THE LIBRARY OF THE 
 
 UNIVERSITY OF 
 
 NORTH CAROLINA 
 
 ENDOWED BY THB 
 
 DIALECTIC AND PHILANTHROPIC 
 
 SOCIETIES 
 
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 TUBP BY G.VlRTUE 26. IVY LANE. 
 PATERNOSTER ROW. 
 
THE 
 
 
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 WANDERINGS OJP WOLF, 
 
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 teintf the 
 
 THE COTTAGE OlS THE CLIFF 
 
 BY ^ — 
 
 Aiil/wresj of the Jlfusterious W^arrz^et J^amUz/ Foriraits. Orphan Boy, 
 Cvitaqe on the- Cliff. Toems, Sec , 
 
 PUBLISHED BY G .VIRTUE. 23, IVY LANE. LONDON. 
 BATH STREET. BRISTOL. & QUEEN SQTTARE: LIVERPOOL, . 
 
Digitized by the Internet Archive 
 
 in 2012 with funding from 
 
 University of North Carolina at Chapel Hil 
 
 *• 
 
 http://www.archive.org/details/fishersdaughteroOOward 
 
4%o pK H98i 
 
 FISHERS DAUGHTER, 
 
 OTanSm'ttss of Wiolf, 
 
 AND THE 
 
 FORTUNES OF ALFRED. 
 
 Being tlte sequel to that so greatly admired and popular JVork, entitled, 
 
 €$e (ftotugt on tlje mm, 
 
 OR A SEA-SIDE STORY. 
 
 BY MRS. CATHERINE G. WARD. 
 
 Authoress of— Mysterious Marriage — Family Portraits- -Orphan h'oy- 
 TVidow's Choice—The Them, 8fc. Sfc 
 
 " Age had not quench'd the open truth 
 
 And fiery vehemence of youth, 
 
 Forward and frolic glee was there, 
 
 The will to do, the soul to dare. 
 
 The sparkling glance soon blown to fire, 
 
 Of hasty love or headlong ire ; 
 
 His limbs were cast in manly mould, 
 
 For hardy sports and contest bold." 
 
 Uo n&on : 
 
 PUBLISHED BY G. VIRTUE, 
 
 M, IVT-LANE, PATERNOSTER-ROW; BATH-STREET, 14RI.STOA § 
 AND QUEEN-SQUARE, LIVERPOOL. 
 
I HE 
 
 FISHER'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 " Poor child of danger, nursling of the storm, 
 Sad were the woes that wreck'd thy manly form ; 
 Rocks, waves, and winds thy shatter'd bark delay, 
 Thy heart was sad, thy home was far away ; 
 But hope can still her moonlight vigils keep, 
 And sing to charm the spirit of the deep." 
 
 1.T may be recollected that at the period when Cap- 
 tain Singleton returned once more in peace and safety 
 to take possession of his favourite and beloved retreat, 
 { The Cottage on the Cliff' ;' when, after the succeeding 
 events which had marked with fearful doubts and 
 .soul- torturing suspense, the heroic mind, but gentle 
 heart of the lovely Agatha, and gloomy scenes had 
 given place to a total reverse of prospects in her so 
 long adverse fortune; when the bright beaming sun of 
 happiness shone full upon her, by giving her to the 
 arms of a faithful and an adoring lover, in the person 
 of her so newly discovered cousin, Lord Montague 
 Montault ; it may be remembered that it was then the 
 generous intention of the Fisher Blust, to provide for 
 the fortunes :>f the gentle Alfred, and those also of 
 
4 THK FISHERS DAUGHTER. 
 
 the bold, aspiring, and spirited, intrepid Wolf, as soon 
 as they had finally completed their respective studies 
 at the seminary in which he had placed them, in the 
 vicinity of Cromer, a few weeks only after they had so 
 providentially escaped fro.'i: the perils of the shipwreck, 
 which had laid all besides them in a watery grave. And 
 it was* not long after the nuptials of the Lady Agatlia 
 Braganza and Lord Montague had been solemnized 
 in the village church at Cromer, that Wolf and Alfred 
 returned to Herring Dale, the house of their protector, 
 so improved in person, and so cultivated in mind and 
 manners, that little now could be discerned of the poor 
 shipwrecked boys, who had formerly excited the pity 
 and compassionate attention of the humane and hos- 
 pitable inhabitants of Cromer, when the rough gale 
 threw them on their coast in the fearful night of the 
 storm j and to none more than to the fisher himself 
 was this alteration and improvement in his adopted 
 sons perceptible ; who, surveying them from head to 
 foot, the very moment that they alighted from the 
 chaise and crossed the threshold of Herring Dale, with 
 that look of unsophisticated nature and feeling which 
 he was at all times remarkable for, and shaking the 
 hand of each with no very gentle pressure, loudly vo- 
 ciferated — 
 
 " Shiver my topsails if ever 1 saw two such young 
 giants in all my born days ! why lads, thee '^e grown 
 out of all knowledge for certain sure." 
 
 " Except the knowledge of being known to one at 
 least, sir, who does not appear to have lost sight of us, 
 if we may judge of his kindness at the present mo- 
 ment," uttered Alfred, returning the warm pressure 
 
the fisher's daughter. 5 
 
 of his protector's hand with eyes moistened with a 
 tear, (the genuine offspring of heartfelt gratitude,) 
 while his foster-brother Wolf, experienced the same 
 sensation, although he did not express it in a similar 
 way, but exclaimed — 
 
 iC Yes sir ; we can do any thing now to serve you, 
 we are no longer boys ; Alfred is not so delicate and 
 chicken-hearted as he used to be, and I am as stout as 
 a lion." 
 
 " And as fierce as a turkey-cock," cried the fisher, 
 viewing the fine formed and athletic limbs of Wolf, as 
 he stood before him with unspeakable delight and sa- 
 tisfaction, while he replenished his pipe with tobacco, 
 " Well lads, be'st thee hungry ? I warrant me thee 
 canst make shift to eat a slice of roast beef, and a 
 thumping piece of plum pudding, before thee goest to 
 roost ; but I say, lads, does not thee wonder what is 
 become of the best piece of furniture at Herring Dale ? 
 look about my lads, and see if thee dost not miss 
 something as I do now ?" 
 
 It was evident both to Alfred and Wolf, that m 
 uttering these words, the fisher had some difficulty in 
 suppressing a painful, and to him involuntary sensation, 
 and that a sigh was broke in suffocating smoke, be- 
 fore he added, " But it be all for the best, I do suppose 
 
 be all for the best. Shiver my topsails ! grieving's 
 
 folly, as the old song says ; but my Jess was the 
 pride of my eyes, and the comfort of my heart, and 
 thee wert both mortal fond of thy sister Jessy, wast 
 not thee, lads ?" 
 
 Neither Wolf or Alfred could immediately reply to 
 their kind protector, for but one thought actually pos- 
 
O THE FISHER S DAUGHTER. 
 
 sessed their imagination, and that thought was that 
 the lovely gentle Jessy had followed her sister Olive 
 to an untimely grave, and was no more j for they did 
 not behold her there, who was ever wont to welcome 
 their return to Herring Dale with smiles ; and the 
 manner of the fisher, so far from relieving them of 
 their apprehensions, greatly added to their fear that 
 he was now bereft of both his daughters j and Alfred 
 with much agitation replied : — 
 
 " Love our sister Jessy ? ah ! sir, who was there 
 who could not love her ? but I hope — I — I— I — she is 
 not — I hope dear Jessy is still the pride of your eyes, 
 and the comfort of your heart. You do not answer, 
 my dear father. Alas ! you tremble and you turn 
 pale ; is then Jessy dead }" 
 
 To which the fisher, with a whiff of his pipe which 
 emitted volumes of smoke, immediately replied, — 
 
 " Shiver my topsails ! no, not dead, — no boy, not 
 exactly that, — but she is married — and that's one and 
 the same thing, you know ; — Jessy is married ! there 
 fore she is dead to me, and that's flat !" 
 
 The manner of the fisher at this moment, would 
 have excited the risibility of the gravest and most 
 rigid philosopher ; for suiting the action to the word, 
 he struck his pipe against the edge of the table at 
 which he was sitting, with such determined violence, 
 that it was presently shivered into a thousand atoms j 
 and Wolf, in spite of his utmost efforts to prevent it, 
 burst into a most immoderate fit of laughter. Not so, 
 Alfred ; for Jessy was the subject and the cause of 
 /his intemperate warmth in the bosom of a fond fa- 
 ther ; for which, although Alfred was inclined to make 
 
THE FISHER S DAUGHTER. / 
 
 every reasonable and just excuse, yet he did not see 
 why the sweet Jessy should be blamed for an act so 
 natural, so chaste, and so honourable, as marriage ; 
 and who, averting the fate of her unfortunate sister, 
 had made choice of the only step that prudence and 
 delicacy could adopt in her situation ; but to whom 
 was Jessy married ? Alfred had never seen any young 
 man there, paying her any particular attention, since 
 the unfortunate affair of poor Olive Blust, and Leon- 
 tine Craftly ; and he was fearful of hazarding an en- 
 quiry at this moment of the fisher, who did not ap- 
 pear to be in the happiest disposition that was pos- 
 sible, from a sudden recollection of former times; for 
 the loss of his Jessy, contrasted with the loss of Olive 
 too, although far different was the nature of the one 
 to the nature of the other, for Olive slept in the dark 
 and mouldering tomb, to which her imprudence and 
 her folly had consigned her ; but Jessy reposed in the 
 arms of a fond husband, — the just and merited reward 
 of all her gentle virtues, her exemplary piety, and her 
 filial duty to her father ; and although the fisher could 
 not reasonably confute this argument, still the loss of 
 his Jessy was a severe trial of his feelings, and of 
 course at times had not the effect of either enlivening 
 his spirits, or sweetening his temper ; in the mean 
 while, Alfred felt that his protector expected both him 
 and Wolf to say something on the subject of Jessy's 
 marriage, and he exclaimed in answer to what the 
 fisher had uttered — 
 
 " Dear sir ; for heaven's sake cherish not thoughts 
 so gloomy ; compare not marriage to death ! for if it 
 were so, who would feel anxious to taste of its sweets ? 
 
8 the fisher's daughter. 
 
 But may I venture to enquire who is so happy as to 
 possess the inestimable treasure of my sister Jessy's 
 heart and hand ?" 
 
 "Why Sam Russell, to be sure!" answered the 
 fisher, whose petulence had now evaporated with the 
 last whiff of his tobacco, " as honest a lad as ever 
 broke bread, or heaved an anchor afloat. Shiver my 
 topsails, if ever I had doubted that, I would have 
 twisted a rope's-yarn about his neck before he should 
 have been the husband of my Jessy. I saw how mat- 
 ters stood with poor Sam, and that he was down- 
 hearted j so one morning I just gave him a bit of a hint 
 about that villian Craftly, ' I'll have no shilly-shallying, 
 Sam, says I ; what ought a man to do, when he loves 
 a girl, and sees as plain as the nose on his face, that she- 
 loves him too ? That's a plain question, Sam, answer 
 it.' Now it was a rummish kind of a thing to say this 
 when Jessy was by, was'nt it ? she was standing close 
 at my elbow, with her cheeks as red as a bcarlet bean- 
 flower, in full blossom. No matter, I am a rummish 
 kind of a fellow myself ; you know lads ! I don't like 
 crooked paths and bye-ways, when there is one plain 
 down-right straight one for a man to steer his compass 
 by, when once he is sure of a woman's affections ! — 
 So what does Sam do, but takes Jessy by the hand and 
 leads her up to me, and then the coaxing slut threw 
 both her pretty arms round my neck ; and Sam let 
 the cat out of the bag, without any further preamble. 
 Shiver my topsails, what could a father do that so 
 loved his child, as I did Jessy ? e God bless thee both,' 
 cried I, and spliced their hands together. But the 
 parson had to finish the rest of the ceremony, mind 
 
THE FISHER S DAUGHTER. 9 
 
 that, tnough. Well, lads, Sam and Jessy were married 
 tne very next morning- in our pretty little village 
 church ; and there is an end of my story. Shiver my 
 topsails, when we come to matrimony, it's time to 
 leave off, beant it now ?" 
 
 " Dear Jessy ! none more truly rejoices in her hap- 
 piness than I do," uttered Alfred, with a glistening 
 tear, soft as the dew that the zephyr shakes from the 
 leaves of roses, while Wolf, less the child of delicacy, 
 but equally that of nature, sensibility, and feeling, 
 expressed in bolder terms his regard for the lovely 
 Jessy, and his approval of her choice in Sam Russel. 
 
 " Whom I always liked better than any who visited 
 at Herring Dale," uttered he, " fur though he had not 
 so many fine sayings at his tongue's end as some of 
 them, yet he had a better heart, and would not have 
 been guilty of a mean or a dirty action, for the life of 
 him." 
 
 " No, shiver my topsails if I would not take my 
 Bible oath of that," cried the fisher, highly pleased 
 with the manner in which Wolf had expressed his 
 sentiments on the merits of Mr. Russel, which so well 
 accorded with his own, that his spirits and good hu- 
 mour now returned in full hilarity ; and the suppei r 
 being ready, the first dish was set on the table by poor 
 old Alice, who rather hobbled than walked, on account 
 of her increasing infirmities ; but who still retained 
 her situation as house-keeper at Herring Dale, and 
 whose services the fisher would not exchange for a 
 younger one. Although Mrs. Russel had more than 
 once hinted to her father, whenever she spent the day 
 with him, (which was v: ry frequently the case,) thai 
 
 b\ * 
 
10 
 
 THE FISHER S DAUGHTER. 
 
 the advanced age of poor old Alice rendered her unfit 
 for the management of the household affairs, to which, 
 chucking the old girl under the chin, he would hu- 
 morously exclaim, 
 
 " Shiver my topsails ! but thou hast a colt's tooth 
 yet in thy head, hast not thee, Alley?" which highly 
 offended the ancient dame, who, shaking her head, 
 always gave the retort courteous to her old master, 
 with n May be so — may be so — but if I have gotten a 
 colt's tooth in my head, I know, Master, that thou 
 hast gotten a wag's tongue in thine ; — colt's tooth, 
 forsooth ! well-a-day, I have not had a colt's tooth in 
 my head these fifty years !" 
 
 At sight of the youths, Alfred and Wolf, the poor 
 old creature testified the greatest joy at seeing them so 
 improved in looks and in stature, while they in return 
 expressed the pleasure they felt in beholding her again. 
 
 " Ah ! well-a-day ! but I am wearing away, my 
 dear boys," uttered the old woman, " going— going 
 — down, as the saying is." — 
 
 " Going to a fiddlestick's end," vociferated the fisher 
 in his usual way, " thou hast been a going ever since I 
 can remember thee, and art not gone yet, my old lass ! 
 come, fill up a bumper of brandy, and drink to the 
 health of these two boys !" 
 
 " Aye, marry will I, master," said Alice, " and that 
 they may do well and prosper in the next long voyage 
 they take over the high seas." 
 
 " Ah ! it was indeed a prosperous gale which sent 
 us hither," responded Alfred, " to share in the bless- 
 ings of kindness, friendship, and hospitality, which 
 but for that we never had 1< lown." 
 
THE FISHER'S DAUGHTER. 11 
 
 " It is a Providence, Master Alfred, that never deserts 
 those who place entire confidence in its protection, and 
 'tis a bad wind that blows good to nobody, my dear boy, 
 remember that," uttered the old woman, as she hobbled 
 back again to attend to her duties in the kitchen, leav- 
 ing the snug and happy party to enjoy themselves in 
 the parlour without interruption ; and to partake of 
 a meal, which, though it did not consist of refined de- 
 licacies, was sufficiently luxurious to those who had 
 never yet dreamt of luxuries, and therefore knew not 
 the artificial want of them. For, what is a man, if 
 his chief good and market of his time be but to sleep 
 and feed ? 
 
 " A beast, no more," 
 saith the immortal bard : 
 
 " And what is gaiety ? The innocent it gay, 
 The lark is gay, 
 
 That dries his feathers, saturate with dew, 
 Beneath the rosy cloud, while yet the beams 
 Of day-spring overshoot his humble nest. 
 The peasant too, a witness of his song, 
 Himself a songster, is as gay as he.— 
 But save me, oh save me 
 From the gaiety of luxury." 
 
 " Well, lads, thee shall see thy sister Jessy to-mor- 
 row," uttered the fisher, observing, that although 
 Wolf did ample justice to the roast beef and plum 
 pudding, betrayed some impatience and even chagrin, 
 the cause of which might be easily traced to its real 
 source ; for during dinner Alfred had casually en- 
 quired of his protector after the health of the Montault 
 family, and that also of Captain Singleton j and whe- 
 
12 THE FISHER'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 ther that gentleman still resided at the Cottage on the 
 Cliff? to which the fisher replied with an air of the 
 greatest indifference, in which however, it was evident 
 that pique had some share — 
 
 ,f Shiver my topsails ! if I can tell you any thing at 
 all about them, except that there was a talk some time 
 ago, that LadyLavinia was going to be married to a 
 great lord, and that was thought to be a great match 
 for her. But I never trouble my head any more about 
 such fine gentry than they do about Peter Blust, who 
 thinks himself as great a man as any of them." 
 
 A pause of some length ensued. The fisher began 
 twirling his thumbs, a habit to which he was accus- 
 tomed when any thing displeased him ; and Wolf, 
 whose fine countenance had a richer glow of a roseate 
 tint than when he had sat down, could no longer con- 
 trol his impatient anxiety to learn some intelligence 
 of his still tenderly and passionately beloved favourite, 
 the lovely lady Agatha ; and somewhat hastily pro- 
 nounced — 
 
 " And cannot you tell us any thing about our dear 
 — I mean, sir, — that I should like to know — that is, I 
 mean the" — Wolf hesitated — faultered — and coloured 
 deeply ! and the fisher immediately vociferated, 
 
 * ( Curse me, if I know what you mean — you have 
 made a good story of it — perhaps Alfred can help you 
 out, for, shiver my topsails, if I know head or tail of 
 what you are saying." 
 
 This not only added to the embarrassment of poor 
 Wolf, but increased his anxiety about the lady Agatha; 
 and Alfred, wishing to relieve him without offending 
 his protector, with great diffidence uttered, " I believe, 
 
the fishejTs daughter. 13 
 
 sir, I can pretty nearly guess at my brother's thoughts, 
 if you will permit me to reveal them. 
 
 ff Do so, lad," cried the fisher, who however had a 
 pretty near guess at them himself, though willing to 
 torment him a little, " do so Alfred," repeated he, and 
 almost ready to laugh, "for I love plain sailing; it's 
 much better than tacking about, youknow, at any time." 
 
 " Why, sir, my brother is very naturally anxious to 
 receive some intelligence respecting the lady Agatha, 
 which is not to be wondered at when you consider 
 how highly he has been honoured with her friendship, 
 when we supposed her to be the daughter of Captain 
 Singleton ; and since her exalted birth has been known 
 to us even in the character of Lady Agatha Braganza, 
 she has not been the less amiable in those engaging 
 qualities of disposition and sweetness of manners that 
 dignified her in the plain attire, yet lovely person of 
 Agatha Singleton." 
 
 " And had she kept to that name, and not known 
 any other, shiver my topsails if I don't think she would 
 have been all the better for it," uttered the fisher. 
 
 " What sir," cried Wolf, forgetting all but the lovely 
 object in question, " has matrimony made so great an 
 alteration in Miss Agatha Singleton ?" on which en- 
 quiry the fisher smiled. 
 
 " Now that's a pretty question," uttered he, "shiver 
 rny topsails, if matrimony don't make some alteration 
 in a woman, I should be glad to know what does ? 
 Not that I have any fault to find so much with my once 
 dear little darling, but I don't like her husband." 
 
 Oh sir, and is it possible that any one can dislike 
 Lord Montague Montault," cried Wolf, more asto- 
 
14 THE FISHER'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 nished than ever at the asperity with which this was 
 uttered by his protector. 
 
 " But I think it very possible, sir, though you may 
 not," answered the fisher angrily; " and I will tell 
 you why, to put you out of suspense, which sits so 
 troublesome on you. I was the protector of Agatha 
 Singleton when she had no other. Lord Montague 
 Montault has forgotten that, and is teaching his wife 
 to forget that too. This, sir, is what they call ingrati- 
 tude all the world over ; but if you can call it by any 
 other name, pray do, for my satisfaction." 
 
 Wolf was now not only astonished, but utterly con- 
 founded at a communication so unpleasing, and so 
 little expected. He could answer nothing in extenuation 
 of the conduct of Lord Montault, if the assertion of 
 his protector was really true ; and he could not doubt 
 his veracity on such an occasion ; yet what could 
 be the motives for such extraordinary conduct in 
 Lord Montault, who, before he had married his 
 lovely cousin, exhibited so many amiable traits of a 
 noble and ingenuous disposition. So generous too, 
 and exalted in his sentiments, and appearing so un- 
 conscious of his high birth, and splendid advantages 
 of fortune, that he was beloved, nay adored, by all his 
 father's tenantry on the rich domains belonging to the 
 castle of Montault, and perfectly looked upon as a 
 tutelary saint by the humble class of beings which re- 
 ceived the most liberal marks of his bounty. And 
 was it the least likely to be imagined, that the lovely 
 angel who had so greatly honoured him with her hand 
 and her heart, for which monarchs might have con- 
 tended, could have had any influence in rendering him 
 
the fisher's DAUGHTER. 1") 
 
 less amiable than he was before. Such an idea was 
 inadmissible. A connection with such a woman, and 
 one too of so sacred and tender a nature, must have 
 exalted a man to the most transporting tide of human 
 bliss ; but it was utterly impossible that it could ever 
 debase him. A marriage with so heavenly a creature, 
 for it was not only the person of Agatha that was so 
 femininely lovely, but that lovely person was reflected 
 in a superior, and if possible, a fairer mind, which like 
 the most transparent fountain, was pure as Dian's 
 temple. Every thought was chaste and holy; every 
 action bespoke elegance, and every expression was 
 dignified with a becoming graceful modesty j and in 
 the presence of her husband, on whom those gentle 
 smiles beamed ever constant and radiant with good 
 temper, he might very justly have exclaimed in the 
 beautiful language of Milton, when Adam thus ex- 
 presses his thoughts of Eve : 
 
 " Yet, when I approach 
 
 Her loveliness, so absolute she seems. 
 And in herself complete, so well to know 
 Her own, that what she wills to do or say 
 Seems wisest, virtuousest, discretest, best. 
 All higher knowledge in her presence falls 
 Degraded : wisdom in discourse with her 
 Looses discountenanced, and like folly shews ; 
 Authority and reason on her wait 
 As one intended first, not after made, 
 Occasionally; and to consummate all, 
 Greatness of mind, and nobleness tbeir seat 
 Build in her loveliest, and create an awe 
 About her, as a guard angelic placed." 
 
 " And with such a woman, could mortal man eve 
 taste of human woe, or know one bitter thought ? It 
 a moral impossibility," imagined Wolf, as he sat 
 
l(j THE FISHKR*S DAUGHTER. 
 
 mechanically tapping his knuckles on the table, musing 
 and sighing at what the fisber had advanced about Lord 
 Montague Montault ; and absolutely lost in profound 
 meditation, he was unconscious that both Alfred and 
 his protector, were not only observing him, but ac- 
 tually amusing themselves in watching the progressive 
 motions that he made, till suddenly he exclaimed, 
 " No, with Lady Agatha no man could be unhappy 
 I should think, for a moment!" 
 
 At which Alfred and the fisher could no longer pre- 
 serve gravity, but both from the same involuntary im- 
 pulse (which neither could suppress) burst out into 
 repeated peals of laughter, and, which was no sooner 
 perceived by Wolf, than in the utmost confusion he 
 uttered, glancing at Alfred with some symptoms of 
 displeasure — 
 
 " I am ignorant of the cause of your mirth, Alfred, 
 as much as I am to what I have been saying, or what 
 I have been doing ; but I suppose it was something- 
 very ridiculous to make you laugh so." 
 
 Alfred now endeavoured to look grave at this very 
 serious speech of Wolf, for he had no intention of 
 cither wounding his feelings, or offending him, but in 
 making this effort he happened to catch the eye of 
 Mr. Blust, who was twirling his pipe about in the 
 most whimsical manner that could be imagined ; and 
 whose merry round face was at this present moment 
 the very antidote to any thing that was gloomy or 
 melancholy; and who in answer to what Wolf had 
 said, loudly vociferated, " Yes, very ridiculous, that's 
 true enough, for '11 tell thee what thou hast been doing 
 lad for this full quarter of an hour, while Alfred and 
 
THE FISHER'S DAUGHTER. \J 
 
 1 have been looking at thee. You have been playing 
 the devil's tattoo on the table, and the devil a one 
 could help laughing at thee, if they were the very devil 
 himself; and all about you know who. Come, that's 
 plain enough, beant it ?" 
 
 " Yes, sir, it is certainly plain English," uttered 
 Wolf, suppressing what he inwardly felt, a struggling 
 sigh, sacred to the memory of the lovely Agatha, whom 
 he despaired of ever obtaining a chance of behold- 
 ing again in this world's earthly space, if such was the 
 disposition of her husband. For if he thought the 
 fisher Blust, who certainly had protected tier, to use 
 his own words, when she had no other, and the cap- 
 tain was supposed to have been drowned in the bosom 
 of the ocean; if he thought him unworthy of her notice 
 or her acquaintance, what chance had he, a poor 
 friendless youth, without even a name to be distin- 
 guished by save that alone of Wolf, and whom the 
 fisher Blust had also protected from the frowns of a 
 merciless world ; could he hope that he would be re- 
 ceived with a more kindly reception, or be greeted 
 with more friendly smiles than his protector, the pro- 
 tector also of Agatha Singleton ? Certainly not, al- 
 though it might be admitted that the Lady Agatha 
 herself might wish to shew some of her former kind- 
 ness towards him. Yet she was not now her own 
 mistress; she was married, and her husband's will and 
 not hers, must unquestionably prevail over all other 
 rights, over all other privileges ; and it is possible that 
 W T olf in his present perplexity wished that marriage 
 had never been ordained on earth, any more than it 
 was, from all he could read or learn, in heaven. 
 c 1 c 
 
18 the fisher's Daughter. 
 
 " Yet I will go to the castle of Montault," thought 
 Wolf, and I will see the lady Agatha, if possible, only 
 for a moment, whether it displeases her lord or not, 
 and I be discarded for ever from her presence ; yet I 
 will once more gaze on those lovely features, and feast 
 my eyes on that lovely form, which when a boy I so 
 idolized. Then will I bid her adieu for ever, till haply 
 at some distant period that gentle spirit flies to realms 
 of bliss to meet thy kindred angels, which thou so 
 greatly resemblest. Then, Lady Agatha, we may meet 
 again." 
 
 But although these thoughts were passing in rapid 
 succession in the tortured mind of Wolf, they were 
 carefully concealed from the knowledge of his protec- 
 tor, or even from Alfred ; for the fisher in reply to the 
 short sentence which had escaped from the agitated 
 lips of Wolf, in his usual blunt manner, which he never 
 attempted to disguise on any occasion, vociferated — 
 
 " Plain English, why what the devil would you have 
 but plain English from a plain Englishman, I should 
 be glad to know, master Wolf ? D — n your foreign 
 gibberish, I say, and all your foreign gentry, who 
 when they come into this country from their outland- 
 ish parts, don't know what good manners are any more 
 than ourselves, and call us Englishmen hogs, because 
 we don't fall down upon our knees, and worship them 
 for nothing at all ; but shiver my topsails, if ever they 
 catch me at doing any such thing while I have a bit of 
 the blood of an Englishman about me. I say we had 
 enough of your foreign manners when that old cat, 
 the duchess of Brag&nza, came to live at the Cottage 
 on the Cliff, and wanted her own grand-daughter, as 
 
THE FISHER S DAUGHTER. 
 
 19 
 
 it turned out, to find a cradle on the bosom of the salt 
 seas ; and it was well for poor Agatha that she escaped 
 from the clutches of so kind a relation j and yet when 
 she came first to Cromer, there was no mortal good 
 enough to look at her, because she was a duchess, and 
 came from Italy; but where she is gone to now, I 
 should be glad to know. Shiver my topsails, if I don't 
 think the devil thought her too bad to have a place 
 even by his warm fire-side, for she would have mur- 
 dered both the mother and the child as clean as a 
 whistle, but for that kind good man, Captain Single- 
 ton. And yet I don't see that he is thought much the 
 better for it by them fine gentry in the castle of Mon- 
 tault." 
 
 " But surely, my dear father, you do not mean to 
 class the Lady Agatha in this black and unworthy list 
 of ungrateful beings ? she could not, — she cannot be 
 insensibly forgetful of all your former kindness, when, 
 beneath your hospitable friendly roof, you gave her a 
 shelter from the storm, which was blowing with such 
 violence over her devoted head," uttered Wolf, with 
 involuntary warmth and feeling, which certainly had 
 the effect of softening the heart of the fisher. " Oh, 
 sir, I think not ; judge not so hardly of that angelic 
 woman. I have heard her speak of you in the solitary 
 exile to which she was driven, when forced from your 
 fj-tering protection, with such tender animated affec- 
 tion, and with such deep regret that she might never 
 more behold you, that tears have gushed from her 
 lovely eyes, and convulsive sighs have heaved from her 
 1 vely bosom, — and of my sister Jessy too, how kindly 
 has she spoken. — Dear father, cease to censure the 
 
20 THE FISHhRS DAUGHTER. 
 
 lady Agatha, I beseech you, I implore you, for as 
 heaven is true, and holy angels, I believe her true to 
 you." 
 
 " Why, shiver my topsails, who is saying any thing 
 against her ?" cried tly nsher, greatly affected by this 
 account given him of one, whom next to his own chil- 
 dren he had loved and treated with the fondest affec- 
 tion ; and cramming his pipe with more tobacco than 
 was at all necessary, he added, before he put it to his 
 mouth — 
 
 " Bless her little heart, I love her still ; and if she 
 wanted a protector again, and a roof to shelter her, 
 as she did when 1 took her from the Cottage on the 
 Cliff, when we all thought it was all up with poor 
 Singleton, and that he was gone clean to the bottom 
 of Davy Jones's locker,* why, shiver my topsails, if 
 she should want it long from Peter Blust. That's all 
 lad, I can't say no more. — That's the point of the 
 compass, and you may steer it which way you will. I 
 love the pretty little soul still, though she be turned 
 out a great lady, and married to a great lord." 
 
 " And Move her still !" uttered Wolf, with a mourn- 
 ful and almost involuntary expression, which seemed 
 to give some uneasy sensation to his protector, for he 
 instantly exclaimed — 
 
 " Avast there, though lad : — thou must not love 
 Agatha as when thee was a boy, and the pretty little 
 soul used to pat your cheek, and call you her darling 
 Wolf; and take your part when your sister Olive (God 
 esc iier soul !) was crobs with you, and ail that, you 
 
 * A common phrase used by sailors. 
 
THE FISHER s |v*ui»HTER. 21 
 
 Know ; — but she be married now — and you be a great 
 strapping fellow — and — and — " filling his pipe afresh, 
 " Shiver my topsails ! the less you say of her the bet- 
 ter ; that's all. Don't be foolish, lad — don't be fool- 
 ish ! she be married — and the grapes be sour." 
 
 The cheeks of Wolf had actually assumed a colour 
 of the brightest crimson, and his heart beat tumult- 
 ously; the cause of which he could not exactly define, 
 though probably pretty tolerably guessed at by the 
 fisher Blust ; but it had the effect of producing taci- 
 turnity on Wolf ever after on the subject of the lady 
 Agatha ; and that this lovely creature was now indeed 
 a married woman, and like forbidden fruit, far be- 
 yond his reach, often painfully recurred to the recol- 
 lection whenever his imagination wandered to the 
 happy days passed in her society beneath the roof of 
 his protector, when she also was its inmate ; and that 
 such happy days and such happy hours would never 
 again return, occasioned Wolf to heave many a sigh 
 of regret, and to shed many a bitter tear of hopeless 
 despondency. And there were times when the gloomy 
 scenes in the old abbey r( curred afresh to his me- 
 mory ; and although they were scenes of terror and 
 scenes of v oe, they were preferable to what he expe- 
 rienced at the present moment of cheerless solitude 
 in the house of the fisher ; for Lady Agatha was there, 
 and her lovely presence, like the sun that lights the 
 roses, was the 1 1 ht that gave buoyancy to the spirits 
 of Wolf, Meanwhile, the generous intentions of Mr. 
 Blust towards his adopted sons, were fully disclosed 
 to them. 
 
 " For look ye, my boys," uttered he ;ne evening 
 
22 the fisher's daughter. 
 
 as they sat at supper ; " while time is gathering snow 
 fast round my temples, summer buds are only be- 
 ginning to weave a chaplet round yours. In one word, 
 lads, I am getting old and mayhap I shall be a 
 sheer hulk before your cock-boats are ready for sail- 
 ing. I have got a few shiners left, and I want to make 
 them of service to you before I drop off the hooks. 
 Now there is Jessy provided for. I gave her some- 
 thing to keep the pot a boiling, though Sam did not 
 want it ; yet as I do suspect, by the look of Jessy's 
 waist, that there is a little cock-boat on the stocks, 
 so it will do for a christening. Then there is Olive, 
 poor wench, she is provided for — " [The fisher here 
 made an affecting pause ; and brushed off a hasty and 
 involuntary tear which had started to his eyes, as quick 
 as he possibly could, though not without having re- 
 course to a pipe of tobacco as the most expedient way 
 of driving away so painful retrospections. And he 
 slowly pronounced] " and there is no doubt but the vil- 
 lain who provided her with the cold bed she now lies 
 in, has met with a provision too." Another pause en- 
 sued, when his countenance assumed a brighter aspect ; 
 and he addressed Alfred with, " Well, lad, and now I 
 must think of providing for thee and thy brother Wolf. 
 You must have a small matter to make hay while the 
 sun shines, — so lad, tell us what course thee would like 
 to follow ? and thee, Wolf, what wouldst like to be ?" 
 The question was abrupt and unexpected to both 
 the young men, and not so easy to resolve ; but their 
 protector, who could never brook delay, insisted that 
 they would be decisive, in order that he might act ac- 
 cordingly, to forward their future destination. 
 
THE FfSHER*S DAUGHTER. 23 
 
 *■* Come, shiver my topsails, what's the use of shilly 
 shallying about the matter," uttered he, " cannot you 
 tell whether you would like to be a soldier or a sailor, 
 — a tinker or a taylor?" 
 
 " Alfred, why don't you speak ?" cried Wolf. 
 
 " I am waiting for you, Wolf," rejoined Alfred ; 
 and the fisher, out of all patience, (with which he was 
 but slenderly stocked,) loudly vociferated — 
 
 " You are waiting for a fiddlestick's end to rap about 
 your knuckles. Zounds ! you may be Jack Ketch if 
 you have a mind to it ; so you will out with it." 
 
 " Sir, then, with all due deference to your superior 
 judgment and your approbation, since you are so kind 
 as to leave it to my exclusive choice, I should like to 
 follow the church, and embrace the holy orders of our 
 sacred religion." 
 
 The fisher at first stared in the most profound asto- 
 nishment at this declaration made by Alfred, probably 
 because he had never expressed any wish of this kind 
 before ; and because (if we must state the truth) the 
 fisher himself was not very particularly partial to gen- 
 tlemen of the clerical profession. At length his rosy 
 face relaxed into a smile, or rather into a broad un- 
 sophisticated grin, which totally discomposed the gra- 
 vity of Alfred. 
 
 " Follow the what?" uttered the fisher. 
 
 " The established principles of the British church. 
 I have long seriously contemplated it with the most 
 profound attention, and it has always afforded me the 
 most secret satisfaction ; and expressed the same to 
 my brother Wolf," uttered Alfred, blushing deeply. 
 
 " Yes, sir, 1 have often heard Alfred declare, that 
 
24 the fisher's daughter. 
 
 he should like to be a parson/' cried Wolf, to which 
 the fisher replied — 
 
 " And; shiver my topsails, if I don't think he knows 
 which side his bread is buttered on, by making 
 the election ; for most parsons live on the fat of 
 the land, and grow as round and as jolly as bacon 
 hogs, while the farmers, on account of the heavy tithes 
 exacted upon them, will tell you that they grow lean 
 upon it. No matter, there must be parsons, as well as 
 tinkers and tailors. Every man to his calling, as the 
 saying is ; and a parson's is a devilish good one ; for 
 if ever you catch him starving the cause, I'm a 
 Dutchman ; he'd sooner starve his parishoners. Well, 
 parson Alfred, here's to the first sermon you preach 
 in our village church at Cromer; but take good care, 
 lad, not to have a clerk that speaks through his nose, 
 as old Jack Henderson did last Sabbath day, when I 
 just happened to pop my bead in to hear a bit of the 
 gospel. Jack was singing out ' Amen,' as loud as he 
 could brawl ; but shiver my topsails, if it was not for 
 all the world like the grunt of my old sow ! so off I 
 marched and read the gospel at home. But don't be 
 down-hearted, lad, don't be down-hearted. Thee 
 shall be a parson, if thee likes it, after all. I'll settle 
 that point of the compass for you, my lad, so never 
 fear." 
 
 It was now Wolf's turn to speak, and the fisher 
 demanding to have an immediate answer. Wolf boldly 
 replied — 
 
 " I will be a soldier, sir, so please you ; and you 
 are willing that I should gain a name in arms." 
 
 At which the fisher burst into such an immoderate 
 
the fisher's daughter. 26 
 
 and hearty penl of laughter, that it was many minutes 
 before he could bring himself to any gravity. At 
 length he vociferated — 
 
 " A parson and a soldier ! Shiver my topsails, if 
 that beant a good one ; considering all things—" 
 
 And the fisher laughed again ; but what had so par- 
 ticularly excited his risibility was not imparted to 
 Wolf or Alfred. And he proceeded to inform them, 
 that he was willing to grant both their requests in the 
 professions they had made choice of; and which (jest- 
 ing apart) he had no reason to disapprove, and that 
 he had no doubt but they would be a credit to both of 
 them ; that applications should immediately be made 
 to those personages who were most likely to forward 
 their interests ; and, as there would be no want of the 
 ready shiners to enforce it, he supposed that very 
 shortly they would be placed in situations congenial 
 to their wishes. 
 
 Having uttered these words to his adopted sons, 
 the fisher smoked his pipe and spent the remainder of 
 the evening with them around a cheerful fire-side, in 
 the utmost harmony and good humour imaginable, 
 giving them a few practical hints on their future esta- 
 blishments that were not only useful, but highly com- 
 mendable, and which, though they did not proceed 
 from a man of education, were nevertheless such plain 
 honest truths, that no man of sense or prudence would 
 have rejected or treated with contempt, let his under- 
 standing have been ever so refined, or his education 
 ever so learned. And Wolf and Alfred expressed the 
 deep sense of gratitude they cherished towards their 
 protector in a manner that reflected the highest credit 
 
 a 2 d 
 
26 THE FISHER S DAUGHTER. 
 
 on them, and not without a glistening tear having very 
 perceptibly shone in each eye j while the fisher, warn>- 
 hearted and generous, although blunt, honest, and 
 unsophisticated, was equally affected at the strong 
 testimonials of gratitude exhibited towards him by 
 both these amiable youths. A journey was the 
 following day proposed to the house of Mr. Russel 
 and his lovely wife, which was not more than a dis- 
 tance of three miles from that of the fisher Blust, and 
 close to the banks of the water-side, which, when the 
 tide was flowing, ran into the bosom of the main 
 ocean, on which from the windows of Mr. Russet's 
 habitation, every vessel that sailed both in and out o 
 the harbour of Cromer could be distinguished with 
 the greatest perspicuity, and greatly added to tho 
 otherwise enchanting prospects which surrounded it. 
 A delightful flower garden was in the front of the 
 house, shaded with the deep foliage of embowering 
 trees ; and some lovely meadows, in which were a fine 
 stock of milch cows grazing, were stationed at the 
 back of it. The house itself, which was of red brick, 
 was neither of ancient or modern architecture, but 
 preserved a happy medium, which was between both. 
 It had certainly been considerably repaired, and con- 
 sequently improved, since Mr. Russel's marriage with 
 the daughter of Mr. Blust ; but there was nothing fine 
 about it, but like its lovely mistress bespoke an air 
 of simplicity, neatness, health, and cheerfulness; while 
 hospitalitjLStood at its gate, peace reigned within its 
 quiet and sequestered walls, and Jessy was the hap- 
 piest of wiveSj because she had one of the happiest of 
 husbands. They delighted in rendering each other 
 
thk fisher's daughter. 27 
 
 happy ; it was reflected from their own bosoms, the 
 one to the other; and when this disposition is reci- 
 procal in married life, if aught can make a paradise 
 on earth, it is surely to be found in an union of two 
 such beings as the honest Sam Russel and the lovely 
 unaspiring humble Jessy Blust. But here we must 
 pause ; all marriages were not so enviable as that of 
 the young fisher and his lovely bride. All are not 
 hurtless roses that exhibit their blushing leaves to the 
 sunny ray. There is a canker in the bud. There is 
 a thorn, which though hidden, will tear its kindred 
 branches asunder, and too often doom it to wither 
 and decay. 
 
 Alas ! must truth then be confessed so painful ? 
 Was the lovely Agatha less happy in her marriage than 
 her humble friend ? So amiable her heart's elected ; 
 so young, so handsome — so exalted in birch, so splen- 
 did in riches. What could be wanting then to render 
 the lady of such a man superlatively blest above all 
 other women ? Did not her noble lord love her most 
 passionately ? He adored her, if adoration to a human 
 being might not be termed profanation. Yet with all 
 these was the lovely and amiable Agatha a miserable 
 wife. Yes, even in the arms she most loved she was 
 so. But what made her so, and which filled the whole 
 world with the most profound astonishment, was un- 
 known to the whole circle of her acquaintance ; for 
 lady Agatha herself had certainly not informed tbem 
 of it. She was silent ! yet beneath the dark fringes 
 of her lovely eye-lids, there sometimes stole a tear, 
 like the dew-drop on the snowy blossom of the thorn. 
 It fell in silence, but its meaning was expressive, ana 
 
28 the fisher's daughter. 
 
 it bespoke more real woe and heart-felt grief than 
 words, though ever so witty. The beggar, that is 
 dumb, you know, deserves a double pity. 
 
 CHAPTER 11. 
 
 V Fare thee well ! and if for ever- 
 Still for ever fare thee well — 
 Even though unforgiving, ueve*- 
 'Gainst thee shall my heart rebel.— 
 Would that breast were bared before thee 
 Where thy head so oft hath lain, 
 While that placid sleep came o'er thee 
 Which thou ne'er canst know again : 
 Would that breast by thee glanc'd over 
 Every inmost thought could shew ! 
 Then thou wouldst at last discover 
 'Twas net well to spurn it so." 
 
 Lord Byron. 
 
 Mr. and Mrs. Russel had just sat down to partake 
 of their morning repast, unconscious of the visitants 
 who were journeying towards their quiet, peaceful, 
 and sequestered dwelling ; and never had Jessy arisen 
 in better spirits, or looked more lovely in the eyes of 
 her fond husband than on this morning, when the 
 fisher, with his adopted sons, Alfred and Wolf, pro- 
 posed to set out for the habitation of his beloved 
 daughter j about which, however, he had betrayed his 
 usual signs of impatience on such occasions, desiring 
 
the fisher's daughter. 29 
 
 his oM trusty squire David (who still retained his ser- 
 vice in the family) to saddle the horses full three 
 hours before they were wanted, or that he was ready 
 to equip himself in his best clothes, which he had 
 •given orders over night to be well brushed and aired, 
 with a pair of new boots which had been hanging over 
 the door of -the pantry, with a quantity of smoked 
 hams, at least three months before the present period, 
 in order, as Peter observed, that they might have a 
 good seasoning. But Peter had certainly made too 
 many libations to the brandy bottle, to rise at the early 
 hour that he expected ; and when David had brought 
 the horses out of the stable, his master was yet soundly 
 sleeping; and he knew better than to awaken him 
 without the wind blowing from a quarter that Davy 
 was by no means partial of encountering whenever he 
 had the least chance of shunning it, not being the 
 gentlest gale that could ever blow; so he put the 
 horses into the stable again, and very quietly walked 
 into the kitchen, muttering all the way to himself 
 though sufficiently loud for old Alice to hear— 
 V This be always the way of old master — hurry, 
 scurry, all to no purpose ; and worry, worry, till he do 
 put a body out of all patience. There be poor old 
 Bess, with the saddle on her back this half hour ; and 
 now I be forced to take it off again, to give the poor 
 wench a feed of corn and a drop of water. A murrain 
 light on such cross-grained folks, I say. It were enough 
 to make a parson swear, to see the rigs that old 
 master be going on since Miss Jessy be married. He 
 be no more like the same than chalk is to cheese, and 
 I do wish— I do wish" — In this wish, most unfortu- 
 
30 the fisher's daughter. 
 
 nately David got the button of his coat entangled with 
 the spinning wheel of old Alice, and threw into the 
 utmost disorder and confusion the whole economy of 
 her spinning tackle. Vain were the expostulations or 
 the assertions of the affrighted David, (for he stood a 
 little in awe of the old woman from the influence she 
 held with his master,) to prove that the fault he had 
 committed was not pre-meditated, but the effect of 
 mere accident, and that he was willing to repair it by 
 any means in his power ; for Alice, who had some- 
 what of the quality of the mule in her disposition, and 
 could never be persuaded to turn an inch from an 
 opinion after she had once adopted it, flatly contra- 
 dicted him, while she exclaimed in not the gentlest or 
 the sweetest tones imaginable — 
 
 " What, ye mongrel ! do you think because that I 
 am old, I am blind and deaf too ? I warrant me I had 
 niy eyes about me when I saw you put up your ugly 
 bit of a leg against my spinning wheel, and turn it 
 topsey turvey, you jackanapes, I did. Just because 
 you could not have your will of poor old master, so 
 you must needs go for to destroy my property, you 
 mischief-making hound, you !" 
 
 David's choler now began to wax as warm as the 
 old woman's by the last appellation she had bestowed 
 on him j and, with all the national spirit of a true Nor- 
 folk lad mounting to his broad round chubby face, 
 gave the house-keeper the retort courteous, by reply- 
 ing— 
 
 " Hound ! I should be glad to know what thee do 
 mean by calling me out of my name in this unchristian 
 manner, Mistress Alice ? — but I will tell thee a bit of 
 
THE FISHER S DAUGHTER. 
 
 SI 
 
 my mind if thee do&t provoke me ! — I be no more a 
 
 dog than thee beest a : you may guess the rest, 
 
 Mistress Alice, you may guess the rest. As I'm a 
 true Norfolk lad, I won't be called out of my name 
 again by never such a cross- grained ould toad, as long 
 as I do live." 
 
 While David was haranguing in this no very pleas- 
 ing or conciliating strain, and thus increasing instead 
 of allaying the infuriated passion of the old woman, 
 he had. step by step, gradually retreated towards the 
 door; and at the concluding sentence, perceiving her 
 with a saucepan full of boiling water, which she had 
 just taken off the fire, actually made his escape as 
 speedily as possible, out of the back door ; and from 
 thence as speedily into the stable, to again saddle the 
 horses, probably in the fear that the contents of the 
 saucepan would be slapp'd in his face, if he remained a 
 moment longer in the presence of the enraged house- 
 keeper j and in this supposition honest Davy was not 
 mistaken. The "ould cross-grained toad," was an 
 offence which was not likely to be easily effaced from 
 hei recollection; but Alice (who had actually very 
 nearly arrived to that state which might be deemed 
 second childhood) had not only forgotten the fault 
 which Davy had so unintentionally committed, but as 
 freely pardoned it when he returned again to his place 
 by the fire-side in the kitchen, by informing him that 
 there was a bake ready in the oven,* if he had a 
 mind to a share of it for his breakfast, which was also 
 accompanied with an invitation to a dish of coffee, 
 
 * A sort of cake, usually called buttered cake, in this country. 
 
32 
 
 THE F1SBER S DAUGHTER. 
 
 which she placed before him ; and as no more was 
 said by either party of the disaster which had befallen 
 the spinning wheel, good humour and tranquillity once 
 more took their peaceful and happy reign, long before 
 the fisher had awakened from his drowsy slumbers, 
 and had called lustily about him for the assistance of 
 his trusty squire, who was also his valet de chambre ; 
 for various were the capacities in which the unsophis- 
 ticated and honest David served his worthy master. 
 Although it must be owned Mr. Blust was at times 
 as cross-grained as Alice, yet returning good hu- 
 mour and exemplary acts of kindness, which spon- 
 taneously arose from the fountain of a warm and ge- 
 nerous heart, left no impression on that of a faithful 
 servant, but gratitude and eternal fidelity to the in- 
 terest of a beloved master ; for in the very height of 
 the turbulence of the fisher's passion, he would fre- 
 quently turn round, and fix his inflamed eyes on the 
 broad, rosy, good natured face of Davy, and then burst 
 out into the most involuntary and immoderate fit of 
 laughter, while he exclaimed — 
 
 " Shiver my topsails ! blow high, blow low, thee 
 do always stick to one point of the compass ; and that 
 be the truth of it." 
 
 To which Davy, without once relaxing from the 
 grave and quiet possession of his features, would 
 reply— 
 
 " Yes, master, I be a lad that do never carry false 
 colours, thee may depend upon it." Which reply so 
 generally pleased Mr. Blust, that a glass of grog was 
 the flag of truce hoisted between them, till the next 
 gale of wind happened to produce a hurricane, which 
 
the fisher's daughter. 3'6 
 
 after a while subsided into a calm, as on former occa- 
 sions. Destined to pay a visit to his gentle Jessy 
 on this morning, no frown ruffled his warm breath- 
 ing and benevolent cast of features, on which nature 
 had stamped so fair a mark of honest rusticity 3 for 
 it was not cunning that gave to the countenance of 
 Peter Blust the look of arch simplicity for which it 
 was so remarkable ; and it was not a knowledge of 
 the world that was either the guide or the impulse of 
 his actions. He was not versed in craft, except that 
 which had guided his hand to the helm, when he had 
 steered his adventurous bark on the bosom of the 
 ocean. Therefore, from the smile which was almost 
 generally playing on his lip, little could be guessed of 
 what was the natural temperature of his disposition or 
 the tenor of his conduct. He was to be tried and to 
 be known on a basis of a more substantial foundation. 
 
 A clear transparent fountain will most certainly re- 
 flect on its glossy and silvery surface shadows true to 
 its fair and resplendent mirror — but can it display 
 substances ? With equal truth and justice, can it pe- 
 netrate the interior part as well as represent the ex- 
 ternal ? Can it lift up the mysterious veil, and reveal 
 to us the human heart, like unto the fair shadow that 
 it reflects in its silver stream ? No ! human virtues like 
 the golden ore, lay concealed in hidden mines, till 
 ihey are searched for, tried, and proved ; and thus both 
 their quality and their excellence become known and 
 valued according to the intrinsic merit that they pos- 
 sess ; and of this description were the virtues, the 
 nature, the character of the fisher Blust ! But to pro- 
 ceed; he had certainly arisen on this identical morning 
 
 b2 E 
 
34 the fisher's daughter. 
 
 in excellent spirits and in a fine tone of humour. 
 * Shiver my topsails," had not been repated once du- 
 ring the operation of dressing, although David, who 
 was standing behind his chair, often committed many 
 mistakes and blunders in his awkward capacity of valet 
 de chambre ; but there was some little petulance be- 
 trayed in the face of the fisher when the new boots 
 were drawing on, not being quite so easy as might be 
 expected from the length of time they had been sea- 
 soning with the smoked hams over the door of the 
 pantry ; and David, from the aspect on the curved 
 brow of his master, was apprehensive that a gale was 
 coming on. Fortunately, however, these gloomy 
 vestages disappeared, and the sunny rays of good hu- 
 mour and smiling vivacity broke through the mist and 
 dispersed it altogether by the. time that he was com- 
 pletely equipped for his journey ; and a glass of brandy 
 taken as a preventive from the effects of cold, though, 
 if the truth must be told, it was in the middle of June 
 and a lovely summer's morning as ever peeped out of 
 a heavenly azure sky. No matter, Peter was wise to 
 remedy an evil while it was yet within his power ; and 
 as folks are sometimes apt to catch cold in the 
 summer season as well as the winter, the recourse to 
 the brandy may be excused. 
 
 Well, every thing was in train to expedite the jour- 
 ney to the habitation of Mr. and Mrs. Russel. The 
 horses were brought to the gateway, and old Bess, 
 who knew the voice of her master, pricked up her 
 ears, and betrayed as much impatience to be on the 
 foot as he did. 
 
 Where then were Alfred and Wolf all this time ? 
 
the fisher's daughter. 35 
 
 why, at their toilette, and were not dressed yet, al- 
 though the fisher had vociferated for them loudly se- 
 veral times. Five minutes more completely exhausted 
 the patience of Peter, and " Shiver my topsails," was 
 thundered out at last with a tremendous oath at the 
 end of it, to the no small mortification of poor David, 
 who muttered, — (as he hurried to their chamber to 
 call them down,) — on meeting Wolf on the stair-case 
 with Alfred close to his heels — 
 
 " 'Tis too bad of you, young gentlemen, dang it, if 
 it beant now. He was never in such a good humour 
 in all his days, and now he be blowing a blast under 
 the gateway louder than a boatswain's whistle, and 
 shivering his topsails like fury. I thought how it 
 would be when once he began to shiver the topsails. 
 Its all over with him then, and how you'll catch it, 
 dang it, you'll both catch it, and sweetly too, or my 
 name's not Davy." 
 
 By this time the fisher had mounted the back of his 
 Rosinante, or in other words, vaulted into the saddle 
 of old Bess, while, to make use of the phraseology of 
 honest Davy, he was actually blowing a blast that rent 
 the air with its violence ; and the first glance he got 
 of his adopted sons, who very quickly got on the backs 
 of their neighing steeds, was followed with — 
 
 " Shiver my topsails, what in the devil's name do 
 you keep me here waiting while you are dandifying 
 yourselves off ; and what do you look like now pray, 
 with them thingembob collars up to your ears, for all 
 the world just like stuck pigs ; and them jack-a-dandy 
 coats, that puts me in mind of strait waistcoats. Shi- 
 ver my topsails, if I had known that Billy Button the 
 
36 THE FISHER'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 taylor was a going to make your new clothes after any 
 such fashion as that, I would have sous'd him in the 
 bottom of the fish pond. I tell thee what, lads, I 
 want to see you look like men, and Billy Button has 
 made you like a couple of monkeys. There's Davy 
 can't help grinning at you any more than I can ; and 
 if ever I catch Billy Button at any more such pranks 
 as these, he shall never make another coat or pair of 
 breeches for me so long as my name is Peter Blust." 
 
 Laying the lash of his whip a little briskly over 
 the ears of old Bess, the fisher galloped away, after 
 having vented the whole of his passion on Billy Button 
 the taylor, and the cut of his coats, that had made his 
 adopted sons look like what was his aversion — the 
 dandies ! But in defence of the invectives bestowed by 
 the fisher Blust on his taylor Billy Button, we must 
 advance, that he had not done any such thing, and 
 that Alfred and Wolf no more resembled dandies than 
 Peter Blust did himself; and that the observation 
 made on the cut of their clothes, which were only 
 gentlemanly and modern, was merely made by Peter 
 as a medium to vent his passion through, as well as a 
 sort of punishment inflicted on their pride and youth- 
 ful vanity, for having kept him so long waiting ; for 
 he had no sooner got into the track that led to the 
 habitation of his beloved Jessy, than he forgot both 
 the cut of their coats, and the appellation he had be- 
 stowed on them as resembling a couple of monkeys. 
 
 Not so poor Alfred or Wolf, who had sustained a 
 painful and mortifying trial of suppressed feelings, hard 
 to be described ; for they were indeed no longer boys, 
 but both experienced the feelings of men just entering 
 
the fisher's daughter. 3£* 
 
 into life with no natural protector that they could 
 claim as their own, and no paternal home in which a 
 father's or a mother's smile could greet them with a 
 welcome ; and as they cantered at a slow pace behind 
 the fisher in order to recover their self-possession and 
 to compose their surprized and mortified feelings, 
 they mutually expressed the nature of their thoughts 
 and sentiments to each other. Wolf, however, had 
 too much spirit to repine, and the consoling reflection, 
 hat he might one day gain by the laurels of his pro- 
 fessional career a future home to go to, very quickly 
 dissipated the gloomy presage of the present moments. 
 Not so Alfred ; his feelings were more refined and per- 
 ceptible to the delicate touches of sensibility; and 
 there was a chord in his heart that vibrated sensibly 
 to the galling reflection, that he was only a dependant 
 on the bounty of the fisher Blust, certainly far his in- 
 ferior, though wealthy. Yet this consideration singly 
 gave him but little respect in the estimation of Alfred. 
 Nor was he blind to his defects ; one of which, though 
 bound to him by the icy fetters of obligation, he 
 could not tolerate. He was abstracted and silent 
 therefore, when Wolf suddenly aroused him from the 
 pensive meditation in which he was plunged, with the 
 exclamation of — 
 
 " What a paradise of sweets is Jessy's habitation 
 surrounded by ; look Alfred, what an enchanting pros- 
 pect of scenery is every where before us." To which 
 Alfred thoughtfully replied — 
 
 " Paradise of sweets ! would not the term wilderness 
 of sweets, have been more appropriate, think you ? 
 Paradise has nothing earthly in it ; here all is mortal 
 
OD THE FISHER S DAUGHTER. 
 
 that we behold; and though sweet, it is fadmg; though 
 lovely, it is perishable." 
 
 " Well, all that I know," uttered Wolf; " but before 
 they do perish, is that any reason why we should not 
 enjoy them ? Were they not bestowed to be enjoyed ? 
 Useless was the gift or the blessing so given, if they 
 are not worthy of attention. But prithee, Alfred, don't 
 look so melancholy, or begin to moralize in the middle 
 of a wood." 
 
 " The middle of a wood is the fittest place for mo- 
 rality to dwell," responded Alfred, " where would you 
 seek for it, in towns, in cities ? Alas ! with them it 
 tarries not long, where folly sends it thence, and vice 
 usurps the sway of sense, Of delicacy, and of feeling." 
 
 " Tush, nonsense ; we have as much morality as 
 they had a century ago," cried Wolf, wishing to dis- 
 sipate the gloom that was hanging over the brow of 
 his beloved brother; and to exchange those tears 
 which yet glistened in his fine, clear, and intelligent 
 blue eyes for smiles joyous and happy. " And yet we 
 are as virtuous and as wise as our fore-fathers ; so a 
 truce to your morality, Alfred. Come, let us brighten 
 up, or the old boy will get into a passion again, and 
 call us boors, as well as monkeys." 
 
 " That he may and welcome," uttered Alfred with 
 a s-truggled sigh ; " but it is out of his power to make 
 us either. He is himself a boor at times ; but I for- 
 bear to make any further comment on his behaviour 
 to us this morning in the presence of his domestic, 
 who was grinning at us. Such conduct was boorish 
 enough ; but we owe him gratitude, and must bear 
 with his folly — his caprice." 
 
rHB fisher's daughter. 39 
 
 K Yet lie 16 as warm-hearted a soul as ever breathed 
 for all that/' uttered Wolf, " and I don't think that he 
 would tread upon a worm unless he was in a passion ; 
 and then — " 
 
 " He would trample over it, nay, crush it to death," 
 rejoined Alfred, with some asperity, " and then blame 
 his passion for it afterwards. This may be called 
 killing with kindness ; but it is rendering the means 
 of life insupportable ; nay, an absolute pest to society 
 while that passion lasts. I have thought that Olive 
 Blust greatly resembled her father in this one particu- 
 lar, her ungovernable passion ; but Jessy, in all the 
 other excellent points of his disposition." 
 
 " Yes, Olive certainly was in possession of the bane, 
 but she was deficient in the antidote that could charm 
 it away," rejoined Wolf; " but she sleeps in death; 
 and the faults of the departed should ever rest in 
 peace." 
 
 " True, dear Wolf, your remark is just," answered 
 Alfred, " it is impiety to rake up the ashes of the dead, 
 recount their failings, or dwell on their imperfections, 
 were they even numberless as the sands in the sea, or 
 the leaves that strew the earth in autumn. It is im- 
 piety to speak ill of them, — be their virtue only re- 
 membered." 
 
 By this time they had got close up to the side of the 
 fisher, who exclaimed with not the slightest tone of 
 displeasure in his countenance — 
 
 " Well, my dear lads, how beest thee, now that we 
 be come within a gun-shot of thy sister Jessy's snug 
 little cottage there, among the trees ? Dost not see 
 it, lads ! it's a good tightesh birth for Sam Russel, 
 
40 the fisher's daughter. 
 
 beant it ? he did not do a bad day's work when he 
 married a Fisher's Daughter, did he ?" 
 
 As this interrogatory was addressed more to Wolf 
 than to Alfred, he replied — 
 
 " No father, it was a happy day for Mr. Russel to 
 call by so enviable a title as wife, so sweet a girl as 
 Jessy." 
 
 The fisher looked archly in the face of Wolf, who 
 had uttered this with a warmth and energy of feeling 
 which seemed involuntary, and exclaimed — 
 
 " And thee would not mind if thee had just such 
 another as my Jessy, wouldst thee, lad ?" 
 
 Wolf's face was in a flame in an instant. The 
 question was unexpected, and certainly malapropos at 
 the present moment, and he replied with some hesi- 
 tation in his manner — 
 
 " Who, me father ! — me marry? — that is laughable \". 
 —and Wolf affected what he did not feel, a propensity 
 to mirthful pleasantry, and laughed heartily, which 
 produced the following exclamation from Mr. Blust — 
 
 " Why, what the devil are you laughing at ?" 
 
 " At matrimony, father?" responded Wolf. 
 
 " The devil you are," rejoined the fisher, " then I 
 can tell you that matrimony is no laughing matter, 
 but a rummish kind of a business when there are no 
 shiners to keep the wolf from the door. Then folks 
 get snappish, and love flies out of the window." 
 
 Wolf now laughed in reality, while he added to the 
 observation that his protector made, and with an al 
 most imperceptible sigh to himself, scarcely known — 
 
 " That reminds me of the song that dear Miss Sin- 
 gleton — — , 1 mean, father, the song that the Lady 
 
THE PISHKRS DAUGHTKR. 41 
 
 Agatha used to sing so enehantingly, — don't you re- 
 member ? — 
 
 ' Youug love lived iu a humble shed.' 
 
 Yes, I am certain you do, for no one that ever heard 
 dear Lady Agatha sing could ever forget it." 
 
 " Avast there though, Master Wolf," uttered the 
 fisher, looking earnestly at the fine large black spark- 
 ling eyes of Wolf, whose cheeks had assumed a brighter 
 glow by the repetition of a name so dear, so thrilling 
 to his recollection ; " avast there," cried the fisher, 
 " thee hast heard a bit of my mind about that busi- 
 ness already, hast not thee, lad ? — but thee don't mind. 
 Shiver my topsails ! thee would like to be fishing in 
 troubled waters, after all I have said to thee about a 
 certain person that shall be nameless." 
 
 Wolf felt an indignant sensation, which his proud 
 and high spirited heart could not utterly repel, and 
 replied, — 
 
 " Good God ! sir, is it then a crime to repeat the 
 name of Lady Agatha ? is it then sacrilege to dwell 
 upon her perfections, her nameless graces, her gentle 
 virtues, — must I then be silent in her praise ? she, the 
 
 only woman that I ever but, be it so, — I will obey 
 
 you sir, and mention the Lady Agatha no more ! I 
 will be silent : — but if you, or any mortal breathing, 
 were to tell me to forget her, proudly, indignantly, 
 would I answer, No. Tear out my heart first ; when it 
 ceases to beat, and its pulsation is no more, then, and 
 only then, will Wolf forget Agatha." 
 
 The fisher, for a moment, was struck dumb with 
 astonishment. On several occasions Wolf had exhi- 
 
 c2 F 
 
42 the fisher's daughter. 
 
 bited an undaunted and vigorous manliness of cha- 
 racter, extraordinary for his early years, when only 
 a mere boy; when first he came beneath the roof of 
 the fisher he had evinced this admirable feature of 
 disposition, and none more highly appreciated this 
 quality in Wolf than the fisher Blust himself, who 
 hated any thing that looked delicate or feminine in 
 the male sex; for. certainly it must be admitted that 
 some gentlemen do exhibit, both in person and mind, 
 a woman's fears, and a woman's affectation, all of 
 which the boy Wolf was exempted from in the dis- 
 cernment of his protector. But as he grew to man- 
 hood, this energy had not decreased, and it never was 
 more apparent than at this precise moment, when the 
 name of a beloved object called it into action ; nor 
 did it fail to make an indelible impression on the mind 
 of Mr. Blust, although it occasioned a deep and heart- 
 felt regret, that the affections of this fine, intrepid, 
 and noble minded youth, were centred in an object 
 who could never return the fervent passion with 
 which her loveliness and worth had inspired his 
 youthful breast, for she was a married woman ; and 
 though it was evident that this passion was inspired 
 long before she had given her hand to Lord Montague 
 Montault, yet it was no less fatal if ever it should 
 chance to become known to her hnsband, who per- 
 fectly adored his young and lovely Avife, and watched 
 over her, it was probable, with a too fond and jealous 
 eye; at least such was the current report of the fa- 
 shionable recorders of fashionable times and fashion- 
 able marriages. But whether true or false, we must 
 leave for the Lady Agatha herself to know ; whose 
 
the fisher's daughter 43 
 
 roseate lips were ever sealed in silence on ahusoand's 
 faults, if faults in her eyes he had any ! 
 
 But to return to the party on horseback, who were 
 just before the door of Jessy's habitation ; notwith- 
 standing which, the fisher, whose fear that Wolf was 
 inspired with a dangerous, and certainly an improper 
 passion for the Lady Agatha, and who seeing the firm 
 spirit which was depicted in his countenance, and that 
 nothing but the natural manliness of his character 
 prevented him from shedding tears in declaring that 
 he never more would repeat the name of the object of 
 his adoration, could not forbear to offer him a word 
 of consolatory advice, by way of a palliative for the 
 severity of his before sharp rebuke, and exclaimed, 
 backing his horse a little from the door, that they 
 might not be overheard — 
 
 " Shiver my topsails ! dost not thee droop lad, 
 there be more women in the world than Agatha, 
 though to be sure she was the sweetest little soul that 
 ever breathed ; and to tell you a bit of a secret lad, I 
 had half a mind to have married her myself,- though I 
 were old enough to be her father." 
 
 " And had Agatha half a mind to you, sir ?" uttered 
 Wolf, reddening like scarlet at the bare supposition 
 that such an event had ever been likely to have taken 
 place, while she was under the fisher's protection. To 
 which Peter laughing replied — 
 
 " I never asked her ; though I had a mortal mind 
 to it ; but that was before she turned out to be a great 
 lady. But I say, don't ye fret, that's a good lad, don't 
 ye fret, for when thee goes a soldiering thee wilt see 
 
44 the fisher's daughter. 
 
 plenty of lasses. There's no scarcity of women folks 
 any where, thee knowest, lad." 
 
 " But I should think there was, sir," cried Wolf, 
 deeply sighing, " a prodigious scarcity of such women 
 as resemble Agatha." 
 
 The fisher could not reasonably deny the truth of 
 this assertion, and once more recommending Wolf to 
 be cautious of mentioning the Lady Agatha in the pre- 
 sence of Jessy or her husband, dashed with Old Bess 
 over a high fence of hawthorn that skirted the way to 
 the entrance of the residence of his beloved daughter, 
 and giving a loud whistle very quickly brought both 
 her and Samuel to the gate, with an exclamation pro- 
 nounced by the lovely Jessy of — 
 
 " Oh, my dear father, ten thousand welcomes !'" 
 
 " Look who I have brought along with me to see 
 you Jess," uttered the fisher, smacking his whip over 
 Wolf's shoulders, who was dismounting at the same 
 instant, and whom both Jessy and her husband cor- 
 dially received j nor did they give Alfred a less warm 
 welcome. 
 
 u Dear Wolf — dear Alfred," alternately escaped from 
 the lips of the sweet Jessy, who, hurrying them into 
 the parlour, ordered breakfast to be immediately pre- 
 pared, with some more substantial food than tea and 
 muffins for her dear father ; who having several times 
 kissed his darling girl, began to survey her altered 
 shape, (for Mrs. Russel evidently appeared to be in 
 that happy state in which ' women wish to be who 
 love their lords,') with peculiar satisfaction, and re- 
 gardless of the presence of the young men, loudly vr»- 
 ciferated — 
 
the fisher's daughter. 45 
 
 ? Shiver my topsails ! I be glad to see thee so 
 round and so plump my Jess ; and so I dare say be 
 Sam Russel, — beant thee, Sam ? But I tell thee what 
 Jess, if thee dost not bring forth a chopping boy, I 
 shall be mortally vexed, that's all ; but if it be a girl — 
 shiver my topsails ! if I'll have any thing to do with 
 it, it shan't have a single bright shiner from Peter 
 Blust. Sam, come, let's see what sort of a bottle you 
 keep in your locker ?" 
 
 A bottle of excellent brandy was instantly produced 
 and set before Peter, with some pipes and tobacco, 
 with which he immediately sat down without farther 
 ceremony to regale himself, leaving his daughter at 
 liberty to entertain her young visitors in what manner 
 she liked best, and to enter into the most unreserved 
 conversation together ; which was rendered extremely 
 interesting on both sides, and in which Mr. Russel 
 sometimes joined, whenever he had a moment to spare 
 from his attendance on his father-in-law, who kept 
 him in full employment with lighting of pipes, pouring 
 out glasses of brandy, filling his tobacco box, and 
 making of grog, to say nothing of being obliged to 
 give him a long and accurate account of the success 
 of the herring fishery along the coast ; in short Sam 
 had but little leisnre to pay attention to his young 
 friends and old acquintances Wolf and Alfred, who, he 
 remarked to Mr. Blust in a low voice, were prodigi- 
 ously grown and wonderfully improved. " Wolf in 
 particular," observed Mr. Russel; " I think he is the 
 finest young man I ever beheld*" 
 
 " Yes, he is a strapper, beant he Sam.?" uttered the 
 fisher, " and what do you think he is going to be, 
 
46 the fisher's daughter. 
 
 why, shiver my topsails ! a lobster; and Smockface 
 (this elegant appellation was frequently given to Al- 
 fred, on account of the uncommon fairness of his 
 complexion, by his protector) is going to be a par- 
 son." 
 
 " A parson !" echoed Mr. Russel with involuntary 
 surprise. 
 
 " Yes, shiver my topsails ! a parson," repeated Pe- 
 ter, chuckling; " 1 say, Sam, the lad knows which side 
 to butter his bread, don't he ?" 
 
 Mr. Russel smiled at the remark, perfectly aware 
 of its allusion. In the meanwhile, Jessy (breakfast 
 being over) proposed a walk over the beautiful plan- 
 tations which were contiguous to her pleasant, lovely, 
 and sequestered abode ; which was immediately as- 
 sented to by Wolf and Alfred, but positively declined 
 by Mr. Blust, who swore he would not budge an inch 
 to please the king. 
 
 " But you may go and welcome, lads," uttered he, 
 *■' your legs are young, but my stumps are getting 
 cranky; no matter, they will serve me mayhap till 
 I am a sheer hulk, and then any body else may have 
 them if they please." 
 
 What was to be done ? — the fisher could not be left 
 by himself; and his son in law was (of necessity) the 
 most proper personage to stay and keep him company. 
 This point being settled, the walking party sallied 
 forth into the plantation. Jessy took an arm of each 
 of her young companions, and the most agreeable 
 chit-chat between them ensued. 
 
 " And so, dear Wolf, you are actually inclined to 
 enter into the military service," cried Jessy, " well, I 
 
THE FISHER'S DAUGHTER. 47 
 
 don't wonder at the election you have made ; indeed, 
 I always thought when you were a boy, that you would 
 be a soldier ; you were so courageous and spirited, te 
 what other youth were of the same age." 
 
 " Ah ! dear Jessy, but I am not so courageous in 
 all things," uttered Wolf, observing that Jessy still 
 wore on her right hand a ring given her by the Lady 
 Agatha in the earliest days of their friendship, when 
 at Herring Dale, and in which was enclosed some of 
 her beautiful hair, the sight of which produced an in- 
 voluntary sigh from the heart of the devoted youth ; 
 while Mrs. Russel, perceiving on what object his eyes 
 were fixed, though perfectly unconscious of the deep 
 passion that her lovely friend had so early inspired in 
 the heart of Wolf, whose attachment to the Lady 
 Agatha she attributed to boyish gratitude, innocently 
 exclaimed — 
 
 " I perceive by your looking so earnestly at chis 
 ring, Wolf, that you remember it was the gift of my 
 dear Agatha." 
 
 To which Wolf answered with a sigh, " Ah, Jessy, 
 those were happy days !" 
 
 " Were they," cried Jessy, " not so happy methinks 
 as the present ones ; happy — how strangely you talk, 
 Wolf! you surely cannot deem those days happy, 
 which were a source of misery both to me and Agatha 
 Singleton ; for still must I call her so, for by that name 
 I loved her best." 
 
 " And so did I, dear Jessy !" repeated Wolf, invo- 
 luntarily, (( ah ! would to heaven she had known no 
 other !" 
 
48 the fisher's daughter. 
 
 Jessy now perceived the agitated look and flushed 
 cheek of Wolf, and with some surprise answered, — 
 
 " Nay, now you talk stranger still, for had she known 
 no other name but Singleton, she would never have 
 known that which nature gave her, or been restored 
 to her father, and the Duke had yet remained ignorant 
 of the existence of his lovely daughter." 
 
 " I did not mean the name of her father," uttered 
 Wolf indignantly. 
 
 " Why what name then can you possibly mean ?" 
 inquired the now astonished Jessy, " she has but one 
 other, and that is the name of her husband. Wolf 1 
 Wolf ! let me not suppose that — 
 
 " Suppose what, dear Jessy," uttered Wolf. 
 
 Alfred had walked on a few paces before, in order 
 to look at a vessel which was sailing out of the har- 
 bour, and was by this time out of the hearing of the 
 conversation of his companions. And Jessy, looking 
 full in the face of Wolf, softly murmured — 
 
 " Let me not suppose that Wolf has any objection 
 to the name of Lord Montague Montault, because he 
 is the husband of Agatha Singleton." 
 
 " Jessy you have probed me deeply," uttered the 
 agitated youth, though with a firm undaunted look, 
 and decisive voice, " yet I disdain to utter a falsehood; 
 had your lovely friend another name, another title, it 
 would still sound like the knell of departed happiness 
 to the ear of Wolf, as that she bears does now. Oh ! 
 Jessy, sweet, gentle Jessy, inquire no farther into this 
 mystery of my feelings, if yet a mystery it still appears 
 to yon. Agatha is married ! — and Wolf — is — an iso- 
 
the fisher's daughjer. 49 
 
 lated being, banished from her heavenly smiles. The 
 Indian worships the sun's morning splendour, but 
 Wolf, miserable Wolf, dare not worship the shrine 
 which he adores ! Oh Jessy, Jessy !" and to the 
 inexpressible heart- felt concern of Jessy, the agitated 
 youth, at the conclusion of these words, burst into 
 a convulsive flood of tears, which greatly relieved his 
 oppressed heart. Ashamed however of betraying this 
 weakness in the presence of a female, he apologized 
 to Jessy for thus intruding his sorrows on her gentle 
 heart. 
 
 " In which they repose as securely as in your own, 
 dear Wolf," uttered she. " Before this day you knew 
 the disposition of Jess ', and have no fear that she 
 will betray the secret oV your heart." 
 
 They were now seated on a bench, constructed by 
 Samuel out of the trunk of an aged oak, which had 
 fallen in the plantation, and it was removed to the 
 garden for the convenience of Mrs. Russel, whenever 
 she was fatigued in pruning her plants and flowers, by 
 her affectionate and attentive husband j and when 
 they arrived at the spot where it was, she persuaded 
 Wolf to sit down, and endeavour to recover his wonted 
 energy ; but such was the surprize that the confession 
 of Wolf had thrown her in by the a vowel of his im- 
 prudent passion for the Lady Agatha, that Jessy was 
 actually in want of composure herself, though deter- 
 mined not to let this opportunity which was afforded 
 to her, by being alone with Wolf, pass withouc 
 giving him a necessary caution againsc cherishing so 
 improper an attachment for the lovely wife of Lord 
 
 a3 g 
 
50 the fisher's daughter. 
 
 Montague Montault, and addressed him in the follow 
 ing manner: — 
 
 " Wolf, it is fortunate hr you, that the object oa 
 whom you have so imprudently and rashly placed your 
 affections, is unconscious of the passion with which 
 she has inspired you." To which Wolf replied — 
 
 " It may be imprudent, but you cannot call it rash, 
 because I have loved her even when I was a boy, un- 
 conscious by what name to distinguish the sentiments 
 I felt towards her; it sprung in my heart spontane- 
 ously, and that heart has hied for her ever bince. It 
 was a guiltless feeling ; I cannot describe its sensation, 
 still it was one of the most delightful I L^d ever ex- 
 perienced. It did not deprive me of rest, for in my 
 dreams it accompanied me in the form of Agatha Sin- 
 gleton. When I read in any books that described the 
 beauty and the innocence of angels, faultless as they 
 were fair, I had Agatha Singleton immediately before 
 me. There was not either an animate object, or ina- 
 nimate one that was lovely to look upon, that did not 
 remind me of her. When J have smelt to the frag- 
 rance of the fresh new-blown flowers in the early 
 morning, I thought they were as sweet as Agatha 
 singleton ; when I listened to the melody of the tune- 
 ful nightingale, I imagined it was the Mlver-toned 
 voice of Agatha Singleton. The moon, the stars, the 
 glorious sun, all the bright firmament of the shining 
 heavens, associated vvirti aome beautiful thought in- 
 spired by the deep glow of love, I felt for Agatha 
 Singleton; and when at Light I addressed the Deity 
 of all created universe, one gentle prayer alon« re- 
 
THE FISHER'S DAUGHTER. 61 
 
 served, I breathed for Agatha Singleton ! Does this 
 seem like rash love, or sudden ? Oh, Jessy ! forbear 
 to call it so. Forget Agatha Singleton ! — when, Jessy, 
 the pale characters of death shall mark this altered 
 cheek. Forget Agatha Singleton \ — teach me how 
 sweet Jessy, unless you can teach me to forget my- 
 self, for my soul's far dearer part is — Agatha Sin- 
 gleton." 
 
 " The wife of Lord Montague Montault !" uttered 
 Jessy, in a tone of reprehension, though not unmoved 
 by the beautiful and impressive mariner in which Wolf 
 had described his love for her accomplished friend ; 
 but it was not the intention of Jessy to let Wolf see 
 how much he had affected her by it, it was her wish 
 to inspire him with different sensations; and she re- 
 peated with peculiar and pointed expression, " a mar- 
 ried wife, for whom you are thus expressing such 
 passionate love, — for shame Wolf. I tremble at your 
 temerity — for your safety ; should such a thought be 
 breathed into the ear of a fond and doating husband, 
 it would drive him to desperation — to madness. Lord 
 Montague is already jealous of his lovely wife. Wolf 
 beware of him.'' 
 
 But the bloom which had rested only but a moment 
 before on the cheeks of the spirited Wolf, suddenly 
 changed to an ashy paleness, as he exclaimed— 
 
 " Lord Montague jealous of his wife ! Of whom is 
 he jealous? For God's sake, pray, tell me!" 
 
 Jessy was alarmed at the impetuous manner of 
 Wolf, and insisted that he would be calm. 
 
 " Why, so I will, if you will tell me of whom Lord 
 Montague is jealous," uttered Wolf; " but while 
 
52 the fisher's daughter. 
 
 doubt remains, I am in torture." And Jessy verv 
 quickly replied — 
 
 " He is jealous of no one earthly object, but of all 
 who approach her. His lordship is addicted to jea- 
 lousy, the most incurable of all passions that agitate 
 the human breast." 
 
 " Then Agatha is miserable," cried Wolf. " Oh, 
 Jessy ! that angelic lovely woman is doomed to per- 
 petual misery, while ever she remains a wedded wife." 
 
 Jessy was obliged to acknowledge that such was her 
 fear for the happiness of her beloved friend. 
 
 u Oh that marriages had never been invented," cried 
 Wolf, " or that they were rendered binding by certain 
 restrictions. I would have every jeaious husband and 
 every jealous wife kicked to the devil." 
 
 The manner and the look of Wolf as he uttered this, 
 would have made it scarcely possible to have resisted 
 laughter, if Jessy had been in a laughing mood ; but 
 far other thoughts employed her mind, and her 
 thoughts were now engrossed by the threatening evil 
 which was impending over the head of Wolf, if he 
 continued to cherish in his elevated heart a passion 
 which would be destructive to his peace, as that which 
 he professed to feel for the Lady Agatha. Meanwhile 
 Wolf was enduring the most torturing suspense, to 
 know precisely the real state of feelings which Lady 
 Agatha was suffering, from this unhappy failing in her 
 husband, and how Jessy had arrived to this knowledge 
 of their family concerns ; for the fisher had confessed 
 that his daughter and Lady Agatha had never been on 
 terms of familiar intimacy since her marriage with 
 Samuel Russel, for reasons as before stated, that Lord 
 
the fisher's daughter. 53 
 
 Montague was proudly jealous of any object who had 
 known his lovely wife in her humble and dependent 
 situation, wnen slie passed fur tne reputed daughter of 
 Captain Singleton, and with him only would he permit 
 her to hold any intercourse, or acknowledge any for- 
 mer acquaintance ; not that his lordship's doors were 
 barred against Peter Blust, but on Jessy's marriage 
 with Mr. Russel, whose former passion for Miss Sin- 
 gleton Lord Montague had been no stranger to, he 
 peremptorily forbid his lady from ever admitting Jessy 
 and her to renew any intimacy. Astonished and pain- 
 ed by an injunction so wounding to her feelings, Aga- 
 tha wept in silence, but implicitly obeyed her husband's 
 «tern commands ; but these tears never flowed in the 
 presence of her iord; wnile Jessy, surprised at the 
 apparent cool reception she met with at Montault 
 Castle, complained of it to her father, who, with a 
 spirit highly creditable to his feelings, never himself 
 entered the castle more, though often solicited by Lord 
 Montague so to do. 
 
 " No, shiver my topsaiis, if ever they catch me 
 there again," said the fisher, after what Jessy, with 
 tears in her lovely eyes, had related to him. "What, 
 frown on my Jessy, that is as gentle and quiet as a 
 lamb, only because she went civilly to enquire after 
 the health of her old acquaintance Agatha Singleton, 
 that her father took such care of, when she had nobody 
 to take care of her at all ? Why, shiver my topsails, 
 if this be the way that your great lords do pay their 
 debts of gratitude, it may serve their turn in this world, 
 but curse me if it will help them over the style in the 
 next. Turn up their noses at my Jessy ! Wounds, 
 
54 THE FISHER 6 DAUGHTER. 
 
 but I wish I had been along-side of them, 1 would 
 have let my lord know, and his servants too, which 
 was the better man, if any of them had dared to offer 
 any affront to my Jessy." 
 
 This, and many more sentences escaped from the 
 lips of the enraged fisher, in consequence of the coolness 
 with which Mrs. Russel had been treated at the castle 
 of Montault; and be never afterwards forgave the 
 offence, or would ever enter the castle more j while 
 the lovely wife of Lord Montault mourned in silence 
 and in secret the loss of the friendship of Mr. Blust, 
 her once kind and generous protector, and the society 
 of her dear and gentle Jessy; and lamented that un- 
 happy failing in the disposition of her husbtaid, which, 
 like an evil and malignant spirit, still haunted him in 
 the form of jealousy, and banished repose even from 
 the downy pillow, which was o'er canopied with smil- 
 ing love and beauty. But what was to be done after 
 marriage to remedy this'evil ? The lovely Agatha was 
 unconscious of this propensity in Lord Montague Mon- 
 tault before he had her to the Hymenial altar, or most 
 certainly she would have shunned the sacrifice that 
 was preparing to shut her out from peace and happiness 
 for ever. But the impervious veil that hides the book 
 of fate, was not permitted to be withdrawn, to reveal 
 the future destiny of this angelic creature. The hidden 
 page lay concealed, when before the holy altar she re- 
 signed her lovely hand, with her virgin heart, entirely 
 to the possession of her lord, her husband, Lord Mon- 
 tague Montault. Monarchs might have contended for, 
 and owned themselves happy in such a prize ; and so 
 was Lord Montague Montault ; he was the most trans- 
 
the fisher's daughter. 55 
 
 ported of husbands, when, on his bridal day, he was 
 congratulated by all his friends, on the possession of 
 the hand of Lady Agatha Braganza; and for a while, 
 the lovely smile of his bewitching wife banished the 
 demon that so perpetually haunted his repose, from a 
 pillow crowned with love and roses. 
 
 B t scarcely had the honey moon which lighted him 
 to love and to happiness in the arms of his adored 
 Agatha, — scarce had it flown, when the spirit of jealousy 
 again returned, to visit the tortured breast of her self- 
 devoted victim. 
 
 His lovely bride at first, unconscious of the approach 
 of this dark fiend, knew not by what name to call the 
 fits and starts and violent passions to which her lord 
 very shortly became subject after their marriage ; and 
 it was never more apparent than when they were vi- 
 sited by any of the gay circle of his mother's and sis- 
 ter's fashionable acquaintance, where Agatha was the 
 star of attraction ; she was followed, admired, adored — 
 the idol of universal admiration. The duke her father 
 was flattered by the praises bestowed on his lovely 
 daughter, but they were petrifying, nay horrifying, to 
 the jealous feelings of a doating husband. He grew 
 captious — by turns melancholy and passionate — se- 
 cluded himself from company — and secluded himself 
 also in dreary solitude : the eyes of Agatha were 
 open — Lord Montague was jealous ! Alas ! love's 
 flattering and ecstatic dream was over. Each morn 
 returned, but never more to witness returning happi- 
 ness in the lovely bosom of Braganza's daughter. 
 
56 the fisher's daughter. 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 •* From far came tbe ancient Briton*, 
 
 A gallaut advent'rous train ; 
 They hoisted their dragon banner, 
 
 And shipp'd it over' the main ; 
 They voyaged with generous daring - , 
 
 And spirit so light and free ; 
 They sail'd for the summer country, 
 
 That's over the hazy sea. 
 
 They braved the element's anger, 
 
 The rage of water and fire, 
 The gulphs that whirl to the centre, 
 
 Volcanoes whose flames aspire ; 
 And they steer'd through storm and tempest, 
 
 Yet sung with chivalrous glee, 
 The songs of the summer country, 
 
 That's over the hazy sea." 
 
 Jessy parted with Wolf without thinking it neces- 
 sary to divulge to him by what means she had gained 
 intelligence of the secret, that the Lady Agatha 
 was rendered unhappy by her fatal marriage with 
 Lord Montague Montault, because Jessy was bound 
 by an oath never to reveal it ; not even to her father 
 was Jessy permitted to unfold the mystic sorrows 
 which lacerated the bosom of her lovely friend, for 
 mystic they seemed to all who had any acquaintance 
 with her. They could not account how a woman 
 so exalted in birth, and who moved in such earthly 
 
the fisher's daughter. 57 
 
 splendour, could ever feel a moment's uneasiness ; but 
 this mystic veil was lifted up to the eyes of Jessy, who 
 enjoyed a private intercourse with her unhappy friend; 
 in her bosom had Agatha found means to impart her 
 secret griefs — to her bosom had Agatha reposed the 
 dread burthen which oppressed her overcharged heart. 
 
 To Jessy only had she revealed the fatal cause why 
 she was no longer happy, even with the man whom 
 she loved dearest, for he was jealous of her, with no 
 earthly cause to warrant his suspicions. Chaste as 
 holy angels was the purity of Agatha ; and though ap- 
 proached with admiration, it was adulation that she 
 courted not, and homage that she had never sought 
 after. No one earthly being claimed her affections, 
 save alone her wedded lord and husband ; her father 
 indeed claimed his share in the heart of his only and 
 beloved child, but that love was filial, and to him she 
 could show it without fear. But there was another 
 object who scarcely claimed it less than the Duke 
 Braganza, and that was Captain Singleton, whose ill 
 state of health she deeply felt, (for his constitution had 
 been greatly impaired for some time.) What did not 
 Agatha owe to him ? Could a whole life of gratitude 
 repay him for that perilous hour when his arm was up- 
 lifted to rescue both her and her hapless unfortunate 
 mother from a watery grave ? What did she not owe 
 to him, and to him only, for the kind the tender pro- 
 tection he had afforded her through all her infant days, 
 till she approached to the state of womanhood ? Was 
 there a tie more sacred, a term too tender to be ap- 
 plied to that pure and chaste intercourse of affection 
 which had so long subsisted between them ? surely^not. 
 
 £3 u 
 
58 the fisher's daughter. 
 
 Holy angels had witnessed the strong attachment of 
 Agatha to her protector, who she believed was 
 the author of her being, and to whom she had ever 
 paid the filial duties of an affectionate daughter ; and 
 in the supposition that death had deprived her of him, 
 she had wept and mourned his loss with the most un- 
 controlable grief and affection. 
 
 Was it therefore likely that she could divest herself 
 of this affection when he was so suddenly restored to 
 her, or that because she found a father in the Duke of 
 Braganza, that she was no longer to regard the protec- 
 tor of her youthful years with the same warmth of 
 sentiment that she had formerly done, when she ima- 
 gined herself to be his daughter. Forbid it gratitude, 
 and forbid it common decency I And after her mar- 
 riage with Lord Montague Montault, the lovely Agatha 
 became more strongly attached to the society of her 
 foster father, and frequently passed whole days with 
 him in his beloved Cottage on the Cliff, without any 
 apparent objection being made by her husband to the 
 tender and chaste intercourse which subsisted between 
 them ; nay Lord Montague very often himself accora-> 
 panied her to visit the Captain, because it was proba- 
 ble that the Captain, (save her own father,) was the 
 only personage he could bear to gaze on the charms of 
 his beautiful wife without betraying some symptoms 
 of the approach of the green-eyed monster, who, in the 
 words of the immortal bard, so often c mocks the meat 
 it feeds on ;' and Lord Montague was certainly not 
 jealous of Captain Singleton. Of a fine summer 
 morning Lady Montault would order her carriage at 
 an early hour, and in plain and simple attire, (such as 
 
the fisher's daughter. 69 
 
 she used to be habited in when she was called Miss 
 Singleton,) take a ride over to the Cottage on the Cliff; 
 at the same time that she presented some little token 
 of respect, or rather of affection for her beloved foster 
 father, such as a basket of fine choice fruit, fresh ga- 
 thered from the gardens of the Castle of Montault, 
 some lovely game, or delicious flavoured fish ; in short, 
 there was no delicacy thought of by Agatha, that 
 she did not immediately procure and carry with her 
 for the Captain, whenever she paid him a morning visit 
 at the Cottage on the Cliff; and on some occasions, 
 (but these were very seldom,) when she found the 
 state of his health more languid than usual, she would 
 insist on remaining his guest for the whole of the day, 
 and the carriage would return home without her, but 
 always accompanied with a short explanatory note to 
 her husband, informing him of the cause of her ab- 
 sence, which certainly met with no dissenting voice 
 for some length of time from Lord Montague Mon- 
 tault ; or if he felt any displeasure at the exemplary at- 
 tention shewn by Agatha to the invalid Captain, his 
 lordship was ashamed of avowing it, and therefore her 
 frequent visits to the Cottage were suffered to pass in 
 silence. In short, at the commencement they were 
 rather conducive to the happiness of Lord Montague 
 than otherwise; for at the Cottage Agatha could not be 
 seen by the gay and admiring throng that formed so 
 large a circle of his mother's fashionable acquaintance 
 in the Castle of Montault. She always went to see 
 her foster father in a plain dress, whether it was morn- 
 ing or evening, which modestly concealed rather than 
 displayed the outward graces of her lovely form ; and 
 
60 thk fisher's daughter. 
 
 there she saw no one but the Captatn and his an- 
 cient domestic, who acted in the capacity of cook 
 and housekeeper in the Cottage on the Cliff; and these 
 for a while were consolatory reflections to the mind of 
 a jealous husband. But how long did these reflections 
 last ? Alas ! the period was fast approaching, when 
 the consolation they had afforded him was no more; 
 for the Captain's health grew worse, and his increas- 
 ing dangerous symptoms made it necessary for the vi- 
 sits of Agatha to be more frequently repeated, nor did 
 she ever return home till a late hour. On the en- 
 quiry of her lord as to the state in which she had left 
 the invalid Captain, Agatha, whose lovely eyes were 
 -already swollen with weeping, once burst into a fresh 
 and involuntary flood of tears, exclaiming — 
 
 " Oh he is much worse, Montague, — indeed he is 
 much worse than I have yet beheld him. The hectic 
 fever which consumes his fine form, and alternately 
 pales and flushes his once animated cheek, hourly in- 
 creases, and wastes his bodily strength : yet how ener- 
 getic still are his mental faculties — how firmly and 
 mildly bears he all the infirmities with which it has 
 pleased the gracious Heaven to afflict him. Oh, were 
 it not impiety to murmur at its decrees, I could breathe 
 a fervent prayer that this bitter cup might yet pass 
 from his lips, and that many many years might be 
 spared to my dear dear foster father; but that wish is 
 vain, and that prayer is unavailing !" and fresh tears 
 fell in torrents over the lovely face of Agatha, during 
 which her husband was surveying her agitated looks 
 with the most scrutinizing, and possibly jealous atten- 
 tion, while he exclaimed after a serious pause, in 
 
the fisher's daughter. 61 
 
 which it was evident he was endeavouring to suppress 
 some emotions he had not the language to explain — 
 
 " But although it fs impiety to murmur, it docs not 
 appear that you think it impiety to weep, my Agatha. 
 Your tears have flowed abundantly for Captain Single- 
 ton : — you could do no more for your father, for your 
 husband — probably — " 
 
 The whole soul of Agatha was instantly aroused by 
 this keenly cutting and unmerited reproach of her lord, 
 for on no occasion since her marriage rites had been 
 solemnized, or that she had been acknowledged as a 
 daughter of the Duke of Braganza, had she neglected 
 to perform her duty towards them, or did not mani- 
 fest the most tender proofs of her unchanging love. 
 And reproachfully she answered, — while yetatear moist- 
 ened her lovely cheek, and she rested her snowy hand 
 on the shoulder of her indignant lord, while she yet 
 cast a smile of ineffable sweetness towards him, the 
 fascination of which immediately occasioned him to 
 repent of having used any harsh expression to wound 
 her feelings ; but it was too late to repair the mischief 
 he had made, or the pain he had inflicted on her gentle 
 sensitive bosom, too sensitive indeed of the intempe- 
 rate warmth of her husband, when she thus replied — 
 
 " Not shed tears for my father, nor for you, Mon- 
 tague, were either of you suffering the same fatal 
 disease as poor Captain Singleton. And is this the 
 opinion you have so ungenerously formed of your 
 Agatha ? What part of my conduct since I have been 
 your wife, or have been acknowledged as the daughter 
 of Braganza, has justified such cruel, such unjust sur- 
 
62 the fisher's daughter. 
 
 mises? tell me, .and I shall be satisfied; but at the 
 same instant permit me to declare, that whether being 
 your wife, or the duke's daughter, I am to cherish in- 
 gratitude towards the protector of my early days, him 
 whom I knew by no other name than father, and 
 whose humanity alone preserved my mother and her 
 child from an untimely grave; if you expect that I am 
 to desert: h'uiV in the hour of sickness, when the mes- 
 senger of death is now hovering over his pillow, — Oh, 
 Montague ! can you indeed think of your Agatha so 
 unkindly? Should 1 not be the basest, the most un- 
 worthy of human beings, were 1 to quit the dying bed 
 of my foster father, and leave him to perish, without 
 one friendly hand to close his dying eyelids? Say, 
 did he leave my mother thus ? Did he not watch by 
 that much wronged expiring sufferer, till the last spark 
 of life was flown? and to whom did she consign her 
 helpless infant? why, even to him, but for whose care 
 I should have perished too — and you bid me desert 
 him! No, never: command your Agatha to do all 
 but that, and she will most willingly and implicitly obey 
 your commands; but I will never desert Captain Sin- 
 gleton while ought of feeble life remains." 
 
 Shame, contrition, compunction, and remorse, were 
 visibly betrayed on the countenance of the penitent 
 husband as he listened to the melodious accents of his 
 angelic wife ; her soul-speaking eloquence shone ra- 
 diently in her dark expressive eyes, and the energy 
 with which her soul was filled added a brighter glow 
 to her complexion, pale in general, but now brilliant 
 with the colour of nature's bloom , Never had she 
 
the fisher's daughter. G3 
 
 seemed so lovely in the eyes of her still adoring hus- 
 band, and falling nearly prostrate at her feet, he ex- 
 claimed — 
 
 " Agatha, dearest Agatha, forgive me ! I know I 
 am culpable in thus unnecessarily and cruelly inflicting 
 pain on your gentle feelings; but forgive me Agatha, 
 and I swear never to offend you more. Poor Single- 
 ton, my heart bleeds for him ; and though I have thus 
 hastily expressed myself, had I the wealth of worlds, 
 and that wealth could restore him, I would part with 
 it freely to be once more reinstated in the good opinion 
 of my Agatha." 
 
 " Ah, my lord ! restore yourself to your own good 
 opinion, and it will require but little of your eloquence 
 (o restore you to mine," cried Agatha, gently attempt- 
 ing to raise his drooping head which had fallen on her 
 knee. In this situation they were suddenly sur- 
 prised by the entrance of the Marchioness his mother, 
 and Lady Lavinia his sister, and a loud and involuntary 
 burst of immoderate laughter was the result of both 
 ladies discovering the attitude of the newly married 
 pair, while the Marchioness somewhat sneeringly ex- 
 claimed — 
 
 f Well, I protest this is a prodigiously novel sight, 
 a bride and bridegroom, after the honey moon is quite 
 over, to be kneeling at each others feet like a fond 
 shepherd and shepherdess. Lavinia, my love, don't 
 you attempt to copy such an example for your en- 
 trance to matrimony, for you will positively be laughed 
 at when you become the bride of Lord Winstone, to 
 see you performing the part of a couple of love-sick 
 turtle doves, to the no small amusement of all your 
 
64 the fisher's daughter, 
 
 acquaintance. But pray my dear Agatha, what has 
 Montague done to offend you, that he must needs thus 
 prostrate himself at your feet to sue for pardon and 
 forgiveness? it is really the height of absurdity to see 
 you both acting so ridiculously." 
 
 So saying, the Marchioness seated herself in a chair, 
 while both Lord and Lady Montague stood the further 
 test of her ladyship's ironical pleasantry ; while at 
 length Agatha replied with a calm and dignified com- 
 posure, and by no means regarding the contemptuous 
 looks or manner of her mother-in-law, with whom, for 
 divers causes, she had never been a favourite. 
 
 " I really cannot give your ladyship a very expla- 
 natory account of the scene which seems to afford 
 both you and Lady Lavinia so much amusement, 
 otherwise than by assuring you that Lord Montague 
 had certainly said something to offend me, and that he 
 chose himself the prostrate situation in which you 
 found him to solicit my forgiveness, for the absurdity 
 of which he is alone to blame, and not me." 
 
 " Indeed, my love, and is that all ?" cried the Mar- 
 chioness, laughing. " Well, the next time that he 
 chooses to go down on his knees, pray send for an 
 artist and have his likeness taken precisely in that po- 
 sition, it will be so truly comic." 
 
 " And yet there was more of the tragic than the 
 comic muse which then inspired my feelings," uttered 
 Lord Montague with a pensive sigh, and by no means 
 either relishing his mother's sarcastic raillery, or en- 
 tering into the spirit of her uncommon propensity to 
 laughter; and perceiving him to be out of humour, 
 her ladyship immediately dropt all further explanation 
 
THE FISHER'S DAUGHTER. 6ft 
 
 on the subject, observing that she had merely come 
 out for a morning lounge to kill ennuie, as they expect- 
 ed a large party to a late dinner, and if they were 
 not better engaged, should be glad of their company. 
 " Lord Winstone will be one of the number," added her 
 ladyship ; " and as he is now generally known to be 
 the accepted lover of your sister, I wish you Montague 
 to pay his lordship some attention." 
 
 " And are not the attentions which he receives from 
 vou and my father quite sufficient ?" cried Lord Mon- 
 tague : (i what need has he of mine ; or that I should 
 so sedulously court his acquaintance, who never sought 
 mine?" 
 
 " La, brother, what a savage you are this morning!" 
 exclaimed Lady Lavinia, reddening like scarlet. " Aga- 
 tha, what is the matter with him to make him so ill- 
 natured ?" 
 
 " Ah, do tell us who has been vexing the pretty 
 dear !" uttered the Marchioness in a coaxing accent, 
 and patting his lordship's cheek with her parasol ; " but 
 come my dear Montague to our splendid party, and Ave 
 will soon contrive to charm away this sombre look of 
 yours. There will be the Duke, and, as I told you be- 
 fore, Lord Winstone, and that rattlebrain his friend, 
 the handsome and elegant Sir George Cleveland, and 
 half a dozen elegant creatures besides. You remember 
 Sir George Cleveland, you know, who used to admire 
 one of old Peter Blust's daughters, Agatha, the eldest, 
 I believe, who happened to have that unfortunate af- 
 fair with the young fisher that sent the poor girl so 
 quietly to her grave : but now we talk of fishers, pray 
 how is poor Singleton ? He is visited by one of our 
 
 c 3 i 
 
66 THE FISHEr's DAUGHTER. 
 
 physicians, who told the Marquis the other day that he 
 is on his last legs, and dying of a consumption. Have 
 you seen the Captain lately, Agatha?" 
 
 A question more malapropos could not have been 
 demanded at the present moment, for it renewed 
 the heart-felt grief of Agatha, while it reminded her 
 of lord the pain he had so lately given to his lovely 
 wife, who sighing deeply, replied — 
 
 te The intelligence which the physician communi- 
 cated to the Marquis is indeed too true, your ladyship. 
 I saw the Captain yesterday evening, and there is little 
 doubt, from the dangerous symptoms which he exhi- 
 bits, that his disease, which is a confirmed consump- 
 tion of the lungs, will shortly terminate fatally." 
 
 " Dear me, how shocking !" exclaimed Lady La- 
 vinia. " I liked the Captain very much, he was really 
 a very good sort of civil kind of a man, was not he 
 Mamma?" 
 
 " Captain Singleton was, and is still a perfect gen- 
 tleman," uttered Agatha with some warmth, although 
 the eyes of her husband were fixed on her with peculiar 
 earnestness ; " a gentleman by birth, education, and 
 manners, and that's a character as worthy of respeet 
 as the proudest peer of the realm." 
 
 a Yes, the old gentleman is tolerable enough," cried 
 the Marchioness : " the Marquis was highly pleased 
 with his conversation the last time he visited the cas- 
 tle, and gave orders that he should always be admitted 
 whenever he left his home. Still I always thought the 
 Captain singularly romantic in his disposition ; perhaps 
 an affair of gallantry in his youthful days had given his 
 mind this melancholy cast, which he could never af- 
 
the fisher's daughter. 67 
 
 terwards divest himself of. Was it so Agatha ? Did 
 you never hear that he was once crossed in love with a 
 lady whose affections he could never obtain ?" To 
 which Agatha replied — 
 
 " Yes, your ladyship, it was certainly no tale of fic- 
 tion, for to the lady that he so passionately loved I 
 was indebted for the instruction of my youth, and all 
 the early lessons of piety that I ever knew. It was 
 the Lady Matilda St. Clair under whose eye I was 
 educated, who was the Abbess of the Convent of the 
 Holy Sisters. Captain Singleton was attached to 
 this lovely lady before she arrived to this dignity, but 
 after her taking the holy and irrecoverable vows, they 
 were of course disunited for ever. It was the wreck 
 of the peace, of the happiness, of poor Captain Single- 
 ton, and probably has progressively brought him to the 
 state he is now reduced to." 
 
 " But was there no cause assigned for the Lady Ma- 
 tilda refusing him her hand ?" demanded the Marchio- 
 ness. iC If she really loved him, she had a bad taste 
 to prefer the cold walls of a cloister's gloom, to the 
 arms of her warm and passionate adorer." 
 
 " And a bad heart too, I think," uttered Lord Mon- 
 tague indignantly, " to sport or trifle with the feelings 
 of the man who loved her." 
 
 " Oh believe not that her heart was capable of such 
 inconstancy, such apostacy," exclaimed Agatha; " but 
 she was compelled by the stern authority of her father 
 to refuse the hand of Captain Singleton, or immediately 
 wed another object that was hateful to her; and of two 
 evils she chose the least, and prayed to take the veil ; 
 this wish was granted to her, and the lovely Lady 
 
t>8 THE FISHER's DAUGHTER. 
 
 Matilda shut herself out from the world for ever. 
 At the decease of her unnatural parent she inherited 
 his wealthy possessions, — she presented (them to 
 the holy sisterhood — and in succession became Ab- 
 bess of the Convent herself. This is all I know of her 
 history, but I can remember her well, and have often 
 pictured to myself her pale beautiful face when I have 
 looked at the paintings of angels ; she was so tran- 
 scendantly fair, so mild, so serene, so heavenly, nor 
 do I doubt of her being now a cherub there." 
 
 " My dear creature, you will certainly make both 
 Lavinia and I most prodigiously nervous if you talk in 
 this horrifying manner," cried the Marchioness, look- 
 ing at her watch, and yawning at the same time; " I 
 protest I feel quite vapourish already." 
 
 " Then your ladyship had better go and try the effect 
 of the vapours in the open air," uttered Lord Monta- 
 gue, impatient for his mother to be gone, in the fear 
 of her renewing the invitation to dinner, not liking the 
 names of any of the party except the Duke Braganza; 
 but Sir George Cleveland was actually a name of terror 
 to him, for he was certainly handsome, and a gay man 
 of fashion, who admired every beautiful woman who 
 happened to come within the pale of his acquaintance; 
 nor did he much admire his friend Lord Wmstone, 
 although he was shortly to lead his sister to the temple 
 of Hymen ; for both had he heard extol the beauty of 
 his Agatha when she was living under the roof of the 
 fisher, and that to Lord Montague was sufficient ground 
 for feeling prejudiced against them. 
 
 At length the health of Captain Singleton became so 
 alarmingly precarious, that the utmost danger was ap- 
 
the fisher's daughter. 69 ■ 
 
 prehended by his medical attendants, who had ulti- 
 mately consulted on his case, and as ultimately decided 
 that he could not long survive the fatal disease which 
 had baffled every effort of medicine. The deeply 
 afflicted Agatha's heart shrunk at this intelligence, 
 and true to the firm resolution she had adopted, never 
 quitted him, while he unconscious of the fate which 
 had been pronounced by the physicians, smiled in the 
 very height of his most acute sufferings, and during one 
 short interval from pain, flattered himself with the 
 hope of speedy recovery, instead of hourly departure 
 for that bourne, from whence no traveller returns to 
 tell his passing tale to mortal ear; and his uncon- 
 sciousness of his danger was a fresh wound to his fos- 
 ter daughter, who when he talked to her of projected 
 plans which his intelligent and energetic mind had laid 
 out for some improvement in the Cottage on the Cliff, 
 her utmost fortitude could not conceal the agonized 
 sensations she felt, when she reflected that long ere 
 these improvements were effected in his beloved cot- 
 tage, the head that suggested those plans would be 
 laid low in the dust, and the tones of that beloved 
 voice would be heard no more. 
 
 Insupportably painful was the thought ; and as her 
 snowy hand rested on his warm, feverish, and emaci- 
 ated one, tears, which she had no power of restraining, 
 fell over her beautiful face, and wetted his hand clasped 
 in hers. It seemed to occasion a momentary surprise 
 to the invalid, and being then relieved from pain, and 
 calm and collected in his mental faculties, he demand- 
 ed to know the cause of this sudden agitation. While 
 the weeping Agatha sobbed out — , 
 
70 THE FISHER'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 " Sudden ! Oh no, my dearest father/' for by this 
 title she yet addressed Captain Singleton, " it is not 
 sudden, I have been frequently visited by this dreadful 
 and terrible feeling — a presage, a foreboding of I know 
 not what — yet it haunts me perpetually, sleeping or 
 waking it possesses my imagination, and I cannot get 
 the better of my terrors, nor this sad fluttering at my 
 heart." 
 
 The expressive eyes of Agatha, which would have 
 expressed every emotion of her soul, and there reveal- 
 ed the nature of the fears she had been describing, did 
 not meet those of the invalid Captain, for instantane- 
 ously Agatha turned aside from the penetrating and 
 scrutinizing glance with which he would have surveyed 
 her, for still a slight hectic colouring passed over his 
 cheek at the sight of her tears, and the manner in 
 which she had been describing her sensations ; for he 
 knew she must have powerful cause to have impelled 
 her to dwell on so melancholy a subject ; and he ex- 
 claimed — 
 
 " Terrors, my dear Agatha ! forebodings and pre- 
 sages, and prophetic fears ! What mean you, my Aga- 
 tha? you were never wont to be superstitious, and you 
 must not encourage such wild phantasies now, or talk 
 of fears that are prophetic; my love, it is impiety to 
 think thus. This is not the age ot prophecy ; the holy 
 Scriptures have revealed them to us, and with that 
 knowledge let us be content in silence to adore them ; 
 but to penetrate divine mysteries we cannot, and all 
 human knowledge is vain that would profanely seek to 
 know that which is forbidden to be revealed." 
 
 Agatha preserved a solemn and profound silence 
 
THE FISHER'S DAUGHTER. /I 
 
 while the Captaiu was thus speaking ; it was plain he 
 had mistaken her meaning, and that he imagined the 
 terrors that she had been describing arose from some 
 doubts and fears of a religious kind, which in her heart 
 was so pure and so simple, that she had never once 
 bewildered herself about it, but had implicitly and 
 faithfully relied on its ordinations ; and not wishing 
 that the invalid should cherish such a thought of her 
 religious sentiments, after a pause, she answered him 
 with a seraphic smile — 
 
 l( My dear father, you are under a great mistake by 
 supposing that I ever had but one unchanging thought 
 of our holy and blessed religion, or that I did not firmly 
 believe the sacred Scriptures to be connected with di- 
 vine truths. No, I entertain no such fears, no such 
 terrors as these ; it was other fears and other terrors 
 that so agonized my heart, that so fearfully possessed my 
 imagination." 
 
 Agatha sighed deeply as she uttered these words, 
 but so far from the invalid even then guessing at the 
 fatal terrors which her words and now her looks re- 
 vealed, that he immediately smiled, and glancing at 
 her lovely shape, which had lately acquired a rotundity 
 in it, which never till this moment had caught his ob- 
 servation so perceptibly, he exclaimed — 
 
 " Ah, my dear child, I now begin to perceive all the 
 terrors, presages, and forebodings that your imagination 
 has been conjuring up to alarm you so needlessly ; but 
 they are perfectly ridiculous, my dear creature, and you 
 must exert every energy to arouse yourself from their 
 dangerous influence. You are in that delicate state 
 in which most young married women are, and instead 
 
t& THE FISHERS DAUGHTER. 
 
 of being rejoiced at the approaching event of giving to 
 your husband's arms a tender pledge of your mutual 
 affection, nay very possibly a son and heir, I behold 
 you in tears, and encouraging timid fears which are 
 ultimately futile, and have no reality in them but your 
 imagination ; indeed, my Agatha, it is wrong of you, 
 and will be injurious to your health if you thus indulge 
 in such groundless apprehensions*" 
 
 The Lady of Lord Montague was now silent, deter- 
 mined to rather bear what she did not really merit, an 
 accusation of want of courage in her present situation, 
 than disclose to her dear foster father the nature of her 
 feelings, or the opinion of the faculty respecting his dis- 
 ease. Yet how necessary was this communication to 
 an apparently dying man, though unconscious of his 
 approaching end. 
 
 Fallacious hope, how will ye flatter, and how will ye 
 deceive ! to the very last pulse of life thy airy pinions 
 flutter around us! and it was so with Captain Single- 
 ton. Agatha could not impart to him the fatal intelli- 
 gence received from the united consultations of the 
 physicians ; she was a heroine in all but those delicate 
 touehes of sensibility, where one single chord broken, 
 vibrates on the heart like an electric shock, that oft in 
 earthquakes convulses the whole face of nature. She 
 could not tell the Captain that he was dying, and if 
 she had, the Captain himself would have smiled at 
 her terrors ; and as there were peculiar days when he 
 felt himself considerably better, (the truest and most 
 melancholy test of this fatal disease,) and betrayed 
 more than his wonted energy of mind, Agatha suffered 
 the enchanting illusions of flattering and delusive hope 
 
THE FISHER'S DAUGHTER. 73 
 
 to steal upon her mind, and to imagine that yet some 
 change might unexpectedly take place for the better, 
 contrary to the opinion of the physicians ; but why was 
 it that she had cherished this fond flattering hope ? 
 Captain Singleton had for a week past been entirely 
 relieved from suffering the slightest bodily pain, and his 
 spirits were also exhilarated rather than depressed j 
 and with this hope fluttering in her lovely bosom, Aga- 
 tha, as was now her constant custom, took a ride over 
 to the Cottage, after having informed her husband that 
 she hoped the Captain was better ; on which Lord 
 Montague shook his head ; but his silence proved that 
 he did not entertain the slightest hope of his recovery. 
 
