letter, and kiss little Henry 
 for me, and give my love to sisters. And so no 
 more from your very loving little man, 
 
 ' George Gardiner.' 
 
 Over this scrawl how many tears were shed ! 
 how many kisses were given the unconscious pa- 
 per ! But the heart-thrilling effusions of a mo- 
 ther's love and a widow's woe at length subsided,
 
 THE clergyman's WIDOW. 55 
 
 and left the heart calm, resigned, and even grate- 
 ful ; for much of sorrow was removed, and a pro- 
 spect of comparative happiness presented, which 
 she alone can fully estimate who has drank, as 
 this widow had done, ' the dregs of the cup of 
 affliction.' 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 On the arrival of Nanny, Mrs. Gardiner found 
 herself enabled to pursue her employment, in a 
 manner which (with the late income she had ac- 
 quired) enabled her to provide for her little fa- 
 mily, and likewise to procure clothing for her 
 two absent daughters ; but more she could not 
 possibly do, though her heart yearned to procure 
 for Sarah the advantages of education. This 
 lovely young creature had a fine taste for poetry, 
 had a little knowledge of music, and a decided 
 talent for drawing. No wonder that a mind 
 formed for these elegant exercises shrunk from 
 the dull monotony to which it was subjected, 
 and sunk at times into a state of listless apathy, 
 or melancholy silence. These changes the tender 
 heart of the mother felt, and mourned so much, 
 that, joined to the severer trials she had endured,
 
 56 THE clergyman's widow. 
 
 greatly injured her constitution, and brought on 
 a slow fever, that during the succeeding spring 
 continually harassed and threatened her. This 
 circumstance, however painful in itself, was of 
 essential benefit to poor Sarah, whose energies 
 thus powerfully excited called into being virtues, 
 and awakened exertions, as desirable in herself 
 as they were efficacious to her afflicted parent. 
 She had now no sister on whom to lean for help, 
 and the mother who had been her support so long, 
 now leaned for help upon her alone. She saw, 
 and she fulfilled her duty ; day after day she be- 
 came more conscious of her own powers ; and by 
 the time that her services had restored her 
 afflicted mother to a degree of health, she had 
 herself attained a new being, and rejoiced in the 
 acquisition. 
 
 With joy and gratitude, the mother, as she 
 gained convalescence, beheld this happy change, 
 and thought it cheaply purchased even by her own 
 sufferings, and that derangement of her strict sys- 
 tem of economy which was inevitable during her 
 illness. She was still extremely weak and low, 
 and greatly in need of support, when her consci- 
 entious exactness in the discharge of her little 
 arrears of rent, and other necessaries, induced her 
 to curtail the few indulgences she enjoyed ; and
 
 THE clergyman's WIDOW. 57 
 
 Sarah saw, with extreme alarm, that every bad 
 symptom was reviving, when one day an old lady 
 visited her lodging to order some gloves, being 
 recommended by Mrs. Ideson. Being utterly 
 unable to stand, and receive the lady's commands, 
 Mrs. Gardiner respectfully withdrew, and the 
 gentlewoman, in a cross tone, desired Sarah to 
 measure her hand. 
 
 Sarah obeyed, with trembling haste and ill- 
 managed alacrity. — ' The girl's a fool,' said the 
 cross lady. 
 
 Poor Sarah felt all her former weakness re- 
 turning fast, but had no time for the contem- 
 plation of her own feelings, being interrupted 
 with — ' Who is that pale-faced woman that just 
 now left the room ?' 
 
 ' My mother, madam.' 
 
 * Umph ! I thought as much : but who is your 
 mother, child, and what's the matter with her ?' 
 
 In a tremulous tone, and with glistening eyes, 
 the poor girl, in a few but well-chosen words 
 (for the elegance of native refinement dictated 
 them), informed her harsh interrogator, that her 
 mother was the widow of a clergyman ; that she 
 had six children, had suffered much sorrow, and 
 was slowly recovering from the effects of a dis- 
 order occasioned by too great solicitude, and by 
 nursing her youngest child too long.
 
 58 THE clebgyman's widow. 
 
 * Umph ! and I suppose she regains strength 
 by living on weak tea and water-gruel ?' 
 
 Sarah innocently replied, ' That her mother 
 did certainly live in that way, but yet did not 
 gain strength, as she had hoped to do.' 
 
 * That may be,' returned the interrogator, 
 doubtfully ; adding, ' So you and your mother 
 make gloves. I suppose you prefer it to any other 
 employment, hey, child ?' 
 
 ' I have great pleasure in helping my mother, 
 ma'am ; but I do not 'prefer it to ' 
 
 ' To what ? why can't you speak ? what 
 would you rather do than make gloves ?' 
 
 ' I am so fond of drawing, ma'am, that I should 
 be happy if I had a pencil always in my fingers.' 
 
 ' Drawing !' vociferated the lady ; ' drawing 
 indeed ! This is a high joke — drawing indeed !' 
 
 ' Yes, madam,' said the trembling Sarah — it 
 is wrong, in our situation, I know ; and I 
 assure you it is now nine weeks and four days 
 since I touched a pencil.' 
 
 ' You reckon accurately, I doubt not ; but 
 who told you it was wrong to draw ?' 
 
 ' I concluded so, because my mother was as 
 fond of it once as I am now ; but she never in- 
 dulged herself in pursuing it, after I was born, 
 except to give me instructions about two years 
 ago, when we had no little baby in the house,
 
 THE clergyman's WIDOW. 59 
 
 and it helped to amuse my father. I have tried 
 to follow her example, and, since her illness, 
 have made a resolution to draw no more.' 
 
 ' You are a precious couple, both mother and 
 child,' said the lady, ^vith a perturbed counte- 
 nance, rushing hastily out of the parlour, drop- 
 ping her glove in her haste to depart; Sarah 
 picked it up, and ran after her with it ; she has- 
 tily snatched it from her, and getting into an 
 elegant, though plain carriage, was quickly out 
 of sight; and the astonished girl returned into 
 the house, to relate the strange occurrence, as 
 she deemed it, to her mother. 
 
 The very private manner in which Mrs. Gar- 
 diner had been enabled to carry on her little busi- 
 ness had saved her from many a pang, to which 
 caprice, haughtiness, or levity, would otherwise 
 have subjected her; but from her various conver- 
 sations with Maria, whose commerce with the 
 world was more extended, she knew that ' such 
 things were ;' and she assured her timid child 
 that though to them this lady's conduct was new, 
 yet there was nothing surprising in the case ; that 
 she must not allow herself to be hurt at it, as it 
 was what poor Maria was subject to every day 
 of her life, and must continue to be ; and yet 
 you see, my love,' continued Mrs. Gardiner, 
 * she is cheerful and happy, and looks forward
 
 60 THE clergyman's WIDOW. 
 
 to that time with pleasure, when by encountering 
 such kind of difficulties more fully, she shall be 
 enabled to serve us all : and you, Sarah, have 
 exerted yourself so much, and so happily of late, 
 that I have no doubt you will soon be enabled 
 to share her satisfaction.' 
 
 Grateful for her mother's praise, and happy in 
 the consciousness of having merited it in some 
 measure, the good girl smiled away the tear that 
 had sprung to her eye, and began to play with 
 little Henry, who was now a fine child, remark- 
 ably like that parent whose eye was closed in 
 death ere his began to shine ; he was now near 
 two years old, and beginning to prattle — a pe- 
 riod of infancy the most interesting and delight- 
 ful ; and many a sweet and many a bitter hour 
 did he impart to his widowed mother, who, we 
 should remark, had, during the last summer, 
 frequently been blessed with a short visit from 
 one or other of her sons, who still remained with 
 their protectors. 
 
 For her eldest she had few cares, for he was 
 altogether lodged in the best of hands, and his 
 improvement in learning and manners was equal 
 to her largest wishes ; but her sweet William, 
 that young blossom, on whom the latest, fondest 
 cares of his ever-lamented father had been 
 lavished, was in imminent danger of being ruined,
 
 THE clergyman's WIDOW. 61 
 
 by the ill-judged indulgence of the generous 
 farmer and his tender wife. He had naturally 
 contracted their dialect, and acquired somewhat 
 of their manners ; and though the native sweet- 
 ness of his disposition made him remain a good 
 child, he was no longer the charming boy who 
 excited lively and affectionate regard. These 
 circumstances were subjects of great regret to 
 the anxious mother, and were amongst the many- 
 cares which, by preying on her mind, contributed 
 to enfeeble her frame, and would undoubtedly 
 have ruined her constitution, had she not been 
 able, from time to time, to look upwards, in 
 humble confidence that the supporting hand of a 
 merciful Father would be still further extended 
 in her behalf, and that, with progressive wants, 
 she should experience progressive mercies. 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 Soon after the last-mentioned incident, Mrs. 
 Gardiner put on her cloak, to step into the town 
 with a newly-finished order, and Sarah, taking 
 Henry in her arms, walked to the window. An 
 equipage was at the door, which attracted the 
 infant's attention; and as Sarah heard (as she
 
 62 THE CLERGYMA.n's WIDOW. 
 
 believed) her mother's foot re-enter the parlour, 
 she said — ' Look mother, this is the cross lady's 
 coach ; 'tis a splendid shell for a bitter kernel ;' 
 In uttering the last words, for which her gentle 
 spirit instantly reproached itself, she turned 
 blushing round, and beheld, not her mother, but 
 the cross lady herself ! 
 
 ' A pretty reception for a customer truly ! but 
 not intended for the cross lady's ear, of course ; 
 but don't stand blushing and trembling there ; 
 you can't face out a lie, I see you can't, so you 
 had better not attempt it, child. So I am a cross 
 lady, and a bitter kernel, am I ? I think it quite 
 enough for a girl like you to set up for a beauty, 
 without pretending to the insolence of wit into 
 the bargain.' 
 
 ' I never do attempt to lie, madam,' said Sa- 
 rah, a little recovering, ' and I know very well I 
 have no pretensions to ' She was inter- 
 rupted by the entrance of the lady's servants, 
 who carried a large hamper, which having set 
 down, they withdrew. But Sarah remained si- 
 lent, glad to be relieved from her embarrassment. 
 
 ' Well, child,' said the lady, after a pause, * I 
 rather think those men saved you from the sin 
 of lying, for once. D'ye see this hamper ? — it 
 contains old Madeira wine, which you must give
 
 THE clergyman's WIDOW. 63 
 
 your mother a glass of three times a-day, and 
 you will find, that though I am a cross old wo- 
 man, I am a good doctress.' 
 
 * Oh, madam ! oh, dear madam !' cried Sarah, 
 clasping her hand, and bending suppliant before 
 her benefactress, 'can you — will you forgive me? 
 how could I be so wicked to call you cross ? 
 Oh, I have behaved very ill, but it all arose 
 
 from my ignorance, and from ' She burst 
 
 into tears. 
 
 The lady walked to the door, apparently to 
 give some directions to her servants, but in reality 
 to hide her own emotions ; on her return, she 
 found Sarah endeavouring to compose herself. 
 
 * You will oblige me, child,' said she, in a 
 somewhat softened tone, * if you will finish your 
 speech — you were going to say, I believe, why 
 my ill-humour had so particularly affected you.' 
 
 Sarah gained a little courage, and wiped her 
 eyes, answered — ' I believe, madam, you were 
 the first person that ever spoke in a harsh voice 
 to me in all my life, and that was the reason I 
 used such an epithet to you. I have been treated 
 like a pet-lamb, ever since I can remember ; my 
 poor father used to call me his lily of the vale, 
 and, like that humble flower, I was protected as 
 with a double guard ; my mother and sisters 
 
 f2
 
 64 THE clergyman's widow. 
 
 have been at least equally tender over me, and 
 the sad change which has separated us. was not 
 permitted to "visit my face too roughly." — 
 Thus, you see, madam, I have been spoiled by 
 indulgence : we were always a family of love ; 
 but I, like the favoured disciple, have been the 
 only one who reposed constantly on the maternal 
 bosom ; and you cannot wonder that I am a little 
 weakened by the tenderness with which I have 
 been so peculiarly blessed.' 
 
 ' Umph !' said the lady, taking a pinch of 
 snufF; 'you have read Shakespeare, child, it 
 seems, and the New Testament, too — and you 
 love drawing — and so do I.' She paused ; and 
 Sarah, too young to comprehend her intentions 
 through the veil of manners so singular, stood 
 quietly before her. Such was their situation, 
 when Mrs. Gardiner did indeed re-enter her little 
 parlour. 
 
 Unable to comprehend the looks of either par- 
 ty, Mrs. Gardiner was on the point of retiring, 
 when her daughter i^eized her hand, saying — 
 * Oh, mamma, this good lady has brought you 
 some of the very wine which the doctor said 
 would restore you ; she is very, very good : and 
 I,' said Sarah, covering her face with her hands, 
 and sinking on her mother's breast, ' I have
 
 THE clergyman's WIDOW. 65 
 
 behaved to her so very, very ill, I can never,' 
 said she, sobbing, ' never look at you, and for- 
 give myself.' 
 
 Mrs. Gardiner was now in her turn astonished: 
 so meek and unoffending, so gentle and conci- 
 liating, were the manners of her darling, and so 
 firm her principles of conduct, that she could not 
 imagine how it had been possible she could of- 
 fend the most irritable, or provoke the most su- 
 percilious ; as Sarah had, however, asserted the 
 fact, see could not doubt of its existence, and 
 nothing remained for her to do, but to intercede 
 for the self-condemned culprit. 
 
 The lady heard, with great calmness, her apo- 
 logy for the unknown crime, and then tapping 
 her snuff-box, ejaculated — 'Bothalike; I thought 
 how it would be !' 
 
 * For your generous present to myself,' re- 
 sumed Mrs. Gardiner, ' I am indeed very grate- 
 ful ; for it has been indeed strongly recommend- 
 ed to me as a restorative, but was one I never 
 could have procured without your assistance.' 
 
 ' I am glad you think well of it,' said the 
 lady, ' as it may be the means of your conferring 
 a favour on me. This saucy girl, it seems, has 
 taken a fancy to an art for which I have a pas- 
 sion, and which, if she could properly cultivate, 
 
 r3
 
 66 THE cletigyma.n's widow. 
 
 would eventually make her independent. Now, 
 if you will permit it, I will have her taught : 
 there is a reputable master in this town, who 
 will prove a good instructor, I doubt not, for 
 the next year or so. You cannot afford to keep 
 her idle, so here is a twenty-pound bill for her 
 board, till I see you again. Send me her per- 
 formances from time to time. I shall settle with 
 the master before I leave this place, where I am 
 only a visitant. Here is my address in London.' 
 
 Mrs. Gardiner received the address of Lady 
 Barbara Blount with a silent courtesy ; her heart 
 was far too full for even a single word of grati- 
 tude to find utterance ; but Sarah, with a rapid 
 impulse,'new in her character, but equally grace- 
 ful and expressive, threw herself round the knees 
 of her protectress, and exclaimed — ' Thank you, 
 dear madam, thank you for all, but most of all 
 that you have forgiven me.' 
 
 ' Let me go, you provoking minx, let me go !' 
 said the lady; but Sarah still clung to her knees; 
 and the unconscious child, thinking his sister 
 wanted to hold the stranger fast, ran to them, 
 and, with his little arms, helped to detain her ; 
 but Mrs. Gardiner beheld with pain a deadly 
 paleness suffuse itself over the face of their 
 guest ; she withdrew the child, and Sarah arose.
 
 THE CLEHGYMAn's WIDOW. 67 
 
 grieved and alarmed. Mrs. Gardiner presented 
 some hartshorn to Lady Barbara, who, a little 
 recovered arose, and pressing Mrs. Gardiner's 
 hand, said — ' I am much better, but I must not 
 see that brat again ; I had once a blue-eyed boy 
 myself — but no matter ; I must go to him — he 
 cannot come to me !' 
 
 The tone in which these few words were 
 spoken, and the few tears which followed 'them, 
 awoke a new and powerful interest in the sym- 
 pathetic hearts of the widow and her daughter ; 
 they now perceived that the repulsive manners 
 of their noble visitor were adopted for the ex- 
 press purpose of hiding the poignant sensibilities 
 of a heart alive to every demand of pity, every 
 emotion of compassionate beneficence. 
 
 Unequal to conversation, and unwilling to hear 
 her own praises, even from the still small voice 
 of unaffected gratitude. Lady Barbara withdrew, 
 leaving the widow and her daughter to blend 
 delicious tears, and invoke blessings on the head 
 of their new-found friend. 
 
 Lady Barbara Blount was the widow of a gen- 
 tleman of large fortune, who left her with two 
 children, a son and daughter, both of whom were 
 torn from her in one week, by the ravages of the 
 scarlet fever, a very short time after the death of
 
 68 THE clergyman's widow. 
 
 her beloved lord. These dreadful afflictions fall- 
 ing on a mind of strong and ardent affection, as 
 yet untouched by sorrow, for a long time com- 
 pletely overwhelmed her ; but when time had 
 somewhat softened her sorrows, the natural 
 warmth of her heart began to seek food for its 
 affections, in singling out objects of charity it 
 could relieve, or of genius it could patronize. In 
 this laudable pursuit, however, the good lady, 
 like many others, often found herself imposed 
 upon, and her generosity abused : from the fre- 
 quency of these occurrences, she had contracted 
 a cold, unkind, and suspicious air ; and whilst 
 her heart was glowing with the best propensities 
 of our nature, she affected to be indulging its 
 worst ; and though the penetrating might unmask 
 the deceit, yet it was no wonder it had completely 
 imposed on the innocent and timid Sarah, who, 
 from the first moment she was seen by Lady Bar- 
 bara, had excited the most vivid interest for her 
 future welfare, which was not a little increased 
 on her hearing that she had a penchant for draw- 
 ing. To this elegant art Lady Barbara owed the 
 relief of many sad— the amusement of many tedi- 
 ous hours ; and she had afforded to several young 
 artists, at different periods, the kind of assistance 
 they were most in want of ; but about two years
 
 THE clergyman's "WIDOW. 69 
 
 before this time, she had been led, not less from 
 her admiration of his talents, than her esteem for 
 his character, to offer one young man an apart- 
 ment in her house, where he now resided, and 
 was rising every day into deserved celebrity. 
 She thought his time too valuable to be wasted 
 in teaching the rudiments of his art to her new- 
 found protegee; besides she thought it would be 
 hard on Mrs. Gardiner to part at present with 
 her only companion ; but it was her intention, if, 
 on her return into the country the following sum- 
 mer, she found Sarah tolerably improved, to place 
 her under his care, and thus secure her those ad- 
 vantages of instruction which might prove the 
 means of not only giving independence to her- 
 self, but ease and comfort to her excellent mo- 
 ther, whose interests, in other respects, she de- 
 termined not to lose sight of. She had seen and 
 admired Maria exceedingly, and had learned 
 from Mrs. Ideson, that her industry and abilities 
 were such as to afford the best prospects ; and 
 she determined that, were it necessary, this good 
 girl should likewise experience her bounty : but 
 she deemed it most prudent rather to hold back 
 at present, and leave her to the benefit of self- 
 exertion, not only as the best means of maturing 
 her virtues, but of increasing her happiness.
 
 70 THE clergyman's WIDOW. 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 Saeah, now employed in a manner alike suited 
 to her inclination and her talents, gave decided 
 proofs of those powers which had hitherto been 
 as the marble in the quarry — suspected, but un- 
 known. Her delighted mother now saw her 
 cheerful without restraint, and industrious from 
 choice, not necessity. Agreeable to the orders 
 they had received, in about three months' time 
 some specimens of her improvement were trans- 
 mitted to Lady Barbara, which were honoured 
 with laconic approbation, agreeable to the humour 
 the good lady had adopted, and which had now 
 become her habit; but on the second package 
 being received, it was answered with a handsome 
 present of clothes and books, and a little purse 
 containing two guineas. 
 
 The box was directed to Sarah, but it contained 
 articles suitable for her mother's acceptance : 
 among others were a piece of Irish linen and some 
 broad-cloth, which, Sarah observed, should, with 
 her mother's leave, be made up for George. 
 
 To this Mrs. Gardiner gladly assented, for it was 
 a long time since George had had a new coat. At 
 this time the fate of her boys was much upon her 
 mind; the eldest was now attaining his fourteenth
 
 THE CLE11GYMAN*S WIDOW. 71 
 
 year, and what was to be done with him, or for him, 
 she knew not. After paying the respective fees 
 for her two daughters, and the little expenses of 
 her family, previous to her obtaining work for 
 herself, she found herself possessed of only one 
 hundred pounds in the world. This she had placed 
 out at interest, intending, as soon as Maria's time 
 expired, to employ it in furnishing a little stock of 
 millinery goods, which, with her own assistance, 
 might enable this excellent child to obtain a de- 
 cent competence, and perhaps their mutual endea- 
 vours might enable them to place William at some 
 cheap school. But yet George could not be placed 
 in any line of business, without money being re- 
 quired ; and though his education had fitted him 
 for a profession, yet the power of pursuing that 
 appeared equally difficult. Look on whatever 
 side of the business she might, all was alike ob- 
 scure and embarrassing. 
 
 She wrote, however, to her son, and desired him 
 to come over, that she might consult him ; and ac- 
 cordingly he obeyed her summons sooner than she 
 expected, accompanied by his unfailing friend, the 
 curate, who was not a little proud of his charge, 
 who was grown very much since his mother had 
 seen him, and was a fine handsome lad, with an 
 intelligent countenance, and a gentlemanly air.
 
 72 THE clergyman's widow; 
 
 ' We are come,' said Mr. Wallingford, with an 
 apologising accent, ' we are come sooner than you 
 expected us, in consequence of a letter having ar- 
 rived last night at the parsonage for you, and de- 
 sired to be forwarded to you by the present inha- 
 bitant, wherever you may happen to reside.' 
 
 ' It must be from some great stranger,' said 
 Sarah, with a sigh. 
 
 * I flatter myself it is from a friend, notwith- 
 standing,' said Mrs. Gardiner; 'for I have seen 
 this hand, though not for many years.' She then 
 opened it, and read as follows : — 
 
 ' DEAR COUSIN, 
 
 * I hope you have not forgotten me, though 
 many years have passed over our heads, and great 
 changes taken place since I knew you a little girl 
 in Gloucestershire. I have now been a married 
 man above twenty years, and led, on the whole, a 
 very prosperous life, having married a good-tem- 
 pered worthy woman, with a pretty fortune, and 
 enjoyed a very excellent run of business, as a sur- 
 geon and apothecary ; but every one has their tri- 
 als, and I have had mine, having lost my only son, 
 which has almost broken his poor mother's heart, 
 so that I have been nearly losing her also. I have, 
 however, two bonny girls left, who, I hope, will 
 live to close my eyes. In the course of my at-
 
 THB clergyman's avidow. 73 
 
 tendance on the sick this winter, I heard from 
 one of my patients, a Mr. H , a very affect- 
 ing account of the death of your late excellent 
 spouse ; and as he has assured me that you have 
 a family of all ages and both sexes, I write to you 
 to say, that if you happen to have a son betwixt 
 fourteen and sixteen, who would like my profes- 
 sion, I beg you will send him to me immediately. 
 
 From what Mr. H says, the son of such a 
 
 father will be a blessing to my house ; and I as- 
 sure you, my wife and the girls will be as good to 
 him as your heart could wish. I enclose a ten- 
 pound note for the youth's journey ; and begging 
 a speedy answer, remain your affectionate cousin, 
 
 * John Staniland. 
 
 * N.B. I wish to know how all your children 
 are situated, and how far you are comfortable 
 yourself.' 
 
 The moment Mrs. Gardiner had perused this 
 truly kind letter, she placed it in the hands of 
 George, and not making a single comment, sat 
 down, earnestly watching his countenance, on 
 which eager curiosity was succeeded by lively 
 hope and expectation. — ' Surely, mother, you 
 will let me go ?' he cried ; ' you know I shall be 
 fourteen next week.' 
 
 ' Yes, indeed, my love,' said the now satisfied 
 
 Q
 
 74 THE clergyman's WIDOW. 
 
 and thankful mother j ' I will let you go most 
 willingly, and hope that you will unite with me 
 in humbly adoring the Divine interposition in our 
 favour, which has, by a singular providence, 
 raised us up a friend in the very hour of need.' 
 
 Mr. Wallingford and Sarah were immediately 
 made acquainted with the extraordinary contents 
 of this letter ; and as Mr. Wallingford observed 
 it was a great pity Miss Gardiner did not partake 
 their pleasure, and George thought Betsy ought 
 certainly to hear it, the maid was dispatched to 
 fetch them both ; and perhaps a happier little 
 family have seldom met together, than those 
 which now assembled round the neat though 
 frugal board of this pious widow, whose joys 
 were still chastened by her regret, as her sorrows 
 had been assuaged by hope. 
 
 In the course of the afternoon, she heard, with 
 great satisfaction, that the comforts of the good 
 man who had been so long the support of her son, 
 were increasing. He informed her that Mr. Wil- 
 son had now given up living at the parsonage, in 
 which he permitted him to reside, and to take a 
 few pupils, and that two were already entered on 
 very liberal terms ; that the number was limited 
 to six ; but even half of them, on the present foot- 
 ing, would make a great addition to his income 
 — ' I believe,' added he, * I may thank the pro-
 
 THE clergyman's avidow. 75 
 
 gress and good conduct of George for the confi- 
 dence with which I am thus honoured ; so you 
 see, my dear madam, our obligations are mutual.* 
 It v/as now settled that George must remain 
 with his mother till he set out for his destined 
 residence — a circumstance heard with great joy 
 by the sisters, but with a sigh by the good man, 
 "who had for so long a period found him a delight- 
 ful companion. On bidding the party farewell, 
 Mr. Wallingford said, that on entering the house, 
 this time, he had little thought of the good news 
 he had brought with him ; but when he came 
 again, he hoped to have the pleasure of knowing 
 that he was the bearer of good tidings. As he 
 uttered this in an enigmatical manner, no one 
 thought themselves entitled to inquire after his 
 meaning, and they soon forgot it in the pain of 
 parting with him, which, in poor George, arose 
 to agony ; he flung himself on his neck, and, al- 
 most suffocated with emotion, poured forth a tor- 
 rent of strong, though broken assurances of end- 
 less gratitude. The worthy young man, unable to 
 suppress his feelings, wept also ; and Maria was 
 scarcely less affected than either ; and even after 
 their good friend had torn himself away, Mrs. 
 Gardiner observed, that she remained pale and 
 pensive, absorbed in profound meditation. 
 
 G 2
 
 76 THE clergyman's "WIDOW. 
 
 " What are you thinking of, Maria ?' said her 
 mother ; * you are not wont to be so very pen- 
 sive.* 
 
 * I was retracing my best days, mother ; I was 
 thinking of the parsonage.' 
 
 * I hope, my love, your best days are to come 
 yet. Maria, I hope you have not deceived me — 
 that your present mode of life is not unpleasant 
 to you ?' 
 
 * By no means, mother ; I like to be engaged 
 in pursuits that require activity.* 
 
 * Then why do you weep, my love ? You 
 know your time of living with Mrs. Ideson will 
 soon be gone, and then you will be again with 
 your mother, and we shall all do very well, I 
 doubt not.' 
 
 ' 'Tis very true, my dear mother,* said Maria, 
 brushing away the last tear : * I have no more 
 doubt than you, that we shall do very well here ; 
 but you know I was born and brought up in the 
 country, and the simple circle of duties in which 
 we were then engaged have ever appeared to me 
 the most delightful of all occupations, and I can- 
 not think of them at times without regret. I do 
 not dislike the station into which Providence has 
 thrown me ; and when I view it in connexion with 
 the possibility of benefiting my family, I rejoice
 
 THE CLEaGYMAN's WIDOW. 77 
 
 in it ; but there will be moments of regret, you 
 know, dear mother, in which the heart recurs to 
 its first impressions of pleasure, and gives an in- 
 voluntary sigh.' 
 
 The mother acknowledged the truth of this 
 appeal, by kissing her daughter's cheek ; but 
 her heart, like the Holy Mother's, was now 
 pondering on many things ; and while one source 
 of anxiety was happily closed, another appeared 
 opening on her mind. But she had one source 
 of satisfaction that increased with time ; this 
 was the excellent dispositions and continued af- 
 fection of all her children, whom, at every inter- 
 view, she found increasing in wisdom and ripen- 
 ing in virtue. 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 At the appointed time, George, neatly equipped 
 by his sister Sarah's present, set out, amid the 
 prayers and caresses of his family, for his new 
 abode, and was received by the worthy surgeon 
 and his family with civility, that soon rose into 
 confidence and affection ; and the course of a 
 very few letters convinced Mrs. Gardiner that 
 
 g3
 
 78 THE clehoymak's widow. 
 
 he was placed in the very situation he was most 
 calculated to fill, with honour to himself and 
 profi.t to his employers. Active and humane, 
 ■Uniting resolution with gentleness, and courage 
 with feeling, possessing acute observation and 
 deep thought, he appeared in no common degree 
 calculated to fulfil the arduous duties of his pro- 
 fession ; and the more his mother contemplated 
 the steps which had led to this happy issue, the 
 more she saw cause to rejoice in an overruling 
 Providence, and to say — ' I will praise Thee for 
 all that is past, and trust Thee for all that is to 
 come.' 
 
 As, from the circumstance mentioned by Mr. 
 Staniland, they had reason to conclude that Mr. 
 
 H was returned to England for a permanent 
 
 stay, the widow wrote to him a letter, expressive 
 of her long-cherished gratitude. This letter he 
 received from the hands of the son of that father 
 he had so tenderly cherished, with emotions of 
 the purest joy ; but this interview, so affecting 
 to both parties, was the only one either were 
 permitted to enjoy. This excellent young man, 
 like the one he had deplored, was sinking under 
 a consumption, and poor George in him lost a 
 friend, who, at such a distance from home, might 
 have been peculiarly valuable to him.
 
 THE clergyman's WIDOW. 79 
 
 As soon as George was settled, Mrs. Gardiner, 
 considering the time drew near for Maria's return, 
 began to look out for a house, and was returning 
 from a visit she had paid to the landlord of one 
 that was likely to suit her, when she was over- 
 taken by Mr. Wallingford, who, with a look of 
 great pleasure, said that he was now come to an- 
 nounce the good tidings he had hinted at in his 
 last visit. 
 
 With a look of great anxiety, Mrs. Gardiner 
 asked what they could possibly be ? 
 
 * A situation is procured for your sweet Wil- 
 liam in Christ's Hospital. 'Tis an excellent thing, 
 ma'am ; 'twill be the making of him. Mr. 
 Wilson and Mr. Simpson have been trying to 
 get it these two years, but would not tell you, 
 lest you should be disappointed.' 
 
 ' May the blessings of the fatherless be on 
 them !' cried the grateful mother : ' this is indeed 
 what my heart has long wished for, but never 
 dared to hope. But does the poor boy know of 
 this ? — Where is he ?' 
 
 ' In your parlour at this moment, with farmer 
 Gooch and his wife. I could not prevent their 
 coming, though I gladly would, lest the poor 
 child should suffer from their ill-timed sorrow ; 
 but I am come myself, prepared for a longer
 
 80 THE clergyman's WIDOW. 
 
 journey, being determined to accompany him to 
 London.' 
 
 * Generous, excellent young man !' said Mrs. 
 Gardiner, involuntarily grasping his hand — ' how 
 much do I owe you ! — Nay, do not repress the 
 effusions of my heart ; I must and will tell you 
 how dear your many kindnesses have made you 
 to my heart : you are the brother, the son of my 
 sincere affections.' 
 
 ' The son ! — Ah, madam, would that I were 
 indeed your son I — but alas ! * 
 
 At this moment they entered the house, and 
 William impetuously rushed into the arms of his 
 mother, who, at this moment, forgot that the 
 world contained another being, and might have 
 remained much longer absorbed, but for the 
 honest congratulations of her old neighbours, 
 who with alternate expressions of joy and sorrow, 
 now claimed her attention. 
 
 * I be zure I be zo glad to zee you,' said the 
 good woman ; ' I reely do think az how my very 
 heart wuU break ; I never thout to ha come za 
 far fre hame, but just to zee you, and bid Willy 
 good-bye ; why, aumhow, I could not help it.' 
 
 Mrs. Gardiner kissed the good woman, and 
 begged her to be composed ; but she was either 
 too much pleased or grieved to accept this ad-
 
 THE clergyman's WIDOW. 81 
 
 vice. To part with a child for more than three 
 years nourished at her heart's core, was a bitter 
 pang ; but then, to send him to a fine London 
 school, where he might learn to be such a man 
 as his father had been before him, reconciled 
 her ; and she owned it was a great pleasure to 
 see madam, and the little babe grown up so 
 finely, as it were. 
 
 * But, dame,' cried the farmer, * where be thy 
 eyez ? Doezn't thee zee the young ladies how 
 they be grown up fine young women, fair and 
 zightly ?' 
 
 * I zeez every thing ; I thanks God for all I 
 zee,' cried the dame, ' but I cannot zpeak.' 
 
 Mrs. Gardiner saw the good woman's heart, to 
 use her own expression, was indeed like to 
 break.' She endeavoured to prevail on her to 
 take some refreshment, and to turn the conver- 
 sation to indifferent topics ; but notwithstanding 
 all the pains she took, the good dame remained 
 agitated and uncomfortable.' 
 
 ' Here's Maria,' said the farmer, ' and the lily ; 
 but I still want my own favourite, black-eyed 
 Betsey — Where be zhe gotten ?' 
 
 * I expect her every moment,' replied Mrs. 
 Gardiner ; and as she entered soon after, the 
 farmer appeared perfectly happy.
 
 82 THE clergyman's widow. 
 
 ' Come here now,' cried he, ' and tell me if 
 you remember putting grains of gunpowder in 
 my tobacco-box, and making a scare-crow of my 
 best wig ?' 
 
 Betsey confessed to these crimes, but assured 
 the farmer she had left off all kinds of mischief 
 a long time, and had only two bad tricks since 
 the first year she went to school. 
 
 ' And what beez they, my duck ?' 
 
 ' I only,' said Betsey, with an air of most lu- 
 dicrous gravity, 'stuck a few pins in the dancing- 
 master's false calves, and put a pot of blacking 
 in madame's pocket, instead of her rouge.' 
 
 ' Well duck, and what then ?' 
 
 She rubbed a little on in the dark, and came 
 down stairs in full dress, with black cheeks in- 
 stead of red ones.' 
 
 The farmer's boisterous mirth was now equal 
 to his past sorrow, and he declared he would 
 have given his best haystack to have seen the 
 French-woman in her mourning cheeks. But 
 when he was told that for these tricks his black- 
 eyed Betsey had been called to a strict account, 
 his spirits again sunk, and he wished, with great 
 gravity, there were no places like schools i' th' 
 varsal world, being az how they curbed poor 
 childer's spiritz, zo they did.
 
 THE clergyman's WIDOW. 83 
 
 Fearful of the tendency of this conversation 
 on the mind of William, Mrs. Gardiner was not 
 sorry when her worthy friends rose to depart, 
 though, at any other time, she would have re- 
 joiced in their stay. Their parting was agonizing, 
 and such as poor Mrs. Gardiner was ill able to 
 bear ; and after it was over, she was herself 
 obliged to retire, leaving the curate and her 
 daughters to settle the weighty affair of the 
 journey to London, which, after various consider- 
 ations, it was found expedient, on Mr. Walling- 
 ford's account, to commence in two days ; but 
 this became easier, as there were no clothes to 
 provide for William, and his kind conductor in- 
 sisted upon being at all the expence of the journey 
 for them both. 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 As soon as the precious little traveller and his 
 truly-estimable guide had set out on their im- 
 portant journey, Mrs. Gardiner again applied 
 herself to the business they had so happily inter- 
 rupted. In the conducting of this affair she was 
 assisted by the good Mrs. Ideson, who, far from 
 feeling any narrow jealousy, appeared to have
 
 84 THE clergyman's widow. 
 
 great satisfaction in directing the arrangement of 
 Mrs. Gardiner's affairs, and giving every kind of 
 necessary information to Maria, who, to great 
 diffidence and modesty, united great firmness and 
 perseverance, but whose extreme youth and per- 
 sonal attractions led Mrs. Gardiner and her late 
 worthy mistress to conclude, it would be best for 
 her not to attempt opening any public shop, but, 
 under the auspices of her mother, to begin busi- 
 ness as a chamber milliner — a scheme which suit- 
 ed equally the inclination of the parties and their 
 slender finances ; and after various consultations, 
 it was agreed that the family should only remove 
 to lodgings somewhat genteeler and more public 
 than those they at present occupied. 
 
 In a short time, then, we behold Maria in that 
 situation to which her warm and gentle heart had 
 so long aspired — the companion and assistant of 
 her mother, the friend and the example of her sis- 
 ter, to whom her society was become an invalu- 
 able acquisition, as it served still more to awaken 
 her energies, and rouse her to affectionate emu- 
 lation. 
 
 As the summer advanced, business increased so 
 much on the hands of Maria, whose good taste 
 and prompt execution were justly estimated, and 
 she became so great a slave to her employment,
 
 THE clergyman's WIDOW. 85 
 
 that Mrs. Gardiner became alarmed for her health ; 
 but the poor girl's spirits were so elated with a suc- 
 cess she valued only for its powers of conferring 
 good on the objects of her affection, that she de- 
 clared herself insensible of fatigue, and would not 
 hear of procuring assistance, till she saw that her 
 mother's anxiety was so great as to destroy her 
 peace of mind, and then she gladly assented to 
 whatever plan was proposed, for in every respect 
 this dear parent's wishes were consulted ; far 
 from affecting that independence her situation 
 might have led a mind less delicate to assume, in 
 proportion as she became consequential, in fact, 
 she became more humble and obedient in her 
 deportment. Tall and commanding in her per- 
 son, graceful and dignified in her deportment, 
 to the world she was become a fine sensible 
 woman, but to her mother she was an artless 
 child, still clinging for protection to her maternal 
 care. 
 
 Towards the close of summer, just as Maria 
 had laid down a new-fashioned cap, to indulge her- 
 self with looking at Sarah's drawing-book, while 
 Mrs. Gardiner was pouring out their tea, a person 
 bolted into the parlour, and, in a well-remember- 
 ed voice, exclaimed — ' Umph ! this is as it should 
 be, to be sure ! each at her work, I perceive.' 
 