 However, over to the Cottage Agatha went. It was 
 a mild and beautiful evening, and the moon shone 
 brightly in the azure sky ; it had arisen above the cliff 
 that commanded a fine and majestic prospect of the 
 white bosomed ocean that sometimes flowed gently 
 beneath it, and sometimes rolled above it, when the 
 rude tempest threatened it with stormy violence. On 
 this evening, however, it was calm and tranquil as the 
 breath of angels ; not a breeze swept over the dewy 
 leaves of the half-opening rose buds that the hand of 
 Agatha had formerly planted in the little lovely garden 
 of the Cottage on the Cliff. They had been the pride 
 of the Captain, on reflecting that it was the lovely hand 
 of Agatha which had transplanted them there; and they 
 now wafted their sweetness through the lattice of the 
 window at which the invalid was sitting, when Lady 
 Montague came to pay her evening visit to her foster 
 father. He was sitting in an arm chair close to the 
 
 a 4 b 
 
74 THE FISHER'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 window, and seemed to enjoy the fresh breezes that 
 were now beginning to blow from the ocean. 
 
 As Agatha approached him, he extended his hand 
 towards her and smiled, bat it was not his usual smile, 
 it had a meaning in it, and the heart of Agatha throb- 
 bed painfully to the warm pressure of his feverish 
 hand. 
 
 " My child," uttered he, " you have ventured out 
 late this evening, and yet I rejoice to see you once 
 more in this earthly space — to morrow we may be 
 separated." 
 
 Till this moment Agatha had not courage to look in 
 the face of the invalid, but when she did so, she there 
 beheld the vestiges of death stealing over his pale and 
 languid features. Although the lustre of his eye was 
 yet undiminished, it was like a meteor in the starry 
 hemisphere, that was too bright to be lasting ; but he 
 spoke with energy, while the fear-struck Agatha ex- 
 claimed — 
 
 " Separated to morrow, my dear father 1 Oh talk 
 not thus ! I hope — that — " sobs interrupted the speech 
 of Agatha, and she was unable to articulate another 
 sentence. 
 
 The Captain was affected by the sensibility she be- 
 trayed — he felt for the trial her affectionate heart would 
 sustain, but he had not yet entirely lost his energy j 
 and pressing her hand, in a firm tone of voice, though 
 frequently interrupted by difficulty of respiration, ad- 
 dressed her in the following words : — 
 
 " My child, my dear affectionate child, cease to 
 yield to your excessive grief on my account; your 
 
THE FISHEtt'S DAUGHTKR. 7^ 
 
 tears affect me my dearest love — for my sake restrain 
 tliem." 
 
 " For your sake !" cried the sobbing Agatha j •' Oh 
 what would I not do for your sake!" 
 
 To which the Captain, as she now bent her head 
 over him, in a less firm voice replied— 
 
 '*? My dear child, you have done all you can do — 
 your duty, and you can do no more; therefore be 
 comforted, and receive the last blessing that I now 
 invoke on your beauteous head. Kiss me, Agatha. 
 Then, then be it wafted to heaven by the angel that 
 bears me hence j one request — one dying wish — grant 
 to me." 
 
 "Oh name it — name it — dearest father!" uttered 
 Agatha j " and whatever it is, I swear to heaven that 
 it shall be obeyed." 
 
 " No, my child, an oath I do not require," uttered 
 the Captain ; " should the infant of which you are 
 pregnant be born a daughter, call it Matilda, the name 
 of her that I adored j if a son — let it be Singleton." 
 
 " May heaven desert me if ever I renounce this wish 
 of thine dearest father," uttered Agatha; and the in- 
 valid seemed apparently more composed. The old 
 domestic drew near to him, gave him a cordial, and 
 he seemed revived, bidding Agatha to sit close beside 
 him. 
 
 f Will you not lie down a little my dear master ?" 
 uttered Marguritte, motioning to Lady Montault by 
 dumb but expressive signs, that she thought this 
 necessary ; but the Captain waved his hand, and she 
 remained silently watching him, with great terror 
 expressed in her countenance. Meanwhile Agatha 
 
7b* THE FISHER'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 had taken his hand, which she alternately pressed to 
 her lips and to her heart, and a solemn silence ensued. 
 
 * c You know my dear child," uttered he, " that my 
 lamp of life has long been wasting, and the taper is 
 almost out; but think y-ju that I was insensible to 
 it, or have not communed in spirit with my heavenly 
 Father. No, my Agatha, I am prepared ; I have lived 
 in peace with my own heart, and I shall die in peace 
 with it, and that I could not do, had I not been in 
 peace with all mankind. Give me that book my 
 dearest child, that I may once more breathe a prayer 
 on it." 
 
 A book lay open on the table, it was a pocket vo- 
 lume of the holy Scriptures, and the invalid took it 
 from the trembling hand of Agatha, after he had inform- 
 ed her where his will and his papers were to be found 
 after his decease, in which he had made her husband, 
 Lord Montague Montault, sole executor. 
 
 " You will find in my will, Agatha," uttered he, 
 " that there is a personage whom you love, that I 
 have not neglected to reward for their fidelity towards 
 you in the hour of adversity. Poor little affectionate 
 Baba, the daughter of Paulo Michello ; he has erred, 
 but his child is innocent of a father's indiscretions, and 
 Paulo has himself repented of all his former transgres- 
 sions. I will not call them crimes, because we are 
 aware who was the foul and malignant fiend, who led 
 him on to the commission of them : I will not name 
 her, for she was your grandmother, the Duchess of 
 Braganza ; and she is now gone before that awful tri- 
 bunal, at which all must appear sooner or later, to an- 
 swer for the part they have performed on this terres- 
 
THE FISHER'S DAUGHTER. 77 
 
 trial globe. For the fisher's family, various reports 
 have been circulated, that they have met with an unge- 
 nerous reception for the hospitable treatment they have 
 shewn you, since your exaltation to greatness, and that 
 you have been married to Lord Montague Montault. 
 My dear child, it was a report by no means pleasing to 
 my ear, for you owed to the fisher Blust eternal grati- 
 tude, and ingratitude is a most unpardonable offence. 
 Those who treat with ingratitude the beings who have 
 served them in the hour of misfortune, will abjure the 
 very God of their existence, from whom all blessings 
 flow." 
 
 " But I have not done so, dearest father," cried the 
 noAV almost frantic Agatha. " 1 call heaven to witness 
 that no part of my conduct towards the fisher's family 
 has ever subjected me to the charge of being ungrateful 
 to my protector ; but 1 was married — and — my — hus- 
 band — " Agatha paused, she could not bear to reflect 
 on her husband ; and she is no wife that does, let his 
 faults be what they may. 
 
 " Should have recollected," feebly articulated the 
 invalid, " that you had no protector but the fisher 
 Blust, when I, your then supposed father, perished, as it 
 was thought, in the ocean ; and on your recovery of 
 your paternal rights, when you became the acknow- 
 ledged daughter and wealthy heiress of the fortunes of 
 Braganza, should have rewarded and raised from ob- 
 scurity the humble roof which had so generously af- 
 forded you a shelter, when you had no other to shield 
 you from the attacks of a merciless and censorious 
 world. Young and beautiful, you would have been 
 marked out as the prey of the licentious and the pro- 
 
78 the fisher's daughter. 
 
 fligate of mankind; and your youth and innocence 
 would have afforded but little protection, had not the 
 generous unsophisticated Peter have stretched his pro- 
 tecting aim over you, took you to his dwelling, and 
 treated you like one of his own children ; while you 
 were absent, a heavy domestic misfortune had assailed 
 him, in the dishonour and consequently the death of 
 his eldest daughter ; you were forced from his house, 
 but he had no hand in the villanous transaction, your 
 own connections, however grand and exalted in birth, 
 w T ere the sole perpetrators of this foul deed. But when 
 Lord Montague became your husband, the fisher and 
 his humble family were forgotten ; the lowly roof which 
 sheltered you, shunned and avoided like the power of 
 contagion ; and Jessy, the lovely Jessy, turned from 
 your doors by the command of your husband. Oh my 
 child, I knew that you were not amenable for this 
 fault, and have wept in agony that you had not still 
 remained in your humble station, for then you had been 
 happy j for if exalted birth and splendour of wealth is 
 to be accompanied with hardness of heart and ingrati- 
 tude towards our benefactors because they are humbly 
 born, perish that earthly grandeur, and that earthly 
 ambition." 
 
 Agatha wept in silence this dying reproach of her 
 foster father against her high-born relatives, and more 
 than ever lamented the hour that she had known any 
 other father than Captain Singleton, any other protec- 
 tor than the fisher Blust, any other friend than the 
 gentle Jessy. 
 
 The faint moon-beams yet shed silvery light in the 
 chamber where the Captain was sitting, and Margu- 
 
thb fishkh's daughter. 79 
 
 ritte having" closed the window, and gently laid his 
 head on the pillow, imagined for some time that he 
 was sleeping, and entreated Agatha to withdraw to the 
 adjoining room, where there was a sofa, and endeavour 
 to take some repose, as she had sent word to her lord 
 of the fatal change which had taken place in the Cap- 
 tain, and that she could not return, till probably the 
 last sad scene was over. 
 
 " Now do my dearest lady, just retire for a few mo- 
 ments," cried Marguritte, " for my poor master has 
 fallen into a slumber, and you can do no good now by 
 watching at his side." 
 
 At length Agatha yielded to the entreaties of the old 
 woman ; so perfectly exhausted was she by fatigue, 
 and worn out by mental anxiety, which, added to the 
 delicacy of her situation, rendered repose absolutely 
 necessary; and Agatha slept for some hours on the 
 sofa, notwithstanding the bustle and confusion which 
 for many successive hours had prevailed in the Cottage 
 on the Cliff; for in less than half an hour, Marguritte 
 supposing that her master was only sleeping, attempt- 
 ed to raise his head to put him a more easy position, 
 when, to her inexpressible horror and grief, she found 
 him a corpse. The physician was immediately sent 
 for, but he declared that the vital spark was fled for 
 ever, though the usual remedies were resorted to, but 
 in vain. Captain Singleton w r as no more, and a mes- 
 senger was immediately dispatched to Lord Montague 
 Montault, to inform him of the melancholy event; and 
 when he arrived at the Cottage, his lady yet reposed in 
 gentle sleep on a sofa in the adjoining apartment, un- 
 
80 the fisher's daughter. 
 
 conscious of the sad scene that was passing around 
 her. 
 
 " For Heaven's sake do not disturb Lady Montault," 
 uttered his lordship, " let us arrange these melancholy 
 duties as quietly as possible ;" and on being shewn into 
 the chamber which contained the lifeless body of Cap- 
 tain Singleton, he burst into a flood of tears. 
 
 But not long was Agatha insensible of the loss she 
 had sustained, for on opening her eyes she perceived 
 Lord Montague sitting near her, and anxiously watch- 
 ing every turn of her countenance ; but she immedi- 
 ately guessed by the expression of his, that her dear 
 foster father was no more, and in frantic accents de- 
 manded, why they had not called her before life was 
 extinct. 
 
 t( My dear lady, it was a moral impossibility to do 
 that," cried the old woman, " for I had covered his 
 face with a handkerchief when you left the room to lie 
 Jown on the sofa, and when I returned again to lift it 
 up, and raise the poor soul's head a little higher, I 
 found he was gone to a better world." 
 
 Uncontrolable was the grief of Agatha for several 
 successive hours ; and with much difficulty Lord Mon- 
 tague conveyed her home at a late hour. 
 
 The next morning she was excessively indisposed, and 
 the order of the physicians was to keep her ladyship as 
 quiet and composed as possible, being at this period in 
 the fifth month of her pregnancy ; and her lord fearful 
 of the consequence, never quitted her bedside for t 
 moment ; in short, Lord Montague was in all but one 
 fatal propensity in his disposition, the most exemplary 
 
THE FISHEB's DAUGHTER. 81 
 
 and most affectionate of husbands. He had loved 
 Agatha in an humble station of life, comparatively to that 
 to which she was afterwards raised on being theacknow- 
 ledged daughter of the duke his uncle j and although 
 he was proud of her exaltation, yet his love for her, 
 had she still remained the reputed daughter of Captain 
 Singleton, would have been as ardent as ever. 
 
 Much alarmed therefore by her increasing indisposi- 
 tion, he intreated the physicians to inform him if they 
 thought that any dangerous consequences might ensue 
 from the melancholy scene she had witnessed. To 
 which thev replied — 
 
 " None in the least, my lord; if Lady Montault is 
 kept quiet, we pronounce that in a few days she will 
 be perfectly recovered. A little fever is at present vi- 
 sible from the effect of agitation, and that is all." 
 
 Agatha was sometime before she answered the 
 expectation of her physicians ; but her youthful con- 
 stitution, never yet impaired, got the ascendency over 
 the shock she had sustained ; and the assiduities of her 
 fond and attentive husband, very soon brought her 
 mind to a state of composure, and enabled her to tell 
 him what had been the last requests of the dying 
 Captain Singleton, with which he promised cheerfully 
 to comply, whenever it pleased Providence to give him 
 either a son or a daughter. And in other respects, all 
 directions in his last will and testament were punctually 
 attended to by Lord Montague, which was thought 
 necessary before the funeral obsequies should be per- 
 formed. 
 
 Accordingly a day was appointed for all persons 
 concerned in it, and whose names were expressly 
 
 bA l 
 
82 the fisher's daughter. 
 
 mentioned in the will of the deceased, to meet at Mon- 
 tault House, in order that it might be read in the pre- 
 sence of those to whom Captain Singleton had bequeath- 
 ed the most liberal proofs of his friendship, and 
 testimonials of his warm and unchangeable affection. 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 ** Here rests his head upon the lap of earth, 
 
 A man to fortune and to fame unknown ; 
 Fair science frown'd not on his humble birth, 
 
 But melancholy mark'd him for her own. 
 
 Large was his bounty, and his soul sincere, 
 
 And heaven did a recompence as largely send ; 
 He gave to misery, (all he had,) a tear ; 
 He g-ained from heaven, (twas all he wished,) a friend." 
 
 Gray. 
 ■ . . ' 
 
 The death of Captain Singleton, though expected 
 by some of the inhabitants of Cromer who were ac- 
 customed to be admitted to his presence during the 
 long and painful stages of his protracted illness, ex- 
 cited, notwithstanding, a deep and almost universal 
 sympathy the very moment that it became generally 
 known, for never was a man more respected, or so 
 deservedly lamented by those to whom he was known; 
 (for it fe not always that a man is known by outward 
 
the fisher's dacghter. 83 
 
 actions,) but both the principles and the character of 
 the Captain had been established and held in venera- 
 tion ; nor were the more humble and poorer classes of 
 people in the neighbouring villages without a starting 
 tear and a sorrowing sigh, when the bell of the church 
 at Cromer tolled out heavily the sad and melancholy 
 tidings that poor Captain Singleton was indeed num- 
 bered with the dead. For to the poor he had been uni- 
 formly kind 3 and whenever his bounty had been soli- 
 cited by any of the parishioners, his mite was always 
 cheerfully bestowed. The several tradesmen too with 
 whom he transacted business, had found him equitably 
 just in his dealings, and conscientiously punctual in his 
 payments. By some of the fastidious and illiberal 
 minded he had been thought proud, (for to what errors 
 are not prejudiced persons prone ?) because it was cer- 
 tainly true that he secluded himself from their society^ 
 and lived alone and retired in the Cottage on the Cliff; 
 but surely pride was the least distinguishing feature in 
 the character of the Captain ; for when on his solitary 
 rambles on the beach, he might encounter the poor 
 fishermen, or their wives, or their children, he would 
 stop and give them the time of the day, and very fre- 
 quently this salutation was accompanied by some tri" 
 fling mark of his liberality ; if this was pride, then how 
 strangely had they miscalled urbanity, humanity, and 
 feeling. 
 
 Jt is true, however, that he had avoided all inter- 
 course with the wealthy families, who for a short season 
 only visited the coast, because, though wealthy, they 
 were sometimes dangerous and improper connections, 
 mere summer flies that sail with the stream of fashion, 
 
84 the fisher's daughter. 
 
 light, inconstant, and fickle, as the changing wind, or 
 the colours of the rainbow \ and with such personages 
 Captain Singleton was determined to hold no commu- 
 nication, or tender them any friendship, for to them — 
 
 " Ah, what was friendship but a name, 
 
 A charm that lulls to sleep, 
 A shade that follows wealth and fame, 
 
 And leaves the wretch to weep." 
 
 No, Captain Singleton sought for dearer ties, ana 
 more sacred and congenial affections j in the bosom 
 of retiring shades he did not feel solitary, for his books 
 were his faithful, though silent companions j he could 
 there converse with men, without being approached 
 by their insidious smiles, betrayed by their treacherous 
 arts, or tempted by their worldly sophistry to leave 
 his calm and sequestered abode, to mix with the busy 
 haunts of mankind. And for lighter pleasures wanted 
 he amusement? or food for contemplation? or sub- 
 jects for reflection ? Seated on the high cliff, had he 
 not the wide expanse of ocean rolling beneath his feet, 
 and the bright shining firmament of the vaulted hea- 
 vens moving splendidly above him ? The glorious 
 planet that lighted all the world, did it not also shed 
 its light for him ? And when he warmed him in the 
 sunny beams, did he not feel the potent influence of 
 its cheering and enlivening ray? At sober evening 
 too, came not the moon in silvery mantle clad to visit 
 him with peace, and aid his calm and pious medita- 
 tions, uninterrupted only but by the lonely bird that 
 pours her melody on night's pensive eve ? And if to a 
 mind so harmonized these were pleasures and these 
 delights that he could not find in gayer scenes, where 
 
the, fisher's daughter. 85 
 
 artificial ones are but substituted in their stead ; if Cap- 
 tain Singleton preferred these to earthly splendour and 
 earthly wishes, why should he not have enjoyed them, 
 and repose without rancour or without envy on the 
 tranquil blessings they afforded him ? for they were 
 certainly those of which neither rancour or envy could 
 ever deprive him. The Cottage on the Cliff was his 
 own, and he could live there in despite of the world's 
 frowning or envious aspect towards him ; and he did 
 live there till he died, and was called to inherit (it 
 would be impiety to doubt it !) far greater enjoyments, 
 and more substantial pleasures than can ever be ex- 
 pected in a terrestrial state of existence. 
 
 And thus far let us dismiss the melancholy subject. 
 Captain Singleton had paid the debt to nature, and the 
 most lasting monument of his worth was engraven in 
 the excellent moral character he had left behind him, 
 of far more consequence than the sculptor could ever 
 display in polished marble, or the poet's energy impart 
 in tributary praise to the departed remains that lay 
 mouldering beneath it. Vain impotence of man's de- 
 ceptive art, that would oft by empty pageantry of 
 shew, and unavailing flow of funeral verse, attempt to 
 eulogize what the departed spirit does not require from 
 their aid, and which cannot pierce their ear, though 
 they were the strains of a Byron or Sir Walter Scott, 
 the former of whom now lies as insensible to the fire 
 of poetic lays, as were the cold remains of Captain 
 Singleton in the humble Cottage on the Cliff.* 
 
 * The author here alludes to the recent death of Lord Byron, that 
 most admired and accomplished poet, whose loss all poets feel, and 
 all authors mourn. 
 
 
SO THE FISHER S DAUGHTER. 
 
 But to proceed. At an early hour after the notice 
 had been given, assembled the different personages 
 expressly mentioned in the last will and testament of 
 the deceased Captain Singleton, at the mansion of 
 Lord Montague Montault, (at least the male person- 
 ages, for none of the females were desired to attend ;) 
 but on the will being opened in the presence of official 
 witnesses by Lord Montague Montault, who was left 
 sole executor to the said will, the name of the 
 fisher Blust appeared the first on the list. Mr. Blust 
 being desired to attend on the occasion, he pre- 
 sented himself before the company he found there as- 
 sembled, with as little ceremony as if he was going 
 before the mast of a ship, seating himself in the first 
 chair he could find, and declaring that he must haul in 
 his wind, and steer to only one point of the compass, 
 before he could speak one word on the melancholy 
 subject on which he had attended. 
 
 " But shiver my topsails," added he, " if ever I 
 wanted a single stiver of Captain Singleton for all I 
 have done for him :" (wholly regardless of the risibility 
 he had excited in those present, who were well ac- 
 quainted with the whimsicalities of his character, and 
 who enjoyed more real pleasure from hearing Peter 
 address Lord Montague Montault in his plain unsophis- 
 ticated language, than in all the entertainment they re- 
 ceived in this magnificent mansion.) "What I did 
 was to please myself," continued Peter, " and not 
 Captain Singleton, with respect to certain persons that 
 shall be nameless ; but I say, my lord, have you got a 
 drop of something to wet one's whistle ? after all this 
 puffing and blowing over these confounded cliffs, a 
 
THE FISHER'S DAUGHTER. 87 
 
 man is apt to be a little thirsty. Besides, you know, I 
 am come upon a comicalish sort of a business, for, do 
 ye see, I liked Captain Singleton mortally, for he was 
 always a man of his word ; blow high, blow low, he 
 always steered to one point of the compass, and that 
 was honour and integrity, and that is the best chart 
 a man can go by, do ye see my lord, if he was to live 
 for a thousand years; so what the Captain said one 
 day, he never unsaid the next, and I can't help finding 
 my eyes a little swimmey, when I know that he is gone 
 to his long home, and has not left the fellow of him 
 behind him. I say, my lord, I sha'nt say nothing to 
 hurt you ; I should be sorry, after you have married 
 the nicest little trim-built vessel that ever swam on the 
 salt sea ocean. Nevertheless, I shall tell you a bit of 
 my mind before we part ; I don't care for the king, when 
 I have done that which is right and creditable to my 
 feelings ; and the king could do no more, God bless 
 him." 
 
 Many persons who knew Peter, were nearly con- 
 vulsed with laughter at the bold, yet firm and consci- 
 entious manner in which he had addressed Lord Mon- 
 tague Montault ; but none blamed him for his teme- 
 rity, after the well-known fatherly protection he had 
 given to Lady Montault when she was only the reputed 
 daughter of Captain Singleton, then supposed to be 
 lost in the bosom of the ocean ; but it was impossible 
 to describe the mortifying sensations of Lord Monta- 
 gue Montault during this harangue of Peter Blust, in 
 the presence of so many respectable personages from 
 the town of Cromer; and all he feared was, tnat 
 
88 the fisher's daughter. 
 
 he would advance, if offended, some arguments 
 not very favourable to the memory of the late Dowa- 
 ger Duchess of Braganza, his grandmother, with whose 
 history Peter was too well acquainted, as well as with 
 all her nefarious transactions with Paulo Michello, 
 which were not generally known, and by which means 
 the whole of his domestic concerns would become 
 exposed ; his lordship therefore was compelled to 
 make a virtue of necessity, by offering every palliation 
 in his power to induce Peter to hold his tongue, 
 and immediately invited him into an adjoining apart- 
 ment, where he set before him his favourite beverage, 
 grog, and a plentiful supply of pipes and tobacco, bid- 
 ding him to regale himself, till his presence should be 
 required to hear the will of the deceased Captain Sin- 
 gleton read over; and fortunately for Lord Montague, 
 his father, the Marquis of Montault, at that moment 
 opportunely arrived, of whom Peter was particularly 
 fond ; and seeing him enter, he exclaimed, filling up a 
 glass to the very brim — 
 
 " Here's to you my lord, and may you make a bet- 
 ter man than your father has done before you, which, 
 shiver my topsails, if ever I think you will do in your 
 born days, though you are the husband of Agatha 
 Singleton." 
 
 " What my old shipmate and brother in exile," 
 exclaimed the Marquis, extending his hand to Peter 
 at the same moment, after receiving a hint from his 
 son that Peter required some management — " Why 
 Peter Blust, how dost thee weather the gale my boy ? 
 Yet thee looketh strong and hearty, like an old oak in 
 
THE FISHERS DAUGHTER. 89 
 
 tne forest, alter all the rough tempests that have as- 
 sailed thee, my boy." To which Peter very quaintly 
 replied — 
 
 " Like an old devil in the forest, my lord, for I have 
 been more like that than an old oak I do promise thee, 
 since I have lost my Jessy and my Olive, a fish swim- 
 ming in troubled waters, my lord, and now your lord- 
 ship do rightly understand me ; if not, ask your own 
 heart that do rightly know the feelings of a father." 
 
 The amiable Marquis was certainly at no loss to de- 
 fine the expression of poor Peter's feelings, and most 
 heartily sympathized in them, (for he had not beheld 
 him since the unhappy catastrophe of his eldest daugh- 
 ter,) but by no means wishing him to yield to gloomy 
 retrospections, he filled out another bumper, and drank 
 to the health and future prosperity of the fisher, with- 
 out making any comment on the melancholy subject 
 he had alluded to, in the dishonour and subsequent 
 death of his daughter, which probably had not been so 
 fresh in the recollection of fisher Blust, but for the 
 melancholy occasion on which he had that morning 
 been summoned to the mansion of Lord Montague 
 Montault, which was, namely, the death of Captain 
 Singleton j and Peter having very feelingly apostro- 
 phized to his memory, in a full glass of brandy, ex- 
 claimed — 
 
 (i But it is no matter, my lord, every man must go 
 when his time comes, and that is the truth of it, whe- 
 ther he likes it or not, death stands upon no ceremo- 
 nies. There is no court martial in the business, and 
 no judging by majority, whether he is to whip oft" the 
 hooks or not, is there my lord ?" 
 
 «4 M 
 
90 THE FISHER'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 " No, you are right there, friend Peter," uttered the 
 Marquis, with by no means an ironical expression of a 
 truth, which the gravest and the wisest philosopher 
 could not controvert ; " the commander-in-chief in 
 this case is absolute, and when he gives the mandate, 
 none dare to disobey its immediate and imperative call. 
 Poor Singleton, I was much affect? d with the intelli- 
 gence of his death ; he was both a gentleman and a 
 scholar." 
 
 " And a Christian, and that is better than all be- 
 sides," reiterated Peter, with his usual warmth and 
 impetuosity of character. " What's your scholarship 
 and your fine learning, I should be glad to know, if a 
 man does not bear an upright heart about him ? But 
 as to the Captain, I do believe there was not a better 
 man breathing ; and when I know that a man has 
 done his duty that we see before us lying a corpse, 
 shiver my topsails if I don't think it every man's duty 
 that is living to speak well of him." 
 
 At this precise moment Lord Montague appeared to 
 inform Mr. Blust that his presence was required, as 
 being a party concerned in the will of the deceased 
 Captain Singleton. 
 
 At which Peter in much better spirits and humour 
 than when he first encountered Lord Montague, ex- 
 claimed — 
 
 " But I wont go without your father, mind that, so 
 come along my lord ; for if I should be after commit- 
 ting some blunders with them ould queer looking law- 
 yers, seeing I be a man of no great parts of learning, 
 and all that, why your lordship mayhap may put me 
 to rights again." 
 
THE FISHER'S DAUGKTIilt. 9t 
 
 With these words Peter actually linked his arm with 
 that of the Marquis of Montault, lefore he was a wart 
 of his intention ; and in this situation, to the no small 
 surprise, as well as the amusement of all present, en- 
 tered the ante-chamber where all the witnesses were 
 assembled ; and the will being opened upon the table, 
 and the Marquis and his companion being accommo- 
 dated with seats, Mr. Willowby, the solicitor of Lord 
 Montague Montault, began to read it aloud in the fol- 
 lowing words : — to which the witnesses th^re pre- 
 sent listened with the most serious and profound at- 
 tention, Peter Blust offering no interruption, but quietly 
 supplying himself every now and then with a fresh 
 quid of tobacco. Mr. Willowby then began as fol- 
 lows : — 
 
 The mil. 
 
 " I, Henry Charles Singleton, do declare and cer- 
 tify, that this being my last will and testament, I give 
 and bequeath to my dear and respected friend, Mr. 
 Peter Blust, of Herring Dale, Cromer, the sum of one 
 thousand pounds, to be paid in sterling monies, in 
 consideration of the friendly services he hath tendered 
 towards me, and also for his fatherly care and protection 
 of the supposed Agatha Singleton, then my reputed 
 daughter, but now the wife of Lord Montague Mon- 
 tault, my whole and sole executor. And I bequeath 
 to the sole heir and surviving daughter of the said 
 Peter Blust, and wife of Samuel Russel, fisher of the 
 Bank-side, Jessy, the sum of one thousand pounds 
 of sterling monies. Furthermore I bequeath to the 
 two youths, named Alfred and Wolf, under the pro- 
 
92 the fisher's daughter. 
 
 tection of the said Peter Blust, at the time of my sup- 
 posed death, on the night of the tempest, the sums of 
 five hundred pounds each of sterling monies, whep 
 they shall arrive at the age of twenty-one years. 
 
 " I furthermore bequeath to my most tenderly be- 
 loved foster child, Lady Agatha Montault, daughter of 
 his Grace the Duke of Braganza, and wife of Lord 
 Montague Montault, my miniature picture set in dia- 
 monds, and that also of the Lady Matilda St. Clare, 
 which I now wear next my heart. Also to the said 
 Lady Agatha, my beloved foster daughter, I give and 
 bequeath the Cottage on the Cliff, with all the furni- 
 ture, plate, linen, china, conveniences, and appurte- 
 nances thereunto belonging. To Beda Michello, 
 daughter of Paulo Michello, I give and bequeath, in 
 consideration of her faithful attachment to her mis- 
 tress, the sum of five hundred pounds, to be paid in 
 sterling monies when she shall attain her twenty-first 
 year, or altering her condition sooner, the Lady Aga- 
 tha may, if she thinks proper, bestow it on the object she 
 makes choice of in wedlock. To Alice, housekeeper 
 and servant of Mr. Peter Blust, I give and bequeath 
 the sum of twenty pounds, to be paid in sterling mo- 
 nies ; and to his servant, David Holdfast, I bequeath 
 the like sum. To Claribelle, waiting gentlewoman in 
 the establishment of the Lady Agatha Montault, I be- 
 queath the sum of fifty pounds; and to my house- 
 keeper Margurittc, in the Cottage on the Cliff, I be- 
 queath the sum of forty pounds ; and for the residue 
 of my monies that may not be expended at the time 
 of my decease, I give and bequeath them to the church 
 at Cromer, for the benefit of the Orphan Charity School 
 
the fisher's daughter. 93 
 
 to which I subscribed. And this I declare and certify 
 to be my last will and testament, signed and sealed in 
 the presence of witnesses. 
 
 " Henry Charles Singleton." 
 
 Notwithstanding the utmost precaution and necessary 
 hints given by the Marquis of Montault to the fisher 
 to preserve silence during the time that the will was 
 being read by the solicitor, Peter made a hole in his 
 manners, by several times interrupting the reader; but 
 when Mr. Willoughby came to that part wherein his 
 old housekeeper, and even his trusty David was men- 
 tioned, he could no longer contain his lively and un- 
 bounded demonstrations of gratitude and joy ; and in 
 despite of the exhortations of the Marquis, or the 
 grave looks of the gentlemen of the green bag, he 
 loudly vociferated, to the no small amusement of many 
 there present — 
 
 " Why, shiver my topsails, if Davy will know where 
 to drive his anchor a peak when he knows he has got- 
 ten the sum of twenty pounds ; and as for the old girl, 
 she wont know whether she stands on her head or her 
 heels. But I say, my lord, isn't this a mortal kind 
 action for a man to do on his death bed, to help a 
 couple of honest souls with a tightish bit of money, 
 that couldn't help themselves ? and if the soul of Cap- 
 tain Singleton is not gone aloft for the making of such 
 a will as this, why, I think my lord, there's many ob- 
 liged to sheer off below, that's all. God bless him, 
 and may his remains" — 
 
 " Pray Mr. Blust, I entreat you to be quiet till the 
 good company is dispersed," uttered Lord Montague, 
 
94 the fisher's daughter. 
 
 extremely hurt at the constant interruptions which 
 Peter had made, and the risibility he had excited on so 
 solemn an occasion. But to his lordship's entreaties, 
 Peter, with the utmost nonchalence, replied — 
 
 " They may disperse and be . No, shiver 
 
 my topsails if I am going to swear neither over the will 
 of Captain Singleton ; but I tell you what, my lord, 
 I will speak my mind if you were the king of England, 
 and 1 do say, that though the Captain remembered 
 some things, that you have quite forgotten them ; and 
 that when I took Agatha Singleton under my roof, and 
 became a father to her in the hour of distress, I did 
 not expect that when you married her, my own child 
 would have been turned from your doors. No, my 
 lord, I did not expect any such thing, and I told you 
 that I would tell you a bit of my mind before we part- 
 ed, and so I have, so good morning to you;" and Peter 
 immediately arose, flourishing his hat in his hand in 
 the most whimsical manner that was possible, while 
 reiterated but concealed bursts of laughter prevailed 
 among his surrounding friends ; for Peter Blust had no 
 enemies, every body liked him, for he was not only 
 rich, but he was generous; and in the room here as- 
 sembled, many, (least suspected,) had been indebted to 
 the overflowing of Peter's purse. Of course they were 
 silent when he cast this reproach on the character of 
 the noble lord ; and many there were who knew full 
 well that he deserved it. 
 
 Peter, however, after having uttered all that his heart 
 dictated, very quickly made his exit, telling his lord- 
 ship that he need be in no hurry tc pay Jessy or him 
 the two thousand pounds. " No, were it twenty, my 
 
THE FISHER'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 95 
 
 lord/' cried Pfter, when he had retreated nearly to the 
 door. " My Jessy does not want a thousand pounds 
 more than her father does, though God bless the Cap- 
 tain for thinking of her; yet my girl does not want 
 twenty thousand pounds if she chose to ask me for it, 
 though she was not deemed a proper companion for 
 Miss Agatha Singleton after your lordship married 
 her." 
 
 The blood of Lord Montague now mounted to his 
 cheek, and he most indignantly exclaimed— 
 
 " What do you mean Mr. Blust by this unprovoked 
 insolence, and by calling Lady Montault so repeatedly 
 Agatha Singleton? Sir, she never was Agatha Sin^ 
 gleton, and therefore that title does not belong to 
 her." 
 
 " Shiver my topsails then if I think she has changed 
 it for a better in becoming your lordship's wife/' cried 
 the undaunted Peter ; " for you have made her turn 
 her back on her old friends, and that's no credit to 
 your lordship if you were the king of England." 
 
 And with this complimentary speech Peter departed, 
 leaving Lord Montague so enraged, or rather inflamed 
 by passion, that he could hardly recover his self-pos- 
 session to bid farewell to his friends whom he had in- 
 vited to his house to be witnesses on this melancholy 
 occasion. Peter's reproaches stung him to the heart, 
 because he felt conscious that he had deserved them, 
 and even his noble father reproved him for the ingrati- 
 tude he had shown to the fisher's family since his mar- 
 riage with his lovely cousin ; and no sooner had the 
 party who had assembled there withdrawn themselves, 
 
96 the fisher's daughter. 
 
 than the Marquis, highly dissatisfied with the condnct 
 of his son, exclaimed — 
 
 " Montague, you have been properly rebuked by the 
 fisher Blust, and though I am your father, I certainly 
 will not espouse your cause when I conceive that you 
 are acting improperly ; you should have softened ra- 
 ther than have irritated the feelings of such a man, 
 who is evidently piqued with the cool reception you 
 have lately given to his family." 
 
 " And do you imagine, my lord," uttered Lord Mon- 
 tague indignantly, " that I am going tamely to endure 
 the impertinence of such a boor, or that I should 
 condescend to apologize to him for what manner 1 
 choose to conduct the establishment of my family? 
 You cannot imagine that I will ever sanction the vi- 
 sits of Mrs. Russel to Lady Montault, when it is well 
 known that her husband once had the audacity to pay 
 his addresses to my Agatha." 
 
 " Well, and suppose he did," uttered the Marquis, 
 ** there is no great danger of his paying his addresses 
 to her now, I should presume ; besides he was rejected 
 by Agatha, who, being single then, was liable to be 
 addressed by any man, in whose breast she might have 
 inspired affection ; nor do I see any disgrace attached, 
 much less any blame to be attributed to Mr. Russel, 
 for making an honourable offer of his hand to an 
 object whom he then considered to be his equal. It 
 was paying the then supposed Miss Singleton the high- 
 est mark of respect that man can shew to woman ; 
 and I have no doubt that Agatha herself considered it 
 so, though she did not think proper to accept of him. 
 
THB FISHER'S DAUGHTER. 97 
 
 But admitting this circumstance, it is not a sufficient 
 plea for the disrespect, nay absolute contempt you 
 have shewn to the daughter of Mr. Blust, by not per- 
 mitting your wife to renew her former intimacy with 
 her. Mrs. Russel was certainly one of the most unex- 
 ceptionable young women I ever beheld ; as a compa- 
 nion for one of her own sex, a more lovely and inno- 
 cent young creature there never was." 
 
 " That I acknowledge, my lord," cried Lord Mon- 
 tague, half yielding to the arguments of his noble fa- 
 ther ; " and had the sweet Jessy still retained the 
 name of Blust, that is, had she not married Mr. Russel, 
 I should always have most cordially received her at 
 Montault House." 
 
 " So you are to treat the poor girl with rudeness, 
 and her father with contempt," reiterated the Marquis, 
 " because she has married a deserving, honest, and in- 
 dustrious young fellow, who makes her an excellent 
 husband, besides inflicting a pang on the heart of your 
 own wife, by being thought guilty of ingratitude to- 
 wards those who were her former friends and protec- 
 tors ? Montague, Montague, 1 am ashamed of you !" 
 and the Marquis immediately arose to depart, and 
 would certainly have quitted Montault House, under 
 the impression of displeasure with his son, had not 
 that son, deeply hurt by the reproaches of his noble 
 father, and overwhelmed with a sense of shame, that 
 he but too well merited them, endeavoured, by every 
 palliative in his power, to excuse the want of propriety 
 with which the Marquis had taxed him, declaring that 
 he would in future atone for it to the family of the 
 fisher, and endeavour to reconcile himself to the of- 
 
 a 5 n 
 
98 the fisher's daughter. 
 
 fended Jessy as soon as the funeral obsequies of Cap- 
 tain Singleton were over, and the agitation which the 
 event had produced on the mind of his gentle Agatha 
 had subsided ; but that in her present state he was 
 almost fearful of holding any long or particular conver- 
 sation with her himself, apprehensive of occasioning 
 the slightest return of her indisposition. 
 
 " Ah, poor girl ! there is not a doubt but she has 
 suffered greatly in beholding the sufferings of an ob- 
 ject who possessed such strong claims on her gratitude 
 and affection," uttered the Marquis, " which on the 
 part of poor Singleton was as mutual and sincere, an in- 
 contestable proof of which he has evinced towards her 
 to the last moment of his fleeting existence ; what no- 
 bleness of character, what sensibility of heart, has he 
 not exhibited by the bequests he has so generously 
 bestowed on the fisher's family; and what a compli- 
 ment to Agatha, thus gratefully to remember, and me- 
 ritoriously to reward her benefactors, for their kind- 
 ness to the then supposed distressed orphan daughter of 
 the deceased Captain Singleton. Worthy, excellent 
 man, may his spirit now be receiving the ultimate 
 return for the performance of kind and benevolent ac- 
 tions !" The Marquis closed this affecting apostro- 
 phe to the memory of the lamented Singleton, by 
 suggesting to him the most proper arrangements for 
 the funeral obsequies to be performed, and who were 
 the most proper personages to attend on this melan- 
 choly occasion. 
 
 " Of course the fisher Blust, and the youths Alfred 
 and Wolf, and even Mr. Russel must necessarily be 
 invited," uttered the Marquis, 
 
thb fisher's daughter. 99 
 
 " Mr. Russel ?" demanded his lordship, reddening 
 like scarlet, " Is that necessary, my lord }" To which 
 the Marquis immediately replied — 
 
 " You might as well ask, Is the presence of the fisher 
 Blust or any part of his family necessary ? to whom 
 the deceased has bequeathed so considerable a part of 
 his property, saving that which belongs to Agatha j 
 and does not Mr. Russel now form a very principal 
 member of the fisher's family, by becoming the 
 husband of the fisher's daughter ? and being so, would 
 it not be indelicate, nay pointedly insulting, to exclude 
 him from the number of the funeral guests ?" 
 
 Lord Montague, again ashamed of feeling a sensation 
 he ought immediately to have dismissed on so solemn 
 an occasion, admitted the propriety of the observation 
 of his noble father, with respect to Mr. Russel; and ac- 
 cordingly the ensuing morning, cards of invitation to 
 the funeral of Captain Singleton were immediately 
 issued out from the Cottage on the Cliff, in which the 
 most respectable personages in the town of Cromer, 
 who had any transaction of business with the deceased, 
 were desired to attend, also Mr. Peter Blust, his son- 
 in-law Mr. Samuel Russel, and Wolf and Alfred, the 
 adopted sons of the fisher, received due notice of the 
 day for the interment of the remains of their departed 
 friend. 
 
 Mr. Blust, as having known the deceased under pe- 
 culiar circumstances when first he came a stranger to 
 the coast, the Marquis (to whom Lord Montague had 
 deputed the sole management on this solemn occa- 
 sion) considered the most proper personage to follow 
 as a chief mourner with Lord Montague Montault, as 
 
100 THE FISHER'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 being the husband of the Lady Agatha, formerly the 
 foster daughter of the deceased Captain Singleton ; and 
 this circumstance being well known to the inhabitants 
 of Cromer, it was a necessary point of duty for Lord 
 Montague to follow as chief mourner with Mr. Blust, 
 whether his lordship thought it derogatory or not. 
 Next were to follow the two youths, Wolf and Alfred, 
 from the supposed similarity of their fate to that of 
 Captain Singleton on the night of the tempest. Next 
 were to follow Mr. Samuel Russel and the worthy Dr. 
 Lessington, who had been for succeeding months the 
 chief medical attendant of the deceased, and on whose 
 skill he had implicitly relied, from the first approaches 
 of that fatal disease which had terminated his exist- 
 ence, more than to the physicians who had occasion- 
 ally been called in ; but Dr. Lessington, though one of 
 the most clever men in his profession, had proved, as 
 on a former occasion with the unfortunate daughter of 
 Mr. Blust, that human means cannot preserve life, 
 when he, the universal Disposer and Giver of it, thinks 
 proper to take it away. Next followed some of the 
 most respectable and principal inhabitants of the town 
 Df Cromer. The Duke of Braganza, and the Marquis 
 of Montault, followed in their respective carriages, all 
 hung with black; and to these, several carriages fol- 
 lowed, out of respect to the illustrious family of the 
 Montaults, but who had first begged permission of the 
 Marquis that they might be present on the solemn oc- 
 casion : the whole of which, when drawn up before the 
 doors of the Cottage on the Cliff on the day of the fu- 
 neral, presented a spectacle truly grand, but yet so- 
 lemnly affecting to those who had any knowledge of 
 
the fisher's daughter. 101 
 
 the deceased Captain Singleton, and to mose who 
 knew him not, such a spectacle could not be beheld 
 without feeling or sensibility ; and a general sentiment 
 of universal sympathy prevailed in those who witnessed 
 it, and who were yet unconscious of how shortly might 
 be the day, or how shortly might be the hour destined 
 for them also to pay the debt to nature, and to be what 
 the departed now was, a mere lump of lifeless and in- 
 animate clay, unconscious of the ceremony or lamen- 
 tation which was now passing around him. 
 
 At length the mourners being all assembled at the 
 Cottage on the Cliff at an early hour, by order of the 
 Marquis of Montault, who received them all at the en- 
 trance, with that urbanity of manners and good breed- 
 ing which always distinguishes the true born English 
 nobleman, and of which he never divests himself, even 
 to the most lowly or humble born, who are not truly 
 vulgar or illiterate. And the moment that he beheld 
 Peter Blust, with his son-in-law, and the two youths, 
 Alfred and Wolf, he extended his hand towards them, 
 and invited them into the parlour, where all the fune- 
 ral party were assembled, among whom was Dr. Les- 
 sington, .who arose on the entrance of the fisher and 
 his two adopted sons. 
 
 " My dear Blust," cried the worthy doctor, " though 
 we meet here on a solemn occasion, yet I am happy to 
 see you." 
 
 But the feelings of poor Peter were wholly over- 
 come, and he no sooner glanced at the full-length 
 picture of Captain Singleton which was suspended 
 over the mantle piece, than he burst into a flood of 
 tears, and sobbed audibly. The remembrance of for- 
 
102 thb fisher's daughter, 
 
 nier scenes was renewed, and his ill-fated daughter 
 Olive arose to his recollection with many a heart-felt 
 pang. 
 
 " Excuse me, gentlemen," uttered he, addressing 
 the numerous company that was there assembled, 
 some of whom very deeply sympathized in the feel- 
 ings of the honest fisher; ft I don't mean to come 
 here to make a fool of myself, or to make a fool of 
 any body else ; but look on these two boys, they were 
 shipwrecked on this very coast, on the night that I 
 thought the Captain had also lost his life in the rough 
 tempest. I took them, poor rogues, because they had 
 nobody else to be a father to them \ but that was not 
 the worst of it. There was another that wanted a fa- 
 ther too, it was Agatha Singleton ; and I came to this 
 cottage, and found the dear girl weeping over the loss 
 of that worthy man there, hanging over the fire place. 
 Gentlemen, I did what a father ought to do :" and 
 Peter sobbed audibly. 
 
 " There was no doubt of it, Mr. Blust, there was no 
 doubt of it," cried the whole party, at once moved by 
 the sensibility which the fisher so affectingly exhibited, 
 and perfectly convinced of the integrity of his princi- 
 ples towards the then supposed unfortunate daughter 
 of Captain Singleton. 
 
 l( Pray compose yourself," cried Dr. Lessington, 
 and grasped the hand of Peter, with whom he pos- 
 sessed unbounded influence. iC No one that knows 
 you can once doubt of your fidelity towards that wor- 
 thy man or his reputed daughter, to whom you have 
 discharged the duty of a father. But, my dear Peter, 
 pray endeavour to moderate the excess of your feelings 
 
THB FISHER'6 DAUGHTER. 103 
 
 here in the presence of strangers j consider, my dear 
 fellow, how inconceivably distressing it must be to the 
 feelings of those noble personages who are met to per- 
 form the last melancholy duties to the remains of poor 
 Singleton, and pray collect yourself." 
 
 As this was uttered in a low voice to Peter Blust, it 
 appeared to have some weight upon his feelings, for 
 taking the arm of Dr. Lessington, he suffered him to 
 lead him into an adjoining apartment, where, having 
 swallowed a glass of brandy, he became more tranquil, 
 and faithfully promised that he would not speak ano- 
 ther sentence during the whole of the solemn cere- 
 mony. 
 
 " But I can't go into that room again where the Cap- 
 tain is hanging over the fire place, if you were to make 
 a lord of me," uttered Peter, " for there I used to see 
 Agatha sitting with her father, and looking like an 
 angel. I say, Lessington, I don't know whether she 
 looks like an angel now she is married to a great 
 lord ; but shiver my topsails, if lords have the power 
 of making people turn their backs on old friends, why 
 the devil may take such lords for Peter Blust, say I." 
 
 " Well, but dear Peter," rejoined the worthy doctor, 
 determined to bring him into some sort of order before 
 his presence was required at the awful ceremony which 
 was about to take place, " you are not to consider what 
 was the state of affairs with Miss Singleton when you 
 protected her as the daughter of Captain Singleton, 
 you are to consider, my dear fellow, what she is now, 
 and must assuredly pay respect to those personages so 
 nearly connected to her by the ties of nature, her fa- 
 ther and her husband 3 the former, his Grace the Duke 
 
104 THE FISHER's DAUGHTER. 
 
 of Braganza ; the latter, the son of the most noble 
 Marquis of Montault, Lord Montague Montault ; and 
 though I will own that the elevation of your lovely 
 foster child wa9 as sudden as unexpected, yet to her, 
 perhaps, it has been productive of innumerable sor- 
 rows. Look at her sufferings in the old abbey, and at 
 the torturing suspense in which she was then kept, till 
 the elucidation of all the mysteries of her birth were 
 fairly revealed to her ; and then not by him she most 
 loved and venerated, and most respected, and hailed 
 in the sacred character of father. But these mysteries 
 were revealed to her in the character of him she most 
 abhorred, and whom she considered in the light of 
 a robber, and the purloiner of her property, till he 
 himself had confessed that he was not so ; and as Paulo 
 Michello addressed her, revealing to her the secrets of 
 her birth, and unexampled treachery of her grand- 
 mother (the Duchess of Braganza) towards her, it was 
 not likely that the mind of Lady Agatha should be in 
 that state of composure when she left the old Abbey, 
 as to forget the former scenes she had encountered 
 there, and therefore the greatest excuses might be 
 formed for any apparent neglect which might hereafter 
 appear in her conduct, as the daughter of the Duke of 
 Braganza, and so shortly becoming afterwards the wife 
 of Lord Montague Montault. Dear Peter, consider all 
 these things, and have some eompassion towards the 
 feelings of those who, summoned on this awful occa- 
 sion, wish to pay the last duties to the remains of Cap- 
 tain Singleton." 
 
 This exhortation of the worthy doctor seemed to 
 have due weight on the mind of the fisher Blust, and 
 
. o 
 
 • /:, At ■ - ■ &0&5&91 '/'/, 
 
 ..■/■ . 
 
THE FISHERS DAUGHTER. 105 
 
 he preserved the utmost decorum while the awful 
 ceremony was preparing before the door of the Cot- 
 tage on the Cliff. 
 
 The hearse which was to convey the beloved body 
 to the place of interment, being drawn up to the door, 
 Lady Montault had passionately expressed a wish to 
 her husband to see the corpse of her beloved foster 
 father before he was consigned to his last peaceful 
 home, and Lord Montague had communicated this 
 wish of his adored wife to his father, who exclaimed — 
 
 " If she wishes it, why should you deny it to her. 
 It is very natural; and though it is a dreadful sight 
 for her to witness in her present situation, yet the 
 consequences may be worse if you refuse her solicita- 
 tion ; let Agatha therefore be brought early in the 
 carriage, before the funeral party have assembled here, 
 but let her not remain a moment beneath this roof 
 after her wishes are complied with." 
 
 Accordingly Lady Montault arrived, and, weak as 
 her indisposition had already rendered her, appeared 
 collected and firm, when the Marquis conducted her 
 to the apartment which contained the remains of Cap- 
 tain Singletor. 
 
 " Remove the lid of the coffin that I may behold 
 his face," uttered her ladyship, in a commanding tone 
 to Marguritte, who feared that the sight of the corpse 
 would, in her ladyship's delicate state, operate too 
 powerfully on her feelings j but in this idea, not only 
 Marguritte, but every one else were mistaken, for Aga- 
 tha advancing slowly towards the bier, impressed a 
 fervent kiss upon the clay cold cheek, and falling on 
 ber knees at the foot of the coffin, murmured a prayer, 
 
 h 5 o 
 
106 the fisher's daughter. 
 
 the words of which reached no mortal ear. Then 
 turning to her husband and the Marquis, who had 
 conducted her hither, told them that she was now 
 ready to depart again. 
 
 She was instantly conveyed to her carriage; her 
 companion on this melancholy occasion having only 
 been Beda, whose sobs as they quitted the Cottage on 
 the Cliff were audibly heard. 
 
 " Now then let us not lose a moment," cried the 
 Marquis ; " all is ready. Let the body be immedi- 
 ately conveyed to the hearse;" and the mournful cere- 
 mony immediately commenced. 
 
 Thousands of spectators had assembled at the doors 
 of the Cottage on the Cliff, and they were the poor and 
 the unfortunate who had been relieved by the bounty 
 of Captain Singleton ; and the Marquis could not de- 
 prive them of this last earthly gratification, (if such it 
 could be called,) in witnessing the last ceremony per- 
 formed over the remains of their benefactor. 
 
 " Let them remain," cried the Marquis, " but let 
 them preserve order :" and the coffin being deposited 
 in the hearse, richly caparisoned with plumes of fea- 
 thers, the mourning coaches, which were five in num- 
 ber, drew up, and received the mourners. The two 
 youths Alfred and Wolf, with handkerchiefs to their 
 eyes, exhibiting by their heart- felt grief and loveliness 
 of youth, a most interesting figure in the funeral pro- 
 cession. 
 
 At length they moved slowly and cautiously down 
 the cliff, the whole of the funeral cavalcade ; and when 
 they reached the entrance of the town of Cromer, all 
 windows were up, and the church-yard filled up with 
 
THE FISHER'S DAUGHTER. 107 
 
 innumerable spectators to witness the awful ceremony. 
 At a little distance only was the grave of the unfortunate 
 Olive Blust; the fisher's eye caught the spot and the 
 name of his beloved child ; and when the funeral service 
 was performing, and the body of Captain Singleton 
 being committed to the earth, nature operated too 
 powerfully on the feelings of an agonized father; he 
 sobbed aloud, and unable to support himself, sunk 
 nto the outstretched arms of Dr. Lessington, who 
 mmediately conducted him from a scene so replete 
 with oainful retrospection to his anguished feelings. 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 " Oh ! my young master, your graces 
 
 Serve you but as your enemies ; 
 
 They are sanctified and holy traitors to you. 
 
 Oh ! what a base world is this, 
 
 When what is lovely 
 
 Envenoms him that bears it." Shakespeare. 
 
 Dr. Lessington endeavoured by every consoling 
 means in his power, to lessen the severe shock which 
 the feelings of Mr. Blust had sustained at sight of the 
 mouldering heap of dust which contained all that now 
 was visible of the remains of his lovely and unfortu- 
 
lOli THE FISHER S DAUGHTER. 
 
 nate ciuiu. It was not far removed from that to vvnicn 
 Captain Singleton was consigned as his last peaceful 
 home ; and the inscription of " Sacred to the Memory 
 of Olive Blust," very soon became perceptible to the 
 eyes of an agonized father, in whose feelings, compunc- 
 tion as well as affection had alternately predominated ; 
 and it wns not till the mournful procession slowly de- 
 parted from the place of burial, that the fisher had 
 perfectly recovered his composure, so as to be able to 
 join the funeral guests which had again assembled at 
 the Cottage on the Cliff, where, after partaking of some 
 slight refreshment, they took their departure to their 
 respective habitations. The Duke of Braganza, and 
 the Marquis of Montault, had been particularly affect- 
 ed at the situation of Mr. Blust, and the unsophisti- 
 cated feeling and sensibility he had betrayed; while the 
 conduct of the two youths, Alfred and Wolf, towards 
 their protector, had excited universal praise and sym- 
 pathy; and before the Duke took his leave on this 
 mournful occasion, he shook hands with each of them, 
 intimating to Mr. Blust, that he felt interested in the 
 welfare of his adopted sons so greatly, that it was his 
 wish to afford them every assistance in his power, in 
 whatsoever profession of life they were going to pur- 
 sue ; and he made the enquiry with seeming anxiety 
 of Dr. Lessington, if he knew what arrangements Mr. 
 Blust had made for the future establishment of the 
 shipwrecked boys. 
 
 "As certainly he does not mean that now they are 
 
 ripening into maturity," uttered his Grace, " that they 
 
 should pass their lives in a state of inactivity. They 
 
 now of an age to do something for themselves, 
 
the fisher's daughter. 109 
 
 without being a burden on the worthy man, who has 
 so generously discharged his duty towards them. ;> To 
 which Dr. Lessington replied — 
 
 " I am not fully acquainted, your Grace, with Mr. 
 Blust's intentions respecting the youths, but I have 
 heard him declare what were the inclinations of the 
 boys themselves. Wolf, who is the most spirited, 
 and by far the most animated of the two, has disco- 
 vered a strong propensity in his disposition to embrace 
 a military profession. The other, Alfred, of softer ha- 
 bits, and a more grave and sedentary turn of mind, is 
 disposed for the church." 
 
 " I am happy to hear it," returned his Grace ; " for 
 it strikes me forcibly that I can serve both their turns 
 without injuring the interests of either. I will speak 
 to Mr. Rlust at a more seasonable opportunity, and 
 will instantly commence my operations with the two 
 boys, the elder of whom I think the finest looking 
 youth that I ever beheld ; if I mistake not, he it was 
 who was the companion of my daughter in the ruins 
 of the old abbey, when the hand of treachery stole her 
 from the protecting roof of fisher Blust." 
 
 " Yes, your Grace," replied Dr. Lessington, u it was 
 indeed the young Wolf that accompanied the innocent 
 lamb to the unnatural sacrifice they were about to pre- 
 pare for her, and who remained with her through all 
 the perils of her adventurous fate when she was be- 
 trayed into the power of the pirates ; and 1 believe that 
 the Lady Agatha on this account feels greatly inter- 
 ested in the fortunes of the youth." 
 
 The Duke Braganza, after a thoughtful pause, ex- 
 claimed, as if endeavouring to recollect many circum- 
 
110 THB FISHERS DAUGHTER. 
 
 stances that might be associated with his present 
 thoughts and wishes — 
 
 " You are right in that conclusion, Sir ; I have heard 
 my daughter often speak of the intrepid courage and 
 noble disposition of this brave boy on the evening she 
 was spirited away by the ruffians on the Cliff, and wish 
 that his fortunes were provided for. I now more per- 
 fectly remember all that my Agatha said to me on that 
 subject soon after her marriage with Montague Mon- 
 tault, and it shall be ordered so. Wolf shall be pro- 
 vided for, and so shall Alfred. We are all brought up 
 with a view of entering the busy world, and it matters 
 not whether we acquire fame as scholars, churchmen, 
 or soldiers, provided that fame be purchased with ho- 
 nor, and gained by industry and integrity; whether in 
 foreign climes it is so obtained, or decked with honors in 
 the high courts of European palaces, the influence on 
 the aspiring imagination of youth is still the same, and 
 the excitement lasts for ever." 
 
 et Your Grace's observation is most certainly true," 
 rejoined the doctor j " and I predict from what I have 
 seen in the youth Wolf, that he is not only qualified to 
 take an active part in life, but is most materially form- 
 ed to make a shining character therein." 
 
 " I will then soon put him to the test, to prove the 
 qualities you speak of so highly," cried his Grace, 
 " and beg you will intimate to the fisher Blust my in- 
 tention to serve his adopted sons, by making use of all 
 my interest for the accomplishment of their wishes. 
 He may, if he pleases, call at Montault Castle so early 
 as to-morrow, when we will confer on this subject 
 more fully. I will then examine the boys as to what 
 
THE FISHER'S DAUGHTER. Ill 
 
 have been their respective branches of education, and 
 if 1 find them qualified for the professions they have 
 made choice of, will immediately interest myself to 
 procure them situations adequate to their merits." 
 
 The Duke now ascended the steps of his carriage, 
 and the doctor bowing with the most profound respect, 
 it immediately drove from the Cottage on the Cliff, 
 followed by that of the Marquis of Montault; after 
 which the funeral guests slowly departed, and the 
 fisher still absorbed by melancholy reflections, was at 
 length prevailed on, by the united entreaties of his son- 
 in-law, Mr. Russel, and the worthy Dr. Lessington, to 
 pass the remainder of the day with his daughter Jessy, 
 whose presence alone was likely to remove the cloud 
 of sorrow which still hung heavily on his furrowed 
 cheek; and of course Mr. Russel most cordially in- 
 vited Dr. Lessington to join his father-in-law on this 
 occasion. 
 
 " Will you do us that favour, Doctor ?" exclaimed 
 honest Sam. " I am a man of no compliment, but I 
 shall be proud of your company, and my Jessy will be 
 happy to see you." To which the doctor jocosely re- 
 plied — 
 
 " I know she will, my good fellow, and that is the 
 very reason why I accept of your invitation." 
 
 There is an ingenuous and spontaneous feeling in 
 undisguised friendship and hospitality, that requires 
 no ceremony or outward form ; in short, it will not 
 admit of either when it is really of the genuine kind, 
 for kindred hearts very soon discover each other, and 
 establish a reciprocal regard that does not change j and 
 which neither sails down with the stream of fashion. 
 
112 THE FISHER'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 or alters Us steady course when the gales of adversity 
 are keenly blowing around the unsheltered head of the 
 unfortunate; and the youths Alfred and Wolf, knew 
 that they needed no invitation from the fisher Blust to 
 accompany him to the house of Mr. Russel, where they 
 always met with the most cordial reception from the 
 kind and affectionate Jessy, and where they were never 
 treated with a warmer welcome than the day they had 
 followed the remains of the lamented Captain Single- 
 ton to his last peaceful abode. 
 
 But it was not till Jessy had bestowed the fondest 
 caresses on her beloved father, that he appeared to re- 
 cover his usual temperature of disposition ; but when he 
 had partaken abundantly of his favourite beverage, 
 with a plentiful supply of pipes and tobacco, he began 
 to converse with his accustomed jocularity of humour, 
 and shiver his topsails ; for it must be observed, that 
 however offensive to the ears of delicacy or refinement 
 a seaman's phraseology may be, that " shiver my 
 topsails" was as natural to Peter Blust, as that which 
 often proceeds from more polished lips or wiser heads, 
 and certainly more crafty hearts ; and that it was much 
 better for Peter to make use of the language of a sea- 
 man, than to utter oaths or imprecations of a blasphe- 
 mous nature, which even the votaries of fashion so 
 improperly use and make choice of in preference to 
 any other. 
 
 We are sorry therefore we cannot teach our Peter 
 better manners, though we are certain that we cannot 
 give him a better heart, being well persuaded that he 
 will continue to shiver his topsails in despite of the 
 utmost arguments that can be adduced, to say that so 
 
THB FISHERS DAUGHTER 113 
 
 constant a repetition of a seaman's phrase is offensive 
 to the delicacy of a lady's ear; but, admitting it to be 
 so, what can be done with so perverse a creature as 
 fisher Blust? We might as well bid the ocean cease 
 to flow, or the winds to blow in obedience to our com- 
 mands ; in fact it was his natural element, and he could 
 not live out of it, any more than fish out of the bosom 
 of the waves. But to proceed. 
 
 When Peter had began to wax a little mellow from 
 the effects of the excellent dinner his Jessy had set 
 before him, and two or three supplies of some strong 
 grog, or in other words, cold brandy and water made 
 into punch, which !\Jrs. Russel knew well how to ac- 
 commodate to the taste of her father, he evinced his 
 usual signs of jocularity, making the doctor and his son- 
 in-law laugh heartily at some of his whimsical jokes, 
 which, to say the truth, were none of them very re- 
 markable for delicacy or refinement; but as Jessy was 
 not present, and his adopted sons had also retired with 
 her to take a walk in the garden before tea, they were 
 admissible, though the doctor had often occasion to re- 
 mind him, " that the glass was beginning to circulate 
 somewhat too freely, and that a headache on the fol- 
 lowing morning, from its potent influence, might be a 
 disagreeable companion. "Besides, friend Blust," added 
 the doctor, with great good humour, and gently push- 
 ing the bottle to the opposite side of the table to that 
 on which the fisher was sitting, " you will have some 
 business to transact to-morrow at the Castle of Mon- 
 tault, with no less a personage than his Grace the Duke 
 of Braganza." 
 
 At which Peter, taking the pipe from his mouth, and 
 cb p 
 
]14 THE FI3HER S DAUGHTER. 
 
 giving the doctor a sagacious and significant nod, voci- 
 ferated in no very gentle accent — 
 
 " The devil I shall ! Who told you so, friend Les- 
 sington ?" 
 
 " His Grace was himself my informant/' uttered the 
 doctor." 
 
 " Well, so he may be," cried Peter ; " I can't say 
 any thing as to the matter of that, but shiver my top- 
 sails if he has not told you the most confounded lie 
 that ever a man did in all his born days; and Duke or 
 no Duke, I would tell him so as soon as look at him. 
 Go to the Castle after they have turned my Jessy away 
 from it ; no, curse me if ever they catch me there again. 
 I say doctor, do you take me for a nincumpoop ?" 
 
 To which the doctor, who found he would have some 
 difficulty in removing the prejudice he had formerly 
 conceived against those who had offered the slightest 
 disrespect to his daughter, very coolly replied — 
 
 " No, but I take you for a man, Peter, who when 
 good fortune throws something in his way, would in- 
 deed be a nincompoop if ever he slighted her favours. 
 The goddess is so fickle minded, that she is not every 
 day to be found in a good humour, to be plain with 
 you." The doctor paused and mended his draught, or 
 rather replenished his glass with some more punch ; 
 and the fisher, who had not patience for one of the 
 cardinal virtues in his disposition, loudly vociferated — 
 
 u Plain — well doctor, that's what 1 like, plain sail- 
 ing and plain speaking is my way, and I wish you to 
 speak plain enough for me to understand you. What 
 do you mean by saying that I am to go to-morrow to 
 the Castle of Montault ? What to do ? for curse me 
 
THB FISHER'S DAUGHTER. 115 
 
 if I would not run a hundred miles from it. I don't 
 like any such fine gentry that don't know what it 
 is to remember * the bridge that carried them safe 
 over ;' that's the point of the compass you know friend 
 Lessington, and shiver my topsails if I don't stick to it 
 till I am a sheer hulk, and gone aloft. What do you 
 want me to go to the Castle for ? I should be glad to 
 know. " 
 
 " I will answer that question when you have resolved 
 mine," cried the doctor. " You wish to provide for 
 the two boys you have so kindly taken under your 
 protection, do not yon?" To which Peter, out of all 
 patience with the doctor, exclaimed — 
 
 " Why who the devil doubts it ? Shiver my topsails, 
 beant I going to make one a parson and the other a 
 soldier, as soon as ever I can find a birth for them?" 
 
 " True, friend Peter," cried the doctor, smiling at 
 his impetuosity; " there is no one doubting of your 
 kind intentions towards them. The man who performs 
 a generous action without interest or reward, can never 
 be suspected of want of integrity and the purest prin- 
 ciples of Christianity towards his fellow creatures. 1 
 must now, however, come to the point in question, 
 without further discussion on the subject." At which 
 Peter, again interrupting the doctor, reiterated — 
 
 " Do if you please doctor, come to the point di- 
 rectly, for curse me if you have not been tacking about 
 this half hour, and nobody can tell what port you are 
 steering for." 
 
 " A moment's patience," uttered the doctor calmly, 
 li and I will endeavour to explain myself to your satis- 
 faction. The Duke Braganza was highly pleased this 
 
116 the fisher's daughtek. 
 
 morning with the conduct as well as the appearance of 
 the two boys, Alfred and Wolf." 
 
 " And who the devil cares whether he was pleased 
 or not," answered Peter. " What has the Duke to do 
 with my boys ?" 
 
 " But you have no objection to his Grace having 
 something to do with them, if by any influence he pos- 
 sesses he can forward their interest, and aid your kind 
 intentions in setting them forward in life," uttered the 
 doctor. 
 
 Instantly the storm which was gathering fast on the 
 brow of the fisher dispersed, and a smile like a sun- 
 beam irradiated his whole countenance, while he ex- 
 claimed — 
 
 " What did the Duke say he would speak up for the 
 poor lads ? Did he though, doctor?" 
 
 " He not only said it," replied Dr. Lessington, " but 
 I am certain he intends to offer them every assistance 
 in his power. I informed his Grace of the choice they 
 have each of them made, and his reply was, ' I must 
 have some conversation with Mr. Blust on the subject; 
 tell him to come to the Castle, and enquire for me to- 
 morrow morning.' " 
 
 Peter was not only abashed, but was silent ; even his 
 pipe had forgot its office, and after a pause of some 
 length, he sighed deeply, murmured, but not distinctly, 
 the name of Agatha Singleton, and exclaimed — 
 
 " Well, that was kind of the Duke; shiver my top- 
 sails, every man who stretches forth his hand to help a 
 (atherless child through the rough waves, and brings 
 him into safe moorings, has a heart about him, let him 
 be Duke or no Duke. God bless him. I say he shell 
 
THE FISHER'S DAUGHTER, 117 
 
 have the prayers of Peter Blust as long as 1 can heave 
 the anchor apeak; and though I don't vastly like going 
 to the Castle, by reason of my lady turning up her nose 
 at my Jessy, yet for the sake of the poor boys, I won't 
 rip up old grievances, it would be wrong you know, 
 doctor." 
 
 ' Absurdly so, in my humble opinion," uttered the 
 doctor. " King Charles's rules were excellent ones, 
 and no man should forget them when he is going to 
 aid the cause of the unfortunate. Forget and forgive, 
 friend Peter, should be the universal sentiment betwixt 
 man and man ; and I will say this of you, that no man 
 is apt to do this more than yourself." 
 
 " Yes, but I am a devilish long while before I can 
 argue the topic with myself though," cried Peter, again 
 resuming his pipe, and breaking out into his usual 
 strain of jocular humour, to the highest possible satis- 
 faction of the worthy doctor. " Come, shiver my top- 
 sails, here's to King Charles's rules for ever," added he 
 filling out a bumper. 
 
 This sentiment being drank most cordially, and a 
 summons to tea immediately following, they adjourned 
 to the apartment in which the lovely Jessy and her 
 young companions were sitting, after they had taken a 
 delightful walk over the plantations ; and where, during 
 the course of an uninterrupted conversation, Wolf 
 • ould not resist an enquiry of Jessy after the health 
 and the happiness of the Lady Agatha ; to which Jessy, 
 with a half suppressed sigh, and averted looks from the 
 anxious ardent ones of Wolf, replied — 
 
 " You ask me, dear Wolf, what I really do not 
 know." 
 
118 the fisher's daughter. 
 
 " How !" uttered he, in the most profound astonish 
 ment, and his heart throbbing violently, " not kno 
 how Lady Agatha is? Can it be possible Jessy, aud 
 living so near her?" 
 
 " It is no less possible than true, I can assure you 
 Wolf," cried Jessy ; and sighing yet more deeply at 
 many tender recollections which were associated with 
 the idea of her beloved friend, she added with consi- 
 derable emotion, " I entreated you once before, when 
 you were talking of the Lady Agatha, to spare me any 
 questions relative to her, especially those which I find 
 it utterly impossible to resolve. I must now for the 
 last time Wolf repeat my earnest request, that you 
 Vsk me no more questions concerning the Lady Aga- 
 K;a. I see her not, nor yet do I correspond with her, 
 now then should I know the state of her health or her 
 circumstances, unless I possessed the art of divina- 
 tion ?" 
 
 " I have not heard you speak so coldly of the friend 
 your heart once so dearly loved Jessy," uttered Wolf, 
 both pained and mortified. " Never till this moment 
 have your lips pronounced the name of Agatha with 
 apathy. Has she then fallen from the esteem of her 
 beloved Jessy ? no, I will not admit the unhallowed 
 thought ; she could not fall from your esteem, or that 
 of mortals, she was too pure and faultless a being; she 
 was angelic, as much in her mind as in her lovely per- 
 son ; she may have offended Jessy, but she could never 
 sink in her opinion, that J am confident \ yet — yet — I 
 long to know" — 
 
 Wolf had unconsciously taken the hand of Jessy, 
 who had linked her arm in his as they ascended a little 
 
f & ' u 
 
 ('/>'// #" ■ / (■' 
 
 " 
 
THE FISHER'S DAUGHTER. 119 
 
 green mount, around which she had planted a variety 
 of flowers of the most choice collection, and he trem- 
 bled so excessively during this conversation concerning 
 the Lady Agatha, that she almost repented having ut- 
 tered so decidedly her opinion on the subject ; soften- 
 ing her voice therefore as much as possible from the 
 tone of asperity it had assumed, she exclaimed — 
 
 61 Dear Wolf, how deeply I regret that you compel 
 me to adopt a style so foreign to my heart, as that of 
 seventy towards you, but indeed, indeed, 1 must not 
 suffer you to cherish in your breast a passion that will 
 destroy its repose. Hopeless, utterly hopeless — crimi- 
 nal too ; yes Woif, it is criminal now for you to pro- 
 fess an attachment for the Lady Agatha more than 
 gratitude or friendship warrants ; she is now a wife, 
 Wolf, and will shortly be a mother ; her husband, Lord 
 Montague Montault, has an infirmity of disposition, 
 the most unhappy for himself, and most unfortunate 
 for bis lovely wife. Vou are no stranger to that infir- 
 mity, for I have told you of it; it is jealousj, that hated, 
 that dreaded, that implacable and relentless enemy to 
 all domestic joys, and the very grave, it may be term-? 
 ed, as surely as it is the end of all connubial peace and 
 happiness." 
 
 " Jealousy, where no cause can be assigned for its 
 impression, is madness, infatuation, and folly's ex- 
 tremest point," uttered Woif; '*' or rather the scorpion 
 of the mind, whose venomous sting having once been 
 instilled into it, poisons it for ever." 
 
 " It is too fatal and incontestible a truth," answered 
 Jessy, f£ for the, happiness of my poor Agatha; but let 
 
120 TUB USHERS DAUCHTB 
 
 us now drop the subject, and you endeavour to think 
 no more of it, and to remember Lady Agatha only in 
 the character of the wife of Lord Montague Montault, 
 not as the reputed daughter of Captain Singleton." 
 
 Wolf sighed deeply, and pressing the hand of Jessy, 
 promised that he would fulfil her request, although he 
 acknowledged that the task would be attended with 
 immeasurable difficulty. 
 
 "Then there is a greater triumph in overcoming it," 
 cried Jessy; "but hush, here comes my father and 
 Dr. Lessington towards us ; my husband too, and Al- 
 fred following. I sent him with a summons to bring 
 them all to tea, which is now ready in the blue par- 
 lour." 
 
 And immediately the fisher came within hail of Jessy, 
 as he termed it, he vociferated — 
 
 " Come Jess, give us some catlap,' (this was the ele- 
 gant term which Peter always applied to the tea table,) 
 (i and let me be jogging home with the boys, before I 
 get a little fcop heavy, for you must know that I want 
 to argufy the topic with them a bit about my going to- 
 morrow morning to the Castle to speak to the Duke, 
 as he is so kind as to say he'll do something for the 
 lads, to set them a going in the world. I shan't say 
 nothing more about my lady, though, shiver my top- 
 sails, it will be a hard matter to make me forget her 
 turning up her ladyship's nose at my Jessy ; but we 
 must forgive old grievances." 
 
 " And bury animosities father," observed Jessy, with 
 her usual sweetness. *' i couid forgive my enemies, 
 had their actions been ever so unkind; and surely wo 
 
THE FISHER S DAUGHTER. 121 
 
 would not shew less lenity towards those we call our 
 tViends. And so the Duke is really interested for Al~ 
 fred and Wolf? How I rejoice to hear it!" 
 
 " And how somebody else will rejoice to hear it, 
 though it may not be quite so satisfactory to the feel- 
 ings of the rest of the noble family," cried Sam Rus- 
 sel, winking very significantly to his father-in-law, 
 who immediately joined him in a hearty laugh, which 
 the fisher, whether it was seasonable or not season- 
 able, always indulged himself with whenever occasion 
 called it forth ; at the same time, (and having now 
 seated himself without further ceremony next to Jessy 
 at the tea-table in the blue room, to which they had all 
 adjourned,) exclaiming in his usual high key — 
 
 " Yes, my lady won't turn up her nose for nothing 
 now, will she Sam ? Shiver my topsails, what will my 
 lady say when she sees Alfred in a parson's gown, and 
 Wolf with a red coat on his back." 
 
 (i I don't know what my lady will say," cried Dr. 
 Lessington, " but I know that I shall say, God bless 
 the Duke, with every vein in my heart ; nor have I the 
 smallest doubt, but that one day he will be the leading 
 star of the boy's fortunes." And so it proved — the 
 doctor had predicted rightly : for the ensuing morning 
 the fisher at an early hour went mounted on his fa- 
 vourite Rosinante to the Castle of Montault, where, 
 sending in his name, he was very quickly ushered into 
 the presence of his Grace the Duke of Braganza, who 
 had given previous instructions to his attendants to 
 admit Mr. Blust the very instant that he should an- 
 nounce his name; and so he was, when a conversation 
 immediately commenced, somewhat rather awkwardly 
 
 a 6 q 
 
122 the fisher's daughter. 
 
 on the part of Peter, respecting the establishment of 
 his adopted sons. 
 
 " I have interest both for the army and the church, 
 Mr. Blust," uttered the Duke, " and will use my en- 
 deavours to forward it as soon as possible in favour of 
 your two adopted sons, whom I must confer with pri- 
 vately if you please. Have you brought them with 
 you 
 
 0' 
 
 To which Peter replied, after being seated, and tak- 
 ing a glass of wine at the pressing invitation of his 
 Grace, though he would much sooner have preferred 
 brandy — 
 
 " No, my Lord, I did not choose to take that liberty. 
 I brought them no farther than the brow of the hill, 
 where I left them at the sign of the Trumpeter, in the 
 care of one Shelty Macawenson, who has kept that 
 sign for these ten years, seeing that he had the good 
 fortune to marry the landlord's daughter who kept the 
 house before him ; but the old boy popt off the hooks, 
 and Shelty popt into his place, because he happened 
 to please the fancy of Miss Dolly Macshiners, who was 
 a bit of an old maid, and had lost her market when 
 Shelty married ; but shiver my topsails if I think she 
 was any maid at all. No matter, it was not for Shelty 
 to slight a good offer ; so he bundled into matrimony 
 before one could say Jack Robinson, and has kept the 
 sign of the Trumpeter ever since : and there's where I 
 left the lads, till I made bold to come and speak to 
 your honor, by your honor's commands to one Dr. 
 Lessington, a worthy man, your honor, as ever broke 
 the bread of life. He has had many bright shiners of 
 me, and I never grudged to pay the doctor his bills, 
 
THK FISHER'S DAUGHTER. 1 *J«'i 
 
 because 1 know that he did r.ot want to fleece me; so 
 says I, Doctor, if ever you want a guinea, don't be 
 ashamed of asking Peter Blust to lend you one; and I 
 never say that to any man your honor, that I don't 
 think has principle and honesty enough to return again 
 whenever he has an opportunity." 
 
 " And there I applaud your discrimination," uttered 
 the Duke, highly delighted with the unsophisticated 
 manner of Peter. " A man is a fool to render assist- 
 ance to the unworthy and the profligate, who only 
 laugh at him for his credulity, and he loses his money 
 in the bargain : but come, Mr. Blust, let us to the bu- 
 siness which brought you here. The elder of the 
 youths whom you have adopted appears to be pos- 
 sessed of requisites well suited to the profession he 
 has made choice of; a bold, enterprising, and intrepid 
 spirit, with courage to defend his rights, and those also 
 of his sovereign aud his country, with modesty to con- 
 ceal his qualifications, which do but the more conspi- 
 cuously make them shine forth, and with redoubled 
 lustre, well suited to the soldier of war and fortune ; and 
 such 1 am of opinion your young Wolf appears to be to 
 all intents and purposes. He will never be one of your 
 feather-bed soldiers, and therefore I promise in a very 
 short time to give him the appointment of a cadet in 
 the East India service, without the least trouble or in- 
 convenience to you Mr. Blust, since on that occasion 1 
 will furnish the young adventurer with all that may be 
 necessary for his expedition, and give him necessary 
 instructions besides, that when he is promoted, which is 
 not unlikely to be the case, he may know how to conduct 
 himself with propriety, which should always distinguish 
 
1^*4 THE FISHER'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 the manners of a British officer, a brave soldier, an 
 honourable man, and a humane Christian. Now as to 
 the younger youth, whose name I think is Alfred?" 
 
 "Yes, your Grace," answered Peter, "a comely lad, 
 and as quiet as a church mouse; and that mayhap may 
 be one reason why he do like to become one of the 
 fraternity." 
 
 The Duke smiled, but made no comment on Peter's 
 broad, and by no means very delicate, observation ; at 
 length, after a pause, his Grace exclaimed — 
 
 " Well, if his disposition and his habits are so retir- 
 ed and so peaceable, I do not see that he can make 
 choice of a profession so likely to conduce to his hap- 
 piness and his comforts, for the church affords many 
 that all men do not enjoy in the busier scenes of life. 
 It is, however, one that if not supported with dignity, 
 had better not be supported at all; for the slightest 
 deviation of propriety in its holy calling, will be re- 
 membered with severity, pointed at with the finger of 
 scorn, and marked with the most indelible disgrace 
 and infamy. It is a bright station, but the least cloud 
 passing over it will dim its lustre and sully its purity. 
 It is not confident abilities, or a brillancy of genius 
 that will support it, without the aid of other requisites 
 to establish its order amongst men. Genius that would 
 help the poet, the artist, or the musician, would here be 
 of small avail, were not the moral virtues of the charac- 
 ter strictly maintained, and its rectitude faithfully pre- 
 served. A preacher of the holy gospel must have no 
 adventitious aid to set him off, he must shine from his 
 own light, and must not attempt to borrow it from 
 others. Precept will not alone do in the pulpit, there 
 
the fisher's daughter. 125 
 
 must be example as well, or the sacred calling of the 
 preacher will be little attended to, much less will he 
 be respected by his parishioners; when once he has 
 failed in his own duties, he must not attempt to teach 
 them to others." 
 
 " No, certainly not, your honor," vociferated Peter, 
 to whom the former part of his Grace's speech was the 
 same as if he had been talking Algebra to him 5 " its of 
 no use whatever for a parson to put on a black gown 
 and a thingumbob under his chin, when he's only a 
 wolf in a sheep's clothing, and telling us that we shall 
 all go to the devil, if we don't mind what he says to 
 us, when he is shewing us the way to the black looking 
 gentleman himself all the while." 
 
 " Your remark is just," answered the Duke, " but 
 we will suppose that of this description of admonishers 
 the proportion is very small, and that young Alfred 
 will never add to the number. He is apparently a 
 young man of mild and gentle temperature of disposi- 
 tion, with a pleasing deportment ; he is therefore very 
 properly suited for the situation, which it is possible 
 that he may one day eminently adorn, and which does 
 not require that spirit of hardihood that Wolf so forci- 
 bly displays, and so strikingly exhibits in all his ac- 
 tions. It will be necessary however for Alfred to go 
 to a college, preparatory to the study of professional 
 duties. I will undertake to place him in one of emi- 
 nence, without your incurring any additional expense, 
 and thus pave the way to future fortune and to future 
 fame. Send for the youths, and I will have some con- 
 versation with them on the subject of the differenl 
 
126 THE FIShKft's DAUGHTBR. 
 
 professions they have made choice of; in the mean 
 time Mr. Blust, I beg you will take more substantial 
 refreshment than merely a glass of wine and a biscuit. 
 I breakfast late — you dine early — custom and habit is 
 second nature. Suppose then Mr. Blust you step into 
 the adjoining apartment, and some of our good folks 
 will spread before you some refreshment of which you 
 would choose to partake before you go to the said 
 Trumpeter for your adopted sons?" 
 
 This proposal was accepted with great satisfaction 
 on the part of Peter, who having arisen at an unusually 
 early hour that morning in order to be in time for his 
 Grace, began to feel the cravings of an appetite which 
 had never been satiated with luxurious meals, and there- 
 fore he was always ready to enjoy them ; and though 
 he might have gone to dine at Shelty's with no coarse 
 or ordinary fare placed before him, yet somehow or 
 other he preferred accepting of the Duke's cordial in- 
 vitation at the Castle, convinced that on this occasion 
 he would be treated with every mark of respect and 
 civility by those very domestics who had before treated 
 him so contemptuously. But they dared not now act 
 contrary to the commands of their illustrious lord ; and 
 Peter, who longed to be revenged of their former rude- 
 ness towards him, accepted of his Grace's invitation, 
 not more out of triumph, than the hope of being able 
 to retaliate, by shewing them of how much consequence 
 he was now considered in the estimation of their lord, 
 and he exclaimed — 
 
 " Why, I thank your honor, I believe I could take 
 a morsel of something if it was just ready; for being 
 
THE FISHER'S DAUGHTER. 127 
 
 up at sun- rise, together with the good smartish ride, 
 the boys and 1 have had over the cliffs, J can't say but 
 1 find myself a little peckish." 
 
 The bell was immediately rung by his Grace, who in 
 an authoritative tone of voice when the domestic ap- 
 peared, desired " that Mr. Bluat might instantly be con- 
 ducted into the banquet room and provided with re- 
 freshments; and inform the Marquis my brother that 
 1 wish to speak with him in the library whenever he 
 has leisure to attend me there," added his Grace, on 
 which the attendant bowed, and opening the door of a 
 splendid and spacious saloon in which the family usu- 
 ally dined, conducted Mr. Blust to a smaller, but not 
 less splendid one adjoining it, where there was a tnhl-e 
 and cloth spread, with four covers and napkins, for the 
 reception apparently of four persons ; and Peter hav- 
 ing taken a chair, began very coolly to fan his face with 
 Lis immense large old-fashioned hat, during the time 
 ihat the attendant was busying himself in arranging 
 the glasses, &c. on the side-board, where there was a 
 sumptuous display of plate, both in gold and silver, 
 tvith the ducal coronet and the arms of the Braganza 
 family engraved on it. 
 
 The very look of Peter, without the fanning of his 
 face with his hat, would have been sufficient to have 
 excited the risibility of the attendant, had he dared to 
 have indulged it at the expense of the fisher, whom he 
 had seen once before at the Castle, on the nighc that 
 the Marchioness had given so cool a reception to Jessy ; 
 and the tremendous passion that Peter exhibited in 
 ronsequence of it, was a memorandum he had left be- 
 nind him, not easily to be effaced from their recollec- 
 
l2S THE FISHEIt's DAUGHTER 
 
 tion ; and on Peter's complaining of the excessive sul- 
 triness of the weather, the attendant very courteously 
 replied — 
 
 " Vastly warm indeed Mr. Blust, quite a Bengal day 
 in England, but there's plenty of ways to keep one's 
 self cool ; for instance, there's cool air in the veranda, 
 where there's nothing but flowers of the most charm- 
 ing fragrance, and trees imported from all parts of the 
 world to sit under; then, Mr. Blust, there is another 
 convenience in this splendid mansion, plenty of cool 
 water, which, after dinner, we find very refreshing; a 
 luxury, I assure you Mr. Blust, to us gentlemen ser- 
 vants who drink wine till we loath the very sight of it; 
 cool water is then, you know Mr. Blust, a very de- 
 sirable commodity." 
 
 Peter who had listened in the most profound asto- 
 nishment at the loquacity of the supercilious and cox- 
 comical fellow, and who probably had heard nothing, 
 but that he drank wine until he loathed it; and not 
 having once removed his eyes from the broad stare 
 with which he surveyed him, now vociferated, with 
 very little regard to the fine feelings of his compa- 
 nion— 
 
 " Cool water! shiver my topsails, if you was a ser- 
 vant of mine, gentleman or no gentleman, I'd let you 
 see whether you should take the liberty of drinking my 
 wine till you could not bear the sight of it, and then 
 want water to give you a cooling. I'd cool you with a 
 vengeance if I had you at Herring Dale ; by gobes you 
 would not want cooling for a month to come after I 
 had once given you a good ducking head and ears in 
 my herring pond. Drink your master's wine till you 
 
the fisher's daughter. 129 
 
 are sick of it! why, confound your impudence, I say, 
 there's many a man that toils day and night for a mor- 
 sel of bread, and who labours by the sweat of his 
 brow, that is thankful if he can smoke his pipe over a 
 glass of small beer, while such fellows as you are loll- 
 ing asleep in arm chairs, and getting drunk at the ex- 
 pense of your master's cellar, and making free with hk 
 wine, to entertain your acquaintances with j but I sup- 
 pose it be the fashion to serve fine folks in this roguish 
 way, but if it be, more shame for them that do give it 
 encouragement, that be all." 
 
 At this precise moment the personages who were to 
 dine in this room, and at this table, made their appear- 
 ance, and which consisted of three, Peter with the 
 housekeeper making the fifth ; and who, being ap- 
 prised of his having been ordered some refreshments 
 by commands of his Grace the Duke of Braganza, very 
 pertinaceously, as the diin.er was brought in, invited 
 him to take a seat at the table, her companions being 
 merely the gentleman of the Marquis of Montault, and 
 the young lady, notwithstanding the costliness and ele- 
 gance of her attire, was only the waiting gentlewoman 
 of Lady Lavinia. The second gentleman who made one 
 of this dinner party was grey headed, and sat at the 
 head of the table, as seeming to have a higher autho- 
 rity than the rest; and his manners were certainly 
 much in his favour, for he seemed to know his capa- 
 city as well as his distance, even before such a man as 
 Peter Blust, who had penetration and sagacity enough 
 to discover that it would not do for servants, howevei 
 exalted or principal they may be in their department 
 or respective capacities, to assume the consequence 
 
 66 r 
 
130 the fisher's daughter. 
 
 and the authority of their masters, who if they are 
 really men of rank, education, and feeling, will always 
 betray the most distinguishing and indisputable mark 
 of it, that of never permitting their domestics to insult 
 their inferiors, or treat with contempt the feelings of 
 the unfortunate. 
 
 No man will suffer this who is a gentleman of exalted 
 rank, refined education, or urbanity of disposition ; 
 if he does, he is unworthy of being styled such, and 
 twenty times more unworthy of the good gifts which 
 fortune has bestowed, for it is then evidently clear that 
 he does not know how to make a proper use of them. 
 
 But to return to the dinner party : snug and com- 
 fortable enough, if the smiles of good humour had 
 been as excellently preserved as the luxury of appetite 
 nad been consulted on the occasion, for it certainly 
 consisted of a rich and elegant repast of no less than 
 two separate courses, and both wine and fruit crowned 
 the order of the table j and it would have been a query 
 to know which had the best dinner this day at the 
 Castle of Montault, — the Duke, or his gentleman ; the 
 Lady, or the lady's gentlewoman. At all events the 
 dinner was excellent, and Peter having a most excel- 
 lent appetite, sat down to enjoy it, the old man at the 
 head of the table being particularly courteous and civil 
 towards him. Peter feasted sumptuously, although 
 eyed with no very pleasing aspect by Mrs. Tartlet the 
 housekeeper, who was a prodigious favourite of the 
 Marchioness, high too in her confidence, and therefore 
 in impudence to all about her, that she either imagined 
 had not the spirit to defend themselves, or wanted the 
 power to exert it. The helpless, the friendless, or 
 
THE FISHKR's DAUGHTER. lol 
 
 those bound in the iey fetters of obligation, these 
 were completely under the avaricious power of Mrs. 
 Tartlet, as well as the lash of her censorious and vc- 
 nomed tongue. She had also been in the good graces 
 of the late Duchess of Braganza, whose diabolical pro- 
 ceedings with her daughter-in-law, and her subsequent 
 treachery to entrap her grandchild with Paulo Michello, 
 was also fully known to this most worthy and delecta- 
 cle housekeeper, who received many a rich present for 
 watching the quiet and peaceful inhabitants of Herring 
 Dale, when the beauteous daughter and heiress of Bra- 
 ganza slept beneath its roof; and aiso the actions of her 
 young master, Lord Montague, when he had fallen so 
 desperately in love with the charms of his lovely cousin, 
 though he did not know her then in any other character 
 than as the orphan daughter of the supposed deceased 
 Captain Singleton. And though at the death of the 
 Duchess all was disclosed, and the lovely Agatha re- 
 stored to all her natural, and so long usurped paternal 
 rights, yet Mrs. Tartlet could never bear the sight of 
 the lovely bride of the young lord ; and while her su- 
 perior beauty and her superior virtue awed, she, like 
 the serpent of old, viewed the beauteous pair in their 
 garden of connubial bliss with an envious and mali- 
 cious eye, and any little tale she could carry to her 
 mistress after Agatha had become the wife of her son, 
 Mrs. Tartlet was not slow to convey to the prejudice 
 or the disadvantage of Lady Agatha Montague Mon- 
 tault, while to the lovely object of her envy she 
 ever assumed an air of the most cringing and fawning 
 hypocrisy; so that the unconscious Agatha always 
 received her with the most cordial smiles of condes- 
 
132 the fisher's daughter. 
 
 cen'sion and affability, protesting to her lord, that she 
 thought Mrs. Tartlet a very good sort of a woman, to 
 which his lordship, half jest and half earnest, would 
 reply — 
 
 " f don't know much of her; she has been in my 
 mother's service many years, even before my sister 
 Lavinia was born, and is, I believe, no greater favourite 
 with the Marchioness than my sister ; but of a truth I 
 do not like the woman, and I cannot tell the reason 
 why ; but when I see her, she always reminds me of the 
 sketch of private life from the pen of the late lamented 
 Lord Byron ; heaven grant that at no future period I 
 may find her answering this description !" Lord and 
 Lady Montague were in the library when this conversa- 
 tion passed between them on the subject of the house- 
 keeper, and taking down a volume of this inspired and 
 elegant poet's works from one of the shelves, he read 
 aloud the following lines, to which his beauteous bride 
 listened with the most curious and profound attention, 
 
1ME PISHEK's DAUGHTER. 133 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 M For neither man nor angels can discern 
 
 Hypocrisy, the only evil that walks 
 
 Invisible, except to God alone, 
 
 By his permissive will, through heaven and earth , 
 
 And oft, though wisdom wake, suspicion sleeps 
 
 At wisdom's gate, and to simplicity 
 
 Resigns her charge, while goodness thinks no ill 
 
 Where no ill seems." Mi*,TON. 
 
 " Born in the garret, in the kitchen bred, 
 
 Promoted thence to deck her mistress" heaa ; 
 
 Next — for some gracious service unexpress'd, 
 
 And from its wages only to be guess'd — 
 
 Raised from the toilet to the table, — where 
 
 Her wondering betters wait behind her chair, 
 
 With eye unmoved, and forehead unabash'd 
 
 She dines from off the plate she lately wash'd. 
 
 Quick with the tale, and ready with the lie— 
 
 The genial confidante, and general spy — 
 
 Who could, ye gods ! her next employment guess— 
 
 An only infant's earliest governess ! 
 
 She taught the child to read, and taught so well, 
 
 That she herself, by teaching, learn'd to spell. 
 
 An adept next in penmanship she grows, 
 
 As many a nameless slander deftly shows. 
 
 Skill'd by a touch to deepen scandal's tints, 
 
 With all the kind mendacity of hints, 
 
 While mingling truth with falsehood — sneers with smi.ci 
 
 \ thread of candour with a web of wiles ; 
 
134 the fisher's daughter. 
 
 A plain blunt show of briefly spoken seeming 
 
 To hide her bloodless heart's soul-harden'd scheming ; 
 
 A lip of lies, a face form'd to conceal ; 
 
 And, without feeling, mock at all who feel : 
 
 With a vile mask, the Gorgon would disown ; 
 
 A cheek of parchment — and an eye of stone. 
 
 The female dog-star of her little sky, 
 
 Where all beneath her influence droop or die. 
 
 Oh ! wretch without a tear — without a thought, 
 Save joy above the ruin thou hast wrought— 
 The time shall come, nor long remote, when thou 
 Shalt feel far more than thou inflictest now ; 
 Feel for thy vile self- loving self in vain, 
 And turn thee howling in unpitied pain. 
 May the strong curse of crush'd affections light 
 Back on thy bosom with reflected blight ! 
 And make thee in thy leprosy of mind 
 As loathsome to thyself as to mankind ! 
 Till all thy self-thoughts curdle into hate, 
 Black — as thy will for others would create : 
 Till thy hard heart be calcined into dust, 
 And thy soul welter in its hideous crust. 
 Oh, may thy grave be sleepless as the bed,— 
 The widow'd ccuch of fire, that thou hast spread ! 
 Then, when thou fain would'st weary heaven with prayes, 
 Look on thine earthly victim— and despair!" 
 
 " There, my love/' exclaimed Lord Montague, look- 
 ing with intent and earnest gaze on the surprized and 
 almost horror struck countenance of his beauteous 
 wife, who had listened with amazement to this very 
 flattering and warm eulogium pronounced on the me- 
 rits of Mrs. Tartlet j " what think you of this portrait 
 for the confidential housekeeper of my mother, hei 
 favourite cabinet counsellor, Mrs. Deborah Tartlet? 
 Lord Byron knew well how to estimate their value j 
 would that the Marchioness knew as well how to draw 
 inferences from the same poisonous contagion that her 
 Abigail is now infusing in the bosom of Lady Lavinia, 
 
THE FISHER'S DAUGHETR. ]\j5 
 
 my young sister, over whose mind this sybil has sue h 
 unbounded sway ! but she cannot see it ; no, no, my 
 Agatha, my mother is actually so blinded by her par- 
 tiality for the watchful Argus in her family, that 1 be- 
 lieve were attesting angels called from heaven to prove 
 her apostate faith towards her, she would be slow in 
 giving credit to their assertion." 
 
 Lady Montault expressed her utmost astonishment, 
 and upon this strong testimony of her husband of the 
 merits and qualifications of the sagacious housekeeper, 
 was ever after very cautious how she advanced on any 
 further intimacy with, or encouraged the visits of Mrs. 
 Tartlet, which had been very frequently made after the 
 death of Captain Singleton, under the semblance of 
 consolatory friendship, and the most humiliating marks 
 of respect, which Agatha could not then deem to be a 
 species of the blackest hypocrisy and the grossest de- 
 ception towards her. Her health and spirits being, at 
 the irreparable loss she had sustained in her early friend 
 and protector, so extremely languid and delicate, that, 
 added to her also critical situation, made it impossible 
 to conceive that any mortal breathing under heaven's 
 canopy could own so much depravity, as to visit her 
 abode, like the good Samaritan, to pour oil upon her 
 wounds, only to pierce her more deeply to the heart ; 
 in short, Agatha received the visits of her mother-in- 
 law's housekeeper, during the confinement of her in- 
 disposition, with that open ingenuousness of character, 
 and noble generosity of disposition, which so particu- 
 larly distinguished her deportment, and so invariably 
 guided the impulse of all her actions. And Mrs. Tartlet 
 was very frequently at the residence of Lady Montague, 
 
j86 l HE FISHER. S DAUGHTER. 
 
 without the knowledge of her lord, on whose elegant 
 establishment, and splendid acquisition of fortune, with 
 all the glittering prospects that awaited it, she gazed 
 and sickened with envy, and like an ill weed that grows 
 beside a beauteous rose, she spread her leaves as far 
 as she could extend, in hopes to blight and crush the 
 blooming flower in all its lovely sweetness. Nor was 
 the prospect of the Lady Agatha giving birth to a son 
 and heir in the Braganza family likely to evaporate the 
 spleen that overflowed on the gall of this foul, envious, 
 and malignant sybil ; and she beheld the preparations 
 that were making for the approaching birth of the little 
 stranger, (whether male or female,) with a sentiment 
 which might have reposed in the bosom of a fiend, 
 not in that of any who bare the semblance of woman. 
 She never had liked Lord Montague, even when he 
 was a boy, for the best of all possible reasons, that he 
 had ever disliked her, because she had occasionally been 
 the cause of dissension with him and his mother ; she 
 now most treacherously cherished the deadliest hatred 
 towards him, and heartily wished and prayed, that 
 in his expectations of a forthcoming heir, he might 
 be defeated, and that the infant of Agatha might perish 
 in an untimely birth, and never be destined to behold 
 the light. Of these pious charitable wishes, however, 
 most unhappily for the beauteous bride of Montault, 
 she was profoundly ignorant, and consequently admit- 
 ted her visits, as being those of friendship and con- 
 dolence, and with the sanction of her family ; but 
 after the foregoing conversation had taken place with 
 her lord and her, Agatha, from the most prudential 
 motives that were possible, began to evince a more 
 
TUli FlSHEli's DAUGHTEh. 137 
 
 distant reserve towards Mrs. Tartlet than formerly, 
 which was soon perceived by the Argus eye of the 
 artful housekeeper, and of course not only communi- 
 cated to, but commented on by the Marchioness and 
 Lady Lavinia, and greatly excited the indignation of 
 both ladies, at any apparent slight or offence offered to 
 their favourite Abigail. 
 
 " Oh ! my brother perfectly makes an idiot of his 
 pretty little wife," uttered Lady Lavinia, with an en- 
 vious turn of her under lip, which is no advantage to 
 female beauty, even if she could boast of the charms of 
 a Medician Venus, " by telling every body that she 
 is a paragon of perfection." 
 
 " Which they must have extreme penetration to dis- 
 cover," cried the Marchioness, with no less an envious 
 sneer than her accomplished daughter. ee She is nei- 
 ther too wise nor too pretty, for all the fuss that Mon- 
 tague makes about her; in short, but for the name, 
 she has nothing of the Braganza family in her compo- 
 sition." 
 
 " Except the having of a little of the Braganza blood 
 in her veins," observed Mrs. Tartlet, and smiled con- 
 temptuously, in imitation of her august lady; " but Lord 
 bless me, she has no more of the air of a lady of high 
 birth or fashion, no more the look of your ladyship, or 
 my Lady Lavinia, than a sow's ear to a silken purse, 
 but that you know my lady is all owing to her bringing 
 up. What a bringing up she has had, mercy on me, 
 for the daughter of a Duke !" 
 
 " 'Tis most delectable. You are prodigiously right 
 there, Tartlet," uttered the Marchioness in proud ^dis- 
 dain. " First, among a set of fat ghostly friars, and 
 
 ;6 s 
 
138 th« fisher's daughter. 
 
 a parcel of old stiff formal nuns, who have taught her 
 to be as^ stiff and as formal as themselves. Next she 
 was transplanted to the care of Captain Singleton, the 
 most strange and amphibious animal in existence, who 
 taught the girl to be as strange and as eccentric a being 
 as himself, living on the top of that frightful odious 
 cliff, the very look of which is enough to give one a fit 
 of the vapours and the blue devils. Thirdly, when this 
 said Captain thought proper to disappear, for reasons 
 best known to himself, and left Miss Agatha, whom 
 he had made as romantic and as sentimental as a pupil 
 of a convent well could be, in the character of his or- 
 phan daughter, she was obliged to take her next quar- 
 ters beneath the roof of that sea monster Peter Blust, 
 and there her education was completed. Then she 
 was shipped over to the — " 
 
 Here her ladyship was seized with a violent fit of 
 coughing, whether by design or accident we cannot 
 tell. There was something however in the last place 
 of destination appointed for Agatha that stuck in her 
 ladyship's delicate throat, and she could not get it out 
 for the life of her, till Lady Lavinia helped her out, 
 and pronounced — 
 
 " Shipped her over to the ruins of the old abbey 
 you mean mamma, but that you know was the fault of 
 grandmamma, so we must say nothing about that, only 
 that its a great pity, though Agatha is really found out 
 to be a relation of ours, that my brother did not hap- 
 pen to take a fancy to one more becoming his high 
 birth and station ; for do you know that Agatha has 
 been living with such a set of barbarians, sea por- 
 poises, and wood demons, that positively she is a very 
 
the fisher's daughter. 139 
 
 unfit sort of a personage to move in the first style of 
 rank and fashion, for she has positively no more pride 
 than a dairy maid or a fisherman's daughter." 
 
 " True, my love, and will never look like any thing 
 better when my Lavinia is by her side, although she is 
 the Duke's daughter," answered the Marchioness, with 
 increased irony ; but more is the misfortune that the 
 son of the Duchess of Braganza should have contami- 
 nated himself with so low a connection, as the mother of 
 Agatha, who was nothing better than a beggar supported 
 by her country ; and yet it was so to happen that my 
 silly boy was to be caught in the same snare, and 
 marry the daughter of this very same low bred crea- 
 ture, this Agatha Delcrusa." 
 
 "But I have heard my grandmother say that she was 
 excessively beautiful," resumed Lady Lavinia. 
 
 " Yes, probably there was something in that," re- 
 torted the Marchioness, " and that was the only excuse 
 that Orlando had to make to his mother for the rash 
 and imprudent steps he had taken, in bringing this 
 creature into the family, and making her a Duchess, 
 who was better far to be his laundry maid j and cer- 
 tainly I do not wonder that her Grace was so deeply 
 mortified when she heard of the degrading connection, 
 and the clandestine marriage that her only son (at that 
 period) had made with the low bred Florentine ; and 
 that to prevent further disgrace on the ancient and il- 
 lustrious house of Braganza, she should have been 
 provoked to take measures that — that— -that" — 
 
 Another fit of coughing seized the Marchioness in 
 the very middle of her speech, and the obliging Mrs. 
 
140 the fisher's daughter. 
 
 Tartlet, the accommodating housekeeper, took her 
 ladyship up with the short sentence of — 
 
 " That could not be accommodated to her Grace's 
 satisfaction," uttered she, with the most unblushing 
 look and air of affrontery, well knowing that the mur- 
 der of the infant granddaughter of the Duchess of Bra- 
 ganza was the circumstance which the Marchioness 
 here alluded to ; and by no means either shocked or 
 dismayed by the recollection of so horrible a transaction, 
 she boldly went on in making observations on that dis- 
 gusting personage, (who had descended to the grave 
 with infamy and disgrace for ever entailed on her an- 
 cestors, by her brutal and unnatural conduct towards 
 the lovely and unfortunate Delcrusa,) in the presence 
 of the young Lady Lavinia, without once receiving the 
 slightest censure or reproach from her lady, as a check 
 to her licentious tongue; but who, on the contrary, 
 suffered her to proceed in ridiculing the conduct of the 
 wife of her lord, the Lady Montague Montault; and 
 burst into a most violent fit of laughter, when she ex- 
 claimed — 
 
 " Well, 1 protest that Montague is prodigiously ab- 
 surd to indulge his pretty moppet in all her childish ana 
 ridiculous follies, as if he had not made himself ridicu- 
 lous enough before he married her ; and so he is really 
 going to put his whole establishment into deep mourn 
 ing for the death of Captain Singleton." 
 
 "No, you don't say so, Tartlet, do you?" cried 
 Lady Lavinia, echoing the loud unfeeling laugh of the 
 Marchioness, while Mrs. Tartlet replied tc her interro- 
 gatory in the following manner •— 
 
THE FISHER'S DAUGHTER. 141 
 
 " But I do say so. your ladyship, and they are now 
 all in deep mourning at this present moment, coachman, 
 footman, butler, groom, Lady Agatha's woman, house- 
 keeper, laundry maid, aye down to the very scullion — 
 all have got a bit of black on." 
 
 ff And I suppose we shall have the little one, when 
 it comes, arrayed in a suit of sable," uttered the Mar- 
 chioness, " in compliment to Captain Singleton. Poor 
 Montague, what a dotard thou art made of for this 
 silly whining romantic girlj I wonder she don't per- 
 suade him to put the Cottage on the Cliff in mourning 
 to commemorate the memory of her dear papa Sin- 
 gleton." 
 
 "And the cat and the kittens," echoed Mrs. Tartlet, 
 and another loud laugh proclaimed the triumph of the 
 pleasantry and wit of the accommodating housekeeper, 
 in which the Marchioness and Lady Lavinia most in- 
 decorously joined ; and from that moment, the lovely, 
 unconscious, and assuredly most unoffending object of 
 their ungenerous and unmerited sarcasm, became also 
 the object of their jealousy, envy, and suspicion. Every 
 action was closely watched ; every word, every look 
 misrepresented ; every transaction, the most trivial, con- 
 veyed to Montault Castle by this lynx-eyed grimalkin. 
 
 It was precisely at the very period that the Duke 
 became interested in the fortunes and fate of the 
 youths Alfred and Wolf, that Mrs. Tartlet had began 
 her operations to undermine the happiness, and de- 
 stroy the repose of one of the most blest and 
 happiest of married pairs j for no sooner did the Lady 
 Montague Montault learn from the lips of her father 
 of the destination of Peter Blust's adopted sons, that 
 
142 the fisher's daughter. 
 
 Alfred was to be bred for the church, and her favourite 
 Wolf for the army, (whom she had not once seen since 
 she had quitted the old abbey,) than she expressed the 
 nost rapturous sentiments of unaffected joy, Lord 
 Montague then being present, when clasping her 
 lovely hands over her snowy breast, and with a look 
 of the most energetic and eloquent sweetness, she ex- 
 claimed — 
 
 " Oh, my dearest father ! how happy you have made 
 your Agatha by this most pleasing intelligence. I have 
 often in secret ruminated on the fate of these beloved 
 youths, and wished that they could be placed in situa- 
 tions that would never degrade their rising talent ; dear 
 Wolf will now obtain the wish of his heart. Poor fellow! 
 how often have I heard him declare how ardently he 
 longed to embrace a military profession ; and as 1 
 gazed on the fine intrepid countenance of this noble 
 boy, when 1 have marked the expression of his brilliant 
 dark beaming eye, his fine arch brow, his high forehead, 
 and his athletic well proportioned limbs, I have heaved 
 a sigh of regret, that I had no influence in promoting the 
 interest of this boy, and that his fine intrepid spirit 
 should be doomed to a life of obscurity for the want 
 of some kindly hand to bring that promise forth. My 
 prayer is heard for the poor friendless boy, it has" as- 
 cended to heaven, and my father, my dear father, is 
 permitted to be the guardian spirit who will watch 
 over the wanderings of poor Wolf.'* 
 
 " And aid the fortunes of Alfred. I will also do 
 that," uttered his Grace, " though I will own that 
 your young favourite evinces a superior display of ta- 
 lent to his foster brother; in short, I think Wolf 
 
THE FISHER S DAUGHTER. 143 
 
 one of the finest youths 1 ever remember to have seen, 
 either in this country or any other. What say you, 
 Montague ? did you ever see such line proportioned 
 limbs as the fellow has got? He is a giant, and yet so 
 admirably formed, that there is more of elegance than 
 grossness in his figure." 
 
 " He has an eye like an eagle too, has not he fa- 
 ther ?" utterred her ladyship; ie so piercing, and yet so 
 full of sensibility." 
 
 His Grace saw no reason why he should dissent from 
 the opinion of his lovely daughter; and on Lord Mon- 
 tague coldly observing that he could see nothing re- 
 markable in Lady Montague's Danish prodigy, his 
 Grace expressed some surprise, and more warmly 
 than ever expatiated on the perfections he had disco- 
 vered in him ; adding with a sort of waggery in his 
 manner of addressing his half offended, but more truly 
 his half jealous son-in-law — 
 
 "If you cannot see that the boy is what I have de- 
 scribed, by Jove nephew you must perforce be blind or 
 insensible to merit altogether, which I never discovered 
 in you before; however, I will not argue the point with 
 you now, but let the boys alone, till some revolving 
 years have passed over their heads ; perhaps Alfred 
 may be a bishop, and Wolf may be a general, but, 
 hark ye nephew, 1 would forfeit my diadem were I an 
 emperor, that Wolf would arrive to his exaltation first. 
 1 shall say no more, time will unfold." 
 
 The entrance of company to the apartment prevent- 
 ed the reply of Lord Montague Montault, and which, 
 though it would not have been in the s>hape of a fiat 
 contradiction to his father-in-law, would have been 
 
1 H the fisher's daughter. 
 
 such, as totally to disavow that iie at all coincided in 
 his Grace's opinion on the merits of young Wolf; and 
 strange to say, that the tenor of this morning's conver- 
 sation for ever rooted a most unnatural, and certainly 
 a most unmanly prejudice in the mind of Lord Monta- 
 gue against the favourite, now both of his uncle and 
 his lovely wife ; and as from trifles, as light as the very 
 air that fans the summer rose, arise causes most se- 
 rious, and big with impending fate, so this trifling con- 
 versation for ever coloured the fate of poor Wolf, and 
 made him an object of dislike, nay even of aversion, as 
 he was often the object of envy, to Lord Montague 
 Montault. But from himself, if possible, Lord Monta- 
 gue wished to conceal from whence had arisen so un- 
 generous a prejudice against an innocent and unoffend- 
 ing youth, for of no atom of offence had Wolf been 
 guilty towards him, except that of being a favourite 
 with his lovely wife, and that he was avowedly also a 
 favourite with his father-in-law the Duke, who, no 
 friend to prejudice himself, would not encourage it in 
 another; and far less in him whose liberal education 
 and exalted rank ought to set an example to the weak 
 minded, rather than promote propensities every way so 
 injurious to the love and charity of his fellow crea- 
 tures. 
 
 Was then jealousy the cause of his dislike to Wolf? 
 a kindling blush mounted to the cheek of Lord Mon- 
 tague at the bare suggestion of so unmanly a thought ; 
 jealous of a poor friendless boy, merely because con- 
 necting circumstances had rendered him an object of 
 compassion to his amiable wife, who on the night of 
 the tempest was equally the object of compassion to 
 
the fisher's daughter. 145 
 
 the fisher Blust, when in the solitary Cottage on the 
 Cliff she had been left in the supposed character of an 
 orphan, wholly destitute of friends and protection. 
 Was it not natural for Agatha to sympathize with her 
 fellow sufferers in the same hour of misfortune and 
 calamity — two shipwrecked youths who shared the 
 same protector, and were sheltered beneath the same 
 roof with her? Could purity itself assign any impro- 
 priety on her part, in the anxious solicitude she had 
 expressed for the welfare of these two youths ? And 
 what had she uttered to her father of Wolf, thatangeli 
 might not have heard and approved ? 
 
 Was it the beautiful energy of her manner, or the 
 lovely expression of her soul-speaking eloquent coun- 
 tenance, which gave her the look of a celestial 
 saint, that could give rise to that foul demon of jea- 
 lousy in a husband's breast — he to whom she had 
 given her virgin hand and her virgin heart with her 
 own free will and voluntary consent? Long before 
 she could call that passion by its name had she loved 
 Lord Montague. When under the humble roof of the 
 honest fisherman, Lord Montague had assailed her in 
 several shapes, to inform her of the ardent passion 
 with which she had inspired him, she had by every 
 means in her power endeavoured to suppress that pas- 
 sion and avoid his pursuit. Yet when after a conti- 
 nued series of persecution and cruelty, even from her 
 own relations, she had been treacherously betrayed, 
 and at last, by miraculous providence, had been pre- 
 served from sharing the fate of her unfortunate mother; 
 and when fully restored to her natural rights, as the 
 daughter and acknowledged heiress of the illustrious. 
 
 a"J t 
 
146 THE FISH Ell's DAUGHTER. 
 
 house of Braganza, the maiden modesty which so pe- 
 culiar y distinguished her, forbade her to declare her 
 attachment to her then unknown cousin, till in the 
 person of Lord Montague Montault he solicited the 
 hand of the daughter of the Duke of Braganza, whom 
 before he so ardently loved as the daughter of Captain 
 Singleton, and she accepted him. The hand, and the 
 heart, and the beautiful person, for which monarchs 
 would have sighed, she bestowed, with her own free 
 will, on her cousin, Lord Montague Montault, because 
 she felt well convinced that he had been in the posses- 
 sion of her affections long before she even dared to 
 acknowledge that passion to herself. 
 