 H
 
 86 THE clergyman's widow. 
 
 Sarah uttered a short scream of joy; but at the 
 same moment recollecting herself, she put a bit of 
 toast into little Henry's hand, and hurried with 
 him out of the room. As she returned. Lady Bar- 
 bara said, ' Well, you vixen, you see I have popt 
 upon you on foot this time, that you might not 
 see the bitter kernel turned out of its shell.' 
 
 ' Oh, madam,' said Sarah, blushing, ' I did 
 hope you had forgotten — I flattered myself that 
 you had for — forgiven me.' 
 
 * You see you were mistaken, child. But give 
 me that book, Maria ; let us see what sort of 
 scratching we have got now-a-days. Umph ! not 
 quite execrable, I perceive. How long have you 
 learnt, child ?' 
 
 * It is now fifteen months, madam, since you 
 had the goodness to ' 
 
 * Ay, ay, I owe your mother for your board, 
 then, it seems, more than I thought. How old 
 are you }' 
 
 * Seventeen, madam, since April.* 
 
 * Umph ! and suppose I were to take you to 
 London, and put you under a cross master one 
 half of the day, and make you read or work the 
 other half with my old housekeeper, or at times 
 my own cross ladyship, do you think you could 
 endure it, for the sake of gaining proficiency in
 
 THE clergyman's widoav. 87 
 
 your art, and, like Maria, being an assistant to 
 your mother in time to come ?' 
 
 * I could go with you any where, most thank- 
 fully, my dear lady,' said Sarah, now glowing 
 from gratitude as much as she had lately done 
 from shame ; ' and to effect such a purpose, I 
 would go with any body.' 
 
 ' Well, hold your tongue ; I came to talk about 
 a bonnet.' 
 
 The affair of the bonnet, as to its form, was 
 soon discussed ; but the liberality with which Lady 
 Barbara gave orders for bonnets, cloaks, and caps, 
 astonished her auditors. She soon after left them, 
 first desiring that Maria would make her sister 
 decent, and then informing Mrs. Gardiner that 
 she returned to London that day week. 
 
 Surprise absolutely chained the tongue of Sa- 
 rah, and a kind of mixed emotion, in which grate- 
 ful joy was blended with many tender fears, ren- 
 dered her mother equally silent, and they stood 
 gazing on each other, as if unable or unwilling 
 to reveal the emotions of their hearts ; but Ma- 
 ria with more self-possession, began to congratu- 
 late Sarah, in a manner which, by displaying all 
 the advantages of her new situation, enabled both 
 mother and daughter rather to rejoice in their 
 prospects than to lament their separation ; but 
 
 H 2
 
 88 THE clergyman's widow. 
 
 Sarah, though on connecting images of gratitude 
 to her benefactress and her mother with her ac- 
 companying the former, had so thankfully em- 
 braced the proposal, yet she found her heart would 
 sink at the thoughts of parting from the maternal 
 roof ; she had never left her mother for a single 
 day, and she had formed no idea of happiness in 
 which her dear family were not included ; and 
 all her enjoyments had lately been so increased 
 by Maria's residence with them, and her mother's 
 increased ease and cheerfulness, that, unconnect- 
 ed with other circumstances, she would not have 
 exchanged her present residence for a palace. On 
 the other hand, she had not only the desire of 
 benefiting her dear parent — a feeling paramount 
 to every other in her kind and duteous heart — but 
 she had likewise an enthusiastic love for the art 
 to which she had devoted herself ; and with a very 
 inadequate idea of the pleasure that awaited her, 
 she yet felt that much was to be enjoyed. 
 
 But the tender heart of the mother saw many 
 things to fear, the happy inexperience of Sarah 
 prevented her from fearing; she dreaded lest 
 the singular manners of Lady Barbara should 
 Avound the sensibility of this delicate flower, even 
 while she fostered its powers. She was going 
 into a new world, equally unknown to herself
 
 THE clergyman's WIDOW. 89 
 
 and her parent, who could therefore afford her 
 no rule of conduct — no admonition that could ap- 
 ply. Maria, though pained with the thoughts 
 of losing her dear companion, was the only one 
 who saw unmixed benefit arising to her sister 
 from Lady Barbara's protection, and was there- 
 fore enabled to enjoy the good unmixed. Sarah 
 was not only dear to her as a sister and friend, 
 but the generosity of her nature, and the dis- 
 crimination of her mind, had ever given to her, 
 from their earliest childhood, the palm of supe- 
 riority, even when she was her guide and in- 
 structress ; and since her commencing business, 
 when she had been frequently so hurried in get- 
 ting up a hasty order, that her mother entreated 
 to call Sarah to their assistance, she would an- 
 swer — ' No, my dear mother, let her pursue her 
 studies ; I would rather work night and day 
 than interrupt her. She is the gentlewoman of 
 the family, and I am richly paid for my exer- 
 tions, in the pleasure of beholding her pursue 
 the avocations for which superior talents have 
 fitted her so well.' 
 
 Agreeable to these feelings, Maria exhausted 
 her own little wardrobe, and added the utmost 
 limits of her power and skill to provide for the 
 wants of Sarah, not thinking that an order for 
 
 H 3
 
 90 THE clergyman's WIDOW. 
 
 Sarah's being decent included Lady Barbara's in- 
 tention of being herself the purchaser. So short 
 was the time, and so busy did it make them all, 
 that happily it was passed before they had time 
 to indulge that sorrow which, even under the 
 happiest circumstances, must be unavoidably felt 
 by people so situated. 
 
 On Lady Barbara's carriage drawing to the 
 door, the heart of Sarah beat so violently she 
 was obliged for a few moments to retire with 
 her mother, who struggled to give her strength. 
 The interval was necessary for Lady Barbara's 
 settling with her sister for the millinery she had 
 purchased ; and which done, she insisted on 
 paying for Sarah's new clothes ; this poor Maria 
 thankfully, but firmly refused, till the angry 
 looks of the lady said that another word on 
 subject would not be borne. But the tone she 
 had assumed softened, when she saw Sarah ad- 
 vance, with dry eyes, and a serene though pale 
 countenance, to wait her commands. She knew 
 the effort this cost a mind of Sarah's cast, and 
 she gave her no common praise for the exertion ; 
 and willing to shorten a scene unavoidably pain- 
 ful to all, she hastened their departure ; but the 
 closing of the carriage-door, the last waving of 
 her mother's hand, and Maria's half-uttered
 
 THE clergyman's WIDOW. 91 
 
 adieu, were too much for Sarah's fortitude ; she 
 burst into an agony of tears, which she indulged 
 uninterrupted for many miles. As soon as Lady 
 Barbara perceived that she was recovering, she 
 kindly pointed out various objects of attention 
 on the road, and by degrees drew the yo\mg tra- 
 veller not only from her grief, but her timidity, 
 and thus unlocked the stores of a mind whose in- 
 telligence richly repaid the effort. 
 
 Lady Barbara drew the most pleasing aus- 
 pices of the future improvement of her prot^gee^ 
 from observing the admirable discrimination, not 
 less than the lively interest which all that was 
 grand and beautiful in nature awakened in her 
 mind ; not a plant exhaled its perfume, not a 
 mountain reared its head, unmarked by her eye, 
 unregistered by her memory. But on their en- 
 tering London, her thoughts appeared rather to 
 rest on past, than delight in present objects ; the 
 novelty of the scene had an effect upon her mind, 
 equally remote from the stupor of unmoved dul- 
 ness and the bustle of vulgar surprise ; she seem- 
 ed to view that which she had expected, rather 
 than desired — an effect no common mind will 
 feel on first viewing this wonderful metropolis. 
 Nor did the splendid mansion at which she now 
 stopped, excite more than pleasantly-calm sensa-
 
 92 THE clergyman's widow. 
 
 tions in her mind, unmixed with that sense of 
 self-annihilation too commonly felt by little 
 people, when they tread the thresholds of the 
 great. But when Sarah entered the breakfast- 
 parlour, which was adorned with many beautiful 
 pictures, she manifested a perfect sensibility to 
 an elegance in unison with her own taste, and 
 for some minutes was so lost in admiration, as 
 to be completely absorbed in delight, from which 
 her kind patroness with some difficulty awakened 
 her. 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 The young artist, whom we mentioned in a for- 
 mer chapter as having apartments in Lady Bar- 
 bara's house, did not, in consequence, constitute 
 one of her family, and therefore Sarah did not 
 hear his name mentioned, or see him, during the 
 first day of her residence in Portland-street; but, 
 on the following morning, Lady Barbara told her 
 to bring down her portfolio and pencils, for she 
 was going to take her to her new master. 
 
 It so happened, that the only portrait in the 
 breakfast-parlour we have mentioned was-that of 
 an Italian artist ; it represented a man about
 
 THE clergyman's WIDOW. 93 
 
 fifty-five, of an olive complexion, wrapped in a 
 morning-gown, with a velvet cap on his head. 
 On this picture Sarah had gazed till she had as- 
 sociated the idea of an artist being inevitably an 
 old man in a velvet cap, of a dark complexion 
 and keen expression. The summons was there- 
 fore obeyed with a sort of trembling alacrity ; 
 and her colour came and went so fast, that Lady 
 Barbara, fixing on her a doubtful eye, said — 
 * Pray, child, have you seen Mr. Montgomery ?' 
 
 ' No indeed, my lady — except his picture,' she 
 added, hesitatingly. 
 
 * Umph ! his picture truly ! — Well, come 
 along.' 
 
 Sarah followed to the end of a long gallery, 
 when Lady Barbara, entering, cried out to a very 
 elegant young man, who was intently gazing on 
 a picture in his hand — ' Here, Charles, I have 
 brought you this girl to teach ; I doubt you will 
 find her a blockhead, but then she may be of use 
 to you as a model for a fury, if you want one.' 
 
 The artist withdrew his eyes from the paper, 
 and gazed on the elegant young creature before 
 him with astonishment, not less than hers on 
 whom he looked, as she could not conceive her- 
 self that a slender young man, scarce three-and- 
 twenty, of a sweet and open countenance, could
 
 94 THE clergyman's widow. 
 
 be indeed the man designated as her cross old 
 master ; and surely nothing could be less like 
 the man upon the chimney-piece. 
 
 Lady Barbara seemed much amused by the 
 surprise of each, but she hastily arranged the 
 plan of Sarah's instruction, and exhibited what 
 she had already done ; adding, at length — ' You 
 must give what time you can, but take care and 
 do not give her more than you ought ; and re- 
 member, Charles,' said she, fixing on him a se- 
 vere and scrutinizing eye, * remember, I will 
 have her taught nothing but drawing.' 
 
 The young man blushed, and Sarah felt sorry 
 for him, concluding, from his ingenuous counte- 
 nance, he could not teach her any thing wrong, 
 and that her patroness, though a very good, was 
 certainly a very singular woman. 
 
 She now applied herself to study, under the 
 most favourable circumstances, and her pro- 
 ficiency became such as to astonish her tutor ; 
 but it was procured through a devotedness 
 which alarmed Lady Barbara for her health. 
 She however hit upon a benevolent expedient to 
 oblige her to take exercise, which was, to fre- 
 quently send her to visit little William, who was 
 now become a very fine boy, extremely happy in 
 his situation, and every way improved.
 
 THE clergyman's WIDOW. 95 
 
 Her letters to her mother, during the follow- 
 ing year, contained only the most agreeable in- 
 telligence ; and the happy Maria saw now the 
 first wish of her heart fulfilled, in Sarah's pro- 
 ficiency and excellent prospects. Nor were the 
 prospects of George less flattering ; for his good 
 master wrote, from time to time, such accounts 
 of his steadiness and attention to his profession, 
 as gave Mrs. Gardiner every reason to hope he 
 would never part with him, especially as he had 
 never sufiered him to draw on her purse for more 
 than a little pocket-money, Mrs. Staniland having 
 hitherto kindly supplied all his wants, and even 
 given Mrs. Gardiner to understand that Mr. 
 Staniland had her full consent to provide for the 
 young man in the most liberal manner, when 
 his apprenticeship expired ; and as that is the 
 period when the education of a medical man is 
 necessarily the most expensive, poor Mrs. Gar- 
 diner's anxieties on this head were greatly re- 
 lieved by this communication. She well knew 
 that the utmost exertions of Maria and herself, 
 in their little way of business, would be com- 
 pletely inadequate to the task of supporting a 
 young man in London, at such an exorbitant ex- 
 pence as would, in this case, be demanded, how- 
 ever steady and good he might be ; and yet she
 
 96 THE clergyman's widow. 
 
 knew that such would be her Maria's solicitude 
 to help her brother, that she might ruin herself 
 in the attempt : besides, little Henry was now 
 growing up a fine child, and must soon be sent 
 somewhere ; and though his more immediate 
 wants were supplied by a neighbouring day 
 school, yet it was natural and necessary to look 
 a little further. For her youngest daughter she 
 had few cares ; her activity, ability, and good- 
 humour, had secured her a warm friend in her 
 governess, who would therefore, most probably, 
 either retain her as a teacher, or procure her a 
 more advantageous situation ; or, in case of the 
 worst, she would be an assistant to Maria. This 
 scheme, however, neither herself or daughter 
 thought equally desirable with her remaining in 
 a more retired situation, as the volatility of her 
 temper might be drawn out to the disadvantage 
 of them all ; for Betsey had an almost irresistible 
 propensity to detect the ludicrous, and enjoy the 
 comical part of every character. 'Twas her mis- 
 fortune to be an admirable mimic, and, with great 
 good-humour, to be prone to satire : a quick 
 perception of the ridiculous, and a thorough 
 contempt of the affected in any person, formed 
 a leading trait in her character ; of course, she 
 was little fitted for commerce with the world, in
 
 THE clergyman's WIDOW. 97 
 
 a business where the vain and the frivolous be- 
 come important from their very foibles. Of this 
 defect in her child (for defect, however charming 
 it may be, we must certainly deem it) Mrs. Gar- 
 diner was fully aware ; and she justly deemed 
 her present residence the very best that could 
 possibly be obtained, for rendering the unlucky 
 talents of her daughter most likely to draw upon 
 themselves that inconveniency which, in time, 
 would teach her wisdom to restrain them ; for 
 although a large society must present food for 
 ridicule, yet, when it is circumscribed, the mis- 
 chief cannot extend beyond its own circle ; each 
 in turn becomes its subject and its corrector. 
 Hence the foolish are enabled to see wherein 
 they have been ridiculous, and yet to punish the 
 person who has ridiculed them ; and hence it is 
 scarcely possible for any one in a large seminary 
 to indulge long in habits of pride or affectation, 
 especially if there is a wag in the school. Poor 
 Betsey, ever in diiRcalties herself, was yet the 
 means of curing many foibles in others, and m 
 time grew the better of her own ; but this was 
 not the work of a day, and her education was as 
 yet incomplete, my young friends, though she 
 was allowed to be accomplished (in the common 
 acceptation of the word) to a very high degree ; 
 
 I
 
 98 THE clergyman's widow. 
 
 and she possessed so warm and tender a heart, 
 that it might be truly said, she gave no pain to 
 any one by her raillery, which she did not after- 
 wards feel herself in a tenfold degree ; but she 
 wanted the resolution to resist the inclination to 
 laugh at absurdity, to which must bo added the 
 desire to shine, which is ever irresistible, or nearly 
 so, to those who are gifted with that rare and 
 dangerous quality called wit. 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 In the spring of the year following that which 
 placed Sarah under the protection of Lady Bar- 
 bara Blount, that good lady determined to treat 
 herself and favourite with a jaunt to the lakes 
 of Cumberland and Westmoreland, intending to 
 make Keswick their head-quarters. She was 
 induced to adopt this plan, partly because Mr. 
 Montgomery, the artist, who had resided at Kes- 
 wick about a month, described that neighbour- 
 hood as extremely delightful, and partly because 
 she thought Sarah's health and spirits had been 
 hurt by too close attention to her studies, and 
 that a journey of this kind was calculated to do
 
 THE CLERGYMAN'S WIDOW. 99 
 
 her good in this respect, and at the same time 
 teach her to sketch from nature, by accompany- 
 ing Mr. Montgomery. It was her intention, 
 likewise, to travel from thence through the west 
 of England, and visit Mrs. Gardiner before she 
 returned to town ; and accordingly they set out, 
 and in their route visited every thing most wor- 
 thy of attention to Sarah, who was exceedingly 
 delighted with every thing she saw in Derby- 
 shire, particularly Matlock and Dovedale. From 
 the former place they proceeded to Harrowgate, 
 where they took up their abode a few days ; and 
 from whence Sarah wrote a few lines, at Lady 
 Barbara's request, to the housekeeper in London. 
 
 In looking over what Sarah had written, the 
 lady remarked that the letter was signed S. C. 
 — ' I never knew,' said she, ' that you had two 
 names ; pray what may the C. stand for ?' 
 
 ' Cordelia, madam.' 
 
 ' Cordelia ! and is it possible that you should 
 bear such a fine-sounding, sweet, lack-a-daisical 
 name as Cordelia, child, and be willing all your 
 life to be called plain Sarah !* 
 
 ' Certainly, ma'am ; and I should now be 
 sorry to exchange it, for my dear father thought 
 it most proper for my situation ; he said roman- 
 
 I 2
 
 100 THE clergyman's AVIDOW. 
 
 tic names were often connected with romantic 
 notions in girls.' 
 
 * Why did he give you such a name then ?' 
 
 * I was called after my two grandmothers, 
 ma'am, I believe ; but they were both dead long 
 before I was born.' 
 
 ' 'Tis a singular name : I never knew but one 
 Cordelia in my life, and she has been dead near 
 forty years. It was her nephew,' continued her 
 ladyship, musing, ' that I spoke to at the well.' 
 
 * The gentleman who looked so ill ?' said Sarah. 
 ' The same. Poor Lawrence ! I doubt the well 
 
 will not do him much good; he seems very weak.' 
 ' Lawrence !' said Sarah — ' dear, how strange ! 
 — My grandmother was called Cordelia Law- 
 rence ; my brother George has her surname. 
 This gentleman is the person some people talked 
 about as being likely to assist my mother. Pray 
 does your ladyship know if he has a brother ?' 
 
 ' To be sure he has, child — an elder brother, 
 who enjoys the family estate. This gentleman 
 was brought up to the law, and has made a fine 
 fortune in it, which is expected to come to the 
 second son of the elder brother, as he has always 
 been his favourite. Your mother is forgotten, I 
 suppose, by them all. But I now recollect Cor- 
 delia had a child ; but having no intimacy in the
 
 THE clergyman's WIDOW. 101 
 
 family, I merely remember the circumstance 
 being mentioned by my mother. I was young, 
 and it did not make much impression on my 
 mind beyond the moment ; I will, however, in- 
 quire where Mr, Lawrence may be found, and 
 introduce you to him.' 
 
 ' Oh, no, no, my lady ! pray do not trouble 
 yourself.' 
 
 *Not trouble myself! what do you mean, 
 child ? The man must own you, when I intro- 
 duce you, and he may be of great use to your 
 family.' 
 