 And was the firm affection of such a woman to be 
 doubted ? Could a thought be even suspected of her 
 chaste and honourable love towards him, even while 
 she yet bore in her bosom the then unborn fruits of their 
 marriage and their love ? Oh woman ! if indeed thy 
 name be frail, how much more frail are the beings, 
 who endeavour by every art, by every cruelty in their 
 power to make us so ? Answer us that, ye sage phi- 
 losophers, and ye rigid moralists ! Resolve the question 
 if you can, why such a pure spotless being as the lovely 
 heroine of these pages should, even while in the arms 
 of her husband, and that husband her heart's first 
 elected, while in that lovely bosom she bore the most 
 ample testimony of her love towards him, she could be 
 suspected of breathing a thought unworthy of a wife or 
 a mother ? Surely the demon of jealousy has power 
 to undermine the happiness of its victim, if that vie 
 tim is not in itself frail. Angels were not purer, love- 
 lier, holier, than the wife of Lord Montague Montault ; 
 
the fishkr's daughter. 147 
 
 }et for her compassion for a poor friendless boy, that 
 virtue was to be suspected, and by that husband whom 
 she adored, ere yet she had given to his arms the first 
 pledge of mutual love, and chaste honourable affection. 
 Lord Montague was jealous of his wife, and though he 
 dared not openly confess so dishonourable and degrad- 
 ing a thought, yet the object of this jealousy was the 
 innocent and unoffending youth Wolf, nameless in all 
 besides. But this passion was cherished only in secret 
 by Lord Montague ; and so far was Lady Agatha from 
 guessing at the real cause of her lord's sudden fits of 
 abstraction and melancholy in which he now frequently 
 habituated himself, that she often sent Wolf, who was 
 now, as also Alfred, on an intimate footing with her 
 father's family, and thereby had free intercourse with 
 her, to console him, often taking long walks with Wolf 
 and Alfred herself, and thus innocently renewing the 
 days she had passed with them under the roof of the 
 fisher Blust, without one unchaste thought in her lovely 
 bosom, one wish impure to injure the affections of her 
 dear lord. But not so blind or inexcusable was his 
 Grace the Duke of Braganza; he very soon discovered 
 that Wolf, the favourite of his lovely daughter, was by 
 no means that of his nephew, who although he greatly 
 surpassed Alfred in the progress of his studies, never 
 received, on the slightest occasion, the approbation of 
 Lord Montague. In the mean while the enraptured 
 youth, daily and hourly in the presence of the object 
 he secretly adored, drank in this growing and fatal pas- 
 sion, intoxicating and deep draughts of love ; if he saw 
 her but one fleeting moment in the day, he was satis- 
 fied, but when by any chance he reard that the Lady 
 
148 the fisher's DAUGHTER. 
 
 Agatha was indisposed, he was wretched beyond de- 
 scription, and often retired to his chamber, there in 
 secret to pour out his heart's anguish, which though 
 he concealed from all mortal eyes beside, he could not 
 effectually hide from Alfred, who perceived this fatal 
 attachment of his foster brother with the most poig- 
 nant sensations of regret, and most impatiently longed 
 for the period when his absence would become neces- 
 sary, and he would be far removed from the presence 
 of an object so fatally dangerous to his repose. For by 
 the Duke's express desire, both Wolf and Alfred were 
 taken under his immediate protection ; and ever since 
 their course of studies had commenced for the distinct 
 professions in which they were about to be engaged, 
 they occupied apartments at the residence of Lord 
 Montague Montault ; a request which, for divers rea- 
 sons, his lordship could not possibly deny to his father- 
 in-law, the Castle of Montault, at which his Grace had 
 the most splendid apartments wholly appropriated 
 to his use, being too public for the private tuition of 
 the youths, for whom masters were engaged of every 
 description j and as the elegant mansion in which Lord 
 Montague resided was presented to his lovely wife by 
 her father on her marriage with his nephew, Lord 
 Montague interfered as little as possible with what ar- 
 rangements his lady chose to make in it. 
 
 The noble display of magnificent gifts which the 
 Duke had given to his adored child, were indeed wor- 
 thy of the heiress of Braganza. The household furni- 
 ture was splendid beyond description ; the plate, jew- 
 els, and painting*, were magnificent: and although her 
 json was in the entire possession of all this treasure, 
 
the fisher's daughter. 149 
 
 the Marchioness could not divest herself of some eiw 
 vious sensations, when she beheld the lovely Agatha at 
 the head of so superb an establishment, and so princely 
 a fortune. The poisonous weed rankled in her heart, 
 and it would seem, by the yellow hue which tinged her 
 ladyship's complexion, that it had also mixed with the 
 gall that filled every vein there. Nor was Lady Lavinia 
 far short from experiencing similar sensations to those 
 which alternately agitated the bosom of her haughty mo- 
 ther; and each succeeding visit that she made to Violet 
 Vale, (which was the name given to this beautiful and 
 romantic seat of Lord and Lady Montague Montault,) 
 was accompanied with fresh sources of mortification, 
 and a more fixed dislike to her lovely and accomplish- 
 ed sister-in-law, whose various perfections, both of 
 mind and person, were so transcendently above her; 
 Vain were her efforts to imitate her, and ineffectual all 
 her art to conceal her vexation, when the superb equi- 
 page and magnificent wardrobe of the daughter of Bra- 
 ganza met her eye. Though at her marriage with 
 her brother, Agatba had displayed the most unexam- 
 pled generosity towards the Marchioness and Lady La- 
 vinia, by presenting them with the most sumptuous 
 gifts, it was not sufficient to shield her against the ran- 
 corous and malignant frowns of envy, in which the 
 Marchioness encouraged her daughter to the extremest 
 point j and there was not a day that some supposed 
 defection was not discovered by this amiable pair, in 
 their young and lovely relative, over which, however, 
 the veil of hypocrisy was so completely and impervi- 
 ously thrown, that it could not be discerned by the 
 nicest eye of discrimination; on the contrary, the most 
 
150 the fisher's daughter. 
 
 specious art and imposing flattery was called in to hide 
 the real sentiment of the heart ; and though not a ray 
 of genial sunshine warmed its frozen current to friend- 
 ship or to love for the beauteous daughter of Braganza, 
 yet she thought it such, with that openness of can- 
 dour, and lovely ingenuousness of disposition, which, 
 from the earliest dawn of infancy, had always marked 
 her character. It was the natural bias of her mind to 
 be sincere, because she always thought others so, and 
 Avith the most unsuspecting confidence, she received 
 the visits of her mother and sister-in-law at her elegant 
 and magnificent mansion, always shewing the Marchio- 
 ness the most delicate and affectionate attentions, and 
 paying her the compliment of consulting her taste and 
 opinion on every occasion ; not that either the Mar- 
 chioness or Lady Lavinia Montault were congenial to 
 the feelings of Agatha ; they were too fashionably bred, 
 and their system of conduct very dissimilar to her 
 own, as well as the style in which she had been edu- 
 cated ; but these were observations that she never suf- 
 fered to pass her lips, and were rather tolerated by 
 Agatha than severely censured. The one was the mo- 
 ther of her husband, the other his sister, and these 
 ties were sacred. She adored her husband, and loving 
 him, she endeavoured by every means in her power tc 
 please and gratify his relatives ; but the Marquis she 
 really loved, for he seemed but a counterpart of her 
 beloved Montague. He had all those points of charac- 
 ter, and mild and generous propensities of disposition, 
 that she so greatly admired in her husband j besides, 
 he was the very image of him in person, (saving the 
 disparity of their age,) and that was another ostensible 
 
THK FISHER'S DAUGHTER. 151 
 
 reason why Agatha was so passionately fond of her 
 father-in-law j who also was as passionately fond of her, 
 and frequently, in some little family jars, would hold 
 up the daughter of Braganza as an example worthy of 
 imitation, always repeating to Lady Lavinia, whenever 
 her conduct was perverse and undutiful towards him, 
 the following expressions : — 
 
 " Look at your cousin, the Lady Agatha Montault; 
 she is a treasure to her father, and a mine of wealth to 
 her husband, and a blessing to all around her. Oh 
 my Lavinia ! why do you not study more minutely the 
 character of your brother's lovely wife, and imitate the 
 excellent example she sets before you ?" 
 
 To which, with a most contemptuous smile, and a 
 sly insidious look at the Marchioness, who was seated 
 at work when this conversation took place between 
 the father and the daughter, Lavinia replied thus — 
 
 " Lord, papa ! me study the character of my bro- 
 ther's wife ? Not I indeed, for she is not in my 
 style." 
 
 " She is not indeed," uttered the Marquis dryly. 
 " The resemblanee between Lady Agatha and Lady 
 Lavinia Montault, is certainly not at present of the 
 most striking nature." 
 
 (t Well, that's not strange papa," uttered the now 
 mortified and indignant young lady, " for Agatha has 
 black eyes, and mine are blue ones ; besides, her com- 
 plexion is so dark, and — " 
 
 Lady Lavinia paused a little, puzzled somewhat to 
 find a fault, where a face was so perfectly faultless as 
 that of her beautiful cousin's j but the good natured 
 
li>'2 the fisher's daughter. 
 
 Marchioness very quickly assisted her, and scornfully i 
 exclaimed — 
 
 " And yours is so transcendantly fair, nry love ! Every 
 one must see that who is not absolutely blind; but 
 perhaps the Marquis chooses to veil his eyes to the 
 beauties of his own daughter, that he may have more 
 leisure to discover those uncommon perfections of the 
 Lady Agatha Montault, whose character he is so de- 
 sirous of your imitating ; but pray my love attend to 
 your own, and never think of studying the airs and 
 graces of one who has been studied by all the butcher's 
 and baker's wives and daughters in the parish, when 
 she appeared in the character of Miss Agatha Sin- 
 gleton." 
 
 Lady Lavinia giggled at this uncommon witticism of 
 her mother, but dared not laugh full in the face of her 
 father ; she had recourse to a rose, therefore, which she 
 pulled out of one of the vases, and placing it before her 
 more roseate lips, she continued to indulge in her pro- 
 pensity to laughter, till the Marquis, darting a reprov- 
 ing glance at his lady, exclaimed — 
 
 " And if your ladyship was to teach your daughter a 
 little of the propriety of conduct of some of the butch- 
 er's wives and daughters in this respectable parish, it 
 would be doing her an essential service, for she would 
 then know what the duty and the affection of a child 
 is to her parents, of which it is my deep regret to say 
 she is utterly ignorant." 
 
 The exit of the Marquis immediately succeeded the 
 close of his speech, and the ladies were left together, to 
 make what comments they pleased on the unusual 
 
the fisher's daughter. 153 
 
 severity which had marked its expression. Lady La- 
 vinia no longer in a mood for laughter, was the first 
 to break out with the following exclamation : — 
 
 " Lord, mamma, how insufferably rude and cross 
 papa is !" 
 
 " Yes, tolerably well for that," replied her ladyship ; 
 u but it is always a case in point, when he has been 
 paying a morning visit at Violet Vale, to see his pretty 
 sly demure sentimental pet, Lady Agatha Montault, he 
 always returns in an ill humour, and treats us in this 
 barbarous manner." 
 
 " And making his odious comparisons," retorted the 
 highly offended young lady. " I protest, mamma, that 
 it has given me a fit of the vapours. Don't I look 
 pale, mamma?" 
 
 " No, my love, as beautiful as ever," uttered the 
 Marchioness, M notwithstanding your father's barba- 
 rous lecture ; but we will give him the retort cour- 
 teous, my Lavinia. I'll teach him better manners the 
 next time we meet, and he puts you on a level with 
 your monkish cousin. He shall see no more of us for 
 this week, for we will have such racketing. There's a 
 brilliant party to night at Lady Easy's — another to- 
 morrow night at Lady Runnagate's — the next at the 
 old Duchess of Fathingale's — then the following with 
 the grand rout at the Countess of Wildfire's — a concert 
 at Colonel Popingay's — cards at Miss Beddy Periwin- 
 kle's. That's on a Sunday — delightful !" 
 
 " Charming, mamma !" cried Lady Lavinia, now 
 perfectly restored to her vivacity. V Then on Mon- 
 day—" 
 
 " We wind up our revels, by going to the review in 
 Z>7 v 
 
154 thk fisher's daughter. 
 
 a barouche and four," vociferated the Marchioness 
 Make your father mad — kill him with vapours for a 
 month to come — make him kneel at my feet for a 
 M r hole hour together, till I bring him to repentance, to 
 good humour, to joy, and to love. Oh my dear Lavinia ! 
 these are joys that none but women of fashion ever 
 knew. But for the cottage wife, and the cottage 
 beauty — " 
 
 " And my brother's wife ! Montague's wife ! Oh 
 she is exactly one of your cottage beauties !" retorted 
 the young lady, glad of the opportunity which her mo- 
 ther had afforded her, of depreciating, by any means, 
 the perfections of an object so eminently her superior. 
 
 " Yes, certainly Agatha comes under the denomina- 
 tion of that quiet, civil, well behaved sort of beings," 
 uttered the Marchioness, " who is no more fit for her 
 exalted station, than I au *n be an old apple woman 
 at the corner of St. James » , nut we must not say so, 
 you know Lavinia, not for the world ; it would not be 
 policy, you know, to despise the qualifications of tn . 
 Duke's daughter, and your brother's wife. We must 
 beware of that, and think what we please in private, 
 but we must not let the public know such thoughts. 
 Do you understand, Lavinia? The Duke is still im- 
 mensely rich, though he has acted so liberally to- 
 wards his daughter; and to offend his daughter would 
 be to offend him. You perceive he is very tenacious 
 of what is spoken of her, and perfectly idolizes the 
 sweet saint, because I suppose she reminds him of his 
 fair Florentine; but I think that Orlando cnerishes a 
 strong attachment towards your father, and if we pay 
 court to his daughter, whom he has so amply provided 
 
the fisher's daughter. 15 J 
 
 for, he will do something fur you. Your father cannot 
 give you much, Lavinia, and if you don't match with a 
 wealthy lord, your portion will be but small. There is a 
 necessity therefore, you know my love, of keeping well 
 with your brother and his saintly wife, in order that 
 your own fortunes may be promoted. Offend not 
 Agatha, therefore, for she is the darling both of her 
 father and her husband. Montague does not think 
 there is her equal in existence, and you see that the 
 Marquis your father entertains the same opinion of her 
 extraordinary perfections. Now, my love, though I 
 would willingly wage war with your father for this 
 partiality towards his son's pretty idol, yet it were not 
 wise for me to do so, and it would offend your brother. 
 Montague is extravagantly fond of his wife, and though 
 I am his mother, he would not excuse even me for 
 evincing any dislike towards her. Let us be cautious 
 then, my dear Lavinia," cried the wily Marchioness, 
 " how we play our cards with the folks at Violet Vale. 
 A little flattery sometimes does good, says the immor- 
 tal bard, and truly I am of his opinion. There is 
 nothing like it to help one on in a voyage of interest 
 through the affairs of this world, and few there are 
 that can be found wholly to resist its power, or repel 
 its secret and irresistible influence." 
 
 " But, dear mamma, Agatha does not like flattery," 
 cried Lady Lavinia. " I have often told her how beau- 
 tiful she is, and that whatever dress she puts on is 
 becoming to her, when it looks ill on every other 
 person. And what do you think was her reply to me? 
 * My dear Lavinia, you are aiming at compliments 
 
156 the fisher's daughter. 
 
 whbh I truly despise. I never allow your brother to 
 pay me a compliment at the expense of his sincerity ; 
 I was never vain of personal attractions, Lavinia, be- 
 cause I have always considered them as perishable as 
 the flower, which is blooming in the morning, and at 
 evening we behold it withering on a blighted stalk, 
 with all its beauty and its fragrance fled.' " 
 
 " Whining, romantic, and sentimental fool," ut- 
 tered the Marchioness, " she will infect thee with 
 her sickly fears, my Lavinia ; for in spite of all grave 
 sages say, as the Poet Laureat said last year in his 
 complimentary lines to a royal personage — 
 
 ' Beauty, beauty, ever wins the day.' ' 
 
 And Lady Lavinia most heartily subscribing to her 
 dear mamma's opinion in this particular, they retired 
 to their respective dressing rooms, to consult on the 
 important business of the toilet. 
 
the fisher's dauuhtek. 157 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 ft Beneath the flow'ry shrubs 
 
 A snake disclosed its crested front, 
 
 And spit its venom forth ; 
 
 But hurtless I escaped 
 
 The intended vengeance." Dr. Mooub. 
 
 The resolution of the Marchioness, with respect to 
 the arrangements which she had formed for herself 
 and daughter, Lady Lavinia, for the ensuing week, was 
 not to be shaken ; she was not one of those ladies, 
 when she had set her mind on any favourite project, 
 that was to be drawn aside by any overruling principle 
 save her own, and that was, never to allow of any op- 
 posing argument from the lips of her husband ; and 
 she always carried her point, as the torrent goes, with 
 the tide, but with the spirit of a termagant. The 
 Marchioness, it must be observed, also possessed the 
 power of a Circe over the affections of her kind, in- 
 dulgent, and peaceably disposed lord j for his was the 
 mild temperature of a soft serene Italian summer sky, 
 while that of his lady resembled the ocean when agi- 
 tated by tempests and by storms, to which u calm never 
 succeeded, till the accomplishment of all her designs 
 were fulfilled, and her every wish gratified. And it was 
 
158 the fisher's daughter. 
 
 certainly her ladyship's intention most religiously to 
 perform her promise made to her daughter, as she laid 
 out the pleasures of the week to her delighted imagi- 
 nation ; and as she sat in her bourdoir with Lady La- 
 vinia, consulting on the most becoming colours that 
 would suit with their complexions, a little difference 
 of opinion arose on the subject of feathers, flowers, 
 trimmings, ornaments, and the general rage and order 
 of the fashionable day; and certainly, to do ample 
 credit to the taste of the Marchioness, she made choice 
 of a dress quite to the full as youthful as her daughter, 
 which occasioned a remark somewhat malapropos to 
 the feelings of beautiful mamma, for Lady Lavinia ex- 
 claimed — 
 
 Lord, mamma! why this pink crape dress is a frock 
 with a tucker ! it is made exactly like mine. Won't 
 people stare, mamma ? not but you have a most elegant 
 shape, and a fine formed neck and shoulders, but this 
 dress is so very young — young enough for me. Will it 
 not be remarked, as being remarkably outvie at your age, 
 mamma, and I am not yet eighteen ? not but what, as 
 I said before, you are an uncommon fine woman for 
 your age, mamma." 
 
 Now age being a memorandum that most ladies have 
 an objection to be very particularly reminded of, and 
 besides, as the Marchioness was, as her daughter had 
 said, an uncommon fine woman for her age, (which 
 was certainly approaching very rapidly to the mark of 
 forty,) yet it was a truth which she did not care to be 
 jevealed, and she coloured deeply through no inconsi- 
 derable quantity of Parisian rouge, which was just 
 freshly laid on her otherwise pale and yellow cheek ; 
 
the fisher's daughter. 159 
 
 and reproving her daughter with a look which might 
 have frozen the genial current of the warmest soul, 
 had any warmth of sensibility ever mantled there, 
 she haughtily draw up her head, and indignantly ex- 
 claimed : — 
 
 " It is excessively rude of you child, to make any 
 comments on any person's looks or age, or dictate to 
 them as to what they choose to wear, be it ever so ri- 
 diculous or absurd ; every body has an undoubted 
 right to consult their own taste and judgment with 
 respect to dress. My age, indeed ! it is nothing, al- 
 though I have such a full grown daughter always 
 flaunting at my side; and it is having such a full 
 blown rose as you that makes people suppose that I 
 am at least ten years older than what I really am j 
 though it is well known that Lady Wintertop, when 
 I married the Marquis your father, remembers me 
 quite a child." 
 
 11 Yes, mamma, but Lady Wintertop is so very, very 
 old ; that is not to be wondered at," cried Lady Lavinia, 
 with great simplicity. " Dear me, I dare say that she 
 is eighty, and you, mamma, must be — let me see — 
 what a nice calculation I can make — " and she was 
 proceeding to add up the sum total, when her lady- 
 ship, out of all patience with the pertinacious loqua- 
 city of her youthful daughter, angrilv interrupted her 
 with — 
 
 tf T think if you was to calculate on the prodigious 
 lateness of the hour, it would be a subject more in 
 point, Lady Lavinia;" and looking at her diamond 
 repeater which was lying on a cabinet, she immedi- 
 ately arose and rang the bell for her woman to attend, 
 
1(50 the fisher's daughter. 
 
 adding, (and happy to put a finale to a conversation 
 which so deeply mortified her personal vanity,) " I 
 protest, if Flounce does not dispatch the business of 
 the toilet very speedily, we shall not have sufficient 
 time to dress before dinner, and most unfortunately, 
 the Duke dines with us to day; we cannot consistently 
 get off from sitting down to table in a dishabille, or 
 make an excuse for retiring earlier than usual. Or- 
 lando is so strange and extraordinary an animal, that 
 he might conceive himself treated with too little cere- 
 mony, though dining at the table of his brother, were 
 we not to go through all the forms of etiquette usual on 
 such occasions ; as I observed before, he is a queer 
 eccentric animal, but it would be highly impolitic to 
 offend him." To which Lady Lavinia replied — 
 
 ff And were it not so, indeed mamma, I should be 
 extremely sorry to offend the Duke my uncle; there 
 is something so noble and so generous in all that he 
 says and does, even when he knits his brows — and I 
 have seen him frown terribly, yet in a moment how 
 suddenly that frown has disappeared, and a smile of 
 the most radiant sweetness illumined every bright and 
 intelligent feature. Ah, if indeed he is an animal, he 
 only resembles the lion, methinks, in the nobleness of 
 his look and his nature." 
 
 " Yes, his Grace has been exceedingly handsome," 
 uttered the Marchioness ; " he had a great resem- 
 blance of his mother, the late Duchess of Braganza, 
 who at one period of the British court, was reckoned 
 one of the most beautiful females whose presence 
 adorned it. Yes, Orlando, in the bloom of his man- 
 hood, when he sacrificed himself in marriage with that 
 
the fisher's daughter. 1G1 
 
 F'orentine baby of a girl, Agatha Delcrusa, had cer- 
 tainly all the fine contour of face and expression, that 
 vour grandmother, the Duchess, must have had in the 
 flower of her beauty." 
 
 ■* Lord, mamma, I protest that I could never see the 
 slightest resemblance between them," cried Lady La- 
 vinia, te except when his Grace frowns so terribly, and 
 puts himself into such tremendous passions, as he did 
 with Carlo his black servant the other morning, for 
 neglecting to carry a message to Violet Vale, to enquire 
 after the health of his daughter. My gracious, how he 
 did storm and rave at him, and how poor Carlo shook 
 ana trembled, as my uncle perfectly thundered out — 
 • Neglect my daughter ! better you forget your duty to 
 me, sir, than be unmindful of her who forms the dear- 
 est part of my existence. My child, my Agatha ! the 
 neiress of the illustrious house of Braganza.' But his 
 frown and grandmamma's frown were so different, 
 mamma, that I could not see the slightest resemblance 
 of the expression you speak of. No, indeed, it was 
 mere like my cousin Agatha's when she frowns, which 
 is very seldom ; but when she does, she looks so like 
 his Grace — his fine dark piercing eyes, and the very 
 turn of his sarcastic and scornful lip; for, beautiful 
 as I think Montague's wife is, I have often seen her 
 look very scornful, even at my brother, have not you 
 mamma?" 
 
 The Marchioness, to whom this discourse was be- 
 ginning to have a tendency to ruffle the sweetness of 
 her temper, now pettishly pronounced — 
 
 " I wish child you would attend more to my looks, 
 which are now all anxiety, and impatiently wish you 
 
 v7 * 
 
162 the fisher's daughter. 
 
 to make your exit as speedily as possible, in order that 
 you may be dressed in time for dinner. Come, here is 
 Flounce, and positively I will not suffer you to talk to me 
 any longer; you have vapoured me to death already 
 with recounting the nameless graces and innumerable 
 perfections of your monkish cousin. Odds my life, am I 
 to hear nothing from morning to night rung in my 
 ears but praises of your brother's wife ? 1 vow child, 
 you have caught the contagion from the lips of your 
 father; I shall have my whole establishment infected 
 with it by and bye, all, I think, but Tartlet, and she, 
 sagacious woman, knows better than to greet her mis- 
 tress's ear with no sweeter sound than the praise of 
 my son's pretty mopsey. Let me hear no more of such 
 dull stuff, I desire you, Lavinia, but go to your dress- 
 ing room, and make yourself as lovely as possible, in 
 order to attract the attention of the Duke toward'* vou. 
 Put on the white dress you wore the other evening* 
 Lady Tannington's ball, and weave your hair wit? 
 simple flowers. This is the taste of your uncle Or- 
 lando; he has an aversion to the grand and the e#tra- 
 vaganze of fashion and splendour ; he should have been 
 a cottage swain, and his daughter a shepherdess; sweet 
 souls, they would then have been superlatively blest, 
 and moving in their proper element. But come, go 
 darling, and do as I command you." 
 
 The darling instinctively obeyed, (for, to say truth 
 the Lady Lavinia was not yet out of leading strings, ana 
 was a little afraid of her beautiful mamma, for so $he 
 always called her,) yet lingered a moment, and askec* 
 for a kiss of beautiful mamma before they parted, 
 
 '* There, g© naughty girl. I can't abide ye," ut*erec 
 
THE FISHER S DAUGHTER. 
 
 163 
 
 the Marchioness, kissing the blooming cheek of ncr 
 daughter, with as much sensibility or natural affection 
 glowing in her bosom for her child (for Lord Monta- 
 gue had been her favourite) as if she had pressed tne 
 leaves of a red cabbage, instead of the roseate lips that 
 invited her touch from the youthful Lady Lavinia, who 
 in a coaxing attitude pronounced, as she closed tlie 
 door of the boudoir after her, and looking at Flounce 
 with an expression half jest and half earnest, though 
 certainly such as the waiting gentlewoman could 
 scarcely resist — 
 
 " The pink crape frock, with the lace tucker, Mrs. 
 Flounce, pray let beautiful mamma wear no other, it 
 will have such a fine effect. The whole of the shoul- 
 ders will be nearly bare; beautiful mamma has prooi- 
 gious fine shoulders, and the pink frock will be an aa- 
 mirable exposition, will not it Mrs. Flounce ?" 
 
 " Yes, your ladyship, pink is exceedingly becoming 
 the complexion, it sets off a blush so well," answered 
 the waiting gentlewoman, who having sidled and 
 sidled till she had fairly got round to the back or the 
 Marchioness's chair, stood almost unable to stifle an 
 immoderate propensity to laughter, which the sight of 
 the pink frock had so involuntarily produced; not for 
 a moment supposing that, vain as her lady was. sne 
 could carry her personal vanity to such absurditv. as 
 to make choice of an habiliment so highly preposte- 
 rous for her mature season of life, and which was cer- 
 tainly a more appropriate dress for Lady Lavinia, even 
 if she had been tnany years younger than what she was 
 now. A silence of some minutes ensued between 
 the Marchioness and her Abigail, after the departure 
 
THE FISHER'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 of Lavinia from the boudoir of beautiful mamma; 
 antl Flounce, who had stifled her propensity to down- 
 right laughter with no inconsiderable difficulty, was 
 not the first to break the ice, although the first to begin 
 the necessary duties of the toilet j and well acquainted 
 M'ith the violent disposition of her lady, she waited for 
 her orders in silence and submission, and knew, with- 
 out making many researches into the mysteries of La- 
 vater, that her countenance looked more like the pre- 
 sage of a storm, than the smooth transparent surface 
 of a silver lake ; and she broke out into the following 
 exclamation, soon after the presence of her daughter 
 was no longer any restraint on her feelings — 
 
 " What the devil, Flounce, do you mean by fidget- 
 ing at the back of my chair ? What are you after 
 Pug ?" To which Flounce made the following quaint 
 reply— 
 
 w I am after combing your flaxen wig my lady, I 
 mean your a la Venus wig, the last you got from Paris, 
 with them long thingembobs that's hanging to the tail 
 of it; flaxen to shew off pink, and bright auburn to 
 shew off" blue, and black to shew off white. I learned 
 all this by heart, when the young man that came a 
 courting to me lived with Mr. Finefit, the hair dresser, 
 that lives in the Burlington Arcade ; and then I learnt 
 to shew off busts, that is, you know, my lady, the 
 breasts and neck, to the best possible advantage, whe- 
 ther black, brown, or fair, when I lived two doors 
 from the Opera House, at the masquerade warehouse 
 in Panton Street, Leicester Square, where beauty is to 
 be bought and sold every hour in the twenty-four, on 
 the most reasonable terms. Lauk my lady, you have 
 
THK FISHER'S DAUGHTER, 1(35 
 
 no idea of what lessons I had to take when first I came 
 up to town to learn to be a lady's maid ; and though I 
 do say it, that should not say it, there was not a girl 
 more cute than I was at learning of my business, not 
 in all the country round. I was as sharp as a needle, 
 my lady, as the saying -is, so I got on, and I got on, 
 and 1 saved, and I saved, till smack I got a place with 
 some of the high quality, till it was my good fortune 
 to find favour in your ladyship's sight, after the death 
 of poor Lady Whitewash. Dear soul, I thought she 
 would never hold out much longer, after that last bak- 
 ing and japanning of her beautiful face and neck] ghe 
 was pretty nigh sixty when she tried the experimenr, 
 which, as I am a living soul, made her look as young 
 and as blooming as my Lady Lavinia ; but, lauk a 
 mercy, it did not last long, for she died six weeks af- 
 terwards, the most awful and dreadful spectacle my 
 eyes ever witnessed in all my born days, for she was 
 as black as a coal, my lady ; so says I to myself, when 
 I see her put into the coffin, all over shining with gold, 
 and a beautiful white satin pillow under her poor 
 death's head ; so says I, if this be coming of the 
 being ground young again, the devil may fetch ah the 
 whitewashes for me ; for true as your alive, my lady, 
 my good old lady lost her life by the operation, as they 
 call it, that had been performed on her." 
 
 " To say nothing of the folly and absurdity wnich 
 induced her to adopt so rash an expedient," uttered 
 the Marchioness, scarcely able to suppress risibility at 
 the plain unsophisticated manner in which Flounce 
 had described the disastrous fate of her mistress, and a 
 little dismayed at the fatal consequences which ac- 
 
166 the fisher's daughter. 
 
 company such inordinate gratification of personal 
 vanity ; and conceiving that, all things considered, and 
 as the Duke was to make one of the dinner party 
 that day at her table, that some observations might be 
 made on the pink frock with the lace tucker, she coun- 
 termanded the order, and desired her Abigail to lay 
 her out a dress of a more matronly costume, and 
 which, though it had not the art of exhibiting her bare 
 shoulders, exceedingly became her fine proportion- 
 ed figure ; and with the addition of an elegant head- 
 dress, she was content thus to go down and receive 
 her illustrious visitor. 
 
 Thus was an ignorant and simple domestic the means 
 of saving superior rank and refined education from the 
 censure, nay even the ridicule of all her acquaintances ; 
 nay, perhaps, from even the reproaches of her hus- 
 band, which it is probable, after the departure ot 
 his guests, she would necessarily have been exposed 
 to. Thus are sweets even to be extracted from 
 noisome weeds that we think worthless, and oniy 
 view with contempt;- because there is not a doubt, 
 notwithstanding the sarcastic remark of her daughter, 
 that the Marchioness would still have appeared in the 
 pink frock, but for the little useful anecdote which the 
 unconscious Abigail had related so simply of the disas- 
 trous* fate of Lady Whitewash. 
 
 A magnificent dinner, crowned with every luxury 
 that the season afforded, awaited the arrival of his 
 Grace the Duke of Braganza, who, when he got out of 
 the carriage, and saluted his brother the Marquis and 
 his fashionable lady, never appeared in higher spirits, 
 or in more excellent humour. In the mean while, 
 
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 //// I'ft '_ '/'/y,d/Jrf///i'//yjmy>rtz/*/j/ir&/y<'.fofi?'i?ft? rm// >/•//■ rr,/// '//;/' 
 
 r. FTFNS SCCARI. 
 
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THE FISHER'S DAUGHTER. 1G7 
 
 every seducing art that the Marchioness was complete 
 mistress of, was employee} to render this condescending 
 brotherly visit of his Grace worthy of the favour cour 
 ferred on her husband; nor were the most seemingly 
 anxious enquiries after the health of dear Lady Agatha 
 forgotten by this most artful, yet to all outward ap- 
 pearance, most amiable and fascinating of women. 
 
 " I have seen my dear child only this morning," uU 
 tered his Grace, " and, I thank your ladyship, am 
 hsppy to say that she is charmingly well, notwith- 
 standing the presages which young married women 
 always feel in a certain delicate situation." 
 
 " Which, thank heaven, does not last for ever, that's 
 one comfort for our dear little Agatha," uttered her 
 ladyship, and smiled enchantingly ; in short, in the eyes 
 of the Duke, his sister-in-law never appeared to greater 
 advantage ; but there was evidently a forced restraint 
 on. the feelings of the Marquis, his brother, to join in 
 the mirthful pleasantry of his lady, though it passed 
 unnoticed by his Grace. On the name of Lord 
 Winslone being announced the whole party sat down 
 to dinner, when the attentions of the latter gentleman 
 were certainly exclusively devoted to the beautiful La- 
 vinia, whom he had seen several times before, with 
 eyes of the most passionate admiration, though kept 
 within bounds of the most delicate propriety j and her 
 ladyship certainly succeeded this day in obtaining a 
 complete conquest over his heart, though unconscious 
 to himself that her ascendancy was so powerful. Hand- 
 some, elegant, rich, accomplished, and possessed of 
 the most unblemished principles, Lord Winstone was 
 a desirable match for a daughter of the first peer of 
 
168 the fisher's daughter. 
 
 the realm, but particularly so to Lady Lavinia Mon- 
 tault, whose portion was so inconsiderable, and as her 
 mother had informed her, that if she did not marry 
 well, she could derive but little portion of wealth from 
 ner father. 
 
 The moment therefore that she perceived she had 
 made a favourable impression on the heart of Lord 
 Winstone, she encouraged his advances as far as ever 
 she was able, consistent with maiden modesty ; but on 
 this day that Lord Winstone became the guest of the 
 Marquis of Montault, his attentions to his lovely daugh- 
 ter were so delicate, yet so strongly manifested the 
 sentiments she had inspired him with, that no one 
 being present could doubt of their nature. In short, the 
 instructions which her mother had given her, with re- 
 spect to this noble lord on a former occasion, when he 
 danced with her at Lady Tannington's Ball, had never 
 been forgotten by the youthful Lavinia, who never ap- 
 peared to greater advantage than she did in the eyes 
 of her lover at her father's table ; for the simple ele- 
 gance of her dress was far more becoming than when- 
 ever he had beheld it so sumptuously adorned in the 
 fashionable and splendid parties where they had first 
 met; there was also a bewitching reserve in Lady 
 Lavinia, which certainly adds to maiden loveliness, 
 but can never diminish the charm of beauty, and 
 which, to men of refined delicacy and sentiment, 
 .is a thousand times more engaging than the most bril- 
 liant vivacity, or the most lively or piercing wit; but 
 Jhe truth was, that Lady Lavinia was abashed by the 
 presence of the Duke and her father, and therefore 
 conversed but little with Lord Winstone, who it ap- 
 
THE FISHER'S DAUGHTER. 161* 
 
 peared liked her the better for this very timidity which 
 she affected, for certainly it was not naturally a feature 
 in her character. 
 
 After dinner some interesting conversation ensued, 
 animated on the part of his Grace, grave on that of his 
 brother, elegant, lively, and spirited on that of Lord 
 Winstone, and most fascinating on that of the Mar- 
 chioness. 
 
 " I protest that I am absolutely half inclined to quar- 
 rel '.vith my son, for not joining our snug little party to 
 day, your Grace," uttered her ladyship; "and I will 
 make him do penance every day next week for it." 
 
 This remark produced a polite enquiry from Lord 
 Winstone, after the health of Lord and Lady Montague 
 Montault. It may be remembered in a former part of 
 this history, that Lord Winstone, in company with his 
 friend Sir George Cleveland, had once accidentally en- 
 countered Agatha with Olive and Jessy Blust, one 
 evening on returning from a visit to Margaret Crafty ; 
 and that both these gentlemen having indulged too 
 freely in the juice of the grape, had alarmed the young 
 ladies by the effect of their gallantry; but to the then 
 supposed Miss Singleton, by whose charms he was. 
 particularly attracted, Lord Winstone had thought 
 proper to offer the most ample apology. This circum- 
 stance had often occurred to his lordship's recollection 
 whenever the name of Agatha was introduced, and be 
 did not mention her now without betraying some em- 
 barrassment, and a slight tinge of colour mounting to 
 his cheek, the cause of which not being known to any 
 of the party, it passed unncticed. 
 
 But there was another cause for the roseate tint on the 
 
I/O THE FISHF.RS DAUGHTER. 
 
 cheek of Lord Winstone, if the truth must needs be told, 
 (and it is certainly not our intention to conceal the truth 
 in any part of this history from our readers,) and that 
 was connected with Agatha, when he beheld her in the 
 character of the orphan daughter of Captain Singleton. 
 Her uncommon elegance of person and manner, 
 with the marked and decisive tone of energy in which 
 she commanded him and his inebriated young friend, 
 Sir George Cleveland, to desist from presuming to 
 offer them the slightest indecorum that could trans- 
 gress the bounds of propriety, with the bewitching 
 beauty of her countenance, and the modest dignity 
 which, at the same instant, veiled all those transcend- 
 ant charms, even from the bold familiar glance of the 
 presuming stranger, had altogether so sudden an effect 
 on the charmed senses of Lord Winstone, that when 
 he arrived at his own habitation, and had completely 
 lost sight of the charming phantom which possessed his 
 imagination, it was difficult to ascertain which his 
 lordship was most intoxicated by, love or wine; at 
 least that love which may be called passion, for what 
 is love but a passion flower ? and which beauty, when 
 it dazzles the eye, inspires at the first ecstatic glance of. 
 But how was this beauty to be come at? or was she 
 come-at-able at all ? that was the question, but who was 
 to resolve it ? She was living under the roof of the 
 fisher Blust, was the daughter of a Captain Singleton, 
 who resided at the Cottage on the Cliff, but had lately 
 been lost on the night of the tempest which had wreck- 
 ed so many vessels on the coast. Well then, Agatha 
 was now the orphan daughter of this Captain Single- 
 ton; but who was this Captain Singleton? Nobody 
 
THE FISHER'S DAUGHTER, 171 
 
 could answer that question ; he was a recluse, avoiding 
 the sight, and shunning the converse of every human 
 being, save alone his beautiful companion, his lovely 
 daughter, whose angelic looks were the admiration of 
 every one who beheld her. Well, this lovely creature 
 was living under the roof of the fisher Blust, who had 
 afforded her an asylum in his house ever since she had 
 the misfortune to be bereft of her father. Here was 
 an obstacle at once thrown in the way of all invaders. 
 The eye of licentiousness might gaze on beauty from 
 without the doors of Peter Blust, but dared not cross 
 his threshold. The ways of Peter were pretty well 
 known to all who lived in the neighbourhood of Cro- 
 mer, and iew there were that did not also know that 
 when Peter made use of any arguments, finding him- 
 self aggressed, that they were always knock-me-down 
 ones, so that he seldom met with an opponent who 
 had courage enough to contend with him. 
 
 Lord Winstone having learned all these particulars 
 from the grand chart of universal knowledge in a 
 country town, a circulating library, retired to his mag- 
 nificent mansion, surrounded by the most splendid 
 luxury, in absolute despair of ever being able to ac- 
 complish his desire, and that was, to behold the beau- 
 tiful daughter of this Captain Singleton again ; for to 
 enter the house of Peter Blust under any pretence 
 whatever, where there were so many young and lovely 
 females in it, Lord Winstone knew would be a moral 
 impossibility ; for suspecting the motive, Peter would 
 use very little ceremony in slapping the door in his 
 face, and would much rather give entrance to a pack 
 of blood hounds than to any lord in the country. Yet 
 
1/2 THE FISHER S DAUGHTER. 
 
 to feast his eyes daily on such beauty, to sit at the same 
 table with her, to gaze on her charming, energetic, and 
 soul-speaking countenance, or to listen to the sound of 
 her voice, which was melody itself, — these were joys 
 reserved for Peter Blust and not for him ; — and 
 Lord Winstone, in the midst of love's soft emotion, 
 or rather commotion, cursed his stars that he was not 
 an old fisherman instead of a peer of the realm ; for he 
 believed that Miss Singleton, with her present protec- 
 tor by her side, was neither come-at-able for him or any 
 one else, and that, like the Hesperian fruit, she was 
 guarded by a dragon, too formidable to suffer any one 
 to invade his territories, or permit her being approach- 
 ed with impunity. Lord Winstone feared therefore 
 that he must give up the chase, or seek it through any 
 other channel, than having Peter for a pilot to steer him 
 on his voyage thither. 
 
 Give up the chase ! are you then going to make Lord 
 Winstone a fox hunter in the wilds of love ? Lord Win- 
 stone, of whom fame has spoken so highly — a professed 
 and practised libertine ? for shame Mrs. Authoress. 
 
 No shame at all, gentle reader, for the authoress is 
 not going to make Lord Winstone any such thing; she 
 would blush to see his name enrolled among the list of 
 the licentiates of the present fashionable day, and must 
 positively exculpate both him and herself from the 
 charge. 
 
 Lord Winstone had not formed the remotest notion 
 of what kind of sentiment he felt for Agatha, the feel- 
 ing at present being only admiration, or if passion, it 
 was, to use the phraseology of a most celebrated and 
 admired author, " a passion so transiently caught, that 
 
THE FISHER*8 UAUGHIKR. J/3 
 
 it played round his heart with the flittering radiance 
 of a wintry sunbeam flashing against an icicle, which 
 brightened it for a moment, but could not melt it;" 
 and perhaps Lord Winstone's passion for the beautiful 
 Agatha is described by a metaphor of the same ad- 
 mired writer, " that the pleasure of the lover is like the 
 hunter in the chase, where the brightest beauty loses 
 half its merit, as the fairest flower its perfume, when 
 the willing hand can reach it too easily. There must 
 be danger, there must be difficulty ; and as the course 
 of ardent affection never does run smooth, it is because 
 without some intervening obstacle, that which is called 
 the romautic passion of love in its high poetical cha- 
 racter, can hardly have an existence, any more than 
 there can be a current in a river, without the stream 
 being narrowed by steep banks, or checked by .opposing 
 rocks." 
 
 And these were the motives which secretly guided 
 the first impulse of inclination in the breast of Lord 
 Winstone for the lovely protegee of the fisher Blust. 
 There was pleasure in the chase, because there was 
 difficulty attached to it, or there had been no pleasure 
 at all in the pursuit. When, however, the report of 
 Miss Singleton's extraordinary flight from the house of 
 her protector reached the ear of Lord Winstone, it oc- 
 casioned him a momentary sensation of regret, mor- 
 tification, and disappointment; for he attributed the 
 so sudden disappearance of this lovely young creature, 
 to no other than the machinations of some favoured 
 and accepted lover ; and he then reproached himself 
 for not having made some advances to obtain so fair a 
 prize, which was now completelv beyond his rcaeh. 
 
THE FISHER S DAUGHTER. 
 
 And pray had this honourable lord any honourable 
 intentions towards Miss Singleton, that he was so 
 desirous of seeking her acquaintance ? What sort of 
 proposals had he to make to her ? That we cannot pre- 
 cisely tell, gentle reader, for who are to know men's 
 hearts till they are fairly tried ? But is it possible 
 to suppose, that when he beheld such extraordinary 
 beauty united with such extraordinary worth and 
 sweetness, such a character as Lord Winstone would 
 have been insensible to their value, or that he would 
 not have made Miss Singleton an offer as highly 
 creditable to himself as it would have been honour- 
 able to her ? And one only proposal can ever meet a 
 woman of honour or delicacy : need we repeat it ? — it 
 is marriage, in which all holy and sacred ties should be 
 concentred, and made firm and lasting by eternal love, 
 both here and hereafter ; and only death should ever 
 dissolve that holy tie and that holy partnership. 
 Where a union of hearts should be sanctioned by 
 a union of hands, it is the only compliment that man 
 can pay to the woman that he truly loves ; and all pas- 
 sion-else is fading and perishable as the flower. 
 
 Not that we are so rigid or so alRctedly fastidious 
 to suppose that love does not exist without this mar- 
 riage tie. We know that it can, and perhaps faith- 
 fully ; but marriage is woman's best protector. Man 
 does not require it, but the helplessness of woma i 
 does ; and where true love is, marriage, if possible, 
 should immediately follow j giving woman respect in 
 the eyes of the world, and no man can love a woman 
 truly if he does uot wish to see her respected. 
 
 When, however, after the long absence of Miss Sin- 
 
THE FISHER S DAUGHTER. I/O 
 
 gleton, which could iu no way be accounted for by the 
 inhabitants of Cromer, the connecting circumstances 
 which attended her sudden flight from the abode of the 
 fisher Blust, being involved in complete mystery ; when 
 the cloud of obscurity was dispersed which so long had 
 concealed this bright jewel from the eyes of an admiring 
 world ; when in all her native lustre she burst on their 
 astonished sight as the acknowledged daughter and 
 rightful heiress of the Duke of Braganza ; the congra- 
 tulations she received were loud and fervent ; when not 
 a stain sullied the transcendant purity of her character, 
 .he whole town of Cromer was in a blaze ; and when 
 as the bride of Lord Montague Montault, she soon ap- 
 peared receiving and dispensing blessings on all around 
 her ; the tongue of envy was silenced, and slander, 
 like a snake, slunk to its beastly hiding place, fearful 
 of again showing its crested front, to escape being 
 crushed to atoms. 
 
 And none more than Lord Winstone hailed the re- 
 turn and the victory of the lovely wanderer, though 
 abashed by the reflections which, in disappointed pas- 
 sion and jealousy, he had cast upon her; for at her 
 flight he certainly suspected young Lord Montague 
 for having some share in it ; and often, when they met, 
 rallied him on his passion for the fair fugitive, which 
 Lord Montague not only positively denied, but also 
 that very passion with which the beautiful Agatha had 
 so long deeply inspired him ; and at a public dinner at 
 Sir George Cleveland's, some high words arose be- 
 tween these two honourable lords on the subject of 
 Miss Singleton. Lord Winstone, as the circling 
 
I/O THE FISHER S DAUGHTER. 
 
 glass went round, exclaiming with a sarcastic expres 
 sion, more pointed than occasion warranted — 
 
 " Here's to the recluse of the silver lake, alias the 
 Montague Cottage Beauty." 
 
 " Or the Veiled Nun," vociferated Sir George, en- 
 joying the repartee of his friend, and laughing with 
 immoderate warmth. " In either of these characters 
 we hail her as the nymph divine who has pierced the 
 heart of a young Montague, and made him invulner- 
 able to the charms of all beauty, save alone the charms 
 of Agatha Singleton. For gad though, Montague, it 
 was too bad not to let Winstone and I have a peep at 
 your divinity before you took her to her hiding-place, 
 like a young rabbit out of a warren, for your own pri- 
 vate picking. Oh Montague, sly dog ! and a most ex 
 cellent poacher at your time of life." 
 
 A loud peal of laughter was now directed in full ar- 
 tillery against the evidently embarrassed Lord Monta- 
 gue j and, colouring deeply, he protested utter igno- 
 rance of the flight of Miss Singleton from the house of 
 the fisher Blust, or whither that flight bad been direc- 
 ed, or by what means effected. " On my soul, on my 
 honor as a man, I know nothing of the transaction," 
 uttered his lordship 
 
 " That won't do Montague," cried Sir George, who 
 by this time had drank pretty deeply of the flowing bowl, 
 *' it is all a hum. You know more about the beauty 
 of the Cliff than you dare confess, because you are well 
 aware that you would get finely hoaxed for it, and that 
 the old fisherman would play the devil with you for 
 taking away his girl from him." 
 
THE FISHER S DAUGHTER. 
 
 177 
 
 Another loud laugh prevailed at the expense of Lord 
 Montague, who, equally warm with wine as well as his 
 companions, and stung to the quick by being accused 
 of any dishonourable transaction against the happiness 
 and character of an object, whom he felt, in spite of 
 appearances, that he still passionately adored, indig- 
 nantly exclaimed, while he darted a look expressive of 
 his wounded feelings at Sir George Cleveland — 
 
 " Your insinuation is false, Sir George, with respect 
 to what you are pleased so presumptuously to assert, 
 that I know any thing relative to the sudden disap- 
 pearance of Mis? Singleton from the house of Mr. 
 Blust. J again repeat that I am utterly ignorant both 
 as to the circumstance of her flight or the place of her 
 concealment j and that whether you credit my veracity 
 or not Sir George, is a matter of the most perfect in ■ 
 difference to me." 
 
 " Umph — hem — haw!" cried Sir George, helping 
 himself to another glass of claret, and pushing the 
 bottle over to his friend Lord Winstone, who finding 
 that Lord Montague was really offended, and feeling 
 that he had certainly been as much an aggressor as Sir 
 George, who had only seconded his sarcastic observa- 
 tions, endeavoured to appease the irritability of the 
 young lord, still, however, playfully sporting with the 
 object of their sarcastic pleasantry. 
 
 " Why Montague, you are as many fathoms deep in 
 love, as ever shepherd was with a wood nymph of the 
 valley," uttered he; " but to quarrel about a girl after 
 the folly she has been guilty of is preposterous. For 
 gad, I shoulc not think such a woman worth a fea- 
 ther, who is so lightly minded." 
 
 bS z 
 
I/O THE FISHER S DAUGHTER. 
 
 " Lightly minded, my lord?" uttered Lord Mon- 
 tague fiercely. " And do you call Agatha lightly 
 minded ?" To which, with equal warmth, Lord Win- 
 stone replied — 
 
 " Yes, most decidedly, Lord Montague ; but if your 
 lordship can find a more appropriate term for such ex- 
 cessive impropriety, and so gross a departure from all 
 female delicacy, you are certainly at liberty to do soj 
 but thoughts are free; every body has a right to think 
 what they please of the conduct of Miss Singleton, 
 and so shall I." 
 
 " Ditto !" vociferated Sir George. " We are not 
 tongue-tied, though it is clear one of the present com- 
 pany is heart-tied. Here's a breeze about a runaway 
 girl, that I would not give a bunch of nettles for, 
 Curse me if I would not fall in love with one of the 
 old fisherman's daughters rather than this sentimental 
 demure-looking piece of still life. I always compared 
 her to Pigmallion's statue, rat me if I did not. I shall 
 ever remember the scornful smile that played on her 
 lip* when Winstone wanted to snatch a hasty kiss of 
 the coy lady. But I never knew a piece of ice that did 
 not melt, and so will Agatha Singleton." 
 
 This sarcasm was not to be borne, or tolerated with 
 human patience ; and Lord Montague immediately 
 arose from the table, addressing Sir George in the fol- 
 lowing manner, and with an expression that proved 
 that no apology would temper the deep wound he had 
 given to his feelings. 
 
 " Sir George Cleveland, I quit your house, and 
 that for ever, with no wish that our former intimacy- 
 should be renewed. The manner in which you have 
 
TIJK FlsHKK S DAUGHTER. 
 
 179 
 
 spoken of a helpless and unprotected female, makes 
 you unworthy of the friendship of your own sex, if 
 you have no compassion for the other, who, whether she 
 beFthe frail being you describe or not, is still a woman ; 
 and it is unmanly of you to sport with the feelings of 
 . the unfortunate. The character of Miss Singleton* Sir, is 
 still unimpeached. There is not one individual that Can 
 -prove an aspersion on her reputation, nor will I believe 
 heritoi be otherwise than the pure faultless angel that I 
 take her for, and am confident that I shall find her so, 
 should chance ever bless me with 'her presence again. 
 The mystery of : her flight and concealment is for the 
 present involved in darkness, But why should suspi- 
 cion follow the steps of the sweet wanderer ? Or why 
 should that scorpion slander uplift its forked head, to 
 crush a lovely flower,; that every man should feel it his 
 duty to protect from the pitiless storm ? Shame on 
 you gentlemen, for cherishing sentiments so discredit- 
 able to your feelings. If.! she has fled voluntarily from 
 the house of her protector, she has a motive' for so 
 doing, and we ought to know what that motive is be- 
 fore we judge of the act. Mack that Sir George, and 
 eternally I bid you farewell. :A time may come, and 
 in the presence of Agatha Singleton, when .you may 
 blush for this day's conversation, and repent of your 
 h^tyand ungenerous conclusions* Remember, Sir, 
 that Woman's reputation in, the hands of her own 
 sex may be treated with ungentleness : envy and jea- 
 lousy sometimes produce the cause : but in that of 
 men it should ever be held sacred, as the purest at- 
 mosphere that breathes from the face of heaven 5 and 
 he ; js; worse than a savage who exposes it to the ani- 
 
IPO THE FISHER'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 mad versions and insults of a censorious, ill-judging, 
 and merciless world, or feels a pride in boasting of its 
 downfall." 
 
 From this day Sir George Cleveland and Lord Mon- 
 tague never met on terms of friendship or amity again; 
 nor was Lord Winstone for a considerable length of 
 time reinstated in the good graces of his young friend, 
 although it is very certain that he made the most am- 
 ple apology that one man of nice honor and delicate 
 feeling could make to another under existing circum- 
 stances, and which Lord Montague could do no other- 
 wise, as a gentleman, than accept of j but the cordial 
 smile of warm, generous, and disinterested friendship, 
 which was always seen to play round the lip of young 
 Montague whenever he suddenly or accidentally en- 
 countered Lord Winstone, was no longer there ; and 
 the name of Agatha Singleton would instantly cover 
 his lordship's face with blushes of confusion, while to 
 the memory of Lord Montague, it would ever recal the 
 deep and bitter taunts which were cast on the spotless 
 character of the woman he adored, the day he dined at 
 Sir George Cleveland's. 
 
 It was no wonder then, that after the exaltation of 
 this lovely creature from obscurity, to such high birth 
 and splendid riches, the daughter of the Duke, and the 
 bride of Lord Montague Montault, (whose sister, the 
 Lady Lavinia, was now the object of his lordship's 
 most ardent affection,) that he felt inconceivably 
 abashed in the presence of her noble relatives ; and 
 that the name of Agatha was never mentioned by Lord 
 Winstone, without tnV consciousness of having once 
 aimed the shafts of ridicule, and bitter sneer of irony 
 
THE FISHER'S DAUGHTER. 181 
 
 against an object, whose superior loveliness of person 
 could only be rivalled by charms still more transcend- 
 antly beautiful, and those were the charms of a gene- 
 rous heart, a pure imagination, and an elegant mind. 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 " Oh that I were an Indian wild, 
 
 On whom the star of freedom smiled, 
 
 I'd be a fond idolater, 
 
 And worship that dear brilliant star. 
 
 Whene'er I chose, again I'd change, 
 
 Where'er I pleased, in freedom range; 
 
 Uubiass'd, merry, blest, and free, 
 
 Beneath thy star, dear liberty !" Pritchard. 
 
 When the hand of time is tipped with roseate 
 fingers, the leaden weight is removed that pressed them 
 down, and it passes over our heads as swiftly as the 
 transient colours of the rainbow ; the winged moments 
 fly as if by magic, and no one stays to count the 
 passing hours which they compose. 
 
 So passed the day at the Castle of Montault, the day 
 that was destined to behold Lady Lavinia in the entire 
 possession of the heart of Lord Winstone j nor were 
 the accomplishments she displayed soon after dinner. 
 
182 the fisher's daughter. 
 
 by a most finished performance on the harp, necessary 
 to complete her conquest over his affections, for he 
 would have loved her had she never played at all. 
 
 " Love's a Tyrant," had been requested by his Grace 
 the Duke of Braganza, and "Ali Perdona," from Mo- 
 zart's Italian Opera, by Lord Winstone; and Lady La- 
 vinia executed both airs, though very different in their 
 composition, with the most inimitable grace and expres- 
 sion, displaying the most enchanting style of elegance 
 and science, and receiving the most rapturous plaudits 
 from her delighted auditors, who had listened to her 
 with the most profound attention. 
 
 Of course all engagements were postponed for that 
 evening, and many succeeding ones, for the wily Mar- 
 chioness had now fresh game in view, with respect to 
 the establishment of her daughter, which absorbed 
 every faculty, and engrossed the whole of her most 
 serious contemplations. Lord Winstone was now a 
 constant visitor at the Castle of Montault ; and al- 
 though he had not declared himself the lover of Lady 
 Lavinia, it was very obvious, from his delicate atten- 
 tions towards her, that he would shortly tender her 
 proposals of the most honourable kind ; and the pleas- 
 ing anticipations of so advantageous a marriage, with 
 the splendid and glittering prospects that, awaited it, 
 were reflections so delightful to the imagination, both 
 of the mother and the daughter, that they could talk 
 of nothing else, think of nothing else, dream of nothing 
 else, but what charming dresses would be made for the 
 important occasion, what superb liveries, what dazzling 
 equipage, and above all what a handsome settlement 
 would be made on her ; in short, it was the perpetual 
 
the fishkr's daughter. 18'J 
 
 theme of their conversation by night and by day, — the 
 preparations, and the delightful bustle and confusion 
 that Montault Castle would be thrown in by the wed- 
 ding, which the Marchioness whs actually as highly 
 delighted and transported with the thoughts of, as the 
 youthful Lavinia. But as a mother, it never once occur- 
 red to the Marchioness to ask her child if her heart felt 
 any interest in a man who would in all probability be- 
 come her husband, or whether she preferred him to all 
 others she had yet seen in the world's earthly space ? 
 
 Yes, the Marchioness, in the brilliant airy phantoms 
 that swam across her imagination, and the circle she 
 had drawn around her, of the pleasures, the pomp, the 
 magnificent drawing rooms of crowded nobility that 
 awaited the marriage of her daughter with this accom- 
 plished nobleman, had entirely forgotten what were the 
 essential points that form the happiness of a marriage 
 life ; that it was necessary for those who enter into an 
 union so sacred and so lasting, to consider that the 
 colour of their whole future destiny depends upon it ; 
 that it is mysteriously interwoven with the charm or the 
 care of our existence ; and that to form an alliance 
 under auspices where fortune only leads the way to the 
 temple of Hymen, will never be productive of that hap- 
 piness which ought always to be the accompaniment 
 of the conjugal state, where mutual esteem, and an 
 intimate knowledge of disposition and of character are 
 absolutely requisite, as much as a suitable proportion 
 of parties in rank and fortune, in taste and pursuits. 
 
 But these essential points had never once entered 
 the imagination of either the mother or the daughter; 
 the latter indeed thought Lord Winstone a handsome 
 
184 the fisher's daughter. 
 
 man, and the former knew that he was a rich one ; 
 and these points were essential enough for them. Lady 
 Lavinia was at that age when woman's heart is sus- 
 ceptible only of light impressions, which vanity only 
 creates ; and her mind was not capable of judging 
 systematically, whether she should or should not be 
 happy in a marriage state with Lord Winstone. She 
 did not consider the man so much as the blandishments 
 of fortune that he possessed, and the splendour he 
 would exalt her to when she should become his wife. 
 Her mother had never told her that any thing more 
 was necessary, and she herself did not believe there 
 was. Such is the basis, we are sorry to observe, on 
 which are formed alliances of the present fashionable 
 day ; and few women of fashion ever look or think 
 beyond it. 
 
 But while things were precisely in this state at the 
 Castle of Montault, they were of a more serious com- 
 plexion at the residence of Lord Montague Montault, 
 for the Duke received a note, and the Marchioness 
 another from her son, intreating that they would im- 
 mediately attend the summons, in consequence of the 
 sudden indisposition of his lovely wife. They were 
 both couched in a style which bespoke the distraction 
 of a doating and agonized husband, who feared to lose 
 the dearest treasure he possessed in existence; and his 
 Grace, with feelings no less affected, rushed into the 
 dressing room of the Marchioness, who had then Lord 
 Montague's letter in her hand, while she exclaimed — 
 
 " I will order the carriage immediately : but let me 
 persuade your Grace to dismiss these unnecessary ap- 
 prehensions respecting the situation of Lady Agatha • 
 
the fisher's daughter. 185 
 
 there is nothing to occasion you so much alarm as 
 you may imagine." 
 
 " Nothing to alarm me, when I am told that my 
 child is ill, and in danger, and by her husband?" ut- 
 tered his Grace, pacing the room in the most frantic 
 agony. "God of heaven! Nothing to alarm me? 
 Had your ladyship not been a mother, you might have 
 asked me that question ; and had I not been a father, 
 I might have answered it, but that question is perfectly 
 unanswerable at the present moment." 
 
 " Nay, my dear Duke, I did not mean to infer that 
 you should not be concerned at the indisposition of 
 Lady Agatha; every one must be concerned for the 
 dear creature, although the cause of her illness is so 
 common to those in her critical situation, and I have 
 not the least doubt but it is a presage of an event to 
 which we are all looking with the greatest anxiety; and 
 you will find that I am right in my conjecture, and that 
 Montague has frightened us all unnecessarily; but 
 come, your Grace, the carriage is at the door I per- 
 ceive, we will therefore lose no time in parleying about 
 the matter." 
 
 Nor did they, for the Duke handed her ladyship into 
 it, and it immediately drove off; and on their arrival 
 at Lord Montague Montault's, what was their surprize 
 and astonishment to hear from the lips of a now joyful 
 and transported husband, that the dangerous crisis was 
 now over with his adored wife, who only an hour 
 before they arrived had given birth to a son, and with 
 its lovely mother was likely to do well. 
 
 " Heaven be praised my dear Montague," uttered 
 his Grace ; " my child, my blessed child is preserved 
 
 C 8 A A 
 
186 THE FISHER S DAOGHTEK. 
 
 to us j" and unable to utter another sentence, the 
 Duke was so overpowered as to burst into a flood of 
 tears, which greatly relieved his full heart, while her 
 ladyship exclaimed — 
 
 " I am prodigiously glad, that is I am really prodi- 
 giously happy, my dear Montague, that your fears have 
 so terminated ; but it was nothing more than what I 
 expected, and what I exactly predicted, was it not, your 
 Grace ? I said that a little stranger would come into 
 court very shortly, and so it has you see ; a boy too, a 
 son and heir; what delightful news for the Marquis! I 
 give you joy your Grace; your daughter has made you 
 a grandfather." 
 
 To which his Grace, whose feelings were now tran- 
 quilizcd, as well is being transported, immediately re- 
 plied— 
 
 " I return your ladyship the compliment, with equal 
 warmth, for your son has also made you a grand- 
 mother ; so let us shake hands, for they are certainly 
 titles of which neither of us have any reason to be 
 ashamed." 
 
 The Marchioness coloured deeply in spite of her 
 usual colouring of rouge, for it was very perceptible 
 that her looks betrayed no small share of vexation at 
 the retort courteous which his Grace had given her, 
 and that she did not think the title he had bestowed 
 was quite so complimentary as he imagined, and that 
 she would have dispensed with it altogether had it been 
 .possible. Policy however recommended her ladyship 
 to adopt a very different style of behaviour, and to ap- 
 pear (if she really was not so) delighted with the birth 
 of the infant son of the Lady Agatha, and to join in 
 
THE FISHER S DAUGHTER. 187 
 
 the rapturous congratulations t*hat such an event had 
 produced in the Braganza family j a son not only hav- 
 ing been wished for by Lord Montague, but by his 
 father the Marquis, in order that the Braganza estates 
 and princely inheritance might descend to the heirs of 
 his family, if any should be born of the Duke's daugh- 
 ter j but as mortality was confined to no sex or age, 
 but was the general lot of all, it might be possible that 
 Lord Montague (although he hoped that event was far 
 distant) might be the first to be summoned to that 
 bourne, from whence no traveller ever returns j and if 
 there were no children, it was very likely that the Lady 
 Agatha would enter a second time into a matrimonial 
 connection; so beauteous and fascinating a creature 
 would have many admirers to succeed his son, and en- 
 deavour to gain an interest in her heart and secure her 
 affections ; and that if indeed such an event happened, 
 the Braganza estates would descend to the children of 
 the second marriage. These were the reflections of 
 the Marquis, till the alteration in the lovely shape of 
 the Lady Agatha became too apparent to be mistaken 
 in the cause of its increasing size, and which the Mar- 
 quis no sooner perceived, than he was transported be- 
 yond the power of expression, all his fears and appre- 
 hensions subsiding, and only hoping that the child of 
 his beloved Montague might prove a boy. His prayer 
 was granted ; and when the Marchioness, who had 
 staid a few minutes in the bed chamber of her daugh- 
 ter-in-law, and beheld also her newly born little grand- 
 son sleeping at the side of its beauteous mother, who, 
 though languid, addressed the Marchioness in a voice, 
 which had more of a seraph in it than of earthly being,— 
 
J 88 the fisher's daughter. 
 
 when she desired the nurse to gently remove the in 
 fant, and hold it up to the Marchioness, that she might 
 imprint a kiss on its little forehead, where the likeness 
 of its father was so peculiarly striking, as to make it 
 seem but a lesser image of himself, — a small touch of 
 nature made the Marchioness bend over its lovely form, 
 and give the kiss that nature so strongly and powerfully 
 demanded of its grandmother ; and it was pressed for 
 a moment in her arms, while she exclaimed to its 
 nurse — 
 
 " Out upon the little urchin, I protest he has become 
 boisterous already ; look how he has discomposed the 
 lace handkerchief on my bosom." 
 
 " But what does your ladyship think of my sweet 
 boy?" faintly, yet in a tone of rapture, demanded the 
 Lady Agatha, as she gazed on the face of the lovely 
 innocent when the nurse again laid it beside her. 
 " Has he not the very look, although so young, of my 
 dear Montague ?" 
 
 " Yes, I protest I think so my dear," uttered the 
 Marchioness ; " he is prodigiously like his father, 
 though he has got such dark sparkling eyes ; but the 
 rest of his pretty face is certainly Montague's. But I 
 shall fatigue you my love, for you now require neces- 
 sary repose, so farewell for the present. I shall bring 
 Lavinia to see the bantling to-morrow, and shall report 
 to the Marquis an account of his little grandson, of 
 whom \ have no doubt but he will be particularly 
 proud." 
 
 With these words, the kindest she had ever yet 
 uttered to her daughter-in-law, the Marchioness de- 
 parted, paying a few compliments to Lord Montague 
 
the fisher's daughter. 189 
 
 on the beauty of his son and heir, as she stepped intC 
 hci carriage alone, for the Duke staid to pass the re» 
 mainder of the day in the society of Lord Montague 
 for his Grace protested that he should not be able to 
 leave the house, without being permitted to take a peep 
 at the treasure which had that day been produced to 
 the house of Braganza. 
 
 " Permit you, uncle ?" exclaimed Lord Montague, as 
 soon as the carriage of the Marchioness was fairly out 
 of sight; " and do you require permission of me to 
 approach your own child ? I have not yet seen my 
 Agatha since she has made me the most transported of 
 all human beings, and you know not how I long to 
 behold my child." 
 
 "Your first-born! ah, I do not doubt it!" uttered 
 the Duke, deeply sighing. el I have a pretty good guess, 
 Montague, of what your present sensations now are, 
 for they were once mine. Alas ! how bitterly have I 
 mourned over the deprivation of those sensations which 
 ought to have been mine in their fullest perfection. 
 My cruel, my vindictive, my ambitious mother, robbed 
 me of all, save her whom destiny has preserved. My 
 Agatha, my lost angel Agatha, became her victim. 
 Fool that I was to leave her in her power; and she 
 would also have robbed me of this only treasure which 
 heaven had spared, but for the intervention of Al- 
 mighty Providence, which would not suffer wicked 
 deeds to go unpunished or to succeed ; yet this wo- 
 man was my mother. Gads, this woman was a mo- 
 ther — my mother ! — she to whom I owe my being. 
 Merciful and eternal Father of all created universe, 
 pardon her crimes, for they were of a magnitude tha 
 
90 the fisher's daughter. 
 
 ■ dare not think of, and she died without repentance ; 
 res, Montague, she died without repentance. Heaven 
 pardon her guilty soul ; and may the lovely angel she 
 lent to an untimely grave, plead for her at the throne 
 of mercy." 
 
 "Yet heaven has been just to its faithful votaries, my 
 dearest uncle," uttered Lord Montague, considerably 
 affected by the recollection of all the wrongs that his 
 grandmother had inflicted on the revered being before 
 him j and that had her machinations but prevailed, 
 lis adored Agatha would not have called him at this 
 moment husband. 
 
 Still there was a delicacy in speaking of the deceased 
 Duchess, who, with all her faults, had been most pas- 
 sionately fond of him, which was most admirable in 
 Lord Montague, and which the Duke thought so nobly 
 of, that he felt it his duty to desist from so painful and 
 beart-wounding a subject, as that of dwelling on the 
 crimes of a relative who had long since been called to 
 account for her numerous transgressions. 
 
 At length the wished-for moment arrived, when 
 the Duke was summoned to the bed-side of the Lady 
 Agatha by her own particular desire, as also Lord Mon- 
 tague; but this was only on a promise given to the 
 principal nurse, who had the care of Lady Montaulr, 
 that they would not hold much converse with her lady, 
 who was not able to bear it ; and this promise was ri- 
 gidly performed by both of the parties, who were ad- 
 mitted on tip-toe into the apartment; and after one 
 look at the mother and the beautiful babe that lay be- 
 side her, they crept out as softly as they crept in. 
 
 " She is in a sweet sleep, and so, please von sren- 
 
^ "jUy.n^y, ,,,,/j;:,/, /L/, T „- >n //■ 
 
 ,/<■> ,/'J.„/ y , ^//,. 
 
 /, . »• u - 
 
the fisher's daughter. 191 
 
 tlemcn, must not be disturbed," uttered the old nurse ; 
 and as she was commanding officer there at present, 
 her orders were peremptorily obeyed ; but the sensa- 
 tions of Lord Montague could not be controlled j he 
 wept with joy at the first glance of his new-born son. 
 Nor were the feelings of the Duke of Braganza less 
 sensible of an event so joyous ; and it was an unusually 
 late hour when he returned to Montault Castle, deter- 
 mined that the ensuing day should be devoted to the 
 most public rejoicings and benefactions to the poorest 
 inhabitants in Cromer and the neighbouring villages, 
 to commemorate the birth of the heir of Braganza and 
 Montault. 
 
 Alfred and Wolf had not yet been removed from the 
 house of their protector, in consequence of the situa- 
 tion of the Lady Agatha, but they were in the habit of 
 going to Violet Vale every morning, to receive instruc- 
 tions from the several masters who had been engaged 
 to attend them, and it was surprising the progress that 
 each of the youths had made in their studies. 
 
 The meeting between the Lady Agatha, and her two 
 companions in misfortune and adversity, had been re- 
 spectfully silent and impressive, and on the part of Wolf 
 embarrassed and confused ; and on asking after her lady- 
 ship's health since their long separation, his voice be- 
 came less firm than it was before, a deep crimson flushed 
 his cheeks, and instead of meeting the cordial and affec- 
 tionate glance of her whom he once called his pretty 
 and adored sister, his fine intelligent dark piercing eyes 
 were cast on the ground, as if he dared not encounter 
 those heavenly features, at which he had so often gazed 
 with the most unbounded transport and delight j while 
 
.192 THE FISHER*S DAUGHTER. 
 
 Agatha, perfectly unconscious of the sensations she 
 had inspired in the breast of the youth, or the cause of 
 his excessive timidity in her presence, exclaimed, with 
 a smile of the most fascinating sweetness, and at the 
 same moment that she extended her lovely hand to- 
 wards him — 
 
 " Why Wolf, you were not thus wont to shun the 
 looks or the smiles of your sister Agatha, or be so dis- 
 tant in your manners towards her ; and wherefore this 
 reserve, this silent bashful timidity ? think you because 
 I have found a new father and am married, that there 
 is a crime in approaching me ? think not so hardly of 
 my father or my dear lord, as to imagine they wish me 
 to shew a different aspect to my old friends, or that I 
 would treat them with coldness, merely because I have 
 now the advantages of fortune, and move in a sphere 
 of splendid affluence. No, Wolf, you do me injustice 
 if you suppose so. My fortune may change, my heart 
 never will." 
 
 Astonished and confounded by a reception so flat- 
 tering, sentiments so noble and ingenuous, and man- 
 ners so fascinatingly beautiful, poor Wolf blushed a 
 yet deeper red ; and not daring to press the lovely hand 
 that still rested in his own, attempted to say something 
 in justification of his feelings, but made a very awk- 
 ward hand of it, till Alfred (who had a pretty good 
 guess at the nature of his feelings) helped him out, by 
 observing that both Wolf and himself had learned better 
 manners since she had beheld them at the house of the 
 fisher Blust; and being total strangers to her ladyship's 
 splendid connections, considered her no longer the 
 being they had once approached with the familiarity 
 
THE FISHER S DAUGHTER. 193 
 
 of a beloved foster sister, because she was now so 
 raised above them in the exalted sphere in which she 
 moved, that were either the Duke of Braganza or Lord 
 Montague present, they might deem such attention as 
 Wolf and himself had been accustomed to pay her at 
 Herring Dale, intrusive and presumptuous. Nay, in 
 the critical situation in which they now stood with 
 respect to his Grace, he might accuse them of bold- 
 ness, in presuming to address her ladyship in a familiar 
 main nut. 
 
 Alfred in trying to make matters better had certainly 
 made them worse, for he had by no means explained 
 himself to the satisfaction of his lovely auditor ; who, 
 Surprised that Wolf had not been able to explain the 
 nature of his own feelings, and perceiving that he yet 
 looked more deeply embarrassed than before, turned 
 towards him, and in a serious tone, while her dark 
 piercing eyes seemed to have shot electric fire through 
 his whole frame, she exclaimed — 
 
 M And are those your sentiments Wolf? am I no 
 longer your sister ? and do you fear to approach me in 
 that character, because my father or my husband may 
 deem you guilty of presumption ? Fie — fie young man, 
 to think so hardly, so meanly of them ; they are abovf 
 such prejudices, and I would despise myself for th' 
 unworthy thought, were I to cherish pride because mj 
 station were exalted and my fortunes splendid. Hencf 
 with that sombre shade of melancholy then, brave in 
 trepid boy, that so little suits thy martial brow, and 
 thy high towering spirit ; and be assured, if you know 
 it not dear Wolf and Alfred, that Agatha, although the 
 
 a 9 b b 
 
194 THE FISHER S DAUGHTER. 
 
 wife of Lord Montague Montault, and the daughter of 
 the Duke Braganza, will take no shame in owning you 
 for her brothers still. On the night when the rough 
 tempest threw you poor shipwrecked boys upon our 
 coast, I gave to each of you a hand of Agatha Single- 
 ton, for I deemed myself an orphan too ; and from that 
 rery hour a feeling sprung in my heart spontaneously, 
 for nature gave it birth, and heaven and all holy angels 
 sanctioned it. It was the sister's love I felt for you, 
 Wolf, when the rough waves made us co-partners 
 in sorrow, and in the dark threatening hour of human 
 ills* Nor felt I less for you dear Alfred ; but Wolf was 
 with me in a deeper trial still. The mouldering ruins 
 of the old abbey now bear witness to our mutual suf- 
 ferings and our mutual grief; for me you bore it man- 
 fully at your tender age ; I never saw mortal courage 
 burn with greater ardour, and for that, brave boy, you 
 evermore will be dear to the heart of Agatha.'' 
 
 iC Oh lady, speak not so kindly; methinks I'd far 
 better have you chide me, for then I should not hear 
 the music of your voice float so sweetly on my ear as 
 now it does ; so thrilling, as it would seem that angels 
 gave it breath and sweetness. Would I had died lady, 
 when I was with you in the ruins of the old abbey, and 
 you were Agatha Singleton, for then you would have 
 pitied me. But 1 pray you pardon me, gentle Lady 
 Agatha, that the thoughts of past times have made me 
 talk so strangely." 
 
 <( And wildly too, I think boy," uttered the con- 
 founded Agatha, and with a slight suffusion of colour 
 mounting to her delicate cheek. " You must suppress 
 
THE FlSHKR's DAUGHTER, lift 
 
 such thoughts that make you such a fond cnihusia.si. 
 Why didst thou wish to die iu the ruins of the abbey, 
 pray — for pity's sake ?" 
 
 " No, for yours lady," would have murmured the lips 
 of Wolf, had he dared to have given utterance to such 
 a sentence; and Alfred fearing that the important se- 
 cret which his soul so laboured with, would in another 
 unguarded moment escape him, and for ever consign 
 him to disgrace and misery, as well as eventually ruin 
 their fortunes, he very quickly hurried him out of the 
 presence of the Lady Agatha, on the pretence of re- 
 minding him of an engagement with one of their mas- 
 ters in translating the foreign languages : and for this 
 time the danger that Alfred so apprehended was pre- 
 vented. But no sooner had this amiable youth retired 
 with the companion of his heart to his own apartment, 
 than he reproached him with the imprudent manner 
 in which he had spoken to the Lady Agatha. 
 
 " Have you taken leave of your senses, brother Wolf," 
 uttered he, " that you are guilty of such preposterous 
 folly, as to disclose so fearlessly the passion you feel 
 for the Lady Agatha, who, if she knows it not now, 
 (and 1 hope the evil is averted,) will at some future 
 period both condemn and despise you for it, if you 
 address her in such impassioned language as you did 
 just now? She cannot be blind or insensible to the 
 cause ; and can you think that she who is all purity, 
 all delicacy, will bear you in her presence when she 
 knows you love her? Thmk you that she will ever 
 sauctiou such immoral sentiments to be breathed in her 
 chaste ear, and not punish your presumptuous folly, by 
 for ever banishing you from her presence? The ho- 
 
19(5 THE FISHER S DAUGHTER. 
 
 noured Duke too, wou.d she not inform him of it? 
 Her husband too! There indeed I must pause on the 
 enormity of your crime, and shudder at the conse- 
 quences of it, if you continue to cherish a passion so 
 disgraceful to yourself, and so insulting to her. For 
 heaven's sake dear brother, run not into such foul, 
 such unnatural error; it is sacrilege to love that wo- 
 man who is the wife of another ; it is breaking, it is 
 trampling over all laws both human and divine, and 
 you ought to exert every faculty, every nerve that 
 reason claims, to counteract and prevent the influence 
 of so fatal, so dangerous a passion." 
 
 " Well, Sir," cried Wolf, who had listened to the re- 
 proaches of Alfred with more temper than he thought 
 himself master of, — " Well, Sir, admitting all you 
 have said to proceed from a motive of brotherly affec- 
 tion—" 
 
 " I call attesting angels to witness that it proceeds 
 from no other," repeated Alfred, with great warmth 
 and energy; " and that my own personal happiness, 
 my own personal interest, is entirely out of the ques- 
 tion, although by pursuance of the crime I biive stated, 
 both our fortunes would be ruined for ever, Dear 
 Wolf be not angry, for I must speak plainly, or speak 
 not truly, and you well know that I value truth above 
 all other things." 
 
 " Well, you have spoken plain enough," cried Wolf, 
 with a firm undaunted tone of voice, " yet there is not 
 one word of truth in all you have been saying, except 
 that I love the Lady Agatha ; but that ny loving her be 
 a crime in the sight of heaven or of man, I will deny, or 
 that she was another's when she innocently gave birth 
 
 
THE FISHKRS DAUGHTKR. 19/ 
 
 to that chaste passion, which burns so fervently, and 
 with such holy fire, that angels might light the torch 
 and fan the flame, without a thought unhallowed or 
 impure; if you call this a crime, why be it so; but in 
 my estimation it is a virtue, for it is virtuous to love 
 that which seemeth heavenly and virtuous too, like 
 unto the Lady Agatha. Besides, if it be a crime to 
 love, why has nature been so unkind, to plant in the 
 breast of her creatures that which is sinful both for the 
 body and the soul? — tell me that Alfred. Our first 
 father in the garden of Eden wanted this passion to 
 make him enjoy the blessings of all created universe, 
 and he could not be happy without it, so God gave him 
 a beauteous creature in the semblance of woman ; and 
 if it were sinful to love her, or to feel that spontaneous 
 feeling for her which certainly might be called the first 
 origin of love, why gave God this creature unto him ? 
 Thus far I have proved that it is not sinful to love, 
 since it was the gift of heaven unto man." 
 
 " Wolf," uttered Alfred, after a serious pause, ' c I 
 cannot resolve that question consistently, because it is 
 far removed from the case in point. There were no 
 others living in created space when these two beings 
 were formed for each other ; but had there been ano- 
 ther Adam and another Eve, would it not have been 
 sinful for the one to have loved the second Eve, and the 
 first Eve to have loved the second Adam ? Unless thou 
 canst resolve me that question, I will not answer 
 thine." 
 
 " Because you cannot Alfred," retorted Wolf; " so 
 thou mayest as well be silent and hold thy tongue, for 
 thou mayest preach to eternity before thou canst turn 
 
198 ihe fisher's daughter. 
 
 the present days into those of the old time of Adam 
 and Eve. The world has since that period undergone 
 a systematic revolution, which it is not in the power 
 of the wisest sage, or the most profound philosopher 
 to expound the changes of." 
 
 " Yet you will acknowledge that some part of my 
 argument is just, and that it is sinful to love a woman 
 when that woman is in the possession of another," 
 uttered Alfred. To which Wolf replied — 
 
 " No, I say it is not sinful to love the woman ; it is 
 only sinful when you attempt to gain the possession of 
 her through unworthy or dishonourable means; and 
 there lieth the sinful part, not the loving of her, be- 
 cause the feeling, as 1 said before, being implanted in 
 our nature, it is spontaneous, and cannot be resisted; 
 and while purity is the offspring of that passion, make 
 it sinful if you can ; and this is the passion, this the 
 love I bear towards the Lady Agatha ; with life only 
 can it end, for it is the only charm that binds me to 
 existence, and one day Alfred you may feel the influ- 
 ence of that charm as much as I do now." 
 
 " 13ut not for the same object," cried Alfred ; " not 
 for the same object. Heaven forbid that I should ever 
 sigh for a forbidden woman, or that I should ever covet 
 another man's wife." 
 
 " 1 do not covet her, although I love her as the light 
 of heaven, or the shining stars that bespangle the fir- 
 mament," vociferated Wolf; " the breath of morn 
 that sheds its soft dews on the fragrant flowers, or the 
 vun that lights the roses, I love not more than the Lady 
 Agatha ; but what of that, doth the loving her make 
 me. sinful, or that I should forget the honor of virtue 
 
THE FISHERS DAUGHTER. 199 
 
 whi e I worship its sacred shrine ? No, Alfred, f 
 swear by the immortal Gods that. — " 
 
 " Hold my brother, there is but one God, why swear- 
 est thou by many?" uttered Alfred, in a tone so im- 
 pressive, that Wolf, restrained in his vehement expres- 
 sion, looked for a moment awed by the reflection that 
 it conveyed, and he felt that the argument of his bro- 
 ther was just. He could acknowledge but one eter- 
 nal Being, who ruled supreme both in heaven and on 
 earth ; and a pause of some length ensued : at last 
 Wolf clearing his voice, for he had been considerably 
 agitated dining this conversation, resumed his dis- 
 course, by declaring, that the passion he felt for the 
 Lady Agatha he would evermore be silent on. 
 
 " And endeavour to subdue it by every means in 
 your power, will not you my brother?" uttered Alfred, 
 clasping his hands with a fervency, and uplifting his 
 mild blue eyes to heaven, with an expression that 
 evinced far more than language could express, the de- 
 gree of interest he felt in the happiness and welfare of the 
 being before him. " Yes, 1 know that you will, while 
 my unceasing prayer shall be offered up to that throne of 
 mercy, which ever listens to the supplication of its faith- 
 ful votaries, that your endeavours to subdue the weak- 
 ness of your heart may be successful ; then shall I clasp 
 my brother to my beating heart, whose every pulse 
 throbs with anxiety but for his future happiness, and 
 say that he has made an effort worthy of himself; and 
 the smiles of approving conscience, like a pure 
 unsullied fountain, will reflect a virtuous action that 
 will translate him to the skies." 
 
 " Alfred, your superior good sense has gained a vie- 
 
200 the fisher's daughter. 
 
 tory, which I owe more to you than to any boasted 
 resolution of my own," uttered Wolf, his eyes glisten- 
 ing with a tear, full of genuine affection for his brother. 
 " Never shall the Lady Agatha know the dominion she 
 holds over my heart, and never shall that heart be be- 
 trayed again into any weakness in her presence ; never 
 to mortal will 1 divulge the secret, to my brother only 
 revealed." 
 
 " I am satisfied my dear brother that you will keep 
 this promise to me sacred," cried Alfred, clasping Wolf 
 in a fraternal embrace. " Soon we may part, but in 
 absence I know that Wolf will never forget this day's 
 conversation with his Alfred; and that although distant 
 climes may separate us, yet they will never divide out- 
 hearts. The rough seas did not divide us ; the high 
 Heaven gave us to each others arms ; and though the 
 billows curled around us, the loud thunder roared, and 
 the vivid lightning flashed between us, yet in safety we 
 landed on the coast, where the guiding star of over- 
 ruling Providence directed us to find protectors, and tv 
 find friends ; and O may that leading star still guide 
 us, dear Wolf, that we may glide through our voyage 
 in life, as unalloyed with care as we pass it now, with 
 hearts as pure, and with peaceful days so blest, that 
 hereafter we may find that peace which passeth all 
 understanding, in the communion of saints, and the 
 joys that reign above all earthly space, all earthly gran- 
 deur, all earthly ambition." 
 
 Suffice it to say, that from this day Wolf became a 
 disciple of his brother Alfred, who, though young 
 enough for a Telemachus, possessed the wisdom of a 
 Mentor, and acted in such a capacity to his brother 
 
thk fisher's daughter. 201 
 
 Wolf; and by this beautiful interchange of thought 
 and sentiment with each other, they improved every 
 hour in the progress of their studies, and were acknow- 
 ledged by their tutors to be two of the most promising 
 young men that were ever known, for the short period 
 t hey had been placed under their care ; but their talents 
 were, according to their disposition, very opposite, that 
 of Alfred bring of the most grave and sententious kind, 
 while that of Wolf was lively, bold, and spirited ; he- 
 had also a great propensity to literature, and actually 
 produced some clever specimens of poetic genius, 
 which were conceuled for a length of time from the 
 knowledge of his tutor, till Alfred smuggled one of his 
 compositions : and it so astonished his tutor, that the 
 very next morning he determined to submit it to the 
 inspection of the Dukc declaring that his pupil was 
 likely to make no smader figure as a poet, than to shine 
 in military exploits ; at which the Duke smiled, while 
 he exclaimed- — 
 
 " Then he is likely to have two beggarly professions 
 at once ; for it is very certain that no gold grows on the 
 soldier's laurels, and it is proverbial that none was ever 
 found to grow on the poet's laurels. Any thing but a 
 poet, good Laurence, make the boy; for if he takes to 
 quill-driving he will be good for nothing ; do not en- 
 courage this propensity 1 beg of you." 
 
 " So please your Grace, it was by mere accident that 
 I discovered it at all," replied the tutor; " it was Mr. 
 Alfred who stole this specimen of his poetic muse, and 
 Mr. Wolf is quite unconscious of the depredation 
 which his brother has so cunningly made upon him ; 
 
 b9 c. c 
 
202 THE FISHER "s DAUGHTER. 
 
 but, believe me, it is no mean one, and well worthy of 
 your attention." 
 
 " Let me have a peep at it," uttered his Grace, smil- 
 ing, and putting on his spectacles ; and the tutor im- 
 mediately placed in the Duke's hands the following 
 lines, which the young inspired poet had entitled The 
 Star of Liberty ; and his Grace, who in his youthful 
 days had been an enthusiast of poetic talents, whether 
 bumble or exalted, began to read it aloud. 
 
 * " O that I were an Indian wild, 
 
 On whom the star of freedom smiled, 
 I'd be a fond idolater, 
 And worship that dear brilliant star. 
 At ease beneath the plantain shade 
 I d fondle with my tawny maid, 
 To her I'd sing, and she to me,. 
 The song of love and liberty. 
 
 We'd wander through the sunny vales, 
 Shun scorching heats, or stormy gales; 
 Pleasantness where'er it be, 
 Alone should tempt my love and me. 
 The nations miscall'd civilized 
 We'd shun, as serpent haunts despised ; 
 Unbiass'd, merry, blest, and free, 
 Beneath thy star, dear liberty. 
 
 Though custom's slave define us rude, 
 The sea, the woods, should render food; 
 Our tent we'd raise where breezes hail, 
 Should tempt our steps, the woody vale. 
 Whene'er we chose, again we'd change, 
 Where'er we pleased in freedom range; 
 Kind, ardent, and serene we'd be, 
 And sing of love and liberty. 
 
 And we would snatch the fearful joy. 
 That elevated souls can buoy ; 
 E'en when sublimity's proud reigu 
 Is in the sky or on the main. 
 
THE FlSHKIt's DAUGHTER. 903 
 
 Though Nature's feeble train retire, 
 We'd in the awful hour admire, 
 While still our fondest glance should be 
 Bent on thy star, sweet liberty. 
 
 Our seat by deaf'ning cataract, 
 
 We'd mark the thunderbolt in act. 
 
 The quaking earth, the whirlwind's sweep, 
 
 The wild convulsions of the deep ; 
 
 And tempest's yells, whence seem as hurl'd 
 
 A fiat forth, to blast the world, 
 
 That shuddering shrink ; poor atoms, we 
 
 The while would bless thee, liberty. 
 
 And we would have our winter cot, 
 And we would have our summer grot, 
 Where taste and fancy should combine, 
 Flowers bloom, and beauty shine, 
 Rivers run, and wild birds sing, 
 Forest creatures dart and spring : 
 A second Eden all should be. 
 Beneath thy star, blest liberty 
 
 No heartless master's eye should awe, 
 
 And impose the despot law ; 
 
 The thought ambitious neither then, 
 
 Should prompt to slave our brother men 
 
 No wasting toil for niggard pay, 
 
 Or purse-proud* s frown to curse our day ; 
 
 Such hell on earth could never be, 
 
 Where beamed thy star, loved liberty. 
 
 What though unblest by bloated priest 
 The God of all should bless our feast ; 
 What though no scoundrel lawyer plan 
 Disputes and hate 'tween man and man; 
 Without the legal tyger's aid. 
 We'd sit us fearless in the shade, 
 Of tythes, of fees, of taxes free ; 
 All health, we'd bless thee, liberty. 
 
 What though no doctor wigg'd and w sc 
 Vending jargon, poison, lies, 
 insults us with his told concern, 
 Yet one would for the other yearn, 
 
UMl the fisher's daughter. 
 
 With true affection's tenderest smart, 
 Play lover, nurse, and doctor's part, 
 While temperance chief our leech shculd be, 
 And hallow 'd star of liberty. 
 
 Yes, and on the flowery sod, 
 
 We'd bend the knee, the heart to God j 
 
 Glistening tears on glowing cheek, 
 
 Our grateful-hearted love should speak. 
 
 Yes, wild inspirations glow, 
 
 The eye should bright, the breast shcuLI tkc t 9 
 
 All soul in adoration, we 
 
 Would bless the God of liberty. 
 
 O yes, and with warm hearts ai true 
 As Nature's children ever knew ; 
 The earth our altar, and the sky 
 The dome of Nature's temple hi'gn, 
 Our garb, the robe of innocence,, 
 Our incense, groans for past offence ; 
 From superstition's gloom yet. free, 
 As heaven's light of liberty. 
 
 O that I vere an Indian f^e", 
 The savage son of liberty, 
 Far from Europe's sons of blood, 
 The homicidal viper br?<> 1, 
 Where men are as utensils made 
 Mere tools of art; where war's a trade, 
 Religion craft; where best is iic, 
 Who stabs the heart of liberty. 
 
 Yes, blessed are the simple tribe, 
 Custom's cant who ne'er imbibe, 
 Right against wrong their only rule, 
 And Nature's dictates all their school; 
 With friendship every breast eudtigu. 
 For mutual offices of good ; 
 O with that mild fraternity, 
 TVere bliss to live at liberty." ^/olf. 
 
 No sooner had (he Duke finished the perusal of 
 Wolf's poetical bantling, than he bestowed the meed 
 
the fisher's daughter. 205 
 
 so justly due to the brilliant genius which, in this fine 
 noble-spirited youth, began hourly to expand, with 
 more beauty, energy, and sweetness; and his Grace 
 almost breathed a wish that he had not made choice of 
 a life so adventurous and uncertain as that of a soldier 
 of fortune, lest the toils, perils, and hardships to which 
 he would be necessarily exposed, might, like an unkindly 
 frost, throw a blight upon so fair and promising a blos- 
 som, and doom it to wither, and eventually to perish, 
 before it could arrive to the fullest perfection. And he 
 exclaimed — 
 
 " Well, Lawrence, I see you are waiting with no 
 small impatience and anxiety to hear me pronounce 
 judgment on your young poet ; but I shall do no such 
 thing 1 assure you Lawrence, so you will certainly be 
 disappointed in your expectations, for 1 don't want the 
 boy to be a poet, when he is going to enlist under the 
 banners of Mars ; but if we encourage him in this pro- 
 pensity to scribbling, we shall shortly have him enlist- 
 ing under the banners of Venus. Write poetry — write 
 love ! — a youth of his age ! they are much the same 
 thing, and you know that Lawrence, you don't want 
 to find out that secret at this time of day; so no more 
 poetical bantlings from the pecranium of your young 
 Wolf. I beseech you, as I don't intend to look at them, 
 because I don't choose to sanction them ; and as it may 
 be probable that I cannot look at them without prais- 
 ing them, 1 give you my word that 1 shall decline 
 looking at them at all." 
 
 The disappointed tutor looked excessively chagrined 
 to hear the Duke make so determined a resolution, for 
 he not only admired this poetic talent in his young fa- 
 
'206 the fisher's daughter. 
 
 vourite, but could see no ostensible reason that his 
 Grace could give, why it should not meet with encou- 
 ragement and approbation. He had given one reason, 
 but that, in the estimation of the tutor, was absurdly 
 ridiculous, for his pupil had discovered no traits as yet 
 of the tender passion about him ; and he resolved to 
 tell his Grace so plainly, and that he also thought poe- 
 try and love by no means on a parallel with each 
 other. 
 
 " You were talking of poetry and love being similar 
 things, so please your Grace," (uttered the tutor, fixing 
 his large goggle black eyes on the Duke with a wide 
 stare, which but for decency's sake would have ex- 
 cited the risibility of his Grace; for with a very lean 
 and spare figure, Wolf's tutor, although a learned, and 
 unquestionably a very pleasing man, resembled a pair 
 of tongs ; for his head and his wig were of the largest 
 dimensions, and his body and limbs of the most dimi- 
 nutive size :) <( buc you must pardon me, if for once I 
 have the temerity to dissent from your Grace's opi- 
 nion, by venturing to declare that a man may be an ex- 
 cellent poet, without having ever felt the influence of 
 the belle passion. I for instance, your Grace, never 
 was in love in the whole course of my existence, con- 
 sequently should never encourage it in my pupil." 
 
 To which his Grace smilingly replied, for he had a 
 great respect for the little learned man — 
 
 " And how the devil Lawrence should you have the 
 sagacity to discover a passion that you never felt, and, 
 by your own confession, are altogether insensible of? 
 You cannot tell it by outward semblance; love reigns 
 itj the heart, and is never so glaringly perceptible as 
 
the fjshkr's daughter. 207 
 
 when it seeks concealment. Now, in that ease, your 
 pupil may be twenty fathoms deep in love, without the 
 possibility of your being a wit the wiser for it. I do 
 not say that he is. Heaven forbid the boy should have 
 the euodition of love upon nim, as Rosalind says in the 
 play ; but you cannot warrant him heart-whole for 
 the life of you, for the lines he has written in his Star 
 of Liberty betoken some signs and symptoms, which it 
 were far beter he had not expressed ; they are inflamma- 
 tory ; they breathe of love, although I grant that the 
 subject is heroic." 
 
 " And worthy of the heart that sent them to his 
 head," exclaimed his tutor ; " in short, your Grace, 
 Mr. Wolf is an extraordinary genius at his age ; and 
 though you now object to his being a poet, yet 1 dare 
 be sworn that at some future period you may yet ac- 
 knowledge that the poet will be worthy of the man." 
 
 The tutor was growing warm in the zealous regard 
 he felt for his pupil, and the admiration of his talent, 
 and it was a zeal with wlu< h his Grace could not be 
 offended ; and slipping into his hand a liberal dona, 
 tion, they parted severally, equally impressed with a 
 favourable opinion of the rising perfections of tic- 
 young Wolf." 
 
208 THE FISHEB £ DAUGHTER 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 «• We'll never part again ! O we have years, 
 
 Delicious years of happiness to come ! 
 
 Then let the sweet anticipation 
 
 Of all those budding joys, cheat the lone hours, 
 
 And shrink them into minutes. 
 
 I must not have a cloud upon that brow ; 
 
 Those eyes should always beam with sunny light, 
 
 A tear obscures their lustre, and each drop 
 
 That falls for me, inflicts a thousand wounds. 
 
 By Heaven 1 have no eyes for any charms save thine, 
 
 No sense but of thy beauty ; 
 
 I eannot wish thy love less delicate. 
 
 But didst thou ne'er repent the precious gift 
 
 My pleadings won, nor e'er regret the vow 
 
 Which gave thee to my arms ?" 
 
 We certainly frequently go astray and betray our- 
 selves into error without knowing it; wisdom shews 
 us the road, but the heart has a bad memory, foi 
 strength or weakness of the mind are in truth but the 
 good or bad organization of the brain, for we are more 
 capricious than fortune ; still we find in our progress 
 through life, that happiness is in the mind, not in the 
 object, and that we desire what we like, not what others 
 approve, and that our disposition or caprice gives every 
 thing its value. Now so little had the tutor dreamt of 
 his vonng pupil being under the subordination of tha 
 
the fisher's daughter. 209 
 
 tyrannic passion, which, though gentle, holds its do- 
 minion over the charmed senses with such unbounded 
 sway, that like the torrent which rushes down a moun- 
 tainous bank,and carries with impetuous force and head- 
 long fury all that would impede its progress to its des- 
 tined goal, that he had never enquired into the abstracted 
 tits of melancholy whieh of late had certainly plunged 
 Wolf into the most profound reveries. He had never 
 observed (though his brother Alfred had) those kind- 
 ling blushes which sometimes mounted to his cheek, 
 and as suddenly paled his complexion on the mention 
 of a certain object. Alfred could tell the cause of his 
 brother's warm-breathed sighs, if a certain lovely form 
 by chance came by the windows of the apartment 
 which was consecrated to their studies, and whieh, 
 opening on a fine pleasure ground and beautiful exten- 
 sive plantation, was frequently visited by the company, 
 who were in the habit of being invited to Violet Vale ; 
 and often Lord Montague Montault and his beauteous 
 Lady could be seen from the windows of this apartment, 
 strolling together through the lovely and romantic 
 shades of the plantation ; Lady Agatha leauing on 
 his arm, while his lordship seemed in earnest contem- 
 plation of her beautiful features. It was then that the 
 blood of Wolf would rush to his face in crimson hues, 
 his heart beat tumultuously, and his eyes float in liquid 
 moisture; and he would suddenly quit the room, on 
 pretence of a violent pressure on his brain, or spasm in 
 his side, the source of which were by no means unde- 
 finable to Alfred, although completely unintelligible to 
 Mr. Mark Lawrence, who never having been even in his 
 
 youthful days (and he had now advanced to that season 
 c 9 i) i) 
 
fc/O THE FISHER'.S DAUGHTER. 
 
 whcii the heyday of the blood is over) susceptible of 
 the power of the little blind deity who rules over 
 hearts, was quite incapable of judging of those external 
 symptoms with which patients languishing under the 
 disease are generally affected ; for he had often de- 
 clared in some of his jocular fits, (when he sat down to 
 3 inner with the young gentlemen, in company with 
 Doctor Syntax, who was a poor but clever son of 
 genius, engaged by his Grace the Duke of Braganza 
 o superintend, though not exactly serving in the 
 capacity of tutor, on the studies of Alfred,) that he 
 ivould much rather encounter a mad dog, than a 
 voman, towards whom he always felt a most invincible 
 dislike* 
 
 " You don't say so Mr. Lawrence," cried the Doctor, 
 staring with the most profound astonishment on the 
 little learned man, and looking incredulously at him at 
 the same moment. 
 
 " But I do say so Doctor Syntax," exclaimed the 
 tutor ; " and I will maintain my opinion, that a 
 woman is one of the most mischievous animals in crea- 
 tion, and that they do more mischief than any animal 
 in creation. I never saw but one that I could at all 
 tolerate, and that is only since I became an inmate hi 
 this noble mansion." 
 
 " Oh there is little doubt of where your allusion 
 points," uttered the Doctor, " she is indeed a nonpa- 
 reil of a woman, the ne plus ultra of all that 
 a man could wish for or desire. In form a Venus, in 
 wisdom a Pallas, in dignity a Juno, and in chastity a 
 Diana ; in short, the lady of Lord Montague Montault 
 is altogether (taking the tout ensemble of the bewitch- 
 
thk fisher's daughter. 2M 
 
 Hig graces that adorn her beautiful person, ami the 
 charms of her more perfect and accomplished mind) 
 an angel on earth, and that is going as high as mortal 
 pniise can reach." 
 
 " And much higher than you ought; excuse me doc- 
 tor," uttered the tutor ; "for although the Lady Aga- 
 tha far exceeds the race of that frail and trifling sex, 
 yet I hold it profanation to call her angel." 
 
 " The expression was merely metaphorical, Sir," 
 cried the doctor, "and there is no profanity in giving 
 beings that seem heavenly in virtue angelic titles, 
 any more than it is wicked to call those devils or de- 
 mons whose actions are devilish, and whose principles 
 are demoniac." 
 
 It was during this conversation between the learned 
 men that Wolf betrayed the most restless agitation, 
 while his complexion varied alternately from red to 
 pale, from the very moment that the Lady Agatha be- 
 came the theme of discourse, and which at last was 
 so perceptible to the eyes of the tutor, that, looking at 
 him with some involuntary surprise, he exclaimed — 
 
 " Bless me Mr. Wolf, how you change colour; there 
 is nothing of indisposition I hope that occasions it." 
 
 To which Wolf, in the utmost confusion, and endea- 
 vouring to recover his self-possession, replied— 
 
 " None in the least ; I never enjoyed better health 
 than I do at this present moment, I thank you Sir." 
 
 " And yet your countenance contradicts your asser- 
 tion Mr. Wolf," uttered the tutor. 
 
 " No matter, Sir, J am perfectly well I assure you, 
 cried Wolf, a little petulantly; "nor is the counte- 
 uance always an index of internal feelings." 
 
'212 rut; fisher's daughtkr. 
 
 " Oh bless my soul, to be sure It is not," uttered 
 the tutor, w for if it were, many a rogue would be 
 taken for an honest man, that would turn out to be 
 the most infernal rascal in existence. No — no, Mr. 
 Wolf, your observation is right, most incontestibly 
 right in this particular; the human countenance is the 
 most deceptive thing in nature." 
 
 The cloth was now removed, and some wine and 
 fruit placed on the table; of the former the young 
 gentlemen partook but moderately, it being a luxury 
 intended more to gratify the taste of the tutors than 
 an indulgence for the pupils ; but the health of the 
 noble family of Braganza and Montault being drank in 
 a full bumper by Doctor Syntax, both Wolf and Alfred 
 most heartily joined, and good humour and harmony 
 were restored for the remainder of the evening. 
 
 Still they were not yet removed from the house of 
 their protector at Herring Dale, who often made many 
 enquiries of his adopted sons after the health of the 
 Lady Agatha, and of the reception they met with at 
 Violet Vale. " And pray lads, be you happier than you 
 were nine months ago in the house of Peter Blust, when 
 Jessy and Olive were frisking about for all the world 
 like two young lambs by your side, and that dear little 
 angel, when she was Agatha Singleton, used to sit 
 down to the harpsichord, and play over the thingum- 
 bobs with her pretty little white taper fingers of a 
 winter's evening, till she used to gladden all around 
 her? and then her voice, which was sweeter than a 
 lark's or a nightingale's -do you remember lads how it 
 used to charm us ? But there — she is gone now, so 
 its no use to think of it, she must tunc her pipes to a 
 
i he fisher's daughter 213 
 
 different song now; and if it was not for that affair of 
 affronting my Jessy, I'd just go and take a peep at her 
 pretty face. Do she look as smiling and as good na- 
 tured as ever though, lads?" 
 
 No response was made by Wolf to these interroga- 
 tories of his protector, except that a deep sigh issued 
 from his over-charged heart, as if it would break to 
 bursting, which reaching the ear of the fisher Blust, as 
 well as the glance he caught of the melancholy expres- 
 sion which stole over his features, he exclaimed — 
 
 " Why, shiver my topsails lad, the sooner thee be- 
 come a fighting man and go to the wars, the better; 
 and a nod's as good as a wink to a blind horse. Why 
 thee be all manner of the colours of the rainbow, 
 only just because I axed a few questions about our 
 dear little Agatha Singleton, and I see thou canst not 
 stand it. You're clean gone as a whistle with love for 
 another man's wife, and I be ashamed of thee. I be 
 quite ashamed of thee ; thee hast no business to han- 
 ker after another man's goods, as the saying is." 
 
 The climax of poor Wolf's mortification was now 
 complete; and totally unable to answer one word in 
 justification of the charge- which had been imputed to 
 him by his protector, he threw a supplicating look to- 
 wards Alfred, who instantly broke the ice for him by 
 exclaiming — 
 
 " Indeed, Sir, you wrong my brother Wolf by such 
 a supposition." 
 
 " Yes, indeed you do Sir," now tremulously faulter- 
 ed out Wolf. " I call heaven to witness that I never 
 once harboured a thought injurious to the purity of that 
 angelic woman, or discreditable to myself." 
 
211 THE FISHER'S DAUGHTER 
 
 " Yon may call heaven or the other place as loud as 
 can bawl, and as long as you please, master Wolf," 
 said Peter; " but when you tell me that you don't 
 love Montague's wife, you may a9 well tell it to the 
 marines, for that cock won't fight with an old sailor. 
 1 say yon are ten fathoms deep in something, call it 
 what you please ; and as for you, master Alfred, you 
 had better hold your tongue and say nothing about itj 
 for shiver my topsails if you don't make bad worse. 
 But come lad, don't be cast down, for nobody will be 
 the wiser, if you don't let the cat out of the bag your- 
 self. So I'll give you a bit of advice, and perhaps you 
 may give it a turn over in your mind when you come 
 to argufy the topic by yourself; and that is, never to 
 hanker after forbidden fruit ; remember it was the first 
 bitter fruit to man that he ever tasted of, and we have 
 had the flavour of it in our mouths ever since. I shall 
 say no more, because I see that it do grieve thee, lad." 
 
 " Grieve me, Sir!" uttered Wolf, at once recover- 
 ing that intrepidity of look, which in earlier days had 
 so remarkably distinguished him. " Yes, Sir. better 
 you had stabbed me to the heart, than wound me so 
 deeply by your ungenerous suspicions, which you shall 
 never have occasion to repeat to me again; for from 
 this hour I never will mention the name of Lady Agatha. 
 I never have, to my knowledge, with impropriety; and 
 as to my coveting the treasure that is in the possession 
 of another, may I be eternally deserted of Providence, 
 if ever so base a thought found an entrance to my 
 breast. No, Sir, I will send up to Heaven an oath 
 ere this night's sleep seal my eyes, and I will keep that 
 oath sacred ; whatever of good or evil may betide the 
 
the fisher's daughter. 215 
 
 fate of Wolf, he will never live disgraced hi the opi- 
 nion of his protector, whom more than life he values. 
 Forgive this involuntary warmth, Sir, but you have 
 drawn from me the bitterest tear I ever shed ; it has 
 fallen, but with it I rise ; it will be the leading star of 
 my fortune, and in all the wanderings of Wolf, he will 
 remember the charmed talisman that accompanied the 
 reproach that I merited not, and that I will not merit 
 long, for I would perish ere I would be the evil thing 
 you think me." 
 
 " Forgive you ?" uttered the fisher, whose asperity 
 was now exchanged for the most glowing admiration, 
 for the nobleness of sentiment #nd character that this 
 fine spirited youth had displayed, and whose petulance 
 was now completely subdued. " Forgive you ? shiver 
 my topsails if ever I shall forgive Peter Blust for the 
 uncivil words he said to thee just now, as long as he 
 do breathe. But I say lad, it were all for the best, thee 
 do know that, and there were no one by to hear it 
 but thy brother Alfred. I do love thee boy with every 
 vein in my heart; and if thee be'st crost in love, there 
 be no helping it, and yet it do grieve me sadly ; and 
 shiver my topsails, if thee had married Agatha instead 
 of the great lord she has gotten spliced to now, 1 do 
 believe she would have been all the happier for it, and 
 that's a sinful thing to say too ; and if ever I open my 
 mouth as wide again upon this topic, my name's not 
 Peter Blust." 
 
 K 1 marry Agatha ?" uttered Wolf, striking his hand 
 with a sort of convulsive emotion against his forehead, 
 and instantly rising from his chair. " O, Sir ! after this 
 conversation, can yon, or ought you to torment me with 
 
21G thk fisher's daughter. 
 
 farther animadversions on the subject? Sparc me a 
 farther trial of my feelings, in pity spare me, for I feel 
 my heart and brain could bear no longer." 
 
 Wolf burst into an agony of tears, and now leaning 
 over the back of Alfred's chair, sobbed audibly, to the 
 inexpressible concern of both parties, who endeavoured 
 by every means in their power to soothe and tranquil- 
 lize his agitated feelings ; and the fisher, feeling that 
 he had been the ostensible cause of occasioning so 
 much commotion in the mind of this generous and 
 amiable youth, actually condescended to apologize for 
 the pain he had so unintentionally inflicted, and swore 
 a tremendous oath that he would never do it again. 
 
 The fisher kept his word. Wolf returned nightly to 
 Herring Dale, but not a sentence was pronounced in 
 the hearing of Wolf on the subject of Lady Agatha 
 Montault, till the loud ringing of bells in Cromer and 
 its vicinity, announced the birth of a son and heir to 
 the Braganza family j and then Peter called for his fa- 
 vourite cordial, when Wolf and Alfred returned in the 
 evening of the same day, and filling out a full bumper, 
 drank long life and prosperity to the little stranger, 
 exclaiming — 
 
 " Well, I be glad to hear of it with all my heart and 
 soul, and that it be all safe over with" — Here Peter, 
 screwing his eyes in an oblique direction towards 
 Wolf, who sat in an abstracted posture beside of Al- 
 fred, made a full stop, and passing the glass to Alfred, 
 vociferated — 
 
 " Come, here's to my Jessy, and a chopping boy 
 when it do come. Shiver my topsails, if I wont make 
 the grog fly on that day, my name ben't P(ter. Com* 
 
THE FISHER'S DAUGHTER. 217 
 
 lads, a christening, and a merry one ; and a health to 
 all good lasses, great or small, in the parish of Cromer. 
 Wilt not drink it lads ?" 
 
 " Most certainly, Sir," cried Alfred ; " who could 
 resist an invitation so cordial, and a toast so well ap- 
 plied ? and I am sure my brother Wolf will heartily 
 join, that our dear sister Jessy may shortly experience 
 the happiness that the Lady Agatha did this morning, 
 in presenting to the arms of a fond husband a son and 
 heir, to inherit the virtues of a happy family." 
 
 " Aye do thee lad, do thee lad," cried the fisher, 
 highly delighted that Alfred had asked of Wolf what 
 he felt ashamed, after certain stipulations had passed 
 between them, of doing himself; and with a smile of 
 genuine good humour, he added ; " it will do my heart 
 good to see thee cosey and comfortable, so do thee 
 drink Jessy's health, and all the rest of it, wilt thee 
 now ?" 
 
 Wolf instantly understood the meaning of his pro- 
 tector, and whatever sacrifice he made to his own feel- 
 ings, he determined to gratify his, and immediately 
 drank Alfred's toast, with the best grace a man could 
 assume whose heart was writhing under the pangs of 
 hopeless and unconquerable passion ; but it appeared 
 so genuine to the unsophisticated Peter, that he could 
 not help ejaculating, though inwardly to himself, 
 " Thank God, thee be a man again ; and the evil 
 spirit that did rule thee be clean gone out of thy 
 heart for ever." The remaining hours were passed by 
 them in the utmost harmony and peace, each retir- 
 ing to their respective chambers satisfied with the part 
 they had that night performed, which, like a gentle 
 
 a 10 ee 
 
218 the fisher's daughter. 
 
 opiate, soon had the desired effect of closing their eyes 
 in balmy sleep ; and if Wolf was not happy, he prayed 
 to be so, and that the object on whom his soul hung 
 with dotage, might, in the tender claim which nature 
 had given her, in addition to that of wife, enjoy the 
 blessings of a fond and happy mother; and that her 
 sweet innocent might, when the opening bud should 
 ripen into maturity, be ever sensible of the cherished 
 care bestowed on it by the lovely and accomplished 
 author of its being. 
 
 In the mean while, time flew with roseate wings 
 over the families of Montault and Braganza. Lord 
 Montague felt in the birth of his son, an augmentation 
 of the happiness which he before enjoyed with his 
 lovely wife, who after six weeks confinement, received 
 the congratulations of all her friends at a splendid 
 party at her own magnificent mansion, given by her 
 lord, to commemorate the happy event which had 
 taken place in his family ; and at which the Duke of 
 Braganza, the Marquis and Marchioness of Montault, 
 were present; also Lady Lavinia, who was now on the 
 eve of being the bride of Lord Winstone ; for in com- 
 pliment to his sister, Lord Montague could not with 
 propriety omit his lordship's name in the cards of in- 
 vitation which were issued out on this splendid occa- 
 sion, and Lord Winstone was one of the visitors ever 
 after at Violet Vale. 
 
 As to Agatha herself, on the day she received her 
 friends, she appeared so delicately lovely, that her 
 beauty was rather considerably improved than dimi- 
 nished by her recent confinement; while the fascinat- 
 ing expression ot her countenance, which was always 
 
 • 
 
the fisher's daughter. 219 
 
 animated with sweetness and the most exquisite sen- 
 sibility, was so touchingly beautiful, when she gave 
 her hand to her lord, and he led her into the drawing- 
 room, as she courtesied gracefully on receiving the 
 compliments and congratulations of all his numerous 
 friends, that it was not possible, even for the most 
 rancorous envy, not to have admired her. 
 
 Arrayed in vestments of the purest white, and with 
 a cap of the finest lace, through which a profusion of 
 dark brown glossy hair was only partially concealed 
 — never had she looked so transcendantly lovely ; and 
 when Lord Winstone approached her, it was certain 
 that he could not suppress an involuntary feeling of 
 something that bordered on envy, that Lord Montague 
 was in possession of such a woman, for whom, at a 
 distant period, he himself had sighed ; and he er 
 claimed — 
 
 " Though last not least, consider me Lady Agatha 
 amongst the number of your husband's friends, who 
 rejoice in congratulating you on the happy event for 
 which we are this day assembled at his lordship's 
 hospitable mansion. May long succeeding years of 
 happiness unequalled crown the sweet boy ; and may 
 his name ever reflect a lustre on the house of Braganza 
 and Montault." 
 
 As this was uttered in a loud key, it met the ear 
 of the Duke, who was at that moment gazing on the 
 face of his beloved child with an unspeakable delight, 
 which none but the raptures of a father ever knew, who 
 could boast of the possession of such a daughter ; and 
 he exclaimed, close at the elbow of Lord Winstone — 
 
 " Thank you my lord, thank you, for the united 
 
120 the fisher's daughter. 
 
 compliments you have bestowed, both on my daughter 
 and her father ; and I hope the period is not very far 
 distant, when we shall both have occasion to congra- 
 tulate your lordship on the same happy event, and 
 when the heir of Winstone will be added to the family 
 group." 
 
 His lordship bowed gracefully to the Duke's com- 
 pliment, and the cheeks of Lady Lavinia were tinged 
 with a slight blush, as she drew near to her lovely sis- 
 ter-in-law, and took her station by her side, whisper- 
 ing in her ear — 
 
 " Heavens, Agatha ! how could you think of disguis- 
 ing yourself in that frightful odious cap, and that clumsy 
 lace ruff, which completely hides the form of your shoul- 
 ders ? But that robe is pretty, and would be vastly 
 becoming without the ruff, and yet you look better 
 than before your confinement. But surely you do not 
 intend to nurse your little boy yourself? No, it would 
 be barbarous to spoil that pretty neck ; and its a hun- 
 dred to one whether Montague will suffer you to do 
 any such thing." To which Agatha gravely replied — 
 
 " And do you imagine Lady Lavinia, that I think it 
 necessary to ask your brother's permission how I am 
 to nurse my child ? or that from ridiculous vanity, or 
 'absurdity of fashion, I am to withhold the nourishment 
 > which nature ever intended for a mother to give to her 
 infant? No, in all things else I would be subservient 
 to the will of my husband ; but in this particular I 
 will be guided wholly by my own inclinations." 
 
 " Well I don't intend to do any thing of the kind 
 myself when I am married," retorted her ladyship. 
 I would never consent to spoil my shape for a little 
 
the fisher's daughter. 221 
 
 brat that would never thank me for it, when it no 
 longer wanted my assistance." 
 
 " My dear, you will certainly think differently when 
 you are a mother yourself," uttered Agatha; " and till 
 then I cannot enter into any discussion with you on the 
 subject, nor have we time; for some more of your bro- 
 ther's guests are arrived, and they will think it strange 
 if I do not pay my respects to them." 
 
 Now it is certain that Lord Winstone not being far 
 distant, had overheard every syllable of the conversa- 
 tion that had passed between Lady Lavinia and her 
 lovely cousin ; and the contrast in the sentiment of each 
 was not very advantageous to his bride elect, while he 
 felt the most glowing admiration for the wife of the so 
 greatly envied Lord Montague; but his intimacy had 
 gone too far with the daughter of the Marquis, for a 
 man of honour to retract the proposals he had already 
 made her ; but unfortunately, she had given his lord- 
 ship a necessary hint of her disposition, which other- 
 wise he had never known, and he determined to be 
 guided by it hereafter when the holy knot was tied, 
 and to prevent, by a husband's authority, her lady- 
 ship's intended charitable plans towards his offspring 
 and her own. It was many weeks before Lady Agatha 
 was able to take her accustomed walks in the beautiful 
 gardens and plantations that surrounded Violet Vale ; 
 so anxious and attentive was she to discharge her ma- 
 ternal duties to her infant ; for although a careful 
 nurse was provided, yet she steadily adhered to her 
 former resolution of suckling it herself, at which Lord 
 Montague expressed some slight objection, which was 
 counterbalanced by the persuasive arguments and be- 
 
222 the fisher's daughter. 
 
 witching eloquence of his lovely wife ; who tenderly 
 reproaching him, while she yet held her sweet babe in 
 her arms, exclaimed — 
 
 " Oh my Lord, and can you indeed wish me to relin- 
 quish the sweetest task imaginable to a fond mother's 
 heart ? Look in the face of my smiling innocent, and 
 tell me whether you think it does not deserve some 
 sacrifices to be made for its helpless sake, some plea- 
 sures given up ? For what would pleasures avail me, 
 were I to behold my cherub droop and sicken for want 
 of the nutriment which nature has so kindly provided 
 for it in a mother's breast? And what mother must 
 she be who, being supplied with the means, would 
 deny it to her tender offspring? Oh my Montague, 
 believe me not so cruel, or so unjust! in all other 
 things command me, but in this allow me to govern 
 myself." 
 
 " My best, my dearest love," uttered Lord Monta- 
 gue, gazing with unutterable fondness on his beauteous 
 wife, and clasping both her and his infant son with fer- 
 vour to his breast ; " and think you J would teach 
 you to neglect your child, or that I do not cherish it 
 for thy sake as dearly as its own ? I had other fears — - 
 fears for thee my gentle love ; your health, more pre- 
 cious to me than life itself, might be injured by this 
 duty to our sweet babe. I had no other motive in 
 dissuading you from your purpose, save alone anxiety 
 for thee." 
 
 Lady Agatha, however, in reply to her fond lord, found 
 arguments sufficiently powerful to convince him that 
 her health could never be impaired by a system so 
 natural, and so delightfully sweet ; and the young Or- 
 
E.l.RobertsSc. 
 
 - /// '?/*t/ _/?■'/</ st ///■/ err // //( •«. -{////ess/ //f.j/t ??ze. 
 
 LSHED BY G.V11 . ; ' ' 
 
 fc 5ATB STREET BRISTOL. 
 
uje fisher's daughter. 223 
 
 lando (for he was named after the Duke, at the parti- 
 cular request of Lord Montague) continued hourly to 
 increase in strength and beauty. The freshness of the 
 rose was in his healthy looks, and his exquisitely fine 
 formed features were moulded like those of his beau- 
 teous mother, so that the boy might have been a sub- 
 ject for the statuary before he was six months old ; 
 being so lively and animated, he required less of his 
 mother's attention than if he had been of a sickly con- 
 stitution ; and for whole hours would his Grace dandle 
 him in his arms, from thence he would be handed to 
 his father, then to the Marquis; and sometimes when 
 the Marchioness condescended to pay her daughter-in- 
 law a morning visit with Lady Lavinia, they would each 
 take the little pet in their arms, and bestow the high- 
 est encomiums on his improving growth and beauty. 
 
 " Well, I protest the boy will be an absolute giant," 
 uttered her ladyship, returning him to the arms of his 
 nurse; " his limbs are perfectly athletic already." 
 
 " Indeed he is quite a little monster," observed Lady 
 Lavinia, " and yet so prodigiously handsome, that I 
 protest I almost envy Agatha for having so sweet a 
 creature." 
 
 ** That is a great compliment after you have cahed 
 him a monster," uttered Agatha, and smiled ; " but 
 whatever he may be, it is not his personal qualifica- 
 tions that I shall ever be particularly anxious about, 
 provided his mind reflects a mirror that I can always 
 look at without blushing." 
 
 " Now that is so exactly like you," uttered Lady 
 Lavinia, suppressing a sort of a half ironical smile, but 
 not daring immediately to levei it at her lovely sister- 
 
224 the fisher's daughter. 
 
 in-law ; tl you are so sententious and so precise if 
 one happens to say any thing in jest to you, that one 
 never knows how to please you." 
 
 " And you are not going to please those who choose 
 to take offence so easily, my love," uttered the Mar- 
 chioness, perceiving that Agatha by no means relished 
 the coarse observations which Lady Lavinia had made 
 on her sweet boy. " It is prodigiously strange indeed 
 if you, as the sister of Lord Montague Montault, may 
 not presume to pass a harmless joke on your little 
 nephew, without being called to account for it. How- 
 ever, as Lady Agatha is so extremely tenacious, she 
 will not be troubled in future with any more of our 
 visits at Violet Vale, since the presence of her mother 
 and sister-in-law are so disagreeable to her." 
 
 And without giving Agatha a moment's time to reply 
 to her injurious and insulting speech, the Marchioness 
 instantly arose, telling Lady Lavinia to follow her, and 
 whisked out of the apartment so suddenly, that the 
 coachman, who had got off his box during the time 
 that the carriage was waiting at the door, had hardly 
 time to reseat himself, or the footman to put down the 
 steps for his ladies to get into it. The imperious 
 and haughty tone in which her ladyship desired that 
 they would instantly proceed to Montault Castle, very 
 clearly proved to her domestics that her ladyship was 
 not at this precise moment in the sweetest of all possi- 
 ble of tempers ; which, however, was not made appa- 
 rent to either the Marquis or the Duke, who, since the 
 birth of his little grandson, passed the greatest part of 
 his time in the society of his beloved daughter, whose 
 retired habits and domestic virtues in the bosom of her 
 
THE FISHER S DAUGHTER. 225 
 
 family, rendered her a far moredesirable companion than 
 the gay Marcnioness and her fashionable daughter ; yet 
 with his brotner the Marquis he very frequently spent 
 the day, for his Grace was passionately attached to this 
 quiet, peaceabie, and excellent man, between whom 
 and his iady there was not the slightest congeniality of 
 taste, sentiment, or feeling ; but most unfortunately for 
 the Marquis, he did not make this discovery till it was 
 too late, and that he had made the beautiful Lady 
 Lavinia Mortimer the Marchioness of Montault. If 
 she did not please her husband, however, she was a 
 great favourite with her mother-in-law, the Duchess 
 of Braganza, for she was capable of all the art and 
 finesse that was requisite to form a complete woman 
 of the world, with a certain fascination, which rendered 
 it no difficult matter to please those on whom she 
 chose to exert its bewitching power; and none were so 
 susceptible of this fascination as those she intended 
 to deceive. These were points so much in her 
 favour in the estimation of the Duchess, that she often 
 protested, that if her son had married any other woman 
 than Lady Lavinia Mortimer, she would never cither 
 have forgiven him, or have been able to have endured 
 his wife in her presence ; but that Lady Lavinia was 
 exactly to her wish, and a female after her own heart. 
 It was no wonder therefore that her Grace continued 
 so much abroad, and was always to be found in the 
 society of the Marquis and his lady ; and that when 
 Lord Montague was born, she was so passionately 
 attached to her little grandson. The chief aim of her 
 ambition was to make him the heir of his uncle the 
 Duke of Braganza, then an exile, self-banished, cheer- 
 b 10 F F 
 
THE FISHER S DAUGHTER. 
 
 less, and solitary in a far distant land, mourning 
 over the supposed untimely dsath of his beauteous 
 wife and infant daughter ; but who, by the machina- 
 tions of the wily Duchess, and that agent of mischief, 
 Paulo Michello, were immured in the walls of the 
 old abbey, — the one dead, — the other living. Yes, the 
 mother slept benepth its mouldering walls in death ; 
 her gentle suffering persecuted spirit had reached its 
 native skies, and was at rest and peace with kindred 
 angels there. But the child remained ; the heiress of 
 Braganza was living; by the destination of Almighty 
 Providence she yet survived the cruel fate of her un- 
 fortunate mother, and while her illustrious father wept 
 ihe loss of his infant daughter, as well as of his lovely 
 and adored Agatha Delcrusa, c.iat daughter was mira- 
 culously preserved, and virtuously protected ; she was 
 permitted by heaven to live to crush the malice, defeat 
 the purpose, and revenge the cruelty of her mother's 
 vindictive enemies ; a living instrument to prove the 
 inefticacy of all mortal power, when opposed to the 
 unerring one of Him whose eaglet eye, as it glances 
 downwards on the creatures formed of his own hand, 
 can pierce adamantine rocks, or search into the deep 
 recesses of ocean's boundbss and immeasurable depths. 
 And what were the sensations of this guilty murderous 
 woman, when she found that it was so ! What; awf jl 
 and tremendous agitations shook her fragile form, and 
 penetrated her inmost soul! and what fears crept 
 through her chiily veins at the approach of death, that 
 king of terrors, under the conviction that she had 
 sinned against heaven, and despaired of that mercy 
 which so oft she had refused to give to another ! And 
 
the fisher's daughter. 22/ 
 
 was there no repentance ? None in the grave ; and to 
 that grave she was very quicklv descending, and none 
 had the power to snatch her from it. Her disorder, 
 which was of the inflammatory kind, every instant 
 gained strength, and at length her brain became be- 
 wildered. She raved of the lost angel her cruelty had 
 laid low in the dust; more frantically she called on 
 Paulo Michello to save the infant daughter of her be- 
 loved Orlando ; then, as if fancying that she stood on the 
 sea-beat .shore, and on the cliff where the fatal deed 
 was accomplished, she would more loudly exclaim to 
 Paulo to stop the boat, to throw Agatha into the sea, 
 but to save the infant. Thus were the crimes of the 
 Duchess of Braganza known even to the attendants that 
 surrounded her bed of death, and shuddered at; for she 
 never ceased to rave of those crimes in the hearing of 
 her domestics till the delirium subsided ; and then she 
 expired, an awful spectacle to those to whom she had 
 confessed her crimes, and a terrible example of the 
 effects of violent and vindictive passions and remorse- 
 less prejudice, when carried to an ungovernable excess, 
 and cherished by the hateful sentiments of pride, am- 
 bition, and jealousy. 
 
 And although the amiable Marquis, who was in n» 
 way accountable for his mother's transgressions, and 
 over whose frailties he wished to cast the veil of obli- 
 vion, and had ever shed a silent tear, took every pre- 
 caution that prudence and delicacy could suggest, by 
 informing her domestics that her wild ravings were 
 merely the effects of the contagious disorder with 
 whicn she had been so suddenly seized ; yet they 
 were not to be so blinded, although the motive was so 
 
228 the fisher's daughter. 
 
 praise- worthy in her son. She had spoken loudly of 
 the Duke of Braganza's young and lovely wife, Agatha 
 Delcrusa, and of his infant daughter, and accused her- 
 self, in conjunction with one Paulo Michello, of having 
 destroyed both the mother and the child ; and some of 
 her long attached vassals, who had been in her Grace's 
 service a considerable number of years, were so shock- 
 ed at the confession she had made, and at the magni- 
 tude of her guilt, that they immediately begged to be 
 dismissed, the Marquis wishing to retain them for di- 
 vers reasons. But to this proposal, however generous 
 of the Marquis, none of them would listen, but silently 
 withdrew; and a short time after the interment of the 
 Duchess, they were finally discharged, according to 
 their earnest requests. 
 
 But rumour! who can stop the tongue of rumour? 
 Bid the ocean cease to flow, or the winds to blow 
 roughly, and they will obey you as readily as rumour 
 stop its loud bawling. There is a brass trumpet 
 always near when scandal or defamation goes abroad, 
 very unlike to that with which fame sounds a victory; 
 and this brass trumpet was pretty well blown about 
 the neighbourhood of Cromer and its vicirnty, soon 
 after the domestics of the Duchess of Braganza nad 
 quitted the Cottage on the Cliff; and soon the sky- 
 rocket burst forth, and proclaimed to the astonished 
 inhabitants, that Miss Agatha Singleton, who was sup- 
 posed to be the daughter of the unfortunate Captain 
 that was drowned on the night of the tempest, was no 
 other than the heiress of the Duke ot Braganza, and 
 oonsequentlv the granddaughter of the Oucness whom 
 she had intended to destroy with its mother; and con- 
 
the fisher's daughter. 229 
 
 fessed that she hud done so if her stratagems had not 
 tailed, and the completion of her wicked plans proved 
 abortive. No soone- therefore did Agatha make her 
 appearance again among them with her foster father, 
 Captain Singleton, than the loudest acclamations and 
 rejoicings in Cromer prevailed. 
 
 Admired before, when considered only as the daugh- 
 ter of the recluse that lived in the Cottage on the Cliff, 
 and pitied when she afterwards became his orphan, she 
 was now perfectly idolized as the wife of Lord Monta- 
 gue Montault. Thousands of spectators crowded to 
 the doors of the church on the morning that her nup- 
 tials were solemnized, and poor and rich showered 
 down blessings on her beauteous head, while her 
 bounty extended to all. Nor was her lord slow in 
 following her example; meat, bread, and clothing were 
 distributed unsparingly to all who languished in sick- 
 ness, or were pining in want, and they blessed the 
 hour that such an angel of charity had come among 
 them. 
 
 But the Marchioness of Montault had never been a 
 favourite, and she was thought less of, owing to some 
 report? which had formerly prevailed of her ladyship 
 having been prir* T to some secret negociations which 
 had been carried on by the Dowager Duchess of Bra- 
 ganza ; and there was not a doubt but the report was 
 not wholly without foundation, though stifled in its 
 birth by the re-appearance of Agatha and her foster 
 father, Captain Singleton. There was danger therefore 
 of endeavouring to tarnish the bright excellence of 
 such an angel of purity, and we will not pronounce 
 her to be so base or devoid of feeling, as to intimate 
 
230 THE FISHER'S daughter. 
 
 that she exactly wished it ; for Agatha was the wife of 
 her son. and that son was still the darling of her heart, 
 his sister, ihe Lady Lavinia, always being a secondary 
 consideration with beautiful mamma. 
 
 But beautiful mamma cared more for herself than she 
 did for any other earthly being. Ambition, pride, and 
 personal vanity, were the leading features of her cha- 
 racter ; and she heeded not what sacrifices she made to 
 her darling shrine, what hearts she tortured, what feel- 
 ings she mortified, or what happiness she deprived her 
 fellow creatures of, so that she could make oblations 
 to this god of her idolatry. 
 
 The magnificence of her daughter-in-law, and the 
 admiration which constantly followed her steps, eithei 
 in private or in public, made her to writhe under 
 the smart of envy's bitterest spite ; and but for 
 the presence of the Duke, she would have made a 
 fearful attack on the repose of Agatha, had she dared 
 to have put her operations in artillery against her j but 
 the Duke being present was an obstacle which at pre- 
 sent was an insurmountable barrier to her malignant 
 wishes. 
 
 Her lynx-eyed jealousy had watched with no small 
 assiduity to find a speck in Agatha since she had be- 
 come the wife of her son, but in vain ; only more 
 bright, as she breathed her baneful look on the mirror, 
 did it appear; but though she could discover no speck 
 in this transparent mirror which reflected the virtues 
 of Agatha, she had searched, and she had found it in 
 her son, and that speck was jealousy, which after the 
 birth of his son began to break imperceptibly forth 
 on many occasions. 
 
the fisher's daughter. 231 
 
 He was jealous of the admiration which his lovely 
 wife excited from every individual who approached 
 her; and while it afforded an opportunity of gratify- 
 ing her revenge on her daughter-in-law, it gave to the 
 object of it, when she first discovered it, pangs of the 
 most inexpressible agony ; and this fault in her son 
 the Marchioness determined to work upon, by means 
 the most diabolical and cruel that ever entered the 
 imagination of a jealous and envious woman; and so 
 secret were her silent approaches to undermine the 
 peace of this celestial angel, that she of all others the 
 least suspected her malignant designs. It was neces- 
 sary therefore to keep on terms with her, and not only 
 on terms, but to appear her warmest friend, and most 
 zealous admirer. Of course her visits to Violet Vale 
 were now more frequent, and her haughty demeanour to 
 her daughter-in-law changed for one of the most fasci- 
 nating gentleness. 
 
 But the spirit who guided her in this demoniac 
 scheme was the prying Mrs. Tartlet, who had lately 
 had the sagacity to discover what nobody else could, 
 that the young Lord Orlando favoured greatly of the 
 young gentleman who was so great a favourite of Lady 
 Montault's; that he was absolutely exactly made like 
 young Mr. Wolf; and that she had never called lately 
 at Violet Vale, but he was sitting with her ladyship, 
 nursing and bestowing the fondest caresses on the 
 young Lord Orlando ; and that the child absolutely 
 held out its little arms to him, and cried after him as 
 naturally as if he was its own father. 
 
 At this moment the Marchioness was indolently re- 
 clining on an elegant Ottoman, with her eyes half shut. 
 
232 the fisher's daughter. 
 
 while Lady Lavinia was reading to beautiful mamma, 
 ill order to keep her from a fit of the vapours, Pope's 
 Abelard and Eloise, which she had selected from the 
 library in preference to all others, because, as she ob- 
 served to beautiful mamma, that the subject was so 
 funny; and beautiful mamma had encouraged the idea 
 by laughing at the observation. Her ladyship had 
 just arrived at the passage where Eloise, in one of the 
 tender epistles to her favourite Abelard, thus ex- 
 oresses herself: — 
 
 " How oft when prest to marriage have I said, 
 Curse on all laws but those which love has made ; 
 Not Caesar's empress would I prove, 
 No, make me mistress to the man I love." 
 
 Lady Lavinia paused and blushed at the immorality 
 of such a thought; at length she exclaimed — 
 
 " Is that right mamma?" 
 
 To which her ladyship, half jest, but certainly more 
 than the other half in earnest, replied — 
 
 " I cannot precisely tell my love, whether it is right 
 or not ; but it is prodigiously the rage, and Pope was 
 by no means an immoral man, therefore we may set it 
 down qood, as Berifwit says, in the farce of the Wea- 
 thercock ; 'good, till it can be proved bad.' Go on 
 child." 
 
 But tne child did not go on, for at this very precise 
 moment rhe favourite Abigail appeared, big with the 
 important discovery she had made ; and Abelard and 
 his Eloise was thrown aside, to listen to her pleasing 
 communications. 
 
 After rhe first speech, the Marchioness stretched her 
 neck from the ottoman, and opened her eyes a little 
 
the fisher's daughter. 233 
 
 wider; nay, in fact, she began greedily to devour up 
 the discourse of Mrs. Tartlet ; but not as the gentle 
 Desdemona did Othello's, for less gentle thoughts 
 possessed her envious mind, and she exclaimed — 
 
 " Young Mr. who ?" To which Lady Lavinia In- 
 stantly replied — 
 
 " Why law ma, why "who but that savage boy they 
 call Wolf, that comes from some foreign outlandish 
 part, and that the Duke was saying the other day was 
 grown such a prodigiously fine young man, almost six 
 feet high, and has turned out to be such an extraordi- 
 nary genius : and papa said so too. His name is Wolf, 
 and he was a great favourite of Agatha's when she 
 was living in the house of the fisher Blust. I have 
 seen her colour so when the wild boy was mentioned." 
 
 " Prodigious *" uttered her ladyship, now thoroughly 
 aroused from her torpor by this unexpected intelli- 
 gence, and with a most malicious smile. 
 
 " Monstracious* I think, my lady," responded Mrs; 
 Tartlet. 
 
 " It is very funny and comical mamma, to see Wolf 
 nursing little Orlando," cried Lady Lavinia, sneeringly. 
 
 " Out of pure love to the infant," uttered the Mar- 
 chioness 
 
 " Or rather to the infant's mamma," observed the 
 housekeeper. 
 
 A summons to the tea table prevented the contfnr 
 ance of this amusing conversation, and it was suspend 
 cd till some future opportunity. 
 
 clO 
 
 OG 
 
234 THE FISHER S DAUGHTER. 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 The captive who in exile wears 
 
 The lonely hours away, 
 Makes hope the soother of his fears, 
 
 Companion of his way. 
 
 For while he drags the lengthening chain, 
 
 Or tugs the labouring oar, 
 Still hope will bid him not complain. 
 
 Nor distant joys deplore. 
 
 But captive love is doom'd to feel 
 
 An exile more severe ; 
 No hope can soothe, nor time can heal, 
 
 The bosom of despair. 
 
 The exile may by chance return 
 
 To freedom once again ; 
 But captive love must ever mourn, 
 
 And learn to hug the chain. The Author. 
 
 A promptitude to believe ill of others without 
 examination, is certainly an effect of pride and indo- 
 lence ; for pride would find the guilt, but indolence 
 would not seek for it. We object to judges in our 
 most trifling interests and pursuits, and yet are willing 
 that our reputation and glory should depend on the 
 determination of men who are ac'verse to us, through 
 jealousy, prejudice, or ignorance : to gain their decision 
 in our favour, we often risk our repose, and even life 
 itself; nor have we penetration enough to discover all 
 
the fisher's daughter 235 
 
 the mischief that they do, because we like to divine the 
 motives of others, but conceal our own. 
 
 The whole time that the Marchioness and Lady 
 Lavinia had to themselves on the remainder of this even- 
 ing, was employed in conversing on the important 
 discovery that the penetrating and Argus eyes of Mrs. 
 Tartlet had made respecting the young Wolf and Lady 
 Agatha Montault; and the Duke being absent at the 
 tea table, the Marchioness took an opportunity of en- 
 quiring of her husband if his son's house had been con- 
 verted into a study for the young gentlemen whom his 
 Grace was so solicitous about, and whether they were 
 likely to be provided for. " For I must own," added 
 her ladyship, with a most invidious sneer, well calcu- 
 lated to impress on the minds of all those who beheld 
 it, what were her own severe animadversions on the sub- 
 ject ; " I must own my Lord Marquis, that it appears 
 to me a somewhat extraordinary propensity in his Grace, 
 that he should fix upon no other place of residence for 
 the progress of their studies, than to make Montague's 
 house a school-room for a couple of young fellows that 
 nobody knows any thing at all about, further than they 
 were picked out of the sea, and afterwards kept on 
 charity by the fisher Blust, who I dare say was heartily 
 glad to get rid of his unprofitable bargains, who may 
 be bastards for aught we know ; and I must own that 
 the Duke is going a step far beyond the boundary of pro- 
 priety, by having these young strapping fellows brought 
 into the house of my son, who has so young and pretty 
 a wife as the Lady Agatha, who puts them on such 
 equality with her, For my own part, I think it an 
 extremely indecorous thing ; I don't know what you 
 
236 the fisher's daughter. 
 
 think Marquis, or how you, who visit Violet Vale so 
 frequently, can tolerate such proceedings. Much more 
 prodigiously am I surprized at Montague, who is ac- 
 tually so tenacious, not to say jealous, of all who ap- 
 proach his divini I should think indeed that the 
 wife of Lord Montague Montault had, or ought to have, 
 too delicate a sense of propriety, now she is married 
 to your son, to allow any of her former favourites to 
 visit her just whenever they like, and that her nursery 
 ought to be saved from the approach of young fellows 
 who presume to intrude themselves there at all 
 seasons and hours, under pretence of bestowing ca- 
 resses on the young Lord Orlando. I protest I am 
 quite shocked to hear that the young wild savage boy, 
 Wolf, is absolutely the nurse of our little grandson, as 
 much so as if he were the father ; and that Lady Agatha 
 permits such extraordinary liberties to be taken with 
 her child, is to me a wonder, considering that she is a 
 female of such uncommon delicacy and refinement. 
 You would think it very strange my Lord Marquis, if, 
 when your daughter is married to Lord Winstone, and 
 should become a mother, she should find no nurse 
 more suitable for her infant than a young fellow who 
 has been kept upon charity. 
 
 " Law, mamma, do you think I should be guilty of 
 such a thing?" cried Lady Lavinia, simpering; "I 
 vow I should expire at the thoughts of such vulgarity." 
 
 " Vulgarity, my dear," uttered the Marchioness, and 
 nighly provoked at the calm settled composure which 
 had taker, possession of the features of the Marquis, and 
 the easy air of nonchalence he assumed during the whole 
 time of her eloquent harangue. " Vulgarity is too mild 
 
the fisher's daughter. 237 
 
 a term for such gross and monstrous indecency, which 
 so far from shocking the feelings of your father, which 
 I expected that it would do, actually appears to give 
 him the most pleasurable sensations. I might as well 
 attempt to stop the flow and ebb of the tide, as to 
 persuade him that your brother's pretty idol, and his 
 own, can do any wrong." 
 
 " That you may indeed, and with as much chance 
 of success," at length uttered the Marquis, with a grave 
 and shocked expression, which plainly indicated his 
 utter disgust of the illiberal sentiments of his lady, at 
 whom he looked reproachfully, but as one more pained 
 than irritated, while he added — " Persuade me that 
 Agatha can act with the impropriety you have describ- 
 ed, and I will give your ladyship credit for more elo- 
 quence than you are mistress of at the present moment. 
 I bid you beware, Marchioness, how you make use of 
 her name with impunity, or utter aught against her 
 that is not perfectly correct. She is the daughter of 
 Braganza, and I must remind your ladyship that he is 
 my brother. What you would insinuate, you ought to 
 blush at as a wife and a mother, and much more so in 
 the presence of your child. God of my fathers ! is not 
 innocence, and the most unsullied purity of heart and 
 modesty of manners to be secure from detraction, or 
 the slanderous reports of some idle gossip's tale ? M ust 
 a female, the most chaste, exemplary, and virtuous, I 
 believe in existence, be accused of impropriety, merely 
 because her infant is caressed by her friends, and those 
 too of the most humble and unoffending kind > Woif 
 caress and fondle the young Lord Orlando? Yes, 
 Marchioness, I know that he does, for I have seen him 
 
238 the fisher's daughter. 
 
 do it, and his example has been immediately followed 
 by Lord Winstone, and half a dozen others that I could 
 mention besides, who happened to be visiting at Violet 
 Vale. They have all taken the infant in their arms, 
 and bestowed on it innumerable caresses ; and you 
 might with equal justice tax Lady Agatha with impro- 
 priety, in permitting those personages to approach her 
 child, as young Wolf, whom I never yet saw in the 
 nursery, although I am constantly there myself, and 
 must have seen him if there had been any truth in your 
 ladyship's observation. I never saw him in any part 
 of the house but once, except in those apartments 
 which are appropriated to the several masters who are 
 engaged to inspect the studies of the young men, with 
 which your ladyship can have nothing to do ; and I 
 must suggest to you silence on the subject for the fu- 
 ture. It is the pleasure of his Grace that these two 
 poor unfriended youths should be provided for, (and it 
 is a most noble benefaction, and one that reflects im- 
 mortal honour on my brother ;) and if he chooses to ex- 
 pend thousands on this charitable undertaking, it ought 
 not to be a matter of concern to you, Marchioness, for 
 those thousands are his own, and he has an undoubted 
 right to do what he pleases with them. And with re- 
 spect to the unwarrantable liberty which you say he is 
 taking with Montague's house, for-heaven's sake Mar- 
 chioness, recollect yourself, and remember whose mo- 
 ney it was that purchased that house, and gave it to 
 Montague, with a fortune of nearly one hundred thou- 
 sand pounds to his daughter when she became the 
 wife of your son. And can you complain or talk of 
 liberties, because one or two solitary rooms, which 
 
1HE FISHER S DAUGHTER. 239 
 
 were wholly unoccupied before the arrival of Alfred 
 and Wolf, are now, by order of his Grace, con- 
 verted into a study, for the use of the tutors and their 
 pupils ? Is this what your ladyship calls converting 
 your son's house into a school-room ? I am really, 
 Marchioness, not only prodigiously surprised, but pro- 
 digiously ashamed of your cherishing sentiments so 
 disgraceful to yourself, and so insulting to my brother; 
 and I furthermore request, that never in my hearing 
 such sentiments may again be uttered." 
 
 With these words the Marquis instantly arose from 
 his seat and quitted the room, leaving the Marchioness 
 not in the most pleasant of all possible situations for 
 a mother to be exposed to in the presence of her 
 daughter ; for the feelings of the Marchioness not 
 having their usual play for violence or contention, (for 
 what the Marquis had uttered was in the mildest tone 
 that was possible,) were so completely mortified, hum- 
 bled, and abashed, that unable to stifle or conquer her 
 sensations, she burst into a most violent hysteric flood 
 of tears, which so surprised, or rather frightened Lady 
 Lavinia, that she rang the bell for Flounce to bring 
 beautiful mamma some sal volatile, which she applied 
 immediately to her ladyship's nose; and in a short time 
 she recovered and dismissed her attendant, wishing to 
 have some conversation with her daughter before she 
 retired to her chamber. No sooner was Flounce 
 absent, than her ladyship began to shower down tor- 
 rents of abuse on the Marquis for his severity towards 
 her, in which she had no very great difficulty in 
 making Lady Lavinia join, whose envy towards her 
 lovely cousin was now more powerfully excited than 
 
240 . the fisher's daughter* 
 
 ever, because the Marquis had said that he had seen 
 Lord Winstone bestowing the fondest caresses on the 
 ttle Orlando, in compliment, of course, not to the 
 child, but its beauteous mother ; and Lady Lavinia 
 disliked Agatha and her infant too. 
 
 " 1 wish the brat was dead> so I do," uttered he. 
 ladyship, biting her lips with vexation, " then there 
 would not be such a mighty fuss made about it by 
 every one who goes to Violet Vale. I wonder for my 
 part that Lord Winstone can admire such little stupir 
 things as babies before they are a twelvemonth old." 
 
 " Oh my dear, it is not the child, but probably the 
 mother who is the magnet of attraction to all the vi- 
 sitors that have lately frequented the house of your 
 brother with such unblushing effrontery ; but if Lord 
 Winstone is so constant in his devotions at a certair 
 shrine, I shall certainly give Montague a hint of it, and 
 of the young Wolf into the bargain. Let your father 
 say what he pleases of the angelic purity of the pretty 
 saint, the pretty saint is not going to monopolize tht 
 attentions of every male visitor we have, married 01 
 single, I can assure her; and as to Lord Winstone, i* 
 he were a lover of mine, Lavinia, he should not have a 
 kind look, or a civil word from me, for this month to 
 come. I'd teach him to be paying morning visits at 
 Violet Vale, and complimenting young mothers on 
 their infants, when lie ought to be at the Castle oJ 
 Montault, paying his respects to his intended bride. 
 Yes, my dear, you certainly ought to mortify him ~, 
 there's nothing like treating men as slaves ; it's the 
 only way to get them to obey us, instead of our obey 
 ing them. I never obeyed your father in all my life. 
 
the fisher's DAUGHTER. 241 
 
 if I had, where had been my power? No; no, my 
 Lavinia, ever while you live govern your husband; for 
 as Roxalana says, in that charming farce of the Sultan, 
 ' Men, indeed ! men were born for no other purpose 
 under heaven but to amuse us; and he who succeeds 
 best, perfectly answers the end of his creation.' ' 
 
 " La, ma, how funny and how comical, if that is 
 true," cried Lady Lavinia, now laughing immoderately, 
 in spite of her vexation. " Well, I should like to mor- 
 tify the wretch a little, I protest, to see how he will 
 behave after it. But, beautiful mamma, don't you 
 think there is some danger in trying the experiment ? 
 before marriage you know its a ticklish point to play 
 with the heart of a man ! Three weeks after I should 
 not care how much I vexed or tormented him ; but if I 
 was to play the tyrant with him, now that all things 
 are coming so nicely to a conclusion, perhaps he would 
 fly off, and I should lose both a lover and a husband 
 into the bargain. Then 1 should be laughed at ; and 
 who could bear to be laughed at when one was just 
 going to be married ?" 
 
 " Why there is some truth in your observation, my 
 love," uttered the Marchioness, " so we will both play 
 our cards with better management, than to let either 
 the lover or the husband slip out of your hand, we 
 have him fast enough in eupid's chains, and the fetters 
 of Hymen are now forging for him with all imaginable 
 dispatch. There will be no harm, however, in tying 
 his wings a little faster before he is put into his cage 
 for life, so you shall flirt with somebody at Tanning- 
 ton's rout next Tuesday. I know that Winstone wil 
 be there, for I heard the old Duchrss give him a ven 
 
 a 11 h h 
 
k 2i"2 the fisher's daughter. 
 
 pressing invitation, prolmbly in the suppositioL that he 
 will be induced to play deep, and she will have a chance 
 to pidgeon him. I should not mind his losing a few 
 hundreds there, if I thought that my Lavinia would 
 succeed in fixing her chains more firmly round his 
 heart. There is the elegant Dashall to be there ; he is 
 a thousand times handsomer than your lover, though 
 not half so rich ; and he is a general admirer, and never 
 having any serious designs on the heart of a woman, 
 is admirably calculated for a uHle coquet; and one can 
 flirt with the handsome captain, without much danger 
 of having one's heart besieged into the bargain. He 
 shall be the man, and not knowing your engagements 
 ivith Lord Winstone, will imagine that you are caught 
 >y his attractions. Keep up the spirit of flirtation as 
 far as you can with propriety, and you will make Win- 
 stone as mad as a March hare." 
 
 " Oh delightful ! beautiful mamma, I applaud your 
 design, and if I was as certain that execution would 
 follow, I should not much mind playing the game you 
 recommend me to do," uttered her ladyship, most 
 immoderately laughing. " I am only afraid that" — 
 Lady Lavinia crimsoned deeply, and paused ; — a pause 
 instantly filled up by beautiful mamma exclaiming — 
 
 " Afraid of what, you little simpleton ?" 
 
 " That I should make myself as mad as a March 
 hare," uttered Lady Lavinia, with a shade of sensibility 
 passing slightly over her countenance ; " if by this game 
 of flirtation I should lose the hand and the heart of Lord 
 T Vinstone, that would be giving up the substance for 
 ie shadow to all intents and purposes, beautiful 
 
 lamma." 
 
THK FISHKR S DAUGHTER. 243 
 
 The Marchioness was astonished at the profundity 
 of her daughter's wisdom, and probably thinking that 
 experiments so dangerous might as well be let alone, 
 and that there was a chance at least of hazarding the 
 displeasure, if not losing the affections of Lord Win- 
 stone, by a game, which was neither very honourable 
 or delicate for a young lady to play, who was just on 
 the point of marriage ; it was agreed to be laid aside 
 till beautiful mamma could ingeniously contrive to in- 
 vent a newer game from her lively and brilliant imagi- 
 nation, of a less dangerous complexion ; and beautiful 
 mamma kissing the cheek of her daughter, bade her 
 good night. 
 
 Lady Lavinia hastened to the dressing-room, de- 
 termined upon finishing Abelard and Eloise, before 
 she consigned her lovely form to the arms of Mor- 
 pheus ; and so she did, not very highly gratified or 
 pleased with the denouncement of the tragical history 
 of these so fatally attached, constant, but unfortunate 
 lovers : and in her first dream, in which it was proba- 
 ble that Lord Winstone had some share, we will gently 
 draw the curtains around the sleeping maid, and take 
 our magic lantern in our hand, to light us to the habi 
 tation of Lord and Lady Montague Montault. 
 
 That bed may surely be called a bed of roses, where 
 connubial joys reside unembittered by one thorn that 
 can destroy its sweets ; where peace is the down of the 
 pillow, and we sleep on the bosom of love. So slept, 
 in the beautiful sequestered and romantic shades of 
 Violet Vale, this then transcendantly happy and de- 
 lighted pair Not more happy slept our first parents 
 
244 the fisher's daughter. 
 
 in their love- transported bower in the garden of Eden, 
 for innocence was theirs, and smiling beauty. 
 
 Each thought, whether of joy or of pensive sadness, 
 was to each other known, and quickly imparted to each 
 other's breast. Full of mutual confidence, they knew 
 no change, and none they wished to know, nor envied 
 others, for they were happy in themselves. A beau- 
 teous pledge of tender love crowned the joys of 
 Hymenial happiness in their lovely boy. 
 
 Lord Montague was happy before, but now he was 
 a father, he was happier still. The Lady Agatha was 
 happy too; but since she had become a mother, her 
 affection to her husband had become more sacred, 
 more refined, for to the heart of woman there is no- 
 thing more endearing than a child ; it is the universal 
 tie that binds the heart of woman to man, and he who 
 disregards these sacred ties, is unworthy of the blessing 
 that woman bestows. 
 
 Unconscious of the observations that had been made, 
 or her partiality to the poor unfriended boy, who, in 
 the hour of adversity she had been accustomed to look 
 upon as her brother, and who had, through a coinci- 
 dence of circumstances, been the partner of her mis- 
 fortunes and her obscurity, Agatha never dreamt that 
 when her beloved father was doing all he could to pro- 
 mote the interest of those unfriended youths, that her 
 reputation was to be made the price of this generosity 
 in the Duke of Braganza, or that her admitting Wolf 
 to bestow a kiss on her lovely child, was to be consi- 
 dered as passing the bounds of propriety in a chaste 
 and virtuous female. 
 
the fisher's daughter. 245 
 
 What could be suspected when, after dinner, the 
 lovely infant was brought in, and all who were present 
 caressed the child, and Wolf amongst the number? 
 And if the child had taken an uncommon propensity 
 to this young man, was the mother to be taxed with 
 impropriety? and yet guilt was to be made of it. And 
 very soon it manifested itself in the manner of Lord 
 Montague, after some private conversation held with 
 the Marchioness at the Castle of Montault, who had 
 that morning paid a visit to her daughter-in-law ; when 
 most unfortunately for the Lady Agatha, Wolf was sit- 
 ting with her ladyship, with the young Lord Orlando 
 (now a beautiful boy of fifteen months old) on his 
 knee ; and Lord Montague being that moment absent, 
 she exclaimed with a supercilious smile, as she 
 turned her eye with the most sarcastic severity towards 
 the young man — 
 
 " You appear, Sir, to take great delight in nursing. 
 I thought that young men at your age could find more 
 appropriate employment for your time ; Lord Montague 
 does, you see, who is the father of that sweet boy. 
 Indeed I should think it very strange to see my son al- 
 ways at the elbow of his wife, and taking upon him 
 cares which only belong to a mother. And pray, Sir, 
 where is the Lady Agatha, that she leaves you in the 
 care of the Lord Orlando ? Where is his nurse, 
 pray?" 
 
 At that precise moment Lord Montague entered, 
 who knew well enough where his lady was gone, for 
 he had given her permission j yet he did not expect 
 Wolf in the capacity of a nurse when he returned ; and 
 somewhat angrily demanded the nurse to attend the 
 
246 THK PISH Kit S DAUGHTER. 
 
 child, perceiving that his mother gazed on him with 
 *he most scrutinizing attention. 
 
 When Rebecca appeared, he demanded to know 
 /f there were no other attendants for Lord Orlando but 
 Mr. Wolf. 
 
 " Oh yes, my lord, there are plenty," cried the 
 nurse, taking the child from the arms of Wolf; " but 
 this young gentleman is the best nurse he has. Now 
 Lord Orlando is cutting his teeth he will go to no one 
 else but Mr. Wolf; the child is absolutely frantic if he 
 is a moment out of his sight, so my lady desires that 
 he shall not be crost, but that Mr. Wolf is to take and 
 nurse him whenever the child wants to go to him. Is 
 not that true Mr. Wolf? I am sure that it is none of 
 my fault that you are nursing the child, for I am sure 
 it will go to no owe else when it is cross but you, and 
 you know very well that my lady said only last night 
 that"— 
 
 Lord Montague's countenance had been suffering for 
 the last ten minutes a variety of expressions, that no 
 one could precisely describe, but one placed precisely 
 in his situation ; for the Marchioness, who had come 
 with the full intention of making mischief, had fixed 
 her eyes the whole time on her son, with a demoniac 
 meaning in her look, which could scarcely be misin 
 terpreted, and which the unsophisticated manners of 
 the simple nurse, who had no meaning derogatory to 
 tne chaste character of her spotless mistress, had by 
 no means, notwithstanding the opinion of Lord Mon- 
 tague, justified. He was already more than half in- 
 clined to be jealous of his lovely wife, where no cause 
 could warrant his suspicions ; and he dismissed the p*- 
 
«.uk fisher's da ugh ikii. 2-47 
 
 tendant in an angry tone, while turning- to the petrified 
 and confounded Wolf, a glance which overwhelmed 
 him with confusion, he exclaimed — 
 
 " Sir, when your services are required in the nursery 
 of Lady Agatha Montault you will be sent for, till 
 which time this is by no means a fit place for you ; 
 and I must beg leave to inform you, that 1 do not ex- 
 pect to see you here again without my permission, 
 even though it is by Lady Agatha's commands. The 
 Lord Orlando, Sir, has other nurses, more appropriate 
 than you ; and I desire that you will not leave your 
 studies, while you are under my roof, to attend to the 
 wants of my child, or entice him from the arms of his 
 nurse, under any pretence whatever." 
 
 Not only the cheek of Wolf had been crimsoned 
 over with blushes of the deepest dye, but his feelings 
 had sustained the most painful conflict, even before 
 Lord Montague had come in, by the sarcastic speech 
 addressed to him by the Marchioness ; and had he not 
 held the infant in his arms, he would instantly have 
 withdrawn himself from her presence. But when 
 Lord Montague attacked him in the same sarcastic 
 strain, and with a look so ferocious that he could 
 not mistake his meaning, he could no longer brook 
 the contempt which was shewn him ; and so indignant 
 and high spirited were his feelings, that he was on the 
 •■'oint of returning an answer to the proud and certainly 
 ealous Lord Montague, of a nature that might very 
 possibly have occasioned an immediate dismissal from 
 Violet Vale, as well as exciting the strong displeasure 
 of his patron the Duke of Braganza. But this was 
 not the only thought that withheld Wolf from express- 
 
2-lb the fisher's daughter. 
 
 ing his sentiments to Lord Montague in the spirited 
 manner that his feelings would have prompted; no, 
 there was another consideration above every earthly 
 one besides, and that was the fear of occasioning the 
 slightest uneasiness in the mind of the Lady Agatha. 
 This thought alone, like a charmed talisman, made 
 him preserve a silence, when his heart was proudly swel- 
 ling with the indignity with which he had been treated; 
 for what had been his offence, for which both the 
 Marchioness and Lord Montague had so tauntingly up- 
 braided him ? The caresses and attentions he had 
 lavished on an innocent babe, who, in return, discover- 
 ed a partiality for him, were to be construed into 
 something of so horrible a nature, that he blushed for 
 the unworthy opinion that his lordship had, both of 
 his honour, and the spotless purity of his angelic 
 wife. 
 
 Immediately, however, he arose at the command of 
 Lord Montague, and with a manly and spirited air, 
 which could not be deemed either presuming or inso- 
 lent, he exclaimed, as he retreated towards the door — 
 
 i( Your commands, my lord, shall be implicitly 
 obeyed; I will never enter these doors again without 
 your lordship's permission. With deep regret I per- 
 ceive that I have unintentionally incurred your dis- 
 pleasure. I say unintentionally, because I never, to my 
 knowledge, willingly offended mortal man, nor can 
 you ever persuade me that your lordship can reason- 
 ably find fault with my conduct in respect to the young 
 Lord Orlando, whom it is impossible I could have 
 enticed from the arms of his nurse, if the child had 
 not shewn a disposition to have come to me ; and for 
 
the fisher's daughter. 249 
 
 that surely I am not to blame; but that fault also shall 
 not be repeated. But your lordship must not com- 
 mand me not to love the sweet boy, for — for — in that 
 I feel it — an impossibility ever to obey you, and there- 
 fore I will never promise your lordship what I cannot 
 perform. 
 
 Having uttered these words, Wolf, with a firm step, 
 advanced to the door, and with his left hand placed 
 emphatically on his breast, bowed profoundly to the 
 Marchioness, and instantly quitted that apartment he 
 was forbidden to enter, that was inhabited by all he 
 held dear in earthly existence, the Lady Agatha and 
 her sweet cherub boy. 
 
 Whether it was the attitude of Wolf as he left the 
 room, which was noble, and even affecting ; or the look 
 of ingenuousness that his fine countenance conveyed ; 
 or the spirited, yet modest appeal he had made to his 
 feelings, we cannot say ; but certain it was that Lord 
 Montague felt himself abashed, and coloured deeply, 
 when the Marchioness exclaimed — 
 
 " What unparalled insolence and prodigious affron- 
 tery ! I protest that his name perfectly agrees with h^ 
 nature \ he's savage enough." 
 
 To which Lord Montague (heartily condemning 
 himself that he had been betrayed into such petulant 
 warmth, where no intentional cause had been given, 
 and feeling the superiority of the being which only * 
 moment before he thought so contemptuously of) 
 replied — 
 
 <c No mother, that is being too severe, for though 
 Wolf, he certainly is not savage, and I believe I have 
 
 h 11 ii 
 
250 THE FISHER^ DAUGHTER. 
 
 been a little mistaken in my conjectures respecting 
 him. I was unnecessarily angry with him, yet could 
 not assign any reasonable cause for my warmth of tem- 
 per ; it was wrong, it was foolish of me ; he certainly 
 cannot help the infant's being fond of him. Tush, how 
 could I render myself so ridiculous ; if my wife was 
 here she would laugh at me ; and then justly condemn 
 me for my folly. Poor Wolf, how modestly did he 
 defend himself against the unmerited reproaches 
 which, I blush to say, ought more justly to have been 
 applied to me." 
 
 And had Lord Montague been permitted to have re- 
 mained with this impression on his mind, — that he was 
 the offender, instead of considering himself the offend- 
 ed party, all would have been well for the future peace 
 of him and his amiable lady. But there was a snake, 
 whose crested front lay curled and hid in the bower 
 of roses, where so lately soft love was sleeping, and 
 the Marchioness was determined to arouse it from its 
 slumbers ; and to use her endeavours that the favourable 
 impression which now rested on the mind of Lord 
 Montague for poor Wolf, should be completely done 
 away with before she made her exit ; and doubt, suspi- 
 cion, and jealousy, remain unchangeably fixed in that 
 tortured breast and fevered imagination, hitherto the 
 seat of every benevolent and gentle virtue, that dis- 
 dained suspicion, that never till now harboured one 
 thought injurious to his fellow creatures. But O ! 
 jealousy, thou scorpion monster, what canst thou not 
 transform man into? What pure limped waters wilt 
 thou not impregnate with thy bitter streams, when 
 
the fisher's daughter, 25 1 
 
 once they have mixed with thy baneful and pernicious 
 draught? 
 
 Wolf was a proficient in drawing, and he had pro- 
 duced no mean specimens of his taste while under the 
 roof of his august patron, which, like his poetry, had 
 ever been concealed j for the truth was, that his pen- 
 cil had been employed for the last three days on a 
 sketch of the Lady Agatha, with her infant son sleep- 
 ing in her arms ; and ever and anon the young artist, 
 when he was permitted to enter the nursery, at the time 
 the child and the mother were present, would draw in- 
 toxicating draughts of beauty ; and, unknown to the 
 Lady Agatha, when the boy was lying asleep on her lap, 
 or on her bosom, trace with his pencil the loved linea- 
 ments of both the mother and the child. When he 
 retired to his chamber at night, Wolf, instead of sleep- 
 ing, (which he did in the same room with his brother 
 Alfred) would take out his precious drawing, and touch 
 with his pencil some lovely feature he had that day caught 
 from the sweet originals. Whole weeks had Wolf 
 been employed on this his sweet and delightful task ; 
 and it was probable he would never have been de- 
 tected, had not Alfred, (wondering that whole nights 
 he had never pressed his couch till the light ot 
 morning shamed the burning lamp that was never ex- 
 tinguished,) pretending to be asleep, one night progres- 
 sively watched the motions of his brother; and, when 
 sleep had actually overtaken Wolf in the midst of his 
 operations, stole softly to his port-folio, and there be- 
 held what so utterly astonished and confounded him, 
 that for many minutes he continued gazing on the 
 
25'i the fisher's daughter. 
 
 lovely drawing before him, scarcely able to credit the 
 evidence of his senses, that such was the work and the 
 ingenuity of his brother Wolf, or that he had a know- 
 ledge so accurate as he had displayed ; but Alfred for- 
 got, in his examination of the picture, that love lent 
 its aid, the most correct limner, and the most faithful 
 historian in the whole created world. 
 
 It was the Lady Agatha, with her infant son sleeping 
 on her bosom ; and so true were the lineaments of 
 this lovely lady portrayed, that Alfred, as he gazed 
 delighted on the picture, felt a pang of indescribable 
 regret, that Wolf could never possess that dear origi- 
 nal, from which he had made so faithful a copy, and 
 that it was desperation, little short of madness, for him 
 to pursue such studies, so fatal to his peace and to his 
 honour; and once more he determined to warn him 
 of plunging into such dangerous and forbidden plea- 
 sures, which at the moment that he hoped they were 
 decreasing, were gaining ground. Quietly therefore 
 shutting the port-folio, and extinguishing the lamp, 
 he stole softly to bed again, casting on the sleeping 
 Wolf a look of unutterable affection, and breathing 
 forth a prayer to that divine Spirit who searcheth into 
 all hearts, and from whom no secrets are hidden, or 
 can be hidden, that he might never fall a victim to 
 the hopeless and, as it appeared, his ungovernable 
 passion, for an object, which neither laws human or 
 divine could possibly tolerate. Was Alfred's prayer 
 accepted for his sleeping brother ? That secret no 
 mortal power could yet tell. Yes, as it ascended to 
 the starry skies, angels wafted it, and in pity dropt a 
 
the fisher's daughter. 253 
 
 tear on human frailty and human weakness j and the 
 morning's light no sooner discovered its roseate tints, 
 than the following conversation took place between 
 the two foster brothers, on the subject of Lady Aga- 
 tha's picture. 
 
 " I don't wonder at your being fatigued this morn- 
 ing, Wolf," cried Alfred, " or that the lamp should be 
 burning past the hour of midnight." 
 
 u How did you make that discovery Alfred ?" ut- 
 tered Wolf, with a crimson blush mounting to his 
 cheek in varied hues. 
 
 " I will tell you my brother," answered Alfred, and 
 immediately pointed to the picture of the Lady Agatha 
 and ner infant son. 
 
254 THE FISHERS DAUGHTER. 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 — f* Oh then give pity to him, 
 Whose state is such that cannot choose, 
 Uit lend and give where he is sure to lose; 
 Who seeks not to find what his search implies, 
 But riddle-like lives sweetly where he dies." 
 
 SHAKESFBARB. 
 
 u O my brother I" uttered Alfred, now in softer 
 and gentler tones than when he had before addressed 
 him, from seeing the varied hues that a discovery of 
 his darling picture had made on his complexion, which 
 alternately paled and alternately reddened, with cer- 
 tainly an expression that seemed something like anger 
 with difficulty suppressed from blowing into an imme- 
 diate flame. " O my dear brother !" uttered Alfred, 
 now glancing at him a look of the most keen and mor- 
 tifying regret, yet commingled with the most ardent 
 affection towards him, " I thought I had obtained a 
 promise from you, which I imagined would have been 
 as inviolable as sacred ; and O how fervently I prayed, 
 that no returning weakness in my brother would ever 
 have broken it l" 
 
 " Your prayer then, it appears, has not been heard, 
 Sir," cried Wolf, coldly, and pierced to the quick that 
 
the usher's daughter. 255 
 
 Alfred should indeed have so shortly discovered his 
 want of courage or stability, where only his courage 
 had ever failed him, or his resolution ever been shaken ; 
 and rather than confess his fault, although to so lenient 
 a judge, and so kind a monitor, he determined to 
 quarrel with Alfred, on accusing him of having pryed 
 into his secrets in a dishonourable manner, and then 
 reproached him in a way that his proud spirit could 
 not utterly repel. " If I chose to spend my hours by 
 the midnight lamp, what right had you Alfred, to 
 search into the mysteries of it ? Much less had you a 
 right to tax me with the impropriety of my actions, 
 when those actions did not concern you or any mortal 
 but myself." 
 
 "But your actions do concern me, brother Wolf, 
 and that very materially," answered Alfred, though in 
 the mildest tone that was possible ; " for if that pic- 
 ture is discovered in this apartment, or in any other 
 apartment in this noble mansion, I prophesy that it 
 will be both fatal to you and to me ; for the con- 
 tinued indulgence you give to a sentiment so dis- 
 graceful to yourself, and insulting, nay injurious to 
 the lovely lady who is the object of your adora- 
 tion, is nothing short of desperation and madness. 
 Remove that picture hence; destroy it, I implore 
 you, for your own safety and for mine ; or if you 
 do not like to destroy the work of your own hands, 
 consign it to my care, and it shall be preserved, 
 even though it were possible that my life should be 
 preserved for a period of a thousand years, yet I 
 would part with life sooner than resign it to any other 
 hand than that of Wolf. But O I conjure you not to 
 
2o6 THli fisher's daughter. 
 
 keep it in your own possession, or expose it to the 
 eye of any human being here. Hear me, Wolf; turn 
 not away with such unkind averted looks. Alas ! why 
 do you shun the gaze of one who would lose the last 
 drop of blood in his beating heart to serve you with 
 honor, but not otherwise? Remember that Wolf; 
 with honour live, or live no more for Alfred. Resign 
 the picture, I beseech you ; on my knees I implore you, 
 or keeping it, you will sign your passport to eternal 
 misery, to shame, to the reproaches of an incensed 
 father and jealous husband. Be firm as heaven formed 
 you to be ; let not passion rob you of your senses. 
 Give me the picture, the fatal resemblance of beauty 
 never destined to be yours; the semblance also of a 
 child, the father of which is Lord Montague Montanlt, 
 the husband of the Lady Agatha. How does that sound 
 in the ear of Wolf? The picture, — the picture, — ere 
 the caution I now give you be too late." 
 
 Poor Alfred in the fervour of his strong affection for 
 his brother, and the fear of the fatal consequences that 
 might ensue, if the picture should be discovered even 
 by their tutors, the wildfire of which would instantly 
 be spread over the whole house, and both him and 
 Wolf be consumed in the general conflagration, 
 became every moment more susceptible of the appre- 
 hensions he had formed, more agitated, and more ur- 
 gent that Wolf would listen to his supplications, and 
 place the picture in his care; while Wolf, on the other 
 hand, was as obstinately inclined on retaining it in his 
 possession, and exclaimed, though with a less degree of 
 petulance than before — 
 
 " Wherefore should I part with the work ot so much 
 
ihe fisher's daughter. 257 
 
 toil and so much pleasure? Why should I relinquish 
 the happiness of beholding it, merely to satisfy your 
 caprice, brother Alfred ? and you choose to fill your 
 head with idle prophecies ; who made you a prophet, 
 pray?" To which Alfred gravely replied — 
 
 " 1 am no prophet, Wolf, I never said I was; heaven 
 forbid I should utter such impiety. But although 1 
 am no prophet, I have uttered some truths which you 
 cannot turn aside from, though you affect to deny their 
 existence; but do as. thou wilt, henceforth I shall learn 
 to be silent, rather than offend you by any anxious 
 fears I may express for your safety and personal happi- 
 ness. Keep then this so fatally loved resemblance of 
 the daughter of our august patron, and the lady of 
 Lord Montague Montault; but while you retain it in 
 your possession, whether I am prophet or no prophet, 
 1 shall never cease to cherish fears that will make me 
 miserable, when 1 reflect that, although affection 
 prompted them, they were alike treated with indiffer- 
 ence and contempt by my brother." 
 
 The feelings of Wolf during this speech of the af- 
 fectionate Alfred were powerfully affected, and he felt 
 conviction and love throb for him in his heart both at 
 the same moment. He knew that he had not a more 
 sincere friend in existence than his brother Alfred, and 
 could not confute his arguments, with respect to the 
 beloved picture of Lady Agatha and her child ; and 
 after some little hesitation, confessed the impropriety 
 with which he had been reproached, and opening his 
 vest, he bade Alfred take the picture from his bosom, 
 where he had carefully concealed it, which request was 
 most joyfully complied with by the now delight^ Ai- 
 ^r 11 K K 
 
258 the fisher's DAUGHTER. 
 
 fred, who did uot leave his beloved brother a moment 
 to repent of the resolution he had now made, for he 
 ran to a cabinet in which he kept his own private pa- 
 pers and memorandums, and very quickly deposited his 
 treasure there : he then returned to Wolf, who having 
 averted his eyes from the picture as soon as he had 
 resolved to part with it, was now in utter ignorance of 
 the place of its concealment, and Alfred was by no 
 means solicitous to inform him of it ; but clasping him 
 to his breast with redoubled kindness, confidence, and 
 affection, assured him that he should ever remember 
 this strong testimony of a brother's luve, as also of 
 this triumph of virtue. 
 
 " Nay, dear Alfred, you must give me as little credit 
 for that as possible," uttered Wolf, smiling, " but 
 much for the most sincere affection that I bear my 
 brother; and yet were that boundless as the ocean, it 
 would not be greater than he deserves." 
 
 It was some few days after this conversation, and the 
 incident of the picture, that Wolf encountered the 
 scene in the nursery with the Marchioness and Lord 
 Montague Montault, and had reason to congratulate 
 himself on his lucky escape, from being detected with 
 the picture of Lady Agatha in his possession ; for his 
 port-folio was certainly lying on the table, and the 
 name of Wolf being on the outside, the Marchioness 
 immediately pointed it out to the observation of her 
 son, just at the critical moment that his lordship was 
 drawing conclusions very much in favour of the fine 
 spirited youth, his severity towards whom he not only 
 repented, but was actually ashamed of. But this dis- 
 position to poor unfriended Wolf was not long encou- 
 
thk fisher's daughter. 259 
 
 raged by the Marchioness, who darting her lynx and 
 jealous eyes on the port-folio, exclaimed, with the 
 fiend-like expression of a malignant fury — 
 
 " Well, I protest I never heard of such unparalleled 
 assurance in the whole course of my existence, to 
 bring his port-folio into the very nursery, where he 
 sits whole hours, J suppose employed in taking 
 sketches from nature, of a living Venus, with her 
 little Cupid, in the form of Lady Agatha and her in- 
 fant son. A prodigious pleasant amusement, I must 
 confess, for a young fellow of eighteen j he is just of 
 the inflammatory age, when the least spark is fanned 
 into a flame, as furious as those burning on Mount 
 iEtna. And is it possible, Montague, that you are 
 going to tolerate such liberties? What business has 
 he to make a drawing-room of an apartment, sacred 
 only to the nurse and the mother of your infant son ? 
 Merciful heaven ! what would the world say of a 
 husband who would permit a young man to enter his 
 wife's study, or dressing-room, or any other private part 
 of the house to copy his drawings ? and perhaps Lady 
 Agatha, — I do not say that she has, don't take my mean- 
 ing wrong Montague, or be so uncommonly agitated. 
 I don't say that Agatha would be guilty of so great a 
 piece of indecorum, as to sit for her picture to this young 
 Wolf. No — no, your wife has too delicate a sense of 
 propriety ; but notwithstanding he has no right to intrude 
 himself into her presence when you are absent ; and 1 
 also affirm, that when husbands have such pretty wives 
 as you have, they should be on their guard, that is all ; 
 not that I would wish to insinuate ought against your 
 wife, heaven forbid/' 
 
260 the fisher's daughter. 
 
 The mischief was now done, and not all the waters 
 that flowed from the streams of Lethe could allay the 
 burning fever of distempered jealousy that the Mar- 
 chioness had awakened in the breast of her son. The 
 torch was now lighted, where before the fuel was 
 but barely laid on, and nothing could quench it. 
 
 Lord Montague paced the room with a wild, flushed, 
 and disordered step, and with a burning cheek, from the 
 effects of the raging fire which his mother had kindled 
 there; yet he was solicitous to conceal it not only from 
 her, but from all human beings beside, and that not a 
 reproach should be cast upon the conduct of his spot- 
 less wife; and indignantly he exclaimed — 
 
 " Insinuate aught against my Agatha ! No, mother, 
 you dare not ; for, by holy Paul, she is as chaste and as 
 immaculate as the breath of angels. I would not live 
 another moment if I believed her otherwise ; and as 
 to the foolish thought you have taken into your head 
 about the young man drawing pictures in the nursery, 
 it is idle folly; for were I certain thai he presumed to 
 take such a liberty, or Agatha to suffer it, by the eter- 
 nal power that rules created universe, I would pul- 
 verize the reptile into atoms, and Agatha should feel 
 the vengeance of a fond, deceived, yefe still doating 
 husband. But tush — tush ! it is madness to cherish 
 such a thought. Mother — mother, why — why did you 
 put such a thought into my head ? Leave me. 
 
 a Leave you Montague, and in such a disposition 
 towards your mother, in anger!" uttered the Marchio- 
 ness, affecting to be deeply hurt by his reproaches. 
 (e No, I am your mother, and I will not be command- 
 ed from your presence in this unkind way." 
 
THK F1SUKKS DAUGHTER. 26l 
 
 " Retract then your cruel and ungenerous senti- 
 ments of my angel Agatha," uttered Lord Montague, 
 feeling only that he was a husband and a father at the 
 present moment. " Breathe not one murmur against 
 her, if you wish me mother to be on terms of peace 
 with you, and heaven knows I do. I have ever loved 
 you with the most duteous affection, but I should cease 
 to Jove that parent, however strong my love, or impe- 
 rative my duty, who would seek to plant thorns in the 
 bosom of a doating husband, by infusing into his mind 
 a suspicion of a faultless and angelic wife." 
 
 Tt was now the turn of the crafty and insidious Mar- 
 chioness to endure a little of the pain she had inflicted 
 on the heart of her son, with whom she perceived she 
 had gone a step too far; and that his confidence in his 
 wife's propriety of conduct was not easiiy to be shakt'n ; 
 and that although he was jealous of every object who 
 approached her, yet it was not exclusively of one, 
 for his jealousy was excited more by the admiration 
 which her uncommon loveliness of person drew forth, 
 than the slightest doubt of her unsullied purity or her 
 true affection for him. 
 
 The Marchioness was therefore, like an experienced 
 general, obliged to retreat, when victory was not likely 
 to be the result of her plans ; and she knew well how 
 to play her cards with her darling Montague, whom 
 with tears, and afterwards with the most fascinating 
 smiles, she contrived to coax into a good humour be- 
 fore she quitted Violet Vale. 
 
 And being informed that Lady Agatha was gone on 
 a charitable visit of condolence to a sick neighbour, 
 her ladyship thought proper to enquire no further, sus 
 
262 THE fisher's daughter. 
 
 pecting that it was the daughter of Mr. Blust, Mrs. 
 Russel, who had that morning been delivered of a fine 
 little girl, that was the object of Lady Agatha's atten- 
 tion : and so it was, Jessy had been indisposed for 
 more than a week, and Agatha sent each successive 
 day, with the most affectionate messages, to enquire 
 after the health of her still respected and beloved 
 friend ; and at length Wolf and Alfred were the bearers 
 of the happy news, that Mrs. Russel was not only out 
 of danger, but was the mother of a little girl ; and Aga- 
 tha could not then resist her impatient anxiety to be- 
 hold her dear Jessy, since she was now in a situation to 
 communicate and to participate in all her feelings, both 
 in the character of a wife and a mother. Besides, the 
 period was now arrived, when it was necessary for her 
 to have some private conversation with Mrs. Russel, 
 on the subject of her dear foster father's dying request, 
 that if the child of Jessy should be a daughter, it 
 should be called Matilda, in compliment to the Lady 
 St. Clair; and Agatha having communicated this to 
 Lord Montague, immediately obtained permission of 
 him to visit Jessy and the little stranger, who had that 
 morning found its way into a wide world. And no 
 sooner had Agatha gained permission of his lordship to 
 visit her beloved friend, than the carriage was imme- 
 diately ordered, with a basket, which contained the 
 greatest delicacies that the season afforded ; and with- 
 out waiting to make the slighest addition to her morn- 
 ing dress, save a white veil and a close straw bonnet, 
 she desired the coachman to drive to the habitation o» 
 Mr. Samuel Russel, having snatched a kiss of her 
 lovely *b6y as it lay sleeping" in the arms of its 'nurse. 
 
the fisher's daughter. 263 
 
 As the carriage approached to the residence of her 
 beloved Jessy, the affectionate heart of Agatha bounded 
 with the most pleasurable sensations, little dreaming 
 that sensations of a far less pleasing kind had taken pos- 
 session of the heart of her lord and husband, during the 
 short interval of her absence from Violet Vale, and that a 
 serpent had crept into the bosom of her domestic joys, 
 to blast her happiness for ever. Little dreamt she as 
 she drove along, with spirits light and buoyant as gale 
 of summer's gentle breath, with peace the inmate of 
 her lovely breast, that a dagger was aiming at it by an 
 unseen hand, to tear its fibres asunder by the sharpest 
 pang that can be inflicted on woman's faithful heart, 
 through that of her husband; and that by a mother, 
 or one who called herself so, though a better title had 
 been that of monster in a human shape. 
 
 No, the unconscious Agatha dreamt not of all these 
 hidden woes, but with a light step and light heart, she 
 descended from her carriage, which made some little 
 bustle, when it stopped at the gates of Mrs. Rnssel's 
 beautiful, sequestered, and peaceful dwelling. 
 
 Now it so happened that the fisher Blust, (whose 
 anxious fears for his beloved daughter had been mani- 
 fested for the last few days, in a manner that was truly 
 natural and affecting to those who well knew the 
 excellence of his warm and generous heart, whenever 
 occasion called for a trial of its sensibility,) was at the 
 house of his son-in-law when Agatha arrived ; for he 
 had been so overcome with joy when Jessy's dange 
 was over, and he was informed that she had made hin. 
 a present of a little granddaughter, that he swore he 
 would not budge an inch till he had given a heartv 
 
264 the fisher's daughter. 
 
 smack to both the mother and the baby, and that he 
 should then stay and spend the remainder of the day 
 with Sam. 
 
 " Though, shiver my topsails, I am mortally vext it 
 beant a boy," uttered he, squatting himself down ii) a 
 large easy chair by the side of the old nurse, after she 
 had shewn him the infant ; " but no matter, it be the 
 very picture of my Jessy, and that be enough for its old 
 grandfather. She be a bouncer too, and that be better 
 still, for none of my children was any of your skinny 
 ones, with not so much as one ounce of flesh on their 
 bones, nor a drop of blood in their veins ; but this 
 little toad be as round and as plump as a partridge. 
 Shiver my topsails she be of the true Blust breed. God 
 bless her/' 
 
 And again bidding his beloved daughter adieu for 
 the present, Peter was at last induced to quit the apart- 
 ment which contained all he held dear in existence ; 
 and he had not been many minutes with his son-in-law 
 below in the parlour, before the carriage of Lady Aga- 
 tha Montault drove up to the door, to the no small 
 surprise and astonishment of both the parties. 
 
 " Why here be my dear little Agatha, as I am a 
 living soul, come to see my Jessy. Shiver my top- 
 sails, I don't know whether I be standing on my head 
 or my heels, the sight of her do warm the cockles of 
 my heart so. Now Sam, do mind how thee behave ; 
 thee be married to my Jessy now thee do know, and 
 grapes be sour." At this moment Mr. Russel sprang 
 from his seat and flew to the gates. 
 
 " I hope I have the honour of seeing your ladyship 
 well," uttered Sam, in a sort of tremulous agitation, 
 
iiih fishrr's daughter. 1-ij") 
 
 and which he could not wholly shake o(F, as she ex- 
 tended her hand, with a smile of the most fascinating 
 sweetness towards him, and he assisted her out of the 
 carriage. 
 
 " And how is our beloved Jessy ?" was expressed 
 by a look that spoke more than volumes could have 
 uttered, as she made her entrance to the apartment 
 where the fisher had bundled himself behind a large 
 screen, to indulge the whimsicality of his humour on 
 this occasion ; but no sooner did he hear Agatha en- 
 quire after him, than out he bolted from his hiding- 
 place, and without ceremony, boldly snatched a kiss Oi 
 the roseate lips which had just repeated his name. 
 
 " Shiver my topsails, how glad I be to see thee, my 
 dear — Ladyship 1 suppose I must say?" cried the 
 fisher, laughing; and. to which Agatha immediately 
 replied — 
 
 " Indeed you must not suppose any such thing, my 
 dear sir. Call me what you please, so long as you do 
 not call me ungrateful for past kindness; and that you 
 will believe, that to you 1 must be always the same, 
 whether I am Agatha Singleton or Agatha Montault. 
 Titles may alter names, but they ought never to change 
 the heart. A long absence has intervened since 1 be- 
 held you last ; but could I forget the hand that once 
 sheltered me from the chilling blast, with the sunny 
 rays of friendship and hospitality, I should now be 
 unworthy of the blessings that providence bestows. 
 
 There was an air of the most bewitching candour 
 and sensibility which shone in the radiant and lovely 
 ';ountenance of Agatha, as she addressed this speech 
 to her former kind protector, that could not admit the 
 
 a 12 
 
im 
 
 I'HK KISHER S DA UG 11 1 Eh 
 
 slightest doubt of her sincerity, ann wnien immethatol) 
 occasioned a glistening tear to stand in the eyes of 
 honest Peter; and he vociferated, hastily brushing it 
 away — 
 
 " Shiver my topsails if thee be'st not the same sweet- 
 tempered warm-hearted little soul as ever, though thee 
 be married to a great lord; but if thee bad married 
 somebody else instead of Montague, I do think that thee 
 would have been quite as happy, thee be so con- 
 tented." 
 
 " Yes, sir, a cottage or a palace, where peace was 
 the inmate of its walls, would have made but little dif- 
 ference to Agatha; but I must see dear Jessy, if you 
 please Mr. Russel," cried Agatha, perceiving that the 
 remark made by Peter did not lessen the confusion 
 with which he had frequently addressed her, and wish- 
 ing to change the subject as quick as possible, she ad- 
 verted to her own situation, with respect to her alsc 
 having become a happy mother. 
 
 " My sweet fellow grows surprisingly," uttered she, 
 turning her eyes on the fisher, with a look of a mo- 
 ther's fond and delighted expression. " You have never 
 seen him, my dear sir?" 
 
 " Why how the devil should I?" answered the fisher 
 apparently piqued at the thought of some slight having 
 been shewn him by Lord Montague. " You never was 
 civil enough to invite me, did you ? nor your husband 
 Neither ? I was not grand and great ; and do you 
 suppose I was going to poke my nose where I was not 
 welcome ? No — no, Agatha, you know old Peter 
 Blust better." 
 
 *' My dear sir, this reproach is indeed unkind, after 
 
THIi fisher's daughter*. sSt># 
 
 what have before told you/' cried Agatha. " You 
 and my sweet Jessy were ever welcome to me; tut 
 after my marriage with Lord Montague Montault, I 
 passed a great deal of my time in the circle of ac- 
 quaintance which my father had selected for me. My 
 father, too, my new found father, was anxious to intro- 
 duce me to that great world, of which I had seen so 
 little when T was the reputed daughter of Captain 
 Singleton; and if, in obedience to a husband's and 
 father's commands, I acquiesced, can you in justice 
 condemn me ? No, I am certain you will not, when 
 you consider how natural, how sacred, nay, how im- 
 perative are the ties I have mentioned." So saying, 
 Agatha preceded Mr. Russel to the chamber of 
 Jessy, who was already apprised by the nurse of 
 the arrival of Lady Montague Montault; and a meet- 
 ing between the two so strongly attached friends took 
 place, of the most tender and affecting kind ; but Aga- 
 tha spoke in soft whispers, and would not permit Jessy 
 to indulge in much conversation, promising that hei 
 visit should be repeated the earliest opportunity, as she 
 had something of the most interesting nature to com- 
 municate to her. The infant was now by desire of her 
 ladyship placed on her lap, and Agatha gazed on the 
 face of the sweet innocent, with undescribable emo- 
 tions of love and tenderness. 
 
 " Why, my dear Jessy, do you not see a resemblance 
 in the infant, peculiarly striking of your sister Olive ?" 
 exclaimed Agatha, " only that it has your dimpled 
 chin and pretty mouth ; but her eyes are black, and 
 the acquiline nose just formed like poor Olive's. How 
 rxquisitcly beautiful this little creature will be. Jessv, 
 
26b the fisher's daughter. 
 
 I will bring my boy with me in the carriage when I 
 come to see you again ; he is a fine healthy child, but 
 I must own that little moppet has the advantage of 
 Orlando in beawty." 
 
 " And many other advantages, my dear Agatha," 
 softly whispered Jessy, gazing on her pretty babe. 
 " Ah you must not teach the son of Lord Montague 
 Montault to look at a Fisher's Daughter." 
 
 Agatha looked at Jessy, and Jessy looked at Agatha, 
 but neither of them immediately uttered a sentence, 
 it was probable, however, that the same thought pos- 
 sessed the young mothers at this precise moment; 
 and very soon after, Agatha kissing the little miniature 
 of Olive, and the cheek of her beloved friend, returned 
 to Violet Vale, just time enough to dress for a late 
 dinner, but in such an exhilaration of spirits, that on 
 her entrance to the drawing-room, the uncommon ro- 
 seate tint of her complexion, and the brilliancy of her 
 eyes, drew the attention both of her father and her 
 husband towards her. 
 
 Now there is sometimes a combination of mere in- 
 cident, chance, or accident, which have no cause for 
 iheir uniting together, except we suspect a cause, and 
 then we take it for granted that the whole is the effect 
 of design, and thus the most injurious suspicions are 
 formed, and the most erroneous opinions grounded on 
 the probability of mere conjecture. 
 
 Now as affairs stood at Violet Vale with a certain 
 Lord, who had more than half imbibed a certain sen- 
 timent, that never suffers its destined victim to rest, 
 when once it has sucked in a portion of its poisonous 
 breath, it was most unfortunate that Wolf should come 
 
the fishkr's DAUGHTER. '2G\) 
 
 in contact with his beauteous lady on '.he grand stair- 
 case, which led to the entrance of the drawing room 
 the door of which was as unfortunately half open; and 
 both the eyes and the ears of Lord Montague were di- 
 rected to that quarter, on hearing the dulcet voice of 
 his lovely wife exclaim, on thus suddenly encountering 
 Wolf— 
 
 " O Wolf, 1 am just returned from seeing dear Jessy 
 and her infant daughter, and you cannot conceive any 
 thing half so beautiful as her little sweet girl; and do 
 you know Wolf, that it is the very image of poor Olive 
 Blust." 
 
 All this had been uttered by Agatha in a tone of 
 such artless simplicity, and without scarcely looking at 
 the object to whom she was addressing herself, that 
 no mortal being in their sober senses could have ima- 
 gined that this meeting could either have been sought 
 after or expected. But had Lady Agatha been con- 
 scions of what had been passing in her absence, she 
 would have avoided speaking to Wolf under any cir- 
 cumstances whatever, as he was now as tenacious of 
 beholding her; and unable to account for the deep 
 blush which now mantled on his cheek, and the 
 impenetrable silence which he observed, she in- 
 nocently tapped him on the shoulder as he eagerly 
 passed by her, with " Why Wolf, you don't seem 
 interested at all about dear Jessy and the Fisher's 
 Daughter." 
 
 " Pardon me your ladyship," cried Wolf, now pass- 
 ing her, and respectfully bowing, " but I was not then 
 either thinking of Jessy or the Fisher's Daughter, when 
 
'JJ'J Ttlli fisher's daughter. 
 
 subjects far more essentially necessary to my happiness 
 occupy my mind, and till it with sensations of unutter- 
 able anguish and despair." 
 
 This concluding sentence was uttered in so smother- 
 ed a tone, that it was a moral impossibility for Lord 
 Montague distinctly to catch the sound which had 
 been sufficiently intelligible to his lovely wife; and 
 Wolf having completely made his exit, Agatha entered 
 the drawing-room with a hurried step, and certainly a 
 flushed and roseate cheek. The Duke was sitting on 
 an ottoman, with a paper of the day in his hand ; Lord 
 Montague was pacing the room with an apparent air of 
 easy nonchalence; but it was evident from the expression 
 of his lordship's countenance that something unusual 
 had baffled the even temperature of his mild and cer- 
 tainly plaeid sweetness of dispositon, and instead of 
 looking at Agatha as she approached him, he pretend- 
 ed to be looking at his watch. 
 
 " My love, did you not think me long?" uttered 
 Agatha, having first paid her duty to her father; " but 
 I have been so pleasantly engaged, that I did not think 
 of counting time, positively, till I heard the clock strike 
 four, and then I hurried home, fearful that I might 
 have kept you waiting. Well, do you know that Jessy's 
 child is a perfect beauty. You have seen Olive Blust, 
 Montague, she is the picture of her, with all the light 
 shades of Jessy's countenance. Why, my love, how 
 iiave and sombre you look." 
 
 The Duke now threw an oblique glance at his ne- 
 phew, who still assumed an air of apathy towards his 
 lo/ely wife, and exclaimed — 
 
THE r IS HISfl's DAUGHTER. 271 
 
 " So I have been telling him, my love, for two hours 
 before you came in." 
 
 u And yet I left my dear lord in most excellent spi- 
 rits," uttered Agatha, not once suspecting the cause of 
 Lord Montague's dejection ; " but I dare say he has 
 been tormented the whole morning with visitors ; and 
 when a woman is out of the way, it is excessively 
 awkward. Was not this the case, Montague?" 
 
 Lord Montague, who had never yet raised his eyes 
 to his lovely wife, was still sedulous to conceal the 
 horrible passion by which he was inflamed from the 
 observation of the Duke, nor did he ever doubt of the 
 purity of the spotless being before him ; still he was 
 madly jealous of her, and the attractions of such a 
 youth as Wolf he considered dangerous beneath his 
 roof. Why had he intruded himself on the presence 
 of Lady Agatha at the entrance of the drawing-room ? 
 and though he had heard nothing but the most artless 
 expressions from her lips, yet he had much rather she 
 had not spoken to him at all. Still he was unwilling 
 to discover the slightest mark of disapprobation at her 
 conduct, and now endeavoured to conceal it by every 
 effort that was possible, assuming an air of gaiety that 
 was extremely foreign to his feelings, and exclaimed, 
 while he tapped her fair cheek with a playful badinage, 
 
 "And so you think, because your ladyship happened 
 to be absent, that I was not polished sufficiently to 
 entertain your female visitors. There's an attack, your 
 Grace, upon my parts of speech j but the fact was, I 
 had no opportunity of displaying my powers of attrac- 
 tion, for the only female visitor I have had this morn- 
 ing has been my mother." 
 
272 the fisher's daughter. 
 
 " Who of all other personages 1 have always beet 
 so unfortunate as to find it a difficult matter to please,' 
 uttered Agatha, gravely; for she instantly surmised 
 that the observations of the Marchioness on her hav- 
 ing obtained permission of her husband to visit the 
 daughter of Mr. Blust, had not been much in her fa- 
 vour, and that she would have prevented any commu- 
 nication taking place with her and the fisher's family, 
 had there been a possibility of succeeding with her son 
 in this malicious intention. Agatha coloured deeply, 
 and her husband looked at her with an air of embar- 
 rassment he could not wholly conceal, conscious what 
 illiberal remarks the Marchioness had made in her ab- 
 sence, and how warmly he had defended her. By no 
 means wishing that she should receive this impression, 
 however, he smiled and exclaimed — 
 
 " It is of little consequence whom my Agatha pleases, 
 while her husband acknowledges her power of pleasing 
 him." 
 
 " My dear lord, it has ever been my study to do that 
 since I have been your wife," uttered Agatha, with a 
 smile of the most resistless fascination ; and Lord 
 Montague feeling its potent influence, felt also how 
 impossible it was for his confidence in her unchanging 
 love and fidelity towards him ever to be shaken ; and 
 again he exerted every faculty to crush that demon 
 jealousy, which, without cause, had entwined itself 
 about his heart, and bewildered his imagination, only 
 to aim a blow at his domestic peace, to undermine his 
 happiness for ever. 
 
 " Upon my word, good folks," uttered his Grace, 
 6miling, while you are paying such compliments to 
 
1HF FXSHRtt's DAUGHTER. 273 
 
 each otiicr, you forget there is a third person present, 
 who is not a little interested in the business. Well, 
 my love, you were giving us an account of the Fisher's 
 Daughter. And what says honest Peter to this addi- 
 tion being made to his family?" 
 
 " O he is quite disappointed, because it does not 
 happen to be a boy," answered Agatha. 
 
 " I surmised as much," observed his Grace. " The 
 female part of the creation is not much suited to his 
 taste. He is avowedly the most singular character in 
 existence, and the most amusing, while the warmth of 
 nis heart is an ample atonement for the defects of his 
 education. I am pleased with his jocularity whenever 
 2 see him ; and his plain way of sailing, as he calls it, 
 is actually worthy of the imitation of those who, 
 though sailing in a higher sphere, have not half the 
 virtues of honest Peter to recommend them. By the 
 bye, I must very shortly have some, conversation with 
 Mr. Blust, on the subject of his adopted sons Alfred 
 and Wolf, who have actually made such considerable 
 progress in their studies, that they will very soon be 
 ready for the professions they have made choice of. I 
 have already a situation provided for Wolf, and one in 
 serious contemplation for Alfred. I wrote to my friend 
 General St. Montalbino, who is now commander-in- 
 chief of the forces at Sardinia, and he will forward the 
 interest of our young soldier as soon as a second en- 
 campment takes place; and I have no doubt of the 
 ability or enterprize with which Wolf will begin his 
 military career. I have seldom beheld a youth of such 
 fine promise, with so manly and vigorous a mind ; he 
 seems formed indeed for martial exploits ; a young 
 
 6 12 M M 
 
2/4 the fishkr's DAUca;rr: : '{. 
 
 Norval in reality, without requiring dramatic aid n s,rt 
 him off." 
 
 " Have you seen Wolf's last drawing, my dear fa- 
 ther ?" cried Agatha, whose cheeks glowed with a 
 colour of the brightest carnation, at hearing these 
 praises of her favourite resounded by his patron. 
 " Have you really seen the head of the Magdalen and 
 the Madona ? They are exquisitely fine, and admir- 
 ably coloured, though it was by mere accident that I 
 obtained a sight of them ; for do you know that Wolf 
 nas ever been solicitous to conceal his perfections, 
 rather than recommend them to observation." 
 
 " Which mark of diffidence is most incontestably a 
 proof of his being possessed of ability," uttered his 
 Grace. " Talent is a gem that can very rarely be 
 hidden ; and never shines with such resplendent lus- 
 tre, as when it is accompanied with modesty in those 
 who wear it in their cap. But wheie will you find this 
 gem sparkle in assumption, ignorance, pride, envy, 
 meanness, or the mercenary knave? Never in these 
 can the modest flower of native genius rear its lovely 
 head." 
 
 " Well, my love, proceed. How did you gain a 
 sight of this young man's drawings, on which you are 
 pleased to bestow so much commendation ?" demand- 
 ed Lord Montague, with an air of the most assumed 
 indifference, though he was suffering the most impa- 
 tient anxiety, which he could scarcely couceal. 
 
 To which Agatha instantly replied, without the 
 slightest hesitation or alteration of countenance, and 
 with the greatest simplicity — 
 
 " In toe nursery this very morning, my dear lord ; 
 
THK FlSHKK S DAUGHTER. 
 
 m 
 
 but it was not the hand of Wolf who brought them 
 there. They were taken by stealth out of the study 
 by his tutor, Mr. Lawrence, who delighted with the 
 finished performance of so young an artist, positively 
 came running up to me with the port-folio in his hand, 
 and begged permission to shew them to me. They re- 
 mained in the nursery when I went out, and if you 
 like to sec them, I will send Beda to tell Lawrence to 
 bring them here." 
 
 " No, my love, I will take another opportunity of 
 witnessing this young man's exhibition," and Lord 
 Montague, with an indescribable weight removed from 
 his heart by this intelligence, and feeling a sense of 
 shame and remorse for the ungenerous sentiment 
 he had so falsely cherished, not only against his lovely 
 wife, but poor Wolf, and which it was certain his 
 motlier had been the cause of, determined never 
 to listen to her again on so dangerous a subject. But 
 what reparation could he make to this high-spirited 
 and noble young man, for the rudeness he had been 
 guilty of that morning in the nursery? He had forbid- 
 den him ever to enter it again, on mere suspicion that 
 he went thither to intrude himself into the presence of 
 Lady Agatha, more than to caress the infant ; and it 
 now appeared very far otherwise from the manner of 
 Agatha, and he could not doubt the truth of what those 
 loveiy lips had uttered. 
 
 In what an absurd light then must he appear to the 
 young man to whom he had discovered his jealous fears ! 
 how ridiculous his conduct ! and if the youth were 
 really vain of his accomplishments, how greatly had he 
 
270 thr'kishkr's daughter. 
 
 contributed to heighten his youthful vanity, by making 
 him suppose that he could be an object of attraction 
 to such a woman as Lady Agatha ; in short, Lord Mon- 
 tague had so much more reason to feel disatisfied with 
 his own conduct than that of others, that it occasioned 
 him to experience the most uncomfortable sensations 
 during the whole time at dinner; and his endeavours 
 to force into his countenance a gaiety that was foreign 
 to his heart, only rendered it more perceptible in the 
 eyes of the Duke, who, having pushed about the wine 
 with very little success after Lady Agatha had with- 
 drawn, at length exclaimed — 
 
 " Why, Montague, what on earth is the matter with 
 you ? You have really taken a dose of the vapours, or 
 a fit of the blue devils, from which not even the en- 
 livening powers of Champaign can arouse you. Come 
 if you wont drink, you positively shall talk, for I am 
 not going to sit here with one of Pigmallions statues. 
 Suppose we send for the youths Alfred and Wolf to 
 take a glass of wine with us ; they merit encournge- 
 ment. Have you any objection to this proposal p" 
 
 The countenance of Lord Montague brightened into 
 something like vivacity, for here was now an opportu- 
 nity of reconciling himself to the justly offended Wolf, 
 without condescending to offer him an apology, which 
 he had more than once thought of as he sat at dinner; 
 and the proposal of the Duke was most cordially as- 
 sented to by his lordship, who rung the bell for an 
 attendant to go to the apartment of the doctor, and say 
 that it was the request of his Grace the Duke of Bra- 
 Hjanza that Mr. Wolf and Alfred should attend htm ; 
 
'I HFC K1SHKII S DAUGHTER. 1 1 / 
 
 and that if the doctor and Mr. Lawrence would ac- 
 ccm»»any the young gentlemen, they would be glad of 
 their company. 
 
 "Am I encroaching on your Grace's kindness, by giv- 
 ing an invitation to the tutors as well as their pupils ?" 
 uttered Lord Montague. To which the Duke imme- 
 diately replied — 
 
 " I hopo Montague you know hrs Grace better than 
 once to suspect me of such ungenerous, nay unmanly 
 prejudice, that because I have got a ducal coronet 
 I think every man beneath me. I should utterly 
 despise wealth, were it always to be accompanied 
 with such paltry notions ! A man of education, a man 
 of talent, is at all times a fit companion for a Duke. 
 Must we not follow the example of our gracious sove- 
 reign George the Fourth ? When has he not awarded 
 and admired talent, and encouraged its success ? How 
 many of his majesty's present subjects could we now 
 instance, that the emanation of his genial smile of pa- 
 tronage has not, from the withering blast of chilling 
 obscurity, transplanted to the sunny ray of fortune's 
 favours, and the estimation of the public ? Tell me 
 when the meed due to merit has ever been denied by 
 our beloved Sovereign, or the supplication of the un- 
 fortunate ever been rejected ?" 
 
 " I most cordially admit the truth of your Grace's 
 observation." replied Lord Montague; and more wine, 
 with some ielicious fruit being placed on the table, in 
 a few minutes Dr. Syntax made his entrance with a 
 profound bow, and ushering in his modest, retiring, 
 and blushing pupil Alfred. An enquiry being made 
 for their companions, the doctor was under the neces- 
 
2"S ma fijher's daughter. 
 
 sity of explaining the cause of their absence, by in- 
 forming his Grace, that Mr. Wolf was gone to the sea- 
 side to collect materials and shells for forming a grotto, 
 which he had just began to construct in a very curious 
 manner; and that having nothing very particular that 
 evening to occupy his attention, Mr. Lawrence had 
 accompanied his pupil to the sea-shore, to assist 
 him in his undertaking. 
 
 " But had they known of the distinguished honor 
 which your Grace had intended them," added the 
 doctor, in a very obsequious style, ' f they would most 
 undoubtedly have preferred — " 
 
 " The collecting of materials here," cried his Grace, 
 smiling at the pomposity which accompanied even 
 the most trifling sentence of the little learned man. 
 " Come doctor, there is some good wine close at your 
 cibow, do me the favour to help yourself and your 
 pupil beside you, and I will pledge you in a bumper, 
 in drinking success and prosperity to the wooden walls 
 of old England." 
 
 " And immortal glory and renown to the encourage- 
 ment of learning," uttered the doctor; "and the noble 
 supporters of the arts and sciences. Permit me, your 
 Grace, to superadd this, in compliment to the present 
 company." 
 
 " Thank ye doctor," cried his Grace, filling his glass; 
 " I will certainly drink your toast, to which no one 
 could have any reasonable objection ; for without en- 
 couragement be given to learning, the arts and sci- 
 ences, either in this country or any other, would have 
 few supporters to draw from the humble vale of ob- 
 scurity, the very structure on which they are formed, 
 
THE FISHtifl's DAUGHTER. 279 
 
 on the basis that cannot be shaken. Genius ! where 
 would the arts and sciences be without it? and where 
 learning?" To which Dr. Syntax gravely replitd — 
 
 " My sentiments, your Grace, precisely." 
 
 " And the sentiments of every man, I hope doctor, 
 who calls himself the friend of either," observed the 
 Duke. 
 
 " And in order that your Grace may be more per- 
 fectly acquainted with the nature of those principles 
 which constitute the friend of genius, and what rny 
 opinion is on that subject; here are my lines on genius, 
 the year I was disappointed in bringing out a favourite 
 production, patronised by a very great personage, 1 
 assure your Grace, but his name shall be nameless. I 
 never like to repeat old grievances, but when I am 
 compelled to do it from necessity; for when the pub- 
 lication came out, he put his name down for twenty 
 copies, and only paid for one." 
 
 " That was generous," uttered Lord Montague; " so 
 much for patronage. But come, doctor, suppose you 
 give us a specimen of your poetic talent. Alfred push 
 the wine over to the doctor, after you have replenished 
 your own glass." 
 
 The command of his lordship was obeyed, although 
 the invitation was at first modestly declined on the part 
 of Alfred. But his Grace insisted that he should take 
 another glass, and condescended to pour it out himself, 
 at the same moment that he exclaimed — 
 
 " Alfred, I would not press upon you any thing that 
 is not in the limits of propriety, but a second glass of 
 wine will do you no harm. My motto is to be merry 
 and be wise; human excellence cannot attain a more 
 
280 the fisher's daughter. 
 
 exalted point ; but I am sorry to say, that very few of 
 mankind can arrive at this point, not being merely 
 confined to the pleasures of the table, but in the gene- 
 ral pursuits of human affairs. Now doctor, we are all 
 profound attention to the object of your muse." 
 
 " Your Grace does me infinite honour," cried the 
 doctor, drawing carefully from his vest a scroll, which 
 he declared that no time or circumstance had ever 
 prevented from his depositing there with the utmost 
 exactness ; and on the doctor placed his reading spec- 
 tacles, and with a loud sonorous voice began to recite 
 the following lines, which, however, reflected no small 
 credit to the ingenious author of them. They were 
 entitled Neglected Genius. 
 
 " Neglected Genius, heaven-born maid, 
 
 Howe'er insulted, or howe'er betrayed, 
 
 Though clothed in rags, thy still fair lovely form. 
 
 Shall boast through life an universal charm. 
 
 'Tis thine to teach the human heart to glow, 
 
 And give what rank or riches can't bestow ; 
 
 Cause eyes to weep that never wept before, 
 
 And make e'en Turks and infidels adore. 
 
 Yet si ill the fool exulting nods his head, 
 
 And weighs each golden drop from thee like leadj 
 
 To such indeed is sense and feeling known, 
 
 Who think the world was made for them alone. 
 
 But know sweet maid, at thy ecstatic birth, 
 
 Like the soft dews that gently kiss the earth. 
 
 Thy presence to the wretched gave relief, 
 
 And soon allayed the pangs of hopeless grief. 
 
 The trembling captive bound thee on his breast, 
 
 And cheer'd his dungeon with his sportive guefti 
 
 The peasant boy, while he leads out his sheep, 
 
 On craggy rocks that overlook the deep, 
 
 Has in some pleasant dream thy form conveyed { 
 
 He wakes, and wonders why he is afraid 
 
 To venture on a world of such delight, 
 
 As would for ever charm a shepherd's sight. 
 
ThK FlsftllH's DAUGHTER. 281 
 
 His aged mother, and his father too, 
 
 Now fancy that their boy is something new; 
 
 For much he talks of war, of kings, and courts, 
 
 Neglects his sheep, and follows warlike sports. 
 
 Indulgent fate soon grants him his request — 
 
 Behold the shepherd boy a soldier drest; 
 
 In quest of laurels, and in search of fame, 
 
 He builds the fabric of a uoble name. 
 
 "f is genius all in chaste aud hiddeu fires, 
 
 Kindles the soul, and breathes such warm desires; 
 
 Without her smiles there's millions would be put?, 
 
 Rut with her we can never be ohscure. 
 
 Ask tne poor poet, whose neglected lays 
 
 Would oft remind him of a great man's praise, 
 
 Who bids him still attend from day to day, 
 
 Resolving when he comes to walk away. 
 
 Are words, alas ! then all the poet gains, 
 
 Reward for all his labour and his pains? 
 
 No ; when daring genius strikes the dart, 
 
 She makes both fools and cowards feel the smart. 
 
 Vindictive malice holds her veuom'd tongue, 
 
 Protects the aged, and still guards the young; 
 
 Comes forth with meek and unaffected grace, 
 
 And claims her right to precedence of place ; 
 
 Heaven's best gift, descended from the skies, 
 
 And lives eternal, for it never dies ; 
 
 Till fools no more the passing minutes tell, 
 
 And hoary time shall bid the world farewell.* 
 
 " Doctor, if this is the first poetic bantling you have 
 the honour of being the fathei of, I give you afl possi- 
 ble credit for the spirit, as well as the truth that it con- 
 veys," exclaimed the Duke; " and whether you obtained 
 the patronage, or not, of the personage you alluded to, 
 f can only say that you deserved it, and that you do 
 not possess one less atom of merit, because great men 
 
 * The above lines were written by the authoress when only thip 
 teen years of age. 
 
 C 12 N N 
 
282 the fisher's daughtf.r. 
 
 treat with indifference and contempt what they them- 
 selves have not the power or the ability to execute." 
 
 Lord Montague also bestowed great commenda- 
 tion on this little pleasing poem of Dr. Syntax, which, 
 though trifling, possessed some intrinsic merit. Yet 
 Lord Montague was disappointed that Wolf was not 
 present at this meeting, and that now there was no 
 chance of being again on friendly terms with a youth 
 whom he had treated with such unmerited severity. 
 
 Besides, the whole secret would now be revealed to 
 Lady Agatha, who would think it strange that Wo'f 
 did not come into the nursery as usual to play with the 
 little Orlando; and as the child was so passionately 
 fond of him, it would be remarked, and the cause per- 
 haps enquired into by his lovely wife : and this thought 
 was insupportable to Lord Montague ; for he was we!! 
 a\ v are that Wolf would not conceal the truth, but in- 
 form ner xaayship that he was forbidden to enter there, 
 in the presence of the Marchioness, and by him. And 
 what cause could he assign to Agatha for such conduct? 
 Could he confess to her that he was jealous of a poor 
 unfriended boy, who had once shared with her in all 
 the perils of her fate ? No, Lord Montague felt that he 
 could not do this, because it was certain that it would 
 inflict pain on one of the purest bosoms in existence. 
 The remedy therefore in this case was ten times worse 
 than the disease. 
 
 Alfred had said but little in the presence of his pa 
 tron, but that little was modest, and betrayed great 
 solidity of mind, which was certainly an essential point 
 in the character he was so shortly to personate, a t-a.v 
 
THE FlSHKIl's DAUGHTER. 283 
 
 didate for holy orders. Ho possessed mild, placid, and 
 handsome features, and the tone of Ins voice was clear 
 and harmonious. He certainly had not the brilliancy 
 or the uncommon energy of the high spirited Wolf ; for 
 nature, though she had formed both in her happiest 
 mood, had designed them for very opposite characters ; 
 both to shine, but with different lights and shades. She 
 had done her work; it remained for education and mo- 
 ral principles to finish the rest. 
 
 It was late in the evening when Lawrence and his 
 young pupil returned from their peregrinations, in which 
 they had been so successful, that Wolf was loaded with 
 a basket of sea weeds and shells ; and the very moment 
 they made their entrance, Dr. Syntax, whose spirits 
 were not only exhilarated with the wine he had drank, 
 out intoxicated with the praises which the Duke and 
 and Lord Montague had bestowed on his |>oern, ex- 
 claimed — 
 
 " Well, gentlemen, I hope you have been highly gra 
 tified, and so have Mr. Alfred and myself. I was never 
 so much so, I give you my honour and credit; for 
 while you have been cooling your heels at the sea- 
 side, and tasting the breezes of the ocean, we bave 
 been tasting some of his Grace's champaign, in com- 
 pany with his Grace too, I can assure you, and Lord 
 Montague Montault. Which has the better bargain ?" 
 To which Wolf, with a little asperity, replied — 
 
 fi To one part of it, sir, I should have had no objec- 
 tion, but to the other I would much rather prefer 
 the breezes of the ocean, though the winds blew a 
 hurricane, the lightnings flashed, or the loud thunder 
 roared." 
 
284 the fisher's daughter, 
 
 " Well, 1 confess then Mr. Wolf," cried the doctor 
 laughing, " that I would much rather enjoy my own. 
 taste than share in yours; an uncommon odd pro- 
 pensity for a young man at your time of life.' 
 
 " But it is no less a truth, the most serious that I ever 
 uttered," replied Wolf, indignantly. " The wine would 
 have choked me ; I could not have gulped it down, I 
 am very certain." 
 
 " You surprise me still more Mr. Wolf," reiterated 
 the doctor. " Bless my soul, wine choke you ! Why 
 I tell you that the wine which was on Lord Monta- 
 gue's table, and that Mr. Alfred and I drank several 
 glasses of, was the most delicious that I ever tasted in 
 my life. Come now, I am a pretty good judge of 
 wine." 
 
 f { , I have no doubt of it, s'.r," responded Wolf; 
 u but I again repeat, that were it more delicious than 
 Nector offered to the gods, 1 could not have touched 
 one d«rop of it." 
 
 " And why, sir, permit me to enquire?" demanded 
 the doctor, in the most profound astonishment. 
 
 To which the now agitated youth, with a look 
 that gave powerful energy to his words, replied — 
 
 *• That, sir, will remain an impenetrable secret to 
 the end < i mv existence. 9 ' 
 
THE FISHER J DAUGHTER. 2M5 
 
 CHAPTER XI). 
 
 " Our virtues would be proud, 
 
 If our faults whipt them not ; 
 
 Aod our crimes would despair, 
 
 If they were not cherish 'd by 
 
 Our virtues." SKAKEsrEARS. 
 
 The feelings of Alfred had beeu put very severely tc 
 the test during the conversation that ivas taking place 
 between Wolf and his tutor, fearful that some un- 
 grounded expression might escape his lips, and his se- 
 cret be divulged in the same instant; nor could he 
 himself account for the vehemence as well as decision 
 which appeared both in the manner and the features of 
 Wolf in the sentence he had just pronounced ; the 
 most profound astonishment having taken possession 
 of the grave sententious countenance of tbe doctor, 
 and he exclaimed — 
 
 il I protest Mr. Wolf that your language appears a 
 little enigmatical at the present moment, though there 
 is not a doubt but you could adduce very sufficient 
 reasons for not liking his lordship's wine, and which 
 would seem no longer a mystery, were you to let us 
 into the secret that you resolve to carry with you to 
 the end of your existence; but I must tell you, young 
 
286 the fisher's daughter. 
 
 gentleman, that it is excessively wrong at your tunc; 
 of life to make rash resolves, and sudden resolutions, 
 which it is a thousand to one but you may chance to 
 break the very first opportunity." To which Wolf 
 replied — 
 
 " And pray, sir, do not men run the chance of break- 
 ing resolutions at all seasons of life ?" 
 
 " Granted, Mr. Wolf/' answered the doctor. If No 
 man can possibly be infallible; yet I consider oaths, 
 when preferred to the Deity, sacred, and that it were 
 sinful to forfeit; for which reason they should never 
 be made, unless they are intended to be kept inviola- 
 ble. 1 appeal to Mr. Lawrence for the correctness of 
 my opinion." 
 
 *' From which it is impossible I can ever dissent," 
 cried Lawrence ; " for oaths are registered in Heaven 
 when they are offered there, and it is sacrilege to for- 
 feit them ; but it does not appear in this instance that 
 my pupil has been guilty of this trespass ; I shall there- 
 fore suffer him to pass without condemnation." 
 
 " But I should not suffer myself to pass without 
 condemnation, if I had folly or presumption enough to 
 act contrary to the judgment of either of you two 
 earned gentlemen," uttered Wolf, with a graceful and 
 modest dignity, which rendered him peculiarly inter- 
 esting to the objects on whom he had conferred this 
 delicate and flattering mark of respect. I have taken 
 no oath, that I know of, contrary to the purest precepts 
 of religion in which I have been educated ; at the same 
 time I must acknowledge, that f should not only have 
 a distaste for Lord Montague's wine, but to Lord Mon- 
 tague himself, were he to offer it to me, my reasons for 
 
the fisher's daughter. '2^7 
 
 which are locked np in my own breast, and ! will never 
 divulge them." 
 
 " And there they had better remain Mr. Wolf," 
 cried Lawrence, gravely. " They are things which do 
 not concern either myself or Dr. Syntax ; and while the 
 exterior is so faultless as I have hitherto found it, it is 
 not my business, as a tutor, to penetrate into the inte- 
 rior part, or exercise severity where there is no occa- 
 sion. If you do not like wine, you are certainly not 
 obliged to drink it, and I would not mind telling Lord 
 Montague so myself." 
 
 A pause ensued to this speech of Lawrence's, and as 
 it probably put an extinguisher on any further com- 
 ments being mad© on the subject, the parties very 
 quietly retired for the night to their respective cham- 
 bers. Wolf, who now kept nothing secret from Alfred, 
 explained the whole of the mystery of the wine 
 Dusiness, and the behaviour he had experienced from 
 his lordship and the Marchioness of Montault in the 
 nursery, which filled the mind of the delicate and sen- 
 sative Alfred with the utmost apprehensions, and in- 
 quietude ; yet he certainly saw nothing to reproach 
 him for, and he most heartily wished that the time 
 were indeed come for a removal from Violet Vale, as 
 it was too evident to perceive that Lord Montague was 
 already jealous of the attractions of Wolf, and that so 
 dangerous an object as the Lady Agatha now was 
 to the peace of his beloved brother was best at a 
 distance 
 
 In the meanwhile the Lady Agatha, perfectly uncon- 
 scious of the reception that Wolf had received from 
 her husband, wondered, when two days had elasped, 
 
THE FISHER S DAUGHTER. 
 
 that he never paid his accustomed visit to the nursery 
 to enquire after the health of his little favourite, a?.c 
 that there was also a constrained distance in his man- 
 ner whenever he approached her, which was quite 
 foreign to the intercourse which had so lately subsisted 
 between them ; that even when bv chance he directed 
 a look towards her, it was suddenly withdrawn, while 
 a deep shade of melancholy pervaded his fine animated 
 and intelligent features ; she also remembered the des- 
 pondent tone in which he had addressed her on the 
 staircase: and wholly unconscious of the nature of his 
 feelings, or the cause of the offence which had been 
 given to him by Lord Montague, she determined the 
 very first opportunity of being alone with him to de- 
 mand an explanation of such extraordinary apparent 
 chagrin, and what made him shun the embraces of 
 her lovely infant. But Wolf had very seldom an op- 
 portunity of seeing Lady Agatha without the presence 
 of a third object; he never dined at the table with her 
 or Lord Montague except on very particular occasions ; 
 he could see her no where but in the nursery, or in the 
 gardens, both of which places he cautiously avoided, 
 so that an explanation of his conduct was necessarily 
 deferred, and Lady Agatha was certainly a little un- 
 easy and mortified at this perceptible change in the 
 manners and deportment, of her young favourite to- 
 wards her; because she was not conscious of having 
 given him any offence, and it never entered her imagi- 
 nation that any one else in her establishment had, or 
 she would certainly have resented it; much less did 
 she suppose that Lord Montague had, and far less did 
 she suspect the cause. In the meantime the Jittle 
 
run fishf.k's .daughter. 289 
 
 Orlando, every time he caught a sight of Wolf, to whose 
 caresses he was so accustomed, set up his little pipes 
 in no very melodious strain, stretching out his arms; 
 and one day the child cried so passionately, that it was 
 heard, while they sat at dinner, by Lord and Lady 
 Montault, the Duke being also present ; and on the bell 
 being instantly rung to know what was the matter 
 with the child, word was brought back, that Lord Or- 
 lando seeing Mr. Wolf, cried to go to him, but the 
 nurse had taken him into another apartment to pacifv 
 him, but all to no purpose, he still wanted to go to 
 Mr. Wolf. 
 
 This intelligence not only surprised Agatha, but her 
 lovely cheeks assumed a colour of the brightest crim- 
 son, while she indignantly exclaimed — 
 
 " Tell the nurse to bring the child here immediately, 
 that I may know the meaning of such conduct. It is 
 strange, indeed, that Wolf should be so unkind as to 
 suffer the infant to cry thus after him ; he surely might 
 have taken it for a few moments." 
 
 " Stay, my love, it is perfectly ridiculous to flurry 
 yourself so," uttered Lord Montague, who now felt 
 like a criminal arraigned at the bar, and who was just 
 going to take his trial ; and dreading the entrance of 
 the nurse, he went out of the room with the rapidity 
 of lightning, and returned in a few minutes with his 
 infant son in his arms, who at the sight of his mother 
 soon dried its tears, nestling his head on her lovely 
 bosom, and smiling in her face. 
 
 ** My darling, you must never again have a favourite, 
 if thus you are rewarded," uttered Agatha, with some 
 asperity; Lord Montague alleging as an excuse tor 
 
 a 13 <• n 
 
290 THk. fisher's daughter. 
 
 the nurse, and the supposed ingratitude of poor Wolf, 
 that it was only fancy in the child, for Wolf had 
 never been near the nursery that clay. 
 
 This made bad worse ; for Lady Agatha, highly 
 piqued, and in the heat of momentary anger, ex- 
 claimed — 
 
 " Nor for many days, to my certain knowledge ; 
 and I must own I do not feel altogether pleased with 
 sucrr caprice, and cannot possibly guess the cause of 
 it ; so fond of the child, and now to treat it thus : I 
 have no patience." 
 
 " Why, my love, yon arc really angry," cried Lord 
 Montague, exhibiting the strongest marks of confu- 
 sion, which was by no means unremarked by the 
 Duke, while his lovely daughter replied — 
 
 " My lord, I never affect what I do not feel. 1 am 
 really angry, and Wolf shall know the cause of my 
 displeasure." 
 
 " And yet I would wager that Wolf is not the ag- 
 gressor," uttered his Grace, fixing his eyes on the 
 changing countenance of his nephew. '' There ; s 
 some mistake in the business, which, hi justice to 
 the youth, whom I think highly of, I shall beg to have 
 explained. What say you Montague? Have you any 
 objection to my speaking to Wolf on this subject?" 
 
 And to the utter astonishment, both of his Grace 
 and the Lady Agatha, Lord Montague, with almost 
 involuntary warmth, replied — 
 
 "Yes, your Grace, a very serious objection; it is 
 "faking this youth of too much consequence in my 
 family. I would not have him for one moment sup- 
 pose that his contempt of my child can in the slightest 
 
THE FISIIKK S DAUGHTER, 
 
 degree affect the feelings of Lady Agatha Montauit;" 
 and darting a look of severe reprehension on the sur- 
 prised eountenance of his lovely wife, his lordship in- 
 stantly quitted the room, leaving- the Duke in amaze- 
 ment at the agitation he had betrayed. 
 
 " Good heavens ! my dearest father," uttered Aga- 
 tha, " what can possibly be the matter with Monta- 
 gue? He seems prejudiced against Wolf, but I am 
 utterly ignorant as to what offence he may have given 
 him." 
 
 " That I will certainly know of Wolf himself," an- 
 swered his Grace, " for it is perfectly unintelligible to 
 me ; and notwithstanding his prohibition, 1 will assur- 
 edly know the truth of it. It does not appear to me 
 that Wolf is in fault ; but if he is, it is extremelypropcr 
 I should be made acquainted with the nature of his 
 offence. 1 am his patron and protector, and if he has 
 proved himself unworthy of the regard 1 was inclined 
 to shew him, he shall no longer have my protection. 
 I will instantly go into the study, and question him on 
 a point that 1 will not bear to be trifled with ; in the 
 mean time, my love, take no notice of the petulance of 
 your husband ;" so saying, and snatching a kiss of the 
 rosy little dimpled cherub that now lay sleeping in the 
 arms of his beauteous mother, the Duke sallied forth 
 in quest of the accused Wolf, whom he found with his 
 tutor, intent upon some maps which Lawrence was 
 accurately pointing out to him. The animated coun- 
 tenanee of Wolf reflected the mind that was its coun- 
 terpart, energy, sensibility, and truth ; and he arose 
 on the entrance of his august patron, as also did the 
 tutor. 
 
2[)2 the fisher's daughter. 
 
 *' I have broken in upon you without ceremony, be- 
 cause the business I came about is somewhat urgent," 
 ottered his Grace. " It is with you Wolf that I wish 
 to commune privately; Lawrence, you will leave us to- 
 gether." 
 