 ' Pardon me, dear madam,' said Sarah, her 
 cheek reddening, and her eyes filling with tears ; 
 * I am certainly much obliged for your wish to 
 benefit my family, and it is my duty to submit ; 
 but ' 
 
 ' Submit ! — is the girl mad ? — submit to be in- 
 troduced to your rich relation! Why, you're 
 as proud as Montgomery himself! A pretty 
 pair I've got to deal with, truly ! He has fairly 
 matched me in a similar case ; but I believe 
 your little queenship will not carry your point so 
 easily,' 
 
 * Oh, don't be angry, dear madam !' cried 
 the poor girl — ' I hope I am not proud ; it ie 
 not pride surely, but, I trust, a better motive, 
 
 I 3
 
 102 THE clergyman's widow. 
 
 though I cannot define it, which made me at first 
 shrink from a man who does not own my mother 
 —who looks down, I apprehend, upon her and 
 my father — upon two people, madam,' said she, 
 rising majestically, her angelic countenance 
 brightening as she spoke — ' two people whom no 
 earthly potentate need blush to own — whom God 
 himself will distinguish in that great day, " when 
 the meek shall be clothed with honour." 
 
 At this moment Lady Barbara became at once 
 herself, and forgot the humour she affected, the 
 habit she had assumed ; and as she clasped the 
 lovely girl in her arms, and kissed the tears from 
 her cheek, she promised that no consideration 
 should induce her to push Sarah into the notice 
 of her rich cousin ; but observed very justly, 
 that as it did not appear that Mrs. Gardiner had 
 ever been repulsed by Mr. Lawrence, and as they 
 had been separated from their childhood, it was 
 probable he had forgotten her ; so he was cer- 
 tainly entitled to polite attention from her child, 
 since chance had thrown him in her way. To 
 this Sarah readily assented, and the sweet sere- 
 nity of her mind became regained. 
 
 Lady Barbara, however, secretly resolved not 
 to leave Harrowgate till she had shown her pro- 
 tegee to this relation. She did not consider it
 
 THE clergyman's WIDOW. 103 
 
 probable, nor indeed desirable, because it was 
 scarcely justifiable, that Sarah, amiable as she 
 was, should supplant in this gentleman's affec- 
 tions, the nephew he had so long taught to con- 
 sider himself his heir ; but she saw clearly he 
 was a dying man, and she thought that, if only 
 a small legacy was ceded to Mrs. Gardiner, it 
 would, in her case, be a matter of importance, 
 and would be little missed by the rich family, 
 who were already provided for without any col- 
 lateral supplies. 
 
 As Lady Barbara was at the Dragon, and Mr. 
 Lawrence at Low Harrowgate, she could not 
 immediately learn where he was ; but Mrs. 
 Goodlad having made every possible inquiry, she 
 learned he was in private lodgings ; and went 
 out the next morning, intending to call upon 
 him, but met him on the way. After the usual 
 salutation, she said—' I am sure, Mr. Lawrence, 
 you will with pleasure see your young cousin 
 here. This is Cordelia Gardiner, Maria Ben- 
 son's daughter.' 
 
 Mr. Lawrence appeared very much surprised ; 
 and after speaking to Sarah with tolerable frank- 
 ness, inquired how long she had been with her 
 ladyship ? 
 
 Lady Barbara, quitting Sarah's arm, who now
 
 104 THE CLERGYMAN S WIDOW. 
 
 walked forwards, informed him of the circum- 
 stances which had brought her acquainted with 
 Mrs. Gardiner, and what were the present situ- 
 ation and prospects of her family; and ended 
 with a warm eulogium of the mother and her 
 children, dwelling particularly on the disposition 
 and abilities of her with whom she was best ac- 
 quainted. 
 
 Mr. Lawrence heard her not only with the 
 deference suitable to her rank and character, 
 but with a degree of apparent satisfaction on the 
 subject itself. He lamented that his health was 
 so bad as to prevent him from seeing more of 
 Sarah, but said he flattered himself, on their re- 
 turn from the Lakes, he should be quite another 
 creature, and hoped they would take Harrow- 
 gate in their way. This, though contrary to 
 Lady Barbara's intention, she determined on do- 
 ing ; and having given and exchanged a friendly 
 adieu, they parted, Mr. Lawrence affectionately 
 pressing the hand of Sarah, and repeating her 
 name of Cordelia twice, very affectingly observ- 
 ing, though he had known but little of his aunt, 
 he had loved her much. 
 
 Lady Barbara, having now satisfied herself 
 with this apparently-fortunate rencounter, set 
 out with renewed spirits on her journey, which
 
 THE clergyman's WIDOW. 105 
 
 every hour increased in interest to Sarah ; and 
 the delight she experienced communicated itself 
 to her less enthusiastic patroness. To every 
 mind capable of sympathy, nothing can awaken 
 purer pleasure than to trace the feelings of vivid 
 imagination which pervades the breast when ' all 
 things please, for life itself is new,' ere experi- 
 ence has destroyed the charms of novelty, and 
 sorrow the zest of enjoyment. 
 
 But there was in the pleasure of Sarah a purer 
 and higher charm than is often enjoyed even by 
 young people ; this was the spirit of devotion, 
 which ever pervaded her mind, and enhanced all 
 the good she received ; and every opening pro- 
 spect of ' mountains piled on mountains to the 
 skies,' of valleys and of lakes, not only were 
 seen with an artist's but a Christian's eye ; 
 every where she acknowledged the presence of a 
 God, and every where she felt the protection of 
 an all-surrounding Father. 
 
 On arriving at Keswick, they felt some mor- 
 tification at finding Mr. Montgomery had left 
 that place for Ambleside, whither, after sleep- 
 ing one night, Lady Barbara determined to fol- 
 low him, having made a resolution to surprise 
 him. He was as yet a stranger to their journey, 
 £0 that when they got to Ambleside, he was still
 
 106 THE clergyman's WIDOW. 
 
 not visible ; but as, from the aecount they re- 
 ceived from the landlord of the inn, they thought 
 it was probable that he was sketching in that 
 beautiful country, they set out to ramble, in the 
 hope of meeting with him. Lady Barbara con- 
 cluding that there would be no difficulty in in- 
 quiring which way he had bent his course ; ac- 
 cordingly, being puzzled by the crossing of two 
 paths, either of which were likely to have drawn 
 him, she stopped the first man she met, and 
 asked him if he had seen an artist, walking or 
 sketching on the road ? 
 
 ' Hoo say yo ?* quoth the man, staring. 
 
 Lady Barbara explained herself as well as she 
 was able ; to which he answered — 
 
 * Hey, bairn, I'se warrant noo ye mean that 
 felly at gangs aboot wi' a girt baik under's 
 airm, taking afF every thing at he sets his een 
 on. 'Twas no but last week he made me stand 
 stock still, and cart an* aw, at top on a brig, 
 while he put us aw' down in his baik, though I 
 tell'd him to wait till I'd gitten mysel shaved, 
 and patt'n the horses into the raid like ; but he 
 wad hawe his ain way, ye see.' 
 
 ' Well, friend, that's the man : can you tell us 
 how to find him ?' 
 
 ' Why, what, he's gane up th' rocks a lile way ;
 
 THE clergyman's WIDOW. 107 
 
 but ye need nae be feared for him ; naebody'U 
 take him up here, as they did in Yorkshire.' 
 
 ' What did they do there .'*' cried Sarah, anxi- 
 ously. 
 
 ' Why yo see, bairn, they seed him luiking 
 about an about like, an' they knew not what he 
 wanted ; and at last he sat down on a wauside ; 
 and an old wife cam oot on her hoos, as she sed 
 — " Sur, if ye poo my hoos doon, I'll pray ye 
 build me a better ;" and sae twa or three gat 
 round him, and a blacksmith thout he were come 
 to turn the raid ; but an exciseman sed at he 
 were a French spy, come to see the nakedness of 
 the land ; sae th' auld wife cried out to her dow- 
 ter — *' Come, Mally, bring th' tongs, for we've 
 taken a spy." ' 
 
 Lady Barbara laughed heartily at the good 
 man's recital ; but Sarah inquired, with great 
 solicitude, if Mr, Montgomery had escaped in- 
 jury from these brutes ? 
 
 ' Eh, bairn, eh !' said the man : * an he cam 
 doon amang us, where foak ken better what's 
 what ; and if ye be o' that sort as like prospects, 
 and ye'U come to ray hoos just as the sun's blink- 
 ing his last ower th' fell tops, and glimmering 
 upo' th' lake, I'se shew you the sweetest glen 
 your eyes e'er luiked into,'
 
 108 THE clehgyman's widow. 
 
 Lady Barbara thanked him very cordially ; 
 and then turning to Sarah, said — ' In this man 
 you see, with all his coarseness, a decided share 
 of that taste which Akenside has so admirably 
 delineated : — 
 
 " His rude expression and untutored airs. 
 Beyond the pow'r of language will unfold 
 The form of beauty smiling at his heart ; 
 How lovely ! how commanding I" 
 
 ' True, my lady,' said Sarah : ' a portion of 
 taste is often given to the roughest peasant who 
 traverses the bleakest mountains ; but yet, as the 
 same poet observes — 
 " Without fair culture's kind parental aid. 
 And shelter from the blast, in vain we hope 
 The tender plant should rear its blooming head. 
 Or yield the harvest promised in its spring.'* 
 
 ' Surely no one can feel this truth more fully 
 than yourself; for who with kinder hand fosters 
 the humble germ, and leads into life that flower, 
 which else had withered on the spray ?' 
 
 Absorbed in a subject which inspired her ge- 
 nius not more than it warmed her heart, Sarah 
 forgot the roads were not paved, and at this mo- 
 ment setting her foot on a loose stone, it gave 
 way, and throwing her down, she slipped into
 
 THE clergyman's wrDcw, 109 
 
 the beck, above which they had been picking their 
 way. She was little hurt, and not very likely 
 to be drowned ; but Lady Barbara, alarmed with 
 so novel an accident, screamed aloud, and brought 
 back the countryman they had just quitted ; but 
 he was too late, for Montgomery, who was just 
 descending from the rocks, heard the scream, and 
 hastening forwards, beheld the lady's distress ; 
 but, on jumping forwards to take Sarah out of 
 the water, his astonishment was so great, that he 
 was nearly letting her fall again, wdiich excited 
 Lady Barbara's mirth as much as her fears, and 
 she could scarce assist Sarah for laughing. 
 
 After dry clothes had been procured, the party 
 entered into a regular investigation of the fine 
 country around them, and amused themselves 
 exceedingly with the genuine simplicity and nai- 
 vete of the inhabitants, whose solid sense and na- 
 tive penetration they found equal to their sim- 
 plicity. They were delighted with the exquisite 
 scenery, which, Sarah agreed, infinitely surpassed 
 her own famed county, though styled the garden 
 of England. At Keswick they remained a month, 
 and Lady Barbara saw, with sincere gladness, that 
 her young charge was now become the picture of 
 health, her fine form daily adding the grace of 
 stability to that of elegance ; she bounded over
 
 no THE clergyman's WIDOW. 
 
 the mountains like the young hart, unwearied 
 by exertion, or set for hours at her portfolio, un- 
 tired by attention. From Keswick they went to 
 Penrith, and thence visited the Lake of Ulswater, 
 with which, on the whole, they were better 
 pleased than with any of the rest ; in that re- 
 spect resembling Cumberland, whose Ode to the 
 Sun they read upon its banks. They then re- 
 turned to Ambleside, visited Winandermere and 
 Buttermere, and then, with great regret, left this 
 enchanting country, where the young artists had 
 found all that their hearts sought for, and their 
 eyes desired. 
 
 As Mr. Montgomery was extremely desirous 
 of seeing Hack Fall and Bolton Abbey, he de. 
 termined to accompany the ladies at least as far 
 as Harrowgate. Lady Barbara then concluded 
 to go from thence into Devonshire ; but as she 
 intended her stay at Harrowgate to be governed 
 in a great measure by the situation in which she 
 should find Mr. Lawrence, it was concluded that 
 Mr. Montgomery, after viewing the objects of 
 curiosity in that neighbourhood, should pursue 
 his journey to London. 
 
 With Hack Fall the travellers were exceed- 
 ingly delighted, and as the weather continued 
 favourable, they obtained some fine sketches ;
 
 THE clergyman's WIDOAV. Ill 
 
 but with the ruins of Bolton Abbe}% and the fine 
 views of the Wharfe, they were absolutely trans- 
 ported, and felt surprised that it had hitherto 
 attracted so little attention. They would most 
 willingly have lingered out the autumn here, 
 had not Lady Barbara been anxious to pursue 
 her journey into the west, according to her plan ; 
 therefore they tore themselves from this sylvan 
 abode, and pursued their journey to Harrowgate, 
 where we will leave them for a time, to inquire 
 what is become of Mrs. Gardiner and her eldest 
 daughter. 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 During the summer in which Sarah had been 
 thus uniting amusement and improvement, Maria 
 had been pursuing her business with diligence, 
 and continued to be the comfort and delight of 
 her fond parent ; but this parent's hopes and 
 fears were now excited by a new interest, which, 
 for a short time, was a source of great solicitude. 
 In the same street where Mrs. Gardiner and 
 her daughter lived, there was a very respectable 
 family, from whom she had often received many 
 pleasing and friendly attentions. The family 
 
 k2
 
 112 THE CLKRGYMAN's WIDOW. 
 
 consisted of a father and mother, one son, and 
 two daughters. The father was a mercer, in a 
 very good line of business, in which he had re- 
 alized a handsome fortune ; and this summer he 
 gave the whole of it up to his son, and retired 
 into the country, leaving his eldest daughter to 
 keep her brother's house. 
 
 This young lady had attached herself much to 
 Maria, with whom she frequently sat an hour in 
 the evening ; and sometimes her brother came to 
 fetch her home, at which times Mrs. Gardiner 
 had remarked an attention and deference to Ma- 
 ria, which she thought indicative of an attach- 
 ment she could not disapprove. As she knew 
 the young man to be in every way respectable and 
 amiable, and being handsome in his person, as 
 well as agreeable in his manners, she felt no 
 doubt but Maria would soon feel for him that 
 regard he appeared so well calculated to awaken. 
 As, however, though his wishes were evident, 
 yet his advances were extremely distant, Mrs, 
 Gardiner became alarmed lest he should be in- 
 volving himself in some disagreement with his 
 family ; she apprehended that, as an only son, 
 his father had most probably a wealthier bride 
 in his eye for him, and she dreaded lest the hap- 
 })iness of her child should become the sacrifice of
 
 THE clergyman's WIDOW. 113 
 
 her principles. She well knew that Maria would 
 never enter a family clandestinely, or owe that 
 to pity which she merited from esteem ; but she 
 dreaded lest her affections should be engaged ere 
 she was aware that their freedom was necessary 
 for her happiness. She had remarked an air of 
 embarrassment whenever Mr. Clarkson (the 
 young man in question) addressed her, and that 
 she had of late been often absent in company, 
 and appeared frequently lost in intense thought. 
 The tender mother felt for her all the anxiety 
 such a case merited in so excellent a cliild, but 
 she did not feel empowered to break into the de- 
 licate reserve that Maria had adopted ; she now 
 looked forward with great eagerness to the pe- 
 riod when Sarah should arrive, as she thought 
 that her sister would be able to open her heart 
 more fully to a person so near her own age ; and 
 she too, felt a want of some one to whom she 
 could fully confide all her hopes and fears, on a 
 subject of so much importance. 
 
 From this state of inquietude she was, how- 
 ever, partly relieved before Sarah's return. Miss 
 Clarkson having one evening prevailed on Maria 
 to take a short walk with her, the young man 
 seized that opportunity to entreat Mrs. Gardiner's 
 permission to allow him to pay his addresses to 
 
 K 3
 
 IH THE clergyman's WIDOW. 
 
 her daugliter, to whom lie said he had been at- 
 tached more than two years, but that he had been 
 deterred from declaring his affection sooner, part- 
 ly from Maria's youth, and partly from his own 
 want of an establishment, which was now hap- 
 pily removed, and enabled him to offer a comfort- 
 able home, not only to her daughter, but herself. 
 
 ' I cannot permit you to proceed, sir,' said 
 Mrs. Gardiner, ' without interrupting you, just 
 to ask if your father knows of your attachment 
 to Maria, as I am confident, without his full 
 consent, you will never obtain my daughter's : I 
 need not mention mine, for her own sense of pro- 
 priety will, I am certain, dictate this conduct.' 
 
 To this question Mr. Clarkson made no other 
 answer than by immediately placing the follow- 
 ing letter in her hands : — 
 
 'my dear son, 
 
 * To see you well settled in life has been 
 for many years the first wish of my heart, and, 
 as far as lay in my power, I have struggled to 
 obtain it ; and having done this for you, I rejoice 
 that there is no necessity for you to make fortune 
 an object in a wife : you have therefore my free 
 consent, and your mother's likewise, to marry 
 Miss Gardiner, who, we think, is a fortune in
 
 THE CLEKGYMAN's WIDOW. 11-5 
 
 herself, as you observe. All my advice in this 
 affair is, that you will treat her mother with the 
 attention due to her as a son, she being, in our 
 opinion, a woman whose piety and virtue will be 
 a blessing to all who are connected with her. 
 As we are greatly concerned for you, we beg you 
 to write us soon, and give us information of every 
 thing relating to this aifair. I remain, dear son, 
 yours, Sec. &.c. 
 
 ' Thos. Clarkson.' 
 
 Under these circumstances, she did not hesitate 
 to give her consent most gladly to the young 
 man, who received it with unbounded gratitude, 
 and took his leave. Poor Mrs, Gardiner failed 
 not, on her knees, to thank the Almighty Dis- 
 poser for what she believed to be the greatest 
 mark of his interposition, of the many she had 
 hitherto experienced. She had kept Mr, Clark- 
 son's letter in her hand, and was admiring the 
 plain sensible style of it, when Maria returned 
 from her walk : she parted from her young friend 
 at the door, and entered, with a pale counte- 
 nance and a trembling step. On seeing her mo- 
 ther, she just observed, in a tremulous tone, that 
 the evening was fine, and was going to leave tlie 
 room ; but Mrs. Gardiner, alarmed at her pale-
 
 110 THE clergyman's WIDOW. 
 
 ness and evident embarrassment, said — ' My love, 
 you are not well ; had you not better sit down 
 here?' 
 
 Maria sat down, violently agitated ; but strug- 
 gling to gain composure, she at length, by a 
 strong effort, obtained courage to say — ' You 
 have a letter there, mother, I perceive ?' 
 
 ' I have, my love, and one that nearly con- 
 cerns you, Maria ; but we will talk about it an- 
 ther time.' 
 
 ' No, my dear mother,' said Maria, pressing 
 her hands, * we will talk about it now ; for I 
 wish not to conceal from you, that Eliza Clark- 
 son has given me the history of that letter during 
 our walk. Indeed,' she added, with a deep sigh, 
 ' I have long seen the evil that was hanging 
 over my head, and I thought the cloud would 
 burst upon me soon,' 
 
 * The evil !' exclaimed Mrs. Gardiner — ' the 
 cloud burst over you ! — why, Maria, you abso- 
 lutely astonish me. If I did not know you ut- 
 terly incapable of airs or nonsense of any kind, 
 I think I should conclude you were playing off 
 Lydia Languish in the comedy. But I see how 
 it is ; Eliza has been amusing herself at your ex- 
 })ense. You do not know that this letter is a 
 full, free, generous consent from Mr, Clarkson, 
 that Francis should marry you.'
 