 The tutor bowed and made his exit, while Wolf 
 closed the door gently after him, then returned, and 
 waited in silence the commands of his patron, who 
 addressed the astonished youth in the following 
 words : — 
 
 " Wolf, you are well aware that if I had not consi- 
 dered you were worthy of my protection, I should never 
 iiave placed you where you now are. Whenever I find 
 you disgracing it, you must instantly depart, and no 
 intercession will ever induce me to pardon your indis- 
 cretion." 
 
 "O your Grace! and do you think me guilty of 
 any?" now exclaimed the agitated Wolf. " If I am, 
 I know not in thought, word, or deed, the nature of 
 my offence towards you, or any beneath this roof. I 
 beseech you then, sport not with the feelings of one 
 who would sooner perish, than live disgraced in the 
 eyes of his patron. What fault have I committed? 
 Who — who has accused me ?" 
 
 " You are not accused ; hear me patiently," cried 
 the Duke. " I am only going to put a few questions 
 to you on a subject that puzzles me ; all you have to do 
 is to answer them with a strict adherence to the truth, 
 which you never need blush to own." 
 
 " Your Grace 1 honour truth, as I adore the hallow- 
 ed source from whence it flows," uttered Wolf now, 
 with his wonted spirit and energy of character, f I 
 
thk kishkr's daughter. 293 
 
 have been scourged for it when I was in the Black 
 Forest; I have writhed under the lash of the whip for 
 it, till my back wa3 laid bare and bleeding, yet I never 
 forfeited it. I was then wild, little better than a savage 
 boy, untutored, uneducated, still I was steadfast to the 
 truth ; and shall I now forsake that beaten track, which 
 was the light of my existence, and the glory of my 
 heart? Now that I have energy, sensibility, charac- 
 ter, now that I feel I am springing into manhood, shall 
 1 forsake man's proudest boast — truth ? No, let me 
 perish first. Now for the questions, so please your 
 Grace, and I will answer them fearlessly, but truly, as 
 I hope for mercy at the judgment seat of heaven." 
 
 The Duke for a moment was lost in wonder, asto- 
 nishment, and even admiration at the character of this 
 intrepid and fine spirited youth, whose bold defence 
 of himself was marked with an expression that would 
 have commanded respect, even from those who were 
 his superiors ; and that he sprung from a race that was 
 noble, however abject the state which he described to 
 have been his former lot, or however impervious the vail 
 which was cast over his origin, there was not the smallest 
 doubt. Still he resolved to be satisfied on the points he 
 was so solicitous to obtain a knowledge of; and in the 
 mildest tone bade the agitated youth to compose him- 
 self, for that he entertained the highest opinion of both 
 his principles and his honour, from the sentiments he 
 had just broached, which were as creditable to himself 
 as to those who protected him ; and that such was 
 now his confidence in the native ingenuousness of his 
 character and disposition, that he would unveil his 
 thoughts with less rcscrvt-. than he had at first intended 
 
294 the fisher's daughter. 
 
 to do, and immediately asked him why he had for 
 the last several days so sedulously avoided bestowing 
 caresses on his little grandson, and that he did not 
 visit the nursery as usual to play with the child. 
 
 Instantly the face of Wolf was in a perfect flame, 
 and his features assumed an expression that might 
 have been taken for ferocity, had not sensibility sho^e 
 in his brilliant eyes, and moistened his cheek with a 
 tear. Every nerve seemed roused to energy, and he 
 exclaimed — 
 
 " Your Grace, however painful to my feelings, 1 
 must inform you of the cause." 
 
 " That is exactly what I want you to do," cried the 
 Duke. 
 
 " I was forbidden to enter the nursery, peremptorily 
 forbidden to enter it, and severely reprimanded for pre- 
 suming to caress the young Lord Orlando," reiterated 
 Wolf, an involuntary sigh escaping from his breast, 
 which now proudly and indignantly swelling at the re- 
 collection of the reproaches he had received from Lord 
 Montague on this occasion, would have concealed at 
 this moment the pain he had inflicted there. 
 
 Petrified and confounded by this intelligence, which 
 completely justified the conduct of the so falsely ac- 
 cused Wolf in the estimation of his august patron, he 
 demanded to know who had forbidden him. 
 
 "Lord Montague Montault," answered Wolf, boldly, 
 " none other but him : the Lady Agatha and yourself 
 would not have taught Wolf implicitly to follow a com- 
 mand so repugnant to his feelings ; for not more do [ 
 love the light of all created universe, than I love the 
 face of that beauteous boy. It has cost me some pains 
 
Tllli FISHKfi's DVliOHTKR. 295 
 
 t* avoid the sweet innocent, but Wolf has done his 
 duty." 
 
 "And aobly, my boy," uttered the Duke, after a few 
 minutes abstraction of thought ; " yet 1 own it appears 
 to me extraordinary. Did he assign no cause?" 
 
 " I did not presume to ask, your Grace," answered 
 Wolf. " The Marchioness of Montault was present 
 when I received this so little merited reproof from his 
 lordship, and her ladyship was equally severe, her mo- 
 tives for which 1 am wholly ignorant of, nor did I 
 enquire. And why, your Grace ? conscience whispered 
 that I was innocent of the slighest offence; and what 
 has innocence to do with fear?" 
 
 The Duke was profoundly silent. There was a pain- 
 ful and involuntary thought that it was possible filled 
 his mind at the communication of poor Wolf, which 
 having connected with other existing circumstances, 
 very nearly amounted to conviction of what before he 
 had only surmised, that the uncommon perfections, 
 and brilliant genius of this promising youth, had ex- 
 eited in the breast of even the accomplished Lord 
 Montague, two of the meanest and most miserable 
 passions that can agitate the human bosom, envy and 
 jealousy ; yet so tenacious was the Duke of concealing 
 the faults of his son-in-law from his protegee, that he 
 affected an air of carelessness, while he replied — 
 
 " My dear boy, you are now perfectly restored to 
 my good opinion, and I shall never henceforth accuse 
 you wrongfully. That I did not, that I could not sus- 
 pect you without a cause, is the reason why I have 
 sought in this interview to know the real state of you» 
 
29G the fisher's daughter. 
 
 feelings ; I find you clear, without a shadow ot offence, 
 and the fault decidely rests with Lord Montague, wh<\ 
 though he is the husband of my angelic child, I do not 
 choose to glance over ; but they are faults which you 
 must not notice, Wolf, and which delicacy to the Lady 
 Agatha forbids me to explain. I can say no more as a 
 father, but you may probably guess at them. Every 
 man has a fault in his disposition, and Lord Montague 
 has one; I need not point it out to you, your good 
 sense (of which you have I am happy to say an abun- 
 dant share) will suggest the meaning of what I would 
 not wish to disclose to mortal. He is the husband of 
 my daughter, and therefore he is sacred from any reproof 
 of mine, while he does not glaringly interfere with the 
 happiness of my beloved child, born under circum- 
 stances, which even you Wolf are no stranger to." Here 
 a struggling and convulsive sigh escaped from the breast 
 of the Duke of Braganza, sacred to the memory of the 
 now sainted mother of his Agatha, and for some mo- 
 ments he scarcely recovered his self-possession ; at 
 length he resumed his discourse, for the feelings of 
 Wolf could not be explained, they were undefinable. 
 
 " You must take no notice of what has passed be- 
 tween us Wolf," uttered the Duke. " Lawrence will 
 question you, but resolve him nothing ; in the mean- 
 time I will point out to you a system of conduct, which 
 you must instantly adopt while you remain beneath 
 the roof of Lord Montague Montault, and that is, to 
 behave precisely as formerly, when you first came 
 hither. Go to the nursery and seek your little fa- 
 vourite, who will be as naturally anxious to seek you j 
 
THTC KI S H K R S D A V C U IV !< 
 
 *><>.? 
 
 and take my word for it, you will never be forbidden 
 again to enter there by the command of Lord Mon- 
 tague Montault." 
 
 " But 1 hope, your Grace, that I have not equally 
 incurred the displeasure of the Lady Agatha, by obey- 
 ing the commands of her lord," cried Wolf, with his 
 face in a rich glow of crimson, and unable to conceal 
 the pain that he endured from such a supposition ; the 
 Duke al! the while looked at him with keen penetra- 
 tion ; but there was no reproach in the glance that was 
 directed towards him, and he mildly replied — 
 
 " No, she was not offended, but a little hurt that her 
 little Orlando was disregarded, or rather forsaken by 
 his favourite. No matter, I will set all this to rights ; 
 but I charge you, Wolf, to hold no conversation with 
 the Lady Agatha on this subject. It is sufficient that 
 I am able to justify you in her opinion. You must seek 
 no further explanation with the daughter of Braganza." 
 
 " Your Grace's commands must ever be sacred with 
 Wolf," uttered he, and bowed gracefully. " When I 
 forfeit them, then spurn me from your presence, and 
 cast me off for ever." 
 
 " I will stake my life on your obedience, my boy," 
 exclaimed the Duke, surveying Wolf with unspeakable 
 satisfaction, " and leave you to your reflections. The 
 time is fast approaching when you will seek for fame 
 and glory in martial deeds. You will shortly be re- 
 moved from hence, to engage in the perils of the field, 
 and let that alone occupy your present thoughts. If I 
 augur rightly, I shall not be deceived in the expectations 
 I have formed of your successful debut on the stage 
 of your profession. Farewell, and peace be ivith you.' 
 
 A 13 p f 
 
the fishkr's daughter. 
 
 The Duke was a little overcome by the serious con- 
 versation lie had held with Wolf, as well as by a pre- 
 diction, that if this disposition in Montague continued 
 to gain strength, that fleeting and short would be the 
 happiness of his beloved child, whose every thought 
 was pure, and whose every action was blamele.s. 
 Besides, he liked not. the clandestine visits of the 
 Marchioness to her son, and the unbounded influence 
 which, though married, she yet possessed over him. 
 What right had she to exercise any severity towards 
 Wolf, or reprove him for his fondness for his little 
 grandson, and in the absence of his Agatha, make 
 comments that she had no business to do in the esta- 
 blishment of his daughter? In short, the Duke was 
 not in the most possible of all sweetest of tempers 
 when he again made his entrance to the drawing-room, 
 aud there beheld the Marchioness, Lady Lavinia, and 
 Lord Winstone, whose nuptials were to be solemnized 
 in the course of a few days ; and they all rose to re- 
 ceive him with the greatest respect. Lord Montague 
 had recovered some portion of his chagrin, and was 
 conversing with great gaiety with Lord Winstone on 
 the subject of his approaching change of condition. 
 The Marquis was talking in a low strain to Lady Aga- 
 tha, over whose lovely features there was a pensive 
 shade, yet her irresistibly charming smile was the 
 same as ever, although its bright beam shed a some- 
 what fainter ray. 
 
 " I protest, your Grace, it is insufferably provoking 
 to take yourself away when you weve most wanted," 
 uttered the wily Marchioness, with one of her most 
 insinuating smiles, which, though she had hitherto been 
 
THE KiSiilu's DAUGHTER. 299 
 
 a favourite of the Duke's, on this evening had, for some 
 reason or other, lost its power of fascination : " we 
 have wanted your Grace's decision on a most impor- 
 tant point for this half hour, and now you are conic 
 we will positively have it." To which his Grace 
 gravely replied — 
 
 " There are some points, your ladyship, which I 
 should not choose to decide upon, although I grant 
 that decision is a necessary virtue, without which man 
 would lx? a mere nonentity." 
 
 " But we cannot decide without your Grace's judg- 
 ment on this occasion, for it happens to be so impor- 
 tant, that it depends entirely upon your Grace, it ap- 
 pears, by a majority of ladies, whether I am to be 
 honoured with a certain fair hand, unless that hand is 
 presented by his Grace the Duke of Braganza," utter- 
 ed Lord Winstoue. " |« short, your Grace, Lady La- 
 vinia positively refuses to become my bride, if you 
 don't become her father." 
 
 " Yes, indeed I have said so, your Grace," cried Lady 
 Lavinia, blushing deeply, or rather affecting to blush 
 deeply, for certainly none of nature's labouring was 
 there, but no inconsiderable quantity of Parisian rouge 
 bepainted cheeks that would have appeared to much 
 greater advantage without it. 
 
 " And I am sure, my love, that his Grace will 
 not refuse your supplication," cried the Marchio- 
 ness. 
 
 " Nor mine, I hope," reiterated Lord Winstone. 
 
 " Nor mine," echoed the Marquis, now fixing his 
 eyes for the first time on the unusual gravity which 
 
 . 
 
300 the fisher's daughter. 
 
 \>ei -raded almost every fine feature of the Duke of Bra 
 fanza. 
 
 " Nor mine," repeated a voice, full of the most 
 Melodious sweetness, and that voiec was l«s hcloved 
 ♦laughter's. "Dearest father, it is the request of Lady 
 Lavinia, that you will at the holy altar consign her hand 
 to Lord Winstone ; and I am sure you cannot form any 
 reasonable objection to such a request." 
 
 " None in the least, mv love," replied the Duke, 
 fixing on the lovely features of his beloved child a look 
 of the most idolized fondness. " Lord Winstone and 
 Lady Lavinia may command my very best services on 
 so joyful an occasion, if services they can be consider- 
 ed. To cotjfer happiness on others, /s to me the most 
 pleasurable sensation that I can enjoy; to inflict unne- 
 cessary pain would make me as miserable ; and those 
 who delight it) doing so, deserve to be miserable to 
 the end of their existence." 
 
 This was not spoken without point, and the Mar- 
 chioness exhibited the strongest marks of confusion. 
 Nor was Lord Montague without his share of mortifi- 
 cation, for he had not the slightest doubt but the Duke, 
 in consequence of the chagrin that his daughter had 
 betrayed at the supposed ingratitude of Wolf, had de- 
 manded an explanation of his conduct, and that Wolf 
 had told them all that had passed between them, in 
 which case his own weakness must make him appear 
 very ridiculous in the eyes of his father-in-law, and 
 would also be very soon manifest to his lovely vvifis 
 Lord Montague therefore sat upon thorns during the 
 remainder of the evening, making out the old adage, 
 
 
THE FISHER'S DAUGHTER, 301 
 
 that a guilty conscience wants no accusing when put 
 to the test. Nor was the mind of Lady Agatha in its 
 perfectly serene and quiet temperature. She was dis.-- 
 pleased with Wolf, and she was by no means pleased 
 with her husband ; and she felt indignant with both, 
 without being able to seek an explanation with either 
 of them, because she had been enjoined by her father 
 not to do so ; yet surely he would tell her if Wolf were 
 guilty or not, if he had obtained any conversation with 
 him ; and she was certain that he had, and that the re- 
 sult was not very favourable to her husband. Cau- 
 tiously, however, did Lady Agatha conceal her sensa- 
 tions, and the conversation becoming general, no fur- 
 ther notice was taken of the humour of either of the 
 party, except that Lady Laviuia appeared exhilarated 
 in spirits to the highest degree, and Lord Winstone 
 the most transported of lovers. The Marchioness, 
 probably a little piqued at the pointed expressions of 
 the Duke, from whom she had hitherto received the 
 most flattering compliments, thought it policy not to 
 expose herself to the animadversions which he might 
 again take an opportunity of passing on her, and im- 
 mediately set herself down to cards in an adjoining 
 apartment, where card tables were laid out for those 
 who chose to play, and to which Lord Montague and 
 Lord Winstone had retired, the Duke remaining in 
 conversation with his brother, his lovely daughter, and 
 Lady Lavinia, and where some successful rubbers at 
 whist soon put the Marchioness into her usual flow of 
 spirits. She always played high, and very rarely lost, 
 and had ever been an adept in this fashionable amuse- 
 ment j and Lady Laviuia, who always loved to copy 
 
302 the fisher's daughter. 
 
 beautiful mamma in every air and grace, was a tolerable 
 proficient in the art of winning large sums, and some- 
 limes losing them, an accomplishment certainly that 
 would not have met the approval of her lover had he 
 known it ; but defeets were concealed, for beautiful 
 mamma never suffered her daughter to sit down to the 
 card table when Lord Winstone was there. 
 
 Once, however, it caught the observation of the 
 Marquis at a crowded party, when the Marchioness 
 supposed that he was elsewhere ; and the next day it 
 called forth severe reprehension. 
 
 " What in the name of heaven do you mean, Mar- 
 chioness, by teaching your daughter to play at cards ?" 
 uttered he. " I am shocked, perfectly shocked at 
 such glaring impropriety." To which her ladyship 
 replied, with an air of the most provoking noncha- 
 lance — 
 
 " And I am perfectly amazed, nay I am horrified by 
 Your making so absurd an enquiry. Can your daugh- 
 ter move in high circles of fashion, without playing at 
 cards ?" 
 
 " Then it is a great pity that high circles of fashion 
 cannot teach her something more worthy of imitation," 
 answered the Marquis; "and it is not the merely 
 playing at cards that I object to but I have a very great 
 objection to seeing a female so young as Lavinia, 
 betting for considerable sums of money with the most 
 professed gamhicrs in town, and her mother sanction- 
 ing such indecorous conduct; and I can tell you, Mar- 
 chioness, that I will not tolerate such doings. If ever 
 I sec Lavinia acting again so improperly, I will chastise 
 her with that authority that becomes a father, who is 
 
i he fisher's DAUGHTER. TiOvi 
 
 naturally anxious for the happiness, the honour of his 
 child." 
 
 " And expose yourself to the severity of all your ac- 
 quaintance," cried the Marchioness. " Had you not 
 better purchase an iron cage, and put her into it, with a 
 padlock, of which nobody is to keep the key but your- 
 self? Upon my word, Marquis, you are particularly 
 fastidious all of a sudden, in your precise notions of 
 female propriety." 
 
 " My notions are precisely what they ever were," 
 reiterated the Marquis ; " and your ladyship will find 
 them so, if this pernicious habit is continued by your 
 daughter, and encouraged by you." 
 
 At this unlucky moment, when fire raged on both 
 sides, Lady Lavinia made her appearance, and inter- 
 rupted this no very agreeable matrimonial duet be- 
 tween papa and beautiful mamma, by making it a trio ; 
 for the Marquis in a displeased tone exclaimed — • 
 
 " Lavinia, I desire I may never see you doing what 
 you did last night at Lady Tannington's." 
 
 "La, papa! and what was that?" demanded the 
 young fashionable beauty, in her usual simpering mode 
 of expressing herself; and glancing towards beautiful 
 mamma, she there beheld the approach of a storm, and 
 wondered what had also ruffled the quiet and always 
 placid temperature of her father, who immediately re- 
 plied- — 
 
 " You were doing what a young female of your age 
 ought to blush in acknowledging, Lavinia, and what 
 ydu never shall do agaiu with my permission. Win- 
 ning, losing, and betting at cards; nnd with whom? 
 
304 the fisher's DAUGHTER. 
 
 gamblers, professed, notorious gamblers ; although they 
 may call themselves men of fashion, of education, and 
 of high birth, they are nevertheless a disgrace to it, 
 and the scourge, the infamy of all mankind. And a fe- 
 male gamester! heaven and earth, shall I suffer a 
 child of mine to add to the disgusting catalogue that 
 fills up the annual register of the votaries of the gam- 
 ing table ? Lavinia, on peril of my eternal displeasure, 
 I command you to forego this dangerous propensity, 
 this infatuated passion. I will not allow you to play a 
 single card beneath this roof, or any other; your im- 
 mediate acquiescence to my wishes will prove if you 
 have any affection for a father, who, however severe 
 he may be considered in giving you these restrictions, 
 gives at the same instant the most incontestable proof of 
 his affection for his daughter." 
 
 Although the Marchioness had been silent during this 
 conversation with the Marquis and Lady Lavinia, it 
 was not out of fear, but policy and interest, which if it 
 be the white man's god, is certainly the white woman's 
 too ; for the wily Marchioness well knew that there 
 was more advantage in being silent, than by offering 
 any opposition to the arguments he had been adducing 
 against play; but, though silent, her looks had all the 
 eloquence of speech in them, and they were presently 
 understood by the fair culprit, who, wholly unprepared 
 for this grave lecture of her father, was covered with 
 confusion ; and glancing at beautiful mamma, whose 
 motions were most expressive of her meaning, she in- 
 stantly crept up beside her, and leaned over the otto- 
 man, where her ladyship was reclining, with a sort of 
 
TlUB FISHER S DAUGHTER. 
 
 :<or> 
 
 perfect indiikTcncc as fo the scene that was passing. 
 Softly, however, now she whispered in the ear of the 
 blushing and half affrighted maid — 
 
 " Why don't you cry child, he will never be able to 
 resist your tears; come, put your handkerchief to your 
 eyes, and sob as loud as ever you can." 
 
 This hint was no sooner given by beautiful mamma 
 than taken, for Lady Lavinia was an apt scholar. The 
 Marquis had arisen from his chair, and was pacing the 
 room, apparently to recover the effects of his irritabi- 
 lity, and his waste of breath and words on his insensi- 
 ble child, whe-n to his utter astonishment she suddenly 
 burst into a convulsive passion of tears ; and her sobs 
 were so outrageously violent, that the Marchioness in- 
 stantly sprang from the Ottoman, and rang the bell 
 for some hartshorn to rub the temples of her dear 
 child, that she protested would go into a fainting tit, 
 owing to the cruel and barbarous manner in which 
 the Marquis had attacked her. 
 
 " You have really no compassion, not even for your 
 own offspring, Marquis," uttered the Marchioness. 
 " The dear creature is quite overcome, she is so sen- 
 sitive and so nervous, ail soul and tender sensibility." 
 
 The hartshorn was now applied without effect. The 
 hysteric sobs of Lady Lavinia still continued with rei- 
 terated violence, and the fountain of tears to deluge 
 the cheeks of the sensitive beauty, while beautiful 
 mamma poured torrents of reproaches on the object 
 who had occasioned such agitation in the snowy breast 
 of her beautiful Lavinia, who carried on the farce so 
 well, that she succeeded in making her father believe 
 that her indisposition was occasioned by his severity, 
 
 C I o n a 
 
300 the fisher's daughter. 
 
 and that she was so powerfully affected by his re- 
 proaches, as to excite symptoms of the most alarming 
 insensibility. 
 
 Now the Marquis, though in some points of his cha- 
 racter he was particularly tenacious of what should be 
 considered right or wrong, and would for a moment 
 exert that control which he thought it incumbent for 
 him to do, yet in the next moment he would betray the 
 weakness that belongs to human nature, and forget his 
 former resolutions; in one word, the Marquis of Mon- 
 tault, though one of most amiable of husbands and he 
 the best of fathers, as well as the most prudent and moral 
 of men, possessed an unaccountable softness of disposi- 
 tion, which had too much of the milk of human kind- 
 ness in it; and the firmest of his resolutions could be 
 dissolved, or rather broken, when they came in con- 
 tact with that yielding point in his disposition. Now 
 ye severe moralists, what shall we say? Were they 
 faults, or were they virtues ? The very gravest, nay 
 the very wisest of you cannot decide that point ; for of 
 philosophy no man can reasonably boast when he is 
 put to the test* and woman lies in the perspective. 
 
 
THE IISHEk's DAUGHTER. 3(>7 
 
 
 CHAPTER XIII, 
 
 ** There is nought in heaven, 
 Or earth, or air, or ocean beautiful, 
 That bears not some similitude to thee. 
 Calm as the summer sky, and sparkling 
 As the summer night; as gentle as the wave 
 That steals along the orient sands, when winds 
 Are hush'd in deep repose ; blooming as flowers, 
 Woo'd by the gales of June ; thy perfumed sighs 
 Breathe of the musk rose, and its deepest blush 
 Tints thy fair cheek. A peri formed of air, 
 And balm, and sunshine, nursed in purple bowers 
 Of fadeless amaranths ; from the bright realms, 
 Thy pearly gates of paradise, thy feet 
 Have strayed to bless a mortal." 
 
 Subdued, or rather deceived by an appearance of so 
 much sensibility, in which he had always imagined his 
 daughter to have been greatly deficient, the Marquis 
 instantly softened his asperity towards her, and with a 
 spontaneous feeling which is not always to be suppressed, 
 (at the same moment that we admit it may be termed 
 a weakness,) he approached the sobbing girl, and 
 imprinting a father's fond kiss upon her cheek, ex- 
 claimed — 
 
 " Come, dry these tears my Lavinia, and compose 
 your fluttered spirits to serenity and peace, for you 
 kiuw me too weli, to suppose I would unnecessarily or 
 
die Fisher s da Lighter. 
 
 cruelly give you pain. Severity is not a feature in my 
 character, but decision ever ; it" your tears flow from a 
 consciousness of the impropriety of conduct which f 
 have been pointing out to you, I am convinced that you 
 will not again hazard the displeasure of your father. I 
 will therefore dismiss a subject so painful to us both ; 
 and as you have evinced these marks of contrition for 
 your fault, I freely forgive you ; for repentance is always 
 an atonement for error, when breathed from a heart 
 that is perfectly sincere." 
 
 The Marquis then went to his private cabinet in the 
 adjoining apartment, and returning, presented his sup- 
 posed penitent child with a most liberal mark of his 
 generous consideration for the pain and mortification 
 lie had inflicted on her feelings, which it is possible 
 had more influence (as certainly it had more weight) 
 than all the admonitions he had been giving her; anil 
 instantly the fountain of tears, which had till then so 
 incessantly flowed, were stopped in their current, as if 
 by a magic inspiration : such is the power of gold ! And 
 stealing an expressive glance from beautiful mamma, 
 who silently triumphed in the success of finesse, Lady 
 Laviuia's countenance now borrowed the semblance of 
 the sunny ray, when first it darts its orient beams after 
 a gloomy shower, and smiling at the glittering ore, ex- 
 claimed — 
 
 " Indeed papa, 1 will never make you angry again. 
 No, never, if you will always go to your cabinet and 
 bring me such a present as this." 
 
 " And so your smiles are to be purchased, are they 
 my Lavima?" uttered the Marquis ; "and if so, you 
 will not find me so ready to become a bidder at any 
 
Tilt FISH EKS DAUGHTER. 309 
 
 future opportunity; for you will gain nothing, while 
 I consider that interest has any thing to do in the bu- 
 siness, believe me." 
 
 " Oh I don't mean that, papa," cried Lady Lavinia, 
 colouring like scarlet. 
 
 " Then what did you mean ?" uttered the Marquis. 
 
 *' I don't know," responded Lady Lavinia, simper- 
 ing, and looking towards the Marchioness for further 
 instructions, who perceived that it was now necessary 
 for her to edge in a word, or that Lavinia would lose 
 all the ground she had been making in the good graces 
 of her father ; for she was not yet an adept in the art of 
 dissimulation quite so far, as to appear what she really 
 was not : and the Marchioness exclaimed — 
 
 " My dear Marquis, do not tease the dear child so, 
 whet) you see how determined she is to obey your 
 commands ; it is really barbarous of you to torment 
 her thus. Come love, we are going to a party to night 
 at Lady Gaylove's, and it is necessary that you should 
 make some slight alteration in your dress. Kiss papa, 
 and let us retire to our dressing-room. Marquis, do 
 you intend to escort us there? but 1 had forgot. You 
 have an appointment with Montague, have not you ?" 
 
 " Yes, and it is one that I cannot dispense with," 
 cried the Marquis. " He is going to appoint a new 
 steward, and 1 have recommended him one that I au> 
 of opinion will do him justice. Of course I must t" 
 present at the introduction, but I will meet you in the 
 course of the evening at Lady Gaylove's." 
 
 Lady Lavinia now threw her snowy arms around tr - 
 neck of her too indulgent lather; and aj she prcsseo 
 
310 THE FISHER S DAUGHTER. 
 
 his cheek with her roseate lips, warbled in melodious 
 accents, 
 
 u For I am your only daughter ;" 
 
 ■ 
 
 and the Marchioness laughed heartily, while the Mar- 
 quis, most cordially returning the salutation, left them 
 together to fulfil his appointment at Violet Vale. 
 No sooner had he made his exit, than both of the ladies 
 enjoyed the success of the admirable farce they had 
 been playing. 
 
 " Bravo, Lavinia !" cried beautiful mamma. " You 
 will make an excellent actress when you have a little 
 more practice." 
 
 " But I was almost at a loss when the crying scene 
 was over mamma," uttered the young lady. " But how 
 shockingly barbarous it is of papa to prohibit me from 
 playing, when by a lucky chance one may win thou- 
 sands." 
 
 " And by an unlucky one lose them," cried the Mar- 
 chioness, with a deep sigh; " however, I believe you 
 may safely venture on a hit to night, while your father 
 is absent, at Lady Gaylove's. There will be some 
 young pigeons there, fresh upon the turf. We must 
 try to fleece them ; for, to tell you the truth, Lavinia, 
 I have been prodigiously out of luck lately. Some 
 demon presides over my cards, for I have lost repeat- 
 edly, and gained nothing by my ventures. How much 
 money has your father given you ?" 
 
 Lady Lavinia counted the gold on the table, the 
 Marchioness surveying it with a greedy and a wishful 
 eye, while she artfully added — 
 
thk fisher's daughter. 311 
 
 5? I never knew him so generous before; now the 
 way to keep him so, is most rigidly to comply with 
 the conditions for which he has given you such liberal 
 marks of his munificence. So, my love, instead of 
 your playing to night at Lady Gaylove's, suppose you 
 let me try your chance, and lend me the money ; then 
 if i should be a winner — " 
 
 A shade of no very pleasing aspect passed over the 
 fair countenance of the fashionable beauty ; she paused 
 •i little, and thou exclaimed — 
 
 " But if vou should be a loser, beautiful mamma. 
 you wont be able to return the money so soon as I 
 waut it, and then I shall be so disappointed." 
 
 " Why, what do you want it for?" demanded the 
 Marchioness. 
 
 " I want to buy a monkey," uttered the young lady, 
 " to play with the squirrel that Winstone gave me ; 
 and I must have one, cost wha 1 it will." 
 
 " I promise you the monkey, If you will lend me 
 the money to night. I will get a monkey for you to- 
 morrow on that proviso." 
 
 " I shall cry ready to break my heart if you don't," 
 simpered Lady Lavinia. 
 
 • c Pretty dear ! but it shan't cry," cried the Mar- 
 chioness, coaxingly. " I will win to night, fleece the 
 pidgeons, and buy the monkey, as a momento of their 
 folly, to-morrow." 
 
 " If I could be certain of your winning, beautiful 
 mamma; but" — hesitated Lady Lavinia. 
 
 " If I do not win, I will give you my second best 
 diamond necklace and earrings, in which you capti- 
 
M2 niK fishkr's daitghtHi. 
 
 atcd Lord Wins!one at Lady Tantifitgton 'a/' tifforfetf 
 the Marchioness. 
 
 The temptation was too strong to be resisted. Lady 
 Lavinia yielded to the solicitation of beautiful mamma, 
 nnd gave her the contents of her purse without a mo- 
 ment's delay, to the inexpressible joy of the Marchio- 
 ness, whose own finances were completely exhausted 
 by her late considerable losses at the gaming table. 
 Fatal, infatuated, and destructive passion, at which too 
 frequently the honour both of a husband and a wife 
 are staked at a venture, domestic happiness destroyed, 
 female delicacy put to the severest test of mortified 
 feelings, and principles and characti r become a woeful 
 wreck. This imprudent woman, (the most unfit in na- 
 ture to have the guidance of a young and beautiful 
 daughter, being unable to guide herself,) not only 
 persisted it) a continuance of her own folly, but, not- 
 withstanding the admonitions of her excellent hus- 
 band to his child, and the unexampled proof he had 
 given of the generosity of his disposition, still en- 
 couraged her daughter to pursue this evil propensity 
 by her own pernicious example ; absolutely taking the 
 gift, which a kind indulgent father had bestowed, from 
 the too credulous girl, in order that she might again 
 enjoy the luxury of this detestable vice. 
 
 But from this disgusting picture let us turn with ab- 
 horrence, to one of the loveliest, in the form of Lady 
 Agatha Montault, who to the endearing titles of wife 
 and mother, added that of woman, in her best a.id 
 fairest semblance; for though beautiful, she was not 
 vain ; and though wise, she was not conceited. 
 
the fisher's daughter. 313 
 
 It was not because the Graces had wreathed roses 
 round her brows for the adornment of her lovely per- 
 son, that Braganza's daughter arrogated to herself a 
 superiority over her fellow creatures. No, she had 
 been taught to value herself on qualities far more trans- 
 eendant; — to erect a temple of charity ; — but where ? 
 not in the Morning Herald, or the Daily Advertiser, 
 that emblazoned her name with public donations. No, 
 she had been taught a different mode of bestowing 
 benefits on her fellow creatures; for the fame she built 
 upon was her own conscience, and the temple of cha- 
 rity she erected was in the human heart. 
 
 Shall we then emblazon her worth by eulogy ? Shall 
 volumes speak her praise ? No, the anguished heart 
 from which she so oft had removed the load of care, 
 the tearful eye which she so oft had dried, let these — 
 these speak, where language is denied. Like the violet 
 of the lowly vale, she sheltered those virtues, whose 
 retiring modesty creates a charm, more sweetly fra- 
 grant than the flower which obtrudes itself on our gaze. 
 The rose is seen, but the violet will be sought after. 
 Such was the portrait of Montague's wife ; yet Monta- 
 gue, though not insensible to the choice blessing which 
 heaven had bestowed, knew not how to appreciate its 
 value. 
 
 Lord Montague had some difficulty in concealing 
 the mortifying sensations he experienced from the ob- 
 servation of his lovely wife when they retired to their 
 chamber, and he was left alone with her; and he 
 dreaded her making the enquiry herself about it, and 
 therefore most cautiously avoided any conversation on 
 
 a 14 rr 
 
314 the fisher's daughter. 
 
 the subject. But of this there was, though unknown 
 to his lordship, not the slightest apprehension, for 
 Lady Agatha was as silent as he was ; the hints she 
 received from her father being sufficient to deter her 
 from seeking any explanation from her husband, of the 
 mystery of his conduct respecting Wolf. 
 
 Meanwhile things remained in the same position till 
 the following morning. Lord Montague arose with 
 the same gloomy aspect seated on his brow, and with 
 the same restless temperature of disposition, not that 
 either his manners or his words were ungentle towards 
 his lovely wife. He was not out of humour with her, 
 6ut with himself, for which there was no remedy, but 
 that which was most humiliating and repellant to his 
 feelings, and that was to offer an apology to the of- 
 fended Wolf, for the hasty, not to say the unkind man- 
 ner in which he had expressed himself towards him ; for 
 to run the risk of Wolf repeating it elsewhere, would 
 be immediately to discover that he was jealous of him ; 
 and after resolving and re-resolving for a length of time, 
 he determined while Lady Agatha was absent with her 
 infant son, on her accustomed airing in their salubri- 
 ous and healthy situations around the sea coast, to 
 send for Wolf, and to speak to him privately. In the 
 mean time Agatha had as resolutely determined that 
 morning to pay a visit to Mrs. Russel, whom she had 
 not seen for several days ; and she was now quite anx- 
 ious to know the state of her health, and to take her 
 little boy with her, according to promise; but Agatha 
 had never yet done any thing without consulting the 
 approbation of her husband ; and as soon as breakfast 
 
THE b'lSHlill's DAUGHTER. 31 
 
 was over, she informed him she was going to see the 
 Fisher's Daughter, and to take Lord Orlando with her. 
 
 " For do you know, my love," added she, with a 
 sweet smile playing over her lovely features, which 
 had not yet lost its inexpressible charm in the eyes of 
 her still adoring Montague, " that Jessy is quite im- 
 patient to see my little darling. " May I then go and 
 take my boy ?" 
 
 To which Lord Montague, with a look of the most 
 impassioned fondness, and feeling the delicate respect 
 she ever paid to his wishes, replied — 
 
 " My dearest, and do you think it necessary to ask 
 permission, when you have an undoubted right to con- 
 sult your own inclinations ?" 
 
 " Certainly," cried Agatha, " your inclinations are 
 mine also. My heart has never formed one wish con- 
 trary to your judgment, in which I consider you supe- 
 rior. If you do not approve of my taking the child to 
 Mrs. Russel's, I would not surely do it, though that 
 wish was mine." 
 
 " Do as your heart directs you then, my angel," 
 cried Lord Montague ; " for I am confident that while 
 you thus act so prudently, you can never do wrong. 
 Take the boy, and let his first visit to the Fisher's 
 Daughter be accompanied with a testimony of my re- 
 spect to the amiable Jessy;" and Lord Montague im- 
 mediately placed in the hands of his lovely wife a very 
 liberal mark of his generosity to the little stranger, to 
 the inexpressible delight of Agatha, who, paying a very 
 elegant compliment on the occasion, ordered the car- 
 riage ; and taking her son in her arms, told the nurse 
 that she should dispense with her services, till she 
 
316 the fisher's daughter. 
 
 returned from the visit she was going to make to a 
 friend. 
 
 " Dear me, my lady, and will you not be terribly fa- 
 tigued in nursing the child ?" cried the nurse. " Lord 
 Orlando is a little boisterous fellow, I assure you, and 
 I fear you will not be able to manage him without my 
 assistance." 
 
 " O never fear Margaret," answered Agatha ; " I 
 shall do very well with the little urchin, I promise you. 
 J am not one of those delicate ladies who are afraid of 
 nursing their own children ; it is a mother's duty, and 
 the sweetest privilege she can enjoy." 
 
 So saying, Lady Agatha having stepped into her car- 
 riage, it immediately drove off, the infant clapping his 
 little hands, and testifying every demonstration of the 
 most infantine and lively joy, in being nestled to the 
 bosom of his lovely mother ; and after a pleasant ride 
 of nearly an hour, they soon arrived within sight of Mrs. 
 Russel's habitation : and Jessy, being seated at the win- 
 dow to inhale the breezes of the fresh air, very quickly 
 discovered the carriage of Lord Montault; and in de- 
 lighted accents exclaimed to her husband, who was 
 sitting by her side — 
 
 i( My gracious, Samuel ! there is Lady Agatha, as I 
 hope to live, and her Httle son ! Run — run my love, 
 and assist her out of the carriage." 
 
 Away posted honest Sam, just as the carriage stopt 
 at the gates ; and in a few minutes Agatha was in the 
 presence of her friend, where the warmest congratula- 
 tions between them took place. Jessy almost devoured 
 with kisses her lovely boy, while Agatha exclaimed — 
 
 '* It is really a most agreeable surprise to see you so 
 
THE FISHER'S DAUGHTER. 317 
 
 charmingly recovered, and looking so delightfully well. 
 Well, you see what a little Hercules I have brought 
 you to look at. 
 
 " He is indeed a prodigious fine child/' uttered 
 Jessy. 
 
 " But not half so beautiful as the Fisher's Daughter," 
 responded Agatha, gazing with delighted rapture on the 
 face of the little girl, as it lay sleeping in a cradle at 
 the feet of its mother. " Upon my word Mr. Russel, 
 if your daughter continues to improvers she has since 
 I last beheld her, you will have the credit at some fu- 
 ture day, of being father to one of the most lovely crea- 
 tures in existence; never did I see so pretty a little 
 babe." 
 
 Mr. Russel seemed highly gratified with this compli- 
 ment from Lady Montault; but how much more so, 
 when Agatha presented the gift of her husband to 
 Jessy, in commemoration of the birth of her daughter; 
 and no witnesses being present, she gradually revealed 
 the last request of her foster father, to which both 
 Jessy and her husband most cheerfully assented. 
 
 " That is, if I can in any way prevail on my father," 
 uttered Jessy, looking at Samuel, as if she feared there 
 would be some little difficulty. " You know my fa- 
 ther's oddities, dearest Agatha," added she, smiling. 
 rt He will have my girl called Peggy, he says, in spite 
 of me ; it was the name of my mother. Your influ- 
 ence alone can make him alter that determination." 
 
 " My influence! I fear I have lost it," cried Agatha, 
 colouring deeply at the recollection of the conversation 
 which took place between them at their last meeting. 
 " Ah you are quite mistaken, your ladyship," cried 
 
318 the fisher's daughter. 
 
 Sam. " Mr. Blust would sooner comply with any request 
 of yours, than any other mortal soul living. You have 
 but to name the wish of Captain Singleton, and I 
 would stake my life on your not meeting with a re- 
 fusal." 
 
 " Well, I shall put him to the test of it the very mo- 
 ment that I have a seasonable opportunity," answered 
 Agatha. " Perhaps we may have a little stormy wea 
 ther at first about it, but it will soon subside again into 
 a pleasant calm, when he is informed of the motive 
 that urges me to so pressing a solicitation." 
 
 Other conversation now ensued, Mr. Russel very de- 
 licately leaving the ladies together; aware of the great 
 confidence that subsisted between his wife and Lady 
 Montault, and that she might have something to im- 
 part to Jessy, in which a third personage might be 
 considered an intruder, he took the earliest opportu- 
 nity of retiring, in order that they might enjoy a mutual 
 interchange of thoughts and sentiments ; and Agatha 
 then, with some little hesitation, enquired if Jessy had 
 seen Wolf and Alfred since her confinement. To 
 which Mrs. Russel replied — 
 
 " Yes, more than once, and they were delighted with 
 the sight of my little moppet. Wolf in particular; he 
 is excessively attached to children." 
 
 " But a little changeable in his attachment towards 
 them," cried Agatha, colouring deeply. " He appear- 
 ed to be passionately fond of my little Orlando, and 
 could not rest a day without going into the nursery to 
 play with him ? but all of a sudden he has quite deserted 
 his little favourite, his motives for which I am utterly 
 at a loss to define, and I am excessively angry with 
 
THE FISHER S DAUGHTER. 319 
 
 him Jessy, 1 assure you. I do not admire such unac- 
 countable caprice.*' 
 
 "Nay, my dear friend, you must not condemn Wolf 
 unheard," cried Mrs. Russel, with a peculiar expres- 
 sion in her countenance. " It may have been possible 
 that Ins devotions to Lord Orlando in the nursery might 
 have been considered too fervent, or rather too intru- 
 sive. He may have been forbidden to enter there; and 
 if that is the case, you cannot blame him for obedience 
 to a command so peremptory." 
 
 Agatha was confounded, and somewhat tremulously 
 uttered — 
 
 " 1 am certain that I did not prohibit his going there ; 
 and you speak Jessy, as if you had a knowledge who 
 had.' 
 
 " I have," answered Mrs. Russel ; " it was your 
 husband." 
 
 " My husband !" cried Agatha, in the most profound 
 astonishment, and betraying at the same moment a 
 most mortified sensation of deep regret, at receiving a 
 communication which she so little expected. " My 
 husband !" repeated she. " Did Wolf really tell you 
 that it was Lord Montague who forbid him the nur- 
 sery ?" 
 
 " How else should I have been informed, my dearest 
 friend ?" answered Jessy. " But wherefore are you 
 thus agitated ?" 
 
 " Because 1 not only blush, but am deeply grieved 
 at Lord Montague's betraying so great a mark of weak- 
 ness and folly," exclaimed Agatha. " He is my hus- 
 band, but I am not blind to his faults, though none more 
 
320 the fisher's daughter. 
 
 highly appreciates his virtues. He is jealous of this 
 youth, because he is strongly attached to my infant." 
 
 " Or rather, because he fears he is strongly attached 
 to the infant's mother," uttered Jessy, with a look that 
 could not be misinterpreted ; and Agatha involuntarily 
 exclaimed— 
 
 " Impossible, Jessy ! so base a thought could not 
 enter his imagination. There is no cause for jealousy. 
 No — no, my husband is above so mean a passion. 
 Jessy, you wrong my Montague by such a supposi- 
 tion." 
 
 " Would to heaven that I did so," uttered Jessy, 
 with a sigh ; " but it is too palpable, my dear friend, 
 that your husband is indeed inflamed with jealousy to- 
 wards poor Wolf, and that he disapproves of the slight- 
 est favour conferred on him by you ; and, pardon me 
 dearest Agatha, if the confidence and friendship with 
 which you honour me, and which has so long subsisted 
 between us, gives me a dear and tender title, to impart 
 to you without reserve or fastidious ceremony, my 
 most secret thoughts. But indeed — indeed you cannot 
 be too cautious in your conduct towards this unhappy 
 young man." 
 
 The lovely cheek of Agatha was tinged with a colour 
 of the brightest crimson; and with a half reproachful 
 look for the first time in her life towards Jessy, she 
 indignantly exclaimed — 
 
 "And who has dared to call my conduct in question 
 respecting Wolf, towards whom I have been uniformly 
 kind ? It is the affection of a sister that I cherish to- 
 wards him ; and while he merits that affection, there is 
 
thk fisher's daughter. 321 
 
 nothing earthly shall deprive him of it. I say, while 
 he merits that affection, Jessy, that chaste affection 
 shall continue undiminished to the end of my exist- 
 ence; and that though I hold my husband's love dearer 
 than the breath of life, yet not even for him would I 
 relinquish the good opinion I have of Wolf, till it can 
 be proved, incontestably proved, that he is no longer 
 worthy of it. But why do you call Wolf unhappy, 
 Jessy? I see no cause that he has for unhappiness 
 whatever; on the contrary, a bright star waves at pre- 
 sent over his youthful head, and will no doubt lead him 
 on to fortune and to fame ; and I see no cause for the 
 unhappiness of which you speak. My father thinks 
 highly of Wolf's abilities, and my father is the avowed 
 patron of genius, and will never desert those who con- 
 fidently look up to him for protection." 
 
 Jessy's little girl at this precise moment occasioned 
 some slight interruption in the conversation of the fair 
 friends; and little Orlando, who had for the last half 
 hour been consigned to the arms of Jessy's nurse, had 
 fallen fast asleep, and was laid in the cradle of the 
 Fisher's Daughter, perfectly unconscious of the high 
 post of honour which had been assigned to him by the 
 mother of the little stranger. 
 
 " My dearest Agatha, if I called Wolf unhappy,'' 
 uttered Jessy, " I did not mean to say that it had any 
 thing to do with his prospects in life, though probably 
 ii will colour every future day of his existence." 
 
 " You speak in parables, Jessy. Why do you not ex 
 plain more fully the nature of your thoughts, that I 
 aiay more perfectly understand them?" cried Agatha; 
 
 b!4 ss 
 
322 the fisher's DAUGHTER. 
 
 a deeper blush than before mantling her fair cheek. 
 To which Jessy replied — 
 
 " I will no longer speak in parables, if you will for- 
 give what I am going to say." 
 
 " Say on," uttered Agatha, " and you shall have my 
 forgiveness afterward-, if indeed Jessy finds it neces- 
 sary to ask it of Agatha." 
 
 And Jessy immediately informed Lady Montault of 
 the unhappy passion with which Wolf was inspired for 
 her, and of the urgent necessity there now was of keep- 
 ing him at a most profound distance, till the period 
 should arrive when he would be called upon to em- 
 brace his professional career. At which Agatha ex- 
 pressed to Jessy her deepest regret at the knowledge 
 of such a circumstance^ though she could not censure 
 her amiable friend for thus confidently imparting it to 
 her; and determined that her conduct should be guided 
 by it in every particular, respecting an object whom 
 she must now learn to treat with sensations very far 
 different to what she had ever done before, she ex- 
 claimed with a pensive and involuntary sigh — 
 
 " Poor Wolf! the happy joyous days of thy boyhood 
 are now over, the sweet smiling innocence of which will 
 return no more, and thy young heart has now hopes with 
 which it never glowed, and fears with which it never 
 trembled before. It is a strange guest that thou hast 
 admitted there, and nought but misery can mark its 
 progress, and spread a ruin around thy devoted head." 
 " I grieve, my dear Agatha, that I have inflicted pain 
 on your gentle feelings," uttered the affectionate Jessy; 
 " but T could not suffer you to remain in ignorance of 
 
the fisher's daughter. 32^ 
 
 Wolf's unhappy passion, when once he revealed it to 
 rue. It was necessary that you should know it, to pre- 
 vent the consequences that might have resulted from 
 it, had you still continued to bestow those marks of 
 kindness on this youth, in the supposition that he 
 could feel only a brother's love for you; and I resolved 
 even to risk your displeasure, rather than not 
 have made you acquainted with the conversation that 
 passed between us. I have done my duty to my 
 friend. I have consulted her happiness, her peace, 
 her honour, which was far dearer to me than any 
 earthly consideration ; and it was better to give you 
 pain now, than to see you suffering it hereafter." 
 
 An affectionate embrace was the only reply that 
 Agatha was able to make at this precise moment to 
 her beloved Jessy, but her eloquent looks spoke vo- 
 lumes ; and when she arose to take her leave, she 
 pressed the babe in her arms, that she felt she could 
 be a mother to if it had not one. 
 
 " I protest that Orlando is stretching out his arms 
 towards your little girl, Jessy," cried Agatha. " There^ 
 he wants to kiss her. I wonder whether the boy does 
 this by instinct or not?" 
 
 Jessy smiled. 
 
 "It would be a dangerous instinct for a Fisher's 
 Daughter, if he was to continue it," uttered she. 
 
 " And dangerous for Orlando too, I think," answer- 
 ed Agatha, " if she continues to grow into woman- 
 hood with all this beauty about her. My boy would 
 have little chance of escaping from the shafts of Cupid, 
 were that to be the rase with the Fisher's Daughter, I 
 am certain " 
 
324 the fisher's daughter. 
 
 *' She is certainly a very striking likeness of my poor 
 sister Olive," uttered Jessy. 
 
 " Yes, her features have the same cast of beauty," 
 answered Agatha," but their expression is quite differ- 
 ent. Olive was unquestionably beautiful, that is, every 
 feature possessed perfect regularity; still there was 
 something wanting, Jessy, and that was the want of 
 expression, without which beauty may attract the eye, 
 but it fails in making an expression on the heart. We 
 admire the colour of the butterfly, you know; it is 
 beautiful, but when once it is out of our sight we for- 
 get that and its colours too. but we do not forget those 
 easily that make an impression on the memory." 
 
 Jessy entreated that her most grateful acknowledg- 
 ments might be presented to Lord Montague Montault, 
 for his very liberal gift to her childj, and promised her 
 lovely friend that she would embrace the earliest op- 
 portunity that was possible, to speak to her father re- 
 specting the request of the departed Captain Single- 
 ton, and that there was not a doubt but she would be 
 enabled to succeed, in having her little girl baptized 
 by the name of Matilda, 
 
 " He cannot, will not object to it, I am certain, my 
 dear friend," uttered Jessy, as she most affectionately 
 bade Lady Montault farewell ; " it is the least compli- 
 ment he can pay to the memory of so excellent a man, 
 who in his last moments evinced such generous marks 
 of disinterested friendship for us all.'' 
 
 " Well, in a few days you will be able to take a:> 
 airing with me, my dear Jessy," cried Agatha. " I will 
 come the first very fine morning, and steal you away 
 from Mr, Russel for a few hours, baby and all. I as- 
 
the fisher's daughter. 325 
 
 sure you I have given my husband and my father such 
 an account of the extraordinary beauty of the Fisher's 
 Daughter, that they are exceedingly anxious to behold 
 it." 
 
 With these words Lady Montault, with her little 
 son sleeping in her arms, was carefully handed to her 
 carriage by honest Samuel, who felt not a little proud 
 of the confidence and friendship with which his Jessy 
 was so highly honoured by the Lively wife of Lord 
 Montague Montault and the wealthy heiress of Bra- 
 ganza. The passion he once felt for her when she 
 was the supposed orphan daughter of Captain Single- 
 ton had long been changed to a cool and quiet tem- 
 perature, her exalted station placing her in a sphere 
 for ever at a distance of again approaching her in the 
 character of a suitor. Besides, he really loved Jessy, 
 whose amiable and gentle sweetness of disposition, 
 added to the simplicity and artless graces of her fair 
 form, very soon made that impression on honest Sa- 
 muel, that nothing but pure and honourable love could 
 inspire for a woman that he wished to make his wife; 
 for its basis was virtue, and the most perfect confi- 
 dence and esteem. There was not a doubt therefore 
 of the happiness that subsisted between two objects 
 every way so congenial to each other, ;iow augmented 
 by the birth of their child} for without a perfect uni- 
 son of hearts, and congeniality of disposition, there is 
 no marriage in this earthly state of existence can long 
 continue to be either happy or prosperous. 
 
 But to proceed. During th3 absence of his lovely 
 lady, Lord Montague determined to avail himself of an 
 opportunity of being reconciled to the offended Wolf. 
 
20 the fisher's daughter. 
 
 n a way that would not be derogatory to the feelings 
 >f either; and no sooner was Lady Agatha's carriage 
 )ut of sight of Violet Vale, than his lordship sent a 
 message to Lawrence, to say that he would be glad to 
 see his pupil for a few moments, if it was no interrup- 
 tion to his studies; and Lawrence having communi- 
 cated the message of Lord Montague to Wolf, he in- 
 dignantly replied — 
 
 " I will certainly attend his lordship, because I can- 
 not well dispute his authority, without giving offence to 
 my noble and august patron the Duke of Braganza, 
 otherwise no earthly power should compel me to yield 
 submission to Lord Montague Montault." 
 
 *' Young man — young man ! you are too warm. I 
 must correct your impetuosity," answered Lawrence, 
 at the same instant that he could scarcely conceal his 
 admiration of the undaunted spirit and energy which 
 brightened every intelligent feature of this uncommonly 
 prepossessing youth. 
 
 " Sir, you have a right to correct me when I am in 
 error," answered Wolf; " and I have ever submitted 
 to your judgment; have not I?" 
 
 " I cannot reasonably deny your assertion," answered 
 Lawrence ; " still I must remind you of an impropriety, 
 when I sec you committing one contrary to that judg- 
 ment which you appeal* so highly to respect. My dear 
 boy, you must learn circumspection, the most difficult, 
 although it is the must useful lesson that youth can 
 acquire in their journey through life. If you dislike 
 Lord Montague, keep the knowledge of it to yourself, 
 at all events while you are under this roof. You must 
 not forget that he is the son-in-law of that illustrious and 
 
THE FISHER'S DAUGHTER. o'27 
 
 excellent man, to whom you owe eternal gratitude for 
 the protection he has afforded you. I do not know why 
 you should dislike Lord Montague, nor do I seek to 
 enquire. It is not my province to worm your secrets, 
 though you are my pupil ; but 1 must suggest to you, 
 that it is extremely indecorous, Mr. Wolf, for a youth 
 of your age to be forming dislikes, and conceiving 
 prejudices against any personage or personages what- 
 ever, in which your judgment is so liable to be mis- 
 taken ; and it is the great regard I have for you, Mr, 
 Wolf, that makes me tell you of faults which may be 
 so easily corrected." 
 
 The tutor paused to see what effect this salutary ad- 
 vice had upon the mind of his pupil ; and lifting up his 
 eyes towards him, beheld the face of Wolf bathed with 
 tears. At length he made an effort to recover his self- 
 possession and wonted energy of character, and grasping 
 the hand of Lawrence, pressed it with ardour to his lips ; 
 looked what expression had denied to him, and hurried 
 out of the room, to attend the summons of Lord Mon- 
 tague Montault. 
 
328 he fisher's daughter. 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 " Be tho.i as chaste as ice, as pure as snow, 
 
 Thou shalt not escape calumny." Shakspejre. 
 
 There is a blush of innocence very different to that 
 which rises up in judgment on the really guilty cheek, 
 but which too frequently is mistaken for its opposite, 
 and which few, so judging from external appearance, 
 ever form so correct opinion of, because it is generally 
 under false impressions that it is made. 
 
 When Wolf found himself in the presence of Lord 
 Montault, his complexion had certainly assumed a 
 colour of the most glowing tints ; from a reflection, it 
 is presumed, that it was the husband of Lady Agatha 
 in whose presence he now stood, and towards whom 
 he felt the most unconquerable dislike, if it did not 
 immediately amount to hatred. 
 
 (( Lord Montague Montault, I attend your sum- 
 mons," uttered Wolf, as soon as he advanced to the 
 centre of the room, where his lordship was seated at 
 a table, with books and materials for writing before 
 him, and apparently deeply engaged in the most pro- 
 found meditation, from which he was suddenly aroused 
 bv the tone and dignified manner of the intrepid Wolf, 
 
the fisher's daughter. 329 
 
 who, feeling that nothing could be adduced against 
 him, either derogatory to his character or his princi 
 pies, preserved a self-possession, and a consciousness 
 of innocence, which it was utterly impossible for any 
 human being to deprive him of; and it was not without 
 an expression of something like mortification that Lord 
 Montague, pointing to a chair, bade him be seated 
 After an apparent struggle, his lordship addressed 
 him in the following words : — 
 
 " Wolf, when I parted from you last, it was under 
 the influence of a momentary anger, not immediately 
 the effect of any action of yours that had in any degree 
 merited my displeasure, but actually proceeding from 
 an involuntary weakness of my own intemperate folly, 
 which I blush to confess has of late too frequently in- 
 fused itself into my mind, and embittered all the sweets 
 of my too happy and transported lot, in being husband 
 to one of the most faultless and loveliest of women. 
 All men have infirmities of disposition, as well as in- 
 firmities of body, Wolf; but few men have the courage 
 to acknowledge it, but would rather adopt pride as a 
 subterfuge to conceal defects, which only expose them 
 to detection while they seek to hide them. I spoke to 
 you in this very intemperate heat of passion that I de- 
 scribe ; but I no sooner became sensible of my folly, 
 than I felt deeply grieved for having wounded your 
 feelings, and now seek this opportunity of being re- 
 conciled to you. A confession of error, you know, not 
 only paves the way for amendment, but renders the 
 culprit amenable to mercy. Wolf, there is a noble- 
 ness of nature in you, that urged me to throw myself 
 openly upon your confidence, rather than meanly dis- 
 
 c 14 t r 
 
3bO THE FISHER'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 guise the sentiments of a heart which, with all its 
 hasty follies, would never wantonly sport Vith the 
 feelings of another, much less be at warfare with my 
 fellow creatures. Let us then in future be friends with 
 each other." 
 
 Wolf, who had hitherto preserved rather somewhat 
 j)f an indignant silence than a respectful one, was in- 
 stantly subdued by such a frank and ingenuous conf<» i- 
 sion from Lord Montague, which, being wholly unpr f- 
 pared to expect, for a moment utterly confounded hit i, 
 and made him feel more embarrassed than if his lord- 
 ship had certainly not made such a confession; and 
 perceiving that he was waiting for his reply, he ut- 
 tered — 
 
 " My lord, to me do you think it necessary to make 
 such apology? believe me there is none due. lever 
 must respect the husband of the Lady Agatha, whom, 
 if I have approached with a bolder licence than be- 
 comes my humble and obscure state, was from igno- 
 rance rather than fault; for, by the light of heaven, 
 she was the first of womankind I ever bowed or bend- 
 ed to, or ever hailed (pardon me my lord) with admi- 
 ration ; for most hideous was the female in the Black 
 Forest, and I saw no other, conversed with no other. 
 She taught me ferocity instead of the milder virtues of 
 her sex ; and thus, untutored in the Black Forest, I left 
 the rude and savage beings with whom I had been 
 cradled in my infancy, when the rough tempest threw 
 me on this coast, shipwrecked, and nearly lifeless. 
 What were my sensations, when such a being as Lady 
 Agatha met my view ? Wildly I gazed in speechless 
 wonder and profound astonishment, for I never had 
 
thk fisher's daughter. 331 
 
 seen the like before; and when I heard her voice, 1 
 could not believe but it was some angel, and I asked 
 my brother Alfred if such the lady was. Still I was 
 savage, and the fisher could not tame me ; none had 
 the power to soften me, for I was wild, and would oft 
 have been severely punished, but for the intercession 
 of the Lady Agatha. Wonder you then, my lord, that 
 I worshipped the shrine of this only being who had ever 
 shed a ray of pity on poor friendless Wolf, and that 
 with riper years I have become insensible to the voice 
 of gratitude to my kind instructress ? No — no — no J 
 condemn me not I spurn me, my lord ! tear out my 
 heart, and you will yet leave her image here; the tute- 
 lary angel that taught my savage mind to feel and 
 know myself a man ; and that same power which taught 
 me that, now bids me boldly tell you, that Wolf will 
 never disgrace, or prove himself unworthy of the friend- 
 ship of his noble patrons." 
 
 What could a man say to such a noble acknowledg- 
 ment from a youth so spirited, and yet so evidently the 
 child of nature and of truth ? For there was not only 
 truth to recommend the simple tale he had related, why 
 he felt towards Lady Agatha such veneration ; but 
 there was conviction without a default on either side of 
 the question ; and as Lord Montault gazed on the fine 
 open brow, and soul-speaking countenance of the in- 
 nocent youth before him, he divested himself of that 
 mean and inglorious base passion which had un- 
 manned him, and caused him to betray such marks of 
 weakness and of folly. And virtue had its triumph. 
 Where no other passion could erase its firm impres 
 
332 the fisher's DAUGHTER. 
 
 sion, there confidence in the affections of his lovely 
 wife had never yet been shaken. It was only a sup- 
 position that Wolf loved her, which had occasioned 
 him to experience all the inquietude he had ever felt ; 
 and how noble and ingenuous had the confession of 
 Wolf been, why he had regarded Lady Agatha with 
 the sentiment that he did ! And was there aught of 
 guilt in it ? No, guilt is ever concealed ; it never openly 
 confesses itself, but avails itself of the mean and con- 
 temptible subterfuges to avoid its detection ; but here 
 were no such subterfuges, it was a plain round unvar- 
 nished tale that Wolf had delivered ; and to doubt its 
 assertion, was to disbelieve the existence of t.'uth and 
 nature. 
 
 Here was no snake in the grass, that concealed its 
 crested front beneath the flowery herbage, only to 
 watch an hour insidiously to despoil it of its beauty. 
 There was no libertine passion that lurked in imposing 
 manners or address, no superior art that could gild the 
 real deformity of vice under the semblance of virtue. 
 What then had Lord Montague to fear from such a 
 sentiment as this noble youth had expressed for his 
 lovely wife? No man of honour could suspect the 
 purity of such a sentiment, which was supported by 
 such an open avowal of candour, simplicity, and truth; 
 and immediately dismissing from his mind every sha- 
 dow of doubt or apprehension, he extended his hand 
 to Wolf, with the undisguised grasp of friendship and 
 confidence; and while a glistening tear of sensibility 
 shone in the fine intelligent eyes of the amiable youth, 
 whole feelings had been powerfully affected by this un- 
 
the fisher's daughter. 333 
 
 expected interview with the husband of the Lady Aga- 
 tha, they were at this precise moment interrupted by 
 the presence of his Grace the Duke of Braganza. 
 
 " I hope I do not interrupt business," uttered he, 
 and smiled at the perplexity which appeared in the 
 countenance of both the surprised parties, which in a 
 few minutes was fully elucidated by Lord Montague, 
 to the great satisfaction of the Duke ; and from this 
 hour Wolf was reinstated, not only in the good opinion 
 of his lordship, but in all the honours he had formerly 
 enjoyed, in caressing his little favourite, and visiting 
 him in the nursery, whenever an opportunity was 
 granted to him by the nurse, or that Lady Agatha was 
 absent; and the sweet innocent, as if conscious of the 
 pleasing change which had taken place, and that he 
 was again noticed by his old friend, clapped his little 
 hands whenever Wolf approached him with his former 
 marks of kindness, and imperfectly expressed his joy- 
 ous hilarity. 
 
 Still there was a perceptible distance in the manner 
 and even looks of Lady Agatha towards her favourite, 
 which, though neither cold or affectedly reserved, were 
 marked with the most delicate and graceful propriety, 
 and which Wolf was but too conscious of the cause of, 
 yet could not sufficiently admire, although it may pro- 
 bably be guessed, that, under any other circumstances 
 than the existing ones, would have inflicted on his too 
 sensitive and feeling bosom, a pang of the most unut- 
 terable despair, and keen felt anguish. 
 
 In the meanwhile the Lady Agatha, who had been 
 seriously alarmed, as well as excessively grieved at the 
 communicating %J f her friend Jessy, respecting the ill 
 
334 the fisher's daughter. 
 
 placed and unfortunate attachment of poor Wolf, shud- 
 dered at the consequences which would result from it, 
 were it ever to be really discoverable to her husband, 
 and determined her for ever afterwards most religiously 
 to adopt but one manner and but one language towards 
 this young man while he remained beneath her roof; 
 much less did she ever converse with her husband about 
 him, or yet seem studiously to avoid it. Thus did this 
 lovely, pure, faultless, and inestimable creature, by this 
 delicate and praiseworthy conduct, by almost imper- 
 ceptible degrees, crush that insidious enemy that as- 
 sailed the peace of her beloved Montague, and embit- 
 tered their hours of sweetest repose. Even the Mar- 
 chioness was completely silenced in her severe and 
 sarcastic observations, and her malicious purpose of 
 exciting the jealous fears of her son against the con- 
 duct of his angelic wife were defeated. 
 
 The approaching nuptials of Lady Lavinia and Lord 
 Winstone were now publicly talked of, and the most 
 splendid preparations for that important event were 
 beginning to take place at the Castle of Montault, un- 
 der the auspices of the Marchioness, whose ambitious 
 pride had now an additional zest, by the increased ag- 
 grandizement of her family, in so advantageous a match 
 for her youthful daughter, who was so shortly to be- 
 come a blazing star in the hemisphere of fashion. 
 
 Meanwhile, under the immediate instructions of 
 beautiful mamma, Lady Lavinia gave herself the most 
 consummate airs of consequence, ill befitting the state 
 of which she was to form a member, and totally un- 
 prepared either for the tender or the sacred duties 
 which were allied to it. It was sufficient for her that 
 
the fisher's daughter. 335 
 
 she was going to be married, and that her husband was 
 a lord, young, handsome, and splendidly wealthy, and 
 that she herself would be the object of an admiring 
 Ihrong, for the exclusive affections of her lover. Lady 
 Lavinia was actually as cold and as indifferent as if she 
 had never heard, much less felt the influence of the 
 belle passion, which had never agitated her bosom for 
 a single moment ; and Lord Winstone, or lord any- 
 body else, would have been equally the object of her 
 regard, if he had equally been the favourite of fortune. 
 
 On a marriage formed on such a basis, was it mo- 
 rally possible to suppose that the attachment could be 
 lasting, constant, or sincere, or that much happiness 
 could succeed the honey moon ? But why had Lord 
 Winstone selected such a female as Lady Lavinia, when 
 so many others, both of intellect and feeling, presented 
 themselves to his notice, and of superior beauty ? But 
 the fact is, that Lord Winstone being disappointed of 
 succeeding in his attempts on tfie person of the beauti- 
 ful daughter of Captain Singleton, was, like all other 
 men, regardless of the next object that came in his 
 pursuit. Agatha was lost to him for ever; to her he 
 would have been the most faithful worshipper that ever 
 bowed to the shrine of beauty ; and in the dissipated 
 haunts of fashion, he endeavoured, by every means in 
 his power, to banish her lovely image hence. 
 
 He had unfortunately staked large sums with the 
 Marchioness of Montault, and had frequently been 
 her debtor, which, though he could at any time dis- 
 charge, yet the wily Marchioness from time to time 
 ver chose to avoid ; and for motives best known to 
 
336 the fisher's daughter. 
 
 herself, placed her young and lovely daughter ever in 
 his view. 
 
 Instructed in the art of pleasing by beautiful mamma, 
 Lord Winstone always found Lady Lavinia seated in 
 the place of her mother, and whenever she lost, would 
 always exclaim— 
 
 " Never mind, my lord, mamma will pay you, for I 
 am only sitting to play her cards while she is absent.' 
 Then at other times Lady Lavinia would be more 
 fortunate, and win considerable sums of his lordship, 
 which at the moment he was quite unprepared to dis- 
 charge. Such are the effects of gambling, even in the 
 society of the good and the great, the splendid and the 
 wealthy ; they are all of equality when they are placed 
 in a situation so subordinate, whether they are coblers 
 or princes. Then her ladyship would exclaim, putting 
 on one of her most fascinating smiles, and arrayed in 
 youth and beauty : — 
 
 " You have lost my lord, but that is of no conse- 
 quence. You are not indebted to me, but to mamma. 
 They are not my cards with which I won the last stake, 
 but mamma's. You must pay it to her, not to me." 
 
 In short, Lady Lavinia played her cards so well by 
 the direction of beautiful mamma, that Lord Winstone, 
 always meeting so young and lovely an antagonist, fell 
 into the trap which the wily Marchioness had laid for 
 him ; and from the game of dice, fell into a much 
 more conclusive, if not a more dangerous one, that of 
 the snares of Cupid. He thought the youthful daugh- 
 ter of the Marchioness excessively pretty; and the 
 mark of simplicity she always assumed towards him, 
 
the fisher's daughter. 337 
 
 made the infatuated Earl also believe she was the child 
 of nature. At first he looked at her with this picture ; 
 in the next she was the daughter of the Marquis of 
 Montault, a name so deservedly held up to public cs 
 timation, that no stain or blemish ever yet appeared to 
 sully the illustrious ancestors from whom this noble- 
 man had descended ; for the nefarious actions of the 
 late Duchess of Braganza were not intimately known 
 to Lord Winstone ; it was a sort of hushed-up affair, a 
 lullaby, only known to those employed to chaunt it 
 over the remains of the deceased, for which they were so 
 liberally rewarded, that they would declare to all who 
 doubted the purity of the immaculate lady, that she 
 was a perfect saint, gone to meet her kindred sister 
 angels in the skies. 
 
 So much for bribery an J corruption, when allied to 
 exalted station and to exalted wealth. 
 
 The Duchess of Braganza descended to the grave 
 in a coffin of the richest crimson and gold, and a hearse 
 drawn by eight horses, as richly caparisoned with 
 plumes of nodding feathers and armorial bearings, 
 that extended to a considerable distance from the 
 pompous procession that stalked before, to tell the 
 world whose remains they had the honour of carrying 
 to their last earthly tenement, and last earthly greatness. 
 
 " The Dutchess of Braganza !" was echoed from the 
 surrounding multitude. " What a grand procession, 
 and what a beautiful coffin, and what a number of car- 
 riages!" was repeated in gaping astonishment by the 
 infatuated mob. 
 
 Alas ! that such should be the food only of worms, 
 which will destroy it as soon as the unhonoured heads of 
 
 a 15 u »i 
 
338 
 
 THE FISHKR S DAUGHTER, 
 
 the pour and the unfortunate, who lay mouldering be- 
 neath a heap of humble turf, without a stone to mark 
 their place of rest. But the Duchess of Braganza ! a 
 marble monument, with sculptured and emblazoned 
 ornaments, and eulogy of verse, hangs o'er the tomb 
 which embodies her all of earthly remains ; and a splen- 
 did escutcheon, placed on the vaulted roof of Mon- 
 tault Castle, proclaims to the passing traveller, that she 
 who once possessed these magnificent domains is no 
 more. All that grandeur and wealth could effect has 
 been done to invite the eye to gaze at the gilded trap- 
 pings of empty greatness, but it can do no more : could 
 even these speak, they would relate a tale of horror, 
 too terrific for the pageantry of show, or idle pomp to 
 palliate. — The murderess ! — the scurrilous monster in a 
 female shape ! — the inhuman mother ! — and the dissem- 
 bling, false, perfidious destroyer of smiling innocence, 
 love, and beauty I — This would it tell! and what then 
 would gilded pomp avail ? 
 
 If the foul actions of inglorious great ones were 
 thus inscribed upon the painted sepulchres which con- 
 tain their ashes, no longer would the eye gaze with 
 wonder, but abhorrent turn from the mockery of woe. 
 
 But with the blandishments of a young and fashion- 
 able beauty, was the eye, not the heart of Lord Winstone 
 caught. It remained for his lordship, in his cooler 
 moments of reflection, to find out the deception which 
 both mother and daughter had practised on him, when 
 no human means could remedy the evil. 
 
 At present nothing was thought of but matrimony, 
 and the pleasures which succeed it; what splendid de- 
 corations, and what costly dresses would best become 
 
the fisher's daughter. 339 
 
 the youthful bride, while the editors of the newspa- 
 pers found plenty of fuel for their fire, by cramming 
 down the throats of the public what they generally 
 deal in — egregious falsehoods. 
 
 Some of them in long paragraphs proclaimed the 
 beauty and the accomplishments of Lady Lavinia to 
 be of the most extraordinary kind, while others labour- 
 ed hard to extol the qualities of Lord Winstone. 
 
 " Newspaper fame is nothing," cried Lady Gadabout, 
 to about half a dozen belles who were full of fashion- 
 able news. It is all a fudge about the beauty of Lady 
 Lavinia Montault. I protest that she has not one to- 
 lerable feature in her whole face but her mouth, and 
 that is frightfully large when she opens it." 
 
 " And her eyes are perfectly a la grimalkin," ut- 
 tered one of the party. " Did you never observe the 
 colour of Lady Lavinia's eyes, my dear friend ? They 
 are positively between green and grey, yet are not di- 
 rectly either. Then her hair is carotty; what is so 
 hideous as red hair?" 
 
 " But that is certainly made up by her complexion," 
 cried a third. " She is beautifully, nay she is trans- 
 cendantly fair; and a la bloom of roses whenever I 
 have seen her ladyship taking an airing for healthful 
 exercises with the Marchioness. She was in an open 
 carriage yesterday with Lord Winstone, and I 
 assure you that her appearance excited general ad- 
 miration." 
 
 These observations in favour of the so greatly envied 
 object, enraged the feelings of the scandalous party 
 there assembled, insomuch that they could with diffi- 
 culty suppress the mortification they had received from 
 
340 the fisher's daughter. 
 
 the account that Miss Plainway had given of the young 
 and fashionable beauty, whom, however, they one and 
 all flatly contradicted. 
 
 " Well, I protest Miss Plainway," uttered Lady Gad- 
 about, " clever as I ever thought you, I must now 
 think your judgment barbarously defective, when you 
 would make people adopt your opinion respecting the 
 fairness of Lady Lavinia's complexion, when every 
 body knows that she owes it to art and not to nature. 
 Why, I can take you to the very shop where she pur- 
 chases her bloom of roses, and her aromatic white- 
 wash, in the Burlington Arcade, at Truefit's. I give 
 you my word, my dear, I have reported nothing but 
 the fact ; I like facts." 
 
 "And have no objection to comments whenever they 
 happen to fall in your ladyship's way," answered Miss 
 Plainway, by no means relishing the flat contradiction 
 she had met with from Lady Gadabout ; and finding 
 that the stream was going very rapidly against her, 
 she sneeringly added, " The Burlington Arcade! O! 
 I am as well acquainted with all the shops there, pos- 
 sibly, as your ladyship. There is the pad shop, that 
 most .ingeniously offers ccnsolation to ladies who have 
 long since lost their juvenility of figure and elegance 
 of shape, by immediately supplying stuffings, or pads, 
 as they are generally called, wherever a deficiency may 
 be apparent. I did hear that your ladyship was a most 
 liberal patronizer of this most useful and beautiful art, 
 and that padding, in consequence of your ladyship's 
 successful imitation at the last route at Lady Tanning- 
 ton's, was become general." 
 
 " What the false bosoms you mean, Miss Plainway, 
 
the fisher's daughteb. 341 
 
 don't you ? I protest 1 have heard of the whole affair, 
 and how natural they appear," uttered Miss Scruple, 
 an errant retailer of scandal, and one of the coterie that 
 formed one of the principal members of the scandalous 
 society, that frequented the house of Lady Gadabout. 
 " Yet though they fitted some certain persons shapes 
 almost to a nicety, I positively should feel quite asham- 
 ed of practising so gross a deception on common de- 
 cency." 
 
 " Besides, if one should chance to meet with an ac- 
 cident that might occasion a discovery," cried Miss 
 Plainway, u crowded rooms are apt to make one faint- 
 ish when they are excessively full. There is such a 
 thing as unlacing tight stays, you know, Miss Scruple, 
 and then if the bosom should be exposed" — 
 
 " It would be a most unfortunate exhibition for the 
 ingenious vender of the pads in the Burlington Ar- 
 cade," answered the mischievous Miss Scruple, laugh- 
 ing so immoderately, that Lady Gadabout, unable to 
 defend herself against the whole army of assailants, 
 which were directing volley after volley, to attack her 
 on the weakest side, which was her personal vanity, 
 like an experienced general, chose rather to retreat 
 than surrender, or come to close quarters, when she 
 would entirely lose the victory ; and made her exit, 
 leaving the false bosoms still a subject for the severe 
 animadversions of the scandalous party she had not 
 the courage to meet face to face on such an occasion. 
 
 While scandal, love, and folly took their diur- 
 nal course in the fashionable world, more sequestered 
 enjoyments, and far more rational pleasures were the 
 lot of Lord Montague and his lovely lady; and the 
 
342 the fisher's daughter. 
 
 Duke was constantly a sharer in the increased happi- 
 ness of his beloved daughter, who, with his young 
 grandson, now formed the tie plus ultra of all his 
 earthly wishes, fondest hopes, and pleasing expecta- 
 tions. They were indeed the only ties which bound 
 him to existence ; not that his Grace had not a 
 thought to bestow on the welfare and happiness of 
 others; he was not so selfish; and he determined that 
 if the wanderings of Wolf were attended with success, 
 and the fortunes of Alfred prosperous, as he expected 
 they would be, from the united talents of both these 
 exemplary and clever young men, that he would cer- 
 tainly leave them ample means in their own power, to 
 live independent of the frowns of the world, but that 
 this intention in their favour should not be intimated 
 to them, till their own efforts had succeeded in the 
 several professions they had made choice of. 
 
 Wolf, however, was so decidedly the favourite of his 
 patron, from the striking traits of character that he 
 had exhibited, that he was very often on the point of 
 persuading him to relinquish his intention of following 
 a military life, in the fear that so brilliant a flower 
 might be nipt in the bud, ere its lovely blossom was 
 half blown ; for there was danger in the field ; innume- 
 rable difficulties and hardships attend a soldier's life. 
 
 Yet why should he check the spirit of the fearless 
 youth, or damp the ardour of his youthful breast. 
 
 " No, let him go," mentally exclaimed the Duke. 
 " Though I regard this youth with more affection than 
 occasion warrants, yet I will not seek f.o detain him 
 from the impulse of his bold and spirited disposition, 
 if he falls, it is the hand of destiny that strikes the 
 
the fisher's daughter. 343 
 
 blow j for not a sparrow falls without the interposition 
 of Almighty Providence, nor yet a flower, arrayed in 
 its pearly bloom, that owes not its fragrance and its 
 beauty to the pure atmosphere and genial smile of all 
 delighted heaven." 
 
 These were the reflections made by the Duke of 
 Braganza, in his moments of profound meditation with 
 respect to Wolf; but they were not disclosed to any 
 other person, nor did he wish Wolf to suppose that he 
 was a greater favourite with him than his brother Al 
 fred, and consequently did not take so much notice of 
 him in public as in private; notwithstanding which, 
 however, he delighted in hearing the praises of Wolf 
 resounded from the mouth of his tutor, who neglected 
 no opportunity of displaying the abilities of a youth, 
 who reflected so much credit to his instructions, and 
 whose promise of talent seemed to afford the senten- 
 tious Lawrence so much gratification. 
 
 Now Lawrence had an additional zest for admiring 
 each day new qualities in his pupil, and that was, be- 
 cause he had written some complimentary lines on a 
 sect to which he had formerly belonged, and from 
 which he had first sprung — the quakers. In short, 
 Lawrence had dwelt so much upon the perfections of 
 his sister Anne, in the relation he gave to Wolf of his 
 family history, parentage, birth, and education, in all 
 of which his fair quaker sister had made so prominent 
 a part, that Wolf on the ensuing day presented his tu- 
 tor with the following tribute of respect to the memory 
 of the young sister Anne, whose gentle virtues, and 
 simplicity of character, had taught Emanuel her bro- 
 
344 THE FISHERS DAUGHTER. 
 
 thcr to repeat them with such enthusiastic affection. 
 A copy of which we translate for the curiosity of our 
 fair readers, to whom such gentle virtues, whether they 
 ire quakers or not quakers, very deservedly belong. 
 
 Sister Anne, the Quaker Beauty. 
 
 " Fair Quaker Beauty, flush'd and hale, 
 Thou art like the hedge-rose of the vale, 
 Whose fragrance scents the vernal gale. 
 
 Oh ever placid '. 
 O'er thy sweet face no frowns prevail, 
 
 From passions acid. 
 
 Thine's the ever smiling eye, 
 Benignant fair ! and pity's sigh ; 
 Serene as orient summer's sky, 
 
 Thy soul is ever ; 
 And peace, soft pet lamb, ever nigh, 
 
 Thy breast leaves uever. 
 
 Thy soul like twilight's hour appears, 
 
 Ere Sol has kiss'd the dewy tears 
 
 From earth's sad cheeks ; ere yet he cheers 
 
 With golden light, 
 Meek twilight hour, that endears, 
 
 More soft than bright. 
 
 Thou wavest in plainness through the throng, 
 As through the sky some bird of song, 
 To whom no gauds or dues belong, 
 
 In homely plumes, 
 Whose claim to admiration strong, 
 
 Yet ne'er presumes. 
 
 The sunshine of thy breast's thy treasure 5 
 As through gilt skies of white and azure, 
 Thus swims the dove in guileless pleasure, 
 
 Thou movest in mildness ; 
 A stranger thou to passion's measure, 
 
 And meter r wildness. 
 
THE FISHER'S DAUGHTER. 94&' 
 
 Thy looks are lovely, passing praise j 
 Thy form of reverence displays 
 A vestige of the ancient days, 
 
 The charm of nature. 
 The trick of art, Anne, ne'er arrays 
 
 Thy form or feature. 
 
 Thou art no sparkler, but thou art one 
 Sweet as the summer's setting sua, 
 No gem whose bright reflections run ; 
 
 But thou art a pearl 
 Facily clear ; no blaze to shun, 
 
 But nature's girl. 
 
 No nymph of earth, or skies, or main, 
 But a young English woman plain, 
 A virgin of the simple train, 
 
 The train of friends ; 
 Though lovely as a sylph, not vain, 
 
 Who darns and mends ; 
 
 Who takes no shame, but in her heait 
 Loves to play the housewife's part, 
 The duteous child's, the nurse's art, 
 
 In suffering hour, 
 By gentlest soothing blunt death's dart 
 
 With all her power. 
 
 Thy sister maids my heart admires, 
 Like Cambrian girls of farthest shire3, 
 Simplicity and truth are tneirs, * 
 
 My countrywomen. 
 True to husbands, brothers, sires, 
 
 Loved of freemen. 
 
 Samples primitive of neatness, 
 Artlessness and youthfui sweetness, 
 Innocence and every fitness, 
 
 For man's pure bride. 
 Oh, cold's the heart of haughty great/ieis, 
 
 Who such deride ! 
 
 b 15 XX: 
 
346 the fisher's daughter. 
 
 To me the gentle people stand, 
 
 The best and wisest of the land. 
 
 The foes of strife, dear concord's oana. 
 
 May heaven bJess ye '. 
 May power's demou guided wand 
 
 Ne'er fall to oppress ye. 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 " The evening gale sweeps over the rich tufts 
 
 Of clustering orange buds, and wafts perfume 
 
 Like incense round me ; fair, and still, and calm, 
 
 The moou-light sleeps on yon translucent wall, 
 
 And the Acacia's wreathing flowers have bow'd 
 
 Their graceful heads to kiss the silv'ry flood. 
 
 How tranquil, and how beautiful the hour '. 
 
 No sound breaks the luxurious silence, 
 
 Save the soft tinkle of the wild guitar, 
 
 Waking at distance its fond serenade ; 
 
 And the rich swell of music from the song 
 
 Of the blythe goat-herd, or the muleteer, 
 
 Brought by the mountain echoes ; 
 
 Vet the scene so fraught with bliss, 
 
 To me seems dull without 
 
 My bosom's lord. Lord Byron. 
 
 The very first opportunity that Jessy could avail her- 
 self of when she was alone with her father, was fully 
 to disclose to him the last request of the dying Captain 
 
the fisher's daughter. 347 
 
 Singleton, that her child was to have the name of the 
 Lady St. Clair, which request had also been seconded 
 by the earnest solicitation of the Lady Agatha Mon- 
 tault. Nor did the grateful Jessy neglect to inform 
 him of the liberal donation she had received for her 
 infant daughter from the hands of Lord Montault, add- 
 ing, with her usual tone of placidity and sweetness, at 
 the same time that Peter was fully supplied with pipes 
 and tobacco, and a flowing bumper of grog, and Sam 
 had planted himself close by his side, in order to bring 
 him round to the point they wished to accomplish — 
 
 " Now, father, what is to be done in the business ? 
 I am unwilling to refuse this request of Captain Single- 
 ton, that, poor man, he made when he was dying ; and 
 1 am sure he has acted most liberally towards us, in 
 leaving such marks of his generosity in his last will and 
 testament, and yet both Samuel and I are equally un- 
 willing to act contrary to the wishes of my dear father. 
 It remains therefore with you to decide, whether your 
 little grand-daughter is to receive the name of Peggy, 
 or be baptized by that of Matilda, according to the re- 
 quest of poor Captain Singleton." 
 
 A silence of some minutes succeeded to this duteous 
 and affectionate speech of the amiable Jessy, during 
 which the fisher had sustained some conflict with his 
 feelings, and several puffs of his pipe were given with 
 additional force. He had set his heart on the little 
 girl being called Peggy, and it was very well known 
 how little he could bear contradiction when it came 
 in contact with his favourite propensities ; and a storm 
 was beginning to rise as usual over his sun-burnt brow, 
 when the mild image of the departed Captain swam 
 
#48 the fisher's daughter. 
 
 across his imagination, and softened the violence of 
 contending passions. He had bequeathed two thou- 
 sand pounds to him and Jessy, when it was not ex- 
 pected that he would have bestowed the slightest me- 
 morandum of his regard ; and though it was a bequest 
 of which neither he or his daughter stood in need, 
 yet that consideration did not make the gift of the ge- 
 nerous donor the less acceptable, or his intention less 
 kind. All this passed in the mind of the fisher before 
 be would answer one word to Jessy's mild interroga- 
 tory and affectionate appeal to his feelings. At length 
 laying down his pipe, he looked her full in the face, 
 and exclaimed — 
 
 " No, dang it Jess if I can make up my mind to be 
 ungrateful. What though the Captain be laid under 
 hatches, it shall never be said that Peter Blust were 
 ungrateful to the memory of as good and as honest a 
 man as ever broke bread. No, I'll stick to that point 
 of the compass while I do breathe the breath of life. 
 For certain sure I did set my mind on Peggy for the 
 little round faced dumpling there, because it was the 
 name of thy mother, child. But no matter, it don't 
 signify one rope's yarn what the girl be called ; so, shi- 
 ver my topsails, let it be this long what d'ye call 'em 
 name if you please, only don't say no more about it, 
 that's a good wench, but let the business be done in a 
 crack." 
 
 " Whenever you please, dearest father," uttered 
 Jessy, exchanging looks with Samuel of the most sa- 
 tisfactory kind, and heartily rejoicing that she had 
 accomplished a point in which she expected a total 
 failure of success. "The child shall be christened to- 
 
the fisher's daughter. 349 
 
 morrow if you have no objection ; for who do you 
 think are to stand sponsers on the occasion ? Lord 
 and Lady Montault are actually going to be godfather 
 and godmother to my little mopsey." 
 
 " Be they though ?" cried Peter, his features bright- 
 ening into a smile of undisguised pleasure. " Well, 
 that be kind and civil after all. Come, come, that be 
 bringing up sail, and getting into safe moorings, after 
 rough seas and heavy squalls. I say Sam, thee must 
 overhaul the lockers at Herring Dale ; there be some 
 tightish wine there, my lad, and a few kegs of brandy. 
 The smugglers for that ! dost thee remember lad, how 
 the poor devils scudded before the wind the night we 
 sacked them ?" 
 
 " Yes, sir, and I also remember that when they 
 begged for mercy, you promised never to betray them," 
 cried Samuel. 
 
 " And did I ?" vociferated Peter. " No, shiver my 
 topsails, I would have suffered a rope to be twisted 
 round my neck first. When a man gives up his pro- 
 perty, and throws himself on the protection of another, 
 he must have a heart of flint, who would treacherously 
 betray the confidence he has reposed in him." 
 
 Samuel could not dissent from his father-in-law's 
 benevolent sentiments ; and it being perfectly under- 
 stood by Jessy, that the fisher had given his full con- 
 sent for the christening of her infant daughter, a note, 
 couched in the most respectful and affectionate terms, 
 was written by Jessy, and sent to Violet Vale, to in- 
 form Lord Montague and Lady Montault that such 
 was her intention, and soliciting the honour of their 
 presence on the occasion. It arrived during a morn- 
 
350 
 
 THE FISHER J DAUGHTEH. 
 
 ing visit of the Marchioness and Lady Lavinia, whose 
 nuptials with Lord Winstone were to take place at only 
 the distant period of two days. The former exclaimed, 
 after hearing the contents of Jessy's note, which Aga- 
 tha read aloud to her husband : — 
 
 " Impossible, Montague! You surely cannot seri- 
 ously intend any thing so absurdly ridiculous. Spon- 
 ser for the Fisher's Daughter!" 
 
 To which Lord Montague, viewing the cheeks of his 
 lovely wife suffused with a colour of the brightest crim- 
 son, coolly replied — 
 
 " I certainly do intend seriously to stand sponser for 
 the Fisher's Daughter, notwithstanding the absurdity 
 or the ridicule which your ladyship may please to at- 
 tach to it. I, for my own part, think it the most natu- 
 ral conclusion possible." 
 
 To which the Marquis, looking indignantly toward 
 his lady, immediately made reply — 
 
 " But your mother, Montague, always attempts to 
 render every thing ridiculous, which is not of her own 
 immediate planning and contrivance." 
 
 •' Indeed, Marquis!" uttered her ladyship, with a 
 sneer, " what wonderful sagacity you are gifted with, 
 to discover that which no one can discriminate besides. 
 Still I shall not forego my opinion in order to please 
 your caprice or any one else, and again repeat the ab- 
 surdity of Lord Montault standing godfather to the 
 Fisher's Daughter. However, it certainly does not 
 concern me, as my inclinations were never consulted 
 in the affair. The objects are totally beneath my no- 
 tice, to enter into any contention about them. Come, 
 Lavinia ! child, it is time for us to go to Adams's. 
 
the fisher's daughter. 351 
 
 There is a raffle, you know, and both our names are 
 down, at the express desire of my Lord Winstone, 
 who is waiting there to conduct us to the public 
 rooms, and he will be quite impatient for our arrival."" 
 
 Agatha, who had sustained some struggle with her 
 feelings, to remain neutral on the subject which had 
 occasioned the Marchioness such displeasure, never 
 once forgot, however, the respect which was due to 
 the mother of her husband, and arose from her chair, 
 in order to adjust her ladyship's scarf, as she haughtily 
 desired that her carriage might be called ; and this was 
 done with such an air of mildness by her daughter-in- 
 law, that it was morally impossible to exercise any re- 
 sentment that she would otherwise have felt towards 
 her. 
 
 " Will your ladyship take any refreshment before 
 you go the rooms ?" timidly demanded Agatha. 
 
 " No, child, we breakfasted late;" was the reply of 
 the Marchioness, who, however, had softened the as- 
 perity of her manner, as she bade Agatha good morn- 
 ing ; and nodding somewhat coldly to Lord Montague, 
 who was in earnest conversation with his father, she 
 made her exit, without condescending to bestow one 
 look at the Marquis, who had greatly offended her by 
 the support he had given to her son j and no 
 sooner was her ladyship seated in the carriage with 
 Lady Lavinia, than she burst forth in the following 
 exclamation : — 
 
 tc Did you ever hear of any thing half so ridiculous, 
 Lavinia, as Montague's standing godfather to the fisher's 
 little brat ?" 
 
 " Oh never mamma ! 1 protest I was quite shocked 
 
352 the fisher's daughter. 
 
 *vhen I heard my brother mention such a thing; and 
 papa was as bad to encourage him in it." 
 
 ' Your father is actually grown a perfect savage," 
 reiterated the Marchioness. ". Since he has been so 
 frequent a visitor at Violet Vale, he has acquired all 
 the monkish notions of your grave and sentimental 
 cousin ; positively that girl has infected the whole fa- 
 mily with her horrible ideas." 
 
 "Yes, it is all her fault, that you may be certain of," 
 answered the fashionable beauty. " I am sure my 
 brother would never have thought of degrading him- 
 self so much, if Agatha had not persuaded him to 
 stand godfather for the Fisher's Daughter; she has 
 such uncommon propensities of encouraging such low- 
 born illiterate creatures." 
 
 " So she has my love," uttered the Marchioness, de- 
 lighted that she had now a full opportunity of indulg- 
 ing her spleen. " I have frequently remarked that it 
 is the society that she likes best. I protest I should 
 not wonder if hereafter this little animal, when it can 
 walk about and chatter, will be invited to Violet Vale, 
 to be a companion for Lord Orlando, who will in pro- 
 cess of time become attached to the little minx. A very 
 pretty connection truly for Lady Agatha tn form for 
 the son of Lord Montague Montault, and the grandson 
 of the Duke of Braganza." 
 
 " And they say the child is so uncommonly beauti- 
 ful," cried Lady Lavinia. " Agatha was giving me a 
 description of it only this morning." 
 
 <c A description of her fool's head," uttered the Mar- 
 chioness. " Was 'there ever any thing so preposte- 
 rously absurd, as tc be launching forth in praise of the 
 
thk fisher's daughter. 353 
 
 beauty of an infant of only ;i fcw weeks old ? How- 
 ever, let her go on with this pretty romantic farce ; I 
 have a shrewd notion that your brother will have cause 
 to repent of his folly when it is too late. Good hea- 
 vens ! are not the most imprudent connections formed 
 by this dangerous system, that of bringing males and 
 females together, till they become imperceptibly at- 
 tached to each other ? Yes, yes, I have my prophe- 
 cies, and they are generally fatal." 
 
 " Yes, beautiful mamma, you was always a prophe- 
 tess," uttered Lady Lavinia. 
 
 At this precise moment the carriage stopt at the 
 door of Adams's library. Lady Lavinia beheld her 
 lover, and the Marchioness, what she liked far better, 
 some of her gambling associates, by whom she was 
 immediately surrounded, and overwhelmed with the 
 most fulsome compliments. 
 
 " Divine Marchioness," cried Colonel Target, " we 
 despaired of seeing you time enough for rouge ou noir. 
 Will you come to our bower?" 
 
 " I vow Colonel, I can scarcely resist your invita- 
 tion," uttered the Marchioness, with a smile of fascina- 
 tion; " but your bower is not made of roses, as far as 
 regards myself, for f protest I am quite out of cash. 
 Never thought of bringing any. Lavinia, child, have 
 you got any money?" 
 
 The looks of Lady Lavinia predicted a negative to 
 her mother's interrogatory, and which the Marchioness 
 was already apprised of. 
 
 " Borrow, borrow mamma, ' hastily pronounced the 
 young lady in a soft whisper. et The Colonel is in full 
 feather, pluck him." 
 
 C 15 Y Y 
 
354 ime fisher's DAUGHTER. 
 
 " Tannington, wil. you accommodate?" cried the 
 Marchioness, taking her ladyship aside." 
 
 " Dear Marchioness, you know how utterly impos- 
 sible it is for me to refuse you," answered her ladyship, 
 drawing out her card purse, abundantly supplied. " It 
 is not the first time that 1 have been tempted by your 
 ladyship's smiles.'' 
 
 " Nor the first time that I have paid you interest for 
 the same," archly replied the Marchioness. 
 
 This was a memorandum that called a slight hectic 
 to colour the cheek of her dear friend, who immedi- 
 ately whispered — 
 
 " Dearest creature, pray take what you want, but 
 leave rr>2 a chance if you can." 
 
 The matter was speedily adjusted, the Marchioness 
 supplied, and giving her hand to the gallant Colonel, 
 he led her to the bower, where the stakes were run- 
 ning high at the fore table. No matter, she was a 
 woman of courage, and, tempted by the glittering bait, 
 she bade defiance to the frowns of fortune. 
 
 In the meanwhile Lady Lavinia, under the guardian- 
 ship of Lord Winstone, was tempted by another bait. 
 A superb chain and diamond cross was the prize con- 
 tended for, and innumerable were the candidates. 
 
 " You must throw for me Lavinia," cried the Mar- 
 chioness ; " I positively cannot join you these two 
 hours — here I am, fixed as the polar star." 
 
 And therefore we will leave both her and Lady La- 
 vinia, with permission of our fair readers; for a magic 
 wand waves us on to mettle more attractive, in the 
 form of Lady Agatha; and at its call we must obey. 
 
 She was punctual *.o the hour she had promised to 
 
the fisher's daughter. 355 
 
 call on her dear Jessy, and arrived at her habitation 
 just as the family were sitting- down to dinner. Her 
 entrance occasioned some confusion among the plates 
 and dishes , but the fisher, (who had that day invited 
 himself to dine with Mr. and Mrs. Russel, preparatory 
 to the ceremony which was to take place on the mor- 
 row,) no sooner beheld Lady Montault, who had tript 
 into the room without ceremony, than he vociferated, 
 with the most joyous glee depicted in his sunny coun- 
 tenance — ' 
 
 " Lord love thy little heart and soul ; why thee be 
 Agatha Singleton again, every morsel of thee. So thee 
 be come to pick a bit with us ; here Jess, bring t'other 
 duck that be down at the fire, and swimming in gravy, 
 and a hot plate, and let her ladyship have it nice and 
 comfortable, for I do know that she do like thy cook- 
 ing; does'nt thee now, my lady?" 
 
 " Dear father, consider that Lady Montault is no 
 accustomed to dine so early," cried Jessy, having 
 placed a chair next to her for her beloved friend, and 
 thanking her for the early notice she had taken of hei 
 note. " Pray do not press her to eat, if it is not agree- 
 able." 
 
 " Why that's a confounded lie Jess, to say that Aga- 
 tha Singleton that was, did not like to dine at family 
 hours; thee didst dine early enough when thee was at 
 Herring Dale, did'nt thee my lady? Shiver my top- 
 sails, where is the use of mincing the matter, because 
 thee be grown grand and great ; thee will always re- 
 member the bridge that carried thee safe over, won't 
 you my lady?" 
 
 To have stopt the current of the tide might have 
 
356 thk fisher's daughter. 
 
 been - attempted with equal success as Peter's tongue, 
 when once it was set into motion ; and though Jessy 
 actually blushed for her father, he was unconscious of 
 having said any thing that could cause him to blush 
 for himself. In the meanwhile, Agatha scarcely able 
 to refrain from laughing, humoured his jocularity with 
 the sweetest smile of affability, and entered so much 
 into the spirit of his mirth and whimsicality, without 
 taking the slightest offence at any observation that he 
 made on her change of fortune, that, more than ever 
 charmed with his little favourite, he exclaimed — 
 
 " Lord love thee, if thee were a queen, thee would 
 be worthy to wear a crown, because thee do love to 
 make folks happy about thee." 
 
 " And hope I ever shall, my dear sir," answered 
 Agatha, with a sweet smile. " Life would not be 
 worth preserving, if we only lived to embitter the hap- 
 piness of those around us." 
 
 And after some little further conversation with Jessy 
 and her worthy husband, it was suggested by Agatha, 
 that their infant daughter, at the express desire of Lord 
 Montaujt, should be christened at Violet Vale, by the 
 Reverend Mr. Harris of the church of Cromer, and 
 that after the child was named, they should finish the 
 remainder of the day in each others society, by partak- 
 ing of a handsome repast, in compliment to their be- 
 coming sponsors for the little girl. 
 
 " I will positively take no refusal," uttered Agatha 
 perceiving that Jessy was overwhelmed with confusion; 
 so unexpected was this most flattering compliment 
 conferred on her by Lord Montague ; " nor will I re- 
 ceive a word of thanks from either vou or Mr. Russel. 
 
'A's' vr/ ///■>/, 'dZ/e-Qt to/Ley "edn wax. var/un. '■ daiat&?' 
 
 i. o v n> o 3T. 
 
 MS sc ■ - 
 
thk fisher's daughter. .'i. r >7 
 
 It was all settled before I came here, I assure you; and 
 my dear lord expects the pleasure of your company at 
 Violet Vale, your husband's, and of course your father's. 
 We shall be so happy Jessy! one kiss of your little 
 mopsey, and then I must depart." 
 
 With these words Lady Montault immediately took 
 her leave, leaving an impression on the grateful hearts 
 a»c nad made so happy, never to be erased from their 
 memory. But it had quite altered the plans of Peter, 
 who had anticipated pleasures over the christening of 
 his little granddaughter, in which he was well aware 
 he would not be permitted to indulge in the society of 
 Lord and Lady Montault ; the latter indeed, would have 
 o.nly smiled at his little omissions of politeness and eti- 
 quette, but the former would have felt indignant at any 
 irregularity of conduct in the presence of his lovely 
 wife. The fisher well knew, therefore, that it would 
 be a severe restraint imposed upon his feelings, the 
 dining at Violet Vale, and that he could not enjoy the 
 pleasures of the bottle so freely as at the table of his 
 son-in-law; and when Jessy first informed him of the 
 arrangement which had taken place between her and 
 Lady Montault, and that the christening was to be per- 
 formed at Violet Vale, after which they were to spend 
 the remainder of the day there, he swore with a tre- 
 mendous oath, that he would not go at all to any such 
 fine dangle flippery, but that he should eat his roast 
 beef and plumb pudding, and drink his grog by himself 
 at Herring Dale. 
 
 " Well, but my dear father, pray do consider the 
 nature of the case," uttered Jessy, endeavouring as 
 much as possible to calm the violent gust of passion 
 
T368 the fisher's daughter. 
 
 into which he had broken out : " pray do consider, 
 dear father," repeated Jessy, while softly laying her 
 hand over the back of his chair, " how impossible it 
 was for me to have declined the invitation of Lord and 
 Lady Montault on such an occasion, and in which you 
 are included, as well as me and Samuel. Consider 
 now that — " 
 
 " Consider a fiddlestick's end," loudly vociferated 
 the fisher. " I consider my own comforts, and I don't 
 choose to have them broken in upon ; no, shiver my 
 topsails, to please any lord or lady in Christendom. 
 Have not you studied to please them more than you 
 have me already, with having a fine tingle fangle name, 
 when I had my heart on the girl being called plain 
 Peggy ? And now you want me to turn out of a snug 
 chimney corner, to stick myself up at the table of a 
 great lord, where I must be obliged to sit as stiff as a 
 poker all the while I am having a morsel of dinner. 
 No, I will be put upon a gridiron and broiled first, be- 
 fore I will sit in such purgatory, and so you may tell 
 my lord and lady if you please. I don't value a lord's 
 good word any more than I do a brass button ; and as 
 to their favours, who the devil want's any, I say? not 
 Peter Blust, nor any of his family. Favours — favours 
 be—" 
 
 The concluding sentence, to our utmost possible sa- 
 tisfaction, remained unfinished by the fisher Blust, for 
 his pipe being out, he was obliged to extend his arm 
 over the table to reach his tobacco-box, and conse- 
 quently to move the back of his chair, over which Jessy 
 was leaning. 
 
 To his violent harangue she had been silent as the 
 
the fisher's daughter. 359 
 
 grave; so was Samuel, because they well knew that the 
 tempest would not continue long, and that trying to 
 calm it would be of no avail; and it was just as he 
 turned round and discovered Jessy at the back of his 
 chair, that he was going to swear an oath, which we 
 are happy to say was suppressed by the effect that 
 his daughter had upon his feelings. 
 
 For the lovely azure eyes of Jessy were filled with 
 tears, a sight as painful and mortifying to the feelings 
 of poor Sam, as it was distressing to her father, who 
 felt conscious that he was the sole cause of them ; and 
 not knowing what excuse to plead for the intemperate 
 warmth he had betrayed, he deliberately laid down his 
 pipe, and walked up to the cradle, where his little 
 granddaughter was lying with her eyes wide open, and 
 the lovely innocent perfectly smiled in his face as he 
 approached to take her in his arms. 
 
 te Thee be a good tempered little soul, shiver my 
 topsails if thee be'nt," uttered he, caressing the lovely 
 infant, and very carefully placing it on his knee, look- 
 ing at Jessy all the while, who had recovered her self- 
 possession, and was now seated, as much as to say I 
 am sorry I have offended thee; and at length he ex- 
 claimed, (Sam having stept out of the room,) " Jessy, 
 I do love thee wench, and it do break my heart when 
 I do see a tear trembling in that eye, that I do know 
 thy father's unkindness has caused to flow. Ah Jess, 
 Jess ! thee were the darling of my heart, when thee 
 were just such another little dumpling as this on thy 
 old father's knee. Shiver my topsails, I could hang 
 myself up like a dog for saying a word that was cross- 
 grained to thee, my Jess. Thee were the tenderest 
 
360 the fisher's DAUGHTER. 
 
 hearted little soul when thee were a baby, and so thou 
 hast been ever since, and as kind a wench to thy old 
 father as ever breathed ; so come here Jess and give 
 me a kiss, and say no more about the christening, for 
 I shall go because it do please thee, but shiver my 
 topsails if it do please me." 
 
 " Then father I had better not go," uttered Jessy, 
 as she removed her infant, which had now fallen fast 
 asleep, from the arms of its grandfather, in so soft, un- 
 assuming, and bewitching an accent, that unable any 
 longer to oppose or act harshly to the wishes of his 
 beloved child, he strained her yet more closely to his 
 heart, and promised to do all she wished, provided that 
 he might be allowed to please himself the day after the 
 christening. 
 
 " Certainly you shall, my dearest father," cried Jessy, 
 delighted at the thoughts of obtaining his sanction, in 
 any way whatever to accompany her to Violet Vale. 
 
 " Why then we'll have another christening the day 
 after," cried the fisher, " in my own way, remember 
 Jess. None of your fine dingle dangles, but a jolly 
 good dinner, and plenty to drink afterwards, where I 
 can sit, or stand, or smoke, or let it alone, just as I 
 like, without being called to account by any body; on 
 these conditions I shall go, and behave myself as well 
 as I can at my lord and my lady's, but I shall be hear- 
 tily glad when I am got into safe moorings again, you 
 may depend upon it. 
 
 Jessy promised every thing that her father wished, 
 and he departed at a late hour, in great good humour 
 with her and honest Samuel, who, for reasons best 
 known to himself, did not choose to interfere between 
 
THE FISH lift's D.W'GHIKk. .':(5I 
 
 Jessy and hoi- father in any altercation that might ne- 
 cessarily occur, well knowing that the fisher's fondness 
 for his daughter, would very soot] bring matters round 
 again, without his taking any active share in it at all ; 
 and so it proved, for on the following morning the 
 fisher was punctual to the hour at which they were to 
 set out for the magnificent mansion of Lord Montault 
 and drest in all his best clothes, which were extremely 
 respectable, Peter presented himself at the chamber 
 door of Mrs. Rns^el, before her own toilette and that 
 of her infant was completely adjusted. It was a beau- 
 tiful season of the year ; Jessy was attired in a plain 
 robe of the finest cambric, trimmed with lace, a cap of 
 the same, with bows of white satin ribband^ confined 
 her luxuriant beautiful light hair in modest and matronly 
 order ; and her lovely baby looked like a perfect angel 
 when, in the arms of its nurse, and in a close carriage, 
 they proceeded to the mansion of Lord Montague Mon- 
 tault, where the Rev. Mr. Harris had already arrived. 
 
 Lord Montague received his guests with the greatest 
 urbanity and hospitality, welcoming the fisher Blust ai& 
 Mr. Russel with distinguishing kindness ; and heartily 
 shaking Peter by the hand on his first entrance to the 
 room, gave him joy on the birth of his little grand- 
 daughter, which contributed in no small degree to ex- 
 hilarate the spirits of Peter, who immediately ex- 
 claimed — 
 
 " Thank you, my lord, thank you; the same to you, 
 with all my heart and soul. It be a nice little dumpling 
 can't say but what it is j and since we could not have 
 boy, why we must make shift with a girl, that be all." 
 
 His lordship smiled, and with great jocularity re- 
 ef 16 z 7. 
 
Ji FISHEK S DAUOH !'i- K. 
 
 marked, that it was a fault which the following year 
 might easily repair. After partaking of a very elegant 
 repast, the parties were conducted to a most spacious 
 apartment prepared for the occasion, Wolf and Alfred 
 having also been invited by Lord Montague to be pre- 
 sent at the ceremony, and where it was at length 
 most impressively performed by the Rev. Mr. Harris ; 
 the fi>her conducting himself in the most appropriate 
 manner that was possible during the whole of its per- 
 formance, which being concluded, and the little girl 
 having received the name of Matilda Margaretta, her 
 nurse was conducted into the apartment where Lord 
 Orlando and his nurse was, and where every attention 
 was paid to them by the orders of Lady Montault; after 
 which the whole party sat down to dinner, where the 
 utmost good humour and hilarity prevailed. Peter 
 was indulged with pipes and tobacco, and some excel- 
 lent grog; and Lord Montault having seated himself 
 next to Mrs. Russel, congratulated her in a whisper on 
 the birth of so beautiful a child. 
 
 " Then surely, my lord, I may return you the com- 
 pliment," cried Jessy, " for never did I behold a finer 
 child thau Lord Orlando." Jessy then took an oppor- 
 tunity of returning her most grateful acknowledgments 
 to Lord Montague, for the very liberal mark of his 
 bounty he had bestowed on her little daughter. To 
 which Lord Montague replied — 
 
 " Do not mention it, 1 beg of you, Mrs. Russel, for 
 you are worthy of every kindness and attention that 
 you receive from any part of my family, I am very 
 certain, and you may rely on my future friendship to- 
 wards you. It is impossible for me ever to be indiffer- 
 
the fisher's daughter. 'M'A 
 
 ent to an object so tenderly and affectionately regarded 
 by my beloved wife." 
 
 " Do you not think Wolf and Alfred most amazingly 
 improved, my Lord?" uttered Jessy, on perceiving 
 that his lordship's eyes were at that moment most 
 earnestly fixed on Wolf, and alternately on Alfred, with 
 the conduct of bolh of whom he had been particularly 
 pleased and gratified the whole of the day ; and Lord 
 Montague returned the following answer: — 
 
 " 1 do indeed, Mrs. Russel ; they are altogether two 
 of the finest youths I ever beheld, and are well worthy 
 of the patronage they have been so fortunate to obtain. 
 Poor fellows, who could turn their backs on them, or 
 treat them with cold unfeeling apathy, or unmerited 
 contempt; friendless as they were, shipwrecked on 
 our coast, without home, and without, parents?" 
 
 " And yet they found one, thank heaven !" cried 
 Jessy. 
 
 " And friends who never will desert them," uttered 
 Lord Montague. 
 
 Both Dr. Syntax and Mr. Lawrence had been invited 
 by Lord Montague to the christening of the Fisher's 
 Daughter, and their conversation served as a relief to 
 Peter's, who, notwithstanding his resolution of preserv- 
 ing sobriety, continued to make too many oblations to 
 Bacchus, to find his way home that night to Herring 
 Dale, and was therefore under the necessity of staying 
 and taking a bed at his son-in-law's. He was highly 
 delighted, however, with the reception he had met 
 with at Violet Vale, and every now and then began a 
 long oration on the excellent qualities and delicious 
 flavour of his lordship's wine. 
 
3(ii THE FISHER'^ PAUi.ilTlift. 
 
 " Of which, my dear father, you really have had a 
 tolerable good portion," cried Jessy, smiling - . 
 
 '•' Yes, pretty well for that," hieknped the fisher, as 
 he endeavoured to walk steadily towards the door of 
 the chamber to which his son in-law was preparing to 
 conduct him; "but never mind, a christening comes 
 bat once a year in the same family; but shiver my 
 topsails I don't care how often it comes, if one could 
 drink a bottle of such wine as his lordship's cellar 
 abounds with." This was the exit-speech of poor 
 Peter as he staggered off to bed, but over whose frail- 
 ties we would much rather throw a veil, than expose 
 them to the severe animadversions of his friends; but 
 they are those only to whom we can or ought to reveal 
 them, because the excellent qualities of his heart will 
 very naturally excuse trifling defects, which were really 
 injurious to no one but himself. Alas ! no human 
 being is exempt from frailty, be his perfections or his 
 virtues what they may! it is born with us, and it as 
 certainly dies wi'h us. 
 
 But to proceed. The following morning Wolf and 
 Alfred, by the fisher's private invitation, which he 
 contrived to whisper in their ear, went over early to 
 Mrs. Russel, to enquire if indeed there was to be a 
 second christening of the little Matilda, for that Mr. 
 Blust had informed them so, and had also invited 
 them to dine there that day, in order to celebrate it. 
 
 " So we have obtained leave of absence, dear Jessy," 
 cried Wolf, " if by coming so early you do not consi- 
 der our company intrusive." 
 
 " O by no means, my dear boys," cried Samuel, 
 laughing heartily at the whim of the fisher's. " You 
 
THK K1SHKK-3 IMUGHTKH, 365 
 
 are heartily welcome, though we did not expect you ; 
 but it is all right, my father must certainly he indulged 
 with his way to day. because he gave us our's yester- 
 day." 
 
 " But not without difficulty, 1 do assure you, Wolf," 
 cried Jessy, laughing. " We could hardly prevail 
 upon him to accompany us to Lord Montague Mon- 
 tault's, although his lordship gave him so kind an invi- 
 tation." 
 
 " Every man to his humour," uttered Wolf, and 
 smiled. 
 
 "' Certainly," answered Mr. Russel, u and every wo- 
 man too." 
 
 " What a magnificent mansion is that of our dear 
 and amiable friend !" cried Jessy ; " incomparable crea- 
 ture ! how like an angel did she behave to us yester- 
 day; and how beautiful did she appear when seated at 
 the head of her table ; attentive to all, yet particular to 
 no one ! O what an inestimable treasure is Lord Mon- 
 tague possessed of!" 
 
 " And not without being fully sensible of its value," 
 uttered Alfred, looking reproachfully at Jessy, for hav- 
 ing thus introduced the name of the Lady Agatha; 
 for Wolf, to her observation on the merits of her lovely 
 friend, exhibited an agitation he vainly endeavoured to 
 conceal ; and sighing profoundly, averted his head from 
 Jessy's ardent gaze, without a sentence being pro- 
 nounced, while Jessy feeling sorry that she had unin- 
 tentionally been the cause of awakening the dormant 
 passion of poor Wolf, by dwelling on the perfections 
 of her lovely friend, instantly made a pretext of quit- 
 
Bf>8 the fisher's daughter, 
 
 tiug the room, to give mm time to recover his self- 
 possession, which only for a moment seemed to have 
 •k'seited its citadel. 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 " We are too apt to ridicule in others, what requires amendment 
 in ourselves ; we are blind to our own defects, though keen sighted 
 when they proceed from our neighbours. Let their faults be the 
 finger post, -hewing us the road to the correction of our deformity." 
 
 PlCTOR. 
 
 Wolf met Jessy at dinner with a downcast eye and 
 a flushed cheek, and the consciousness of having 
 wounded the feelings of this amiable and fine spirited 
 youth, (although unintentionally,) had inflicted on her 
 own gentle bosom an involuntary sensation of pain 
 which she could not conceal ; and she most impatiently 
 longed too for an opportunity of telling him so; but no 
 such opportunity as this occurred, for the fisher, who was 
 in high glee, and in the best of al! possible of dispositions, 
 had actually thought proper to monopolize the conver- 
 sation both of Alfred and Wolf the whole time they 
 
FME '.- "sHKR's DAUGHTER. o(>/ 
 
 were there, by offering them, in his way, (anil certainly 
 no bad way ; for although his language was so plain and 
 unsophisticated, still it was the language of the heart, 
 and its dictates were truth and sincerity,) some lessons, 
 which it was not likely would ever be erased from 
 their recollection. 
 
 " For d'ye see, my dear lads," uttered he, filling his 
 pipe with tobacco, and placing it mechanically to his 
 lips, " though we may be wise to day, we may be fool- 
 ish to-morrow; and it is better to steer clear of quick- 
 sands and shoals, than run headlong into them, and 
 founder on the rocks. There's but one steady course 
 to guide the helm when the anchor's afloat, and we are 
 launched on the wide ocean ; and sink or swim, it will 
 carry us into safe moorings, in spite of the rough tem- 
 pests or the rough seas; and that's integrity, and doing 
 our duty to our fellow creatures. Shiver my topsails 
 if ever I see the face of either of you again, if ever I 
 catch you doing a bad action. Lord love you, what 
 did I take you under my wing for, but to give you a 
 good bringing up ? I knew I had the shiners to do it 
 if nobody else had ; and though you have had the good 
 fortune to find friends to set you a going, who can do 
 better for you, remember, my lads, you had no friends 
 when the waves cast you upon this coast on the night of 
 the storm, like a couple of dead herrings in an old fish- 
 woman's basket ; and if ever you should chance to get 
 grand and great in the outlandish parts where you are 
 going to, here's one piece of advice I give you, never 
 to forget the bridge that carried you safe over." 
 
 ** Could we forget your kindness, we were indeed 
 
• Hiri rut fisher's uaughtkk. 
 
 unworthy of the blessing- that heaven bestows," uttereo 
 Alfred. 
 
 " And should deserve to meet the frowns of fortune 
 in its worst extremes," observed Wolf. " But, sir, 
 believe us not so ungrateful, or our memories so trea- 
 cherous of past kindness, for gratitude is a blossom 
 that never dies ; it revives with the genial sun of friend- 
 ship's cheering beams, from whose smiles it first in- 
 haled breath, and can only end with the total extermi- 
 nation of it." 
 
 The fisher's eyes shone with a glistening tear, at the 
 sentiments so ingenuously expressed by those amiable 
 youths, and heartily shaking them by the hand, drauk 
 health and prosperous gales of happiness in a full 
 flowing bumper, in which honest Samuel, in his quiet 
 orderly soberly way, (for he was formed of materials 
 of the most peaceable kind, without being divested of 
 the ingredients of common sense, so falsely attributed 
 by those whose brighter talents shine more conspicu- 
 ously, but not more safely or more prudently, permit 
 me to observe, in the common routine of worldly af- 
 fairs,) most heartily joined ; and as he pledged the 
 glass, in imitation of his father-in-law, exclaimed — 
 
 " Prosperity my good lads await thee wheresoever 
 thou mayest steer thy compass, and guide you safely 
 on your voyage through life. 'Tis not, as I have heard 
 say, (and I do honestly believe that the saying is true,) 
 it is not in the power of mortals to command success, 
 but it is in the power of every man to eudeavour to 
 deserve it." 
 
 " I am most deci jculv of your opinion, Mr. Russel," 
 
THB KISHKIt's DAUGHTER. 309 
 
 cried Wolf, " and I most earnestly hope that neither 
 my brother Alfred nor 1 may disappoint our warmest 
 and most earnestly attached friends of their kindly ex- 
 pectations." 
 
 With these and many more friendly hints, alternately 
 given by the fisher and honest Sam, Wolf and Alfred 
 departed, after having caressed the lovely little Matilda 
 with every demonstration of the truest affection, in 
 compliment to the authors of its being; and as it lav 
 sleeping on its mother's gentle bosom, Wolf, as he 
 imprinted a fervent kiss on its roseate lips, observed, 
 that a day would yet come when he should behold 
 that promise of infantine loveliness ripened into charms 
 of womanhood ; and that when he returned from a far 
 distant country, to which his patron informed him he 
 Mould be shortly going, he should see the lovely girl 
 the pride and darling of her fond parents. 
 
 "And many more darlings too. to keep her company 
 besides, Wolf, mayhap," cried the fisher, winking slyly 
 and archly at his son-in-law, while it brought a roseate 
 blush on the fair face of Jessy. " Wounds man, there 
 will be a house full of such little dumplings before thee 
 comes back again to thy old quarters; then you know 
 little Matty there will be fit for a wife for one of you, 
 There is many a thing comes to pass that be locked up 
 in a sow's ear, thee do know lads, that be only in a 
 pig's ear at the present moment; the wisest of us can- 
 not tell what may happen in the course of time." 
 
 " That can they not, indeed sir," cried Wolf, sup- 
 pressing a painful but involuntary sigh with which his 
 bosom seemed overcharged. " In the web of time lie* 
 wonders, but this cannot time do; it will never change 
 
 b 16 ?, A 
 
370 thk Hsflttuvs i) iuu;j IB*. 
 
 my heart or my resolutions ; thoy are fixed as the po- 
 lar star, and will know no change, till that change 
 which dissolves all earthly ties, affections, enmities, the 
 feelings of life and nature." 
 
 " The feelings of a fiddlestick's end," vociferated 
 the fisher, in his usual blunt tone; and perceiving that 
 Wolf had more meaning in his thoughts than he dared 
 give utterance to, and probably guessiug at their mean- 
 ing more than he chose to express, he assumed an air 
 of jocularity, in order to dissipate the uneasiness he 
 beheld him suffering, which made him smile, in des- 
 pite of the sombre reflections which were beginning 
 to assail him. What, dost thee want to be ground old 
 before thee beest ground young? cast thy colt's tooth 
 first. But I say, Wolf, where beest going, dost thee 
 know lad ?" 
 
 " To India, as I understand, sir, from the Duke," 
 replied Wolf, thoughtfully. " I believe that his Grace 
 has already received my appointment, though, for some 
 reason, he has not yet publicly declared what are his 
 intentions respecting the period of my departure; still 
 I know that it is certainly fixed ; but from the peculiar 
 circumstances in which 1 am situated in the Duke's 
 family, delicacy forbids me to make any enquiry that 
 might be deemed either impertinent or intrusive." 
 
 " Shiver my topsails if 1 don't think that be carry- 
 ing delicacy too far," uttered the fisher. " 1 should 
 make no bones about that, I can assure you, when i 
 was going to be launched into the wide world, and to 
 sail on my own bottom, as a body may say; I should 
 like to know what side of the compass I was going tti 
 steer by, though, master Wolf, after all." 
 
TIIK FlSHKll's DAUGHTER. 37' 
 
 "A very safe one, you may rely on it, sir," answered 
 Wolf. 
 
 "Humph!" murmured Peter, between a whifF of 
 his pipe, and a sort of short dry cough, with whieh he 
 sometimes happened to be seized. " If thee be satis- 
 fied, why it's all the same to me, that be all, only I 
 should like to know something about it. T suppose 
 Alfy, it will be a main long time before thee do climb 
 up to a parson's box, wont it? Great folks do take a 
 mortal time to consider of things, that be true enough." 
 
 " Yes, sir; but when they are certain" — uttered Al- 
 fred, who found that it was now his turn to undergo 
 an examination, and that the more conclusive he was 
 on the subject, the sooner it would come to a finale ; 
 but in this he was mistaken, for Peter, after a string of 
 interrogatories, none of which were deemed sufficiently 
 satisfactory to him, he exclaimed — 
 
 *'* And pray what do you know about the certainty 
 of great folks, I should be glad to know ? I tell you 
 it's all a confounded lie, no more and no less, and that 
 they tack about as often as a ship does when the wind 
 is blowing directly contrary against her." 
 
 " But do you believe, my dear father, that the Duke 
 is not perfectly sincere in his intentions towards my 
 brother and me ? or that so great and worthy a person- 
 age would not most rigidly perform a duty which he 
 imposed upon himself, and none other suggested ?"' 
 cried Alfred, in the mildest accents. " Is it likely 
 that such a gentleman would act inconsistently with 
 honour, delicacy, or truth ?" 
 
 There was another humph gruffly escaped from the 
 lips of Peter; and what he was going to say wc cannot 
 
3/2 THB F1SHKR S DAUGHTER, 
 
 precisely tell, in opposition to Alfred, had not the 
 sweeter lips of the gentle Jessy opened to pronounce — 
 
 " No, indeed Alfred, I am well persuaded that the 
 Duke would not, and I am very sure that my father 
 does not think so, notwithstanding the hasty manner 
 in which he has expressed himself." 
 
 The fisher chuckled at the manner iri which Jessy 
 had defended him ; and as the sound of her sweet 
 voice always put an extinguisher on any thing that 
 seemed like wormwood on his tongue, in his severe 
 remarks on others, the most perfect good humour was 
 preserved, and the utmost harmony prevailed during 
 the continuance of their visit at Mr. Russel's. 
 
 At a late hour they returned to Violet Vale, when 
 the first intelligence Wolf received from his tutor 
 Lawrence was, that the Duke of Braganza had given 
 orders for Wolf to attend him at an early hour the 
 ensuing morning, and that he had every reason to 
 believe that his Grace had received, in dispatches 
 from India, the order for his appointment to one of 
 the regiments stationed there, under the command of 
 General Fontenelle. 
 
 The countenance of Wolf underwent many changes 
 at the communication of his tutor, but they were those 
 of the most animated and pleasing kind ; and that there 
 was now a prospect for his mind to be engaged in 
 some active pursuits, filled him with the greatest joy, for 
 his present state had of late been unsupportable to him 
 from many causes, and had rendered him a completely 
 wretched and isolated being, owing to the unhappy 
 and unconquerable attachment he felt towards an ob- 
 ject, between whom and him a barrier was placed of 
 
the fishek's daughter. 3/3 
 
 such immeasurable distance, that it was utterly out of 
 the pale of probability to imagine either from chance 
 or circumstance, that hope would ever fan a mutual 
 flame. The sight of her was therefore dangerous to 
 his peace and injurious to his honour, while it was 
 equally unfavourable to his studies or his progress in 
 learning ; for he was bound in the pleasing charm that 
 fascinated his senses, which was riveted too powerfully 
 about his heart ever to be broken, except by that 
 change which dissolves all earthly ties. 
 
 Joyful therefore was the intelligence imparted to him 
 by Lawrence, that there was at last a probability of his 
 commencing his military campaign, and of his speedy 
 departure from Violet Vale ; but not so joyous were 
 the feelings of his tutor on the occasion, who being 
 most passionately attached to his pupil, expressed, with 
 great sensibility, his deep and unfeigned regret, that a 
 separation was so shortly to take place between them. 
 
 "It is not from a selfish motive, believe me, Mr. 
 Wolf," cried Lawrence, "or that because your absence 
 will render my services no longer necessary at Violet 
 Vale, that I regret so fervently your departure, but 1 
 have an affection for you, Mr. Wolf, in which no selfish 
 consideration can ever take precedence, or worldly 
 considerations ever be united with. I have my pecu- 
 liarities, friendships, antipathies, congenialities, faithful 
 attachments, everlasting zeal, and fidelity. Yes, I 
 have cherished all these Mr. Wolf, in happier days, be- 
 fore I thought mankind could act ungratefully or 
 treacherously towards each other. I have lived to be 
 deceived, ami who is there that does not ? yet some- 
 thing tells me that in you i shall never be mistaken, 
 
f>/4 THK KISHF.U S JMlGilTKU. 
 
 for there is an ingenuous nobleness of disposition 
 which charmed me at the first sight of you ; time has 
 strengthened my attachment towards you, and now 
 makes parting painful. I am a lone man, you know, 
 Mr. Wolf, a solitary plant cast on a blighted heath ; 
 few sunny rays have smiled to cheer the gloomy single- 
 ness of my fate, till I beheld you, loved boy ; you were 
 the sunshine that so suddenly broke in upon me, at a 
 time of life when 1 would have conceived that no mor- 
 tal tie could have bound me to existence. Having thus 
 explained the nature of my feelings, you cannot won- 
 der, Mr. Wolf, that I should experience some sensa- 
 tions of regret at bidding you farewell." 
 
 Wolf was astonished and confounded by this confes- 
 sion of his tutor, in whose eye he beheld a glistening 
 tear of most genuine affection ; and it was not without 
 betraying considerable emotion, that he answered this 
 affectionate appeal made to his feelings. 
 
 "O revered and respected sir, how shall I express the 
 deep sense of gratitude I feel towards you, for the warm 
 interest you take in my welfare, and the favourable 
 opinion with which you honour me ! O, sir, may I oe 
 permitted to assure you, that I shall ever retain the 
 most indelible impression of all your kinduess, and that 
 the pain inflicted on your heart by our separation, is 
 not less so on mine, and that the loss of your society 
 will be doubly felt by me in a far distant clime, where 
 no cheering voice of friendship will salute my eaxs as 
 it does now— no friendly eye to greet my presence 
 there — no counsel to guide my inexperienced youth 
 My monitor, my instructor, and friend, why does my 
 fortune bid me rove without vou ! Yet so it does, and 
 
1111. kishuk's daughikr. .'575 
 
 f am anxious for the long farewell to objects, whom 
 though I love dearest on earth, yet whole ages of tor- 
 ture could not exceed what I suffer in their presence, de- 
 prived of the privileges 1 so blissfully enjoyed once in 
 their company and conversation ! But pray pardon my 
 digression on this subject, 1 am strangely wandering." 
 " You are indeed, my dear Mr. Wolf," uttered 
 Lawrence, casting upon him a look, alternately blended 
 with compassion and tenderness of affection, " wander- 
 ing far, far beyond the limits of discretion, when you 
 speak thus of objects as being dangerous to your repose, 
 if such indeed they are. I rejoice that prudence and 
 good sense so naturally suggest to you, that from such 
 objects it is indeed your imperative duty to fly ; from 
 dangerous objects there is no safety, but in immediate 
 flight. There is a frailty, a weakness in human nature, 
 which even the wisest head and the firmest heart can- 
 not at all seasonable times set at absolute defiance. Had 
 man been completely perfect, he had never fallen or 
 been degraded in the eyes of his Maker ; and a heavy 
 punishment succeeded to the commission of the offence 
 of which he had been guilty. But was there not mercy 
 held out to him hereafter by an all-gracious, mild, for- 
 giving, and beneficent Being ! Was there not a drop 
 of pity mixed in the heart-galling beverage which he 
 himself had prepared ! Man was forgiven by God, 
 when repentance was offered in atonement for his 
 transgression. God forgives, and man presumptuously 
 denies it. He refuses to his fellow-creature what he 
 himself stands in need of from his Maker, — pardon ; 
 for there never was that earthly being yet, howev<-» 
 pure or jmmaculatc, who did not require it. Thoughts 
 
376 THH FlMlKK's DAUGfiT! k. 
 
 ascend to heaven as well as actions ; and thoughts are 
 free ; impervious oft to man. but to God never. Let us 
 thus, my dear boy, endeavour to be as pure in thoughts 
 as we would be in every action of our lives ! and with 
 this consciousness about us we have nothing to fear; 
 in peril, in sickness, in poverty, nay, even in the house 
 of death, it will sustain us; and half its terrors, (if in 
 deed to the truly good and virtuous it hath any,) will 
 be disarmed. My dear boy, I read your heart, I have 
 been able to read it for a long time past, and with inex- 
 pressible grief and regret soon discovered the fatal secret 
 with which it was labouring, which it was probable some 
 existing circumstance greatly tended to increase the ma- 
 lady of. 1 call it by its right name, my dear Wolf, and be 
 not angry at the plain terms I give it, for it is nothing 
 less nor more than a malady,— the love you bear for Lord 
 Montague's lovely wife. Nay, start not, you have 
 manfully and bravely struggled to conceal that secret, 
 but the attempt, as far as relates to my own observa- 
 tion, has been fruitless and unavailing. Heaven grant 
 that it may have succeeded with others ; but this 
 malady at your time of life, dear boy, is not incurable. 
 Romantic passion cannot last, where hope fans not the 
 flame with its balmy breath ; and for you there is no 
 hope. The flower will therefore perish as on a blight- 
 ed stalk; absence is its death, and, fortunately for you 
 will leave no sting behind, for the Lady Agatha is both 
 a wife and a mother, and is besides most passionately 
 attached to her lord and husband, and to her child , 
 ihese are affections on which woman's heart pride; 
 itself, and holds so sacredly, that she is not likely to 
 forego them, even if her heart before marriage haa 
 
the fishek's daughter. '$7/ 
 
 ever been another's. There is then no hope, no 
 chance existing, or probability that she would ever be- 
 stow her affections on you. There is also between 
 you and the Lady Agatha a disparity of years ; she is 
 your senior by many; and though now beautiful as an 
 angel, she will not continue so, Wolf, Women and 
 roses run on the same parallel; they are both fading 
 and perishable, though both lovely while their season 
 lasts. 
 
 At this remark, however just, Wolf heaved a deep 
 and melancholy sigh ; but it was occasioned only by 
 the reflection that the lovely flower, now in its full 
 bloom of beauty, though it might indeed be withered 
 in its fragrance, would never belong to him, and he 
 exclaimed : — 
 
 " Ah, sir ! and even then I should love the Lady 
 Agatha ; in my eyes that beauty would never fade, for 
 it was not that which made my heart so willingly her 
 captive; it was her mind, that fairest pattern of all hu- 
 man excellence, her generous heart, her gentle disposi- 
 tion." 
 
 Ci Boy — boy, you talk like an enthusiast; but thou 
 art young, and thy heart is warm with passion," cried 
 Lawrence, smiling. " When thou dost carry a few 
 more years on thy shoulders, the fairy colours that 
 deck thy glowing fancy will vanish, and, 
 
 — ' like the baseless fabric of a vision, 
 Leave not a wreck behind.' " 
 
 ■' Sir, to your better judgment I ever must yieJd 
 with submission," uttered Wolf; " but wherefore 
 should we part, if indeed you will share my f'orinnes? 
 
 c 16 '< p 
 
378 1'HK KISHlitt's |iAU(.HTHR. 
 
 most gladly would 1 accept of your company to India. 
 I have some little independence from the bounty of the 
 deceased Captain Singleton, and doubtless I shall have 
 more from the generosity of my benefactor. Will 
 you, sir, accompany me to that distant clime J am 
 going to ? Be still as now my mentor, my instructor, 
 my kind friend, and I will be your grateful pupil. Say, 
 at once, you will not refuse my solicitation." 
 
 For many moments Lawrence could not articulate 
 a single sentence, so unexpected was this offer from 
 his young favourite; and he exclaimed, after a pause : — 
 
 M Noble, exalted, and generous boy ! now indeed J 
 feel thou art worthy of my affection, since thou wouldst 
 burthen thyself with a feeble old mat), who could do 
 nought for thee but give thee good counsel ; yet thou 
 wouldst bear with him and his infirmities together. 
 Well — well, I'll think on thy plan, and tell you of the 
 result to-morrow. In the meanwhile let's to our 
 chamber; the hour is growing late, and yet I miss not 
 the time that I have been talking with thee." 
 
 With these words, a kind good night, and an affec- 
 tionate squeeze of the hand, Lawrence retired for 
 the night, leaving Wolf to reflections of a nature which 
 were almost undefinable, pleasing, and certainly pain- 
 ful ; for it was not to be imagined that he could bid 
 adieu to the fisher and his family, beneath whose roof 
 he had been so kindly sheltered and fostered with pro- 
 tection, when destitute of friends and fortune, without 
 feeling considerable emotion. His dear Alfred, too ! 
 could he part with hi n without a tear of brotherly af- 
 fection, or wishing that he were not the companion of 
 his voyage as formerly, when, shipwrecked on the coast 
 
thk fishkr's da i;c; rlr mi. 3§fl) 
 
 of Cromer, they became the peculiar care of the honest 
 fisherman ? Yes, the thoughts of parting with Alfred, 
 who doubtless would mutually share in the pain of a 
 separation, when he should indeed hear that the time 
 was fixed for his departure, occasioned Wolf to pass a 
 restless and sleepless night ; and when he arose from 
 his pillow at an uncommonly early hour the ensuing 
 morning, Ids countenance exhibited traces of an agi- 
 tated mind, which vainly he endeavoured to conceal 
 from the observation of his preceptor. 
 
 lint Lawrence was not to be deceived in the appear- 
 ance and the looks of his beloved pupil ; for in the words 
 of a pensive, but highly-wrought inspired bard, the fine 
 features of Wolf were exemplified in the following 
 manner : — 
 
 *< O'er his pale brow a melancholy thought 
 
 Hangs like a cloud, dimniiug the eves of fire, 
 
 And stealing from his youthful cheek the rose, 
 
 As though a baffled cause, a ruin'd house, 
 
 Unprosperous love, or cruel banishment, 
 
 Had blighted the fair buds, which would have grown 
 
 To goodly blossoms. Vet the lofty soul, 
 
 The high aspiring mind, breaks, like the sun, 
 
 Through the thick veil of care, and points to hopes 
 
 Of future glory, patriot zeal, and tells 
 
 Of difficulties vanquished, toils o'ercome, 
 
 Laurels unwreath'd, with love's sweet roses pluck'd 
 
 From danger's desperate gulph." 
 
 M You have rested but poorly, Mr. Wolf," cried Law- 
 rence, as soon as he entered the room, and discovered 
 his pupil sitting in a mournful abstraction of mind. To 
 which Wolf replied — 
 
 "Or rather, I have had no rest at all. I h tl wak- 
 ing thoughts, sir, that™'' 
 
*S0 THE FISHER'S DAUUHTKR. 
 
 fl It would be worse than folly to indulge, or yield 
 /o the impression of, at a crisis like this, my dear boy/' 
 nnswered the tutor, gravely ; and at this precise mo- 
 ment Alfred entered the room. The agitated looks of 
 Wolf soon attracted his observation, and with an air 
 of the most brotherly kindness, he tenderly enquired 
 into the cause; it was soon explained, and the counte- 
 nance of Alfred instantly betrayed, that the intelligence 
 he received of his dear brother's departure, was not 
 only unwelcome, but painful to his feelings, although 
 he felt that it was his duty to exert every energy of his 
 mind to suppress the sensations which he experienced 
 on Wolf's account; yet tears shone in his eyes when 
 they conversed more fully on the subject, and the part- 
 ing hour was adverted to. Alfred, whose softness of 
 c'haracter, and gentleness of disposition was percepti- 
 ble in every look and action of his life, was not proof 
 against parting with an object so affectionately beloved ; 
 and in a tremulous voice he pronounced — 
 
 "Ah, dear Wolf! though I rejoice in the prosperous 
 smiles of good fortune that await you on your en- 
 trance upon a life in which you have so long panted to 
 be engaged, and at the opportunity it will afford you of 
 engrafting knowledge into your mind, and improving 
 those bright talents with which nature has so liberally 
 endowed you ; though I rejoice, I say, at this comple- 
 tion of your wishes, yet 1 am not so much of a philo- 
 sopher as to part with you without shedding tears, or 
 feeling, by the absence of a dear brother, I shall be de- 
 prived of a very considerable part of my happiness, 
 amusements, and pleasures, in which my dear Wolf so 
 long has shared. Yet we shall meet again, if heaven 
 
THE FISHKk's DAUGHTER. ^Sl 
 
 permits it ; and to that period let us look forward with 
 a lively hope, with a full and entire confidence in each 
 others unchanging affection. You have promised me a 
 regular correspondence; do not be unmindful of that 
 promise when you are in a far distant clime, I implore 
 you, my dear brother." 
 
 " Wolf, much affected, faithfully promised Alfred 
 that, in all his wanderings, he would regularly trans- 
 mit every particular of his situation, and that he in re- 
 turn should expect a similar favour of him." 
 
 This being finally arranged between them, at the en- 
 trance of Dr. Syntax they sat down to breakfast, and 
 enjoyed a rational and pleasing conversation on a 
 variety of subjects. 
 
 After which Wolf immediately repaired to the pre- 
 sence of his patron, his Grace the Duke of Braganza, 
 who received him with a most cordial smile, and con- 
 gratulated him on the prospect there now was of his 
 shortly setting out to join his regiment, which was 
 stationed at Port Antonio, under the command of his 
 friend, General Mahoney, and in which an ensigncy 
 had been procured through the immediate interest of 
 the governor, and that promotion was to take place 
 the very first opportunity, provided that his conduct 
 should be found to merit that distinction. 
 
 " And which I do not at all question, Wolf," uttered 
 his Grace, smilingly. " I have not the slightest doubt 
 but you will prove yourself worthj of the patronage I 
 /lave been so fortunate as to succeed in procuring for 
 you; your rising in your military career will hereafter lie 
 in vour own exertions of active zeal and distinguishable 
 
382 THE FISHERS DAUGlMKH. 
 
 Tierit, which will be far more gratifying, than if ybti 
 owed it to mere personal interest/' 
 
 Wolf bowed at receiving a compliment so highly 
 flattering ; and in terms at once modest, elegant, and 
 animated, thanked his Grace for the noble and disin- 
 terested proof he had given to serve a friendless, 
 nameless youth, who had no being on earth to claim 
 him for his own. He then timidly enquired of his pa- 
 tron, if he might be permitted to know at what period 
 his embarkation would take place ? 
 
 " In a month from the date of this day," uttered his 
 Grace. " There is a fine ship under an especial con- 
 voy, and which is with many others bound for India; 
 she is called the Maria Louisa, and in her I wish you 
 to sail. In the meantime I wish you to enjoy yourself 
 with those recreations to which, at your season of life, 
 it is very natural to suppose you may be inclined ; 
 I mean the society of a few partial friends, the fisher 
 Must, for instance, and his family. Your hours of 
 study are now over. I wish you to understand that I 
 do not mean to restrict you in any shape whatever, be- 
 fore you depart, from pleasures that come within the 
 scope of prudence. I will arrange all other things ne- 
 cessary for your departure, with regard to furnishing 
 you with what may be requisite for your apparel, 
 books, and all such articles and expenditure that can- 
 not be dispensed with in the profession in which you 
 are about to be engaged. No thanks, young man, I 
 will receive none. I have done my duty, and the con- 
 sciousness of that is a sufficient reward." 
 
 So saying, the Duke dismissed froln his presence his 
 
THK KJSHKlt's D.iUGIITUft. 388 
 
 young favourite, leaving Wolf in flutter of spirits not 
 to be described, his exaltation being so sudden arm 
 unexpected, that he could scarcely credit the evidence 
 of his own senses. 
 
 He was now in full possession of what he had so 
 long and eagerly desired to obtain, a commission in the 
 army stationed in a foreign clime, and favoured by 
 auspices that could not fail to be the leading star to 
 fame and fortune. At what then did this so greatly 
 favoured youth repine? That we will inform our read- 
 ers of in the next chapter. 
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 «• There is no room for such regrets, Venula '. 
 
 In this devoted heart love has expell'd 
 
 All female vanity. I never wish'd 
 
 That titles, wealth, or power, should bend before 
 
 My humble shrine ; not e'en to be refused 
 
 For thee, the only earthly good I ever 
 
 Asked of heaven !" Kinsmah op Names. 
 
 There is no man who loses sight of the object ot 
 whom his soul has doated, and still doats with the 
 most unutterable fondness, that can boast of beina 
 
384 the fisher's daughter. 
 
 either a stoic or a philosopher ; however stern his 
 creed may be, he must still feel the influence she has 
 possessed over his charmed senses, in the parting mo- 
 ment which may eventually separate them for ever ; 
 and so felt Wolf, even after the sober and mature re- 
 flections he had made, and the resolution he had form- 
 ed, utterly to banish the impression which the Lady 
 Agatha hac. »o powerfully wrought upon every impulse 
 of his actions and his mind, which also the timely 
 admonitions of his beloved Alfred had in no small de- 
 gree tended to increase. But alas ! when was love 
 ever controlled by advice, when like a torrent it 
 rushes down with impetuous force, suffering nothing 
 to impede the progress of its way? One glance of the 
 Lady Agatha as she passed the window with her at- 
 tendant and her child, had the effect of electric fire 
 through his trembling frame, and her melodious voice 
 thrilled to his very soul when she stopt and uttered — 
 
 " Good morning, dear Wolf, what delightful weather; 
 it has invited me abroad, though I confess I am no 
 early riser, yet such a morning as this is so resplen- 
 dency lovely, that it tempts me to forego sleep, to enjoy 
 a ramble over the plantations. My boy too, you see, 
 has caught the humour of his mother, and is determin- 
 ed to be the companion of my peregrinations. But 
 bless me, Wolf, have you been paying nightly vigils to 
 the moon, or studying the planets, or what? for in 
 truth you do not look as if you had rested. I hope 
 you are well, Wolf; your eyes are heavy, arid your 
 complexion pale; these are unusual signs with you; 
 pray tell me if you feel indisposed ?" 
 
 There was an air of anxictv in the beautiful counte- 
 
the fishrr's daughter. 38o 
 
 nance of Agatha as she made this enquiry of her young 
 favourite, which it was impossible for Wolf not to feel 
 the expression of; and as he raised his eyes towards 
 her's, his face was crimsoned with a deep blush, while 
 he replied — 
 
 " Your ladyship honours me by an enquiry so kind ; 
 but if truth must be spoken, (and I never yet uttered a 
 falsehood to you,) I have indeed had a sleepless night 
 and a restless pillow; but certainly it is not indisposi- 
 tion to which I can ascribe it, but the suddenness with 
 which I was informed by his Grace of my speedy de- 
 parture for India. We cannot, lady, always put an 
 extinguisher on feelings to which we have so long 
 been naturalized, that they have become mingled 
 with our very existence; we cannot tear kindred 
 branches asunder, without the tree being shook by 
 the separation. The oak of the forest will tremble, 
 though it sustains the storm." 
 
 Agatha, from some internal feeling, immediately 
 averted her head from the dark and piercing eyes 
 which had rested for a moment on her face ; and, after 
 a pause, expressed some little surprise that the Duke, 
 her father, should not have mentioned this intelligence 
 either to her or Lord Montague — " Knowing how 
 happy I and my dear lord would be to hear of an event 
 so prosperous to your future fortune, dear Wolf," said 
 she. " But how soon may it be probable that you 
 depart?" To which Wolf faulteringly replied, and 
 scarcely suppressing a half struggling sigh — 
 
 " In one month hence his Grace informs me that I 
 shall embark. Yes, in one little month, dearest lady 
 I shall bid adieu to friends that — " 
 « 7 3 c 
 
THE FISHER S DAUGHTER. 
 
 H Will never cease to take an interest in your fate," 
 answered Agatha, with her head still averted from his 
 ardent gaze. It was a critical moment for poor Wolf, 
 aione with the being he most idolized on earth, (for 
 the attendant had walked on with the child,) so soon 
 to be separated from her, perhaps not shortly to meet 
 again, perhaps never, and yet not to be able to express 
 Bll the tumults of his beating heart. 
 
 In the meanwhile Agatha, who, it was probable, 
 wanted no interpreter to explain the looks of the de- 
 jected Wolf as he stood yet lingering beside her; and 
 fearful that, if he did so much longer, some observa- 
 tions might ensue of a very painful and disagreeable 
 nature, which she was determined to avoid, both 
 for her own sake and that of Wolf, (for whose unfortu- 
 nate attachment to herself she felt the utmost commis- 
 seration and pity, as it was now evident that he could 
 no longer conceal it, though he had endeavoured to do 
 so by every means in his power,) most heartily re- 
 joiced that a separation was so shortly to take place 
 between them, well knowing the disposition of Lord 
 Montague, and of his former suspicions with respect 
 to the attentions of this young man, which nothing 
 but jealousy alone could have excited, which the 
 very moment that she discovered she became sedu- 
 lously cautious, by not giving the slightest opportunity 
 in all her conversations with his lordship, to induce 
 him once to imagine that Wolf had ever been a greater 
 favourite with her than Alfred ; she never dwelt on his 
 praises, or extolled him more highly when their tutors 
 were commending any of their performances j and by 
 this prudent method prevented any further impression 
 
the fisher's daughter. 387 
 
 being made on the mind of her husband by the demon 
 who had formerly possessed him. Here, however, 
 was a severe trial for her feelings, for she could not 
 disguise the favourite sentiments she felt for this noble, 
 amiable, and ingenuous young man, or bid him fare- 
 well, without deep regret and a powerful interest in 
 his fate; and she could impart these thoughts to none 
 but her beloved Jessy, which she did on the following 
 morning after the intimation she had received of Wolf's 
 departure, for she had never once mentioned it to Lord 
 Montague, nor his lordship to her; neither had the 
 Duke been at all communicative on the subject; he 
 merely said that VVolf was going, but did not say 
 when, or in what manner he had obtained his appoint- 
 ment. 
 
 In the course of her morning's visit to Mrs. Russel, 
 she, however, slightly glanced at the subject, carelessly 
 enquiring if Wolf had told her how shortly he was 
 going to leave them? To which Jessy, much surprised: 
 at the abruptness of the question, replied — 
 
 " No, 1 have never heard him once mention it, al- 
 though he has been frequently here lately. How 
 shortly, may I ask, does Wolf embark for India?" 
 
 " In one month hence, as I understand," answered 
 Agatha. 
 
 " I am excessively rejoiced to hear it, are not you, 
 my dear Agatha?" cried Jessy. 
 
 But there was an interval of some moments before 
 her ladyship replied, and then her manner was some- 
 what marked with hesitation, because she felt afraid of 
 saying too much on the subject, and therefore scarcely 
 
388 tub fisher's daughter. 
 
 said any thing at all, to the utter astonishment of Jessy, 
 who not being bound by the same restrictions as her 
 lovely friend, without disguise launched forth into the 
 tvarmest praises on the perfections of Wolf, hoping 
 that in all his wanderings in a foreign clime, success 
 and the most prosperous good fortune might attend 
 him. " For I am sure that he merits the good opinion 
 of all his admirers here," added Jessy; " he is without 
 exception one of the most noble fine spirited youths I 
 ever knew, and he is so clever, yet without being vain 
 of talents which so rarely fall to the lot of other young 
 men at his age." 
 
 " You do not overrate his good qualities, most cer- 
 tainly, my dear Jessy," uttered Agatha, after a very 
 thoughtful pause ; " but genuine talent is never assum- 
 ing, for the consciousness of its own worth sets it above 
 the paltry consideration of vanity; it will always shine, 
 even in obscurity, and reflects back lustre on itself, in 
 spite of the envious sneers that would crush it to the 
 dust, or glory in its downfall. But while talking of 
 Wolf, we must not forget Alfred ; he is equally as 
 amiable, though he is not gifted with so great a versa- 
 tility of talent." 
 
 Jessy acknowledged that he was so, and most hear- 
 tily concurred in the favourable opinion of her friend. 
 
 ei He will shine in the pulpit, do you not think so?" 
 cried Jessy. To which Agatha replied — 
 
 ct Yes, when he arrives at that preferment, there is 
 no doubt to be entertained but he will be both an ac- 
 quisition and an ornament to so sacred a calling; he is 
 of so mild and gentle disposition, and his manners and 
 
iiiK fisher's daughter. 3fcjy 
 
 deportment are full of sweetness and urbanity. None 
 else should methinks become representatives of the 
 church." 
 
 Jessy perfectly assented to this remark of her lovely 
 friend, whom she thought uncommonly grave, and out 
 of her usual quiet temperature of spirits, but she deli- 
 cately forbore to make the slightest comment that 
 would appear prying or inquisitive; and soon after, 
 the subject of Wolf and Alfred was changed, to talk 
 of the approaching nuptials, which were now so 
 speedily to take place between Lord Winstone and 
 the Lady Lavinia Montault, which were to be cele- 
 brated in the most splendid and magnificent manner 
 at the Castle of Montault, with every appendage and 
 ceremony that was due to their exalted rank. No- 
 thing was talked of in the town of Cromer, but the 
 preparations which were making for this so long ex- 
 pected and important day, at which Lord and Lady 
 Montague Montault were of course to be present, his 
 Grace the Duke of Braganza having faithfully promised 
 to give the youthful bride away. A most sumptuous 
 dinner was prepared for the bridal party, which on 
 the morning that Agatha visited Jessy, wanted but 
 another day for the consummation of the happy nup- 
 tials. 
 
 " I should scarce remember ever having beheld Lord 
 Winstone, but for one particular circumstance," utter- 
 ed Jessy, " and that is, because my poor sister Olive 
 was with us on the evening that we encountered both 
 him and Sir George Clevland on horseback, as we were 
 returning from my cousin Margarette Craftly's. Do 
 you remember how indecorously both these gentlemen 
 
390 the fisher's daughter. 
 
 behaved, and that your influence alone prevailed in 
 making them desist from the bold familiar manner in 
 which they addressed us ? How I trembled, and how 
 Olive laughed ! yet you made them sensible of the im- 
 propriety of their conduct, and both gentlemen made 
 an ample apology, and quietly left us to pursue our 
 way ; but for this circumstance I certainly should never 
 have recollected Lord Winstone or his fashionable 
 companion, for you know, my dear Agatha, we lived so 
 retired at the residence of my father at Herring Dale, 
 that he would never permit us to go beyond it, and our 
 station was too humble to attract the attention of such 
 elevated personages as Lord Winstone and Sir George 
 Clevland, whose manners I thought extremely disgust- 
 ing, because they actually seemed to take delight in 
 staring humble modesty out of countenance." 
 
 To which Agatha, half smiling at the sweet simpli- 
 city of her gentle friend, replied — 
 
 " Yes, my dear, it has become a species of amuse- 
 ment, of which young noblemen of the present fashion- 
 able day are extremely partial. Lord Winstone, how- 
 ever, must be considered an exception to the general 
 rule, and when not under the influence of the god of 
 wine, conducts himself towards the female sex in a 
 manner which reflects honour both on his heart and 
 his understanding. He is excessively attacked to Lady 
 Lavinia, and will no doubt make her ladyship an excel- 
 lent husband. 1 ' 
 
 Some caresses were now lavishly bestowed on little 
 Matilda, who gave every promise of being a healthy and 
 thriving child, with such uncommon loveliness, that 
 Agatha could not help again remarking her extraor- 
 
THE FISHERS DAUGHTER. ofll 
 
 dinary likeness to her unfortunate aunt, Miss Biust, 
 although the softness of expression was that of her 
 mother's gentle kind ; and Agatha again stooping 
 forward to kiss the beauteous little creature, ex- 
 claimed — 
 
 " Well, positively Jessy, the Fisher's Daughter will 
 he a paragon of beauty ; every day, every hour, she 
 grows more sweetly interesting; what a chaining play- 
 mate she will make for my little Orlando by and bye ; 
 almost of an age, and equally good humoured and 
 playful, they will delight in each other's company, and 
 thus cement a more lasting friendship, when they ar- 
 rive at a more ripened season of their lives." Agatha 
 uttered this smilingly, and certainly with no particu- 
 lar meaning attached to it; but she coloured deeply 
 on recollection that it was the most highly improper 
 one she could think of addressing to Jessy, and one 
 that if Lord Montague had listened to, would have 
 excited his severest reprehension, for it was morally 
 impossible to imagine that however lovely or passion- 
 ately attached she might be to the mother of the child, 
 that his lordship had formed views for his son of quite 
 so humble a nature, as to seek a matrimonial alliance 
 with a Fisher's Daughter, or that the proud, haughty, 
 and rebellious spirit of the Marchioness of Montault 
 would ever acknowledge her grandson, should his 
 heart ever yield to an attachment below his high birth 
 and splendid riches. 
 
 Agatha therefore blushed deeply as Jessy fixed her 
 eyes upon her expressive features as she addressed to 
 her this incautious speech, and a painful sensation 
 alternately took possession of them for a few moments, 
 
o92 the usher's daughtkr. 
 
 without either being able to impart to the other the 
 nature of therr feelings. 
 
 At length Agatha, pressing her friend's hand with 
 the most affectionate fervour, exclaimed — 
 
 " I was wrong Jessy, in what I just now uttered 
 highly blamcable ; I have no right to predict in such 
 an instance, and still less right to be forming connec- 
 tions, even though only in embryo, for your infant 
 daughter, and the son of Lord Montague Montault; 
 not but what I — " Agatha stopped, and Jessy ex- 
 claimed — 
 
 " Hold, Lady Agatha, and do not forget the immea- 
 surable distance there would be between a daughter of 
 mine and a son of your ladyship's ; for heaven's sake 
 repress such a thought, for Lord Montague's sake and 
 your own ; and believe not that I am so presumptu- 
 ously vain, as to raise hopes so fallacious, or expecta- 
 tions so visionary for my child, who, if it pleases Pro- 
 vidence that she should arrive at womanhood, will be 
 taught to know her station better, than to encourage 
 hopes which never can be realized. No, dearest Aga- 
 tha, Matilda and Lord Orlando must never meet, or be 
 thrown into each others way promiscuously. My child 
 must never be the victim of disappointed passion and 
 misplaced attachment of the heart ; from such a fate 
 avert my darling girl." 
 
 " Come, Jessy, you are now growing too serious on 
 a subject on which I was only jesting," cried Agatha; 
 " I was only thinking of the two little creatures as 
 likely to become playmates, not lovers." 
 
 " But it would be no jest, if it were to prove other- 
 wise at a more ripened age," uttered Jessy, her lovely 
 
the fisher's daughter. 393 
 
 complexion paling at the bare apprehension of such a 
 thought. " Agatha, dear Agatha ! never mention this 
 subject again so lightly, I beseech you. There is ter- 
 ror in the very sound of ill requited love, and apostasy 
 of lover's vows ; you know there is, and you also know 
 how deeply my heart has bled for it. The name of my 
 cousin daftly is still remembered in the memory of 
 her he so treacherously deceived, and makes a mother 
 tremble for her child." 
 
 " Dearest Jessy, pray forgive me if I have, uninten- 
 tionally heaven knows, wounded your feelings," ex- 
 claimed Agatha, most affectionately embracing Jessy 
 as she was about to depart. " J meant not to recall 
 such painful recollections to your mind, but a mere 
 badinage on our two little moppets, who are yet too 
 young to incur the danger you apprehend so seriously. 
 It will be time enough to talk of these fears, and 
 cherish these thoughts some ten years hence, but now 
 it is really very silly of you, dearest Jessy." 
 
 Jessy pressed the lovely hand that was extended to- 
 wards her in silence, and quickly recovering her self- 
 possession, kindly bade her adieu, Agatha promising her 
 that she would call on her again the day after the wed- 
 ding. " For I have a commission of some moment to 
 entrust you with a charge of, Jessy; you only can dis- 
 charge that faithfully to the wishes of your friend. 
 Adieu ma chere amie V 
 
 On her return home, to her utter surprise she be- 
 held Wolf in earnest conversation with Lord Monta 
 gue and her father, the latter of whom held a volume 
 in his hand of a young author, the composition of whose 
 works he was discanting on with great force and energy 
 
 b\7 3 o 
 
394 thk fisher's daughter. 
 
 He had died in the full bloom of youth, and before his 
 lively and animated genius was half expanded. 
 
 " I do not altogether admire his works," uttered his 
 Grace, " although Wolf you seem to have quoted him 
 as an example of sublime poetry, of which he never 
 possessed a particle." 
 
 " I pray your Grace to pardon me," uttered Wolf. 
 "You cannot for a moment imagine that I should pre- 
 sumptuously wage war with your Grace's opinion on 
 that subject ; I only speak of the poem which so par- 
 ticularly attracted my attention, as being figuratively 
 poetical ; a meed which envy would hardly deny to 
 the lamented son of genius, and that is, your Grace, 
 the poem which comes under the title of the Ring, or 
 more properly speaking, The Wedding Day." 
 
 " Ah !" cried his Grace ; " the wedding day ! egad 
 it is a case in point, for to-morrow is the wedding day 
 of an object in whom we shall all take the most lively 
 interest. Suppose you read that poem to us while 
 Montague and I are drinking our wine, after which I 
 will give you my opinion on the style of composition, 
 which is so avowedly the theme of your admiration. 
 
 Wolf took the volume presented to him by the hand 
 of his patron, and bowing respectfully, in a clear and 
 melodious voice, read aloud the following, entitled The 
 Ring, from the muse of his favourite bard, to which 
 his Grace and Lord Montague listened with profound 
 attention. 
 
thk fisher's daughter. 395 
 
 T7te Sing, or Wedding Day. 
 
 The happy day at length arrived 
 
 When Rupert was to wed 
 The fairest maid in Saxony, 
 
 And take ber to his bed. 
 
 As soon as morn was in the sky, 
 
 The feasts and sports began, 
 The men admired the happy maid, 
 
 The maids the happy man. 
 
 Tu many a sweet device of mirth, 
 
 The day was pass'd along, 
 And some the featly dance amused, 
 
 And some the dulcet song. 
 
 The younger maids with Isabel 
 
 Disported through the bowers, 
 And deck'd her robe, and crowu'd her head. 
 
 With motley bridal flowers 
 
 The matrons all in rich attire, 
 
 Within the castle walls, 
 Sat listening to the choral strains 
 
 That echoed through the halls. 
 
 Young Rupert and his friends appear'd, 
 
 And nothing could he find, 
 But to the castle did return 
 
 With sore bewilder'd mind. 
 
 Within he found them all in mirth, 
 
 The night in dancing flew ; 
 The youth another ring procured, 
 
 And none the adventure knew. 
 
 And now the priest has joio'd their baud* 
 
 The hours of love advance, 
 Rupert almost forgets to think 
 
 Upon the mom's mischance. 
 
396 THB FISHERS DAUGHTER, 
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 •• If I am traduced by tongues, 
 
 Which neither know my faculties or power, 
 
 Yet will be the chronicle of my undoing, 
 
 Let me say, 'tis but the fate of place, 
 
 And the rough brake 
 
 That virtue must go through." Shakespeare. 
 
 A light step and a gentle rap at the door of the 
 apartment announced a visitor to the reading party, 
 who, however, received an agreeable interruption, by 
 the unexpected entrance of the Lady Agatha, whose 
 lovely presence rose-tinted the cheeks of poor Wolf, 
 and, most unfortunately for him, he betrayed an agi- 
 tation which he would have found it difficult to conceal 
 from the observation of Lord Montague, if his Grace 
 had not bid him postpone the reading of the poem to 
 some future opportunity ; for his voice, which but a mo- 
 ment before was firm and energetic, would inevitably 
 have altered the tenor for which it was remarkable, from 
 the faultering manner in which he replied to Lady 
 Agatha's " How d'ye do, Wolf?" with— 
 
 " I hope I have the honour of seeing your ladyship 
 well." 
 
 " I fear, my dear, Montague, I have interrupted 
 
thk fishrr's DAUGHTER. 39/ 
 
 business," uttered Agatha, after having answered the 
 enquiry of Wolf, in a tone of peculiar kindness. 
 " Wolf was reading, when I came in, something inter- 
 esting, 1 presume; pray do not let him discontinue it 
 on my account, for I must positively vanish in less 
 than ten minutes, to fulfil a very particular engagement 
 I have made without your permission, my dear lord. It 
 is now exactly six, and I have ordered the carriage pre- 
 ciselyat seven; I have therefore onlyjust time to dress." 
 
 " But may I enquire where your ladyship is going?" 
 cried Lord Montague, and smiled, perceiving that she 
 was only having a little badinage with him ; " if I 
 may be allowed to adopt so unfashionable a habit, as 
 to make an enquiry so contrary to the etiquette of the 
 modern man and wife, in order that I may join your 
 party some time in the evening, and conduct you safe 
 home again." 
 
 To which Agatha, with an air of the most fascinating 
 sweetness, and directing an arch look towards his 
 Grace, replied — 
 
 " I believe his Grace can inform you, my lord, of 
 the particular nature of my engagement this evening, 
 for he was present when it was made, and is, if I mis- 
 take not, one of the invited guests on the occasion." 
 
 "Indeed!" cried Lord Montague, highly pleased 
 with this intelligence ; " I have then some idea of 
 where you are going, my love, and shall enquire no 
 further." 
 
 " Yes, you will certainly hear of me at the Castle of 
 Montault," cried Agatha, as she arose to quit the 
 apartment to retire to her dressing room, where her 
 attendant Beda was already waiting for her; and she 
 
398 the fisher's daughter. 
 
 enquired what her lovely mistress intended to wear for 
 the evening party at the Marchioness's. 
 
 " Which, I dare say will be excessively crowded, 
 your ladyship," cried Beda, " because it is the last 
 time that Lady Lavinia will appear in public before she 
 is married to Lord Winstone, they do say. Well, I 
 wish them happy ; every body should be happy when 
 they marry, should'nt they, my lady ?" 
 
 " Yes, and after they marry too, Beda, or they had 
 better never marry at all," uttered Agatha, whose fond- 
 ness for her little merry waiting maid in the ruins of 
 the Old Abbey had never been diminished, since she 
 had taken her under her own protection ; and although 
 greatly improved in the prettiness of her person, man- 
 ners, and conversation, the genuine simplicity of Beda's 
 character still remained. What she thought she gene- 
 rally uttered in the same moment, and with the same in- 
 nocence and purity of heart, and that heart was faith- 
 fully attached to her lovely mistress, who certainly in- 
 dulged Beda with a privilege which none but Claribelle 
 had ever enjoyed, that of being always near her person, 
 and holding unreserved conversation with her. Agatha 
 looked on the daughter of Michello as a child of nature, 
 simplicity, and feelmg, and as she grew more ripened 
 in years, and mature in judgment, she became more at- 
 tached to her little favourite than ever, who being in a 
 talkative mood, while she assisted at the toilet of her 
 mistress, continued to make her remarks and observa- 
 tions just as she thought proper, without receiving the 
 slightest check from her beautiful auditor. 
 
 \h ! you are right my dear lady," exclaimed she; 
 
 it is a great pity for people to marry that don't love 
 
THE fisher's daughter. 399 
 
 one another, and I will never many where my hand 
 and my heart does not go into ihc bargain ; but some- 
 times, my lady, the heart goes first, and the hand won't 
 follow it." 
 
 Beda both blushed and sighed deeply as she made 
 this remark, and Agatha, somewhat surprised at the 
 confusion she exhibited, immediately replied — 
 
 " Yes, when affections are improperly bestowed, im- 
 pediments are very justly thrown in the way, to frus- 
 trate designs that may neither be strictly honourable, 
 or strictly creditable to the feelings ; but we will con- 
 verse on this subject, Beda, when you are some years 
 older; you are at present too young to talk about en- 
 gagements of the heart or the hand. My dear child 
 they will come fast enough, and with them cares innu- 
 merable." 
 
 The roseate colour which always bloomed on the 
 face of Beda had gradually paled to the conclusion of 
 Agatha's speech, and a tremulous agitation possessed 
 her whole frame ; tears started to her eyes, and her 
 lovely mistress, deeply concerned at such unusual 
 symptoms, exclaimed — 
 
 " For heaven's sake, wherefore this agitation, my 
 dear girl ? What is the cause of it, tell me truly?" 
 
 " First tell me, dear lady, whether it be a crime to 
 love one that don't love you again, and never may ?" 
 uttered Beda, in the most confused accents. 
 
 " It is a great misfortune," answered Agatha, "but 
 it depends upon the peculiarity of circumstances to call 
 it a crime j but 1 must insist upon you, Beda, to explain 
 yourself more explicitly." 
 
 " And so I will, dear lady, if you will not chide poor 
 
400 the fisher's daughter. 
 
 Beda for her folly. But no, you will not, when you 
 know the truth of it; you are so kind and so gentle, 
 that I do not fear to tell you, lady." 
 
 " Folly ?" uttered Agatha, now altering both her 
 countenance and her manner towards her; and in a 
 voice of severe reprehension. " And do you then un- 
 blushingly own that you have been guilty of folly, and 
 imagine that you are to escape from my severity 
 Beda? You are under a mistake if you suppose that 
 I am quite so pliant to your faults. Come, dry 
 those tears, which will have no avail, if you do no 
 instantly give me a very proper and conclusive expla- 
 nation of the cause of your present agitation ; when I 
 know that, 1 shall be able to know whether you deserve 
 my seventy or not." 
 
 Poor Beda, wholly unprepared for this change in her 
 lovely mistress, from whom she had never experienced 
 but the most gentle treatment, could scarcely sob out her 
 little short detail of the secret which had burned so long 
 in her youthful bosom, which was interrupted with many 
 sighs and tears, and proved nothing more nor less 
 than a confession of a strong attachment for the young 
 Wolf, which she protested he was a total stranger to, 
 never having spoken familiarly to him since he was in 
 the ruins of the Old Abbey ; and that she had tried all 
 manner of means to prevent the ascendancy he held 
 over her heart, but all her efforts had proved ineffec 
 tual, insomuch that when she heard from Mr. Law- 
 rence, as she did last night, that Mr. Wolf was going 
 to take his departure for India, she had wept all 
 night at the thoughts of it, in the fear that she migh: 
 never behold him a^ain. 
 
THE FISHERS daughter. 401 
 
 " And this is all I have got to tell you, my lady, about 
 
 »iy conduct; and indeed it is all true, that love comes 
 
 Hid goes whenever it pleases, and will not stay to be 
 
 asked. Indeed, indeed, I cojld not help loving Mr. 
 
 Wolf, but I am very sure he don't love me." 
 
 There was a sort of expression in the look which 
 Beda now directed towards her beauteous lady, that, 
 without her being conscious of it, spread a crimson 
 hue over her face and bosom, the nature of which Aga- 
 tha could not herself have defined, even if she had been 
 asked the question. But .this had nothing to do with 
 Beda's artless and ingenuous confession of her passion 
 for Wolf, which, though it required an immediate check 
 and gentle remonstrance, yet was neither criminal or im- 
 prudent ; as it was by no means an unnatural or impro- 
 bable circumstance, that so handsome a young man as 
 Wolf unquestionably was, should have attracted the 
 attention, and even excited the admiration of such a 
 girl as Beda, who, viewing him in the humble situation 
 in which he then appeared, imagined that his quality 
 and his birth were no more exalted than her own. 
 
 It was therefore not very unlikely that Beda did not 
 Relieve he was superior to her in any one respect, or that 
 it was imprudent to own that she entertained a parti- 
 ality to the young wandering stranger, whom she con- 
 sidered only as a vassal in the establishment of her 
 illustrious master ; and she frequently wondered that 
 he kept himself so much aloof from forming any inti- 
 macy with the higher order of the domestics in Lord 
 Montague's noble mansion, whose authority was far 
 greater than his had ever been. But Wolf had too 
 much pride to form any such connections; and though 
 
 c 17 3 E 
 
402 thb fisher's daughter. 
 
 beheld by all the females with a too partial eje of 
 favonr, he sedulously avoided any attentions from them 
 which at all approached to familiarity, and conse- 
 quently forced from them that respect which was due 
 to the rank of a superior. Alfred had preserved the 
 same system of conduct, and it was probable that Al- 
 fred knew that he was so, and therefore they never at- 
 tempted at taking the slightest liberties with him, 
 more than what good manners allowed. 
 
 Unconscious, however, of the passion which he had 
 inspired in the breast of the youthful Beda, who was 
 really a very pretty and attractive female, Wolf relaxed 
 much from his haughty demeanour whenever chance or 
 opportunity threw her in his way ; but the favour she 
 gained in his eyes was only because he knew her to be 
 a favourite of the Lady Agatha's ; and the scenes to 
 which she had been familiar in the Old Abbey, made 
 him, under every severity he had suffered there, con- 
 verse with her more unreservedly than with the rest of 
 the female establishment. It is true that Wolf had 
 often seen Beda blush, and heard Beda sigh, but not a 
 whisper of vanity suggested to him that either the 
 blush or the sigh were expressed for him ; in short, he 
 would proudly have repelled such a thought, had any 
 one presumed to have laid it to his account ; for he 
 was so utterly involved in one passion alone that form- 
 ed the light of his existence, that he would have been 
 cold to the charms of a Venus de Medicis, had they so 
 been offered for his acceptance. 
 
 Love, however, they say, has eyes when all other 
 eyes are shut, and they are those of the watchful lynx; 
 and Beda was not blind, she had seen Wolf's colour 
 
thk fisher's daughter. 4U3 
 
 change alternately from red to pale, at the very men- 
 tion of the Lady Agatha, and that in her presence he 
 always wore an air of embarrassment, though of admi- 
 ration, very difficult to be held within bounds. His 
 uncommon, nay almost idolizing fondness for the 
 young Orlando, that was the very image of its beau- 
 teous mother, also made the little alert Beda ever 
 watchful, while she in her bosom cherished a passion 
 so strong and ardent for an object so perfectly uncon- 
 scious of the flame with which that bosom burned, and 
 whose advances towards her were so utterly cold and 
 indifferent. But poor Beda never revealed to mortal 
 what were her secret thoughts, or her secret passion 
 for young Wolf, till she was convinced that that 
 passion was completely hopeless ; for Beda was no 
 longer a stranger to where her idol would have paid 
 his vows, had he dared, or had he been permitted to 
 have bowed at her shrine. It was the daughter of 
 Braganza, her young and lovely mistress, who had first 
 taught his heart to love, and he could not hide it in 
 spite of the firmest resolution he could adopt. For one 
 morning soon after the recent confinement of the Lady 
 Agatha, she was suddenly seized with faintness in the 
 nursery, with her beauteous babe on her lap, when 
 no other witnesses were present but Beda and Wolf, 
 (the attendant nurse having just quitted the apartment 
 on some domestic occupation,) when young Wolf sprang 
 forward to her assistance, snatched the infant from her 
 feeble grasp, and resigning it to the care of Beda, bore 
 his beauteous burthen into the open air, sprinkled wa- 
 ter on her face, and by every other restorative, very 
 soon had the satisfaction of seeing her raised to a state 
 
404 the fisher's daughtkr. 
 
 of sensibility, betraying such emotions, that no art 
 could conceal what anxiety he had endured during 
 the interval of her so sudden indisposition. Not that a 
 sentence had escaped the lips of Wolf to express that 
 anxiety ; he was profoundly silent, while in his arms 
 he bore the lovely form of the Lady Agatha; but his 
 looks conveyed whole volumes which he dared not 
 give utterance to. Beda had not quitted the chamber, 
 and from this incident, marked with some others, she 
 soon guessed at the idol of young Wolf's secret adora- 
 tion ; it was the transcendant charms of her beauteous 
 lady that had inspired the heart of Wolf with love as 
 hopeless as unconquerable ; but never to mortal ear 
 had Beda whispered that such was her conjecture, and 
 it was probable that on her own part she would never 
 have told her love, *i 
 
 " But let concealment, like a worm in the bud, 
 Feed on her damask cheek," 
 
 if the thoughts of never more beholding the object of 
 her affections had not wrung the confession from her 
 panting heart. 
 
 But what the sensations of the Lady Agatha were on 
 the disclosure of that passion from the lips of the art- 
 less girl, it was hardly possible to define, as her beau- 
 tiful countenance underwent many variations, both of 
 colour and of expression, while she told her plain un- 
 varnished tale to the confiding ear of her gentle mis- 
 tress, who, however, after an interval of silence for 
 some moments, thus calmly and collectedly addressed 
 the trembling girl, who was almost sinking with shame 
 and confusion at her feet. 
 
1MB PISH Bit's DAUGHTER. 405 
 
 " Rise Bcda, and endeavour to compose yourself! 
 / desire you to listen to me in that manner wnicn 
 it is your duty to do to your protectress, and which i. 
 being your protectress, feel it my duty to require of 
 you : for the affections of the heart, as far as they are 
 consistent with female delicacy and virtue, I admit 
 every reasonable plea, for they are involuntary, and few 
 arc possessed of sufficient fortitude to withstand a 
 temptation so formidable, or resist a weakness so as- 
 sailing to youthful and inexperienced minds. Your 
 confession is ingenuous, but that is the only part of it 
 that I can view in a favourable light, or tolerate with 
 propriety ; for you have shewn a preference for an ob- 
 ject who is by no means your equal, although you may 
 consider him so, and who having shewn none <o you, 
 ought to have made you keep at a modest and retiring 
 distance, and not yield 10 sensations, which at your 
 age are highly improper, and for your situation highly 
 presuming. The expectations of Wolf, united to the 
 education he has received, gives him a title to rank 
 with gentlemen, and not with my domestics ; and it is 
 extremely arrogant for a young girl in your humble 
 situation to suppose that he is to select you for the ob- 
 ject of his particular attentions; if he did so without 
 the knowledge of his patron or Lord Montague, he 
 would have fallen under their severe displeasure, and 
 you, Ucda, under mine. I beg therefore you will learn 
 a more proper sense of decency and propriety, than 
 thus openly to express such violent attachments for 
 young men who profess none towards you, and who 
 would treat you with the most contemptuous scorn, 
 wcic they to imagine that your affections were to be 
 
4(X5 the fisher's daughter. 
 
 ho easily obtained. Women, Beda, are not to seek, 
 but to be sought j they are not to pursue, but to be 
 pursued, as they are worthy of pursuit ; bear this al- 
 ways in mind, and when you are older, you will know 
 better than to give your heart away to one who is in- 
 sensible of the gift. Wolf will depart for India shortly; 
 in the meantime you must think no more of him than 
 as one far above your station ; and remember that I will 
 not repeat this command, I expect to be obeyed with- 
 out a murmur from your lips, or a comment being 
 made on the severity your folly has extorted from me. 
 No tears ! shed them in silence and contrition, and re- 
 tire and reflect on the admonition I have given youj at 
 a future time you will thank me for it." 
 
 Beda was heartily glad of leaving the presence of 
 her offended lady in silence, and in obedience to 
 her command, determined that she would never fall in 
 love with any young man again, if it was to cost her 
 existence. 
 
 In the meanwhile Agatha chastised herself for being 
 so severe to her little favourite, for a failing so natural 
 at her youthful age, and what so many older, and even 
 wiser heads than Beda's could scarcely have resisted. 
 She resolved, however, ever after this discovery to have 
 a vigilant eye over her conduct, in order that she might 
 form no imprudent connection, without her being fully 
 aware of who the object was ; for the father of this 
 , she reflected, was an Italian, and that Italian was 
 Paulo Michello ; some of his propensities of disposition 
 might be hereditary in his daughter, and if so, now was 
 Jhe time to turn the current to another source. But 
 how highly did she think of Wolf ! 1 f vanity he had not, 
 
the fisher's daughter. 407 
 
 he had certainly discernment, and he must have per- 
 ceived the impression he had made on the heart of the 
 youthful Beda; yet he prudently avoided all familiarity 
 with so seducing an object, even when she courted his 
 attention. 
 
 More grave than usual, after having snatched a kiss 
 of her beauteous boy, Agatha, elegantly but simply at- 
 tired, joined her father and husband in the drawing 
 room, and from thence, escorted by his Grace, she de- 
 scended to her carriage, which instantly proceeded to 
 the Castle of Montault, Lord Montague having pro- 
 mised to join her there in the course of the evening. 
 
 The Marquis met his august brother and his lovely 
 daughter-in-law at the grand entrance, and led her in 
 triumph to the rooms, which were most brilliantly at- 
 tended by a numerous and elegant assemblage of fa- 
 shionable guests. The heat was intense, notwith- 
 standing a beautiful veranda that was laid open with 
 the most fragrant and odoriferous flowers of the 
 choicest collection. 
 
 " How divinely handsome Lady Montault looks to- 
 night," uttered a fashionable Baronet, in a whisper to 
 his companion. In answer to which he replied — 
 
 " Yes, and what is really wonderful, she is without 
 her Cerberus to guard her. He is cursedly jealous of 
 his pretty wife ; have you heard that, Balfour ?" 
 
 " And a cursed fool into the bargain," cried Balfour, 
 " to imagine that no man will dare to feast his eyes on 
 her besides himself. For my part I am of opinion that 
 every pretty woman is fair game, and it is robbing her 
 of her prerogative not to stare her out of countenance." 
 
 " So I think, my boy, and would instantly adopf 
 
408 the fisher's DAUGHTER. 
 
 your persuasion," uttered he, " if there was not an 
 old dragon sitting beside her. Egad, there's no Hes- 
 perian fruit to be tasted there, without paying too 
 dearly by the tax that is imposed on it." 
 
 A loud unmeaning laugh from Sir Harry, assented 
 to his friend's remark, without either of them having 
 the temerity to approach the lovely magnet, whose 
 superior beauty and graceful modesty had attracted al. 
 eyes towards her. 
 
 Both the Marchioness and Lady Lavinia were under 
 the influence of the most exhilarating spirits, and both 
 exhibited the most splendid attire, with a profusion of 
 diamonds, none of which could, with all their dazzling 
 brightness, rival those unrivalled charms in their young 
 and lovely relative, who was the theme and admiration 
 of every tongue, and the delight of every eye. 
 
 Lord Winstone too, frequently caught himself in the 
 act of directing his eyes to where the lovely wife of 
 Lord Montague sat, which was between his Grace and 
 the Marquis of Montault, with whom she was convers- 
 ing so earnestly, that she did not perceive that she had 
 excited the attention of almost all present, save alone 
 the Marchioness, and her daughter, who was so envious 
 of the superior loveliness of her sister-in-law, and the 
 frequent glances of Lord Winstone, that she betrayed 
 no small show of vexation, and several times answered 
 him with petulant warmth. 
 
 " I have addressed you three times, my lord," utter- 
 ed she, reddening like scarlet ; " but you are really so 
 employed in observing the party opposite to you, that 
 you have no ears or eyes for any body else," 
 
 The accusation of h-Sf ladyship was certainly not 
 
the fisher's DAUGHTER, 409 
 
 without some truth, and crimsoned the cheek of Lord 
 Winstone with a sense of confusion he could not con- 
 ceal. To appease his little offended beauty, therefore, 
 lie whispered with an air of the most insinuating - soft- 
 ness, well calculated to disperse the dark cloud that 
 had been for some time gathering on her brow— 
 
 " And will my adored Lavinia accuse me of inatten 
 tion towards her, when like a stationary planet I am 
 always beside her? I was certainly looking at the op- 
 posite party, but not at the object to whom your allu- 
 sion points. It was not Lady Montault that so particu- 
 larly attracted my attention, but a remarkable splendid 
 snuff-Dox which his Grace the Duke of Braganza has 
 been exhibiting this half hour; and to convince my 
 Lavinia how unwilling I was to abandon the station I 
 hold, 1 would not resign it even for a moment, to go 
 over to your uncle to examine his curious box. Are 
 you satisfied now, my angel ?" 
 
 VVho would not have been satisfied with such an 
 epithet from the lips of the man she adored ? And a 
 smile of reconciliation again played on the roseate lips 
 of Lady Lavinia, to the inexpressible delight of Lord 
 Winstone, who certainly had not the slightest inten- 
 tion of offending her, or becoming an apostate to the 
 shrine at which be was paying his vows, and was so 
 shortly to call his own. 
 
 But was his lordship ingenuous in the way he had 
 accounted for his truant looks ? Not perfectly so, we 
 believe, but Lady Lavinia thought so, and that was 
 sufficient; and in spite of her reluctance to quit the 
 side of her lover, good manners and etiquette obliged 
 her to pay some respect to the daughter of Braganza, 
 
 a 18 J 6 F 
 
410 the fisher's daughter; 
 
 and her lugust uncle; therefore approaching Agatha 
 with a smiling air, she exclaimed — 
 
 " My love, are you a widow bewitched to-night, or 
 a deserted wife, that Montague is not with you ?" 
 
 " In neither of those characters, thank heaven !" 
 cried Agatha, in a tone of gravity which reddened the 
 cheek of her fashionable sister-in-law. " Your brother 
 had an engagement with the surveyor of one of his es- 
 tates so indispensably necessary, that he could not at- 
 tend me hither, but 1 expect him to join us in the 
 course of the evening." 
 
 " But, my dear creature, how do you like my dia- 
 monds ? are they not prodigiously beautiful?" ex- 
 claimed her ladyship, perceiving that Agatha had paid 
 no attention to them. "A gift of Winstone's, I assure 
 you. How generous! is'nt he?" To which Agatha 
 replied, half smiling. 
 
 " If he is not generous now, when do you expect 
 him to be? They are very splendid, but I would have 
 preferred exhibiting them on a certain occasion, my 
 dear Lavinia." 
 
 (C Lord, my dear, I had no patience; I was abso- 
 lutely dying to wear them long ago, if mamma would 
 have permitted me ; but I coaxed her to night, because 
 I knew what envy they would excite in all the old 
 tabbies, who have so many daughters to whom they 
 cannot give such splendid gifts. Twig the old Dowa- 
 ger, how maliciously she eyes me, with that frump of 
 a niece of her's, the daughter of a Scotch baronet, who 
 nas brought all her fortune to town with her ii a white 
 pocket handkerchief; and is so excessively proud of 
 her high descent from the clan of the Macgreggors. and 
 
the fisher's daughter. 411 
 
 the Campbells, and the Glenburnies, and the Allans, 
 and the Ramseys, and half a dozen more Macs and 
 Glens besides, that she imagines, with her carroty 
 locks, goggle eyes, and high cheek bones, she is to 
 exhibit a coronet, by making a conquest of some of 
 the flower of our English nobility. What arrogance ! 
 but I would advise the old Dowager to take Miss 
 Moggy Macgreggor back to the Scotch mountains- 
 again, till coronets are more plentiful, and young 
 lords more come-at-able than they are at the present 
 season of an overstocked market of such Caledonian 
 exotics." 
 
 Her ladyship at the conclusion of this very delicate 
 and charitable speech laughed so immoderately, that 
 Agatha, who had no inclination either to laugh at, or 
 join her in remarks so excessively illiberal, blushed 
 deeply, in the apprehension that the party on whom 
 she had exercised such unmerciful severity, and who 
 sat with her aunt, the Dowager of Duncannon, at no 
 great distance from them, might have overheard her 
 ladyship; and gently twitching her by the arm, ex- 
 claimed — 
 
 " For heaven's sake, Lady Lavinia, restrain this im- 
 moderate mirth, and do not sport with the feelings of 
 objects, who cannot, if they bear you, help being 
 wounded by your remarks. Surely the want of fortune 
 ought not to draw upon us either contempt or ridicule 
 from those who are wealthy, and who are so frequently 
 unworthy of the blessings that wealth bestows. Be- 
 sides, my dear, they are the guests of your father, and 
 iovited by him to partake of the pleasures of the ban- 
 quet. In this instance, bv offering an insult to their 
 
412 THE FISHER'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 feelings, you are transgressing what ought ever io be 
 held sacred." 
 
 " And what is that, my pretty grave sentimental 
 sister?" demanded her ladyship, in no way affected 
 by the observation ; but to which Agatha sharply re- 
 plied — 
 
 " The rights of hospitality, my love, which neither 
 rank, station, or exalted birth, should ever forget." 
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 •* I bttve no local attachments. , it is indifferent to me whether a man 
 was rocked in his cradle on this or that side the Tweed; I have 
 sought for merit where it was to be found." Lord Chatham. 
 
 Whether the objects on whom Lady Lavinia had 
 so improperly exercised her sarcastic pleasantry had 
 overheard any part of it, or whether they felt themselves 
 pointedly neglected by the fashionable hostess of this 
 superb and elegant mansion, who had never once spok- 
 en to them but on their first entrance to the rooms, 
 cannot be enquired into at the present moment; but it 
 is certain that the amiable Dowager and the lovely 
 Caledonian, Miss Moggy Macgreggor, very suddenly 
 
the fisher's D.V'JGIIIKI,. 413 
 
 disappeared from among the motley group, with evident 
 chagrin and disappointment portrayed in their coun- 
 tenances. 
 
 In the meanwhile the Marchioness had been flying 
 about in all directions, to exhibit the blaze of diamonds 
 she wore in her turban cap, and to talk of the ap- 
 proaching nuptials of her daughter with Lord Win- 
 stone, while actually neglecting to pay her duty to 
 those guests which her husband had invited on this 
 splendid occasion. 
 
 A nod, with a sort of a half forced smile, and a " how 
 d'ye do child ?" was all the conversation that passed 
 between Agatha and her mother-in-law ; but that was 
 quite sufficient, for she never felt so completely dis- 
 gusted as she did this evening, with the manners of this 
 haughty, proud, and suDercillious relation, who thought 
 every body inferior to her, at the same moment that she 
 was lessening herself in the eyes of those very inferiors 
 that she considered so unworthy of her, but who actu- 
 ally considered her unworthy of them. 
 
 It was late before Lord Montague arrived ; he had 
 some conversation on trifling subjects with his mother, 
 and rallied his sister on its being the last time he 
 should address her as Lady Lavinia Montault; after 
 which he stole to the side of his lovely wife, who was 
 conversing with several ladies of distinction around her, 
 and avoiding any particular attentions from the opposite 
 sex with the most retiring and modest diffidence, and 
 who hailed the approach of her husband whh a love- 
 beaming eye, and a smile of the most resistless fasci- 
 nation. 
 
 " I have thought yea so long, my dear lord," uttered 
 
414 THE FISHER S DAUG HTKR. 
 
 Agatha ; but she was not ridiculous enough to pay 
 this compliment to her husband loud enough to be 
 overheard by any other personage there present 5 and 
 Lord Montague responded in the same gentle whisper — 
 
 " And have you indeed, my Agatha, surrounded by 
 this gay and splendid scene, felt so much anxiety for 
 the conversation of your husband ?" 
 
 (i Can you doubt it, when I tell you that I am weary 
 of the scenes which you imagine possess such charms 
 for me, and would much rather prefer your society by 
 our own domestic fire-side at home, than all the gaiety 
 and splendour in the world, deprived of the company 
 of my husband ?" cried Agatha. 
 
 For shame, Lord Montague ! how could you possi- 
 bly thrnk of squeezing the hand of your wife in a room 
 full of company, with all eyes staring at you and her, 
 and probably laughing at you both, for being so un 
 fashionable a married pair S 
 
 However, Lord Montague certainly did squeeze the 
 hand of his wife, in reply to the kind and flattering 
 speech she had addressed to him, in despite of the re- 
 dicule which was attached to it ; and Agatha was heart- 
 ily glad when the hour of departure arrived, and her 
 carriage was called to convey her to her quiet habita- 
 tion at Violet Vale. In a (e\v days from this period, 
 Lady Lavinia gave her hand to Lord Winstone, and be- 
 haved like all brides generally do on such occasions. 
 
 The solemnization of the nuptials was splendid in 
 the extreme, and the liberality of the bridegroom, in 
 dispensing charitable donations to the poor in the 
 neighbourhood of Cromer and the adjacent villages, 
 was the universal theme of praise. 
 
THE FISHrVs DAUGriTRR. 415 
 
 The happy pair, as soon as the ceremony was over, 
 after partaking of a most sumptuous entertainment at 
 the Castle of Montault, retired to his lordship's most 
 elegant seat at Winstone Park, where, drawing the bridal 
 curtains close around them, we shall leave them, and 
 wing our flight to Violet Vale, from which Wolf in a 
 very few days was to take his final departure ; all his 
 necessaries being already embarked, there remained no- 
 thing more than a mandate from the captain to inform 
 his Grace what day the ship sailed. 
 
 Whatever were the internal feelings of Wolf on this 
 occasion, they were manfully and vigorously suppressed 
 in the presence of those objects in whose judgment he 
 did not wish to lessen himself. He was going to a 
 post of honour, and he was to exalt himself by his 
 actions ; they depended on his conduct alone, and he 
 determined to exert every nerve and faculty he posses- 
 sed, to prove worthy of the protection of his august 
 patron. His Grace, on hearing the petition of poor 
 Lawrence not to be separated from his pupil, (which was 
 so urgent, and contained so affecting an appeal to his 
 feelings,) after a few hours consultation with Lord 
 Montague, very nobly and generously acceded to his 
 request ; finding that his affection for this youth was 
 on a basis not easily to be shaken, and that no sinister 
 motive of worldly interest was to be attached to the 
 resolution he had taken in accompanying him to a 
 foreign clime. 
 
 " And pray Lawrence," uttered his Grace, after hav- 
 ing taken into serious consideration the written appli - 
 cation he had made him, " what are your expectations 
 in this affair? Of course thev must be such as to make 
 
4 16 THE FISHER'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 you independent of the young man, for whom you feci 
 such extraordinary and deep interest; for from his 
 means you cannot gather your resources ; he will be 
 provided for himself, but the provision made for him 
 cannot be extended to a second object ; he cannot af- 
 ford to keep you, if you cannot keep yourself, and this 
 is coming to the point at once, in order that you may 
 not deceive yourself hereafter. Wolf has no patri- 
 mony, save that which is given to him ; his fortune 
 must depend on his courage and his sword, and though 
 I do not think they will ever remain inactive in the 
 service of his sovereign and his country, yet a soldier's 
 laurels very seldom yield an abundant harvest, in com- 
 parison to the difficulty with which they have been 
 obtained. They are something like the poet's, scanty 
 enough ; I would have you therefore reflect on this 
 your so sudden resolution, before you accompany him 
 to a far distant clime, for you are to consider, Law- 
 rence, that while time is scattering roses on his youth- 
 ful brow, that it is also scattering snow on yours ; he 
 can contend with danger and with difficulty which you 
 cannot. Moreove-r, he has not the means of offering 
 you an asylum from those difficulties, Lawrence. You 
 have now heard my sentiments on this subject, I shall 
 now be glad to hear your's ; you may speak freely, and 
 without the shadow of an offence to me. I admire 
 your steady affection for this youth ; I do not deter you 
 from following your inclinations, I only wish to apprize 
 you of the difficulties and dangers to which, at your 
 season of life, you will necessarily be exposed, if you 
 have nothing independent of his means to provide for 
 vou." 
 
THE FISHER'S DAUGHTER. 117 
 
 A pause ensued, which certainly was not imme- 
 diately filled up by the tutor, who thought that some 
 part of his Grace's observations were, as far as respected 
 himself, indelicate and severe ; for he was not going to 
 seek a livelihood at his age of a poor unfriended boy, 
 who at best was but a dependant on his Grace's 
 bounty ; he had never once hinted at such a thing in 
 the written application he had made to accompany 
 Wolf on the continent ; and having no self-interest at 
 all connected with the affection he felt for the youth, 
 he was deeply hurt at being suspected of it in the 
 slightest degree whatever j and wishing to exculpate 
 himself in the clearest manner possible from any such 
 imputation, he piaced his hand on his heart, and ad- 
 dressed his Grace in the following explicit, and most 
 unquestionably creditable terms, which reflected the 
 highest honour both to his heart and his under- 
 standing. 
 
 " Your Grace, in the light you now look upon my 
 conduct, with the offer of my services to Mr. Wolf, has 
 not been made with your usual judgment, or, permit 
 me to say, your Grace w T ould never have mistaken me 
 both for a fool and a rogue at the same time." 
 
 41 1 did not take you for either, sir," uttered his Grace, 
 surprised at the extraordinary warmth which had 
 involuntarily spread itself all over his features. " Pray 
 have the goodness to explain yourself; why have I 
 taken you either for a rogue or a fool, tell me 
 why?" To which Lawrence slowly and deliberately 
 answered — 
 
 " Because your Grace is well aware that I should 
 have been a fool to have ventured on a hazardous vov- 
 
 b 18 3g 
 
418 the fisher's daughter. 
 
 age to a far distant country with a young man who 
 had not more than the means of supporting himself, 
 and that I should have been the greatest scoundrel in 
 existence, to have lived meanly on the generosity of his 
 disposition. No, your Grace, I would scorn to do any 
 such thing, when I know myself to be a man of so dif- 
 ferent a persuasion, so different a principle. I love 
 Mr. Wolf for himself alone, and wish to calculate more 
 on his happiness than my own, by taking this voyage 
 with him. I do not impoverish him, or wish to do so, 
 for I have saved a patrimony of my own by honest in- 
 dustry ; it is sufficient for my wants, which content 
 makes temperate, and more perhaps than I may re- 
 quire while a sojourner in this world's earthly space. I 
 am as a plant in the blasted heath, and when it pleases 
 Providence that I should fall to the ground, there is no 
 one to rise from my ashes, or to lament my departure. 
 Never to mortal has my heart yearned so greatly as to 
 this youth, and if I have singled him out among the 
 million for an old man's blessing, let not your Grace 
 call that folly, which seemeth only reason, and that 
 madness, which has been the effect of mature considera- 
 tion. Pardon me, your Grace, if I have spoken my 
 thoughts too freely ; but you bade mc speak freely, 
 and I scorn to utter falsehoods." 
 
 Astonished and confounded by a retort he so little 
 expected, and ashamed of having borne down too hard- 
 ly on the feelings of the old gentleman, his Grace ex- 
 pressed his regret that so much had been said on either 
 side of the question, that he was fully aware of the 
 propriety of his conduct respecting his pupil, that his 
 attention to him during the progress of his studies was a 
 
the fisher's daughter. 419 
 
 sufficient proof that he was an object of his regard, in 
 consequence of which he would be the last to impede 
 his wish of being Wolf's companion in his voyage to 
 India, well knowing that he would always have a friend 
 and adviser to consult with him, and whose experience 
 and judgment were so far superior to his own. In 
 short, his Grace was so highly pleased with the can- 
 dour and the good sense of Lawrence, that he conclud- 
 ed his conversation with him, by informing him that 
 he should undertake to pay all the expences of his 
 voyage, and other necessaries which were requisite for 
 the occasion. 
 
 " But I positively will receive no thanks at the pre- 
 sent moment," uttered his Grace. " Send your pupil 
 to me at an early hour in the morning." 
 
 Lawrence bowed profoundly, and retired, but his 
 heart was too full to obtain any refreshing slumber till 
 he had unburthened some of his thoughts to his young 
 favourite, whom he discovered in his chamber, in deep 
 and earnest conversation with his brother Alfred, whose 
 dejected countenance and spiritless manner but too 
 plainly bespoke what was passing in his heart, at the 
 thoughts of being separated from an object, in whom 
 «t present were concentrated all his earthly affections. 
 
 And by way of consolation, Lawrence immediately 
 related the conversation he had been having with the 
 Duke of Braganza, and of his generous intentions to- 
 wards him, which account was highly satisfactory to 
 the feelings of Wolf. 
 
 " Ah! would that it were possible I were admitted 
 a third companion in your voyage, dear Wolf," cried 
 Alfred, tears filling his bright and azure eyes, which 
 
420 the fisher's DAUGHTER. 
 
 he seemed to have no power of suppressing, when he 
 reflected how soon the parting hour was drawing 
 near. 
 
 " But my dear brother, though absent, shall we not 
 live in each other's affection and memory?" responded 
 Wolf, not wishing to yield to a weakness which would 
 presently disarm him of the fortitude that he was ac- 
 customed to possess on important occasions, in a man- 
 ner that proved how vigorous was his mind whenever 
 exertion called it forth. " We shall beside, correspond 
 daily too, and that will be a delightful occupation both 
 to you and me Alfred. What an interchange of thought 
 and sentiment shall we not have together! You will 
 tell me of your gradations as they rise or fall, and I in 
 return will give you shreds and patches of a soldier's 
 life. You mount the pulpit, and I carry a pair of co- 
 lours. Thus shall we both ascend the ladder of pre- 
 ferment, although in different ways. Then 
 
 1 There's a sweet smiling cherub that sits up aloft.' 
 
 Don't you know the fisher's song, Alfred ? That che- 
 rub will take care of both our lives, till we behold each 
 other again." 
 
 iC There's little doubt of that, Mr. Wolf," uttered 
 Lawrence, much affected at the peculiar manner in 
 which Wolf was endeavouring to animate the dejected 
 spirits of his brother, and to prepare him for their se- 
 paration. " While you so implicitly rely on the good- 
 ness of Providence for protection, it will never abandon 
 you to despair, you may depend upon it." 
 
 As Wolf had much to say to the gentle Jessy before 
 he went to take his last farewell of his former kind 
 
the fisher's daughter. 421 
 
 protector, honest Peter, he took a walk to Mr. Russet's 
 one evening by himself, and found Jessy alone, nursing 
 her little girl ; he immediately informed her that he 
 should shortly set sail for India. 
 
 " Tis a long and perilous voyage, dear Wolf," ut- 
 tered Jessy, and sighed deeply, for Jessy was tender- 
 hearted, yet quickly recovering her self-possession, 
 " but it is all for the best that you are going, all things 
 considered." 
 
 Jessy coloured, she did not mean to make choice of 
 this expression. And Wolf replied, in a tone that 
 seemed to come from the very recesses of his heart's 
 core : — 
 
 " Yes, all things considered, I think my voyage to 
 India, or to the antipodes, Jessy, preferable to staying 
 here; any where rather than here! — Oh God! to wit- 
 ness — . Jessy — Jessy ! heed not what I say. It is 
 wrong, it is foolish, it is madness, folly ! pray Jessy, 
 heed it not ; pray pardon me, we'll talk of other things. 
 How's your father? Alas! I once called him father, 
 and then I was happy ! O how happy ! those days 
 will never return, Jessy!" 
 
 There was a wildness both in the look and manner 
 of Wolf at this precise moment, which, though it 
 wrung her heart, Jessy by no means wished to encou- 
 rage ; and hastily dismissing the subject, she ex- 
 claimed — 
 
 " Dear Wolf, we should never count the days that 
 are gone by, you know, but always look forwards to 
 Jiose which are to come, some of which may produce 
 £s much happiness as those you regret so deeply the 
 iOss of. I should not wish this girl, for instance, to 
 
422 the fisher's daughter. 
 
 remain always as she is now, yet I am very happy to 
 see her so sweetly engaging ; but in a few years she 
 will make me happier Wolf, so will your aays that are 
 yet in the web of time, if you will be patient. Heaven 
 alone can tell what events may fill up the space of our 
 existence, and some of those may be both prosperous 
 and happy to you, dear Wolf; and why should they 
 not ? unless you encourage thoughts that — " 
 
 Here Jessy made a full stop again, much to the re- 
 lief of poor Wolf, who, after an apparent conflict with 
 some powerful feeling, which seemed to swell his proud 
 heart almost to bursting, exclaimed — 
 
 " I will do nothing, dear Jessy, to reflect discredit 
 on my thoughts ; but I cannot promise you that when 
 absent they will not stray to a recollection of objects so 
 dear and sacred to my memory, that I must cease to 
 exist ere they can be forgotten. I have one request to 
 make to you, dear Jessy; perhaps it is a presumptuous 
 one, yet in pity do not deny it ; it may be the last I 
 shall ever live to make to Jessy; and refusing it to poor 
 unhappy Wolf, when she hears that he is numbered 
 with the dead, she will then reproach herself for hav- 
 ing been so unkind, in rejecting the only boon he ever 
 asked." 
 
 Jessy smiled, and extending her hand towards the 
 agitated Wolf, replied — 
 
 " You give me no opportunity of refusing or com- 
 plying with your request, whatever it be, if you will 
 not tell me the nature of it= Come name it, dear 
 Wolf, and be not thus agitated. Does it relate to an 
 object that I would not willingly offend, by consenting 
 to any proposal of yours that might be called impro- 
 
THE fisher's daughter. 423 
 
 per? tell me then, is Lady Montauit concerned in 
 the request you have to make to me?*' 
 
 To which Wolf immediately replied, with his face 
 covered over with the deepest blushes — 
 
 " No, Jessy, Lady Montauit has no concern in it. 
 I am as tenacious of her name as you can possibly be, 
 believe me, and will not mention it again while I am 
 here ; it concerns yourself Jessy, yourself alone : and 
 it is, to hope that you will think there is no impro- 
 priety in my keeping up a correspondence with you, 
 and will not fail to answer my letters whenever I ad- 
 dress any to you ; promise me this, and you will make 
 me the happiest fellow in existence !'* 
 
 After an interval of silence, Jessy gravely replied — 
 
 " If my corresponding with you, dear Wolf, can be 
 of the slightest service to you, or afford you the least 
 possible satisfaction, I will cheerfully comply with your 
 wishes, on one condition, and that I must stipulate for, 
 or otherwise, (though I should feel pain in refusing 
 you,) deny your request altogether, and that U, that 
 Samuel may be apprized of our correspondence, for 
 you cannot imagine that I would write to any one with- 
 out the knowledge and approbation of my husband ?" 
 
 " I do not expect it, dear Jessy," uttered Wolf, and 
 waiting for her final answer, which was given in the 
 affirmative, he expressed his sincere acknowledgment 
 for her willingness to oblige him in a point where 
 he felt his happiness so materially concerned ; after 
 which, kissing the snowy forehead of Jessy's pretty babe, 
 he affectionately bade her farewell, till he should call 
 again for the last time, at Herring Dale, to take 
 leave of Mr. Blust j " aid then 1 shall bring Alfred to 
 
424 the fisher's daughter. 
 
 bear me company," rejoined Wolf, " Poor fellow he 
 grieves sadly because 1 am going to leave him." 
 
 " The dearest friends must part," answered Jessy ; 
 " and though absence may be compared to death, when 
 separated from those we love, yet we should never 
 murmur at His decrees, who is so much better able 
 to judge for us than we for ourselves. 
 
 Wolf then departed, but met the Fisher and Sam 
 Russel dismounting from their horses, (for they had been 
 on business to Cromer,) at the gate, and he swore by 
 his topsails, that Wolf should go back with him and 
 Sam and take a bit of supper with them ; with which 
 solicitation Wolf felt obliged to comply, well knowing 
 that opposition to the imperative command of Peter 
 Blust, was as futile and unavailing as running against 
 the tide in the middle of the ocean. 
 
 He had no sooner vaulted out of his saddle, there- 
 fore, than he seized Wolf by the arm and lugged him 
 into the parlour, where the servant was just going, by 
 order of her mistress, to lay the cloth for supper. In 
 the meantime Jessy hearing the voice of her father, 
 immediately joined them, declaring he had done with 
 Wolf what her utmost entreaties could not, — prevail 
 upon him to stay and sup on a fine brace of ducks 
 which was then at the fire. 
 
 Peter chuckled and rubbed both his hands, which 
 was always the case when he was pleased ; besides, to 
 use his own phrase, he was nearly a sheet in the wind, 
 having dined with an old acquaintance of his in Cro- 
 mer, and he had as yet had nothing to put him out of hu- 
 mour; which misfortune, indeed, very rarely occurred 
 at the house of his son-in-law, whose sole study was 
 
the fisher's daughter. 425 
 
 to please him ; and from his lovely daughter he never 
 had an unkind or an ungentle word addressed to him 
 in the whole course of his existence, with Jessy there- 
 fore he never was offended. 
 
 " No — no," cried he, squatting himself down to 
 table without farther ceremony; " he knew it ivould'nt 
 do to gammon Peter Blust, and that if he did not turn 
 in and pick a bone with him, that he would never 
 speak to him so long as his name was Peter Blust." 
 
 The supper was now brought in, and Wolf, without 
 betraying the slightest hesitation to the fisher's positive 
 commands, sat down to partake of a repast, over which 
 the utmost good humour and harmony prevailed. 
 
 " Well, how does my lord and my lady do, and the 
 young fry, and the old fry, and the devil's fry that do 
 live in the Castle of Montault?" enquired Peter, now 
 beginning to fill his pipe, and to take his glass of grog. 
 "Be they all well and hearty? and how's miss? I 
 mean her ladyship, that's got that long thingembob 
 name on the top of her stern, she that were married 
 t other day to the great lord ?" 
 
 " Lady Lavinia, the daughter of the Marquis of Mon- 
 tault, I presume you mean, sir, who is now the lady of 
 Lord Winstone," cried Wolf, who catching a smile 
 from Jessy, found it morally impossible to preserve his 
 gravity. And Peter, whose little predilection for lords 
 and ladies was too generally known to require any 
 comment, loudly vociferated — 
 
 " Well, lady or wife, shiver my topsails if I care a 
 rope's yarn whose wife she be, so long as she bean't a 
 wife of mine. None of your fine gentry for my money, 
 except it be my own dear little Agatha Singleton j I 
 
 c 18 3h 
 
426 THE FISHER'S daughter. 
 
 should have had no objection to she, whether rich or 
 poor. But come lad, why dost thee not drink and be 
 merry?" 
 
 Wolf replenished his glass at the request of Mr. 
 Blust, who, instead of being' one sheet in the wind, 
 was likely to get three before he took his departure 
 from the dwelling of his son-in-law; and as Peter's 
 company was really not very desirable when he had 
 been making such liberal libations to Bacchus, Wolf 
 was heartily rejoiced when he fell fast asleep at the 
 back of his chair with the pipe in his mouth; and 
 Jessy, after bidding Wolf good night, stole softly out 
 of the room, leaving Samuel to take care of her fa- 
 ther, and bestow him safely in the chamber in which 
 he usually slept when he was unable to return to Her- 
 ring Dale. Over Peter's frailty we must tread lightly, 
 for it was his only fault, and that only when his heart 
 was warmed by every generous sensation, so that a 
 worm would not have received the slightest injury 
 from him, unless it attempted to injure him. 
 
 Peter had strong prejudices and singularities, which 
 he never affected to disown : but let it be remarked, 
 that they were those which always induced him 
 to humanity, and to befriend and aid the unfortunate; 
 and that education had done nothing to remove 
 those prejudices, for in this alone the fisher Blust was 
 deficient. The grosser particles therefore still remained 
 in the form in which they were first moulded, and 
 his conclusive opinion of men's minds, or their merits, 
 extended only to what was verbatim, right or wrong, 
 in all they did or said. His cradle had been rocked by 
 the rough waves of the ocean, and not more stormy 
 
the fisher's daughter. 4'2"j 
 
 were his passions ; nature alone could calm them, and 
 when they were so, he was amenable to the softest 
 impressions. Refinement was entirely out of the ques- 
 tion ; he could only be refined by the feelings of nature, 
 which were so sensitive in this rough son of Neptune, 
 /hat when conscious of having really wounded the 
 feeliugs of a fellow creature, there was no humiliation 
 that he would not bend to in order to atone for it, and 
 to be once more restored to harmony and to peace 
 with them. 
 
 Alas ! can refinement teach us a better lesson ? or 
 polished education give us a higher sense of moral 
 duty to Christianity? It may indeed be conveyed 
 in a different language, but is it always as genuine 
 and sincere? No, it is more frequently disguised, as 
 the wily serpent is, under a bed of grass, with flowera 
 scattered over its surface, the more certainly to deceive 
 those who credulously trust to its smiling appearance. 
 But in Peter Blust there was no disguise, and no art 
 yay concealed. 
 
 But to proceed. While the preparations were mak- 
 ing for Wolf's departure, and that of his tutor, for his 
 voyage to India, he had frequent opportunities of being 
 alone both with Lord Montague and his lovely wife, 
 on the former of whose mind all impressions of jea- 
 lousy respecting this young man were completely irra- 
 dicatcd, the extreme propriety of Wolf's conduct to- 
 wards Lady Montault, and her own irreproachable 
 purity of character, rendered it impossible for a doubt 
 to remain on his lordship's mind, that the slightest in- 
 discretion could pass between them ; and for the few 
 days previous to his embarkation, both Alfred and 
 
428 thk fisher's daughter. 
 
 Wolf were allowed to dine at the table with Lord 
 Montague and the Lady Agatha, his Grace the Duke 
 of Braganza being almost constantly a guest, and who 
 employed himself in giving such necessary hints and 
 instructions to the young adventurer, as he thought 
 expedient for one entering on the voyage of life ; which 
 were received by Wolf with such graceful modesty, 
 and unassumiug, yet dignified deportment, as propor- 
 tionably to increase the high opinion which his Grace 
 had always entertained of his promising talents. 
 
 Some of these conversations were generally affecting, 
 they were even solemn, because it was probable that 
 the kind lips which breathed forth such exhortations 
 might be closed for ever, ere the young wanderer, for 
 whose welfare he was so solicitous, might return again 
 to tell his beloved patron that he had profited by them. 
 The same uncertainty also prevailed with Wolf; young 
 and old are alike destined to meet mortality, happen 
 when it may ; and the Lady Agatha, whose heart was 
 the very seat of the most sublime, tender, and delicate 
 sensibility, frequently retired from these affecting con- 
 versations with her father, with eyes not unmoistened 
 by a tear; for the fate of Wolf was by no means in- 
 different to her, and she felt she could not hear of his 
 falling in battle, or otherwise being exterminated from the 
 race of mortals, without sensations which would wring 
 her heart with the most unutterable anguish. The deep 
 interest she felt for him when a poor unfriended ship- 
 wrecked boy, was so interwoven with her own former 
 history, and his sharing with her in all the perils and 
 dangers to which she had been exposed in a solitary 
 and even a treacherous exile in the mouldering ruins 
 
the fisher's daughter. 429 
 
 of the Old Abbey, had given him so natural a claim, as 
 she imagined, to her friendship, that no change of time 
 or circumstance could ever erase from her recollection, 
 or banish from her heart. 
 
 And was not Alfred as much to her as Wolf? Had 
 he not been a poor shipwrecked boy too, with a fate 
 as similar? and was he not as generous and as kind- 
 hearted a youth, and in all respects as praise-worthy ? 
 She could not but admit that he was, although the me- 
 rits of Alfred were cast in colours less glowing with 
 animation and spirit. 
 
 Yet Wolf was not Alfred, nor Alfred Wolf. There 
 was a striking difference between them, and Agatha felt 
 a slight hectic of a moment pass over her lovely cheek, 
 on the impropriety of her making any difference be- 
 tween them, or drawing comparisons which ought to 
 possess no bias over her mind ; neither standing in 
 any other relationship to her, than merely the protegees 
 of her august father. 
 
 From these reflections she was one evening suddenly 
 aroused by the cries of her little Orlando ; and when she 
 darted into the nursery to enquire the cause, found the 
 child sobbing violently, with his arms stretched towards 
 the window, which was open, and looked in upon the 
 lawn ; and his nurse immediately exclaimed — 
 
 " Indeed, my lady, I cannot pacify him, was it ever 
 so ; he saw Mr. Wolf go across the lawn, and he has 
 been crying to go to him ever since. I never saw 
 the like of it in all my days." 
 
 " The child will be ill if he is suffered to cry thus," 
 cried Agatha, not attending to her last observation. 
 
430 THE FISHERS DAUGHTER. 
 
 " Pray, Rebecca, take him in your arms, and try if you 
 cannot find Wclf ', any thing to pacify my darling." 
 
 The order was obeyed, Rebecca took her charge, 
 telling him she would carry him to Wolfy, at which 
 he was instantly appeased ; and in a few moments 
 Wolf returned with Rebecca, with his little favourite 
 in his arms, who testified the utmost joy on seeing his 
 old playmate. 
 
 He bowed, on his entrance to the Lady Agatha, who 
 sportively exclaimed — 
 
 " Upon my word Wolf, you have become a formida- 
 ble rival in the affections of my son ; he has actually 
 flown from my arms to run into yours." 
 
 " But what will Lord Orlando do, your ladyship, 
 when Mr. Wolf goes quite away from us ?" cried 
 Rebecca. " I protest it will be as bad as weaning 
 him. Nobody could pacify him then but Mr. Wolf." 
 
 u I should be sorry that he suffered on my account," 
 uttered Wolf, clasping the sweet little fellow with in- 
 voluntary fervour to his breast, which was not unre- 
 marked by Agatha ; "but I am sure I should suffer if 
 I knew it. Then should I wish the ocean that divides 
 us — " The voice of Wolf was growing tremulous, he 
 stopped, and casting his eyes down on the ground, be- 
 came profoundly silent, not daring to lift them up 
 again while Lady Agatha remained in the room, which 
 she quitted instantly on some slight pretext, in order 
 to give poor Wolf time to recover his self-possession ; 
 and feeling herself unable to resume an air of compo- 
 sure, much less of apathy at the thoughts of his de- 
 parture. Rebecca and Wolf were on the most friendly 
 
 9 am) 
 
the fisher's daughter. 431 
 
 terms ; he was more familiar with her than any domes- 
 tic in the establishment of Lady Montault, because she 
 was the nurse of Lord Orlando ; with her therefore 
 he held frequent conversations on his expedition to 
 India. 
 
 " Which I do truly hope may be prosperous and 
 happy," cried Rebecca, " and that you may come home 
 one of these good-looking days a general in the army. 
 Lank a mercy, what changes may happen in all that 
 time, Mr. Wolf! Here's this dear boy will be grown 
 quite a man mayhap, and there's my lady, though she's 
 married now, she may not be married then. Lord 
 Montague has very bad health, and do you know Mr. 
 Wolf, whenever I have looked at his pale face, I don't 
 know what the dickens possesses me, but he'll never 
 live to have old bones, or my names not Becky. Why 
 then in that case, you know Mr. Wolf, my lady might 
 marry again. There's no law against that, thank hea- 
 ven, if there was, lauk a mercy what would the world 
 come to. Well then, as I was a saying, my lady might 
 be married again ; she is so young and so beautiful, 
 that every body would be for snapping her up in quick 
 time. Then you know Mr. Wolf, as I was a saying, 
 if you was a general in the army, and my lady a — a — 
 a — Lauk a mercy Mr. Wolf, what's the matter with 
 you?" 
 
 Wolf, who had sat in the most abstracted manner, 
 rather enduring than listening to Rebecca's long ora- 
 tion, caught only the last sentences which 't conveyed, 
 and he could not be insensible to the meaning they 
 implied, which so completely electrified his whole 
 frame, that he started up with the wildness of a ma- 
 
435s THE FlSHfcrt's DAUGHTER. 
 
 iiiac, and pacing the room with hasty strides, involun- 
 tarily exclaimed — 
 
 *' Rebecca, why have you named, why have you 
 mentioned — imprudent woman, are you in your senses 
 Rebecca ?" 
 
 " Yes, Mr. Wolf, but hang me if I think you are in 
 yours," uttered she. " Lauk a mercy, why what was 
 there to frighten you so much in what I have been say- 
 ing ? There's very few young men would be frighten- 
 ed at any such a thing, I am certain. I onlv said 
 that—" 
 
 " Silence, I implore you, for heaven's sake," ut- 
 tered Wolf, growing more calm ; st let not such ano 
 ther sentence escape your lips, as you value my peace, 
 the peace of your honoured lord, the happiness of your 
 angelic lady." 
 
 " Lauk a mercy, Mr. Wolf, pray don't alarm your- 
 self so," cried Rebeca. " Do you think I was going 
 to be such <x simpleton as to mention such a thing be- 
 fore my lord and my lady ? No, no, indeed, Beckey's 
 too wise ; it would send me away from my place before 
 cne could cry Jack Robinson." 
 
 " And send me to perdition," uttered Wolf, wildly. 
 
 " Send you to a fiddlestick's end," cried Rebecca. 
 " Lauk Mr. Wolf, you wants cutting for the simples. 
 Howsomever, I shan't say any thing more of the kind 
 you may depend upon it, seeing that it puts you clean 
 out of your senses so." 
 
 " Don't, that's a good creature, and you will greatly 
 oblige me," rejoined Wolf, slipping into Rebecca's 
 hand an irresistible and weighty argument, against 
 opening of mouths when they are paid to be shut; and 
 
THK KISHRIl's DAUGHTER. 433 
 
 Rebecca, while Wolf remained at Violet Vale, never 
 resumed a subject which appeared to have so powerful 
 an effect upon his feelings, the meaning of which Re- 
 becca had probably formed her own conjectures on ; 
 for women are certainly quick sighted on these occa- 
 sions, they instantly perceive where the blind deity is 
 shooting his mark from, before the victims themselves 
 are hardly conscious of the innovation. So much for 
 the sagacity of the female part of the creation." 
 
 But what were the sensations of Wolf, to perceive 
 from the inuendos thrown out by Rebecca, that she 
 had discovered what he so sedulously wished to hide, 
 and that the very agitation he had betrayed in her pre- 
 sence, had only more strongly confirmed suspicions 
 which, once awakened, might, if not immediately smo- 
 thered, lead to the most dangerous and fatal conse- 
 quences imaginable ! 
 
 There was no alternative, then, that he could adopt, 
 under existing circumstances, but to bribe her to si- 
 lence on such a subject, by the only means which, it 
 was probable he considered, would impose the neces- 
 sity of obedience to his request, and which certainiy 
 had the desired effect. It would have been far better 
 policy, however, to have treated as a mere jest the 
 subject of Rebecca's discourse, and laughed at her plea- 
 santry, as having no meaning in it. 
 
 But the gravest philosopher coma not have done 
 this, if the gravest phj'osopher, like Wolf, had been so 
 deeply bound in Cupid's fetters. 
 
 Besides, hope told a flattering tale, which in spite of 
 reason the heart will not disown ; and though it 
 was illusion, yet how transcendautly lovely did f,Lie 
 
 a 19 3 i 
 
A'.'A THE FISHER S DAUGHTER. 
 
 fairy colours seen, to such a glowing imagination, ano 
 warm impassioned fancy as was seated in the breast of 
 Wolf. 
 
 " For still it whispered promised pleasure, 
 And bade the lovely scenes at distance hail." 
 
 And where is the man who could resist the fascination 
 of such a thought ? 
 
 The picture, however, was too dazzling to behold, 
 and it was only in those moments when reason shut 
 her eyes, and passion triumphed, that he had the te- 
 merity to look upon it at all. 
 
 While these scenes were passing at Violet Vale, very 
 dissimilar ones were going forwards both at the Castle 
 of Montault, and with the new married pair at Win- 
 stone Park, where the Marchioness for a few days, iu- 
 stead of the youthful bride, seemed to reign the abso 
 Jute mistress ; but fond as Lady Lavinia was of the 
 company of beautiful mamma while she held her in 
 leading strings, and could do nothing without her au- 
 thority, she began to be weary of wearing them when 
 she became Lady Winstone, and to feel anxious to use 
 her own prerogative as a married woman, and mistress 
 of her own establisnment. 
 
 Three weeks therefore had scarcely elapsed before 
 Lady Lavinia found beautiful mamma a very trouble- 
 some and imperative guest at her elegant mansion ; and 
 she was constantly giving orders contrary to her's, and 
 remonstrating with her about one thing or other, in 
 the same way as •vheu she was under her paternal 
 roof, which was certainly excessively obnoxious to a 
 young bride, and by no means pleasant to the bride- 
 groom 
 
THE fis-her\s daughter. 435 
 
 " Lavinni you shall do," and " Laviuia you shall not do 
 'o," was at length so frequently repeated, that a quar- 
 rel with beautiful mamma and her fair daughter one 
 morning ensued, about some exotics whieh her lady- 
 ship had given orders to be brought into the drawing- 
 room, but which orders were immediately counter- 
 manded by the Marchioness, which so offended Lady 
 Winstone, that she pettishly exclaimed — 
 
 " I protest mamma, I think it excessively strange 
 that you are constantly contradicting my orders ; but 
 it don't signify, I wont be contradicted, and that's flat. 
 I am not in leading strings now, I am a married wo- 
 man, and I will do just as I please in my own house." 
 
 " You are a fool," uttered the Marchioness, con- 
 temptuously, which epithet instantly produced the 
 retort courteous from the irritated daughter. 
 
 " If I am a fool, mamma, it is you that have made me 
 so; papa told me that you would. But if I was a fool, 
 do you think that my Lord Winstone would have mar- 
 ried me?" 
 
 To which the Marchioness with the utmost noncha- 
 lence replied — 
 
 " I don't know, men do very silly things when they 
 are blinded by passion." 
 
 " Then I suppose that was the case when papa mar- 
 ried you," answered her ladyship j " but I shall tell 
 my lord what you say, and — and — and — " The proud 
 swelling heart of the fashionable beauty could hold out 
 no longer, and she burst into a flood of tears, while 
 the indignant, haughty, and unfeeling mother, conti- 
 nued looking at her with the most perfect apathy. 
 
 " You shall never serve me bo again," at length sob- 
 
436. the fisher's daughter. 
 
 bed out her ladyship ; " and I will have the exotica 
 brought in on purpose to vex you." 
 
 A fit of the most ironical laughter was the only reply 
 made by the Marchioness, who looking at her diamond 
 repeater, protested it was time to dress for a dinner 
 party at Lady Tannington's. 
 
 " To which I am not going, so you need not alarm 
 yourself," cried her ladyship, spitefully. " I know 
 what you want to go there for ; the pidgeons will be 
 flying, and money is scarce, mamma; you shan't have 
 my purse again, I promise you." 
 
 This was a thunder-stroke to the crest fallen Mar- 
 chioness ; she had gone a step too far, and must re- 
 trieve it, or lose her influence for ever. Altering her 
 sarcastic tone therefore, she exclaimed — 
 
 " Nonsense Livey, I was only joking with you." 
 
 " I don't like such jokes," pouted Lady Lavinia. 
 
 " Give me a kiss then, and I will never vex you 
 again. Come, I will order the exotics to be brought 
 hither immediately." The kiss was given, and the 
 exotics placed where her ladyship had desired, and the 
 quarrel adjusted. So much for fashionably bred mo- 
 thers, and fashionably educated daughters of the -isiug 
 generation. 
 
thk fisher's daughter. 437 
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 
 " I» whispering nothing i 
 
 In leaning cheek to cheek? is meeting noses? 
 
 Kissing with inside lip ? stopping the loves of laughter 
 
 With a sigh ? (a note infallible 
 
 Of breaking honesty,) horsing foot on foot? 
 
 Skulking in corners ? wishing clocks more swift? 
 
 Hours minutes ? noon midnight? and all eyes blind, 
 
 With the pin and web, but theirs, theirs only 
 
 That wocld unseem be wicked? is this nothing? 
 
 Why t'aen the world and all that's in it is nothing ; 
 
 The lowering sky is nothing, Bohemia nothing, 
 
 My wife, is notuing, nor nothing have these nothings, 
 
 If this be nothing." Shakspeare. 
 
 At length the mandate for Wolfs departure arrived, 
 and though all was got in readiness, and that mandate 
 had been hourly expected, yet when it came in reality, 
 it occasioned a sensation of surprise, perhaps of deep 
 and heart-felt regret, to that object by whom his ab- 
 t>**~r.e would be most deplored, namely, his foster bro- 
 ther Alfred, who was sitting with him when a sum- 
 mons to attend the Duke of Braganza, both for Wolf 
 and his tutor Lawrence, was conveyed to them, almost 
 at the hour they usually retired for the night ; and in- 
 stantly the countenance of Alfred changed to an ashey 
 
438 THE FISHER S DAUGHTER. 
 
 paleness, while he exclaimed, as he grasped the han 
 of Wolf with the most affectionate fervour — 
 
 <c Ah dear Wolf! we have been conversing on philo- 
 sophy, but who shall teach me the lesson of philosophy 
 now ? I guess at the nature of this unexpected sum- 
 mons to the Duke's chamber at so late an hour, it is 
 to prepare you for your speedy departure, and proba- 
 bly by to-morrow^ uawn, or ai setting sun, I shall 
 lament the absence of my dear brother, who will be on 
 his voyage to a far distant country." 
 
 To which Wolf tremulously replied, for he felt that 
 his inmost resolutions would be shaken by this affect- 
 ing separation from an object so deservedly dear to his 
 affections — 
 
 " Dearest Alfred, I have no doubt but it is so; but 
 wherefore yield to this sad and melancholy expression 
 of regret, when you are aware that my future welfare 
 depends upon the enterprize in which I am going to 
 embark, and that a few years, should my life be spared, 
 will again unite us in brotherly intercourse, never more 
 to be divided but in death. Cease then this boyish 
 weakness, and remember that we are now men, and 
 have manly business to perform. Yours is a sacred 
 duty, not less sacred is mine; let us then both endea- 
 vour to prove worthy of it, place our confidence in the 
 same universal and beneficent Being of all created uni- 
 verse, and implicitly rely on his protection." 
 
 Alfred bowed his head in silence, and although 
 powerfully affected, made use of every effort to com- 
 bat with his feelings. 
 
 Mr. Lawrence beheld the situation of the amiable 
 youths before him, not without his eyes being moist- 
 
the fisher's daughter. 439 
 
 etied with a tear of sensibility, and fervently breathing 
 a prayer for the ultimate happiness and prosperity of 
 them both. 
 
 " I shall wait impatiently for your return from the 
 Duk- •";," cried Alfred ; " for should I go to bed, sus- 
 pense such as I now feel, dear Wolf, would banish 
 sleep from my pillow. Who can bear uncertainty 
 when it involves the fate of objects whom we love 
 dearest?" 
 
 " But you must learn to bear, Mr. Alfred," uttered 
 the tutor; " it is the first moral duty of man to exer- 
 cise patience, the second to feel for those who also 
 bear with the infirmities and the misfortunes of hu- 
 man nature ; but to forbear, as well as to bear, is the 
 highest standard of all human perfection ; we can 
 reach no farther, because it is the example that was 
 set before us by the Saviour of mankind. Few men 
 attain this excellence ; but when they feel the power 
 of doing so, they reap the blessing that it affords, and 
 the inexhaustible treasure that it produces, tranquillity 
 of mind, which is superior to all the wealth in the 
 world." 
 