 THE clergyman's WIDOW. 11 7 
 
 ' Ah, but indeed I do, mother ! I would it 
 were not, for then I should have a reason for re- 
 fusing which even you would approve.' 
 
 ' And do you seriously intend to refuse him. ?' 
 said the surprised and mortified mother. 
 
 Maria answered only by tears. 
 
 Mrs. Gardiner had suffered for her children 
 much, but this was the first pang she had borne 
 from any one of them, and she felt it severely — 
 more severely than the nature of the case war- 
 ranted. But where is the human being whose 
 feelings are regulated by the hand of wisdom in 
 every emergency of life ? and where our expec- 
 tations have been highly raised, is not our disap- 
 pointment proportionably acute ? One hour ago, 
 this fond mother, presaging her daughter's hap- 
 piness, had trod on air ; she was now laid in the 
 dust, and time and prayer were necessary to re- 
 store her to her wonted tranquillity. 
 
 When Maria's overburthened heart had found 
 some relief from the plentiful discharge of tears, 
 she began to reflect on her own conduct in this 
 affair, and the review gave her courage ; the 
 more she investigated her feelings, the more she 
 felt convinced that she was justifiable in her con- 
 duct, and that, when the first vexation and dis- 
 appointment were subsided, her mother must.
 
 118 THE clergyman's AVIDOW. 
 
 vipon her own principles, justify the resolution 
 she now condemned. This consideration at 
 length gave her confidence, and she spoke thus : — 
 ' Do not, my dear mother, for one act of appa- 
 rent disobedience, condemn a daughter, who, till 
 now, has made your will the law of her life ; nor 
 think that I am rashly throwing away a proffer- 
 ed blessing, which I feel to be equally above my 
 expectations and merits. I have for many weeks 
 been endeavouring to school my own heart on 
 this subject; I have pointed out all the advan- 
 tages of such a connexion to my family, the bless- 
 ing of securing you a certain asylum for life, the 
 advantage such a connexion would be to my two 
 younger brothers, and, in short, the value of 
 such a friend as this truly estimable young man 
 would be to us all ; and there have been moments 
 when the desire of diffusing this happiness to 
 objects so exceedingly dear to me, has risen para- 
 mount to every selfish feeling ; and had it hap- 
 pened that I had been asked in one of those fits 
 of affection (if I may use the expression), I should 
 doubtless have given my hand to Mr. Clarkson ; 
 but I believe it to be happy for us both that I 
 have not, for every moment of cool deliberation 
 has assured me, that I shall never feel for him 
 that unalloyed affection which would be neces-
 
 The clergyman's widoav. 119 
 
 sary for the discharge of my duties. You know 
 1 am not romantic ; I do not think it necessary 
 to be in love (as the phrase is) with the man I 
 marry, but I do think it necessary to have a very 
 decided preference.' 
 
 * How do you know that 3'ou shall not feel 
 this same decided preference ? There is no man 
 for whom you feel more esteem than Mr. Clark- 
 son : time may do much : you will not refuse his 
 visits ?' 
 
 Maria was silent. 
 
 * If I had not known,' resumed the widow, 
 * that you had neither correspondence nor ac- 
 quaintance with any other man, I should really 
 think, Maria, that, with all your apparent open- 
 ness, you had deceived me, and that you had 
 some engagement, some attachment, that I know 
 nothing of.' 
 
 ' But I have no engagement, my dear mother ; 
 indeed I have not. Oh, do not look unkindly at 
 me ! it will break my heart. Never, never did 1 
 harbour one deceitful thought from my cradle.' 
 
 ' Do not distress yourself, my child, if you 
 have no engagement or attachment of any kind.' 
 
 ' Spare me, my mother ! I did not say I had 
 no attachment, nor do I mean to equivocate : I
 
 120 THE clergyman's WIDOW. 
 
 wish you could read every thought and feelmg of 
 my heart. But indeed I can say no more.' 
 
 The poor girl sunk sobbing on the bosom of 
 her mother, who forbore to urge her further ; 
 but this painful conversation not only convinced 
 her of the mortifying necessity of refusing this 
 truly desirable connexion, but left a degree of 
 inquietude upon the mind of Mrs. Gardiner which 
 had hitherto been unknown. She remarked, 
 however, with pleasure, that Maria was restored 
 to her usual equanimity ; and grateful for her 
 indulgence in urging the affair no farther, exerted 
 herself to prove how deeply she felt the obliga- 
 tion. 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 On the arrival of Lady Barbara at Harrowgate, 
 she learnt, with more sorrow than surprise, that 
 Mr. Lawrence, finding himself grow weaker every 
 day, had sent for his favourite nephew about a 
 fortnight before, intending, under his care, to 
 return to his own house in London ; but that, 
 being taken much worse at Leeds, he had been 
 obliged to stop there about ten days, when he 
 expired in his nephew's arms. From all these 
 circumstances, her ladyship was led to conclude
 
 THE clergyman's WIDOW. 121 
 
 that he had not made any addition to his will in 
 poor Mrs. Gardiner's favour ; but her hopes re- 
 vived on their passing through Leeds (as they 
 happened to be at the inn from which the fune- 
 ral had departed a few days before), as the com- 
 municative chambermaid informed them a law- 
 yer had been with the sick gentleman for two 
 hours, a week before he died : but she heard her 
 master say, Mr. Scepticus did not come to make 
 the gentleman's will, but another thing with a 
 very odd name ; but it was a thing that wanted 
 signing all the same as a will, she believed.' 
 
 ' Was it a codicil, my good girl :' 
 
 ' Well ! Lord bless us, if that wasn't the very 
 word, I declare !' cried the wench, in amaze- 
 ment. 
 
 Having obtained the attorney's address. Lady 
 Barbara set out to obtain the wished-for infor- 
 mation. Being introduced to the man of law, 
 having little time and great anxiety, she in- 
 quired, in her usual blunt and somewhat acrimo- 
 nious manner, if he had made a codicil for the 
 late Mr. Lawrence, in favour of the widow Gar- 
 diner, or her children ? 
 
 ' Pray, are you the widow Gardiner ?' said Mr. 
 Scepticus, drawing up his neck and adjusting his 
 cravat, with an air of determinate hostilitv. 
 
 L
 
 122 THE CLERGYMAN'S WIDO^V. 
 
 ' No,' said the lady, abruptly. 
 
 ' Perhaps you are a relation of hers ?' 
 
 * I am not.' 
 
 ' Then, as I doubt you possess no legal right 
 to inquire, ma 'am, you must allow me to doubt 
 my right to give you a categorical answer.' 
 
 ' Heaven defend me from a country attorney !' 
 cried Lady Barbara. ' Won't you tell me whe- 
 ther he had left Cordelia any thing ?' 
 
 * I never heard the word Cordelia in my life, 
 ma'am — except, indeed, upon the stage,' said the 
 lawyer. 
 
 Lady Barbara flounced out of the office, equal- 
 ly angry at the dead man and his attorney. — 
 ' 'Tis a pretty job truly !' she muttered to her- 
 self : ' it will cost me a thousand pounds, I ex- 
 pect, and I have but a life estate ; yes, 'tis a very 
 pretty job indeed ! — I wish he had lived till I 
 had come back — I'd have taught him to make 
 codicils, indeed, without remembering the child ! 
 that I would !' 
 
 On her return to the inn, she found the young 
 ])eople employed in looking at some paintings, 
 one of which Montgomery recommended her to 
 purchase, as it was reasonable. — ' Me buy pic- 
 tures !' cried the lady in a fury — ' I'll buy no- 
 thing ; I have not a shilling to spare ; 'tis fairly 
 a thousand pounds lost.'
 
 THE CLERGYMAN S WIDOW. 123 
 
 Utterly unconscious what Lady Barbara al- 
 luded to, but sorry to see lier so discomposed, the 
 young people continued silent for the next stage, 
 when they parted, as Mr. Montgomery went from 
 thence to London, and they pursued the road 
 
 through Birmingham and Bath to S , in 
 
 Devonshire. 
 
 Lady Barbara continued silent till they got 
 near Sheffield, when she asked Sarah what ailed 
 her, and what she was thinking O'f ? 
 
 ' I was just thinking this neighbourhood is 
 very beautiful, but the town is not near so pretty 
 as Doncaster.' 
 
 ' Umph ! I thought your brains were on the 
 Doncaster road ; but I would advise you to call 
 'em home again, child ; you must make all your 
 forces rally round the citadel, or we shall have a 
 speedy surrender, I doubt.* 
 
 The blood rose in torrents to poor Sarah's 
 cheeks, and forsook them as speedily ; but Lady 
 Barbara pursued her game no farther, and grieved 
 for the pain she had given, shook off the morn- 
 ing's chagrin, and passed the evening in good- 
 humour. 
 
 Sarah was, during this journey, presented with 
 a scene very different to any thing she had yet 
 beheld : this was the rich orchards of Worcester- 
 
 L 2
 
 124 THE clergyman's widow. 
 
 shire and Gloucestershire, now in perfection, and 
 glowing with Hesperian beauty. She was par- 
 ticularly struck with the almost immeasurable 
 vale, which, from the high hill above Froucester, 
 spreads out like an immense carpet, through which 
 the Severn winds in serpentizing folds. Orchards 
 and cottages, villages with their neat churches, 
 meadows, cornfields, and gentlemen's houses, all 
 conspire to give the idea of a rich country, on 
 which ' the power of cultivation sits, and joys to 
 see the wonders of his hand.' 
 
 Bath, though it could not boast of much com- 
 pany, was likewise a pleasant object to Sarah, as 
 the most elegant place she had ever seen ; but 
 she could not give it one sigh of regret, as from 
 thence it was scarcely a day's journey to her dear 
 mother's arms. Lady Barbara remarked her 
 eagerness with complacency ; and though it was 
 some miles out of her way, yet she did not pro- 
 ceed to her destination, till she had set her down 
 at her mother's door. 
 
 Sarah flew into the room in breathless im2:)a- 
 tience — ' Oh, my mother ! my sister !' she ex- 
 claimed, and was instantly embraced by both. 
 Again and again they looked at and admired her ; 
 she was much taller, and considerably plumper 
 than she used to be, though still slight, and roses
 
 THE clergyman's WIDOW. 125 
 
 were now blown on her cheeks, to rival the 
 lilies which had named her ; there was an air of 
 fashion now blended with her simplicity ; and, 
 altogether, she was so much improved, that the 
 fond parent and sister could never sufficiently 
 gaze at her. 
 
 Sarah thought her friends were just as she 
 had left them, but she had some difficulty in 
 persuading herself that the house was the same 
 as she had left it ; the parlour appeared so small, 
 the staircase so narrow, and the whole establish- 
 ment so totally different to what she had been 
 used to, that she was obliged to watch herself 
 very narrowly, lest something should escape 
 which might wound the feelings of those dear 
 relatives who were exerting their narrow means 
 to the utmost, to procure her comparative com- 
 forts. 
 
 Much had both parties to hear and to relate ; 
 and it was extremely delightful to Mrs. Gardi- 
 ner to perceive that her child was so far from 
 being corrupted by the luxuries to which she 
 had been accustomed, that in the course of a 
 very few days, when the novelty of her situa- 
 tion was gone off, she appeared to enjoy all 
 around her with her accustomed zest, and that 
 every branch of her family was still as dear to 
 
 L .3
 
 120 THE clergyman's WIDOW. 
 
 her as before she had left them. She was ex- 
 ceedingly desirous that little Henry should be 
 sent to school to Mr. Wallingford, and was ex- 
 tremely anxious that part of Lady Barbara's li- 
 beral allowance of pocket money to her should 
 be applied to this purpose. While this point 
 was debating, the family was agreeably sur- 
 prised with a letter from Mr. Staniland, which 
 was the more welcome, as they had not heard 
 from George for above two months, and were 
 become extremely uneasy on his account, as his 
 general regularity rendered them alive to every 
 defection in his correspondence. Mr. Staniland's 
 letter was as follows : — 
 
 ' Dear Cousin, 
 
 ' I have been for seven weeks confined 
 to my bed with a fever, and I make the first 
 use of my convalescence to inform you, that I 
 believe, under Heaven, your excellent son was 
 the means of saving my life. His conduct has 
 been such as to secure the affection of my wife 
 and daughters, to the last day of their lives ; 
 but as words are poor payment, I think it my 
 duty to set your heart at case, by informing you 
 that, from this day, I take all his expences upon 
 myself: and hereby promise, that on the day lie
 
 THE clehgyman's avidow. 127 
 
 is twenty-three years of age, I will make him 
 my equal partner. I hear a very good account 
 of your son William, who, it seems, has a desire 
 to enter the church ; if a friend should be want- 
 ed, do not forget that you have a sincere one in 
 your affectionate cousin, 
 
 ' J. Staniland.' 
 
 Delightful to the widow's heart was this ho- 
 nest and grateful testimonial to the worth of her 
 eldest son, whose example, she hoped, would be 
 followed by his brothers. She had often, very 
 naturally, lamented that the elder branches of 
 the family were of the weaker sex, and were 
 obliged to extend protection to brothers, instead 
 of receiving it from them ; but she now felt a 
 belief that all things were for the best, and that 
 every circumstance of their lives had been ordered 
 by overruling wisdom ; and though she could 
 not look upon the past without emotions of tender 
 regret, yet it was blended with a sense of pure 
 gratitude and abundant consolation, and the fu- 
 ture presented fruitful sources on which hope 
 might repose with reason and confide with joy.
 
 128 THE clergyman's widow. 
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 In consequence of the certainty of George's 
 happy establishment, Mrs. Gardiner began to 
 consider the scheme of placing Henry under 
 Mr. Wallingford's care, as somewhat more fea- 
 sible than it had hitherto appeared. She had 
 been afraid of mentioning her wishes on this 
 head to that gentleman, lest she should be 
 thought to levy a second tax on his generosity, 
 which she was well aware would be readily 
 extended : after maturely deliberating the point, 
 it was at length settled, that, though she could 
 not by any means afford to place Henry under 
 the good man's care on the terms of his other 
 boarders, yet she was enabled to do it on terms 
 which would secure him from loss ; and as they 
 understood he had one vacancy, they determined 
 that no time should be lost in procuring so ex- 
 cellent a situation. This matter was more easily 
 settled by the sisters than the mother; for though 
 her judgment completely approved the arrange- 
 ment, her heart shrunk from the execution of a 
 plan which tore her youngest darling from her 
 isight : the widowed mother will know how to
 
 THE clergyman's WIDOW. 129 
 
 appreciate her feelings in this respect, and such 
 only can. 
 
 A day or two before that on which it had been 
 fixed to send little Henry to school, the family 
 had the pleasure of receiving a call from Lady 
 Barbara, who was immediately acquainted with 
 their intention, which she approved much, saying, 
 she hoped in another year that Sarah would be 
 equal to bearing a large proportion of his ex- 
 pences. She then inquired the exact situation 
 of the village, and on learning it, informed her 
 auditors that she could very conveniently pack 
 them all in her coach, if they wanted to take the 
 child, as she was under a promise to spend some 
 days with an old friend in that neighbourhood. 
 Sir Thomas Singleton ; and that the carriage 
 
 should bring them back to S , and return 
 
 for her at the time she wanted, which would be 
 within a few days of her return to London. 
 Having hastily settled her plan, she left the 
 party to decide the minutiae of the business at 
 their leisure. 
 
 Mrs. Gardiner, though often invited by her 
 late worthy neighbours, had never been able to 
 prevail on herself to v sit this dear village, and 
 she trembled with the thoughts of encountering 
 the many objects of tender recollection which
 
 130 THE clergyman's WIDOW. 
 
 must press upon her view. Still she could not 
 quit her little darling, without herself placing 
 him in the hands of her excellent friend the 
 curate ; the opportunity of conveyance, too, was 
 such as could not be lost : it was therefore 
 settled that herself and two elder daughters 
 should accompany their little darling, while 
 Betsey should (with the leave of her good go- 
 verness, who was always happy to oblige a family 
 she so much respected) undertake for one day 
 the management of Maria's business. 
 
 This interesting moment arrived, and they set 
 out, all happy, but all thoughtful — a pensive 
 tone of thought pervaded every mind, and si- 
 lenced every tongue, except that of the little 
 boy, who, as he partook of the coachman's seat, 
 interrupted no other person by his garrulity. 
 
 The nearer the party approached their once 
 happy mansion, the more acute became their sen- 
 sations: the lane, the meadows, w^ere old friends; 
 the coppice behind the house, that favourite 
 walk of him whose hand had planted it ; that 
 garden, whose cultivation had been his amuse- 
 ment and his pride, now rose to their view, and 
 boasted more than its former neatness ; in every 
 thing around there was little change, except im- 
 provement — an attention to the character and
 
 THE clergyman's WIDOW. 131 
 
 taste of the former inhabitants at once flattering 
 and affecting. 
 
 A splendid equipage at the parsonage-door 
 was not at this period so wonderful a sight as 
 it used to be, as the parents and friends of Mr. 
 Wallingford's pupils occasionally called upon them 
 there ; but it was still a spectacle of admiration, 
 and the few who were going past stopped to 
 see the fine folks get out. The young ladies, 
 who alighted first, were not remembered, being 
 grown out of knowledge ; but Mrs. Gardiner, 
 who was at a period of life less subject to change, 
 was instantly recognised, and the news of her 
 arrival spread through the country before even 
 Mr. Wallingford was aware of it. Seated with 
 his pupils in a back-room, the party had bidden 
 adieu to their noble conductor, and were walking 
 down the garden, Mrs. Gardiner leaning on the 
 arm of her eldest daughter, while Sarah led Henry 
 by the hand, who was carrying a package nearly 
 as large as himself, when a little boy informed 
 his good master that company was coming. 
 
 When Mr. Wallingford ran out to receive the 
 party, his pleasure and surprise were such as to 
 destroy the power of utterance : he seized the 
 hand of Mrs. Gardiner, and respectfully kissing 
 her cheek, led her forward to the parlour, and
 
 132 THE clergyman's widow. 
 
 placed her in the chair once occupied by her 
 reverenced partner, while he took himself the 
 one she used to sit in herself. This attention to 
 her feelings was not lost upon her, but it served 
 to increase the agitation that swelled her bosom ; 
 she attempted to speak, but her voice was suffo- 
 cated ; she sunk back on her chair, and burst 
 into tears : her children and her friend wept 
 with her. 
 
 From this timely relief she arose refreshed, 
 though still sad ; but scarcely had she regained 
 composure, when the arrival of the old neigh- 
 bours recalled, in a great measure, her former 
 sensations ; many received her with tears of joy, 
 and many with obstreperous pleasure, but all 
 with sincere affection. A thousand inquiries 
 were put about Willy and George ; and as soon 
 as Henry appeared, he was embraced with ar- 
 dour : but here a new trial wrung the widow's 
 heart, though mixed with tender joy : they all 
 declared this boy was the very image of his re- 
 verence ; he was even more like him than Miss 
 Sally ; and a thousand prayers were poured 
 round the astonished child, that he might re- 
 semble him in all things. 
 
 When it was found that Mrs. Gardiner and her 
 family were to return the same evening, mur-
 
 THE clergyman's WIDOW. 133 
 
 murs succeeded to congratulations ; Mrs. Gooch 
 grumbled aloud ; farmer Eade thought it main 
 hard zhe zhould come an' peep at 'em, az it 
 were, an' then run away az if zhe did not like 
 'em ; but finding this observation had given a 
 new pang to those under which the widow evi- 
 dently laboured, he became so vexed with him- 
 self, that he sobbed aloud. His wife, a sensible 
 woman, then observed, that it was a plain case 
 zo many people were quite too much for maddam : 
 she hoped, zo she did, az how dear mistress wud 
 come next year, and stay a long time among 
 'em ; to which Mrs. Gardiner affectionately con- 
 ceded, the curate observing, that either then or 
 the summer after, he hoped she would come and 
 stay a very long time amongst them. 
 
 Elated with this promise, the party took their 
 leave ; the curate went to shew his garden to 
 the yuung ladies, and Mrs. Gardiner lay down 
 on the sofa, endeavouring to regain that strength 
 of mind she had often evinced on occasions per- 
 haps more trying, but not more touching than 
 this affecting visit. 
 
 A summons for dinner now called the party 
 from the garden, and roused Mrs. Gardiner to 
 an exertion which was very beneficial to her 
 spirits : she was much pleased with the young
 
 134 THE clergyman's avidow. 
 
 family, and gratified by finding Mr. Walling- 
 ford in possession of many comforts and in- 
 creasing prospects. When the cloth was drawn, 
 he entered into a free communication of his 
 present circumstances ; and while this conversa- 
 tion took place, Sarah led Maria out of the 
 room, and unpacking the package which Henry 
 had brought from the coach, exhibited a beau- 
 tiful drawing, elegantly framed, which she said 
 was done in London, on purpose for a present to 
 Mr. Wallingford, and she hoped Maria would 
 give it him now, as it appeared the best time. 
 
 ' But, my dear Sarah, why not give it him 
 yourself ? 'tis your own drawing, and your own 
 present.' 
 
 ' Because it will be more welcome from your 
 hand, Maria : you need not blush so, for I am 
 sure it will.' 
 
 Maria was now angry, and returned still 
 blushing to the room ; so poor Sarah was con- 
 tent to take her pretty present in her hand, and 
 with sisterly affection offer it to the friend of 
 the family, who received it wdth much pleasure 
 and many thanks, and expressed sincere admira- 
 tion of the talents it displayed, particularly ad- 
 miring the figures, which he thought uncommonly 
 well done.
 
 THE clergyman's widow. 135 
 
 It was now Sarah's turn to blush, as she ac- 
 knowledged they had been put in by Mr. Mont- 
 gomery. 
 
 Mrs. Gardiner, pleased with the picture, and 
 still more so with the manner of its disposal, 
 did not attend to the tell-tale faces of either of 
 her daughters ; but after having agreed with 
 Mr. Wallingford as to the best place to hang it 
 in, proposed taking a short walk round the 
 house, to look at its improvements ; and accord- 
 ingly they set out on this interesting little walk. 
 
 As they were returning, Mr. Wallingford 
 observed that the church had undergone many 
 repairs, and in the course of the last spring, had 
 been whitewashed and beautified. — ' I would ask 
 you,' said he, hesitatingly, ' to look at what we 
 have done there, but I know not how far it would 
 be agreeable, or, indeed, good for you.' 
 
 Mrs. Gardiner, who had now greatly reco- 
 vered the usual serenity of her mind, replied 
 that she should like to look at the church ; and 
 putting her arm through the curate's, quietly 
 resumed her walk. 
 
 The curate led the way down the middle 
 aisle, and pointed in silence to some improve- 
 ments round the pulpit, to which, as each eye 
 glanced, it was bedimmed by a tear of fond re-
 
 136 THE CLERGYiMAN's avidow. 
 
 membrance ; when little Henry, to whom all 
 things were new, and who had made the circuit 
 of the church while the rest were slowly enter- 
 ing it, ran up to his mother, and seizing her 
 hand with violent agitation, his eyes twinkling 
 away a tear, while his heart throbbed with fond 
 emotion, cried — ' Come, mother, come ! tell me, 
 is not this my father, my own poor father that I 
 never saw ?' 
 
 Astonished at the strange address and per- 
 turbation of the child, Mrs. Gardiner turned 
 pale as death, and her trembling limbs almost 
 refused to obey his summons ; but Mr. Wal- 
 lingford endeavoured to reassure her — ' I see 
 how it is,' he said — ' the child has found out a 
 little memorial of our love, which I wished, yet 
 was fearful you should see : I now find I ought 
 to have told you myself.' 
 
 As he spoke, he gently led the way to the 
 chancel, where the ready finger of Henry pointed 
 out a neat tablet of wliite marble, the only monu- 
 ment that had ever adorned these humble walls, 
 and on which, with trembling haste and pious 
 curiosity, they traced the following lines : 
 
 ' Sacred to the memory of the Reverend George 
 i^ARDiNER, ob. May 10, 1793, and was interred in 
 the burial-place of his countrymen at Lisbon ; but
 
 THE clergyman's WIDOW. 137 
 
 whose virtues as a man, and whose piety as a Chris- 
 tian minister^ still live in the hearts of his parish- 
 ioners, who have erected this monument, as an humble 
 proof of their love, their veneration, and their grati- 
 tude.'' 
 
 As the widow perused these lines, every fibre 
 of her heart vibrated with new and overwhelm- 
 ing sensations, and she sunk on her knees, with 
 uplifted hands and streaming eyes, apparently 
 engaged in silent prayer ; her daughters, clasped 
 in each other's arms, at once seemed to lament 
 over the separation of their parents, and to exult 
 in their excellence ; while the beauteous boy, 
 standing by his mother, Aviped the tears from 
 her cheeks with his little handkerchief, or kissed 
 them away with his rosy lips, while, with silent 
 sorrow, he evinced sensibility superior to his 
 years. The curate supported the widow with 
 his arm ; his heart was engaged in fervent 
 prayer to Heaven for her, but not a sound es- 
 caped the lips of any one. 
 
 To beings thus engaged, the lapse of time 
 passed unperceived, for their intercourse was 
 with objects of eternity ; and they had been 
 thus situated many minutes, when a stranger 
 entered the church. He beheld the group, he 
 read the inscription, and the scene explained
 
 138 THE clergyman's widow. 
 
 itself. Struck with the sacred form of sorrow 
 thus awfully engaged, he advanced with silent 
 reverence, as if anxious to partake that holy 
 communion of spirit in which the whole group 
 evidently participated ; and with chastened joy 
 he beheld the countenance of the widow by de- 
 grees lose the sense of present pain in that of 
 anticipated joy in an eternal reunion with her 
 lamented husband ; he saw heavenly resignation 
 in her sweet daughters blend with pious love, 
 as, gently turning, they each endeavoured to 
 assist her ; but, just at this moment, the eyes of 
 Sarah met the stranger's ; she uttered a faint 
 scream of surprise, which so alarmed her al- 
 ready exhausted mother, that she would have 
 fallen prostrate, if the stranger had not caught 
 her in his arms. 
 
 A distressing confusion was visible in the 
 countenances of Maria and Mr. Wallingford, 
 but their anxiety to recover Mrs. Gardiner su- 
 perseded every other concern. As they jointly 
 conveyed her to a seat, she perceived herself in 
 the arms of a stranger, but he wore a look of 
 such genuine sensibility and pure benevolence, 
 that her heart felt willing that he should be the 
 partaker of its inmost confidence. Sarah set 
 them all at ease by the exclamation of — ' Oh.
 
 THE clergyman's WIDOW. 139 
 
 Mr. Montgomery, at what an awful moment have 
 you found us !' 
 
 * A moment,' replied the young man, ' for 
 which I hope to be a wiser and a better man to 
 the latest of my existence.' 
 
 Mr. Wallingford grasped his hand with the 
 warmth of an old friend ; another pause en- 
 sued, after which Mrs. Gardiner finding herself 
 better, was desirous of returning home. On 
 their road thither, Mr. Montgomery explained 
 the reason of his unexpected appearance. He 
 said that some business of importance required 
 the immediate presence of Lady Barbara Blount 
 in London ; that knowing she generally paid 
 various visits during her stay in Devonshire, 
 he dared not trust to the incertitude of letters, 
 and had therefore determined to convey the 
 information, as it respected the sale of an estate 
 to be disposed of in a few days. He had, in 
 
 consequence, arrived at S that morning, 
 
 about an hour after the party set out ; that learn- 
 ing that her ladyship was gone to Sir Thomas 
 Singleton's, had followed her thither ; that im- 
 mediately on his arrival, the lady had ordered 
 her carriage, and they had come together to the 
 parsonage, when finding the party were gone to 
 look at the church, she had sent him to hasten
 
 140 THE clergyman's WIDOW. 
 
 them home, as it was her intention to proceed to 
 town as fast as possible. 
 
 Under these circumstances, the party were 
 obliged to bid adieu to their kind entertainer in 
 great haste, but not till little Henry had been 
 warmly recommended to his protection, and till 
 Lady Barbara had assured Mr. Wallingford that 
 Sir Thomas Singleton was his warm friend, which 
 he the more readily believed, as he had experi- 
 enced several good offices from that gentleman, 
 in the recommendation of pupils. The pain of 
 parting was at this moment, however, uppermost 
 in his mind ; and when his friends drove off, the 
 good man retired, dejected and forlorn ; he tra- 
 versed his little garden, with measured steps and 
 downcast eyes ; he recollected that these walks 
 had been often trod by two beings, whose united 
 hearts had here shared many a guiltless joy, and 
 divided many a little sorrow, which had vanished 
 by participation ; in these paths they had trained 
 up those lovely babes, who now shed blessings 
 on their mother's head, and crowned their fa- 
 ther's memory with honour. 'Twas true, that 
 father was no more, and that mother had waded 
 through a sea of sorrow ; but notwithstanding 
 all the sufferings consequent on the connection, 
 the good pastor again concluded, for the thou-
 
 THE CLERGYMA.n's WIDOW. 141 
 
 sandth time — ' it was not good for man to be 
 alone.' 
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 Lady Barbaka and the young people pursued 
 their journey to town, where they arrived in time 
 for the benevolent lady to settle her affairs agree- 
 ably to her wishes, and where Sarah resumed 
 her employment with increased avidity. In the 
 mean time, Maria resumed her usual occupation ; 
 but Mrs. Gardiner observed, with some pain, that 
 her mind was frequently abstracted ; and though 
 she could not be called low-spiiited, yet she by 
 no means enjoyed that degree of vivacity natural 
 to her age and temper : she was always serene, 
 but seldom lively ; and as, in the course of this 
 winter, the time of Elizabeth's school-term ex- 
 pired, she determined on taking her home, for a 
 few months at least, in order that her cheerful- 
 ness might tend to restore that of her more 
 thoughtful sister. 
 
 She had the satisfaction of finding her young- 
 est daughter in every respect exceedingly im- 
 proved ; in her person she greatly resembled
 
 142 THE clekgyman's widow. 
 
 Maria, though scarcely so tall ; and the pleasant 
 archness of childhood still enlivened her dark in- 
 telligent eyes, without in the least diminishing 
 that expression of modesty, which is above all 
 other charms in a young woman. 
 
 From Sarah they were in habits of hearing 
 frequently, and she generally conveyed agreeable 
 intelligence of their beloved William, whom 
 they hoped to see in the following summer. 
 Their Christmas was greatly enlivened this win- 
 ter by a visit from George, who was become a 
 fine young man, and appeared as tenderly at- 
 tached to his family as he had been during his 
 childhood. He lamented the not finding Sarah 
 at home, but consoled himself with the reflection 
 that it was probable he should see her in London 
 the following winter, as it was the intention of his 
 good cousin to send him there for improvement 
 as early as possible. The duties of his situation 
 only permitted him to remain ten days with his 
 mother, but the comfort she had received in this 
 visit was long dear to her memory, for she never 
 reflected on it without drawing the happiest omens 
 respecting her first-born boy. 
 
 In the month of February, Mrs. Gardiner re- 
 ceived a letter from her sweet Sarah, written in 
 unusual spirits, and containing a bank-note of
 
 THE clergyman's WIDOW. 14,'} 
 
 five pounds, which she had that morning received 
 for two drawings of her own, the first she had 
 sold. In a style indicative of the warmth and 
 tenderness of her feelings, she entreated her mo- 
 ther to dedicate this first-fruits of her talents to 
 some necessaries for little Henry, whom she ap- 
 peared so anxious to divide with Maria, who, on 
 her part, was ever desirous in any way to con- 
 tribute to the general happiness, and sincerely 
 rejoiced in Sarah's acquisition of powers, of which 
 herself had long been the quiet possessor. In 
 the month of May this present was renewed by 
 Sarah, who informed her family that she had 
 reason to believe, in the beginning of autumn, 
 she should be again their guest ; and this wel- 
 come news was observed by Mrs. Gardiner to 
 have the happiest effect on the mind of Maria, 
 who was now beginning to be much engaged 
 with the summer business, and who had therefore 
 need of every assistance to her spirits which kind- 
 ness could procure. 
 
 In consequence of the destruction of his long- 
 cherished hopes, which Mr. Clarkson had expe- 
 rienced, the two families had not, since that time, 
 held any intercourse, as the blow had had a great 
 effect on the young man's spirits ; but Mrs. 
 Gardiner had the satisfaction of observing that
 
 144 THE CLERGYMA]!^'S WIDOW. 
 
 he now began to speak to her, if any circumstance 
 threw them together, with his former cheerful- 
 ness, and that he even bore the presence of Ma- 
 ria without restraint. That good girl, who had 
 a sincere esteem for his character, and a grateful 
 remembrance of his disinterested affection, sin- 
 cerely rejoiced in his restoration to peace. The 
 steady propriety of her conduct, by leaving no 
 hope for a change in her sentiments, much con- 
 tributed to his cure, while it gave him an in- 
 creased sense of the real value of her character. 
 
 At Midsummer, Mrs. Gardiner had the satis- 
 faction of embracing her long-lost William, whom 
 she found in every respect improved to her wishes ; 
 as was Henry, who was grown so much, that 
 they could no longer apply to him the endearing 
 epithet of little. These brothers had been so 
 completely parted, from the very birth of the 
 youngest, that Mrs. Gardiner had a particular 
 satisfaction in having them to spend a few weeks 
 with each other at this time, as she was extreme- 
 ly anxious to strengthen that bond of affection 
 which is the very essence of domestic happiness 
 and virtue ; and she rejoiced to see that William, 
 like the rest of his family, appeared to see Henry 
 in the most endearing point of view — as a plant 
 they were all called to nourish with peculiar care
 
 THE clergyman's WIDOW. 145 
 
 as the last gift of that parent who was obliged 
 to leave him to their protection. 
 
 As William was very anxious to pay his re- 
 spects to his worthy benefactors at his native vil- 
 lage, he accompanied Henry on his return to 
 school ; and after hastily paying his respects to 
 the worthy clergyman, he hastened to farmer 
 Gooch's, where he found the whole family em- 
 ployed in rearing their last haystack. He was 
 not immediately recognised by the farmer, but 
 the moment he spoke, the dame, who was the only 
 person unemployed, clasped him in her arms, de- 
 claring he was her own sweet William ; she 
 could tell ' the voice on him frae a thousand.' 
 
 Forks and rakes now flew about in all direc- 
 tions, and all the family crowded round the 
 stranger, who received their caresses with heart- 
 felt gratitude and unaffected gracefulness ; while 
 the farmer and his wife listened to all he said 
 with profound attention, and at every pause ex- 
 tolled his wisdom and his manners, with all the 
 hyperbole their language admitted, every now 
 and then walking round him, with all the happy 
 pride which resulted from the consciousness of 
 having contributed their share to the raising of 
 this promising scion. It was, however, happy 
 for William that he was under a promise of re- 
 
 N
 
 146 THE clehgyman's widow. 
 
 turning to the parsonage, as it was not likely that 
 the vanity incident to his age should lie dormant 
 under the load of fuel with which these good 
 people were innocently feeding it. Having pre- 
 sented a parcel to Mrs. Gooch from his eldest 
 sister, he passed on to call on some other neigh- 
 bours, followed by the blessings and praises of 
 the group. But it was not till he was out of 
 sight that Mrs. Gooch unpinned Maria's present : 
 she found it a neat cap, to which a note was 
 pinned, which her son was called upon to read, 
 and which was merely to beg the dame would 
 wear it for her sake ; but this she declared must 
 never be the case, as she would keep it the long- 
 est day she had to live, ' zo zhe would ; and 
 •when John got married, his wife zhuld have it 
 a'ter her.' 
 
 William spent a delightful week among his 
 old friends, and Mr. Wallingford settled to ac- 
 company him home, but was prevented from do- 
 ing so by the arrival of a message from Sir Tho- 
 mas Singleton, requesting his company for an 
 hour ; and as this worthy baronet lived at some 
 miles distance, the good gentleman was obliged 
 to give up the promised indulgence, which was 
 one he so rarely enjoyed, that, if any common 
 occurrence could have ruffled the equanimity of a 
 temper which was governed by such principles as
 
 THE clergyman's WIDOW. 147 
 
 his, this would have done it. He certainly was 
 both vexed and sorry ; but as he could blame no 
 one, he was determined to trouble no one ; so, 
 bidding the dear boy an affectionate adieu, he set 
 out one way, as William set out the other. The 
 regret of the latter was nearly equal to that of 
 the former ; but he was at that happy age when 
 ' the tear, forgot as soon as shed,' leaves no re- 
 gret behind : he soon reached home, and amused 
 his mother and sisters exceedingly with his hu- 
 morous account of the kind reception he had 
 met with among their old neighbours, and the 
 destination of Mrs. Gooch's cap. Maria had 
 sent many similar tokens of remembrance among 
 the friends of her youth, and it was found that 
 they were generally set apart for like useful pur- 
 poses, being thought too valuable to be worn, as 
 being the work of dear Betsey's pretty fingers, or, 
 to increase their dignity, of Miss Gardiner's own 
 hands. 
 
 The dav was a very sad one when William 
 bade his mother and his sisters farewell, though 
 it is but justice to say that he took all possible 
 pains to prove that he was not only a man, but a 
 stoic ; and it was not till the coachman had given 
 the last signal to the passengers, that William, 
 like a fond boy, threw his arms round his mo- 
 
 N 2
 
 148 THE clergyman's widow. 
 
 ther's neck, and wept in her bosom, while that 
 mother once more struggled with the feelings so 
 often exercised, and smiling through her tears, 
 exhorted him to fortitude, and praised him for 
 that he had already shewn. This praise was a 
 stimulus to exertion, for his mother never flat- 
 tered, and he therefore felt its power ; and his 
 last nod from the coach window convinced the 
 anxious parent that his worst struggle was over, 
 and she returned in confidence and peace. 
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 As Mr. Wallingford's character and life have 
 been necessarily the objects of our attention in 
 the course of our little history, we hope the 
 reader will not be displeased if we follow him 
 to Sir Thomas Singleton's, just to see how far 
 the business was of consequence, which drew 
 him from the pleasure he had promised himself 
 in accompanying William. 
 