 " Sir, could I doubt that, I were unworthy of reflec- 
 tion," answered Alfred, " or of that blessing which 
 reason bestows ; but believe me, sir, that I hail with 
 all due deference a remark which neither truth nor 
 reason can turn aside from, and which every thinking 
 being should cherish the remembrance of in his 
 heart." 
 
 " Mr. Alfred, I am perfectly convinced of the cor- 
 rectness of your judgment, and the purity of your 
 mind," replied Lawrence ; " may Heaven direct you to 
 
440 the fisher's daughter. 
 
 keep it so, and integrity be the guide of all your ac- 
 tions ; then will you become a shining example to 
 those who have strayed like lost sheep among a multi- 
 tude of errors, but to whom our holy precepts mildly 
 given, may again bring back to repentance and to 
 ♦ruth. Mr. Wolf, with your leave, we will now attend 
 the summons of the Duke." 
 
 Wolf immediately arose and followed his tutor to 
 the apartment in which the Duke was sitting with 
 Lord Montague. On the table there was a packet 
 with the foreign post mark; another the Duke held in 
 his hand, and presenting it to Wolf, he then read the 
 contents, which were to apprise his Grace that the ship 
 sailed for India in two days expressly from the date 
 thereof, and that it would be necessary for the passen- 
 gers to be all on board on the ensuing evening. 
 
 " You will therefore, my dear fellow, be entirely 
 prepared," uttered the Duke, eyeing the changing 
 countenance of poor Wolf with an expression of pe- 
 culiar kindness. " You had better take leave of the 
 fisher Blust and his family at an early hour to-morrow 
 morning; you owe him much, and must not neglect 
 your duty towards so kind and generous a protector. 
 Lawrence, I suppose you have not many adieus to 
 make out of this house, all your family may be tied up 
 in your pocket handkerchief." 
 
 " Precisely so, your Grace," cried Lawrence, " all 
 but the family I leave behind me in this noble man- 
 sion ; and I shall cherish the remembrance of theii 
 many virtues in the warmest corner of my heart." 
 
 " Thank ye, thank ye, Lawrence," uttered his Grace, 
 highly pleased with the manner in which the tutor hcv' 
 
THE FlSHEIl's DAUGHTER. 44 ( 
 
 expressed himself. " I have not the slightest reason 
 to doubt of your sincerity in that quarter, as a mo- 
 menta of which, here is a trifle that will furthei re- 
 mind you of their friendship, when the ocean is bear- 
 ing you far away from then)." 
 
 As it was a sealed packet that the Duke had given 
 to Lawrence, the contents were of course unknown to 
 him, but he bowed profoundly, and expressed in terms 
 most delicate and flattering, the sense of gratitude he 
 felt towards the generous donor. After which both 
 the tutor and his pupil retired, Wolf having said but 
 little in the presence of his patron, and receiving his 
 instructions with the most modest and retiring diffi- 
 dence. Lord Montague was somewhat graver than 
 usual j and when he addressed any sentence to Wolf, 
 there was an evident restraint upon his feelings, which 
 it would have puzzled the most profound philosopher 
 properly to have denned. 
 
 In the meanwhile Wolf slowly returned to his cham- 
 ber, where he had left Alfred in the most thoughtful 
 meditation; and having parted with the tutor at the 
 door, the two young men were left at liberty to enjoy 
 an uninterrupted conversation for several hours ; for 
 Wolf had much to say to Alfred previous to the long 
 separation which was about to take place between 
 them, and Alfred had much to say to Wolf at this par- 
 ticular crisis of their affairs. 
 
 " Dear Alfred, you will take care of — " Wolf paus- 
 ed, coloured deeply, and seemed unable to proceed ; 
 which Alfred perceiving, he exclaimed — 
 
 " I understand you, my brother, and anticipate all 
 you would say on that subject. The picture! the pic- 
 
 b\9 3 k 
 
442 THB fisher's. DAUGHTER 
 
 ture ! fear nothing; with me that picture will rest as 
 securely as if it reposed beneath your own care. Yes, 
 my brother, doubt not but that picture will be sacred." 
 
 " And the lovely creature whom it resembles," ut- 
 tered Wolf, deeply sighing. " May angels bless her 
 and her smiling cherub boy, till every roseate hour 
 that wings its flight over her beauteous head, teem 
 with joys inexhaustible, with bliss unfading, and bles- 
 sings crown her yet unnumbered days with happiness 
 and peace eternal !" 
 
 "And you again return to witness them, my dearest 
 brother," uttered Alfred. 
 
 " Perhaps, perhaps," responded Wolf, with a wild 
 air of abstraction. " Yes, to witness them perhaps I 
 may; but to share it ! an undivided share in the hap- 
 piness of Lady Agatha ! Oh ! no — no — no ! such 
 earthly paradise is not in store for me!" 
 
 " An undivided share in the happiness of the Lady 
 Agatha! Oh Wolf! and can you wish it? Let me 
 hope otherwise," uttered Alfred, greatly shocked that 
 yet this infatuated passion for the Lady Agatha had 
 the mastery of every other sensation, and that it reign- 
 ed so predominantly over every feeling. 
 
 " Our wishes are not always within our power," re- 
 sponded Wolf, pensively; " they are the spontaneous 
 offsprings of the heart, and will not be fettered by the 
 cold limits which precision prescribes." To which 
 Alfred immediately replied — 
 
 " You must adopt a term more appropriate than that 
 you have used. It is not precision, my brother, but 
 prudence, whose limits, however cold, we should never 
 lose sight of j and that prudence ought now to restrain 
 
thb fishkr's daughter. 443 
 
 you from any further mention of the Lady Agatha. 
 For heaven's sake, I implore you my dear brother, 
 talk not thus, hold no communion with such thoughts 
 as these; why mention subjects so unavailing at the 
 present moment ? ' 
 
 " Why, indeed,dear Alfred ? " uttered Wolf, roused 
 to energy by the resistless argument and cool reason- 
 ing of his beloved brother ; " it is wrong, it is foolish ; 
 forgive me that I so little regarded your advice ; J will 
 be more mindful ui exhortations in future, not to 
 
 profit by them when you shall behold me again." Wolf 
 then bade Alfred good night, as the hour was extremely 
 late, and he had to rise early to go to Herring Dale, to 
 bid farewell to his protector, also to call at Mr. and 
 Mrs. Russel's, to leave them his kind adieus, and to re- 
 mind Jessy of her promise to write to him; in short 
 Wolf had many tasks to perform that he wished were 
 fairly over ; the last, the hardest, and the most severe 
 was that of parting with the Lady Agatha and her 
 lovely child, where the falling tear could not be re- 
 strained, nor the burning blush concealed from obser- 
 vation. 
 
 It was agreed, however, that Alfred should accom- 
 pany him to the Fisher's ; and the following morning 
 they set out for Herring Dale, determined to partake 
 of their morning repast with honest Peter, who, when 
 they arrived at his well known habitation, which had 
 given them the first shelter they had known in that 
 country, no sooner heard the voices of his adopted 
 sons in the little oak parlour, to which David had con- 
 ducted them, than ne made all imaginable dispatch to 
 
444 THE FISHER'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 join tliem, by very quickly turning out of his hammocK, 
 which was slung up in the most comfortable corner of 
 his chamber, and which he preferred to any other mode 
 of accommodation ; and whisking on his clothes, he 
 bounced into the parlour, extending a hand to each of 
 them at the same moment, while he vociferated — 
 
 "Well, lads, I be heartily glad to see thee once 
 more at Herring Dale. Davy, tell the old girl to get 
 some bacon and eggs ready in the twinkling of an eye; 
 but avast ! I say lads, mayhap thee would like better a 
 morsel of roast beef and plumb pudding, there's plenty 
 in the larder. Shiver my topsails, there's nothing like 
 starvation at Herring Dale." 
 
 David was dispatched in one moment, the roast beef 
 and plumb pudding being preferred to the bacon and 
 eggs, and the next beheld the whole party seated at 
 the breakfast table. Wolf imparted his news to the 
 Fisher who exclaimed — 
 
 " Well, lad, and it be all for thy good ; yes, I do 
 hope and trust that thee be going to make thy fortune 
 in these outlandish parts. Well, and so thee be goiug 
 to take the auld scarecrow with thee ?" 
 
 This was an appellation which Peter had given with- 
 out ceremony to the tutor of Wolf the moment he 
 beheld him, and which it must be confessed, that the 
 singularity of his appearance somewhat tallied wiih ; 
 and Wolf having replied in the affirmative, that Mr. 
 Lawrence was certainly to be the companion of his 
 voyage, the fisher burst out into a most immoderate 
 fit of laughter, exclaiming — 
 
 " But what the devil use will the old fellow be to 
 
the fisher's daughtkr 415 
 
 yon lad, except it be to pick up dry sticks to light the 
 tire ; he can't fie:ht, for curse me if he can fire at a 
 pigeon." 
 
 " But, sir, Mr. Lawrence is a man of excellent learn- 
 ing," uttered Wolf, by no means wishing to underrate 
 the merits of his tutor, " and unites with that charac- 
 ter the qualifications of a most excellent heart. With 
 respect to his utility to me, permit me to say, that it 
 is boundless, when you consider how inexperienced 
 I am in the mazes of a wide world which I am about 
 to encounter ; then how necessary it is to have — " 
 
 " An auld land lubber tacked to your tail wherever 
 you are going," cried the Fisher, laughing so immode- 
 rately, that it was with great difficulty that Alfred could 
 preserve his gravity. " Experience !" reiterated Peter, 
 why shiver my topsails it is the very best thing you can 
 have, when you can get it by yourself; but second- 
 hand ! curse me if it is worth a rope's yarn. Don't 
 tell me about experience out of another man's book; 
 keep the ledger yourself, my boy, and when you cast 
 up your accounts, let the sum total be made by no 
 other person." 
 
 Here the conversation suddenly dropped, to give 
 place to that which was immediately connected with 
 the present moment, and Peter perceiving the feelings 
 of Wolf to be powerfully affected when he talked of 
 his approaching departure, endeavoured by every 
 means in his power to enliven his spirits, at the same 
 time that he presented him with a check upon his 
 banker for the sum of one hundred pounds. 
 
 " There be a gift at parting with old Peter Blust, my 
 lad," cried he, " who if it had not been that thou hast 
 
446 thk fishkk's daughter. 
 
 gotten a great man for thy protector, would never have 
 parted with thee at all Wolf; but it is so much the 
 better, and it is well that I took little Agatha Singleton 
 under my roof, when I thought her the daughter of the 
 Captain, since it has turned out so well for thee and 
 Alfred." 
 
 "• Sir, I have no doubt of your kindness, after the 
 noble instance you have displayed of generosity and 
 humanity towards me and my fellow companion in the 
 hour of distress," uttered Wolf, grasping the hand of 
 the Fisher, and shedding a tear of the most pure and 
 genuine affection, with which Peter was greatly affect- 
 ed. " To you Alfred and I are indebted for every 
 comfort and blessing that we now enjoy ; and whatever 
 protection has since been afforded us, it sprang from 
 your humanity, or we had perished ; and never will it 
 be forgotten while I have life or breath." 
 
 16 You are worthy of it lad, you are worthy of it, 
 were it ten times more," cried the Fisher, wiping his 
 eyes ; " and if ever old Peter should live to see thee 
 again, but that's not likely — that's not likely, so it's no 
 use to be snivelling and piping our eyes; it don't become 
 an old sailor, though I bean't ashamed of a tear, when 
 it do come from the fountain of an honest and kind 
 heart, my boy. But come, I have had enough of it, 
 and I shall grow swimmey if I stay here much longer, 
 so I tell thee what we'll do my lads. Go your ways 
 into the kitchen and take thy leave of poor old Alice, 
 she'll be food for worms ere thou comest back again ; 
 and then there's Davy, they do both wish thee well. 
 Go thy ways, go thy ways, and give them a trifle to 
 drink thy *afe voyage. I don't wftnt to be present, I 
 
the fishkr's daughter. 447 
 
 can't stand it. I can stand a gale of wind if it blow 
 the very devil, but shiver my topsails if I like taking 
 cave of old friends." 
 
 Wolf obeyed the commands of the fisher Blust, but 
 his heart failed him when poor old Alice strained him 
 in her withered arms, and murmured out a blessing; 
 and Davy took out his blue and white pocket-handker- 
 chief and retired into a corner and wept. 
 
 " The Lord preserve you Mr. Wolf, and send you 
 may find better friends abroad than you have found at 
 Herring Dale," sobbed out Davy. « Poor old master, 
 he be like to be left quite alone, now he be going to 
 part with all his favourites, one after another; it be 
 almost too much for him I do fear. When Miss Jessy 
 was married, it was all over with him, and he do drink 
 now like the very fishes in the sea." 
 
 Old Alice made a response by a heavy sigh at this 
 remark of David's ; but as there was little time to 
 spare on the part of Wolf, he wrung the hands of both 
 these faithful and affectionate creatures, and made a 
 hasty retreat back again to the oak parlour, where the 
 fisher and Alfred were waiting for him ; and the mo- 
 ment he arrived they set out for Sam Russel's. 
 
 Jessy was much affected at parting with Wolf, and 
 burst into tears when she bade him farewell. 
 
 " May Providence ever be your guide, dear Wolf/ 
 uttered she. 
 
 " And thine, sweet Jessy !" exclaimed Wolf, press 
 ing her hand with the most affectionate fervour. "You 
 and yours, may all happiness and prosperity attend 
 you, and that sweet child ripen into maturity, aad add 
 to the blessings of your life." The like said he to 
 
448 the fisher's daughter. 
 
 honest Samuel, who, quite affected, turned to the win 
 dovv to conceal his sensations. 
 
 * f Shiver my topsails, where's the brandy bottle 
 Sam ?" cried the fisher. " Let us take a parting 
 glass and bear away, for I can't stand it much longer, 
 you may depend upon it. Wolf, my lad, one word is 
 as good as a thousand with folks that be true hearted ; 
 here's my hand, and God bless you, so now be off as 
 fast as you can, that's a good lad, before my eyes grow 
 swimmey, and 1 shan't be able to see a gate post." 
 
 Wolf grasped the hand of the fisher, and sank on 
 one knee, while he inarticulately blessed him, ana 
 murmured out along farewell. The fisher had averted 
 his head from him, but his hand shook, as for the last 
 time he pressed that of his adopted son. 
 
 "Take him away Alfred," uttered the fisher, tremu- 
 lously j " take him away, I can breathe no longer. 
 Jessy dear, send Wolf away there ; there, God bless 
 thee lad !" 
 
 "Eternal peace be with you, sir 5" and seizing the 
 arm of Alfred, Wolf instantly departed from a scene 
 which had wrought powerfully on his feelings, from 
 more causes than one ; and when he returned to Violet 
 Vale, he was perfectly exhausted with mental agi- 
 tation. Not much better Alfred, who, however, found 
 it necessary to support his spirits on the occasion, in 
 order to support those of his brother. 
 
 In the meanwhile Lawrence had prepared every 
 thing for their departure, and nothing remained for 
 Wolf but to attend his patron, who, taking him into 
 the library, presented him with a gift from Lord Mon- 
 tague, and another from himself; he also gave him 
 
IHE FISHER'S DAUGHTER. 4 TO 
 
 several letters of recommendation, with a sealed pack ' 
 to be delivered into the hands of General Montalbiue 
 the moment he should arrive in India. 
 
 " And now my dear boy," uttered his Grace, " I be 
 lieve there is nothing more, but to go and take leave ot 
 the family, after which, the sooner you depart the better ; 
 and I would willingly spare your feelings, which I see 
 are acutely sensible of bidding adieu to your friends. 
 Lord and Lady Montague are waiting your presence in 
 the drawing room, and 1 have ordered the carriage, whrch 
 is to convey you to Weymouth, to attend in a couple 
 of hours. Of course 1 shall expect you to be punctual 
 in your correspondence with me, and write on the mo- 
 ment that you are safe landed on the shores of India.' 
 Wolf assured his Grace that he would ; and he after- 
 wards took a private farewell of Alfred ; both clasped 
 in each others arms, for some moments remained 
 speechless ; at length they sobbed out farewell, and in 
 a short time they both recovered their self-possession. 
 
 But what were the sensations of the agitated Wolf, 
 when obliged to enter the presence of the Lady Aga- 
 tha and Lord Montague Montault, the form of whom, 
 pale as a statue, with her infant boy in her arms, bend- 
 ed over it, to conceal sensations which no effort of 
 her's could entirely subdue. The little Orlando as usual 
 stretched out his arms towards his favourite as soon as 
 he beheld him ; and the feelings of Wolf were almost 
 uncontrolable, when he pressed the sweet innocent 
 to his breast for the last time. 
 
 Lord Montague appeared not only out of spirits, but 
 evidentlv out of humour, and observed to his lovely 
 iady, that she had better remove the child as soon as 
 
 c 19 3 l 
 
4nU the fisher's daughter. 
 
 possible from the sight of an object to whom he was 
 so passionately attached; and her ladyship obeyed, 
 amidst the cries of the little Orlando. 
 
 She returned in a few moments, when a formal adieu 
 took place between her and Wolf, constrained on her 
 ladyship's part ; for the eyes of her husband followed 
 her in every direction, and he coloured deeply when 
 giving her hand to Wolf he respectfully saluted it, 
 wishing her ladyship health and prosperity. Then 
 turning with dignified composure towards Lord Mon- 
 tague, who coldly presented his hand to him, he ut- 
 tered — 
 
 " Accept my sincere gratitude for the distinguished 
 marks of liberality and kindness which your lordship 
 has conferred on me while beneath your roof, which 
 will ever be engraven on my heart. Farewell my lord, 
 and you my ady, and may every blessing under heaven 
 visit you with repose." 
 
 Wolf placed his right nand on his breast emphati- 
 cally, bowed profoundly, and without casting another 
 glance at the Lady Agatha, instantly retired, threw 
 himself into the arms of Lawrence, and sobbed audibly 
 as the carriage drew up to the door. The Duke im- 
 mediately came into the room. Wolf arose, grasped 
 the hand of his protector, who returned his warm and 
 tremulous embrace ; but neither of them uttered one 
 sentence, for the Duke had said all that he intended, 
 and was besides averse to scenes of separation 
 with objects whom he professed any attachment for; 
 he therefore hurried rather than retarded the depar- 
 ture of his young favourite. Alfred and Dr. Syntax 
 •gain bidding him farewell, he jumped into the car- 
 
the fisher's daughter. 461 
 
 riago, Lawrence took his station by his side, ac*i the 
 postillions setting spurs to their horses, it instanta- 
 neously drove off from the superb mansion of Lord 
 Montague Montault, with a velocity that very soon 
 made the travellers lose sight of the beautiful planta- 
 tions and romantic scenery which surrounded it. 
 At present we will leave them to pursue their in- 
 tended route, while we return to the drawing room at 
 Violet Vale, and the lovely mistress who presided 
 there, who at the departure of Wolf felt an aching 
 void by his absence which she could not shake from 
 her heart, the more painful, because there was an ab- 
 solute necessity for concealing her sensations. To 
 none dared she reveal them, and it is certainly true 
 that over the innocent face of her little Orlando, a tear 
 that night fell from her beauteous eyes sacred to Wolff 
 but it was pure as the holy fountain that reflects nought 
 but purity on its clear and crystal surface. 
 
 And even Lord Montague, jealous minded as he 
 was, would not have condemned it, had he known the 
 tender thought which inspired it, for it was associated 
 with some fond remembrances of him she had so long 
 been accustomed to hail as father, the lamented Cap- 
 tain Singleton ; and all the terrors of the night of the 
 storm uprose in her recollection, when Wolf and Al 
 fred were cast upon the coast, two shipwrecked boys, 
 and she herself bewailed a father lost. It was this 
 sympathy that had attached her tc this unfriended 
 youth, and his being also with her in solitary exile 
 that had taught her heart to yearn towards him, and 
 to feel so peculiarly interested in his fate. But what- 
 ever were her feelings, they were never divulged, not 
 
462 the fisher's daughter. 
 
 even to h<,-r beloved father, who, however, was no 
 stranger to her partiality for her young favourite, and 
 for some cause or other was secretly rejoiced at the 
 departure of an object, whose uncommon perfections, 
 if he had continued much longer a resident at Violet 
 Vale, would very soon have excited the jealous fears 
 of his son-in-law; and whom he himself considered a 
 dangerous inmate beneath the roof of Lady Agatha 
 Montault; not that the Duke suspected the purity of 
 his lovely daughter, or that her heart was not most pas- 
 sionately attached to her husband ; but he suspected in 
 Wolf himself what his utmost efforts could not effec 
 tually conceal, at least not from so accurate an ob- 
 server as his Grace was of human passions, and that 
 was, that the young man was most unfortunately, but 
 devotedly attached to his beauteous child, but whether 
 Lady Agatha was herself conscious of it he could not 
 tell. But how could he blame the youth, if this pas- 
 sion was involuntary and pure in its impression. It 
 was unfortunate, but it could not certainly be called 
 guilty, if no guilt was attached to it. He himself, at 
 the romantic age of Wolf, had adored the lovely Aga- 
 tha Delcrusa, and had felt how impossible it wa3 for 
 his heart to have resisted its fascination. She was cer- 
 tainly not married, but neither was Lady Agatha when 
 Wolf at first beheld her beneath the roof of the fisher 
 Blust, where no rank or riches prevented the familiarity 
 of approaching her in the character of a dear and lovely 
 sister, for such he had been accustomed to call her. 
 
 It was men natural, very natural for such personal 
 loveliness as her's to be looked at with admiration, 
 and her uncommon sweetness and gentleness of man 
 
the fisher's daughter, 463 
 
 ners to inspire love and tenderness ; and it wis proba- 
 ble at this period that the heart of Wolf became en- 
 dangered, by being constantly in the society of sg> 
 beautiful and attractive an object, as was the then 
 supposed Agatha Singleton. 
 
 There was no accounting for the human heart when 
 once assailed by one of these ardent and strong impres- 
 sions, which could only be conquered by cool reflec- 
 tion, when conscious that there was any censure to be 
 attached to it, by the total impossibility of possessing 
 the object beloved, and by absence from the seductive 
 and dangerous society of it, all which it was now in the 
 power of Wolf to avail himself of at the present mo- 
 ment. With respect to the propriety of his conduct 
 while he had been an inmate in the house of Lord 
 Montague Montault, he was perfectly satisfied, for it 
 had been such as to excite the warmest approbation, 
 and the most unqualified praise. 
 
 In the meanwhile the reflections of his lovely and 
 amiable child were worthy those of her august father; 
 for a few days only did she regret the absence of Wolf, 
 because she was pleased and accustomed to the 
 caresses and attentions which he bestowed on her child j 
 but beyond this, there was an impropriety in lament- 
 ing the lose of his society, or even on making the 
 slightest observation on his departure from Violet 
 Vale. Though his name had been frequently re- 
 peated in her presence by Rebecca, and even the little 
 waiting maid Beda, yet Agatha was particularly cau- 
 tious in what manner she spoke of Wolf to her domes- 
 tics, while Beda was almost ashamed to let her mis- 
 tress know hov much she thought of the young 
 
4.'/4 THE FISH Kit's DAUGHTER. 
 
 wanderer. Not so silent, however, was she before tne 
 nurse, nor so silent was the nurse to her ; and as Beda 
 passed a great deal of her time in the nursery with 
 Rebecca when she was not in attendance on her lady,, 
 they mutually indulged themselves with conversing on 
 the merits and perfections of the handsome young 
 Wolf. 
 
 " Ah ! I know what I wish," uttered Beda, giving 
 her needle a jerk, which had almost pricked her finger, 
 and soiled the borders of the delicate lace she was trim- 
 ming a cap for Lord Orlando with ; " 1 know what I 
 wish, that I do ; but what is the use of wishes, if one 
 cannot get any thing else?" 
 
 " That's very true, my dear," cried Rebecca, who 
 saw that Beda's little heart was far gone in the tram- 
 mels of Cupid, and that it was bursting to reveal it to 
 her j "one cannot live upon wishes, as the saying is, 
 no more than one can live upon flowers, though they 
 are very beautiful to behold. But pray, if [ may be 
 so bold as to ask, what were you wishing for, pretty 
 little Beda?" 
 
 To which Beda, blushing like the roseate morn, 
 very quickly replied — 
 
 " I wish I was a lady, and exactly such a lady as 
 the Lady Agatha : but not for her riches, mind that, I 
 don't covet her riches." 
 
 " What nonsense child," uttered Rebecca ; " and if 
 you had her beauty, what's beauty without riches, 
 pray ? it is thought no more of than a rush candle now 
 a days ; the flame is soon blown out, and then good- 
 by to beauty, and all that belongs to it." 
 
 " Ah ! but she has got something that will never 
 
the fjshek's daughter. 455 
 
 blow out," retorted Beda, with a deep sigh ; " and f 
 would tell you what that something was, Rebecca, if 
 you will keep a secret." 
 
 " Well, and I can keep a seeret as well as any wo- 
 man in the world," replied the nurse ; " your betters 
 have told me secrets before you was born, child, so 
 marry, come, I think I may be trusted now ; what can 
 my lady have that you so covet, pray ?" 
 
 Beda now drew her chair closer to the side of Re- 
 becca, and lowering her voice almost to a whisper, re- 
 plied — 
 
 •* She has got the heart of a young Wolf, as sure as 
 you are alive. Yes, indeed, Rebecca, Mr. Wolf is as 
 fond of the Lady Agatha as he is of his two eyes. 
 Why lord, Beckey, did not you see it ?" 
 
 " See what, you foolish little toad ?" answered Re- 
 becca, who, fearful of the slightest whisper being over- 
 heard, lowered her voice, "see a fiddlestick's end. A 
 mighty pretty secret truly; but I tell you what child, 
 you had better let such secrets alone. Besides, I never 
 thought any such thing, and I have seen them together 
 a hundred times, as well as you." 
 
 " But it was not when they were together that J 
 found it out," uttered Beda, and made a full stop. 
 
 Rebecca's curiosity was now tempted to get the bet- 
 ter of her prudence, and pretending to hear it as a mere 
 matter of indifference, she exclaimed — 
 
 " Find out, indeed ! what ridiculous nonsense, you 
 are out of your senses child !" 
 
 a And you would have been out of yours, if you 
 had heird what I did at the nour of Tnidnight," cried 
 Beda. 
 
450 THE FISHER'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 "At the hour of midnight ?" uttered the nurse, now 
 feeling the most impatient anxiety to be informed. 
 
 " Yes, I can swear that it was the hour of midnight, 
 the clock in the great hall had just struck three, and I 
 was on the listen. I could not sleep that night for the 
 life and soul of me ; it was the night before he went 
 away. Yes, Rebecca, it was actually in Mr. Wolfs 
 bedchamber that I heard— — Ah me ! I think I hear 
 it now !" 
 
 " In Mr. Wolf's bedchamber, when the clock had 
 just struck three?" cried the astonished nurse, eyeing 
 the countenance of the youthful Beda with suspicion, 
 and no very favourable impression of her prudence or 
 her delicacy. " Mercy on me child, how could you 
 think of doing such a vile abominable wicked thing ?" 
 
 " What wicked thing ?" cried the affrighted little 
 waiting maid. 
 
 " Why, to go into a young man's bedchamber, at 
 three o'clock in the morning !" vociferated the horror- 
 struck nurse. 
 
 k4 Me go into Mr. Wolf's bedchamber ! la Rebecca, 
 I never did such a thing in all my born days. I was 
 on the outside of the chamber, and not in it, as I have 
 a soul to be saved. I tell you how it was, I went to 
 bed, and I could not sleep, for — for — for — for I was 
 thinking — " 
 
 " Of what?" enquired Rebecca, almost tempted to 
 laugh. " You had better speak the truth, and shame 
 the devil." 
 
 ** Why I was thinking about Mr. Wolf's going 
 away," uttered Beda, <l and of one thing, and then 
 another j so all at once I betl ought me that I had 
 
the fisher's daughter. 457 
 
 come to bed and left my lady's watch and neck chain 
 on the table in the drawing room, and that if they 
 should be taken away, there would be a pretty piece of 
 work, so out of bed I popt, and slipt on a morning 
 gown, and — " 
 
 " But are you quite sure that you did not slip into 
 Mr. Wolf's bedchamber at the same time ?" cried 
 Rebecca, no longer being able to refrain from laughing, 
 though quite convinced of the innocence of the artless 
 girl. 
 
 " Indeed, indeed, Rebecca, I went into the drawing 
 room softly, and fetched away my lady's watch and 
 neck chain," uttered Beda ; " but you know I had to 
 cross the gallery at the end where Mr. Wolf slept, so 
 there was a light burning in the chamber, and I heard 
 him talking to himself, so I crept softly to the door, 
 and heard every sentence he uttered ; it was all about 
 my lady, every word was as plain as the nose in your 
 face. ' Agatha I' said he, ' adored Agatha, eternally 
 farewell j' and he pressed something to his lips, but 
 what it was I cannot tell, though I would have given 
 the brightest guinea that ever was told to have got to 
 the bottom of it." 
 
 h 20 3 vi 
 
4f?8 the fishbr's daughter. 
 
 CHAPTER XXI. 
 
 " Every feeling hath been shaken, 
 Pride, which not a world could Dow, 
 
 Bows to thee, by thee forsaken, 
 Even my soul forsakes me now. 
 
 But 'tis done, all words are idle, 
 
 Words from me are vainer still ; 
 But the thoughts we cannot bridle, 
 
 Force their way without the will. 
 
 Fare thee well ! thus disunited, 
 
 Torn from every nearer tie, 
 Scar'd in heart, and lone, and blighted, 
 
 More than this, I scarce can die." 
 
 Lord Byron. 
 
 The immoderate fit of laughter with which Rebecca 
 was now seized, had it not nearly awakened the young 
 Orlando, who had fallen asleep on her lap, would have 
 continued some time longer, at the whimsical manner, 
 yet perfectly artless, in which the little waiting maid 
 had told her disastrous story concerning the handsome 
 young Wolf. At length, when graver moments suc- 
 ceeded, Rebecca thought it her duty to lecture her on 
 the very great impropriety she was guilty of, in ima- 
 gining there was an attachment beyond that of the 
 

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• 
 
THE USHER S DAUGHTER. 
 
 most chaste and delicate Friendship subsisting between 
 the Lady Agatha and the Danish youth. To which 
 Beda archly replied — 
 
 " But one cannot help thinking, any more than one 
 can help laughing." 
 
 " Both should be repressed when they lead to im- 
 proper subjects," replied Rebecca. " Besides, you 
 have no right to think any such thing." 
 
 " 1 did not say that my lady was in love with Mr. 
 Wolf, I only said that Mr. Wolf was in love with her," 
 uttered Beda. 
 
 "And pray did Mr. Wolf inform you as much?" 
 cried Rebecca. 
 
 " Lord, no ! he never conversed with me on any 
 such matter ; he was so shy and distant, that I never 
 could get him to look at me, though I tried several 
 ways to attract his attention." 
 
 " But he had better discretion," observed Rebecca, 
 " than to think a girl worth his notice, who was so bold 
 and forward as you confess yourself to be in your ad- 
 vances towards him. Why, child, what do you think 
 you will come to?" To which Beda, laughing, re- 
 plied — 
 
 "To matrimony, I suppose,, for that's what we must 
 all come to, as the man says in the play." 
 
 " Don't flatter yourself, child," cried Rebecca sharply ; 
 " for if you continue so forward in your manners with 
 young men, I can tell you that you will never arrive at 
 that honourable state. Men seldom run after our sex 
 when we are so silly as to run after them. One piece 
 of advice, however, I will give you, and I hope you 
 will attend to it, and that is, to hear, see, and say no- 
 
460 the usher's daughter. 
 
 thing. It is the first principal duty of a domestic, let 
 their capacity be what it may ; I have known many a 
 good place lost by letting the tongue run too fast; so 
 pray, child, have a guard over yours, respecting what 
 you have told me about Mr. Wolf, who would lose the 
 favour of all this noble family, if such a thing were to 
 reach the ears of a certain person." 
 
 " O ! I know who you mean," cried Beda, " the 
 Marchioness. O ! how I dislike her ; she is so proud 
 and so haughty, that if a servant happens to be cross- 
 ing the hall when she is stepping out of the carriage, 
 and drops a curtsey, she turns up her nose at them, as 
 ">£ they were dirt under her feet. How different to our 
 dear Lady Agatha ! she stops to speak to the meanest 
 beggars, if they stop to speak to her, and yet she never 
 makes too free with them. Well, I don't wonder at 
 all at folks being in love with her; I am sure if I was 
 Mr. Wolf, I could no more help it than he can." 
 
 " You seem to have forgotten the lesson I have 
 given you already," uttered Rebecca ; " though it 
 was not the Marchioness that I alluded to in this cau- 
 tion, but a more formidable personage than her, whom 
 if you offend, your place is not worth a farthing at 
 Violet Vale, for you would very quickly be dismissed 
 from the service altogether, and that is my lord him- 
 self. You know what Lord Montague is before to- 
 day, Beda; and that if he was once to hear such a 
 thing said, he would be in so great a rage, that the 
 house would not hold him ; so beware, and keep a still 
 tongue in your head." 
 
 Beda having thanked Rebecca for this necessary 
 hint, she promised the strictest observance of it, and 
 
the fisher's daughter. 461 
 
 they parted on more friendly terms than ever, for Re- 
 becca really loved this merry iittle creature, whose vi- 
 vacity always made her a cheerful and amusing com- 
 panion in the dull hours she so frequently passed in 
 the nursery, when Lord Orlando was asleep, or in the 
 drawing room with her lord and her lady, who lived 
 more secluded than ever from the gay and splendid 
 parties which were so frequently given at the Castle of 
 Montault, in which Lady Winstone was now so com- 
 pletely initiated, that she had seldom an hour to spare 
 to call at her sister-in-law's, or enquire after the health of 
 her brother, Lord Montague, who had been indisposed. 
 But not so fashionably employed was Lord Winstone ; 
 he often visited Violet Vale to chat with Lord and Lady 
 Montault when his lady was from home, and for very 
 apparent causes, was not quite so happy a Benedict as 
 he anticipated he would have been when he led Lady 
 Lavinia to the temple of Hymen, her ladyship having 
 discovered some favourite propensities extremely un- 
 favourable to connubial felicity. For in the first place 
 she disliked the circle of her own fire-side, and was 
 not remarkably fond of the company of her dear lord, 
 who often read her a few lectures, which by degrees 
 became matrimonial jars and duettos, which had any 
 thing but harmony to recommend them. 
 
 In the meanwhile beautiful mamma had gained so 
 great an ascendancy over the mind of her daughter, 
 that she was more addicted to gambling than ever, 
 and her repeated extravagant demands on her hus- 
 band's purse, at length became a subject of severe re 
 prehension on his part, and the most provoking non- 
 chalence on her ladyship's j and one evening haviur* 
 
462 the fisher's daughter. 
 
 x>st a considerable sum of money, she applied to the 
 Marchioness to reimburse it, which application was 
 civilly rejected by beautiful mamma, to the utter as- 
 tonishment and chagrine of Lady Lavinia, who ex- 
 claimed — 
 
 " Not accommodate me with three hundred pounds, 
 when you won five only last night at Tannington's, 
 how barbarous, mamma !" 
 
 " Well, child, suppose I did, I protest I have not a 
 sixpence left of it this morning," uttered her ladyship, 
 rolling on an ottoman near the fire, in her usual lan- 
 guishing position. " You know I was considerably in 
 Tannington's debt, she demanded payment, and I was 
 obliged to exonorate, or be exposed in a manner that 
 would not have been quite so pleasant to my feelings ; 
 for she is a malicious toad, and would very quickly 
 have conveyed it to the ears of your father. But can- 
 not you coax hubby out of a few hundreds, my love ?" 
 
 "Coax hubby!" reiterated Lady Winstone ; "and 
 to pay a gambling debt, which you know is his aver- 
 sion ! We have quarrelled already this morning about 
 play, and I don't want to quarrel with him again be- 
 fore night, or he will prohibit my going to Gaylove's 
 route this evening. What a dilemma ! 1 could cry my 
 eyes out about it." 
 
 " Barbarous man, to be so unkind to my pretty La- 
 vinia!" uttered the Marchioness, in a wheedling tone, 
 and with a look, which had something in it of the fas- 
 cination of the power of the rattle-snake. " But cannot 
 you contrive to borrow, my sweetest love ? Who would 
 reject the supplication of Lady Winstone ? Men are but 
 mortals, you know, but we women are divinities! Let 
 
the fisher's daughter. 463 
 
 ine see, who is in lull feather, and won't miss a few 
 hundreds ?" Her ladyship here began to call over the 
 names of their numerous fashionable friends, but not 
 one to her knowledge was possessed of the sum re- 
 quired for such a loan. u Positively," rejoined her la- 
 dyship, " they are all as bare as a robin in a frost at 
 January, all but one other, and he is as rich as a Jew ; 
 he won five stakes last night, and all of them flowing 
 bumpers." 
 
 " What the handsome Colonel !" drawled out Lady 
 Lavinia, but looking at her ladyship rather in an ob- 
 lique direction than a full front, from a consciousness 
 that her face was at that moment in a deep glow of 
 crimson. 
 
 " Yes, my love, the handsome, gallant, sweet, be- 
 witching Colonel !" was the reply of the delicate Mar- 
 chioness to her daughter. 
 
 O fashion ! where is thy blush ? O refinement ! where 
 is thy purity ? 
 
 " The Colonel is certainly a very agreeable enter- 
 taining man, and is prodigiously gallant to the ladies," 
 observed Lady Lavinia. " We generally set at the 
 same table at Tannington's, and he is excessively po- 
 lite." 
 
 " Well, my dear, that is all in our favour; he is the 
 very man whose politeness we are going to impose a 
 tax on, by doing him the honour of borrowing the 
 loan we require. Three hundred pounds is a mere 
 badinage to Colonel Gorget." 
 
 " But, mamma, will it be quite so proper to borrow 
 money now that I am married ?*' cried Lady Lavinia. 
 
464 the fisher's daughter. 
 
 To which, with the utmost coolness, the Marchio- 
 ness replied — 
 
 '* Married ! so much the better child, there is a 
 greater prospect of your being able to return the 
 money ; a husband pays all debts of honour, you know." 
 
 " But will Lord Winstone think that quite so ho- 
 nourable, mamma?" again enquired the half yielding, 
 yet half reluctant fashionable beauty. 
 
 " Lord Winstone is at present out of the question, 
 my love, you want the sum of three hundred pounds, 
 your husband won't give it to you, that's poz,. The 
 alternative is then to borrow it where you can, I ex- 
 pect the Colonel here every moment to look at a Ma- 
 dona your father brought from Italy; we will begin 
 to talk of play, ask me to lend you three hundred 
 pounds j I plead the want of cash, a fair opportunity for 
 the Colonel's gallantry ; he offers the loan, you accept 
 it, and we sing ' To triumph !' " 
 
 " Very pleasantly settled, indeed, mamma," cried 
 Lady Lavinia, immoderately laughing. " But if Lord 
 Winstone — " 
 
 Mamma's beautiful white hand was gently placed on 
 Lady Lavinia's roseate lips to prevent another sentence 
 escaping about Lord Winstone, and at this moment a 
 splendid chariot drew up to the gates. It was Colonel 
 Gorget who was announced, and he was immediately 
 admitted to the presence of the ladies, where the most 
 agreeable chit-chat ensued, after which they proceeded 
 to the picture gallery, which met the highest approba- 
 tion of the Colonel.'* 
 " What d) yon think of* papa's Madona ?" cried Lady 
 
thb fisher's daughter. 465 
 
 Lavmia. " It is reckoned excessively handsome ; the 
 deep blue eyes, with the dark eye lashes, and the 
 pensorosa which so strongly marks the expression of 
 the countenance, is almost celestial; is not it, Colonel ?" 
 
 To which interrogatory the Colonel very gallantly re- 
 plied — 
 
 " The colours are delicately blended, and the tout en- 
 semble the style of Corrigio, but I prefer the paintings 
 of Titian, because they are more lively, if not more 
 animated. I have no violent predilection for sleeping 
 beauties. For instance, now, can all the charms of 
 that Madona be put into competition with the Venus 
 on my left hand ?" 
 
 " La, Colonel, what Venus ?" simpered out Lady 
 Lavinia, blushing deeply. 
 
 " That which I see before me in the divine form a' 
 Lady Winstone," whispered the son of Mars. 
 
 Her ladyship blushed again, and beautiful mamma 
 smiled very intelligibly to her daughter, and suddenly 
 talked of the bets which were to be laid that evening 
 *t the countess of Gaylove's. 
 
 This was the cue for Lady Lavinia, and the loan was 
 isked of beautiful mamma. 
 
 " Unfortunate, my love," uttered the Marchioness, 
 "I have just paid that sum away this morning; it is 
 positively maliciously provoking." 
 
 Here the Colonel stepped forth in all his "gallantry, 
 and offered his services on the occasion. 
 
 " O ! Colonel, I really cannot think of such a thing," 
 cried Lady Lavinia ; " not that I have the least doubt 
 of your spirit to serve a friend o»: so pressing an oc- 
 casion." 
 
 Z-20 3n 
 
460 THE FISHMUS J>AU<JHTKlt. 
 
 " Nor of the honour to conceal it, I hope your lady- 
 ship,'* uttered tiie Colonel, profoundly bowing, while 
 at the same moment he presented a check for the 
 money. 
 
 Lady Lavinia promised to return it shortly. The 
 Colonel bowed again, and made his exit with a greater 
 air of triumph, than if he had been marching at the 
 head of his regiment, after a garrison had surrendered. 
 
 He had obtained a victory he little expected, and 
 both the vanity of the one and the folly of the other 
 were fully gratified. 
 
 The Colonel was fond of paying compliments to 
 pretty women, and Lady Lavinia was weak enough to 
 believe that all those compliments were sincere which 
 were gratuitously offered by the gallant Colonel to every 
 female in the circle of his acquaintance ; at the same 
 moment that he was in reality neither a lover of the 
 sex, or a direct libertine ; the god of his idolatry was 
 himself; and he thought more of his own handsome 
 person than he did of all the Venuses in the world. 
 But he wished to be thought well with the ladies, not 
 for the veneration he held them in, but to gratify his 
 own personal vanity, and to obtain easy access into 
 fashionable society. We shall dismiss this subject for 
 the present, by lamenting that characters resembling 
 Colonel Gorget so generally prevail in fashionable no- 
 toriety, and that their attractions, which consist only 
 of the mischievous tricks of a monkey, are often pre- 
 ferred to men of sense and real sterling merit, and ad- 
 mitted, while they are excluded, and doomed in ob- 
 scurity to pine and wither, and waste the bloom of 
 their yuiius and their talent on the desert air. 
 
THE FISHER S DAUGHTER. 
 
 But to proceed. It was at the season of the year, 
 when parting summer's lingering blooms delayed, (as 
 so beautifully expressed by Thomson,) had succeeded 
 to chilling rains and keen blowing tempests, which 
 again spread a ruin round the coast of Cromer, and 
 which so frequently threatened destruction to alj* the 
 mariners and traders. The poor fishermen, unable to 
 provide bread for their numerous families, were spiritless 
 and dejected for want of exertion, and a subscription 
 was at length raised for their relief, and very largely 
 contributed to by all the principal inhabitants of Cro- 
 mer. The list being brought to the residence of Lord 
 Montague Montault, he perceived with astonishment 
 that an application had been made to the Castle of 
 Montault, and rejected ; but by whom ? Certainly 
 not by his father, the most liberal and compassionate 
 of all human beings; and the Duke being present, 
 Lord Montague handed the papei over to him, preserv- 
 ing the most profound silence. The name of the 
 fisher Blust first caught the observation of his Grace, 
 who read aloud the following contents : — 
 
 " For the relief of the distressed families of the unfor- 
 tunate mariners who have recently perished by ship- 
 wreck ; seamen and fishermen, who, by stress of the 
 inclement and tempestuous weather, are unable to fol- 
 low their several occupations, and are reduced to the 
 most abject state of wretchedness and poverty ; this 
 petition is preferred to the humane and the benevolent, 
 humbly to claim their assistance, to save their helpless 
 wives and children from perishing." Then followed 
 the names of the subscribers, and the amount of the 
 subscription specified, thus : — 
 
468 the fisher's daughter. 
 
 Peter Blust, Herring Dale, fisher, ^100. 
 Samuel Russel, Red House, fisher, g£bO. 
 
 Then in rotation followed the names of several of 
 the most respectable fishers who traded round the 
 coast, the contributions of each not exceeding the sum 
 of ten pounds. 
 
 Next came the nobility and principal inhabitants. 
 
 The Most Noble Marquis of Montault, Castle of Mon- 
 
 tault, nothing I 
 The Right Honourable Earl of Winstone, Winstone Park, 
 
 a£5. 
 
 Sir George Clevland, Clevland Manor, ^10. 
 
 The Right Honourable Lady Tannington, Lodge, £ c i. 
 
 Countess of Gaylove, Rotunda, £\. 
 
 Colonel Gorget, Woolstead Abbey, g£ZO. 
 
 The Duke having cast his eyes over the list a second 
 time, to be certain that he could not be mistaken, call- 
 ed for a pen and ink, and immediately wrote under the 
 name of his brother — 
 
 His Grace the Duke of Braganza, <s£l50. with an addi- 
 tional present of warm clothing, roast beef, and plumb 
 pudding, on the approaching Christmas Day. 
 
 He then exclaimed to Lord Montague, and return- 
 ing him the paper at the same moment, — 
 
 " There is evidently some mistake, or wilful omis- 
 sion of your father's name, Montague, the motive for 
 which I cannot at present define ; it will doubtless 
 hereafter be rectified, and of which I am certain that at 
 this moment he is profoundly ignorant. When was 
 the name of my brother ever erased from a charitable 
 benefaction Y* 
 
the fisher's daughter. 469 
 
 Lord Montague, deeply hurt, confessed the justice of 
 his Grace's observation, and immediately wrote under 
 the name of his Grace — 
 
 The Right Honourable Lord Montague Montault, Violet 
 
 Vale, £20. 
 The Right Honourable Lady Agatha Montault, £20. 
 Lord Orlando Singleton Montault, infant son of Lord 
 
 Montague Montault, £20. 
 
 At which his Grace expressed the highest approval, 
 delight, and satisfaction that could possibly be con- 
 ceived of the noble generosity of his son-in-law, and 
 the laudable example he had set before his offspring ; 
 though he was not old enough to profit by it, yet it 
 would inform the world that such was the lesson of 
 Christianity he wished to teach his son, when he 
 should arrive at the years of maturity; and how gra- 
 tifying to the feelings of a fond and affectionate wife, 
 were these praises bestowed on her husband from the 
 lips of her father. But the mind of Agatha was not in 
 its usual state of tranquillity, nor had it been for some 
 time, owing to the repeated attacks of indisposition 
 which had so frequently affected the health of her be- 
 loved husband, from one of which he was only just 
 recovered. Lord Montague had always been of a most 
 delicate constitution, although he would never confess 
 that he was so; and in order to quiet the alarming 
 fears of his Agatha, he would often conceal the inter- 
 nal ravages that the violence of his disorder had still 
 left behind it ; and though informed by his physicians 
 that they had no dangerous tendency, his pallid com- 
 plexion, which occasionally exhibited symptoms of a 
 
470 the fisher's daughter. 
 
 hectic appearance, bespoke too plainly that his disease 
 had been of a pulmonary kind, and that it required the 
 utmost care to remove the causes of it. The Duke 
 had been no inattentive observer of his progressive 
 weakness, and feared that if he did not change consi- 
 derably for the better, that a slow and lingering con- 
 sumption of the lungs would inevitably follow. These 
 fears, however, were carefully concealed not only from 
 Lord Montague himself, but from his beloved child, 
 whose attention to her husband had been of the most 
 exemplary kind, and who had watched over him in his 
 illness with the tenderest and most unremitting atten- 
 tion, enduring all anxiety, and sustaining all fatigue, 
 both mental and bodily, rather than abandon her sta- 
 tion at his side, for which she was soon rewarded by 
 his apparent amendment of health and spirits. But 
 no art of the physicians had been able to blind her 
 eyes to the primary cause of his disease; she ha^ 
 seen its progress and effects on the constitution of bnr 
 dear foster father, Captain Singleton, and Lord Mon- 
 tague had only the advantage of youth on his side to 
 combat with this fatally dangerous disease; and when 
 Agatha made this discovery, her agonized feelings were 
 insupportable, and she refused all consolation, even 
 from her father, when he talked to her of the ineffi- 
 cacy of her apprehensions for the health of her hus- 
 band. 
 
 " My dearest child !" uttered his Grace, one morn- 
 ing, on surprising her in tears, Lord Montague having 
 had a slight return of indisposition; " why do I see 
 you thus ? there is really no apparent cause for indulg- 
 in these gloomy presages, and if the*« was — " His Grace 
 
THB FI8HF.R S DAUGHTER. 
 
 paused, and pressing her hand to his lips, softly, but 
 energetically pronounced, " My child must exert that 
 fortitude which Heaven requires of its faithful votaries, 
 even in that hour when its dispensations seem most 
 severe. Montague is really not so bad as you sup- 
 pose." 
 
 " Not so bad as I suppose?" uttered Agatha, with 
 a look and a deep pathos in her voice that pierced the 
 heart of his Grace with the most tender sympathy, in 
 the anguish of her feelings. " Do you not then think 
 him better, father?" 
 
 His Grace made no response to this question ; he 
 could not flatter her with a hope that might shortly 
 prove delusive, but sighed deeply, still holding the 
 hand of his adored child, which now trembled in his 
 grasp. 
 
 " O! then I must bear it with fortitude," uttered 
 she. " I will ask no more questions." 
 
 " Do not, do not, my love!" cried his Grace; " but 
 rest your hopes in heaven." 
 
 A convulsive sob burst from the bosom of Agatha, 
 and for a moment suspended all power of articulation. 
 At length she exclaimed — 
 
 " Yes, yes, my father, I will rest my hopes in hea- 
 ven, and I will pray for fortitude to sustain me in that 
 trying hour, if such an hour is destined for me. But, 
 O God ! to lose my husband ! O father, father ! sup- 
 port me, if I fail then to have courage. Teach me, 
 teach me how to sustain that unutterable pang, eternal 
 separation from my Montague, my kind good Monta- 
 gue!" 
 
 The feelings of his Grace were powerfully affected. 
 
472 thb fisher's daughter. 
 
 Lady Agatha reclined her head upon his bosom, and 
 sobbed aloud. By every soothing means ill his power 
 he endeavoured to tranquillize the anguished feelings 
 of his beloved child, and at length he succeeded. 
 
 " Take comfort my dearest Agatha," uttered he, 
 " that he is still here, and may still be spared — and if 
 removed from all earthly space, that your separation 
 cannot be eternal j it is not so, my dearest love. We 
 part, in hope again to be re-united, nor is that hope 
 visionary or futile. Cherish it in idea as I do now, 
 and that thought will console you." 
 
 With this assurance from the being she loved dear- 
 est, her husband alone excepted, Agatha recovered her 
 self-possession and her composure, and Lord Monta- 
 gje appeared in a few days to be in a state of conva- 
 lescence. But he had wrung the heart of his mother, 
 who never, till the preceding night that she was sent 
 for by the afflicted Agatha, had imagined her son to 
 be in the slightest danger; she always thought that 
 the fears of the Marquis were augmented by the timid 
 apprehensions of his lovely wife, but on this evening 
 her own fears were awakened, and she no sooner be- 
 held his pallid looks, which alternately changed to a 
 hectic flush, than she betrayed a sensibility she had 
 never felt before, and for many days remained quite 
 inconsolable, abstaining from all fashionable amuse- 
 ments, and absenting herself from all society but that 
 of Lord and Lady Winstone, the former of whom was 
 most deeply concerned at the continued indisposition 
 of Lord Montague, and frequently visited him during 
 his confinement. One evening he returned later than 
 usual, and the Marchioness, who had dined that day 
 
THB FISHERS DAUGHTER. 
 
 at Winstone Park, had just drove from the door; his 
 5ady was therefore at home alone, though longing 
 to be abroad. 
 
 " O Winstone ! I am so glad you are returned,' 
 uttered her ladyship, yawning at the same moment, 
 and throwing down a book which she had not once 
 looked at, though it was in her hand. " I have been 
 so dull and so stupid ; though mamma has been with 
 me all day, yet she has really vapoured me to death 
 with her fears about Montague, whom she protests she 
 thinks is in a deep decline. How absurdly ridiculous 
 mamma is ! but it is always the case when any thing 
 ails her darling boy, as she calls him. Well, I wish 
 he may get better, that we may all go out again and 
 receive company." 
 
 Lord Winstone darted at his insensible wife a look 
 of severe reprehension, while he uttered — 
 
 " Then you are likely to become a prisoner for some 
 time, Lady Winstone, at least till you obtain my per- 
 mission to open these doors for the reception of the 
 company whose absence you so deeply regret." 
 
 " And why that prohibition, pray my lord, since my 
 brother is quite recovered ?" answered her ladyship, 
 poutingly. 
 
 " How do you know that he has recovered ?*' cried 
 Lord Winstone. " Have you once been to see him ? 
 I am shocked at your insensibility, Lavinia ; and if you 
 have neglected your duty to your brother, I must teach 
 you the duty of a wife, and that is, to study the plea- 
 sure of her husband as well as her own." 
 
 " Lord, how can you be so barbarous as to find fault 
 with nis for nothing at all?" uttered her ladvship. 
 
 c 20 3 o 
 
4/4 the fisher's daughter. 
 
 ?' Do you call it nothing to betray a want of feeling 
 towards your relatives, when they are in a state tha 
 demands the kindest sympathy ?" cried Lord Win- 
 stone. " Would you not think it strange if you had 
 been suffering so severely from indisposition, that your 
 brother should treat it as a matter of indifference?" 
 
 "Why Lord, so he would, he never liked me!" 
 pouted her ladyship. 
 
 (t I don't wonder at it, Lady Winstone," replied his 
 lordship ; " and I shall like you still less, when I see 
 you forgetting the most beautiful feature in a female 
 character, sensibility, of which you do not possess a 
 single particle." 
 
 " La, Winstone, how can you say any such thing?" 
 retorted Lady Lavinia. " When my monkey died of 
 the measels, that mamma gave so much money for, 
 and made me a present of, did not I cry for a whole 
 quarter of an hour, because I could not bring it to life 
 again? Was not that sensibility, pray? And when I 
 went to Lady Tannington's route in the evening, did 
 not you tell me that my eyes were as red as a ferret's, 
 because 1 had cried so for my sweet little pug? Was'nt 
 that feeling ?" 
 
 At any other moment it would have been morally 
 impossible for Lord Winstone to have preserved his 
 gravity, there was so much naivete in the manner of 
 Lady Lavinia when she offered this powerful demon- 
 stration of her feelings ; but he was aware that this 
 would only be an encouragement to the silly propensi- 
 ties to which his youthful wife was addicted, and the 
 duetto was softened down into something like har- 
 mony, when the supper was brought in, and her ladv- 
 
the fisher's daughter. 475 
 
 ship promised that the very next morning she would 
 go and enquire after the health of her brother, and pay 
 a visit of condolence to Lady Agatha and her little ne- 
 phew. 
 
 " By the bye, how ridiculous it was for Montague 
 to put the child's name down for so much money in 
 the subscription," cried Lady Lavinia; " how conspi- 
 cuous ! every body is talking of it." 
 
 To which Lord Winstone sharply replied — 
 
 " I am quite of a different opinion, Lady Winstone. 
 But do you not think it equally conspicuous for the 
 name of the Most Noble the Marquis of Montault to 
 be left out in the contributions afforded for the relief 
 of the unfortunate seamen, to which the poorest inha- 
 bitants in the parish have given their mite? Every 
 body is talking of that too; and I must confess myself, 
 that 1 think it an extraordinary omission of your fa- 
 ther's accustomed liberality." 
 
 The countenance of Lady Lavinia was marked with 
 an expression of not only surprise, but an embarrass- 
 ment, which covered her cheeks with the deepest 
 blushes ; and she involuntarily exclaimed — 
 
 " O my gracious heaven ! then mamma has not yet 
 refunded the money that papa gave her when the list 
 was left for inspection. Mamma kept it three days, 
 and I saw her write papa's name down. Was ever 
 any thing so vexatious ! mamma will get into a fine 
 scrape. How angry papa will be when he finds it 
 out!" 
 
 To which Lord Winstone indignantly replied — 
 
 " How shocked he will be at the discovery of such 
 infamous conduct, and so gross a departure from all 
 
4/Vj the fisher's daughter. 
 
 common decency. I hope Lady Winstone I shall not 
 find that you have had any thing to do with so nefarious a 
 transaction ; what could your mother mean, by degrad- 
 ing her noble lord in the estimation of the public, 
 while she lowers herself in the opinion of the meanest 
 slave." 
 
 f O ! I am so sorry, for J protest, mamma intended 
 only to borrow the money for two or three days ; and 
 replace it without any body's knowing of it," cried 
 Lady Lavinia. 
 
 " Whateverwas her intention, it appears to have been 
 frustrated," uttered his lordship ; " for I read the list 
 at your brother's ; and with infinite chagrin, perceived 
 against the name of the noble Marquis of Montault, 
 nothing. He is the only one of the nobility in this 
 neighbourhood, who has not subscribed to the relief of 
 these poor unfortunate people. How much was the sum 
 he gave your mother? did you see the money? No 
 prevarication, Lavinia, I insist upon your answering this 
 question, and truly. Lady Lavinia coloured deeply in 
 replying— 
 
 " I saw papa count the money, it was one hundred 
 guineas ; but pray don't tell mamma that I told you of 
 it, that's a dear creature, she will be in such a fury." 
 
 " In that I shall consult my own inclinations," cried 
 Lord Winstone ; ft but pray Lady Winstone, what have 
 you to fear fom the anger of your mother? I am 
 Pour husband, and you are under my jurisdiction, 
 and not her's ; if she has disgraced herself, I will take 
 good care that she shall not disgrace you. On your 
 nonour inform me, if any part of this rroney was ap- 
 propriated to your use ; it may be probable, for your 
 
the fisher's daughter. 4/7 
 
 mother is constantly leading you into the commission 
 of some act of folly, to call it by the mildest term ; had 
 you any of this money, Lavinia ?" 
 
 " Indeed, indeed, my lord, I had not," answered her 
 ladyship, bursting into a flood of tears; and feeling for 
 the first time, the authority of a husband, and the fear 
 of his displeasure. 
 
 " Well, my love, I am perfectly satisfied with your 
 conduct on this occasion," uttered Lord Winstone, 
 now taking her hand, and seating her beside him ; 
 " and this proof of your sensibility is more pleasing 
 than painful to my feelings; because it acquits you of 
 duplicity which I despise! It is certainly natural for 
 you to make excuses for your mother's faults, and to 
 conceal her indiscretion ; it would not be the duty of 
 a daughter if she did not ; and you cannot for a mo- 
 ment suppose that I am at all anxious for the expo- 
 sure of a mother, whose daughter is bound to me by 
 the dearest and most sacred of all kindred ties ; that is 
 not likely, my Lavinia. I will therefore instantly rec- 
 tify the disgraceful omission which has been made; 
 replace the liberal donation which your father has 
 given in the list of the subscription money ; and by 
 speaking to the collecting clerk all will be adjusted. I 
 will then inform the Marchioness of what I have done ; 
 and make her my debtor for the sum of the one hun- 
 dred guineas; but expect not that she will escape 
 without my most severe censure and rebuke on the 
 shameful impropriety of her conduct. 
 
 It was impossible for the most insensible being in 
 creation, not to feel admiration at such a noble display 
 of generosity, as Lord Winstone manifested on this oc- 
 
4/8 
 
 THE FISHER S DAUGHTER. 
 
 casion, which was at the same instant the most incon- 
 testable proof of his delicacy and affection for his wife ; 
 and whatever was the result of his lordship's inter- 
 ference on this occasion, and the private interview 
 which he afterwards obtained with the Marchioness, 
 it certainly produced the most pleasing consequences, 
 and occasioned a considerable change, both in the con- 
 duct of the mother and the daughter ; for Lady La- 
 vinia paid all her debts of honour, and resigned her 
 character of being a female gamester ; and the Mar- 
 chioness, that of encouraging her daughter to pursue so 
 dangerous a system of conduct. She had also aban- 
 doned the society of some of the most dissipated of 
 her fashionable associates ; and in consequence of the 
 delicate and precarious state of Lord Montague's 
 health, lived more in the domestic circle of her own 
 family, a change so pleasing to her excellent husband, 
 that, but for the fears he entertained for the recovery 
 of his beloved son, the Marquis of Montault would 
 have considered himself ultimately happy. 
 
 Thus, it is certain that out of evil some blessing 
 may be extracted ; but we are not to view evil in a 
 more favourable light, because that may sometimes be 
 the case : it is very rarely so, and therefore ought 
 never to be calculated upon in worldly affairs, or 
 possess the slightest influence over our most secret 
 actions. 
 
 We have already stated that the weather at this sea- 
 son of the year was most alarmingly tempestuous ; and 
 that continually some dreadful effects of its violence 
 were seen among the shipping, which suffered mate- 
 rially around the coast. Night after night, vessels 
 
the fisher's daughter. 4/9 
 
 were dashed on the eliffs, and many foundered in the 
 oeean ; and when the necessary time had expired, 
 since the period that Wolf had commenced his voyage 
 to India, and no tidings had arrived to inform his 
 friends of his safety, the Duke began to entertain the 
 most serious fears that some calamity had overtaken 
 the ship, which had either put into some port for safety, 
 or, what was equally probable, however dreadful, that 
 it had perished. His Grace, however, did not imme- 
 diately communicate these fears and apprehensions to 
 any one, much less to Lord Montague and his beloved 
 child, whose feelings would be powerfully affected by 
 the very suggestion of the dreadful thought that poor 
 Wolf had found a watery grave. But though this 
 thought had not yet entered into the imagination of 
 Agatha, whose constant anxiety for her husband pre- 
 cluded her from thinking on any other subject, save 
 the wish alone of seeing his health perfectly re-esta- 
 blished ; the fears of poor Alfred had arisen to a most 
 alarming height for the personal safety of his dear bro- 
 ther ; and many a weary hour, and many a sleepless 
 night he passed beneath the roof of Lord Montague 
 Montault, in contemplating the perilous voyage that 
 Wolf had taken, and the danger to which he was 
 now exposed on the bosom of the ocean. On the 
 cliffs of Cromer, he would sit whole hours musing and 
 melancholy ; and when any fragment of a vessel, which 
 had been washed on the shore from the desolation of the 
 late heavy storms, met his eye, he turned with a shudder- 
 ing sigh from the sorrowful sight, lifted up his eyes to the 
 high heavens, and breathed a fervent prayer that Wolf 
 might be preserved. No letter arriving, as was now 
 
480 the fisher's daughter. 
 
 daily and hourly expected, either to him or the Duke 
 of Braganza, his anxiety became almost insupportable, 
 and his fears frantic, more especially as the Duke of 
 late scarcely ever mentioned the name of Wolf j and 
 he thought it strange, perhaps unkind, but how little 
 did he know the motives of this excellent man for 
 concealing his sensations ; and that it was, because he 
 wished to avoid inflicting pain where it was unne- 
 cessary. 
 
 Having therefore no one to unburthen the grief 
 which lay so heavy at his heart, poor Alfred had often 
 recourse to conversations with his tutor Dr. Syntax, in 
 which he expressed his fears for the safety of his bro- 
 ther ; but to which the grave doctor always replied — 
 
 " Sir, you must call philosophy to your aid, in a case 
 where neither your art or mine can avert the evil 
 thereof." 
 
 " But, sir, with all submission to your superior judg- 
 ment," cried Alfred ; " can philosophy erase nature 
 from the heart?" 
 
 " No, sir, 1 do not admit that it can," answered the 
 doctor ; " but philosophy may temper nature when it 
 predominates over reason." 
 
 " Can philosophy silence the winds, or bid the ocean 
 cease to flow?" enquired Alfred. 
 
 " But it can do more, my young sir," reiterated the 
 doctor; "it can be obedient and submissive to the 
 power of him who bids that ocean flow; and these 
 winds when they blow a hurricane must not be mur. 
 mured at, even though they sweep the earth at one? 
 from its foundation ; and leave not a wreck behind. 
 Still, sir, we cannot avert or search into the overruling 
 
the fisher's daughter 481 
 
 providence that directs it ; if your brother has perished, 
 so much the better, he could not have left this perish- 
 able existence with fewer imperfections on his head, 
 therefore is his path to celestial happiness the more 
 certain." 
 
 " Sir, I cannot afc present enter into the spirit which 
 that philosophy gives," cried Alfred, heaving a mourn- 
 ful sigh j " though I do not doubt of its reality. If in- 
 deed his soul is departed, he dwells with the saints 
 above, for a more virtuous or a more noble minded 
 youth never existed ; but, sir, Jesus wept when Laza- 
 rus died, and if I weep for my brother, if indeed he is 
 lost to me, I do not hold my grief criminal or my tears 
 ineffectual at the throne of grace." 
 
 There was a beautiful expression which emanated at 
 this moment from the countenance of the amiable 
 youth, at which the doctor with all his philosophy 
 could not be unmoved ; and for a moment he could 
 find no argument superior to nature and to feeling. 
 
 "Dear, boy," uttered he; "I am not forbidding 
 you to grieve, that feeling is mortal ; but I am exhort- 
 ing you to bear that grief as becomes a Christian and 
 a man. I myself have my fears that Wolf has not 
 escaped from the perils of shipwreck j but we are not 
 certain of his fate, and why should we meet danger 
 half way. Be comforted, that whatever is, is right, and 
 wait the issue with patience and with submission to 
 the will of the Most High One." 
 
 Alfred endeavoured to comply with the useful lesson 
 which his tutor had given him j but every time he 
 heard the sea roar and the winds whistie, his philoso- 
 phy was at a stand, for then he thought of his brother 
 
 c21 3p 
 
J iS2 the fisher's daughter. 
 
 Wolf; and in this situation we will leave him at the 
 present, and take a peep at the fisher Blust, who one 
 evening returned from Cromer in a state of mind that 
 no one could precisely tell the cause of, as he would im- 
 part the nature of his affliction to no one ; and he alter- 
 nately wept and shouted, then shook his head and re- 
 mained motionless. In vain did old Alice interrogate 
 him as to the cause of his uneasiness, and poor Davy 
 endeavour by every means in his power to console 
 him ; but he shook them both from him, called for a 
 prayer book, and desired to be left alone ; at which 
 Alice became so alarmed that she requested David 
 would saddle the brown mare, and instantly set off 
 for the house of Mr. Russel, and bring Miss Jessy along 
 with him. 
 
 " For I do believe, Davy," uttered she, t( that poor 
 old master has had a call, and won't be here long; he is 
 as pale as a ghost, and is quite beside himself, that's 
 for certain ; and if he should die without Miss Jessy 
 being here, what would become of us ? she would never 
 forgive us ; so go thy ways my good lad, go thy ways 
 before it be too late." 
 
 " Go my ways, to a fiddlestick's end," cried Davy ; 
 *' why should 1 go for to frighten poor Miss Jessy for 
 nothing at all ? don't I know when master is three 
 sheets in the wind as well as you do ? he has been on a 
 bit of business with the merchants at Cromer, and he 
 has got a drop too much, that be all." 
 
 " I tell you there's more in the wind than we know 
 of," cried Alice. " Did you ever see master call for a 
 prayer book when he was three sheets in the wind 
 you blind-pated oaf, you ; and if you don't go for Miss 
 
THE fisher'? daughter. 483 
 
 Jessy immediately, I'll raise the neighbourhood, you 
 mongrel you ; I'll let you know who's mistress here." 
 As David was no stranger to the influence that Alice 
 possessed at Herring Dale, and was besides a little in 
 awe of the old dame himself, he no longer refused to 
 obey her commands; and saddling the brown mare, 
 very expeditiously made his appearance at the house of 
 Mr. Russel, informing him of the apprehensions of the 
 old housekeeper respecting his master; at which intelli- 
 gence both Mr. and Mr*. Russel became seriously 
 alarmed. 
 
 " And do you really think that my father is in dan- 
 ger, David ?" cried Jessy, hastily throwing on her bon- 
 net and pelisse, and determined to accompany her 
 husband immediately to Herring Dale. 
 
 *' Why, [ can't say much as to the matter of that, 
 ma'am," cried David ; " though his eyes do roll round 
 most monstraciously, and old Alice do say that master 
 have got a call, for certain sure he did call loudly for a 
 prayer book, so I whipt up the first I could find, with 
 Miss Olive's name on one of the leaves ; which when 
 master did cast his eyes upon, he did groan most 
 pitiously, and bade me leave the room, and that's all 
 I know of the matter, Miss Jessy." But Jessy had 
 heard more than enough to convince her that some- 
 thing serious had occasioned this perturbation in the 
 mind of her dear father; and the horse being put into 
 the gig, she besought her husband to drive as expe- 
 ditiously as possible (and without waiting for any 
 farther explanation from David) to Herring Dale. 
 
484 the fisher's daughtxr. 
 
 CHAPTER XXII. 
 
 1 O 1 in that hour the pangs I knew 
 Were neither trifling ones nor few, 
 But yet it was a bliss to me, 
 To feel that they were shared with tbse. 
 
 Thy tears fell fast, thy accents faulter'd, 
 Which said thy love should be unalter'd ; 
 And whereso'er thy wauderings be, 
 I canuot choose but think on thee. 
 
 In spite of all that I have borne 
 
 Frmn hollow friendship, open scorn, 
 
 In spite of fate's unkind decree, 
 
 [ still am blest with thoughts of thee." Dalby. 
 
 When Mr. and Mrs. Russel arrived at the habita- 
 tion of the fisher Blust, he was more composed than 
 when David had been dispatched by old Alice with so 
 alarming an account of the perturbed state of his 
 mind ; and at the moment of his daughter's entrance 
 to the little oak parlour where he was sitting, he had 
 just awakened out of a comfortable nap which appear- 
 ed greatly to have refreshed him ; and the sight of his 
 beloved child, though unexpected by him, was no less 
 welcome »- tU ~ *"-- H""? nf a fond father, who on her 
 
the fisher's daughter. 485 
 
 approaching him, and taking his hand, strained her to 
 his breast with more than his usual warmth of affection, 
 exclaiming — 
 
 " Why my Jessy thee be'est a witch, that be certain, 
 just to pop thy pretty round good-humoured face in at 
 the door, when thy poor old father were longing to 
 see thee. Well, how dost do, my girl ? and how is 
 Sam ? and how be the little dumpling?" 
 
 " Samuel is here, dearest father," uttered Jessy, in 
 so low and tremulous an accent, that the fisher, fixing 
 his eyes on her changing countenance, and instantly 
 dropping his, which was beginning to wear a more 
 cheerful aspect, heaved a mournful sigh, and in a low 
 voice, exclaimed — 
 
 " What thee dost know it already ? ill news flies 
 apace, that be certain. I was afraid to send thee word 
 of the sad mishap, because I knew what a tender heart 
 thou has got my Jessy, and that it would grieve thee 
 sadly. I went to Cromer yesterday you know Jessy, 
 to dine with my old friend Harris, the ship-builder, 
 with a few more jolly companions at the old sign of 
 Meg of Wapping, and there I got a little groggy, that's 
 for certain; but I was soon sobered, shiver my topsails, 
 I was soon sobered when Harris, just as I had smoked 
 my third pipe, handed me over a bit of a paper." 
 
 " ' Peter,' cried he, ' its no use of snivelling and 
 piping the eye, when once old Davy Jones has got foul 
 of us. There's a sad misfortune happened, and the 
 sooner you know of it the better, its no more than 
 what we have a right to expect, when you consider 
 the tremendous gales we have had blowing upon our 
 eoast for these two months past ; and the subscription 
 
486 the fisher's daughter. 
 
 which has been so lately raised, which to the honour 
 of Cromer has been a very liberal one, for the wives 
 and children of many a brave fellow who now lies 
 buried in the ocean/ So with that Jessy, I takes the 
 paper out of the hands of my old friend Harris, and 
 putting on my spectacles without any more to do, I 
 reads this : take it Jessy ; but don't let me see it any 
 more, for it has almost broken my poor old heart ; it 
 is blotted with my tears, but you can make it out 
 Jessy, your eyes are young, and you can make it out, 
 though I had a hard matter, till I came to the name 
 
 of the ship that the very ship that " Here the 
 
 fisher burst into a flood of tears, and covered his face 
 with his handkerchief, while Jessy, pale and trembling, 
 glanced her eyes over the torn and crumpled papei 
 which her father had placed in her hand, the contents 
 of which were as follow : — (addressed to Harris and 
 Co. Shipbuilders, Cromer.) 
 
 66 Gentlemen, 
 " With deep regret I have to relate to you the melan- 
 choly intelligence, that on the night of the 26th in- 
 stant, the ships, Mary and Elizabeth, East Indiamen, 
 in which you had a principal share, foundered at sea, 
 with only two men and one boy saved from the dread- 
 ful wrecks. Every soul else has perished, with all the 
 valuable cargoes that were on board of them. The 
 men, though humanely attended to, are not expected to 
 survive the whole of this night ; they were conveyed to 
 the hospital at St. Antonio, with the cabin boy who 
 with them was washed on shore after the boat went 
 to pieces. They infoim us, that on the beginning of 
 
the fisher's daughter. 487 
 
 the dreadful storm, they fell in company with a fine 
 East Indiaman, of the name of the Princess Charlotte, 
 who had passengers on board, and troops, and some 
 young officers going to join their regiment; — that they 
 parted with the Princess Charlotte soon after the gale 
 came on, and the next morning heard signal-guns of dis- 
 tress, (she being then nearly a wreck,) but were unable 
 to offer her the slightest assistance, the Mary and Eliza- 
 beth being precisely in the same situation ; — that she 
 soon afterwards struck and went to pieces, and they 
 have every reason to suppose all on board of her 
 ultimately perished, as they saw no vestige of either her 
 or her crew afterwards; — that the Mary and Elizabeth 
 very shortly shared the same fate ; — and that they alone 
 (being the sole surviving crew of the ship Elizabeth) 
 remained to tell us of the melancholy catastrophe, in 
 which, gentlemen, although you are not the only suf- 
 ferers that sustain losses by this dreadful calamity, 
 we nevertheless condole w T ith you on the present oc- 
 casion ; and remain, 
 
 Your most obedient servants, 
 
 Arundale and Simpson." 
 
 The sensations of poor Jessy, on reading the con- 
 clusive part of this epistle, may better be imagined than 
 described. She sunk into a chair, wholly overpowered 
 by the excess of her feelings, and sobbed aloud, which 
 perhaps was the only means of arousing the fisher 
 from the torpid state of grief into which the loss of 
 poor Wolf had so recently plunged him ; and with the 
 tenderest assiduities he now endeavoured to tranquil- 
 lize and compose the agitation which this unexpected 
 
488 the fisher's daughter. 
 
 intelligence had occasioned to his beloved child, forget- 
 Jhig all he had recently endured ; he repented that 
 he had so suddenly informed her of this melancholy 
 event which he supposed from her dejected looks, and 
 low tremulous voice she had already by some means 
 been apprized of, though now fully convinced from 
 the shock she betrayed, that she had never heard till 
 the present moment ; and loudly he called for his son- 
 in-law, to come to his aid and console the feelings of 
 his afflicted child, who the moment he appeared was 
 soon informed of the cause of her present grief, and 
 her shedding such involuntary tears : and to do justice 
 to the feelings of honest Samuel, he was scarcely less 
 affected than his beloved Jessy ; for he had loved Wolf 
 as if he had been his own brother, and was shocked 
 with the dreadful certainty of his having at last perish- 
 ed by shipwreck. Still he stifled his feelings iu order 
 to tranquillize those of his amiable wife, who was soon 
 recalled by the kind endearments both of her father 
 and her husband, to a degree of composure; which was 
 soon followed by the reflection, that to arraign the will 
 of Heaven, however severe the blow that it gives, 
 was to doubt in all other respects its unerring wisdom 
 and protection. Quickly therefore were those tears 
 dried in her lovely azure eyes, and quickly were those 
 murmuring sighs hushed that had a moment before so 
 powerfully agitated her lovely breast ; and Samuel and 
 his father-in-law spent the remainder of the evening 
 in conversing on the awful visitations with which provi- 
 dence had pleased in so many dreadful losses of ship- 
 ping to assail the coast; and though Peter could not 
 but admit the justice of the observation, that " whatever 
 
the fisher's daughter. 489 
 
 is, is right," yet he could not help heartily lamenting 
 that he had ever permitted his adopted sons to go from 
 beneath his roof, or had resigned his protection of them 
 to another. 
 
 " Poor fellow," uttered he; " he little thought when 
 he was going into a golden cage, how soon his wings 
 would be clipped for ever. 1 don't know how it was 
 Sam, but when I parted with the boy a thought struck 
 me that I should never see his comely face again. Shiver 
 my topsails if I did'nt lay in my hammock many a 
 night, and could not close my peepers for thinking of 
 him ; and when the wind bio wed a hurricane so fresh 
 from the eastward, I have often thought of Davy Jones, 
 and that the poor boy Wolf might be laying along side 
 of him ; but don't'ee cry, Jess, that's a good wench, for 
 it do make me broken-hearted to see thee cry so. 
 Wolf were a fine fellow, that be certain ; but he be 
 gone aloft, and we do know that he has gotten a good 
 birth there, because he never harmed no mortal man 
 while he were here ; he were a clean sheet of paper* 
 as a body may say, and the angels in Heaven might 
 write their name on it, and welcome." 
 
 " He was indeed, sir," uttered Samuel, as brave 
 and as kind a lad as ever breathed the breath of life : 
 but I own I have for a long time past entertained the 
 most alarming fears for his safety, though I never sug- 
 gested such a thought to Mrs. Russel ; and the intelli- 
 gence, however melancholy, does not surprize me. A 
 voyage like that must needs be perilous at this seasoL 
 of the year, in addition to which, the oldest and most 
 experienced of our seamen never yet witnessed so 
 long a continuance of tempestuous weather, or so many 
 
 b 21 3q ^ 
 
490 the fisher's daughter. 
 
 vessels wrecked upon our coast, alike fatal everywhere 
 else." 
 
 " O ! how I feel for what poor Lady Agatha will 
 suffer when she hears of this dreadful certainty of the 
 fate of dear Wolf/' observed Jessy, " of which it is 
 impossible that she can very long remain ignorant; 
 how deeply will she lament the loss of her deserving 
 young favourite ! The amiable Lord Montague, and 
 the Duke of Braganza too, how truly do I sympathize 
 in their sorrow on so melancholy an occasion !" 
 
 To which the fisher, whose spirits were consiaerajiy 
 revived by the presence of his daughter, replied, while 
 he called for his usual allowance of grog to be placed 
 before him — 
 
 " Avast there, Jessy, about the grief of Lord Mon- 
 tague and all that, for shiver my topsails if I think he 
 will care one farthing about the matter." 
 
 " And why father, do you imagine that Lord Mon- 
 tague has so little feeling," enquired Jessy, much hurt 
 to hear the husband of her lovely friend taxed with a 
 want of humanity. 
 
 " Don't tell me about his feeling, or the feeling of 
 any such fine-fangled gentry," rejoined Peter, giving 
 his pipe, which was now in his mouth, an additional 
 whiff; "don't I know what sort of a feeling he had for 
 the poor lad, and that he loved him as the devil loves 
 holy water? Feeling! wasn't my lord's stockings yel- 
 low long before he went away, though now he will 
 never be a stumbling block in his way as long as he do 
 live, poor soul ; and well he might, now I think of it, 
 for Wolf were worth a million c if such shim sham 
 things as he. The tailor don't like to be out done, dc 
 
the fisher's daughter. 491 
 
 he, Sam ? Talk about what my lord will feel ! what 
 will the poor boy Alfred feel ? it cuts my heart across 
 when J do think of it." 
 
 " Still he must submit to the will of Providence," 
 uttered Jessy ; " and his good sense, of which he has 
 a great share, will, after a period, reconcile him to the 
 loss of his brother, who is now in heaven." 
 
 Some further conversation relating to the melancholy 
 and afflicting event ensued ; and it was not till a late 
 hour that Mr. and Mrs. Russel returned to their habi- 
 tation, having succeeded in restoring the fisher to a 
 more tranquil and composed state of mind, and leav- 
 ing directions with old Alice to take particular care of 
 him ; while Jessy assured the faithful and affectionate 
 old creature, that the fears she had entertained for the 
 sudden indisposition of her master were groundless, as 
 far as respected his health, but the shock he had that 
 day sustained had been too much for his feelings. 
 
 " And almost for mine too, Alice," uttered Jessy ; 
 and, bursting into tears, related the melancholy intelli- 
 ligence that poor Wolf had found a watery grave on 
 his voyage to India; that the ship in which he sailed 
 was lost, and that all had perished with her : at which 
 \joor old Alice expressed, in terms of the deepest, yet 
 most artless sympathy, her feelings, yet blending them 
 with a pious resignation to the will of the Supreme 
 Disposer of all human affairs. Jessy had advised her 
 father to wait privately on the Duke the ensuing morn- 
 ing, and as cautiously as possible to impart the melan- 
 choly news, by shewing him the letter which Mr. Har- 
 ris had received ; stating that his Grace would be the 
 
492 the fisher's daughter. 
 
 most proper personage to acquaint Lord and Lady 
 Montague with an event which would for a long time 
 overwhelm the family in the deepest affliction. 
 
 Accordingly the fisher set out early for Violet Vale, 
 where, as soon as he was announced, he was imme- 
 diately admitted : Lord and Lady Montague were sit- 
 ting alone, the Duke having not yet paid his usual 
 morning visit to his lovely daughter, and Peter was 
 saluted with the most cordial welcome, though they 
 were a little surprised at his unexpected appearance, 
 and a somewhat of gloom that marked the expression 
 of his countenance ; and with great anxiety Agatha en- 
 quired after the health of Jessy and the little Matilda. 
 
 " Thank you, my lady, it is all well there," cried 
 Peter. " My Jessy desires her respects to you and my 
 lord, though she be downhearted at the present mo- 
 ment, I can assure you." 
 
 " And yet you tell me, my dear sir, that Jessy is 
 well, and your little granddaughter ; 1 hope therefore 
 that nothing has occurred to occasion her any uneasi- 
 ness. Is Mr. Russel quite well ?" cried Agatha. 
 
 " Charming, my lady," answered Peter, with his 
 usual propensity to bluntness. " Never saw Sam 
 look so hearty in his life, yet there be a something 
 that do make my Jessy sadly grieve." 
 
 Agatha was silent and, she knew not from what par- 
 ticular cause, felt agitated ; she perceived that the 
 fisher was labouring to disclose something of the ut- 
 most consequence, but whether it affected him or his 
 daughter she could not tell ; and she hesitated to make 
 an enquiry that might not be pleasing to Lord Monta- 
 
the fisher's daughtbr. 493 
 
 gue, who, however, probably guessing at her thoughts, 
 kindly anticipated her wishes, by exclaiming — 
 
 " I am sorry, Mr. Blust, that your amiable daughter 
 has any cause for uneasiness, but if it can be removed 
 by any exertion of mine, or Lady Agatha's, you may 
 command our services as far as we are able ; and I beg 
 yon will not hesitate to inform us." 
 
 To which Peter, shaking his head, replied mourn- 
 fully— 
 
 " Why, that be mortal kind of your lordship,, and I 
 do thank you both for Jessy and me with all my heart 
 and soul ; but it be quite out of your power to be of 
 any service in this melancholy piece of business ; it is 
 past your power, my lord, or any other man on earth, 
 to do any good in it." 
 
 The fisher looked down on the ground, and heaved 
 another sigh ; and Agatha more astonished than ever 
 at his continued evasion, looked at Lord Montague, 
 and Lord Montague at her, both being unable to form 
 any conclusive opinion of the fisher's words and ac- 
 tions, which were quite unintelligible. After a pause, 
 however, Lord Montague uttered — ■ 
 
 " Mr. Blust, I certainly will not press you to reveal 
 any thing against your inclination, but I presume you 
 had some motive in favouring us with a visit here this 
 morning, and your looks and your manner plainly in 
 dicate that it is of a somewhat serious nature ; why 
 then conceal it? It is unkind when you are thus 
 urged both by myself and Lady Agatha, and when both 
 are willing to alleviate any cause of uneasiness from 
 which you and your daughter may necessarily suffer." 
 
 Peter was silent, and to the utter astonishment of 
 
494 the fisher's daughter. 
 
 both Lord and Lady Montague, continued so until 
 the precise moment that the Duke of Braganza entered 
 the room ; and then Peter immediately arose, and tak- 
 ing him apart, whispered a few words in his ear, which 
 seemed to have an aimost instantaneous effect upon 
 his feelings. He changed colour, and without uttering 
 a sentence to either Lord Montague or his beloved 
 daughter, motioned Peter to follow him out of the 
 room. 
 
 if I cannot possibly divine the cause of this mys- 
 tery/' exclaimed his lordship, as soon as they had 
 quitted the room. " But wherefore are you thus 
 agitated, my dearest love? It cannot concern us; or, 
 if it does, your father will no doubt shortly communi- 
 cate to us the nature of Peter's grievance, which ap- 
 pears so powerfully to have wrought upon his feelings." 
 
 " But it affects the feelings of my father too!" ut- 
 tered Agatha, turning pale at the same moment. "Did 
 you not observe his agitation when he quitted the 
 room ? You could not avoid seeing it, though you 
 don't like to say so. O my Montague ! what can this 
 dreadful mystery be, that involves my father as well as 
 Mr. Blust!" 
 
 To which Lord Montague, taking the hand of his 
 adored wife, tenderly exhorted her to calm her agitated 
 spirits, and to retire for a few moments, while he him- 
 self made the enquiry of the Duke, respecting the mys- 
 terious conduct of the fisher, in private. 
 
 *' And will you then promise to reveal it to me, my 
 Montague?" demanded Agatha, impatiently. 
 
 To which his lordship, with impassioned fondness, 
 replied — 
 
the fisher's daughter, 495 
 
 " What is there that I would not reveal to my Aga- 
 tha, that it is proper for her to know?" 
 
 And her ladyship immediately complied with the 
 wishes of her husband, and retired to her boudoir, in 
 a state of anxiety and suspense that was indescribable, 
 while Lord Montague, left to his reflections, yielded 
 without restraint to the first impression which had 
 possessed his mind, from the moment that the Duke 
 had quitted the room with the fisher Blust ; and con- 
 necting his Grace's sudden alteration of countenance 
 with the strange and mysterious agitation of the fisher, 
 he naturally concluded that he had brought him some 
 unpleasing intelligence, which he thought necessary to 
 communicate to him before any other part of the fa- 
 mily; and he had no doubt, from some part of the 
 unconnected sentences he had uttered, that it related 
 to Wolf, as no account of the ship he had sailed in 
 had yet arrived, though considerably past the time that 
 it had been expected. Thus prepared to meet the 
 apprehensions he had long entertained for the safety of 
 this amiable youth, Lord Montague determined not to 
 intrude on the privacy of his Grace, but patiently to 
 wait the issue of his return to the drawing room. 
 Not many minutes elapsed before the fisher Blust took 
 his departure from Violet Vale, and he received a sum- 
 mons to attend his father-in-law in the library, which 
 summons he instantly obeyed ; but was shocked at 
 his entrance, to perceive *hat the Duke had been so 
 powerfully affected, as very recently to have shed tears. 
 He was then leaning with his arms spread upon the 
 table; a letter open, and torn in some places, was before 
 him, and in a voice of deep pathos he desired Lord 
 
496 the fisher's daughter. 
 
 Montague to close the door after him with the utmost 
 caution, as he would admit of no interruption at the 
 present monient of the distressed state of his feelings. 
 He then pointed to the letter which lay open on the 
 table, and told his lordship to peruse its melancholy 
 contents, while, with a profound sigh, he exclaimed — 
 " 1 had once a prediction on rny mind, which of late 
 has continually recurred and possessed my imagination 
 with the most terrific forebodings, that receiving no 
 intelligence of the Princess Charlotte such inevi- 
 tably would be her fate ; and these fears are now too 
 truly verified. In the very flower of his bloom a youth 
 has perished, which maturity would have expanded 
 and ripened into the fullest perfection ; a child of Pro- 
 vidence, whom the waves once spared, but now again 
 claim as their own, and have withdrawn him for ever from 
 all mortal space, from all mortal view ; yet who dares 
 aver that his awful dispensations are unjust or unkind ? 
 We must not think them so ; and even while we weet. 
 over the memory of those dear departed objects whonr 
 we have loved and cherished, we must mix our tearj 
 with pious orgies, and bless the hand, who never sent 
 a wound he could not heal at his supreme command. 
 I would the youth had lived, but he was not at my 
 disposal; nor hastened I him to that bourne, from 
 whence no traveller returns. I feel therefore no ie- 
 proach on my conscience, or sorrow in my heart for 
 the part I have acted towards him : nor do I hold it 
 sinful to shed a tear because he has quitted a perish- 
 able existence ; for our Saviour wept at the death of 
 Lazarus, and his heavenly father d'd not reprove him 
 for it." 
 
vhh fisher's daughter. 4"97 
 
 His Grace paused, and passed his hand across his 
 face to hide the gushing tear that had again rushed to 
 his eye ! at length he recovered his control over the 
 softness of his naturally kind and sensitive heart. In the 
 meanwhile Lord Montague observed the most solemn 
 silence, which was far more eloquent than speech, at 
 the present trial of his feelings, which were deeply affect- 
 ed by the confirmation of all he had before anticipated ; 
 and he expressed as much afterwards to the Duke, that 
 such had been his fears for the safety of poor Wolf, 
 while he declared his total want of courage to inform 
 Lady Agatha of this melancholy event — that she had re* 
 tired in a state of anxiety, and was now waiting to 
 have an explanation of the fisher's mysterious visit. 
 
 At which the Duke exclaimed— 
 
 " Warm, generous, and honest-hearted fellow ! how 
 I respect the feeling and the principle which actuates 
 every sentiment of that unrefined son of nature. I 
 could have worshipped him for the delicacy he pre- 
 served before my beloved child ! he knew the ten- 
 derness of her nature > and that she could not suddenly 
 sustain so severe a shock; yet she must certainly be 
 made acquainted with it, and the sooner the better j I 
 will undertake that mission from your hands Montague, 
 and prepare my beloved child to receive the melan- 
 choly intelligence : nor must you be surprised if power- 
 ful are the effects which it will produce on Agatha's 
 feelings, when you reflect under what circumstances 
 this poor youth was first introduced to her notice; 
 and I entreat you Montague, that if she yields to the 
 excess of those feelings, even in your presence, not to re- 
 proach her for it. They are innocent, and they are fault- 
 
 c 21 3 r 
 
498 the fisher's daughter. 
 
 less ; the youth Wolf had a strong claim to her friend- 
 ship, and in no respect did he prove unworthy of it. 
 Covet not a tear then that she may shed to his depart- 
 ed memory; subdue your own weakness, and she will 
 easily learn to conquer hers. You must be blind to her 
 strong emotions, and chide her not if she expresses 
 them when she finds that Wolf has perished in that 
 ocean which she once lamented was the fate of her 
 foster father, Captain Singleton ; and consider that it is 
 not possible she should hear of the fate of Wolf, without 
 manifesting strong symptoms of regret. Nor will 
 any liberal mind or feeling heart condemn her for so 
 doing." 
 
 Lord Montague remained for a moment in abstract- 
 ed silence at the conclusion of the Duke's speech, 
 conscious that he was deserving of the reproof which 
 his father-in-law had indirectly given him for his 
 former suspicion of jealousy, which he had once im- 
 bibed agaiust Wolf from the mere supposition that he 
 had regarded his lovely wife with any other sentiment 
 than what the purest and most exalted friendship 
 would have warranted ; and which the conduct of 
 Wolf had long exculpated himself from, before he de- 
 parted from Violet Vale. But Lord Montague had no 
 idea that the Duke had suspected what he himself had 
 scarcely acknowledged, and he was exceedingly abashed 
 at the discovery that his father-in-law had made; 
 but if a rival he had ever considered Wolf, that rival 
 was now no more ; though he felt indignant that 
 such a thought should have found entrance into the 
 breast of the Duke, when he had imagined that he had 
 maoc use of every effort to conceal it. But Lord Mou- 
 
the fisher's daughter. 499 
 
 tague was not aware that both love and jealousy, being 
 two of the strongest passions that prevail in the human 
 breast, are the very last that can escape detection, es- 
 pecially with those who have smarted long under its 
 influence, which had formerly been the case with the 
 Duke of Braganza. When he loved the beautiful Flo- 
 rentine Agatha Delcrusa, there were many contending 
 suitors that aspired to her hand of no mean preten- 
 sions ; and it is probable that her fate had been more 
 happy if she had selected one of these, and avoided the 
 pangs she endured for her bosom's lord, who had by 
 every means sought her, though she sought not him ; 
 and it is most likely, had she done so, that the Duchess, 
 no longer in fear of the power of her charms when she 
 had once bestowed her hand, would have befriended 
 her instead of persecuting her as she afterwards did, 
 because she had encouraged the addresses of her son. 
 But wherefore was Agatha to blame ? she loved j and 
 how could she avoid the seducing voice of the man 
 she loved ? when graces of person, an accomplished 
 mind, and the most exalted splendour of rank and 
 title awaited her, in addition to his unceasing solicitation 
 to become his bride — the bride of a duke, young, 
 handsome, and wealthy, (for all dukes are not wealthy,) 
 and withal the only man her youthful heart had ever 
 prized : what could woman do, unless she had been 
 more than mortal, but to accept of the golden ball thus 
 thrown at her feet ? But when she had obtained the so 
 much vvished-for prize, she lived but an hour in its glit- 
 tering rays, and perished — an example that of them- 
 selves neither riches or exalted rank can produce hap- 
 piness. Alone, it is a mere flying meteor of the skies, 
 
500 the eisher's daughter. 
 
 that illumines for a moment the starry spheres, and 
 then is seen no more; and Agatha lived to prove it so, 
 for neither rank or riches could preserve her from the 
 sad destiny that awaited her ; for as the wedded wife 
 of Braganza, she had endured more perils than if she 
 had been united to the meanest peasant or the humblest 
 slave. 
 
 Colouring deeply therefore, Lord Montague replied — 
 
 "You cannot surely suppose your Grace that I could 
 censure in your lovely daughter that feature which is 
 the most beautiful in the sex, — sensibility, — and which 
 has been the most distinguishing characteristic in her 
 disposition, ever since I have had the happiness of 
 being known to her ; nor was I ignorant of the claim 
 which the youth Wolf had upon the interest she took 
 in his fate 5 if I was blind to his perfections, it was only 
 for a short time; and — and — and — if your Grace had 
 penetration sufficient to discover my weakness, I feel 
 that you have now sufficient generosity to pardon it, 
 when repentance has far exceeded my fault." 
 
 A warm pressure of the hand of his son-in-law was 
 the only reply that the Duke returned in answer to 
 this certainly candid, and modest appeal made to his 
 feelings j and he expressed his fears that it would be 
 a hard matter to reconcile Alfred to the loss of his bro- 
 ther; and that, however painful the task, it was highly 
 necessary that he should immediately be informed 
 of it. 
 
 <* I will therefore send for the doctor, and he can 
 disclose it to him, in any way that he thinks most 
 suitable to the feelings of the poor youth," uttered 
 his Grace ; "' he is more used to the natural tempera 
 
the fisher's daughter. 501 
 
 ture of his mind, and has no doubt acquired some in- 
 fluence over it by this time. There is none so proper 
 therefore to reason with him on an event in which all 
 our regrets are now unavailing." 
 
 In the course of the day these measures were 
 strictly adopted, both in respect to the Lady Agatha 
 and young Alfred. The Duke gradually and cautiously 
 revealed to his daughter the melancholy intelligence 
 he had that morning received from the fisher Blust, 
 and the doctor as cautiously communicated the same 
 to his pupil j but no caution could avail to stop the 
 full tide of tumultuous and agonizing feelings which 
 ensued. The grief of Alfred was unutterable and silent 
 anguish ; that of the Lady Agatha more violent and 
 alarming in its operations on her delicate frame ; she 
 uttered a piercing cry of horror on the very first inti- 
 mation which she received from the Duke of the 
 shocking catastrophe which had taken place, sunk in 
 his arms, and in a few moments became insensible to 
 all around her. She was instantly conveyed to her 
 chamber, and proper restoratives applied ; but she kept 
 her chamber some days, wholly unable to conceal, and 
 not wishing to do so from her husband, the sensa- 
 tions of regret she experienced in the loss of her young 
 favourite, which indeed was almost general the mo- 
 ment it became known to the whole of the establish- 
 ment at Violet Vale, for the Danish youth was beloved 
 by all. His manly, open, and generous deportment, had 
 endeared him to the lowest domestic ; and by none was 
 he more sincerely lamented, than by Rebecca and the lit- 
 tle waiting maid Beda, who wept for three days the loso 
 
502 the fisher's daughter. 
 
 of the handsome young Wolf; but not daring to 
 express these signs of lamentation in the presence of 
 her lovely mistress, she frequently stole in the dead of 
 the night to the chamber of the nurse ; and there poured 
 forth her grief by the loudest acclamations of the most 
 poignant sorrow, at which Rebecca would gently re- 
 prove her, exclaiming — 
 
 " Child, you must learn to restrain your feelings, 
 when they carry you to such lengths ; what have you to 
 do to be weeping so incessantly for the loss of one 
 who was no kin to you, and whom all your tears can- 
 not bring to life again, though you were to shed a lap 
 full of them ; not but what Mr. Wolf was worthy of 
 being lamented by all that knew him, he was such a 
 sweet young man ! but it don't become you child to 
 take on in this manner; it is quite shameful for such a 
 young girl as you." 
 
 '* Then pray, why does k become my lady, who is 
 so much older than me, though she is so much hand- 
 somer," cried Beda. " I am sure there is hardly a day 
 passes without her shedding a tear for Mr. Wolf; I 
 have seen her do it when nobody else has, so I have, 
 and when she is all alone by herself; and though she 
 tries to hide it whenever I go into the room and catch 
 her at it, yet I have an eye as sharp as a needle." 
 
 " And a tongue too, if I may judge of the present 
 specimen you give of it," cried Rebecca; " but pray 
 what right have you to intrude upon my lady's pri- 
 vacy, and to be forming your own conclusions upon 
 every thing you see and hear. I thought I had told 
 you a bit of my mind once before on this subject; but 
 
the fisher's daughter. 503 
 
 little do you attend to my admonitions. Yon may 
 wait till it is too late to be benefited by my advice, 
 and then mayhap you may think of Rebecca." 
 
 Beda promised never to transgress in the like man- 
 ner, and we believe that she kept her word ; for though 
 her favourite was never forgot, yet time did much in 
 soothing the deep anguish that his loss had occasioned 
 in the remembrance of all his friends. The fisher 
 never mentioned him without having resource to an 
 additional glass of grog, nor Jessy without her lovely 
 eyes being moistened with a tear ; but the wound that 
 the Lady Agatha and Alfred felt was of a more lasting 
 kind ; and though some revolving years had passed 
 away since the period of this afflicting event, Lady 
 Agatha could never bear the slightest mention of the 
 Danish youth, without betraying the most considerable 
 emotion, which was never more strongly manifested, 
 than when she beheld her former protector, the fisher 
 Blust, or his daughter Jessy, with whom a more inti- 
 mate connection took place ; and she very frequently 
 visited Mr. and Mrs. Russel, in preference to a more 
 fashionable circle of friends. The Marchioness went 
 on in her usual way, and Lady Lavinia had produced, a 
 son and heir, to the great joy of her transported hus- 
 band ; for he now believed that maternal cares would 
 supersede those fashionable hours which had been 
 passed in dissipation ; and for a short time she fulfilled 
 his expectations, and the novelty of being a mother 
 prevailed over every other sensation. But no induce- 
 ment whatever could have the least influence in per- 
 suading her ladyship to suckle her infant son, which 
 she positively refused to do, though at the solicitation 
 
504 the fisher's DAUGHTER. 
 
 of Lord Winstone, alleging for an excuse, that her 
 constitution was too delicate ; and her mother being 
 present, she exclaimed — 
 
 "Am I right or wrong, beautiful mamma? Did 
 you not always say that my health was too delicate 
 for any such thing ?" 
 
 To which the Marchioness replied — 
 
 " To be sure, my love, you are incontestably right; 
 you are excessively unfit for such an office j and 
 Lord VVinstone is prodigiously wrong to make such a 
 request to you." 
 
 ' f So he is mamma, and I wont do it to please him, 
 that's what I won't," retorted the fashionable young 
 mother. " Barbarous man ! docs he want to be the 
 death of me ? What am I to do, with a baby always 
 hanging on my bosom, I should be glad to know?" 
 
 " And I should be glad to know, Lady Winstone," 
 cried he, " what station is more proper for an infant, 
 than a mother's breast to hang on, if indeed you feel 
 the affection of a mother towards it ? And as to the 
 extreme delicacy of your health, permit me to say, that 
 it is the first time I ever heard you complain of it, and 
 that I never in my life saw you in better health than 
 you are at the present moment. It is a subterfuge 
 which you ought to blush at, particularly when I re- 
 mind you of the delicacy of Lady Agatha Montault. I 
 presume you cannot pretend to more delicacy than 
 her, yet she was the nurse of Lord Orlando." 
 
 A smart controversy now began, in which the mother 
 and daughter bore so principal a part, that poor Lord 
 Winstone was fairly driven off the field, and the ladies 
 became the conquerors. 
 
thk fisher's DAUGHTER. 505 
 
 " Is it not maliciously provoking, that he is always 
 bringing up my brother's wife as an example?" cried 
 Lady Lavinia, as soon as his lordship had made his 
 exit. 
 
 " Prodigiously so, my love. Her name always gives 
 ue a fit of the vapours, from which I never recover 
 ill I go into company again ; it is the same with your 
 ather, ditto with the Duke, and ditto repeated from 
 norning till night," uttered the Marchioness. 
 
 " Well, I positively shall be so glad when my bro- 
 ther goes to the continent, and takes his pretty idol 
 with him ! for 1 am sure I am heartily sick of being 
 pestered to death by my husband to imitate Lady Aga- 
 tha Montault. Have you heard any thing of this con- 
 tinental business lately, beautiful mamma?" 
 
 To which the Marchioness replied — ■ 
 
 " O yes, my deal, I believe that Montague is now 
 ultimately fixed in his intention of trying the effects of 
 a foreign climate on his constitution; he is attacked so 
 again with his former complaint: although no dange- 
 rous symptoms were apprenended by his physicians, yet 
 they one and all advised him to try the mild and salu- 
 brious air of Italy ; and to say the truth, were it not for 
 the primary cause that will induce him to quit his na 
 tive land, I should actually rejoice at his going for 
 many reasons, one of which is, the degrading society 
 in which he permits his wife to indulge, in keeping 
 company with that old sea monster and all his low 
 bred family — the Russels. Would you believe it, that 
 there is scarcely a day passes but the whole brood of 
 fishery dine at the table of Lord and Lady Montague 
 Montault; and they condescend to visit their wretched 
 
 a 22 3 s 
 
5Ut> the f.sher's daughter. 
 
 hovel by the banks of the river as frequently. [ was 
 perfectly horrified, my dear Lavinia, when I called the 
 other morning to chat an hour with Montague, to find 
 the drawing room at Violet Vale occupied by these 
 wretches, and that your brother seemed actually pleas- 
 ed with the conversation of thct pretty piece of still 
 life, Mrs. Russel, whom Agatha cai's such a paragon of 
 grace and beauty, her sweet Miss Jessy that used to 
 be. Now there was some spirit in the other girl that 
 had the shocking affair with the young fisher ; she 
 was certainly tolerably good looking, and a fine figure, 
 but this little insipid mortal, with her baby fact and 
 blue eyes, and affected simplicity — " 
 
 •* Stupidity you mean, beautiful mamma," cried 
 Lady Lavinia, bursting into a loud laugh. 
 
 " Yes, love, that term is more appropriate," uttered 
 the Marchioness. " Well, I will give you a sketch of 
 the drawing room party which was assembled at the 
 daughter of the Duke of Braganza's, and the wife of 
 Lord Montague Montault, when 1 made my entree." 
 
 " How prodigiously shameful of my brother to suffer 
 it!" exclaimed Lady Lavinia, indignantly. " I per- 
 fectly blush at his want of taste. Well, beautiful 
 mamma, go on, I am longing to hear." 
 
 " Well, my dear," resumed the Marchioness, immo- 
 derately laughing, " in the very midst of this family of 
 fishers was old Peter, looking like a porpoise, and swel- 
 ling like a toad, with — O monstrous ! a large tumbler 
 of what I suppose the filthy brute calls grog, made with 
 brandy and water, smoking hot, that sent forth such 
 an effluvia up my nostrils, on my entrance to the 
 room, that I was perfectly suffocated, and obliged to 
 
THE FISHER S DAUGHTER. u*J{ 
 
 have recourse to my bottle of sal volatile before I 
 could recover myself. Then there was Miss Jessy, 
 with her fisher husband, Mr. Sam Russel, sitting be- 
 side her, and twirling his fingers and thumbs, for want 
 of better employment; he is so accustomed to pulling 
 up the nets, you know, that the silly ass looked like 
 what he actually resembled, a fish out of water." 
 
 " How prodigiously funny !" cried Lady Lavinia. 
 * Well, mamma?" 
 
 " Well then, my dear, there was the accomplished and 
 beautiful Lady Montague Montault seated close to her 
 sentimental friend, pretty miss simpering Jessy, and 
 treating her with all the respect and deference that 
 she would pay to personages of exalted rank. I posi- 
 tively was ready to faint ; I could have torn her eyes 
 out. But this was not the worst of it, my love, for 
 there sat your brother on the carpet !" 
 
 "On the carpet, mamma!" echoed Lady Lavinia. 
 " How inconceivably indecorous ! Well, what was he 
 doing on the carpet, for heaven's sake?" 
 
 ** Doing what he ought to have been ashamed of!" 
 uttered the Marchioness, her eyes sparkling with fury; 
 " playing with the Fisher's Daughter, who lay tum- 
 bling about with Lord Orlando, as if she was made of 
 the same flesh and blood with him. Yes, I positively 
 protest that the little forward brat was entwining her 
 arms around the neck of the boy as they rolled together 
 on the carpet, and that Montague seemed actually de- 
 lighted with their gambols." 
 
 " I am petrified I" exclaimed Lady Lavinia, 
 
 "And I was horrified !" retorted the Marchioness ; 
 
508 THE FJSHEIl S DAUGHTER. 
 
 " and you may be certair. that I resented such an in- 
 dignity offered to the family of the Montaults with ail 
 possible reprehension; for I scarce condescended to 
 answer their enquiries (though they all arose at my 
 entrance) after my health ; and darting an anery 
 glance at Montague and his pretty idol, ordered my 
 carriage, and instantly departed from a spectacle so 
 shocking to my feelings." 
 
 " But surely Montague and Agatha attempted to 
 ■pologize for the scene you witnessed, beautiful mam- 
 ma," cried Lady Winstone. 
 
 "Not they indeed!" uttered the Marchioness; "on 
 the contrary, my love, they seemed to enjoy my mor- 
 tification, and would have laughed if they had dared. 
 As to that old sea gull. Peter Blust, I am not clear that 
 he did not say something coarse and indecent as I quit- 
 ted the apartment, for he never budged an inch to pay 
 his respects to me, I remember, when I went in." 
 
 " What a brute !" exclaimed Lady Lavinia. " If I 
 had been there I would have rated my brother soundly, 
 for suffering my beautiful mamma to be treated with 
 such indignity by a pack of fisherman's sons and 
 daughters; and if you don't tell papa of such mon- 
 strous behaviour, you are very much to blame, 
 mamma." 
 
 " It would avail nothing, were I to complain to your 
 father of any grievances that might result from that 
 quarter," cried the Marchioness ; '* for he would only 
 laugh at what he terms my folly. Besides, he has 
 been completely won over to the side of that party, by 
 the wheedling smiles and romantic notions of hi3 
 
the fisher's daughter. 509 
 
 pretty daughter in law, Lady Agatha, from whose 
 prim and demure lips he thinks every word gospel. 
 Then there is the Duke, who is little better than an 
 old woman j and since that wild boy Wolf was drown- 
 ed at sea, is perfectly in his dotage, and gives every 
 possible sanction to his daughter, to encourage her in- 
 timacy with the sea brute and his family. He has 
 made them some fine presents, they say, in conse- 
 quence of the loss of the Danish youth, whom they 
 never cared any thing at all about, till he happened to 
 be swallowed up by the sharks on his voyage to India. 
 It was a lucky bite for them, for now they can do just 
 as they please with Montague and his wife, and are 
 thought fit society for the daughter of a Duke and the 
 son of a Marquis." 
 
 " I wish they were all at the bottom of the sea, and 
 that the sharks had swallowed them too," uttered 
 Lady Lavinia. " They won't enjoy their good fortune 
 long, however, that's some consolation ; for when my 
 brother goes to Italy, they may bid good bye to Violet 
 Vale." 
 
 " That they may, if I have any thing to do with it," 
 uttered the Marchioness; " and if the Duke accompa- 
 nies his daughter, which I believe is his intention, I 
 must needs be put in authority there till they return 
 again. But let me catch one of the fisher's crew with- 
 in gun shot of Violet Vale, and they shall have a tole- 
 rable warm reception, yon may depend upon it." 
 
 Most unfortunately at this moment the Marquis of 
 Montault, having an early appointment with persons 
 on business, presented himself full two hours before he 
 was expected by his amiable lady, who not being in 
 
b\0 the fisher's daughter. 
 
 the sweetest of all imaginable tempers, saluted her 
 lord most ungraciously, with — (after an enquiry at what 
 hour the dinner would be ready) — 
 
 " 1 protest, Marquis, I forgot to ask the cook this 
 morning; 1 have not once thought of making an en- 
 quiry so perfectly indifferent to me." 
 
 To which the Marquis, with a severe look of repre- 
 hension, replied — 
 
 " I have no doubt of your ladyship's assertion. You 
 are perfectly indifferent to all your family concerns, as 
 well as to those cares and anxieties which concern the 
 peace and the interest of your husband. I informed 
 you in the morning that I had an appointment here 
 with men of business, who expect dispatch and punc- 
 tuality in such affairs; I requested an early dinner: like 
 all other things respecting my personal comfort and 
 convenience, I find you neglecting it. At your daugh- 
 ter's time of life it is scarce pardonable ; at your age, 
 Marchioness, it admits of no plea to excuse the omis- 
 sion, and I shall remember it." 
 
 " Do so, you have a better memory ;" answered the 
 Marchioness, with an air of the most provoking non- 
 chalence; " in that, at least, you have the advantage 
 over me." 
 
 " Would to God that my memory were defective, or 
 that you had the advantage to recollect the duty you 
 owe to a too kind and indulgent husband," uttered 
 the Marquis, deeply sighing, " and that you entered 
 more deeply into the feelings of a wife and a mother, 
 than you have done lately." 
 
 " Umph !" cried the Marchioness, looking at her 
 watch. " This is another lesson from Violet Vale, 
 
IHK fisher's daughter. 5)1 
 
 where your lordship has been paying yoar devotions 
 all the morning." 
 
 " I have been paying my devotions where the feel- 
 ings of a father tell me that they ought to be paid," 
 cried the Marquis. " 1 have been progressively watch- 
 ing the changes that are rapidly taking place in the con- 
 stitution of a beloved son ; and with grief I trace in his 
 care-worn languid countenance, that not long will he 
 continue to be an inhabitant of this world's earthly 
 space. You can behold these changes with indiffer- 
 ence and with apathy, I cannot ; yet you expect me to 
 be gay and cheerful, while death is now hovering over 
 the form of my poor Montague. You yet expect me 
 to enter into your gay and trifling frivolities, but you 
 expect in vain. J am a father, if you have forgotten 
 that you are a mother. 
 
 The Marchioness was awed into a terrible silence, 
 and abashed at her want of feeling, had no reply to 
 make in extenuation of her fault, but to offer the only 
 excuse in her power : — that having seen her son the 
 \ast time she had visited Violet Vale so apparently re- 
 rovered, she had not once dreamt that any change 
 had since taken place so alarming as he had described. 
 
 " Then dream on," uttered the Marquis, in a so- 
 lemn and an affecting tone; "but remember, when 
 you awake from this dream, you will find it no illu- 
 sion, and in vain lament that happiness, of which your 
 many thoughtless hours of folly and dissipation have 
 deprived you. A waking dream may probably recal 
 you to your senses." 
 
 The Marquis rushed out of the room, leaving the 
 mother and the daughter looking at each other with 
 
512 the fisher's daughter.. 
 
 the most profound astonishment; the one conscience- 
 struck by the just reproaches of her husband, the other 
 not caring whether she had a husband at all, if he was 
 allowed the power of exerting any control over bet 
 inclinations. 
 
 CHAPTER XXIII. 
 
 " Your work, is long, the critics cry ; 'tis true, 
 And lengthens still to take iu fools like you; 
 Shorten my labour, if its length you blame, 
 For grow but wise, you rob me of my game. 
 As hunted stags, who while the dogs pursue, 
 Renounce their four legs, and start up on two, 
 Like the bold bird upon the banks of Nile, 
 That picks the teeth of the dire crocodile, 
 Will I enjoy (dread feast) the critic's rage, 
 And with the fell destroyer feed my page. 
 Good authors damn'd have their revenge in this, 
 To see what wretches gaiu the praise they miss." 
 
 You no. 
 
 The Marchioness at the departure of her husband 
 did not, as usual, exclaim against him to her daughter, 
 nor did that daughter presume on this occasion to 
 reprehend the conduct of her father; for beautifui 
 
THE KISHKR's DAUGHTliR. ^> 13 
 
 mamma was equally planet-stuck, as well as Lady 
 Lavmia, with the impressive tone and manner in which 
 he had addressed them ; and she could not stifle a se- 
 cret monitor, which, in despite of her conclusive 
 (•pinion that she always entertained of her own merits, 
 now very forcibly and unceremoniously told her that 
 she had neglected her duty towards her sou, whom 
 she had not seen for three weeks, though he had had a 
 relapse of all those dangerous symptoms with which 
 he was formerly so long confined ; and without wait- 
 ing to dress for dinner, she ordered the carriage, and 
 instantly drove off for Violet Vale. 
 