 He found Sir Thomas sitting alone in his li- 
 brary, who received him with great respect, and 
 said thus — ' I have sent for you, Mr. Walling- 
 ford, because, as I saw nothing of you yesterday.
 
 THE clergyman's WIDOW. 149 
 
 I concluded you had no intention of paying me 
 a visit, at which, I must say, I was a little sur- 
 prised ; but it is possible, to be sure, that you 
 may not know what has happened.' 
 
 Mr. Waliingford assured Sir Thomas that he 
 did not know of any thing that had happened to 
 any person, or in any way, which was likely to 
 have procured him the honour of his present visit. 
 
 ' That is surprising,' said Sir Thomas : ' why, 
 surely you have known that old Mr. Jervas, the 
 incumbent of this living, has been ill above three 
 months }' 
 
 ' That I certainly knew, sir, having frequently 
 officiated for him during the last three months.' 
 
 ' Then allow me to tell you, sir, that any 
 young man but yourself would have known that 
 he died early yesterday m^orning ; and as the 
 living is in my gift, would most probably have 
 asked me for it in the course of yesterday, re- 
 membering the old adage, " first come, first 
 served." You see I am Lady Barbara's first 
 cousin, and, like her, I speak my mind. 
 
 Mr. AVallingford, in great confusion, replied, 
 that he had heard of the death of Mr. Jervas the 
 day before, but that, as almost every patron of a 
 living was well acquainted with many to whom 
 such gifts were highly acceptable, they were ge- 
 
 ^- 3
 
 150 THE clergyman's WIDOW. 
 
 nerally promised, some time before the death of 
 the incumbent, especially, as in the present case, 
 when he was an old man. He must osvn, he 
 said, reddening as he spoke, that the thoughts of 
 this living had passed his mind ; but he had not 
 allowed himself to dwell on the subject, having 
 no doubt but Sir Thomas was acquainted with 
 many men of meiit, married men too, whose wants 
 were greater than his, to whom, of course, the 
 patron's views would be directed. 
 
 ' True/ said Sir Thomas, ' you are single 
 now ; but, as I take it, you have scarcely reached 
 your thirtieth year, and are what the women call 
 handsome, I take it, Mr. Wallingford, there are 
 more unlikely things than that you may marry ; 
 and allow me to tell you, that the longer you are 
 without a living, the longer you must necessa- 
 rily remain single ; and I take that to be no small 
 inconvenience to a man in your situation, since 
 what you are toiling for in your school is pro- 
 ably, from the want of a good housekeeper, wast- 
 ing in your kitchen. It is therefore my particular 
 desire, notwithstanding your excellent reasons 
 to the contrary, that you should accept this 
 living, and marry as fast as you can.* 
 
 ' Sir ! Sir ! I beg pardon — indeed I am so 
 
 surprised, so exceedingly obliged, that ' 
 
 ' Ah, well,' said Sir Thomas, ' say nothing
 
 THE clergyman's WIDOW. 151 
 
 about it, I beg, for it is me and my parish that 
 are the obliged parties ; but hear what I advise 
 you ; 'tis a pity you should leave a place where 
 you are so comfortably settled, so I would have 
 you stay where you are, by all means ; but 
 choose some such young man as you have been 
 yourself, if such a thing is to be had ; let him be 
 your curate, and serve the two churches alter- 
 nately, which the distance renders perfectly easy ; 
 thus both your doctrine and your example will 
 be diffused. Old Jervas has made the rectory 
 here a very pretty, though a very small place ; 
 I can find you a gentleman who will be an excel- 
 lent tenant ; so, every way, you will be helped.' 
 
 * Every way indeed !' said the good man, rising 
 to depart, for he was unequal to conversation ; 
 and his heart sought to disburthen, where only 
 the full tide of gratitude could flow freely in 
 the presence of his Father and his God. Sir 
 Thomas understood and respected his feelings, 
 and in the silent bow with which he bade him 
 adieu, read gratitude and joy beyond the power 
 of language to convey; he therefore contented 
 himself with only desiring Mr. Wallingford not 
 to leave home till he had him regularly inducted, 
 as he expected a friend in a few days, who 
 would perform that ceremony. 
 
 ' And was it for this I murmured, shortsighted
 
 152 THE clergyman's widow. 
 
 being that I was !' cried the self- reproaching 
 pastor, as he journeyed homeward, wrapt in 
 amazement at an event which appeared so like a 
 dream, that he feared lest he should awake 
 from the flattering illusion, to feel again the 
 fears which had haunted him so long. When 
 he had retired to his closet, and on his knees 
 devoutly thanked the great Disposer for this un- 
 looked-for blessing, he walked out into his garden, 
 and began indeed to taste the ' sober certainty of 
 waking bliss ;' the long-promised haven was now 
 before him, towards which he had long steered 
 heavily, and often hopelessly ; and as the visions 
 of future life passed in succession before him, he 
 experienced pleasures so exquisite, that he felt 
 the cares of a much longer life would have been 
 overpaid and forgotten in these precious moments. 
 
 Never surely did time move with such leaden 
 wings as on the three following days ; the fourth 
 was a morning of business, and got tolerably 
 over ; the fifth was the Sabbath, and he was ex- 
 pected to preach to his new congregation; but 
 on the sixth, he took the wings of the morning, 
 and flew to S 
 
 Mrs. Gardiner and Maria were still loitering 
 at the breakfast-table, though it was by no means 
 their custom ; but William, whom they had
 
 THE clergyman's WIDOW. 153 
 
 parted with the evening before, was the subject 
 of their discourse. On the entrance of Mr. 
 Wallingford, it struck both the ladies that he 
 was eome to see William before his departure, 
 and they both cried out, with one voice — ' Ah, 
 sir ! vou are too late !' 
 
 ' Too late !' cried he — * good Heavens ! what 
 can you mean V 
 
 ' That poor William set out by the "mail last 
 night.' 
 
 The good man breathed again ; but his heart 
 was almost too full for utterance, and the tears 
 stood in his eyes. Mrs. Gardiner became alarmed 
 (the fears of a mother are ever on the wing) — 
 * Oh, sir, tell me, I conjure you, what is the 
 matter ? I saw you were agitated when you 
 came in. What is the matter ? — How is my 
 child, my poor Henry ?' 
 
 ' Perfectly well, my dear madam — at the head 
 of a whole troop of urchins, who are ringing the 
 bells, and turning the whole village topsy-turvy.' 
 
 * Thank God,' said the widow. ' But what 
 are they all rejoicing for ?' 
 
 ' Because — because Sir Thomas Singleton has 
 given me the rectory of Normanton, and ' 
 
 * Oh, happy, happy news !' exclaimed Mrs, 
 Gardiner ; ' may God grant you many happy
 
 151 THE clergyman's widow. 
 
 years to enjoy it ! — Maria, child ! do you hear ! 
 — But you are ill ! What can be the matter ? 
 What can I give you ?' 
 
 Mr. Wallingford flew to Maria, whose colour 
 changed from pale to scarlet at his approach. — 
 ' I am truly glad to hear of your acquisition ; 
 may it be a blessing to you, and, through your 
 means, to many !' said she, offering her hand. 
 
 ' To make it such indeed,' returned he, with 
 extreme perturbation, ' this dear hand must be 
 mine, not only at this moment, but for ever. Oh, 
 Maria ! surely you must long have read my 
 wishes, and must have known that my situation 
 alone prevented me from a declaration, on which 
 the happiness of my life has long depended. — Oh 
 madam,' he continued, turning to Mrs. Gardiner, 
 ' will yon not speak for me ? will you not allow 
 me to become your son ?* 
 
 ' Alas !' said Mrs. Gardiner, with extreme 
 anxiety, ' 'tis the only subject on which I cannot 
 speak to my child.' 
 
 ' Ah, my mother !' said Maria, hiding her 
 glowing cheek in that maternal bosom which had 
 once, on a similar occasion, received her tears, 
 ' forgive me that my heart ever harboured one 
 thought not open to your view ! it is so no 
 longer ; and in giving my hand to this inestim-
 
 THE clergyman's WIDOW. 155 
 
 able man, you will read all that has appeared 
 mysterious in my conduct, and I trust, see no- 
 thing there unworthy of your daughter.' 
 
 The worthy clergyman, not less grateful for 
 her consent than rejoiced to find, from this in- 
 genuous confession, that he had long had an in- 
 terest in her affection and esteem, now enjoyed 
 his prospects of happiness with undiminished 
 joy. In his heart, devotion, eagle- winged, was 
 ever ready for its flight ; and while he held the 
 hand of his afiicmced bride, and mildly gazed on 
 her retiring eye, his silent adoration ascended to 
 the throne of grace, in praises to his God. 
 
 AVhen the first emotions of this soul- awaken- 
 ing scene had a little subsided, Mr. Wallingford 
 entered more particularly into his schemes of 
 happiness for future life, and proposed that Mrs. 
 Gardiner should once more take up her abode in 
 that house where her happiest days had been 
 spent. The approving eye of Maria thanked him 
 for this attention to her feelings and wishes, but 
 Mrs. Gardiner declined giving any answer at 
 present to a subject of so much importance, and 
 the entrance of El zabeth for a while suspended 
 this interesting topic. In a short time, Mrs. 
 Gardiner withdrew with her youngest daughter, 
 to whom she communicated the happy prospects
 
 156 THE cleegyma-n's widow. 
 
 of Maria, and her own approbation of the con- 
 nexion, in terms suited to her feelings. 
 
 Elizabeth expressed sincere delight on the oc- 
 casion, for she loved her sister with pure affec- 
 tion, but she expressed some surprise at Maria's 
 preference of Mr. Wallingford to Mr. Clarkson. 
 — ' To be sure,' she added, with her usual nai- 
 vete, * he is more sentimental and melancholy, 
 and all that, and may suit her better, so 'tis all 
 very well ; but I know 'tis not my fancy, that's 
 all.' 
 
 The widow took some pains to convince her 
 volatile daughter that fancy was not a proper 
 guide in such serious cases ; and she then as- 
 sured her mother, that though she spoke with 
 apparent thoughtlessness, yet she would in her 
 own case, be extremely guarded, and conscious 
 of her natural proneness to levity, would never 
 listen to the addresses of any man, without con- 
 sulting a mother on whose indulgence she could 
 so fully rely, and whose judgment should ever 
 be the guide of her own. 
 
 Happy in this assurance, the tender mother 
 kissed the moistened cheek of her Elizabeth, 
 whose gaiety instantly resumed on the brow from 
 which it seldom found more than a momentary 
 exile ; and they both returned in peace to the
 
 THE clergyman's WIDOW, lo7 
 
 only two people who were happier than them- 
 selves. 
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 
 The return of Sarah was now anxiously expected 
 by Maria, whose happiness was incomplete, till 
 partaken by her beloved sister. Mrs. Gardiner, 
 too, felt anxious to consult with a child on whose 
 judgment she had ever placed much dependence, 
 on the propriety of accepting Mr. "Wallingford's 
 kind offer, or of remaining with her youngest 
 daughter, and, endeavouring to continue the 
 business ; in the former scheme she saw more 
 ease, but the latter promised independence, which 
 she valued still more ; besides, if the business 
 was abandoned, some situation must be found 
 for Betsey, and this might probably place her at 
 a considerable distance, a circumstance she by 
 no means desired. To have been in the imme- 
 diate neighbourhood of Maria, and have wit- 
 nessed from day to day the exercise of her vir- 
 tues, and the increase of her happiness, would 
 have been delightful ; but this she considered 
 impossible in their present circumstances, and she 
 judged it right, so long at least as the younger 
 
 o
 
 158 THE clergyman's widow. 
 
 branches of her family were unsettled, to pre- 
 serve for them a home in their mother's house ; 
 and she was the more confirmed in this idea, as 
 she observed that Maria never urged her resi- 
 dence at the parsonage, without Elizabeth mani- 
 festing symptoms of regret and disappointment. 
 She was indeed always partial to residing in a 
 town ; in that respect greatly differing from her 
 eldest sister, whose sense of duty alone had ren- 
 dered the town endurable, but, in all the years 
 she had lived there, had never made it palatable. 
 At length the long-wished-for visitant arrived, 
 and Maria found her happiness complete. The 
 truly-affectionate Sarah embraced Mr. Walling- 
 ford with the warmth of a friend and the ten- 
 derness of a sister : she commended the steadi- 
 ness of their long attachment, which she seemed 
 to have discovered at an earlier period than the 
 parties themselves ; but when her mother re- 
 vealed to her the fluctuating state of her own 
 mind as to the future residence, Sarah kindly, 
 but firmly, opposed even the wishes of her dear 
 Maria, and gave it as her decided opinion, that 
 at least her mother ought not to quit her present 
 residence till there was a necessity for it ; as it 
 was plain, that, if she did, Mr. Wallingford 
 would be burthened with a whole family, which
 
 THE clergyman's WIDOW. 159 
 
 thougli it might not be felt at present, would at 
 a future period, when his own would probably 
 be increased. There was now a certain home 
 for Elizabeth, who was at this time a year older 
 than Maria had been when she undertook the 
 business, and Avhose talents in that line, though 
 not equal to Maria's, were by no means despic- 
 able, and would every year be improved, especi- 
 ally as she appeared extremely anxious to remain 
 where she was, and supply to the parent, from 
 whom she had so long been parted, the daugh- 
 ters she had lost. 
 
 To this reasoning Maria could reply only by 
 requesting, that if the business should decline in 
 consequence of her removal, that it was her ear- 
 nest wish that her mother would not contend 
 with it, but would allow her own wants to be 
 supplied at the parsonage, while she conceded 
 those of Henry willingly to her dear Sarah, who 
 flattered herself that in a very short time she 
 should be able to answer for them entirely ; and 
 to this proposition the mother willingly assented. 
 
 Maria now prepared to enter on that change 
 which every thinking woman, however happy 
 her prospects may be, feels to be an awful one, 
 involving many new duties and solemn engage- 
 ments. Her mind was not engaged in splendid 
 
 2
 
 160 THE clergyman's WIDOW. 
 
 preparations or frivolous occupations ; but though 
 no attention to the decent proprieties of dress, 
 &c. was neglected by her, her principal study 
 was the regulation of her own disposition, and 
 the surrender of herself, not only to her husband, 
 but to her God, justly concluding, that a mind 
 imbued with the humility of a Christian was 
 most fitted for the obedience required in a wife. 
 No pernicious doctrines of modern philosophy 
 had contaminated the purity of her understand- 
 ing, or tainted her sensibility ; yet neither her 
 rectitude nor her simplicity was the efiect of ig- 
 norance, for she had lived sufficiently in the 
 world to hear much of the doctrines of mental 
 equality and ' M'^oman's rights ;' she had been 
 told that ' mind must govern,' and that her own 
 was of the highest order, and she had thought 
 much on the subject: the result of her delibera- 
 tions had answered this purpose — it sent her to 
 her Bible for precept, and her mother for ex- 
 ample ; and from both she had learned, in de- 
 spite of all new-fangled doctrines and metaphy- 
 sical jargon, this simple precept must be the go- 
 vernment of her married life : ' Wives, submit 
 yourselves unto your husbands, as unto the Lord.' 
 As Maria could not consent to be married till 
 she had settled every little affair in her business, 
 60 as most to conduce to the comfort of her mo-
 
 THE clergyman's WIDOW. 161 
 
 the and remaining sister, this sacred engage- 
 ment did not take place till the latter end of Sep- 
 tember, which Lady Barbara declared was the 
 very latest stay she could make in the country. 
 As Mr. Wallingford had informed his good patron 
 that he was about to obey his injunction and get 
 married, the good baronet declared that he would 
 himself take upon him the office of father to 
 the bride, and insisted upon the ceremony being 
 performed in their own parish-church — a cir- 
 cumstance by no means agreeable to Maria, but 
 which she felt it her indispensable duty in this 
 case to comply with cheerfully, as well as to par- 
 take of the wedding-dinner their worthy patron 
 insisted on providing, agreeably to the custom of 
 his ancestors on such memorable occasions. 
 
 Things being thus arranged, the good man had 
 the satisfaction of finding himself surrounded by 
 a group whose happy countenances were the re- 
 ward of his benevolence, though their awakened 
 sensibility and proper reflection prevented them 
 from partaking in that cheerful conversation he 
 was anxious to promote ; and he had just been 
 observing that Lady Barbara and himself were 
 the only people who wore tongues in their heads, 
 the parson himself being dumbfoundered, when a 
 servant entering, announced Mr. Montgomery. 
 
 o 3
 
 162 THE CLERGY man's WIDOAV. 
 
 ' Bird of ill omen,' said Lady Barbara, ' wliat 
 in the name of confusion, brings you here ?' 
 
 * Nothing bad, I hope, madam,' said he, bow- 
 ing, and presenting a letter to Mrs. Gardiner. 
 
 ' Umph ! so you're come from London to 
 bring a letter which the post would have brought 
 better by half.' 
 
 ' 'Tis a singular letter, my lady, being ad- 
 dressed for Mrs, Gardiner by your care, and I 
 thought — I — I apprehended that it was better 
 to bring it myself,* 
 
 ' Say, you liked to bring it, Charles, at once.' 
 
 ' So I will, my lady,' said the young man 
 smiling, as he took a chair, ' for I am as fond 
 of seeing happy faces as you are of makiiig them ; 
 so you must allow me to partake your pleasure.' 
 
 While this conversation was passing, Mrs. 
 Gardiner had retired to a distant window, and 
 was perusing her letter ; an exclamation of un- 
 feigned astonishment and thankfulness at this 
 moment escaping her, drew the attention of the 
 company, and Mr. Wallingford approaching her, 
 insisted on his title to share in her satisfaction. 
 
 ' It must be something good that is come to 
 William,' said Sarah : ' he~ has been examined 
 and approved, perhaps,' 
 
 ' Or George is coming to see us,' cried Elizabeth.
 
 THE CLERGYMAN S WIDOW. 163 
 
 ' Read the letter, I entreat you, sir,' said the 
 widow, ' for I am convinced there are some in 
 the room who will be less surprised with its con- 
 tents than myself.* 
 
 Mr. Wallingford cast his eyes over the letter, 
 observing that it was a very cramp hand, being 
 apparently written by an attorney, and read as 
 follows : — 
 
 ' Mrs. Maria Gardiner. 
 
 ' MADA.M, 
 
 *As the year is now expired, which was 
 granted by the late John Lawrence, Esq. to 
 his executor, for the arrangement of his affairs 
 previous to the payment of his legacies, you arc 
 hereby acquainted, that your drafts on the bank 
 of Down, Thornton, and Free, will be duly 
 honoured, to the amount of the sum specified in 
 the annexed copy of a codicil, made by the said 
 John Lawrence, a short time before his decease. 
 
 ' I am, Madam, 
 * Your most obedient servant, 
 
 ' Jas. Harcourt.* 
 
 * Copy of the Codicil, so far as relates to the IVidoiv 
 Gardiner and Family. 
 
 * And I do hereby give and devise to Maria,
 
 164 THE clergyman's widow. 
 
 the widow of the Rev. George Gardiner, late 
 of Whitechapel, in the county of Devon, the 
 sum of five thousand pounds, in way and man- 
 ner following, viz. I give the sum of two thou- 
 sand five hundred pounds to her own sole and 
 separate use, and the remaining sum of two 
 thousand five hundred pounds I bequeath to her 
 trust and care, willing that she _do apply the in- 
 terest of said sum, to the maintenance and edu- 
 cation of her children during their minority, and 
 that on their severally attaining the age of twenty- 
 one years, she do equally divide the said sum, 
 share and share alike, amongst them (number 
 being unknown to said testator).' 
 
 As the bridegroom concluded, a low murmur 
 of congratulation was heard on every side, while 
 the girls pressed round their mother, and breath- 
 ed rather than expressed their joy; but Maria 
 with more vivacity than she had shown before 
 on this eventful day, cried out — ' Now, now, my 
 mother, all the wishes of my heart are fulfilled ; 
 for you will return to your own village, to your 
 own people, and to the daughter who so anxi- 
 ously desires you.' 
 
 ' Yes,' interrupted the baronet, ' she will make 
 a very good tenant for the rectory, and the curate 
 can board with her. I am heartily glad I did
 
 THE clergyman's wtdow. 165 
 
 not let the house, as I expected to have done 
 before now.' 
 
 Inquiries began now to spread round the room 
 respecting this generous testator, and Sarah, with 
 great modesty and sensibility, related all she 
 knew of the affair, justly imputing the present 
 noble acquisition to the information and eulogium 
 Lady Barbara had given Mr. Lawrence of her 
 mother, when she introduced Sarah to him at 
 Harrowgate the preceding summer. 
 
 'Ay,' interrupted her ladyship, unwilling to 
 hear the grateful effusions that rose from every 
 tongue, ' and when I was at Leeds, I went to 
 old Scepticus, the lawyer there, to ask about this 
 same codicil, and the surly scoundrel put me in 
 a passion with his hums and liahs, so I got no- 
 thing out of him. Don't you remember, Charles, 
 how cross I was all the way to Wakefield ?' 
 
 * You were so often cross, my lady, during our 
 tour, 'tis hardly likely I should remember the 
 ill humour of a single stage, especially as it was 
 a short one.' 
 
 * What an insolent puppy ! — I'll turn you 
 out of my house for that very speech, Charles 
 Montgomery, within a month, take my word 
 for it.' 
 
 ' That's a compliment he may return some
 
 1G6 THE clergyman's widow. 
 
 day, my lady,' said the baronet, chuckling at her 
 affected anger : ' what say you, Montgomery ?' 
 
 * That I am not very likely to turn her lady- 
 ship out of my house, for the Coventry reason, 
 that I have no house to turn her out of ; but 
 that, however I may be situated, or wherever I 
 may be thrown, whether protected in a palace or 
 pining in a shed, I will never turn her out of my 
 heart, or cease to consider her protection as the 
 pride and blessing of my existence.' 
 
 This speech began with a smile," and ended 
 with a tear. Lady Barbara, with a gay air, 
 now cried out — ' Nay, prithee. Charles, don't 
 turn sentimental, or I shall get that vixen Sarah 
 to help me to abuse you. She, poor soul ! had 
 all the plague of bearing with the mischief old 
 Scepticus had made in my brain, and I see by 
 her cheek at this moment, she had not forgot one 
 of my sallies.' 
 
 Sarah arose, in no little alarm, to accompany 
 her sister, it was said, but in fact to cover her 
 confusion, trembling lest Lady Barbara should 
 proceed : this motion, however, broke up the 
 company, whom Sir Thomas sent in his coach to 
 the parsonage, if we except her ladyship and the 
 young artist, who were his own guests of course. 
 
 As Mrs. Gardiner's affairs had now under-
 
 THE CLERGYMATSr's WIDOW. 167 
 
 gone a great change, she more readily adopted 
 the plan of removing into the country, and Lady 
 Barbara offered her the pleasure of Sarah's so- 
 ciety for some time longer, that she might assist 
 her in removing and forming anew her little 
 establishment ; observing, at the same time, that 
 indeed she had no intention of keeping Sarah 
 much longer, and intended to tell her so before 
 she parted, if Mrs. Gardiner thought it would 
 not set the child a-whimpering. 
 
 To this the mother replied, that though it 
 would be impossible for Sarah ever to part from 
 such a friend without feeling acutely the pangs 
 of separation, yet she was persuaded that Sarah 
 would acquiesce properly with her ladyship's de- 
 termination, whatever it might be, especially as 
 she could now reside constantly near Maria, to 
 whom she was ever so tenderly attached. 
 
 ' Umph ! why, yes, I believe she will get 
 over parting with me : but you know, my good 
 friend, my house contains somebody besides my- 
 self. Have you ever thought any thing about 
 Mr. Montgomery ?' 
 
 ' I think him an uncommonly intelligent and 
 agreeable young man ; and I have understood 
 from you, madam, that he is a very worthy one. 
 Surely he does not consider Sarah as his rival in
 
 168 THE clergyman's widow. 
 
 your generous protection ? Far be it from me 
 or my child, to intrude upon your goodness, so 
 as to create uneasiness in your family. Oh, my 
 lady ! — I wish — indeed I wish you had sent away 
 my poor child before.' 
 
 ' I have a scheme in my head,' said Lady Bar- 
 bara, * that will set us all to rights ; and I hope, 
 when it is out, you will not oppose its execu- 
 tion ; for, depend upon it, you have not the wel- 
 fare of your lily more at heart than I have.' 
 
 Mrs. Gardiner had no difficulty in assuring 
 Lady Barbara that she would gladly accord with 
 any plan she might think proper to adopt ; and 
 they parted in mutual comfort at the town of 
 S , whither Mrs. Gardiner had been neces- 
 sarily led for the settlement of her affairs, ac- 
 companied by Sarah and Betsey. The former 
 could not see her patroness depart unmoved, and, 
 even after she was gone, continued to appear 
 more dejected than, in her mother's opinion, 
 was warrantable, and she therefore mildly re- 
 proved her dejection; when Betsey, with a sigh, 
 observed, that, for her part, she did not wonder 
 at Sarah feeling low, for she herself was sorry 
 to leave a place where she had lived so long and 
 been so happy ; ' but indeed,' said she, ' that is 
 not the only cause of my uneasiness.'
 
 THE CLERGYMAN'S WIDO^V . 169 
 
 *■ Your uneasiness, child !' cried the mother, 
 with a start, and almost a smile ; ' you must ex- 
 cuse me, Betsey, but I cannot help smiling at so 
 serious a complaint from one so little used to it, 
 and at a time too, when the hearts of us all are 
 called upon to rejoice for so many mercies.' 
 
 ' It is verj^ true, mother ; but all the reason- 
 ing in the world will not make my heart light 
 till I have told you, and I really do not know 
 how to begin.' 
 
 * Told me what, child ?' said the widow, a 
 little alarmed. 
 
 * That Mr. Clarkson has — yes, indeed he has 
 paid his addresses to me these two months.' 
 
 ' To you, child ! — what is he thinking of ?' 
 ' Why mother,' said Betsey, bridling and 
 blushing, ' I am not a child now, you know, for 
 I am nineteen this week, and I waited till I 
 was, before I would tell you, knowing that, be- 
 cause I was the youngest, and rather given to 
 giggling, you might think me worse than I was. 
 I know all about Maria and Mr. Clarkson, and 
 I like him no worse at all for having loved her 
 first ; 'tis a proof of his sense and his goodness. 
 I only wish I may be equally worthy of his affec- 
 tions with my excellent sister.' 
 
 ' I think,' said Mrs. Gardiner, after a pause, 
 * that Mr. Clarkson ought to have spoken to me.' 
 
 p
 
 170 THE clergyman's WIDOW. 
 
 ' My dear mother,' said Elizabeth, with great 
 anxiety, ' do pray forgive him for not doing it ; 
 but you see he was so unlucky in his love aflfair 
 with Maria, that he determined never to ask the 
 consent of any parent again, unless he had pretty 
 strong reasons to believe his offer would not be 
 disagreeable to the lady herself.' 
 
 ' And you have been willing to give him these 
 pretty strong reasons, hey, Betsey ?' said Sarah, 
 endeavouring to suppress a smile. 
 
 * As to that,' said Betsej'-, recovering her native 
 manners, ' strong reasons I seldom meddle with ; 
 but you see I don't like people to be low spirited, 
 and I thought it would be a sort of a sin to drive 
 him to despair ; and so at last I told him I would 
 tell my mother, at which he rejoiced very much; 
 so there's an end of the matter.' 
 
 ' A beginning, you mean, my dear,' said 
 Mrs. Gardiner, ' for the end must not be yet : 
 though you have reached your nineteenth year, 
 yet, my love, you have spent so much of your 
 time in school, and, since then, in acquiring 
 Maria's business, that you are extremely igno- 
 rant of the common business of housekeeping ; 
 and I . think it by all means desirable that you 
 should go down into the country with me for a | 
 year or two, to make yourself fit for the duties
 
 TFIE clergyman's WIDOW. l7l 
 
 required in your future situation : and to this 
 reasonable request I am persuaded Mr. Clark- 
 son will make no objection, especially as it will 
 afford you an opportunity of studying the cha- 
 racter and acquiring the manners of that amiable 
 sister, to whom he was so long and so sincerely 
 attached.' 
 
 To this plan Elizabeth readily assented, will- 
 ingly allowing that there were many things in 
 herself that admitted of improvement, which she 
 was in no way so likely to attain as by contem- 
 plating the superior character of her eldest sister, 
 who had ever been a blessing and an example to 
 her family. 
 
 The widow, on retiring this night, contem- 
 plated, with heartfelt satisfaction, the situation 
 of her family, and the joy she felt was visible 
 in her looks ; but it received a little check, from 
 observing that an air of mild dejection spread 
 itself over the countenance of her fairest flower, 
 and that, although she declared herself ex- 
 tremely happy, that declaration was followed by 
 a sigh. 
 
 p 2
 
 172 THE clergyman's widow. 
 
 CHAPTER XXI. 
 
 In a short time Mrs. Gardiner and her two 
 daughters were comfortably settled in their plea- 
 sant habitation, where Henry was a frequent 
 visitant ; and the new curate, an agreeable 
 young man, became a very pleasant inmate. 
 Their society was for a short time enlivened by 
 a visit from William, who, rich in school prefer- 
 ment, was now going to college. From George 
 they received very pleasant letters, accompanied 
 by an affectionate present to his married sister, 
 and some brotherly admonitions to his playmate, 
 Betsey, who was now, in good earnest, using 
 every possible endeavour for her improvement, 
 and whose activity and good-humour were the 
 life of the little household. 
 
 In the mean time, Lady Barbara Blount had 
 been not less engaged in London, having fre- 
 quent conferences with her housekeeper, her 
 attorney, and various tradesmen, so that Mr. 
 Montgomery seldom saw her in his apartment, 
 which he had for some time found unaccount- 
 ably dull; and though he applied himself with 
 great diligence to the duties of his profession, 
 he could not conceal from himself that it ceased
 
 THE clergyman's WIDOW. 173 
 
 to yield him the pleasure he had once experi- 
 enced in his exertions. 
 
 At length Lady Barbara made her appearance 
 in the painting-room, and after commending the 
 artist for making history his study, began to make 
 the circuit of the room : after she had been some 
 time, Mr. Montgomery inquired if she had found 
 any thing new ? 
 
 ' Yes, truly,' said the lady ; ' for I find Sarah 
 protecting Alcibiades from the flames, Sarah 
 carrying the ashes of Germanicus, and Sarah, 
 still more like herself, watching the tomb of her 
 Kedeemer.' 
 
 The artist was silent. 
 
 * You have now been very industrious, Charles, 
 for a long time, and pretty successful too ; and as 
 you have left off the various admirable modes of 
 throwing away money with which you once amused 
 yourself, I apprehend you are growing rich.' 
 
 ' Indeed, ma'am, I consider myself so, for I am 
 worth near six hundred pounds.' 
 
 ' Umph ! 'twould have been eight, I think, 
 if your mother's old servant had not lain so long 
 sick, and Ned Thomas had not wheedled you 
 into helping to purchase his ensigncy ; but it is 
 all very well ; six hundred pounds is a very 
 pretty thing to begin housekeeping with.' 
 
 r 3
 
 174 THE clergyman's widow. 
 
 ' Housekeeping, my lady ! housekeeping !' ' 
 ' Yes, housekeeping. When I told you I 
 would turn you out of mine in a month, I was 
 in very good earnest, I assure you, being at 
 that time contracting for one I have since pur- 
 chased. There are the title deeds,' she added, 
 giving the papers into his hands ; ' so now I 
 can turn you out with a very safe conscience. 
 What does the fool stare at ? — The house is 
 completely furnished, as Wilson can tell you, for 
 we have both had no little trouble with your beds 
 and your tables.' 
 
 ' Madam ! — my lady ! — I know not what to say.' 
 ' Then you had better say nothing : but don't 
 look so pale, or you'll frighten me : the sight of 
 you just now would put Sarah into a fit.' 
 
 * Sarah ! — oh, my lady, if I had Sarah, I should 
 be too, too happy !' 
 
 ' Ah, well, she has brought your colour 
 again, which was all I wanted. 'Tis true, I 
 did think of sending you to fetch her back ; but 
 if it will make you too happy, I think we had 
 better let it alone.' 
 
 * Do not jest with me, dear madam,' cried 
 the young man, in great agitation. ' Do you 
 really think that Miss Gardiner would conde- 
 scend to '
 
 THE clergyman's WIDOW. 175 
 
 ' * Why, yes,' said Lady Barbara, smiling, ' be- 
 ing of a very humble disposition, I do think she 
 really would condescend to — to become Mrs. 
 Montgomery ; and having said this, I shall leave 
 you to consider about the matter, and whether 
 you should or should not put yourself in the 
 mail to-night, and go down to Normanton to 
 ask the question.* So saying, the good lady left 
 the room. 
 
 As we cannot describe the sensation which 
 pervaded the bosom of this amiable young man, 
 we shall be content to follow his steps, which 
 were directed equally by his own affections and 
 the wishes of his benefactress, whose happiness 
 was nearly equal to his own, and who, at part- 
 ing, put a letter into his hands, for Mrs. Gar- 
 diner, which she said would obviate all his 
 difficulties. On receiving this last proof of her 
 maternal care, his full heart could no longer 
 restrain its emotion ; he pressed the withered 
 hand that presented it with ardour to his lips, 
 while the tears that coursed each other down 
 his manly cheek fell upon it, and were the only 
 heralds of his heart, for his tongue denied arti- 
 culation. 
 
 ' My dear Charles,' said the good woman, 
 sobbing, as she warmly returned the pressure of
 
 176 THE clergyman's widow. 
 
 his hand, ' I know all you feel, and all your 
 heart would say, Go, and in your turn bless 
 me, by bringing again that sweet and virtuous 
 girl, who will love me with a tenderness still 
 greater than yours — she whose love shall be the 
 solace of your life, and whose piety shall give 
 consolation to your death. Go, Charles, and 
 may Heaven be your guide and protection !' 
 
 ' What a very odd man Mr. Montgomery is !' 
 exclaimed Betsey ; * he always comes in so sud- 
 denly somehow : ;here he is coming down the 
 garden, as it were on purpose to catch me en 
 deshabille. I'll run and call Sarah out of the 
 garden ; he is her visitor, not mine,' 
 
 In consequence of this resolution, Mrs. Gar- 
 diner received the gentleman alone, and was 
 happily the only witness of the embarrassment 
 visible in his ingenuous countenance, on pre- 
 senting her with Lady Barbara's letter, which 
 she immediately opened, and with unfeigned joy 
 perused the following lines : — 
 
 ' My Deae, Madam, 
 
 * The bearer of this has been long known to 
 
 me, and you know my sentiments respecting him. 
 
 He loves and is loved by your Sarah, and it is 
 
 my desire that they should be speedily married,
 
 THE clergyman's WIDOW. 177 
 
 as he has a very good house to take her to, a 
 year's income, at least, beforehand, a very good 
 prospect for ensuing cares, and in case that should 
 fail, a steady friend in her who is likewise 
 the friend of you and your family, 
 
 * Barbara Blount.' 
 
 *You have my free consent, my dear sir,* 
 said Mrs. Gardiner, ' but forgive me if I leave 
 you abruptly — the feelings of a mother will not 
 be suppressed ; but believe me when I assure 
 you, that Jt is with no common pleasure I shall 
 give my darling to your care ; for the first awful 
 moment in which I beheld you inspired me with 
 the wish of one day calling you my son.' 
 
 As Mrs. Gardiner, agitated and in tears, was 
 retiring, Sarah, having obeyed the summons of 
 her sister, entered the room ; the fond parent 
 clasped her in her arms, and kissed her with un- 
 usual fervour, then broke from her, and imme- 
 diately left them. Sarah timidly advanced, and 
 sought from Mr. Montgomery an explanation 
 of her mother's conduct, which he got through 
 with little difficulty, and, there is every reason 
 to conclude, with tolerable satisfaction, though 
 the conversation was interrupted by the arrival 
 of Mr. and Mrs. Wallingford, who came to take
 
 178 THE clergyman's widow. 
 
 the family to dine at the parsonage, and were 
 glad to rank Mr. Montgomery amongst the 
 number of their guests. An explanation soon 
 took place, which drew the hearts of all the par- 
 ties still nearer to each other, and made that 
 day one of the happiest that had ever been en- 
 joyed, even at the parsonage. 
 
 In the course of a fortnight, Mr. Montgomery 
 received from the hands of her pious brother his 
 elegant and virtuous bride. They immediately 
 set out for the capital, where they were welcomed 
 to their own house, by that generous friend who 
 had been to both so invaluable a benefactress, 
 and who, in their gratitude, their virtues, and 
 their happiness, found her beneficence repaid, and 
 her hopes exceeded. 
 
 We have now traced the widow and her family 
 through the most eventful periods of their lives, 
 and have only to observe, that in the year 1810, 
 they were in a state of increased happiness, as 
 Mrs. Wallingford was become the mother of two 
 lovely children, and was every day fulfilling her 
 extensive duties with vigilance and success ; Mr. 
 and Mrs. Montgomery were enjoying a large 
 portion of public fame and private respect, often 
 visiting their worthy patroness, whose greatest 
 pleasure lay in the caresses of their little lovely
 
 THE clergyman's WIDOW. 179 
 
 boy : Elizabeth is married to Mr. Clarkson, to 
 whom she is an excellent wife, and who is 
 tenderly attached to her : George is lately mar- 
 ried to Miss Staniland, whose father has resigned 
 his business in favour of a son-in-law he justly 
 esteems very highly ; Williamhas justly obtained 
 a fellowship in his college, where his talents have 
 excited much admiration, and his conduct secured 
 him great respect : Henry is placed very happily 
 with Mr. Clarkson ; and Mrs. Gardiner herself 
 now lives in a pretty cottage near the parsonage, 
 where she enjoys the daily sight of her grand- 
 children, and the society of their invaluable 
 mother. Thus is that promise fulfilled which 
 consoled the dying moments of her dying hus- 
 band, and sustained her own heart in the hour 
 of severe sorrow — 'Leave thy fatherless children, 
 for I will provide for them, and let thy widow 
 trust in me.' 
 
 THE END. 
 
 J. BILLING, PRINTER, WOKINO.
 
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 1859