 " Will you go with me to see your brother, Laviuia?" 
 uttered she. 
 
 To whieh her ladyship reluctantly replied — 
 
 *' I suppose I must, but positively I had much ra- 
 ther let it alone; for you know, beautiful mamma, 1 
 have a horrid aversion to a sick chamber, it always 
 frightens me so, and gives me the vapours; then it is 
 such a bore to hear Agatha making sentimental 
 speeches and wry faces, because Montague is a little 
 worse; and that is the cause of papa's being so nervous 
 to day, you may depend upon it; she infects every 
 lody with her sickly fears. But, come, I will accom- 
 pany you this once, if you will promise to make a short 
 visit." 
 
 " That will depend on circumstances, child," utter- 
 ed the Marchioness ; " for I actually begin to fear that 
 my dear boy will never get the better of this presage 
 to a complaint so fatally dangerous. I have long 
 bought that the primary cause of his disease is an 
 approaching consumption. 
 
 b 22 3t 
 
Dl-i THE FiSHER S DAUGHTER. 
 
 A look of apathy was the only reply of Lady Lavinia 
 as they proceeded to the carriage; and on their arrival 
 at Violet Vale, the fears of the Marchioness for her 
 son's health were partly verified by his looks, which, 
 on her approaching him, were marked with a very 
 hectic appearance, although he assured his mother 
 that, but for a little troublesome cough, he never felt 
 better. He then informed her of his positive determi- 
 nation to quit England as speedily as possible for his 
 continental tour, which he had not the least doubt 
 would perfectly effect a salutary change in his consti- 
 tution. 
 
 To which the Marchioness, now actually shocked at 
 the too perceptible change in his looks and manner, 
 and inwardly convinced that no alteration of climate 
 would ever ultimately prove of any service to him, 
 replied, not without betraying some maternal feeling — 
 
 " 1 hope so, my dearest Montague; I hope most 
 fervently that you will derive benefit from the pure 
 and salubrious air of Italy. Of course you take Lady 
 Agatha and Lord Orlando with you ?" 
 
 And Lord Montague, with a look that sufficiently 
 bespoke the nature of his feelings, exclaimed — 
 
 " Take Lady Agatha with me ! What a question, 
 mother, when you know 7 how utterly impossible it 
 would be to exist without her. Alas ! I should droop, 
 nay perhaps perish, without the soothing voice and 
 consoling attention which she has ever invariably 
 shewn me. She is my guardian angel wherever I go ; 
 in sickness and in health sht is the same kind watch- 
 ful and affectionate friend, added to the most tender of 
 mothers, and the most exemplary of wives. Take 
 
the fjshrr's 'daughter. 515 
 
 Agatha with me ! O, yes — yes ! while this beating 
 heart retains the pulse of life, my Agatha must hover 
 over, and sustain me in that trying hour, which re- 
 quires all the fortitude of a Christian and a man." 
 
 Lord Montague paused; and the Marchioness, wholly 
 overcome by her sensations, and the rebuke which the 
 Marquis had so lately given her on this subject, and 
 catching at the last sentence which had escaped from 
 the lips of her beloved son, burst into a flood of strong 
 hysteric affection, feeling then, indeed, that what her 
 husband had attested was strictly true, and that it was 
 no dream that she had beheld, but a waking one, and 
 that her son was approaching to that climax of his dis- 
 order, in which he would cease to be an inhabitant of 
 this world's earthly space ; and in the wildest distrac- 
 tion, the Marchioness uttered — 
 
 w What trying hour, O, my dear son, do you al- 
 lude to? — O speak, or you will drive me frantic, my 
 Montague. You surely do not feel yourself so ill, so 
 very ill, as to fear — " 
 
 " Death," in a solemnly affecting tone, pronounced 
 Lord Montague. "No, mother, be assured that I do not 
 fear it ; or if I do, it is only for the sake of the beloved 
 being, who will sustain immeasurable affliction by my 
 loss. Nay, my mother, start not, but endeavour to 
 compose yourself, while I inform you, although 1 do 
 not feel worse than usual, and that I may also receive 
 a temporary relief by a change of climate, yet do not 
 flatter yourself that I shall ever recover from a disease, 
 which I feel every hour is daily gaining ground on my 
 constitution. I have prepared my father to expect 
 that it will terminate my existence, and I wish to 
 
516 THE FrSHER*S DAUGHTER. 
 
 prepare you for the same, lest the shock might be too 
 great for you when it does arrive. For my dear wife, 
 it would be folly in me to hide it from her, or to 
 imagine that she does not already suspect it. Alas! I 
 read it in her care-worn cheek, her stifled sighs, and 
 the deep anguish that is seated on her brow. In the 
 slumbers of the night her tears moisten my hand ; no 
 sleep closes her heavy eyelids, and the first enquiry she 
 makes in the morning, is by looking anxiously in my 
 <%ce, pressing my feverish hand, and giving the cup to 
 my parched lips, with a look of such silent and indescrib- 
 able agony, as to mock all human eloquence. She never 
 asks me if am better, or if I feel worse ; she is silent, 
 but O ! that silence, to my faithful Agatha, bespeaks 
 more than tongues can tell, to her unutterable; and 
 while my heart bleeds for the suffering she endures, f 
 cannot spcrt with the awful mandate, which I feel at 
 no distant period must await me. I cannot flatter her 
 with a hope that may so shortly prove delusive, nor do 
 I wish that any one should suggest it to her, my mo- 
 ther. Her too sensitive and comprehensive mind wants 
 not this warning; she is aware of it, and I feel deeply 
 what she suffers. Yet she has a kind father, who will 
 supply to her my loss ; my boy too, and the yet un- 
 born tender pledge of our affection will not want a 
 father's care, though it is probable when it is destined 
 to behold the light, that father will be no more ; but I 
 am well assured that it will have a mother, who never 
 has, and never will disgrace her husband's memory,, 
 and who will faithfully discharge her trust to her chil- 
 dren, though her heart strings burst asunder at the 
 iacred oerformance of her dutv." 
 
the fisher's daughter. 517 
 
 The Marchioness continued to weep bitterly, notwith- 
 standing her daughter endeavoured by every means to 
 console her. Nor was Lady Lavinia unmoved by the 
 situation of her brother, whom she had not once ima- 
 gined was so seriously indisposed ; and the first tear of 
 sensibility that moistened her cheek, was when he ex- 
 tended his hand towards her, and exclaimed — 
 
 " Sister, we have not met lately, nor have had much in- 
 tercourse since both of us have entered into newer cares 
 of life, which in part estranged us from the recollection 
 of our boyish and girlish days. I am become a husband 
 and a father; you, Lavinia, are now a wife and a mo- 
 ther. Still you are my sister, and I have not lost the 
 affection of a brother for yon. Nor was I indifferent 
 to the choice you have made ; it has been most fortu- 
 nate ; for the noble lord you have married, is of al' 
 other men the one I would have preferred to have 
 been the husband of my sister. Cherish him, Laviniaj 
 let not idle whims or caprice induce you to sacri- 
 fice the peace and the happiness of a worthy man, by 
 whom you are so tenderly beloved, to occasion discord 
 between you. Study to promote his interest and his 
 happiness, and may peace eternal reign between you 
 and your offspring. Do not think lightly of a brother's 
 counsel, who may be destined to behold you no more; 
 after he has quilted this country and is numbered with 
 the dead, cherish his memory, who in infancy ever 
 loved you, Lavinia, as his only sister. For Winstone's 
 sake, and your own happiness, be indulgent to his 
 faults, as he doubtless is lenient to yours; so may 
 heaven bless my sister, and grant to her long succeed- 
 ing years of happiness and prosperity " 
 
5J8 THE FISHER'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 Lady Lavinia with all her apathy could not with- 
 stand this solemn and affecting appeal made to her by 
 a brother, whom it was more than probable she would 
 never behold again ; and bursting into a flood of tears, 
 told him that she would never be unmindful of the 
 good advice he had given her. 
 
 " For indeed, indeed, dear Montague, you have 
 wrung my heart," uttered she. " I know that 1 have 
 a great many faults, and that my dear lord always for- 
 gives me for them, but that I do not so easily forgive 
 his, though they are so very trifling. But, indeed, I 
 will be more kind to him than ever after this, and will 
 never more put him into a passion when there is no 
 occasion, which I protest I often do only for the plea- 
 sure of laughing at him." 
 
 "My dear girl, these are experiments, which in mar- 
 ried life should always be left alone," cried Lord Mon- 
 tague. " Nor are they more pleasing before marriage 
 than after it, and do but little credit, either to the 
 heart or the understanding; for it is cruel to torture 
 those objects who are within our power; and if we 
 iove them, the pain we inflict on their breast must 
 certainly reflect back on our own with tenfold seve- 
 rity. But come, we will no longer converse on sub- 
 jects so unpleasing ; I hear the carriage driving up the 
 avenue, it is my Agatha returned from her visit to 
 Mrs. Russel ; and T must entreat you, my dear mo- 
 ther, to spare my feelings the trial to which they 
 would necessarily be exposed, were you, in the pre- 
 sence of my beloved wife, to hint at the conversation 
 which has this day passed between us. Come, come, 
 Jhink no more of it, and let me see you composed." 
 
the fisher's daughter. 519 
 
 " Then you must teach me to forget that I am your 
 mother, Montague," cried the Marchioness, with a 
 look of reproach. " I cannot smother my feelings 
 merely because your wife is not to be affected by 
 them." 
 
 " But you need not add to her sufferings on my 
 account, dearest mother," cried Lord Montague, ten- 
 derly taking her hand, and pressing it fervently to his 
 lips. 
 
 " I will do all you require, my beloved boy," cried 
 the Marchioness, "if you will promise to entertain me 
 no more with these gloomy presages. Indeed it is 
 wrong of you to yield to such melancholy reflections." 
 
 " I will endeavour to suppress them then," uttered 
 his lordship, with a faint and languid smile. " Per- 
 haps it is fancy, which nought but love and friendship 
 has the power to dispel." 
 
 " You will dine at the Castle to-morrow, it is the 
 Duke's birth day; we shall have a select party, quite 
 snug and private," said the Marchioness. " There 
 shall be nothing to annoy my Montague, if vou will 
 come." 
 
 Lord Montague very readily assented to his mother's 
 request ; and at the very moment that Agatha's car- 
 riage drove up to the door, the Marchioness was step- 
 ping into her's. A very cordial salutation, however, took 
 place between them, and Lord Orlando was taken to 
 receive the caresses of his grandmamma and his aunt. 
 
 " Mamma come too," cried the sweet little fellow, 
 clapping his hands; and Agatha immediately went to 
 the side of the carriage, and conversed with her mo- 
 
620 the fisher's daughter. 
 
 ther in law. Her beautiful countenance was pale, and 
 reflected but too plainly the little tranquillity that reign- 
 ed within. 
 
 " Do you not think that Montague is better?" ea- 
 gerly demanded Agatha. 
 
 Lady Lavinia gave the Marchioness a timely look, to 
 prevent her mother from making a too hasty and incon- 
 siderate reply ; and they separated, on a promise given 
 by Agatha, that she would certainly dine at the Castle 
 the following day, if her dear lord was able to join 
 her. 
 
 " O ! but my brother has positively promised mam- 
 ma that he will come, dear Agatha," cried Lady La- 
 vinia, whose heart was now softened by the situation 
 of Lord Montague, towards his lovely wife *, and Aga- 
 tha pressed her hand in silence, tears filled her eyes, 
 and the carriage proceeded to the Castle of Montault. 
 
 " I hope Winstone will dine at home to-day," cried 
 Lady Lavinia, " for I am perfectly horrified and out of 
 spirits. Poor Montague, how shockingly he looks. 
 Indeed, indeed, mamma, I begin to fear that if be 
 goes to Italy we shall see him no more, and Agatha 
 will return to this country a disconsolate widow. My 
 gracious, how young, and how rich she will be left!" 
 
 The Marchioness, stung to the quick by this reflec- 
 tion, and actually feeling the most poignant grief at 
 the alarming state of her son's health, pettishly re- 
 plied — 
 
 " You have chosen a mighty pleasant way of lessen- 
 ing the affliction 1 am now feeling for the danger oi 
 my dear boy, I must needs own, Lady Winstone, 
 
THE FISHER'S DAUGHTER. 521 
 
 and speak of the state of widowhood as if you thought 
 it desirable ; I am shocked at your insensibility, La- 
 vinia." 
 
 "La! mamma! what would you have me do," 
 uttered Lady Lavinia ; " I can't cry any more, it makes 
 me so ill, and I am sure I am very sorry for poor 
 Montague; and as to widows, there was no harm in 
 saying so ; but I am certain that I have no desire to 
 be made one by the death of my dear lord, who is a 
 very good sort of a man when he don't quarrel aud 
 contradict me." 
 
 " You heard what your brother said upon that head, 
 and I hope you will attend to his admonition," cried 
 he Marchioness. "Lord Winstone is certainly a very 
 . ndulgent husband, and you would feel his loss deeply, 
 believe me. A woman is nothing without a male 
 protector, and that protector should always be her 
 .lusband." 
 
 Lady Lavinia, for some reasons or other, did not so 
 immediately subscribe to beautiful mamma's opinion on 
 this head ; she therefore remained silent. In a very few 
 weeks from this period, every necessary arrangement 
 being made for their departure, Lord and Lady Mon- 
 tague Montault, with his Grace the Duke of Braganzu, 
 and the greatest part of their establishment, set out 
 for their continental tour. 
 
 The parting between the Marchioness and her son, 
 and his father, was as may very naturally be supposed 
 solemn and affecting ; and between Agatha and he* 
 friend Jessy, equally susceptible of emotions of the 
 deepest sympathy. Alfred, who had been raised to the 
 highest state of preferment in his clerical profession, 
 
 c 22 3 v 
 
522 the fisher's daughter.. 
 
 with credit to himself, and pleasure to his benefactor 
 was summoned to Violet Vale from Devonshire, when? 
 he possessed a living, to hid farewell to his so highly 
 honoured friends ; he was powerfully affected when 
 ushered into the presence of his patron, and Lord and 
 Lady Montague, the former of whom assured him of 
 his continued favours and patronage, although in a 
 foreign clime — 
 
 ' And if ever I should again return to this country, 
 nlfred," uttered Lord Montague, and his voice trem- 
 bled as he spoke ; " be assured that I will give you 
 a convincing proof of my affection towards you." 
 
 " And mine too dear Alfred," uttered Agatha, still 
 more deeply affected than her lord ; " and I shall also 
 write to you." 
 
 " Your ladyship honours me most highly," exclaimed 
 Alfred profoundly bowing, " ah ! when was your friend- 
 ship and your kindness ever insincere? May every 
 good spirit watch over your safety, and speedily restore 
 your dear lord to health ; and guide you back to your 
 native home again, from which your absence will be 
 so deeply regretted by all your sorrowing friends." 
 
 Agatha replied to this affectionate young man only 
 with her tears, for she was deeply affected ; and it was 
 probable that the remembrance of the departed and 
 lamented Wolf was not unmixed with them. With the 
 fisher's family, her feelings were still of a more acute 
 kind ; and poor Peter sobbed audibly when he grasped 
 ker hand, and exclaimed — 
 
 " Thee be a daughter of misfortune sure enough, 
 /nough thee be a rich one ; but riches don't bring hap- 
 piness, do they, my lady ? I find my eyes growing swim- 
 
thk fisher's daughter 523 
 
 mey when I do look at thee, and call to mind when 
 thou wast Agatha Singleton looking* like an angel 
 In the little oak parlour at Honing Dale, with Jessy 
 singing like a nightingale ■ and we were all as merry 
 as larks, till poor Olive — " Peter made a full stop. Na- 
 ture tugged hard at his heart, and if it had not gushed 
 out at his eyes by a genuine flood of tears, would 
 have been more than he could have supported in the 
 parting" hour with an object so dear to him ; with one 
 effort, however, he recovered himself, and invoking a 
 blessing on the head of Agatha and her beauteous 
 boy, rushed out of the room, shivering his topsails, and 
 protesting that he must heave his anchor afloat, or it 
 would be all over with him. 
 
 Agatha's parting with her amiable friend Jessy was 
 of a more quiet temperature • she promised to write to 
 her by every opportunity, and, as they travelled by 
 easy stages in order that Lord Montague might have 
 no relapse of indisposition, she should embrace every 
 moment that was not devoted to her husband, to im- 
 part to her all the intelligence that concerned them. 
 
 " And you will answer my letters, dearest Jessy/' 
 uttered Agatha ; "and tell me all that concerns you 
 in my absence, in whit h do not suppose that I will 
 think you trifling if you recount a little of your father's 
 singularities. You know f am fond of his humour, 
 and they will amuse me in the heavy hours of our 
 separation ; for heavy will they be to me, Jessy, if my 
 dear Montague does not receive the benefit he expects 
 from the change of climate to which we are going. 
 O, Jessy ! may you ever be free from that pang, al- 
 most insupportable in beholding the pallid cheek and 
 
524 THE FISHEIi's DAUGHTER. 
 
 the sunken eye of a husband on whom your soul bangs 
 with dotage, yet rising each morning with the fearful 
 prospect of death, hovering nigh to snatch him hence 
 for ever from your torn bosom ! O, Jessy ! what set- 
 ting suns have I not counted as I have watched in 
 silent anguish out the pillow of my Montague; and 
 if he slumbered and waked not suddenly again, I have 
 thought that sleep his last. Jessy, Jessy, be ever far 
 such pangs from thee!" 
 
 " And henceforth ever far removed from the be- 
 loved Agatha," uttered Jessy, emphatically; " cherish 
 hope, without which, what human bosom could en- 
 dure affliction, sickness, or sorrow ? The air of the 
 temperate climate you are going to, may, it is proba- 
 ble, effect the salutary change we so devoutly wish for; 
 and restore your dear lord again to his wonted health 
 and spirits. At all events, rest your hopes in Heaven, 
 which never deserts its faithful votaries, and be com- 
 forted." 
 
 " And think you that I ever cease to rest my hopes 
 and wishes there?" cried Agatha; "no Jessy, it is 
 my only joy and consolation, that I have done that, 
 when all other hope was visionary and unavailing; if 
 my Montague recovers — if — if — O Jessy ! in that little 
 word if, how much of all of my earthly happiness is 
 embarked ! — if he" — Agatha paused, her whole frame 
 partook of the most nervous agitation, her face turned 
 pale as ashes, her heart beat tumultuously ; and she 
 sat down in a chair as if motionless, till a burst of tears 
 relieved her full heart. 
 
 " Dearest Agatha !" uttered Jessy, " scarcely less 
 affected; \ implore you to possess your mind with for- 
 
THE Flf.HHR S DAUGHTER. 525 
 
 titnde to overcome these soul-harrowing reflections. 
 Nor doubt the goodness of that providence whose ways, 
 though mysterious, are always strictly and invariably 
 just." 
 
 Agatha, as she returned the warm and affectionate 
 embrace of her amiable friend, and listened to the 
 incontrovertible truths which fell from her lips, was re- 
 animated with hope; and consoled by the voice of 
 Jessy, who at parting most solemnly assured her that 
 she would rigidly perform her promise of answering 
 every letter that she might address to her. With this 
 assurance Agatha once more bade farewell to the 
 peaceful inhabitants of the Red House; and it appears 
 from a regular correspondence of nearly five years, 
 which afterwards took place between these two at- 
 tached friends, that they faithfully kept their word, 
 ny transmitting to each other a circumstantial account 
 of each succeeding event, which marked the period of 
 their long separation. As this history is intimately 
 connected with many parts of the interesting corres- 
 pondence which passed between the two fair friends, 
 we carefully transcribe them for the gratification of 
 our readers. 
 
 The first of these was from the pen of Lady Agatha 
 Montault, about six weeks after their departure from 
 Violet Vale ; it was addressed to Mrs. Jessy Russel, of 
 the Red House, Cromer, in the County of Norfolk ; 
 and dated from Florence, the fourteenth of May. 
 
 " Reproach me not, beloved Jessy, if six revolving 
 weeks have passed without being punctual to the sa- 
 
52o THE HSHMt S DAUGHTER. 
 
 crc(i promise we pledged to each other in the hour of 
 separation ; one only duty, to which I must necessarily 
 attend before all others, can pardon my omission, (for 
 it certainly is not neglect ;) and that is the duty I owe 
 to my invalid husband, whose side I have not quitted 
 since our arrival in this delightful country, in conse- 
 quence of a slight return of his disorder ; but he is 
 now better : rejoice with me my beloved friend, my 
 Montague is better! O ! my full heart, how impotent 
 is the power of language to express the transporting 
 tidings to my Jessy, when I repeat again that my dea r 
 lord is recovering rapidly from the salutary effects of 
 this enchanting climate. We arrived here with our 
 whole establishment without any incident worth re- 
 lating, except that the women are extremely beau- 
 tiful ; and the men precisely the reverse of all that 
 is agreeable, polite, or gallant; and that I beheld 
 full blown roses, blooming in the midst o<f the snow. 
 The whole face of the country is, however, transcen- 
 dency beautiful, the air temperate and heavenly mild, 
 the soil fertile, the flowers of the sweetest fragrance, 
 and the fruits of the most delicious quality. We 
 have made but few acquaintance since our arrival 
 here; and although my lord has hired a very splendid 
 villa, with the most magnificent scenery around it that 
 I ever beheld in existence, yet it is not his intention to 
 receive visitors or pay visits to any one, which I am 
 heartily glad of, having the more leisure to impart my 
 thoughts to you ; but you must not expect a very long 
 letter, dear Jessy, at least for this month to come, till I 
 am quite settled in my villa ; and au fait to all the 
 
THK HSIIKR S DAUGHTER. 52/ 
 
 maimers and the customs of this country^ which I 
 shall only aoopt as may be consistent with the plea- 
 sure and approbation of my dear lord. 
 
 " By the bye, Jessy, it is not generally true when 
 they say that the French women are not pretty. I 
 have seen innumerable handsome faces since I have 
 been here, and all lighted up with intelligence and 
 animation, which spreads a power of fascination on all 
 around them. They are besides excessively good- 
 humoured, (an ingredient that cannot fail to be attrac- 
 tive, and, even without the charm of beauty, please,) 
 witty, and possess a flow of the most enchanting spirits 
 imaginable; but their wit never wounds, and their 
 vivacity never disgusts. They have been accused of 
 insincerity, but really I do not know that they merit 
 this accusation more than the people of other nations ; 
 and if they are not more wise, they certainly adopt a 
 system much nearer to wisdom than its opposite; and 
 that is by never drooping over evils which cannot be 
 remedied, and always being cheerful and resigned un- 
 der the attacks of misfortune, sickness, and poverty, 
 of which they seem to have an abundant share ; yet 
 their spirits never abandon them, or their miseries 
 induce them to yield to despair. This is a great fea- 
 ture in the French character, Jessy, and whatever may 
 be said of their frivolity and their light-mindedness, it 
 is a feature worthy of imitation. The Florentines 'tis 
 true are more grave, but they are less agreeable and 
 certainly less accomplished. Thus you see I speak 
 impartially ; although my dear mother was herself a 
 Florentine, she received the education of an English- 
 woman : and I her daughter really am an English- 
 
0J8 THE FISHER'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 woman ; but you cannot imagine that I think that 
 a point in my favour, or that if I had been born a 
 Dutch woman I should not have been equally meritorious 
 and worthy of praise. No, my Jessy, I have always 
 endeavoured to divest myself of that illiberal, not to 
 say unkind, prejudice, which so frequently ungenerously 
 biases and confines the thoughts of mankind ; for be- 
 ing assured that human nature is very nearly on the 
 same parallel, whether we breathe the air of an Afri- 
 can climate, inhale the enchanting breezes of Italy, or 
 are cradled on Alpine snows, we are all the chil- 
 dren of the self-same parent, and habit and custom 
 alone forms the difference of opinion and of dispo- 
 sition. 
 
 " Now then for domestic intelligence which may 
 strike more home to your heart, my Jessy, and of 
 which you are the brightest ornament that ever illu- 
 mined a fire-side with sweet smiling love and inno- 
 cence ; but in my correspondence with you while I 
 am on the Continent, I must depart from it, merely 
 that your mind may expand, and that you may not 
 always have the dull monotony of — 
 
 " I hope you are well, as this leaves me at present, 
 and so forth ; — however, I will draw you a picture of 
 my fire-side, though I am in Florence, as naturally as if 
 I were sitting by your's in the Red House, with your 
 father shivering his topsails, and taking his pipes and 
 tobacco, with your little mopsey on his knee, looking 
 as beautiful as a cherub angel ; and honest Samuel, 
 patiently enduring all the whimsicalities of the fisher's 
 humour. Then there is my Jessy, the olive branch 
 between them ; and when evening comes he toddles 
 
THE fishkr'& daughtbk. 529 
 
 home as happy as a king, and 1 should marvel much if 
 a king is happier than he. 
 
 '* Now for my picture. I am in a grand villa, with 
 all the splendour that the riches of my father and my 
 husband can produce, to contribute to my ease or per- 
 sonal convenience : a thousand pleasures spring at my 
 ommand, if I coveted those pleasures or coveted 
 those pomps ; but no, Jessy, I am better pleased with 
 the smile of my husband, on whose cheek I behold re- 
 turning health ; and it is to me the most delightful 
 prospect that my eyes can ever behold, to see my 
 beautiful fine healthy boy, sporting with youthful ex- 
 ercise, and wearying himself with the labour of boy- 
 ish and infantine recreations. It would make you 
 laugh, Jessy, at the idea that often suggests itself to my 
 imagination, when the strong, sound, and athletic form 
 of my Orlando presents itself to me, when springing 
 from my side, he leaps like a young and playful fawn, 
 and darts into the flowery thicket telling me he sees 
 a bird, and that he will try to bring it to the ground 
 with the little bow and arrow that, is slung across his 
 shoulder. Shall I then tell you that he reminds me of 
 the intrepid courage of our dear lost Wolf, and that I 
 cannot help thinking that he will one day resemble 
 this noble-minded and spirited youth ; he has the look 
 of Wolf too, if you remark, about the eyes, which 1 can- 
 not account for, except that the dear boy so much in- 
 terested me when I was Agatha Singleton, that i could 
 never afterwards lose the impression, when I became the 
 wife of Lord Montague Mori tank ; but no more of this, 
 it is a melancholy theme to dwell upon, and the less 
 I advert to it the better. Jessy, here is my dear lord at 
 a 23 3x 
 
530 THE FISHER S DAUGHTER. 
 
 my elbow, and Orlando is climbing on my chair, so 
 that between both, I must bid you adieu. Write 
 speedily, or I will never forgive you. 
 
 Agatha Montault." 
 
 In less than a fortnight from the date of the preced- 
 ing letter, Lady Agatha received the following testi- 
 mony of her beloved Jessy's respect and affection from 
 the Red House, Cromer. 
 
 " To Lady Agatha Montault, 
 
 " How were my fears (which were occasioned by your 
 silence) relieved on Saturday last, by the well-known 
 signature of my dearest Agatha, containing intelligence 
 that transported me with joy ; that your dear lord has 
 already benefited by a change of climate, and is hourly 
 recovering his health. Then our prayer has not been un- 
 availing, my dear friend ; Heaven has been propitious, 
 and you will again enjoy your wonted tranquillity and 
 peace of mind, of which the continued indisposition of 
 Lord Montague has so long deprived you. Can you 
 conceive my sensations when I imparted the pleasing 
 news to Samuel and my father, who, from your silence, 
 had began to entertain the most alarming apprehen- 
 sions that all might not be well with you. 
 
 " A thousand thanks for your charming letter, and the 
 information I received from it; but, dear Agatha, do 
 not expect me to answer it in the same enchanting 
 straiu ; you are well aware that I am not gifted with 
 the power, therefore you will have nothing but a plain 
 unvarnished tale from me, in which I shall 
 
 ** Nothing extenuate, or aught set down n malic*," 
 
THE FISHER'S DAUGHTER. 531 
 
 when 1 write to you of all I hear at the Castle of 
 Montamt. The Marchioness has extended her autho- 
 rity so far since your absence from Violet Vale, in the 
 fear that it should be visited by me or any part of my 
 family, as to give the most positive orders, that none of 
 us should ever be admitted there without obtaining a 
 written order signed with her own hand, at which, 
 dearest Agatha, we were not only surprised but much 
 hurt, well knowing that it was not at your suggestion 
 or that of Lord Montague Montault that such an order 
 was given ; besides, did the Marchioness imagine either 
 mc or my husband so contemptibly mean, that we 
 should become intruders at Violet Vale, during the 
 absence of its master and mistress, merely to keep 
 company with the servants ? However, my father re- 
 sented such unhandsome conduct in a manner that 
 you know he is very capable of doing, and no doubt 
 the Marchioness feels herself very highly offended; 
 out my father has no regard to rank or station, when 
 he finds they are forgetting it themselves, and there- 
 fore will not bear contumely or insult from his superiors 
 any more than his inferiors, when he feels that he has 
 done nothing to merit it at their hands. There is bad 
 news at Winstone Park, of which I am sorry to inform 
 you. The infant son of Lord and Lady Winstone ex- 
 pired suddenly yesterday morning, which has over- 
 whelmed the whole family in the deepest affliction, 
 and her ladyship is in consequence confined to her 
 chamber, perfectly inconsolable for the loss of her 
 child. 
 
 " You have often remarked to me, my dearest Aga- 
 tha, (though I wish not to be severe on the conduct of 
 
5.32 the fisher's daughter. 
 
 Lady W'nstone) how highly blameable you considered 
 mothers in not suckling their own children ; and her 
 ladyship has probably discovered too late that it is so ; 
 for the nurse, who attended her infant, had the measles 
 without the knowledge of the family, and there was no 
 doubt but she communicated the effects of this disease 
 to her young and tender charge, which was the primary 
 cause of terminating its existence. 
 
 " So Lord Orlando is really giving proofs of manly 
 dexterity already, by aiming at being a good marks- 
 man. I hope his arrows may not be as dangerous as 
 those shot from the bow of Cupid. My Matilda is 
 improved wonderfully, and begins to chatter to her 
 grandfather like a parrot, always repeating what she 
 hears him say, whether good, bad, or indifferent. 
 
 " Your account of Florence is charming, and youi 
 pleasant villa with all its delightful scenery around it ; 
 how 1 should like to share it with you, dearest Agatha ! 
 were these the days of the magic reign of the Fairies, 
 and Lady Montault the Queen of them, how quickly 
 would I prefer a petition to her majesty to transport 
 me, the humblest, but the most loving of her faithful 
 subjects, to her gracious presence in this enchanting 
 villa, that I might enjoy once more the pleasure and 
 the happiness of her smiles. 
 
 '•' But vain are our wishes, dearest Agatha, when 
 they are beyond our reach ; and could we always obtain 
 what we wish we should be vainer still. 
 
 " You speak of the likeness of your son to our poor 
 lamented Wolf. I always thought, when Lord Orlando 
 was even an infant, that the resemblance was singu- 
 larly striking, the same as I frequently see in my little 
 
the fisher's daughter. 533 
 
 Matilda tc my unfortunate sister Olive. For this we 
 cannot account ; and although it is said that no human 
 being ever resembled another in perfect unison of 
 feature, I am ready to disbelieve that assertion, having 
 occular demonstration of the contrary. You will pro- 
 bably favour me with another of your charming letters 
 shortly. The affair of the Marchioness I wish you not 
 to mention to Lord Montague, for it will only give him 
 pain. In the mean while, my Agatha, believe me, 
 
 Affectionately yours, 
 
 Jessy Mussel." 
 
 To this letter Mrs. Russel received almost imme- 
 diately the following reply. 
 
 " My dear Jessy, 
 is Your letter would have given me much pleasure, 
 were it not so counterbalanced by pain, to find, that dur- 
 ing my temporary absence from my own mansion, the 
 gift of my beloved father, and certainly by no means 
 accessary to the imperative authority of the Marchio- 
 ness of Montault, my privilege should be so infringed 
 upon, as to deny the rights of hospitality to my most 
 dear and respected friends ; nor will my dear lord al- 
 low even his mother to take such unwarrantable liber- 
 ties, in a residence and establishment with which she 
 has no concern, and consequently no control, or power 
 to usurp a government contrary to his or my direc- 
 tions. Your father is the h»st object in existence 
 against whom I wish my doors to be closed ; and I 
 feel deeply hurt at the indignity which has been offer- 
 ed to him by the improper conduct of the Marchioness 
 
534 the fisher's daughter. 
 
 of Montault, who never shall direct the order of my 
 establishment while I am living. I could not conceal 
 from my dear lord the pain your letter had inflicted on 
 my feelings, who, as deeply hurt as myself, has written 
 to his mother on the subject. I am not fond of breed- 
 ing family dissensions, but when relatives forget the 
 duty and the respect they owe to each other, they de- 
 serve to be reminded of it with the severest reprehen- 
 sion. 
 
 " I am really concerned at the domestic loss which 
 Lord and Lady Winstone have sustained in the death 
 of their son ; but her ladvship is highly culpable, by 
 not having proper persons in ber establishment when 
 her offspring is committed to their charge; too much 
 circumspection and caution cannot be observed. 
 
 " Iviy Montague still continues to amend in his 
 health ; and I look forward to a speedy restoration 
 taking place, with transports almost indescribable, 
 but of which only a wife and a mother can truly 
 judge. 
 
 " Charming as Florence is, it is the intention of my 
 lord, now we are out on our peregrinations, to pro- 
 ceed gradually through this country, so famed for all 
 that is grand, picturesque, and sublimely beautiful, to 
 say nothing of the perfection of its arts and sciences, for 
 which it has been handed down to posterity as the first 
 and most celebrated country in all Europe. It is there 
 fore more than probable that before we return to oui 
 native land, we shall go to Naples, Genoa, Turin, and 
 Venice ; of course visit Rome, that great architec- 
 tural place of antiquity. The Apennines, Alps, and 
 Mount Vesuvius, I arm: longing to behold ; and if mv 
 
THU FISHER'S O.W'Gil III:. 535 
 
 dear iotd continues to recovei the vigour of his former 
 spirits and constitution, he will not certainly lose an 
 opportunity of exploring those wonders, so gratifying 
 to a fine imagination and a highly contemplative 
 mind. 
 
 " Not that I have any reason to be dissatisfied with 
 the Florentines ; they are certainly an accomplished 
 race of people, though I prefer the manners of the 
 women infinitely to those of the men, as I remarked 
 to you in my former letter; yet they excel in sculpture, 
 painting, and music. By the bye, Jessy, you know 
 how fond I am of the drama when it is ably supported 
 by real, not assumed, theatrical talent ; and the other 
 evening I had a grand treat in witnessing one of the 
 finest tragedies of our immortal bard, performed by 
 French actors, one of which surpassed even the unri- 
 valled excellence of our little tragedy king in England. 
 The play was Macbeth, and I have always considered 
 this piece one of the greatest exertions of the tragic and 
 poetic powers that any age or any country has ever yet 
 produced; and though I will admit that the agency of 
 witches and spirits excites a species of terror, that 
 cannot be effected by the operation of human agency, 
 or by any form or disposition of human things, yet it 
 keeps up in our minds a sense of our connection with 
 awful and invisible spirits, to whom our most secret 
 actions are apparent, and from whose chastisement in- 
 nocence can alone defend us. 
 
 " From many dangers power will protect ; many 
 crimes may be concealed by art and hypocrisy : that 
 we know, dear Jessy; but when supernatural beings 
 arise to reveal and to avenge, guilt blushes through her 
 mask, and trembles at its detection. Our immortal 
 
536 the fisher's daughter. 
 
 bard has therefore been sufficiently justified by the 
 best critics, of availing himself of the popular faith, 
 which in those days was held in witchcraft. If there- 
 fore the mind is to be medicated by the operations of 
 pity and terror, surely no means are so well adapted to 
 that end, as a strong and lively representation of the 
 agonizing struggles that precede, and the terrible hor- 
 rors that follow wicked actions. Jn short, I was charm- 
 ed with Macbeth in Florence as much as I was in my 
 own country, and would sooner see Monsieur Talma 
 personate that character on the French boards, than 
 all the great Keans in England. 
 
 (i A lively farce called St. Antonio completed the 
 amusements of the evening, and I returned home, 
 highly delighted that talent, although a gem so anx- 
 iously sought for, was to be found in every country, if 
 rancorous envy and jealousy did not so often endea- 
 vour to conceal it from our view. The Florentines 
 sing enchanting!}', and without that grimace, distortion 
 of countenance, or affectation, which so frequently dis- 
 gust us in the Italian operas in England. J will give 
 you a specimen of their poetry, which is elegant and 
 yet simple, in one of their airs, which was sung by a 
 female character in the afterpiece. 
 
 * " Say what shall hapless woman do 
 When love from her shall sever ; 
 Shall she prove false and fickle too, 
 Wheu she has lov'd ? Oh never! 
 
 Forbid to rove where fancy strays- 
 Each blooming sweet must wither, 
 
 While o'er her mind still caution says, 
 Those sweets you dare not gather. 
 
 * From the pen of the a u thor 
 
THK FISHER'S DAUGHTER. i>li7 
 
 Then what can helpless woman do. 
 
 When love is flown for ever? 
 Can she prove faithless and untrue 
 
 To him she loved ? O never." 
 
 " So you wish that I was queen of the fairies, my 
 Jessy, that I might transport you to this delightful 
 clime, where citron groves and orange flower-blossoms 
 yield their balmy fragrance to enchant the sense, anr 
 invite us to the touch as well as the taste of their pearly 
 hues ; but were I queen of the Fairies, or any other 
 queen your petition should not be preferred in vain. 
 I have written by this post to dear Alfred : how inter- 
 esting, and how amiable he appeared when he came to 
 take his farewell of us at Violet Vale 1 I have been 
 told that in his clerical profession he is most highly 
 approved, and is exceedingly graceful in his declama- 
 tion in the pulpit; my father is very proud of bim, and 
 I prouder still when I think on the poor little ship- 
 wrecked boy, that like the ivy around the aged oak 
 clung to your father for protection ; and that he has 
 ever merited his protection by the most praiseworthy 
 conduct, is a reflection that affords me the most un- 
 speakable delight. My father is desirous that his pro- 
 tegee, Alfred (alas ! I grieve to say that now he is his 
 only one) should form some respectable connection in 
 the neighbourhood where he lives, as he prefers a mar- 
 ried life to a single, in the profession he has made 
 choice of; it would be more consistent my father 
 thinks, and so do I. Now Jessy, were Alfred younger, 
 and your little mopsey older, here would be a husband 
 cut out for her in a moment j but hold ! there is one 
 
 b 23 3 ir 
 
538 the fisher's daughter. 
 
 essentia, point that I had quite forgot — would your lit- 
 tle mopsey like a husband of our choosing, when she 
 is old enough to choose a husband for herself? That's 
 a question which neither you nor I can resolve, my 
 Jessy, so I had better leave match-making alone, and 
 remain for the present neuter, and unalterably yours, 
 
 Florence, Rose Villa. 
 
 Agatha Montault." 
 
 This letter was followed by another in less than three 
 days after Mrs. Russel had received it, which ran 
 thus — 
 
 " My beloved Jessy, 
 " To prevent your writing again to Florence, and 
 the disappointment you will experience in my not re- 
 plying to your letter so soon as you may naturally ex- 
 pect, I have to inform you that my dear lord having an 
 opportunity to join a party who are going to Venice, on 
 terms that we cannot reasonably decline, we propose 
 quitting Florence almost immediately; and since I 
 bave known of this sudden alteration in the tide of 
 taur affairs, I have been busily engaged in making such 
 arrangements as I think necessary for the order of my 
 establishment, a part of which I could actually have 
 dispensed with, had I been aware of the additional 
 trouble, inconvenience, and expense they would have 
 incurred in this country, where the hire of domestics 
 does not amount to one half of the money that we 
 give in England ; besides they have really had nothing 
 to fill up their time, as we have had but few visitors, 
 
the fisher's DAUGHTER. 539 
 
 and those as plain and as domestic as myself. I must 
 not omit, however, mentioning the amiable family 
 who are the ostensible cause of our sudden departure 
 from Florence, and are the party whom we are going 
 to join in our tour to Venice, which consists of a 
 lady of rank and title, the Marchese Dor Hortensia, 
 and her two daughters. She married a gallant officer 
 in the Venetian army, who fell a victim to his bravery, 
 and left her a disconsolate widow to lament the loss of 
 an amiable husband, with two infant children, one of 
 whom was only a twelvemonth old when her father 
 died ; the elder girl, but one year the senior of her sis- 
 ter, of a pale and delicate complexion though beauti- 
 fully featured, is feared by the physicians to be in 
 the first stage of a pulmonary complaint, that has 
 affected her for some time ; and her mother, who is> 
 passionately fond of both her darlings, brought this 
 delicate flower to Florence in the cherished hope that 
 its mild and temperate air would restore it to its native 
 bloom ; and so it has proved, for the rose is again im- 
 parting its beautiful hues to the delicate cheek of the 
 so long suffering Amelia, to the inexpressible trans- 
 port of her doating mother, and an affectionate sister, 
 who, though not less lovely than Amelia, has a thousand 
 times more fascination and vivacity; that however is to 
 be accounted for, as Fauchette is healthful as the rose- 
 ate spring, and lively as the bounding doe. Orlando is 
 seldom out of the arms of this enchanting creature, 
 who plays with him all day long j it was sympathy, 
 certainly combined with a congeniality of feeling and 
 disposition, which attracted us towards this charming 
 family ; whom we encounter every morning and evening 
 
540 the fisher's daughter. 
 
 at La Santa, which is a spring of mineral waters 
 that every one here are in the habit of drinking, as 
 being extremely invigorating to the health 5 from thence 
 the visitors pass into the reading rooms, and there form 
 little conversation parties according to their taste and 
 their rank in society ; and here we became acquainted 
 with the amiable Marchese Dor Hortensia and her 
 lovely daughters, with whom Montague and my father 
 are, I assure you, perfectly charmed ; they are most ac- 
 complished creatures, and Fauchette, my Orlando's 
 little favourite, plays and sings enchantingly. They 
 now pass a great deal of their time at the villa, and we 
 in return visit them in the little cottage, more properly a 
 little palace, which the Marchese hired of a Florentine 
 nobleman during the time of her abode in Florence. 
 
 " The little attentions that the Marchese has paid 
 to my Montague, being apprised for what purpose 
 he had visited this country, has also considerably 
 won on my heart : who could resist the voice of kind- 
 ness when addressed to a sick husband ? and I could 
 have worshipped the excellent woman for this mark 
 of her sensibility ; whenever she beheld the anxiety that 
 was blended in my countenance, she would soothe and 
 console my fears for my husband's safety, and pointing 
 to her invalid, Amelia, exclaim, ' There is hope dear 
 lady, and do not fail to let it counterbalance despair ! 
 look on that suffering child, who, when I brought her 
 hither, was so worn and exhausted by disease, that I ex- 
 pected to leave her in her last earthly tenement j such 
 were my fears for poor Amelia, Lady Montague, but, 
 behold the pleasing change, which only a few weeks 
 have effected, in my dear girl since my abode in this 
 
the fisher's DAUGHTER. 541 
 
 delightfu. climate, from which I should certainly not 
 60 suddenly depart, had I not a sister whom my 
 heart adores, not only for the many virtues that she 
 possesses, but for the peculiar and heavy misfortunes 
 which have attended her; she is just arrived from 
 a province in Germany to visit me at Venice, where 
 she intends wholly to reside till her Castle is repaired. 
 She too is a widow, Lady Montague j in early life she 
 lost the Baron of Walbergh who unfortunately joined 
 the proud rebel and bold usurper Christopher Manfrida, 
 against the Emperor Julian, at the siege of Bohemia, 
 and there he fell ; but this was not all that attended 
 the fate of the Baroness my sister; it was not sufficient 
 that she was deprived of the protection of her brave 
 husband in the midst of devouring wolves, who thirst- 
 ed only for vengeance and for cruelty ; but she lost hei 
 child, her only child, a lovely infant boy, scarce three 
 years old, in the most extraordinary and mysterious 
 manner that could possibly be conceived — distraction 
 for a while seized on the bewildered brain of my un- 
 happy sister ; for she had followed the Baron through 
 all his perilous campaigns, enduring all hardships for 
 his sake, and scorning all danger. The Baroness of 
 Walbergh was a woman of the most intrepid hardihood 
 of spirit, yet gentle as the dove in all the soft and 
 feminine virtues of her sex ; and passionately attached 
 to the Baron, she would not be separated from him when 
 he joined the rebels. Alas ! how dearly did my poor 
 Eloise pay for her temerity; for when victory was 
 proclaimed by the Emperor Julian, and the field of 
 battle was strewed with the dead bodies of the slain, 
 the dying, and the wounded,— in that moment of 
 
542 the fisher's daughter. 
 
 horror, the Baroness of Walbergh was found insensible 
 on the bosom of her slaughtered husband ! her infant 
 boy, struggling in her arms and grasping for breath, 
 crushed by its mother's fall on the dead body of the 
 Baron. The little innocent was nearly expiring, when 
 suddenly a strange hand snatched it thence ; no one 
 knew how it came there, or whither it vanished. But 
 the infant boy, the son and heir of the proud aspiring 
 Baron of Walbergh, was from that day never heard 
 of by its distracted mother. 
 
 "' Slowly the Baroness recovered her doubly dear- felt 
 loss, of husband and son ; and though more than twice 
 ten revolving years have passed away since this period 
 of her fell misfortunes, yet still she mourns the sad 
 mysterious destiny that awaited the son of her Wal- 
 bergh ; but wholly unavailing is her tear, and vain her 
 cherished hope, that chance might one day restore him 
 to her sight. Yes, that hope is so futile and visionary, 
 my dear Lady Montague,' continued the Marchese, 
 when she had concluded this affecting history of her 
 sister, e that I have long endeavoured to persuade 
 Eloise to deceive her imagination no longer with such a 
 delusion. The fate of the child no one can tell, and 
 it will, perhaps, remain a mystery to the end of exist- 
 ence. A dying soldier, who lay near the mangled re- 
 mains of the departed Baron, could only point to the 
 spot from whence the child was taken, but he was un- 
 able to describe the manner, or by whom j so that, un- 
 fortunately, there was not a vestige to be traced by 
 which the Baroness could discover so extraordinary and 
 mysterious an incident.' 
 
 " ' Extraordinary indeed !' uttered I, and I felt agi- 
 
the fisher's daughter. 543 
 
 tated to such a degree, that I could scarcely conceal my 
 sensations from the observations of the Marchese, who 
 looked at me with some symptoms of anxiety ; for what 
 do you think, Jessy, was the thought that possessed my 
 imagination after this disclosure of the misfortunes of 
 the Baroness Walbergh ; cannot you guess, Jessy ? had 
 our dear lost Wolf lived, he would have been about the 
 age, as far as we can nearly suppose, of twenty-five j 
 and the Marchese informs me that it is more than 
 twenty years since the child was thus mysteriously 
 taken from the bosom of his mother, and that he was 
 then about three years old. Jessy, does not the thought 
 strike you that there is a probability that this very child 
 must have been our poor Wolf, — in Bohemia at the very 
 time that Julian the emperor was defending himself 
 against the usurped authority of Christopher, the then 
 chief rebel. I told Montague all I thought, and my 
 dear lord as well as my father concur in the same opi- 
 nion ; but I hinted not this to the Marchese. We are 
 going to Venice, and I shall see this Baroness of Wal- 
 bergh, for whose misfortunes my heart now bleeds. 
 Alas ! if she is the mother of Wolf, why should we tear 
 that heart asunder by telling her that her child has long 
 since been buried in the ocean. Yet, if I can prove him 
 such, it will be some satisfaction to know in whose 
 hands he had fallen. What since has happened was 
 the designation of almighty Providence, and we could 
 not avert his fate. 
 
 " Jessy, you will not receive a letter from me, till, 
 probably, we shall arrive at Venice, and then I will 
 disclose to you every particular. The Marchioness of 
 Montault is highly offended with her son, for the severe 
 
544 the fisher's daughter. 
 
 rebuke he lias given her relative to her late conduct 
 at Violet Vale. No matter : even a mother has no 
 right to infringe on the duties of a child, any more than 
 a child has to infringe on the duties of a parent. 
 
 " May peace be with my Jessy, and the peculiar care 
 of Heaven watch over her. 
 
 Your's ever and truly, 
 
 Agatha Montana:* 
 
 
 
the fisher's daughter. 645 
 
 CHAPTER XXIV. 
 
 " Even as the bee 'mid circling roses flies. 
 Nor pauses once to rest his weary wing, 
 Until at length the fairest he descries, 
 And sinks upon its bosom, murmuring ; 
 There half entranced the loiteriug insect lies 
 Incumbent on its dewy fragrant leaves, 
 From the soft cup the honey draught receives, 
 And scents the aroma perfumes as they rise; 
 So through the world, my earliest, only love, 
 I wandered, lonely till I met with thee; 
 Thou wert the rose, and I the humble bee, 
 And wild in search of thee my fancy strove ; 
 At length I found thee, — and no longer free, 
 Thine eye was light, thy cheek was heaven to me." 
 
 " Lady Agatha Montague Montault to Mrs. Jes*f 
 Russel. 
 
 " My dearest Jessy, 
 
 " The physicians who have prescribed for my dear 
 lord, since we have been at Florence, have suddenly 
 persuaded us to alter our plan of visiting Venice imme- 
 diately, and to travel at our leisure along the shores of 
 the Mediterranean towards Provence, as being suitable 
 for a valetudinarian like my husband j to which plan? 
 as also being conducive to the health of Amelia Dor 
 
 «23 3 z 
 
646 THE fisher's daughter. 
 
 Hortensia, the Marchese has most readily aeeedeu. 
 We shall therefore take the direct road, that runs along 
 the foot of the Pyrenees, to Languedoc ; from which 
 place, if I have an opportunity, I shall certainly write, 
 if not, you must only expect to hear from me whea 
 we arrive at Venice. 
 
 " My dear lord, I fancy, is not quite so well as 
 when he first visited this place ; but it may be only 
 fancy, increased by the fears of a fond and affectionate 
 wife. Ah ! Jessy, could I once divest myself of these 
 fears, I should be the most transported being in human 
 existence. My Orlando is certainly grown a little Her- 
 cules, and his attachment to the youngest daughter of 
 the Marchese continues as strong as ever; she is really 
 the most fascinating young female 1 ever beheld. 1 
 have already told you that she is possessed of the most 
 unabated flow of animated spirits, but she is equally the 
 child of the^most exquisite feeling and sensibility ; she 
 is passionately attached to her invalid sister, whose 
 sufferings seem to have given an additional and more 
 sacred claim to her affection. And how beautiful is 
 this feature in the character and disposition of the 
 lively Fauchette ; what nameless graces does it not im- 
 part to her pretty person, and how many virtuous qua- 
 lities does it not blend with her disposition ! Yesterday, 
 Amelia, invited by the uncommon loveliness of the 
 weather, accompanied us to the baths, which are only 
 a quarter of a mile distant from the cottage which the 
 Marchese occupies; but even this exercise was too 
 much for the delicate and fragile form of the so long 
 suffering girl : for when she reached the veranda, she 
 fainted in the arms of her sister, on whose arm she had 
 
THE FISHER S DAUGHTER. 
 
 reclined as we walked thither; and it was then that 
 Fauchette discovered a pensive sensibility, which her 
 gay and volatile spirits had not led us to imagine she 
 would have indulged in ; for she instantly exclaimed, 
 4 Oh ! mamma, let us quickly send for medical assist- 
 ance, for Amelia is dying ! look how colourless are her 
 lips and her cheeks ! Mamma, let me hasten for relief 
 to my sister ; I will run every step of the way if you 
 will let me ; I shall not feel the scorching heat of the 
 sun, although it is so burning, for I have twice that 
 heat within my bosom now, to behold Amelia thus J' 
 
 " But, happily, the fears of the half frantic Fauchette 
 were removed; for on proper restoratives being applied, 
 Amelia opened her eyes, and again smiled on the efforts 
 of her affectionate sister to recover her, assuring her 
 that her illness was merely temporary, and owing to the 
 oppressive heat of the weather, which had wholly over- 
 come her j but she uttered this with a forced and me- 
 lancholy smile, and the Marchese looked at me, and 
 sighed deeply. 
 
 " The situation of this dear girl often affects me 
 greatly ; she is so fluctuating in the complaint, and so 
 like what my Montague was, when formerly attacked 
 at Violet Vale, with symptoms of this too fatal and dan- 
 gerous disease. 
 
 " I shall be deprived of the pleasure of hearing from 
 my dear Jessy, till we arrive at some settled point of 
 our journey, and owing to the impossibility of a letter 
 reaching me on our way to the Pyrenees ; but when 
 you do write, my Jessy, be not sparing either of pens, 
 ink^or paper ; as I shall not be, of any information I 
 
548 the fisher's daughter. 
 
 can give yon, of our peregrinations in what travellers 
 term the fairy land. Till which time, may all good 
 spiiits watch over and protect you and yours. 
 
 Agatha Montague Montault." 
 
 Some few weeks had elapsed before Mrs. Russel re- 
 ceived the following from her lovely friend ; which ap- 
 peared first to have been conveyed to a correspondent 
 of Lord Montague's, at Florence, and there franked and 
 and sent to England ; it contained the following intel- 
 ligence : — 
 
 u Dear Jessy, 
 
 *' I am in the midst of pine forests, mountains, and 
 vast plains, encompassed with woods and blushing 
 Vines, and plantations of almonds, palms, and olives. 
 We are now, my love, in a part of Gascony, and part 
 of Languedoc, shewing nature in all its beautiful va- 
 riety, and convincing us that the hand that made them 
 is divine. 
 
 " Sometimes we seem approaching mountains of 
 snow, which on the grey of morning, exhibit a gloomy 
 and terrific appearance ; but on the first rays of the 
 golden sun, that glitters on the piney tops, all these 
 dreary vestiges disappear ; and we are lost in wonder 
 and delight, when we see the soft myrtle and the blush- 
 ing rose, in full luxuriant beauty, blooming in the midst 
 of these hoary mountains, which almost seem to reach 
 the starry skies. I can compare the majestic summits 
 of the Pyrenees, now in perspective before us, to no- 
 thing but immense pillars of marble, so extremely beau- 
 
the fisher's daughter. 549 
 
 tiful, Jessy, that you have no idea of its effect on the 
 bosom of a stranger, when first encountering their 
 stupendous and awful magnitude. 
 
 i( I own I have some fears, when we shall descend 
 from these heights and enter into the deep vallies be- 
 low, so often the resort of the wandering banditti ; but 
 our guides inform us there is little danger of their at- 
 tacking so formidable a party, and that the very dis- 
 charge of some of our fire-arms would send them 
 skulking to their caverns, where they conceal them- 
 selves till any threatened danger be past, and which 
 they are frequently exposed to, when they are attacked 
 by any of the troops appointed to inspect and to pre- 
 vent the nefarious and dangerous practice of smuggling 
 on the coast of the Mediterranean.' 
 
 " You cannot conceive how well my dear lord bears 
 the fatigue of travelling j it is, I fear, more owing to his 
 mind being amused, than to any radical cure occasioned 
 by the change of the climate. 
 
 " The Dor Hortensia family are as pleasing and as 
 amiable as ever; the gentle Amelia now appears again 
 to be in a state of convalescence, to the inexpressible 
 joy of her mother and sister. 
 
 " The prospects which now surround us are en- 
 chanting beyond description ; and we often stay longer 
 at the little inns, where we stop to take refreshment, 
 on purpose to behold the manners and the customs of 
 the peasantry of this country, the very meanest and 
 humblest of which afford a striking example to those 
 in England, who contrive to mix with the sweat of 
 *heir brow a portion of vivacity, good humour, and 
 
550 the fisher's DAUGHTER. 
 
 contentment, from which they never relax. Even, iu 
 the very midst of misfortune and calamity, the women 
 are most enthusiastically attached to their husbands 
 and their children, often bearing a part of their fatigue 
 in the labours of the field with the utmost cheerfulness, 
 while the men in return evince towards them the most 
 kind and unremitting attentions ; and, conscious of their 
 worth, reward them with all the indulgence and in- 
 nocent pastimes that their incomes can afford j hence, 
 there are many holidays and feasts in the year, appoint- 
 ed by themselves, where young and old constantly as- 
 semble together ; while the youth of both sexes mix 
 in the cheerful pleasures of the lively dance, or accom- 
 pany the notes of the sprightly guitar, by singing iu no 
 mean strain the national airs which so long have been 
 the admiration of the whole world. We arrived at a 
 little village last night, where the happy and rustic sons 
 and daughters of labour and industry were celebrating 
 one of these holidays of which I speak ; and we were 
 led by curiosity to enter the humble but peaceful 
 abode, where the dance and the song were alternately 
 delighting the young and enchanting the aged. 
 
 " There was a minstrel sat in the middle of them, 
 clad in the costume of the ancient times, and to whom 
 they successively paid the greatest homage and defer- 
 ence ; he was crowned with a chaplet of fresh gathered 
 flowers, interwoven with a few laurel leaves, which had 
 been presented to him by the daughter of the master of 
 the rustic feast, a beautiful girl of about fifteen years 
 of age— a wild laughing innocent thing with large blue 
 eyes, and a prodigious quantity of flaxen hair, flowing 
 

 ■■ . - 
 
the fisher's daughter. 661 
 
 about her shoulders, which now and then concealed the 
 blushing roses that tinted with health's roseate hue her 
 youthful cheek. 
 
 " My father and husband were delighted with the 
 novel scene before us, and the Marchese and her ami- 
 able daughters were as highly gratified as myself. The 
 lively Fauchette, expressed a wish to hear the minstrel 
 sing and play the national air to which we had listened 
 before with so much pleasure, who, at the request of 
 the Duke, repeated it with additional force and energy, 
 the words of which were the following : — 
 
 Peace to the Fallen Brave. 
 
 " Peace be with the fallen brave — 
 Honour crown the hallow'd grave, 
 
 Where the warrior rests for ever 1 
 Honours, spotless as his fame, 
 Deck the mighty hero's name. 
 Ruthless death alone can sever 
 From the glorious path of war, 
 Where he blazed the battle star. 
 
 Ye winds blow softly o'er the tomb 
 Of Julian, whose imperious doom 
 
 Hath sternly snatch'd him hence awayj 
 Let no tempestuous gust sweep by, 
 But breezes murmur forth a sigh, 
 
 When evening shades suceeed to day j 
 And softly sad dim twilight's veil, 
 Shrouds the rushing sweeping gale. 
 
 Let not the moaning blast invade 
 The quiet of the warrior's shade ; 
 
 But hovering zephyrs gently breathe. 
 No storm shall blast the hero's rest ; 
 But ye soft trembling from the west. 
 Shall glad the soldier's verdant wreathf 
 And from it as ye sighing rise, 
 Shall waft his spirit to the skies.** 
 
552 the fisher's daughter. 
 
 " You, who know my natural taste for poetry, my 
 Jessy, may easily conceive how enchanted I was with 
 this specimen of the minstrel's abilities, nor did I fail 
 to express my admiration in the most glowing terms, 
 and my approbation of the selection he had made to 
 delight and to fascinate his auditors : he paid me a 
 compliment with which my dear father was much 
 pleased ; but I am not so vain as to repeat it to you, 
 for I do not know whether I truly merit it, and it were 
 well that the snow which the hoary hand of time had 
 scattered around the temples of the old man, warrant- 
 ed the liberty which in a young one would not have 
 been easily excused by my Montague. At all events, 
 Jessy, I was assailed on all sides to sing and play, 
 Fauchette declaring that she would follow my example ; 
 and I could not resist the temptation of pleasing those 
 who had so willingly stepped aside from the order of 
 their circle, to amuse and gratify the curiosity of the 
 enquiring stranger who had thus broken in upon their 
 rustic ceremonies. I took the mellow instrument 
 therefore from the hands of the minstrel, and accom- 
 panied myself to the air of i Love among the Roses,' 
 which was quickly followed by ' Away with Melan- 
 choly,' by the sprightly Fauchette, whose enchanting 
 tones spread their magic influence o'er the hearts of all 
 around her ; indeed, it is utterly impossible to resist the 
 fascination of this charming creature, who, if her 
 mother lived in the gay splendour of a court instead 
 of the domestic circle of her own fire- side, would, in my 
 opinion, form a connection of the most brilliant kind, 
 for she is formed to captivate and charm wherever 
 he is known; but Montague perfectly repels that 
 
THE WSHEh S DAUGHTER. 553 
 
 thought ; he says that Fauchettc Dor Hortensia is a 
 child of such pure simplicity, that were she more 
 polished she would be less pleasing ; and that art 
 would only spoil the beautiful composition which na- 
 ture alone has made : perhaps he is right, for my father 
 also adopts his sentiment ; at all events I must submit 
 to their superior judgment, for men are unquestionably 
 much better judges of our sex than we are of ourselves : 
 so also are we of theirs. I own, however, that our judg- 
 ment is not always infallible; in the disposition of our 
 young favourite, I perceive that this fascination about 
 her principally exhibits itself in good nature ; (for she 
 is certainly not so critically beautiful as her sister 
 would be, were she in the bloom of health ;) goodness, 
 and sensibility of the most soft and gentle kind, is 
 the distinguishing feature in the form and face of the 
 fair and delicate Amelia : the amiable Marchese in her- 
 self unites the excellencies of both her lovely daughters ; 
 and has, when in her youth, possessed no small claim 
 to personal charms. I find that the Baroness of Wal- 
 bergh is by many years the junior of her sister ; and as 
 they are constantly talking of her, I have almost form- 
 ed some idea of her character and disposition. Being 
 alone with the young ladies the other morning, the 
 conversation turned as usual on the delight of return* 
 ing to Venice, and the anticipated pleasure of behold 
 ing their beloved aunt, whom they had not seen for a 
 period of nearly four years; and I could not then 
 resist the curiosity which reigned so strongly within 
 me, of being more minutely acquainted with her his- 
 tory, and of the misfortunes that attended her on the 
 loss of her husband and her child ; on which subject I 
 a 24 4 A 
 
554 THE FISHER 5 DAUGHTER. 
 
 perceived that Amelia was delicately reserved : not so 
 Fauchette, who, with the lively and innocent ingenuous- 
 ness that marked her d-aracter, gently reproached her 
 sister for the'evasive answers she gave to me, when I 
 enquired if the Baroness had no secret enemies, either 
 of her husband or herself, that from some invidious and 
 malicious motive, might have been accessary to de- 
 priving her of her child ; ' for there are such monsters 
 in human shape,' cried I, (shuddering, Jessy, at the 
 dreadful fate which once awaited me from the machi- 
 nations of my grandmother the late Duchess of Bra- 
 gahza,) * whose sole delight is to involve in misery and 
 destruction, the beings that most look up to them for 
 protection. Alas ! such beings have I known, even at 
 that tender age of helpless infancy, when inuocence 
 could not shield me from the merciless cruelty of the 
 nearest relatives I had in existence. I beg pardon 
 Lady Amelia Dor Hortensia, for intruding such a sub- 
 ject on your notice, and assure you that I would 
 not willingly distress your feelings by continuing a 
 conversation respecting the Baroness of Walbergh, 
 whose infant son was so mysteriously stolen from her, 
 while yet he had a mother's bosom for his security.' 
 To which Amelia suppressing a gentle sigh replied— 
 " * My aunt, the Baroness of Walbergh, had cer- 
 tainly enemies, Lady Montague ; and so had my uncle 
 the Baron, for unfortunately he united his interests 
 where they were most impolitic and improper, to Chris- 
 topher instead of Julian the Emperor, in whose de- 
 feat of the opposing army my brave uncle fell. You 
 have heard my mother tell of the intrepid character 
 and disposition of my aunt, Eloise, who would never 
 
THE FISHER S DAUGHTER. 00,> 
 
 be dissuaded from following my uncle to the wars. Of 
 all that ever I could glean from tale or history, neve- 
 did I hear of a female possessed of such undaunted 
 courage; for she would -face the cannon's roar, and en- 
 dure the perils and hardships of a long campaign, as 
 easily as she would enjoy the stately pleasures and 
 luxuries of a court, provided that her husband were to 
 share it with her. She was passionately fond of my 
 uncle the Baron of Walbergh, at the time when un- 
 numbered suitors sighed for her hand ; she was un- 
 commonly beautiful, as I have heard my mother say, 
 when at the court of the late Emperor Julian she was 
 first introduced, and attracted all eyes and all hearts 
 towards her; but none gained her favour, save alone 
 the young Baron of Walbergh, who by the decease of 
 his father had just come into the possession of his title 
 and estates on a rich domain near the borders of Ger- 
 many ; but unfortunately for the beauteous Eloise, the 
 object she made choice of in preference to all her 
 splendid suitors was impolitic and imprudent, for the 
 young Baron of Walbergh was a professed enemy to 
 Julian; and when the feudal wars broke out, joined 
 the usurper against him, in the great cause by which 
 millions fell. Julian, whose allies were powerful and 
 his interest with the combined armies great, exert- 
 ed the influence of his unbounded wealth to corrupt 
 the hearts of the soldiery, and win them to his pur- 
 pose ; but need I paint the scene of blood and devasta- 
 tion which ensued, when in dreadful and terrible array 
 both armies met ? I cannot, Lady Montague, though I 
 have beard the tale so oft repeated from my mother's 
 lips. And my aunt Eloise ! O ! I have heard her re 
 
566 the fisher's daughter. 
 
 count the scenes of battle she has witnessed, till hei 
 eye balls have glanced wildly, and in pleasing accents 
 she has exclaimed, ■ My Walbergh ! O, nay Walbergh ! 
 where is he now ? and where, O where is his infant 
 boy !' Strange indeed, was the mysterious manner in 
 which the child was taken from her ; insensible on the 
 corse of her bleeding husband she was found ; and on 
 her recovery the first object she enquired for was her 
 child, whom she had enfolded in her arms, when she 
 had discovered that her brave lord was among the 
 fallen slain ones. The dying soldier that remained on 
 the spot beside her, gave mysterious signs that the 
 infant boy was taken from thence; but he could des- 
 cribe nothing of the perpetrator of so base and unna- 
 tural an outrage to humanity: for if humanity had 
 prompted to rescue the unfortunate, and save the infant 
 from barm, they would have saved the mother, too, on 
 the bosom of her slaughtered husband ; but of her 
 sufferings no heed was taken, and the Baroness would 
 probably soon have followed her departed lord, had 
 not one of her vassals discovered her on the ensan- 
 guined plain, o'er trampled with the dying and the 
 wounded, with the carcasses of dead animals around 
 her. It was the morning after the battle ; and when 
 the sun poured its golden rays upon the face of nature, 
 what horrid spectacles of the dead did it present to 
 the living ! The Baroness of Walbergh lay among the 
 ten thousand slaughtered men strewed upon the plain : 
 she was the only female ! none in woman's form had 
 ventured thither but herself, and next to a miracle was 
 her preservation from such a fate. The remains of 
 the Baron was borne to his chateau, and buried in the 
 
THE FISHER'S DAUGHTER. 5f>7 
 
 family vault of his ancestors. Slowly did time 
 throw a veil over the anguished feelings of my 
 poor unhappy aunt, who mourned alike the loss of a 
 husband and a child 5 the former she knew the fate of, 
 the latter none can tell.' 
 
 f f ' Yes j but you know, Amelia, that it was sur- 
 mised — y cried Fauchette looking at her sister with an 
 expression that I could not define, ' — the Em- 
 peror Julian had a brother younger than himself, and 
 that brother once sought in marriage the hand of my 
 aunt Eloise ; she rejected him, preferring the Baron of 
 Walbergh to his splendid offer, and he bore the utmost 
 enmity towards his hatred rival apd his beauteous 
 bride. It was therefore suspected, Lady Montague, 
 though no living witness bears a proof of it, that the 
 vindictive Rodolph, enraged by passion and en flamed 
 by jealousy, employed emissaries to watch the steps 
 of my unhappy aunt, through all the progressive hard- 
 ships and perilous campaigns she sustained with her 
 husband ; and aware of the courage and undaunted 
 spirit that she possessed, and that nothing would in- 
 duce her to forsake the Baron, followed her to the 
 field of battle, where he fell, and stole the infant heir 
 of Walbergh from the bosom of its distracted and in- 
 sensible mother ; not that any proof was ever given, 
 that this deed of cruelty was performed by Rodolph ; 
 but my aunt conjectured so, and has ever since avoided 
 all connection with his hated family, though twice soli- 
 cited since a widow to become his bride.' 
 
 " I thanked the sweet girls for all the intelligence 
 they had afforded me of this heroic and interesting 
 woman, in whose misfortunes I expressed the deepest 
 
558 the fisher's daughter. 
 
 sympathy, not breathing a thought of what has sr. 
 long possessed my imagination, till farther conviction 
 assures me that I cannot be mistaken. Yet all I have 
 heard confirms the idea that our dear lost lamented 
 Wolf is the stolen heir of the Baron and Baroness of 
 Walbergh ; and if so, how lamentable will be the dis- 
 covery that he has long since been buried in the bosom 
 of the ocean. Yet that he was protected and preserved 
 till then, may be some consolation to the feelings of 
 his mother, (if such the Baroness of Walbergh proves 
 to be ;) for the hand which terminated his earthly 
 existence was his who gave it, but from some wise 
 ourpose had snatched him away to meet his kindred 
 angels in the skies. 
 
 " I suggested all I thought of the history of the 
 Baroness of Walbergh to my dear lord ; he smiled 
 and called me a romantic enthusiast, and said I should 
 have done well to have lived in the days of chivalry, 
 when some enchanted knight could transform inani- 
 mate things to living ones. 
 
 " l And do we not live in the days of romance now, 
 my lord ?' replied I. 'Do we not live to prove the 
 assertion that there is nothing new under the sun ; 
 and that what is now, has been a hundred years 
 ago?' 
 
 " ( My dear love, possibility and probability are 
 two different things,' uttered he ; * and I no more 
 believe that Wolf was the son of the Baron and 
 Baroness of Walbergh, than that my son Orlando is 
 the son of the pope of Rome.' 
 
 " My father was not present at this moment, or he 
 would have dissented from Montague's opinion in this 
 
the fisher's daughter. G59 
 
 particular ; but till I behold this Baroness, which we 
 shall do when we go to Venice, I am not inclined to 
 alter mine. I enquired of Fauchette the name of the 
 child j and she informed me it was Wallace, Christopher 
 Ferdinand, and that it was owing to this compliment 
 being paid to the usurper, whose name was Christopher 
 Ferdinand, that he so warmly espoused the cause of the 
 Baron of Walbergh, ' who was next to him in command 
 over the allied forces, when they marched against the 
 Emperor Julian; but of this we do not like to speak, es- 
 pecially in the presence of the Baroness,' uttered Fau- 
 chette ; ' for, to this connection of her husband with that 
 proud aspiring rebel, she probably owes all the misfor- 
 tunes which have attended her, both before and after his 
 decease.' I was silent, Jessy, still more stronlgy im- 
 pressed than ever, that our Wolf was the lost child of 
 the Baron of Walbergh, and that the treachery of this 
 jealous rival, Rodolph, was the cause of removing the 
 infant far from a mother's reach ; for what will not dis- 
 appointed passion occasion a bad man to do, when he 
 loses or is rejected by the woman whom he loves ? 
 Does not this idea strike you too, my Jessy ? I am sure 
 that it does, and when I again have the happiness 
 of hearing from you, that you will coincide with the 
 opinion I have formed of the exalted birth of poor 
 Wolf. It was indeed a general observation with all 
 who ever behold this fine, noble, and spirited youth, 
 that he was not what he seemed, the offspring of ob- 
 scurity ; but born of parents of no mean line of 
 ancestry, his very look and his fine martial brow pro- 
 claimed it. We intend to cross the Alps, some part of 
 which are terrific and rendered almost impassable from 
 
THK FrslIKU S DATTGIITKK. 
 
 the huge masses of snow which surround liiem. They 
 nre besides wretchedly dreary and desolate, while the 
 tremendous precipices and hollow cliffs that every 
 where salute the eye, inspire me with fears and appre- 
 hensions that I cannot divest myself of; they are cer- 
 tainly awfully sublime, grand, and beautiful ; but I 
 am fonder of the more quiet and tranquil scenes of 
 nature, and should not like to live always among craggy 
 rocks, lofty mountains, burning volcanoes, and roaring 
 waters : when the mind is calm, the passions temperate, 
 and the heart at ease, we may indeed repose any where ; 
 but I should choose rather to bask in sunshine, than 
 constantly to hear the raging of tempestuous winds 
 and the storming of the ocean. 
 
 " In short, my Jessy, I have no particular predilec- 
 tion for marine scenery at any time, much less where 
 it has caused such inevitable destruction to our dearest 
 and tenderest ties of kindred affection. Dear Wolf is 
 in a watery grave, and I very narrowly escaped from 
 having long been consigned to the deep waters by the 
 evil genius of my grandmother; you cannot wonder 
 therefore, from all these circumstances connected, that 
 they are more terrific to me than pleasing ; and they 
 absolutely frighten Beda and Rebecca to such a de- 
 gree, when the mules make the slightest stumble, that 
 it requires all the influence I possess over the mind of 
 each to persuade them there is no danger in crossing 
 these tremendous heights. My little waiting maid 
 (who, by the bye, is growing a very pretty woman, and 
 is not without the knowledge of being so) is a great 
 favourite with the Dor Hortensia family. Fauchctte in 
 particular ad mires her; but I cautioned her to beware 
 
THE FISHER S DAUGHTER. 56 I 
 
 of inspiring this silly girl with any thought that might 
 lead to the encouragement of that vanity of which I 
 am sensible she inherits no small share, as well as 
 much of the Italian character. You know, Jessy, that 
 my dear foster father, Captain Singleton, bequeathed at 
 his demise a legacy of five hundred pounds to the 
 daughter of Michello, on condition that she married, 
 with my approbation, an object deserving of her and 
 this little property; but my dear lord and I have, from 
 the most prudential motives, kept Beda in profound 
 ignorance of this bequest, fearful that her youthful 
 vanity would be intoxicated by it before she arrived at 
 years of discretion ; and that she would no longer con- 
 sider herself in the capacity of an attendant, for I cer- 
 tainly have never made her a domestic, but of the 
 highest order in my establishment ; and my lord has ii 
 consequence of my attachment to her always treated 
 her with the greatest kindness and familiarity, being, 
 at the period she came into my service, a mere inex- 
 perienced child ; but she is not so now, Jessy, and has 
 lost much of the simplicity and artlessness of her na- 
 tive character, which so particularly distinguished her 
 in the Old Abbey : she is now conscious of her personal 
 attractions, and her passions are strong and intempe- 
 rate ; and while her beauty invites the eye, I fear that 
 her girlish vanity will not be sufficiently proof against 
 the temptation of seducive flattery from the male sex. 
 I am therefore careful not to expose her to society 
 which may be dangerous to her in this country more 
 than any other; before she is twenty-one she will 
 probably yield to the influence of some strong attach- 
 ment of the heart, and I cannot then answer for its 
 h 24 4 b 
 
r-«>4 the fishiui s daucmtvu. 
 
 prudence hereafter. At present I fed I am her mo- 
 therland will most conscientiously discharge my duty 
 towards her, by pot permitting any one to approach 
 her with impunity while she remains under my protec- 
 tion and authority, which I shall not give up till she 
 obtains a husband. I shall expect a long letter from 
 you, Jessy, when we arrive at Venice, with a full ac- 
 count of home, sweet home, and all that is connected 
 with its social and endearing ties. 
 
 Yours ever, 
 Agatha Montague Montault." 
 
 Mrs. Russel did not answer her friend's affectionate 
 and highly satisfactory letter, till some days after her 
 arrival at Venice, although it appeared from the post 
 mark to have been written a considerable time. Before 
 the receipt of it, however, Lady Montault had forward- 
 ed the following to England. 
 
 * To Mrs. Jessy Russel. 
 
 Venice, ■ 
 
 " Dearest and most beloved friend, 
 " To have written to you by every post, through all 
 the multitude of places we have passed and sojourned 
 at for several days, owing to the necessity of our taking 
 a little respite from the intolerable fatigue of travelling 
 both on sea and land, though of the former we had ,fs 
 little as possible, would have filled volumes which I 
 should neither have had sufficient time or spirits to 
 have collected together ; but our two invalids, Mon- 
 tague and Amelia Dor Hortensia, required a double 
 portion of rest to any of us rude and boyant spirited 
 ones ; and we were obliged to halt on our march till 
 
THK FtSHER a DAUGUiiCiv. 
 
 both of these dear creatures were again renovated, am) 
 inclined to pursue their journey ; but, ! my love, what 
 wonders and what beauties have I not seen at all these 
 famed places ! I could scarce have believed that I was 
 not on fairy land, when we first made our entree into 
 Venice^ which in magnificence, grandeur, and beauty, 
 surpasses all I ever yet beheld. I do not wonder 
 that Italy is called the garden of the world ; well 
 might it be termed so, for Flora and Pomona have alike 
 been abundant in their stores, to enrich its enchanting 
 bowers and its fertile plains ; here are flowers that sur- 
 pass the riehest colouring of fancy in fragrance and in 
 pearly bloom, and fruits of the most delicious flavour 
 and quality, while from every shrub, in citron or in 
 orange grove, is wafted in incense, the most balmy and 
 odoriferous perfumes. Here is the arcadian lily and the 
 musk rose in their fullest perfection. O ! you can 
 have no idea, my Jessy, of the luxuries of this country, 
 which so often give the natives the character of being 
 an idle and an indolent race of beings, that sleep all 
 day under the shade of blushing vines, and awaken at 
 night to the soft amorous ditties of the soul-breathing 
 charms of a serenade. But it is not soj the real Italian 
 lady, and the real Italian gentleman, are no more di- 
 vested of innate delicacy and propriety, than the cold- 
 est and chastest females in England ; but they have more 
 soul, and ten thousand times more are their charms 
 or the powers of fascination, because they arc generally 
 more accomplished, and passionately fond of music; 
 they adapt it to every age and every stage of life, and 
 cultivate it to the fullest perfection. A wandering 
 minstrel is here found a master of music, and the very 
 
564 THK fisher's daughter. 
 
 mendicants, of the lowest order, are not insensible to 
 its charms, or the power of its melody. 
 
 " What effect, then, must it have over the minds 
 of the more refined and polished race of beings ! Well, 
 my love, do not expect me to give you an accurate de- 
 scription of Venice, which I think is one of the most 
 beautiful cities in the whole created world. The 
 churches, the theatres, the amphitheatres, the pavi- 
 lions, the gothic temples, the Alpine bridges, the vine- 
 yards, the public gardens, and the paintings, all float 
 in succession over the delighted eye of the astonished 
 traveller, and fill him with wonder and extasy, as sup- 
 posing he is in fairy climes; while the full blue of an 
 evening Italian sky, disposes him to the most heavenly 
 contemplation of his Maker. 1 will give you an ab- 
 stract of all I have seen here when I return to England; 
 but when I write to you I have other subjects to inspire 
 my pen, and which are far nearer my heart, than a de- 
 scription of towns and countries. My travels, Jessy, 
 must furnish sweet discourses in the time to come, as 
 I cannot be confined to mere remarks or observations, 
 when I am writing to the friend of my heart. 
 
 i( I must tell you of my husband and my child, and 
 home news, while I should forget the traveller, and adopt 
 only the language of the mother and the wife. When 
 I return to Violet Vale, I will become the historian of 
 the wonders T have seen in Italy, and in the Apennine 
 mountains, which I really feel no inclination to cross 
 again ; the fatigue has been intolerable, and the ex- 
 pense beyond what you can imagine. I have again re- 
 pented that we did not leave half of our establishment 
 behind. 
 
the fisher's daughter. 565 
 
 " When we embarked on the Brenta for Venice, I 
 was overpowered with sea-sickness, and was heartily 
 glad to find myself again on terra firma. Amelia Dor 
 Hortensia has had a severe relapse since we arrived 
 here, but my dear lord is charmingly recovered ; he 
 enjoys these Italian climes, and that is a sufficient re- 
 compense to me for all my toils. My boy was a little 
 indisposed on the Brenta, but he is now perfectly re- 
 covered. We have taken a delightful chateau about 
 three miles distant from Venice, which commands 
 a most majestic view of the ocean ; it is charming to 
 see the gondoliers sailing down the stream richly capa- 
 risoned, and all filled with beautiful females and bands 
 of musicians. Music, as I have told you, is the prin- 
 cipal amusement of the natives of Italy, and young and 
 old, rich and poor, alike enjoy the power of its fasci- 
 nation. 
 
 " The masquerade and the opera are the next objects 
 of attraction ; I have not yet attended either, and do 
 not think I shall till after my confinement, which I 
 look forward to daily, and which is one reason why I 
 felt the necessity of declining the kind invitation of the 
 Marchese, whose residence is five miles distant from our 
 own ; they left Venice last night for their chateau, in 
 consequence of the arrival of the Baroness of Wal- 
 bergh, who has come to spend some months with them. 
 You cannot conceive how I feel the loss of the society 
 of this charming family, the lively Fauchette in parti- 
 cular ; nor was it without tears that I bade the lovely 
 girl adieu, although we are so shortly to meet each other 
 again. 
 
566 the fisher's daughter. 
 
 " My dear lord gave the amiable Marchese a most 
 pressing invitation to pass some weeks at our chateau, 
 which is nearer to Venice than hers; and as the Car- 
 nival is approaching, they have promised to join us in 
 the pleasures and amusements which this festival al- 
 ways produces at this season of the year. 
 
 *' * And will you not bring the Baroness with you, 
 Marchese ?' eagerly cried 1. 
 
 " ' Do, I in treat you/ reiterated my father, impelled 
 by the same resistless curiosity as I was, to behold the 
 heroic female who had risked so many dangers for her 
 husband. But to which the Marchese gravely re- 
 plied — 
 
 " { I cannot promise that, dear Lady Montague, for 
 the sight of Venice is hateful to the Baroness of Wal- 
 bergh, as it contains some vestiges of a family still ob- 
 noxious to the feelings of an injured wife and mother. 
 There is Fauchette, however, she must try her skill with 
 her aunt, with whom she is a prodigious favourite.' 
 To which the sweet girl replied — 
 
 " ' I will make my aunt come, whether she likes it 
 or not ; never fear, dear Lady Montague, I have a ma- 
 gic spell, whose potent power it will be impossible for 
 her to withstand the witchery of.' 
 
 a Amelia looked at her sister, and smiled incredu- 
 lously, while she playfully exclaimed — 
 
 " ' Fie, fie, Fauchette, are you not ashamed to treat 
 with such childish levity, a subject so serious. Mam- 
 ma, do you remember the man in the mask, that so 
 rudely forced himself into our gondolier, and spoke to 
 my aunt in such mysterious language, on the last night 
 
THE FJSHKIt's IMUGHTER. nG/ 
 
 of the carnival, four years ago. Fauchette protests 
 that she beheld him this morning, peeping through the 
 lattice of the window at our hotel.' 
 
 " ' Nonsense, nonsense, child,' cried the Marchese, 
 with a look of surprise and astonishment that was in- 
 describable, ' Fauchette must have been dreaming.' 
 
 " * Dreaming or not, I will protest that f saw the 
 face of that very ugly man, mamma,' uttered Fau- 
 chette, ' not quite so hideous as when he spoke to my 
 aunt in the gondolier, but still frightful enough to make 
 me scream dreadfully; and then he ran away from the 
 window, and I shut down the casement.' - , 
 
 " The Marchese looked thoughtfully, and after a 
 pause, * I must beg, Fauchette, that you will preserve 
 silence on this subject,' uttered she with a look of re- 
 prehension, indicating that she had spoken of it with, too 
 little reserve; 'the incident, however trifling, may power- 
 fully agitate the feelings of the Baroness of Walbergh.' 
 
 " ' I will do as you command me, dearest mamma,' 
 uined Fauchette, and deeply blushing, withdrew; while 
 the kind and considerate Amelia, wishing to divert her 
 mother's thoughts from any painful retrospection o/ 
 past occurrences, produced a specimen of her sister's 
 poetry, which she had written on the lake, where, it 
 is reported, the rays of the sun are entirely excluded 
 by a mountain that rises on the side of it; the subject 
 of which is so exactly in your favourite style, my Jessy, 
 th •! I enclose you a copy of it. 
 
 " The lake's dark bosom glowed beneath, 
 
 Peaceful and calm, like solitude ; 
 Nor summer's sun, nor summer's breath, 
 
 Upon the silence round intrude. 
 
668 the fisher's daughter. 
 
 Oiie only image there imprest, 
 
 Time passes o'er uunoticing, 
 The rock's deep shadow on her breast, t \ 
 
 In nature's own true pencilling. 
 
 " Oh what a type of that sad heart 
 
 Where one deep secret sorrow lives ; 
 Hope's genial rays no warmth impart, 
 
 Despair no greater coldness gives. 
 For stamp'd upon the inmost soul, 
 
 The shadows of the secret lay, 
 The waves of time but vainly roll, 
 
 When they would wash the trace away." 
 
 " It was with deep regret, that we at length took 
 leave of this charming family, nor could my Orlando 
 be separated from his young favourite without shedding 
 many tears. 
 
 " i She will come again, mamma, will not she?' ea- 
 gerly repeated the boy, as he strained his eye after the 
 carriage in which he beheld Fauchette depart ; * papa 
 tells me that she will, and so does my grandpapa, but 
 that wont be to night, and I shall miss her so to night, 
 when 1 say my prayers, and she kisses me and calls me 
 her pretty Orlando; but I will pray for Fauchette, 
 mamma, because I love her so.' 
 
 " f And you must also pray for those whom you do 
 not love,' uttered I ; ? when we offer up our prayers to 
 the Deity, no selfish thought should guide us ; we must 
 pray for all, and there is no human being that does not 
 require it.' 
 
 l( ' What, must I pray for naughty men, mamma, 
 as well as good ones ?' cried Orlando, fixing on me a 
 look of great earnestness. 
 
 w ' More so, if possible, my love, because it is the 
 
THE FISHKR'S DAUGHTER. bGi) 
 
 wicked man that requires the greater intercession at the 
 throne of mercy.' 
 
 " My boy threw his arms about my neck, and 
 kissed me ; his roseate lips were more balmy than the 
 exhalation of new-born roses, and I felt a mother's 
 rapture, and breathed on his beauteous cheek a mo- 
 ther's prayer. Insensibly, after Rebecca had taken my 
 boy to bed, my thoughts strayed towards the Baroness of 
 Walbergh, and I heaved a shuddering sigh, at the bare 
 suggestion that I should ever have a child torn from 
 me under such mysterious circumstances ; it is proba- 
 ble that I may see her shortly, and then I will tell you 
 what I think of her. I hope, Jessy, you will not forget 
 that I am now most anxiously awaiting the arrival of a 
 letter from you, as our correspondence will, in future, 
 receive no interruption from travelling, as my dear lord 
 intends wholly to reside at Venice, till we return to our 
 native country ; pray be particular, and let me know 
 what is passing at the castle of Montault. Montague 
 has received several letters from the marquis, his father, 
 who greatly deplores our absence ; he writes somewhat 
 dejectedly, and the marchioness but coldly ; she seems 
 to forget that she has an only son, so recently a sufferer 
 from severe illness, or the course that induces him to 
 visit a foreign climate. Tell me all about dear little 
 mopsey, your father, and honest Samuel. Alfred has 
 written to the Duke; his letter was affecting, and my 
 father was highly gratified with his style. 
 
 Dear Jessy, adieu, 
 Ever, ever yours, 
 Agatha Montague Montault" 
 
 <?24 4 c 
 
570 THE fisher's DAUGHTER 
 
 This letter was answei ed bj the following from Mrs. 
 Russel. 
 
 M Dearest Agatha, 
 
 " At length I have again the happiness of addressing 
 you, and imparting my every thought to my ever dear 
 and revered friend. I have regularly received all your 
 charming letters, and, oh ! with what delight did I read 
 them to my father and husband. My father is rejoiced 
 enough that you are out of the mountains — 
 
 " ' For, shiver my topsails,' cried he, ' if I like the 
 thoughts of climbing over rocks on the backs of a par- 
 cel of mules, that wont budge an inch unless they like 
 it, if you were to whip them to death ; and as for 
 your grand sights, — give me your grand sights in the 
 wooden walls of old England, before all the outland- 
 ish countries in the world ; and as for your French 
 and your Italians, 1 would not give one Englishman, 
 with a true bit of blood about him, for a cargo of such, 
 in twenty of their own ships. No, no, old England for 
 ever, after all, my lady, if you come to that ; and tell 
 her that Peter Blust says so.' 
 
 " And I do tell you so, my dear Agatha, and you 
 will forgive the whimsicality of my poor old father's 
 humour, which you know it would be useless for me to 
 oppose. 
 
 " Well I am really delighted at your having escaped 
 all the perils and dangers of so fearfully long a journey, 
 and are now safely arrived at head quarters in Venice, 
 with your dear Lord restored to health, and with a cir- 
 cle of friends so pleasing, and whose dispositions and 
 
THE FISHER'S DAUGHTER. 571 
 
 tastes are so congenial to your own, as the Dor Hor- 
 tensia family. I am perfectly charmed with the cha- 
 racter of the lively Fauchette, and am no less pleased 
 with that of the interesting and delicate Amelia, and 
 her amiable mother. How critically fortunate, my dear 
 Agatha, that you should encounter such companions in 
 a country, not very remarkable, as I have heard, for 
 their association with English manners, and with En- 
 glish people. 
 
 " But you perfectly astonish me about the history 
 and the sufferings of the Baroness of Walbergh ; though 
 at present I cannot adopt your opinion of that lady be- 
 ing the mother of our dear Wolf, from the improba- 
 bility of his having been spared at all, from the merci- 
 less cruelty of the baron's jealous rival, Rodolph, who 
 would certainly have destroyed the child when once it 
 was in his power, out of revenge to its helpless mother. 
 It is scarce probable that he would have permitted it 
 to have survived. However, there certainly is nothing 
 impossible; and strange things come to pass. I shall 
 wait with some anxiety for your introduction to the 
 Baroness of Walbergh, who must be a woman of most 
 extraordinary strength of mind, as well as sensibility, 
 to have encountered the perils of the fight, and wit- 
 nessed the dying and the slain, on the field of battle, 
 with an infant in her arms; few women coul I si stain 
 such conflicts, let their fortitude be ever so great, or 
 their affection ever so ardent. 
 
 Cl I was pleased with your description of the Italian 
 peasantry, and their rural and rational pastimes. * Peace 
 to the fallen Brave,' is a delightful specimen of inspired 
 
57'2 the fisher's dkughtkk. 
 
 poetry, from the baids of ancient days. Methinks I 
 could have bowed with reverence to the silver-haired 
 minstrel, in the midst of this rustic throng, who poured 
 forth such strains of melody. I will give him credit 
 for any compliment he paid to my Agatha, though she 
 has not sufficient vanity to acknowledge that she felt 
 it to be sincere; but Lord Montague did, and that was 
 enough. 
 
 " Of the Castle of Montault, or of its inmates, I can 
 furnish you but with little intelligence, and that little 
 is by no means pleasing, my Agatha ; for the Marquis 
 is under a severe depression of spirits, and the Marchio- 
 ness, in no way affected by the dejection of her lord, 
 has adopted her former habits of dissipation, and em- 
 ploys her hours in a succession of fashionable amuse- 
 ments. 
 
 " Lord and Lady Winstone, I regret to state, live 
 unhappily. She is addicted to her mother's fashion- 
 able propensities, in opposition to the will and happiness 
 of her lord. 
 
 " It is a great misfortune, I think, my dearest Aga- 
 tha, that those who intend forming a matrimonial con- 
 nexion, should not adopt a system of conduct by which 
 the whole of their lives hereafter should be regulated ; 
 so as to avoid those perpetual jars and quarrels which 
 are the bane of a married life, and from which neither 
 party can honourably retreat. When two perverse 
 tempers meet, either the one or the other must give up 
 the contest, or dreadful must be the consequence which 
 ensues; and though I am by no means an advocate 
 for the use of any improper authority over our de- 
 
the fisher's daughter. 573 
 
 fenceless sex, yet I would recommend every married 
 woman to use as little violence as possible in dissensions 
 with her husband ; and to yield before the stormy 
 passions have gained the victory and render the con- 
 quest impracticable, and he leaves her in indifference, 
 and perhaps in disgust ; while a mild forbearance on 
 her part would have acted very oppositely on his feel- 
 ings, and restored peace and harmony to each 
 other. However, as her ladyship is a second time 
 very nearly becoming a mother, let us hope that she 
 may be recalled to the sense of her duty to her hus- 
 band, by the tender pledge of love which will then 
 more sacredly enforce the bonds of the holy tie by 
 which they are united. 
 
 " My little Matilda has grown surprisingly, my dear 
 Agatha ; and if you could behold her as she is now, 
 you would be delighted with her engaging ways. My 
 father, I fear, will make an idol of her, and that will 
 be very absurd of him ; but what can I do with him ? I 
 cannot chide my father for his fondness of my only 
 child. Jt is not a mother's vanity that prompts me to 
 say that Matilda is really extremely beautiful, because 
 had I my choice I would much rather she had not been 
 so, for beauty is a dangerous gift to woman, and is 
 oftener the source of her misfortune than her happiness. 
 Heaven in pity spare my girl from being the victim of 
 vanity or passion ! She is exquisitely fair, with Olive's 
 dark brilliant eyes, acquiline nose, and auburn hair, 
 and promises to be tall and slender j but she has not 
 the expression of my sister's countenance, which was 
 austere, and at times scornful and forbidding, though 
 
574 the fisher's daughter. 
 
 beautiful. The fate of poor Olive frequently in serious 
 moments recurs to my recollection, and in the words 
 of Goldsmith, 
 
 " Turning all the past to pain ;" 
 
 however, it is a subject that will not bear much reflec- 
 tion, yet we cannot wash out the traces of a stream that 
 once flowed so sweetly and so purely, but which now 
 deep sorrow has dried up for ever. 
 
 " I anticipate the pleasure, my dearest Agatha, when 
 I next hear from you, that you will have an addition 
 to your family by the birth of a dear babe, about which 
 I feel more anxiety than I can express. You appear 
 to have had charming health and spirits since your 
 pleasant tour on the continent. O ! my Agatha, may 
 you always enjoy it, and every other blessing this tran- 
 sitory world can boast of, or that your affectionate 
 Jessy can wish you. Should the forth coming little 
 stranger be a daughter, it will be a nice playmate for 
 your Orlando ; dear boy, how I long to see him again 
 in England ! 
 
 " I had forgot to tell you that my father has given 
 up his valuable share in the herring fishery, and 
 generously assigned it over to my husband and his 
 heirs for ever : and at his demise he has left the whole 
 of his property to his granddaughter. I objected to this 
 proposal ; but he would have his way, and you know 
 I seldom dissent from his wishes : his age and growing 
 infirmities certainly incapacitated him for transacting 
 the important concerns of the fishery, in which great 
 part of his property was embarked. Herring Dale 
 
THE FISHER'S DAUGHTER. 57& 
 
 he has left to his Jessy, because he knows no gift of 
 his would have been half so acceptable to me, 
 for there my poor sister Olive and 1 drew our first 
 breath, a-nd it is a spot most sacred to me. 
 All good attend you, Agatha. 
 
 Yours most faithfully, 
 
 Jessy Mussel. 
 
 Mrs. Russel received no answer to this epistle for 
 many weeks; and she became restless and alarmed 
 lest any accident had befallen her beloved friend in 
 her critical situation j but at length a letter arrived 
 from his Grace the Duke of Braganza, couched in the 
 following terms : — 
 
 *' Dear Mrs. Russel, 
 
 " At the request of my son-in-law, Lord Montague 
 Montault, I have undertaken to become the amanu- 
 ensis both for him and my beloved child, whom I re- 
 joice to tell you was a few days since made happy by 
 the birth of a daughter, who with its dear mother are 
 both doing extremely well ; her anxiety that you should 
 be informed of her safety, makes me not delay this 
 post, although I write in haste, from having some busi- 
 ness to attend at Venice. 
 
 " You will particularly oblige me by taking charge 
 of the enclosed packet, for the Marquis and Marchioness 
 of Montault, which I beg you will deliver personally, as 
 ;t concerns a matter of importance to my brother. I 
 was exceedingly rejoiced to receive so pleasing an ac- 
 count of your health, happiness, and prosperity, and 
 
6/6 THK tTSHKK's DAUGHTER. 
 
 that your worthy father has resigned his fishery ; it was 
 high time to take this prudent step, or he would have 
 lost considerably, owing to the great injury that con- 
 cern has sustained by the late inclement storms. 
 
 " My daughter begs her kindest regards, in which 
 permit me to unite, to your father and Mr. Russel. 
 I remain, dear Madam, 
 
 Most truly your friend, 
 
 Venice, Chateau La Flours. Braganza," 
 
ran. VfMcrKH'9 daughter, &7? 
 
 CHAPTER XXV. 
 
 " As some lone bird without a mate, 
 My weary heart is desolate ; 
 I i,iok around, and noise can trace 
 One friendly smile 01 welcome face; 
 Aud e'en in crowds am still alone, 
 Because I cannot love but one ! 
 
 The poorest, weariest wretch on earth, 
 Still finds some hospitable hearth ; 
 Where fr'.endsip's or love's softer glow, 
 May Rinile in joy or soothe in woe ; 
 Bui friend or lover I have none, 
 Because 1 cannot love but one I 
 
 And who that dear loved one may be, 
 Is not for vulgar eyes to see ; 
 Aud why that love was ever cross'd, 
 Thou knowest best ; I feel the most ; 
 For few that live beneath the sun, 
 Have loved so long, and loved but one." 
 
 Lord Bvrsm* 
 
 Some weeks elasped before Mrs. Russel again heard 
 from her absent friends ; in the meantime she had 
 faithfully executed the mission assigned to her by his 
 lirace the Duke of Braganza, by delivering in person 
 the packet she had in charge for the Marquis and 
 Marchioness of Montault, a request which the fisher 
 
 a 25 4 t> 
 
578 THE FFSHKP's DAUGHTER. 
 
 was no sooner apprised of by his daughter, and [ha 
 necessity there was of going herself to the Castle of 
 Montault, than he strenuously opposed it and positively 
 declared she should not budge an inch for all the 
 Dukes and Lords in Christendom. 
 
 It was in vain that Jessy supplicated this once to 
 be allowed to follow her own inclinations, painted in 
 the most glowing colours the situation of her lovely 
 friend, the ill state of Lord Montague's health, and 
 the natural anxiety and solicitude of the Duke to be 
 informed of the real state of affairs at the Castle ; and 
 that the letters intrusted to her care possibly contained 
 matter of the utmost importance to the family; at 
 which the fisher more angry than ever, loudly voci- 
 ferated— 
 
 " The importance of a fiddlestick's end! What's that 
 to me, or their concerns either, when you are to be 
 insulted and treated like one of their servants, when 
 you go up to the gate, and some powdered puppy 
 struts up to you and shuts the door in your face; and 
 axes you what you want, and mayhap if you shew him 
 the letter he won't take it in, and tells you to go about 
 vour business ? Shiver my topsails, if any of my lord's 
 servants were to treat you in this manner, if I 
 wou'd'nt go and knock them down as flat as a floun- 
 der, my name's not Peter Blust. I tell you what 
 Jess, I won't have a daughter of mine made a letter- 
 carrier of, for never a Duke that ever were born. 
 Dang it! I can pay my way as well as the best of 
 them ; and my credit is as good, for all that they hold 
 their heads so high. I don't think that one of them 
 can pay twenty shillings in the pound if they were 
 
the fisheh's DAUGHTER. 5/i) 
 
 stranded on the rocks to morrow, and I can — there's 
 the difference between a lord and a commoner now a 
 days, for shiver my topsails if there's any more." 
 
 Honest Samuel now making his appearance, the 
 fisher exclaimed — 
 
 " There's Jess a piping of her eye, Sam, because I 
 won't give my consent to her being made a letter- 
 carrier of; but I won't, and that's flat ! I have not 
 forgot old grievances, when my lady choose to turn 
 up her nose before, when Jess went civilly to enquire 
 after the health of Agatha Singleton." 
 
 " Nor should I, sir, be willing to subject my Jessy 
 to such unkindness, was it likely ever to happen 
 again," uttered Samuel, who found that it was now 
 highly necessary to interfere on a point that must in- 
 stantly come to a decision, "at the same time the 
 feelings of such amiable beings as the Duke and his^ 
 lovely daughter ought not to be trifled with, when the 
 occasion is so pressing. They have been uniformly 
 kind to my Jessy, and my little one; and friendship 
 requires some sacrifice, while gratitude demands it. 
 You cannot surely object to your daughter's being ac- 
 companied by her husband to the Castle of Montault, 
 to deliver these aforesaid letters, who, while he has an 
 arm left to protect her will never suffer any one to ap- 
 proach her with impunity." 
 
 "O! if that be the case, I have nothing more to 
 say about the matter," cried Peter. " That's just as 
 it should be ; every man should stand to his gun, when 
 an enemy hoves in sight you know, Sam ; and its not 
 the first time that I have made your tine gentry ashamed 
 *>f themselves, and strike down their colour*," 
 
8©J THK FISHERS DAUGHTER. 
 
 No further opposition being now made by Peter, 
 Mr. and Mrs. Russel set off for the residence of the 
 Marquis of Montault, both of them being plainly but 
 most respectably and neatly attired ; on their arrival 
 at the Castle, the porter at the gate received them 
 somewhat haughtily, which was immediately repulsed 
 by Mr. Russel in the most spirited manner, who lead- 
 ing Jessy forward through the entrance from the lodge 
 exclaimed — 
 
 " Sir, I shall proceed to the Castle with this lady 
 who is my wife, whether you like it not." 
 
 " Then it is my duty to stop you if you come to 
 that," cried the surly fellow, opposing their passing 
 him. " They are the orders both from my lord and 
 my lady : and I must stick to them or I am out. What's 
 your business at the Castle, pray ? 
 
 To which Mr. Russel, highly provoked with the fel- 
 low's insolence, replied — 
 
 " I don't choose to answer your impertinent inter- 
 rogatories, sir; my business is with your lord, and of 
 the most urgent nature : and if you persist in refusing 
 me admission, I will report your conduct to the Mar- 
 quis without a moment's delay." 
 
 On these words, the fellow threw open the gates, 
 and pretended that he did not understand the matter, 
 not, however without making an observation, (which 
 he took care to mutter between his teeth,) that he sup- 
 posed his business was like many other folks that came 
 there, of no more consequence than to give a porter 
 the trouble of opening the gates. 
 
 This remark passed by, with the contempt that it 
 merited, by Mr. and Mrs. Russel, who having reached 
 
THK FISH Kit *S DAUGHTER. 581 
 
 t'ie grand entrance to the house, encountered a Jack 
 in office of a more civil kind, who immediately 
 sent in their names ; and after a few minutes they 
 were admitted to the presence of the Marchioness, 
 who was seated with her daughter, Lady Winstone, 
 alone, the Marquis of Montault being unfortunately 
 absent ; we say unfortunately, because it was certainly 
 the intention of both these high bred and fashionable 
 ladies, to quiz the retiring and unassuming love- 
 liness of the timid gentle Jessy, and the plain un- 
 sophisticated manners of her husband, as soon as they 
 came in ; for on Mr. and Mrs. Russel being announced, 
 beautiful mamma, exclaimed to her fair daughter — 
 
 " What on earth can these creatures want with 
 either your father or me ? Urgent business did you say 
 they came upon, Randal ?" 
 
 To which the attendant replied — 
 
 u Yes, my lady, most particular business with the 
 Marquis," Mr. Russel said. 
 
 " Well, that is prodigiously strange, I protest," 
 cried her ladyship, with a contemptuous smile ; 
 '•' business with the Marquis ! A fisherman and his 
 wife! how truly comic, Lady Winstone! shall we ad- 
 mit them ?" 
 
 " O ! pray do, beautiful mamma !" answered Lady 
 Winstone; " it will be so delightful to quiz them, to 
 see Miss Jessy simper and blushing tip to the ears 
 like the flower of a scarlet bean in full blossom." 
 
 " Bean flower ! like a vulgar red cabbage you mean, 
 my dear," uttered the Marchioness spitefully, " that 
 term is more appropriate I am certain to the lady of 
 the Red Mansion at J5ai«k-sidc. Have they brought 
 
582 THE FISHEtt's DAUGHTER. 
 
 the old sea monster with them, Randal ? if so, I posi- 
 tively will not see them." 
 
 " No my lady, Mr. Blust is not with them," replied 
 Randal. 
 
 " That's lucky, then shew them up," cried the 
 Marchioness. 
 
 The order was obeyed, and Jessy and her husband, 
 on whose arm she leaned with modest gracefulness, 
 were shewn into the apartment. 
 
 " So you have business with the Marquis J find Mrs. 
 Russel," uttered her ladyship, glancing at Jessy's 
 lovely form with a suppression of envy and contempt 
 she could scarcely conceal ; and not bestowing one 
 look on Sam, she haughtily pointed to chairs for 
 them to be seated; " but you perceive that the Mar- 
 quis is absent; but if he was here, I should scarcely 
 think it probable that he would trouble himself about 
 any business which may not be very material or highly 
 interesting." 
 
 Acutely did poor Jessy feel the contemptuous man- 
 ner in which the Marchioness had addressed her ; but 
 more acutely felt for the situation of her husband, whom 
 both her ladyship and Lady Lavinia were surveying 
 with the most supercilious scorn ; indeed the tears 
 started for a moment to her lovely eyes, when she re- 
 flected how little she merited such conduct, and how 
 different would have been the reception that she would 
 have received, had Lord and Lady Agatha Montault 
 been there; and she almost repented that she had 
 not taken the advice of her father, who was so much 
 averse to her going to the Castle at all, and had not 
 conveyed the packet by some other means. All thus, 
 
THE FISHER S DAUGHTER. J>> 
 
 however, had not occupied a moment in the mind of 
 
 Jessy j for Samuel rinding his situation exceedingly 
 awkward, and feeling that he could not much longer 
 endure the scornful glances which were so pointedly 
 directed towards him, both by the Marchioness and 
 her daughter, without giving them the retort courteous, 
 desired Jessy to deliver the commission with which 
 she was charged from his Grace the Duke of Braganza, 
 in order that a proper explanation might be given, why 
 they had intruded into the presence of her ladyship, 
 where he was certain they could not be considered as 
 welcome visitors. 
 
 iC Yet, I feel it an imperative duty to discharge an\ 
 trust that is so particularly committed to our charge bj 
 his Grace the Duke of Braganza, whatever pain it may 
 inflict upon my feelings, by experiencing a treatment 
 that I did not expect from personages of high rank 
 and title, who, when they condescend to smile upon 
 their inferiors, do not disgrace it, but rather more 
 brilliantly adorn it. Deliver your commission, Mrs. 
 Russel, and let us depart!" 
 
 The astonishment of the Marchioness, whose cheeks 
 were now covered with a deep glow of crimson, as we'A 
 as Lady Lavinia's, may more easily be imagined than 
 described ; little did she expect such spirited language 
 from the husband of a Fisher's Daughter. It was not 
 in the calculation of her ladyship's extremely polished 
 ideas, that any thing like common decency could come 
 from the mouth of a fisherman ; and perfectly abashed 
 that he had discernment sufficient to detect her want 
 of good breeding on this occasion, and the spirit to 
 
584 THE FISHER S DAUGHTER. 
 
 resent it, she instantly resumed a more smiling aspect 
 and stammering out a very awkward kind of apology 
 received the packet from the trembling hands of Jessy 
 who presented it to her ladyship with a graceftn 
 curtesey; and, taking the arm of her husband, who 
 had arisen from his seat, was preparing to take her 
 leave, when the Marchioness having glanced her eyes 
 over the superscription of the packet which the Duke 
 had addressed to the Marquis his brother, and perused 
 in words very legible, " favoured by Mrs. Russel," ex- 
 hibited marks of stronger confusion than before; and 
 in a voice, and with a manner now marked with pecu- 
 liar urbanity, pressed Jessy and her husband to extend 
 their visit for half an hour longer, in the probability 
 that the Marquis would return from his morning ride; 
 and ringing the bell, desired that some refreshment 
 might be immediately brought in. Samuel would 
 have rejected her ladyship's invitation, had not a look 
 from his Jessy prevented him ; and he reseated him- 
 self in the chair he had quitted, more in compliance 
 with her inclination than his own : for Sam by no 
 means relished the contemptuous manner in which 
 he was first received by these high bred dames of 
 fashion ; and, like his father-in-law, felt himself per- 
 fectly independent either of their smiles or their frowns ; 
 much less would he stoop to court their favour. In 
 order to repair the indiscretion of beautiful mamma, 
 whose embarrassed looks betrayed her sense of having 
 acted improperly, Lady Lavinia began to throw aside 
 her haughty demeanour, and enter into conversation 
 with Jessy, while the Marchioness as assiduously re- 
 
the fisher's daughter. 585 
 
 paired her fault by making overtures to the offended 
 Samuel, and interrogating him as to the present state 
 of the herring fishery. 
 
 " Which has been attended with considerable losses, 
 has it not, Mr. Russel ?" uttered her ladyship, with a 
 most condescending smile. To which Samuel re- 
 plied — 
 
 " Very considerable, my lady, to those who had em- 
 barked the whole of their property in the concern ; 
 fortunately, however, my father-in-law, Mr. Blust, 
 adopted measures just in time to prevent serious 
 losses ; and he has now dissolved partnership with 
 Messrs. Hammonds and Co. Consequently he has es- 
 caped the general ruin which only a few weeks after- 
 wards ensued on the coast." 
 
 The Marchioness expressed the pleasure she received 
 at this intelligence, and turning to Jessy, exclaimed, 
 ivhile she looked at the Duke's packet with a curious 
 eye— 
 
 " I am half inclined to seize on the immunities and 
 privileges which belong to an English wife, and break 
 this tempting seal before the Marquis returns, Mrs. 
 Russel. How unkind of Montague not to write more 
 frequently than he does ! You will scarcely believe 
 that I have actually received but two letters from my 
 son since he went to Italy, with which, however, he is 
 quite delighted. Lady Agatha of course has been more 
 regulai in her correspondence with you, Mrs. Russel ; 
 and though I don't wish to forstall the news before 
 my lord comes in, yet I positively should like to 
 know whether Montague's health continues in the ino 
 
 £25 4 k 
 
OOO THE FISHER S DAUGHTER 
 
 proving sUte it was before he quitted Florence ; and 
 whether he has any addition to his family, which was 
 shortly expected in the letter I received from him on 
 his arrival at Venice : perhaps you will be able to in- 
 form me, Mrs. Russel ?" 
 
 To her ladyship's interrogatories on a subject so in- 
 teresting to her, Jessy felt obliged to reply — 
 
 " 1 have not heard from Lady Agatha, by this post 
 your ladyship; but I am extremely happy to inform 
 you of the birth of a daughter, to add to the happiness 
 of Lord Montague Montault ; and Jessy, taking the 
 Duke's letter from her pocket, presented it to the Mar- 
 chioness, who read the contents with evident satisfac- 
 tion, and exclaimed to her daughter — whose situation 
 was nearly approaching to the same — " 
 
 " The very thing we were all wishing for! Lavinia, 
 Lady Agatha bad actually made your brother a present 
 of a fine little girl; well, I protest the Marquis will be 
 delighted at this pleasing intelligence. Lord Orlandt. 
 must now give place to a little rival sister in the affec- 
 tions of mamma, who was actually spoiling the boy, 
 and making him a most conceited little moppet, before 
 she went abroad. He is a prodigious fine creature, 
 certainly, and very clever for his age ; but in my opi- 
 nion, Mrs. Russel, it is excessively absurd to indulge the 
 humour of children, till they become disagreeable to 
 all about them : they used to say that I spoilt Lord 
 Montague in his infancy ; but it was an accusation that 
 I deny; he was a delicate child, and required the 
 greatest care and attention. By the bye, Mrs. Russei, 
 permit me to ask after your daughter ; yon hare but one 
 child I think, Mr*. Russel I" 
 
the fishhr's daughter. 587 
 
 "No, your ladyship," answered Jessy; " my Matilda 
 is the whole of my family." 
 
 '* So I hear," uttered the Marchioness; "and I am 
 told that your daughter is the most beautiful little 
 creature in existence ; she was certainly a most trans- 
 cendency lorely child when 1 saw her at Violet 
 Vale." 
 
 " And if you talk of spoiling, my lady," cried Samuel, 
 who was now insensibly restored to his self-possession 
 and good humour, by the fascinating smiles of the 
 artful and insidious Marchioness, " there is little hope 
 of Matilda escaping that danger, for she is completely 
 spoiled by her grandfather already. 
 
 Jessy however would not own the truth of this as- 
 sertion. This discourse was now interrupted by the en- 
 trance of the Marquis of Montault; but how different 
 was his reception of the Fisher's Daughter to that of the 
 Marchioness ! for most cordially did he shake Samuel by 
 the hand, while to Jessy he paid the most kind attention. 
 Jessy had not before witnessed the alteration which had 
 taken place in the appearance of this most excellent man, 
 who had become pale and evidently dejected in spirits 
 since she had last seen him so cheerful and animated at 
 Violet Vale. Jessy informed the Marquis of the occasion 
 of her visit that morning at the Castle, and of her having 
 delivered into the hands of the Marchioness the 
 packet which she had received from his Grace, with 
 the strict charge that she was to deliver it per- 
 sonally." 
 
 " In which case, my lord, I delayed not a moment," 
 cried Jessy; for having seen the Marquis so frequentlv 
 at the residence of her beloved friend, she could ad- 
 
588 the fisher's daughter. 
 
 dross him with less timidity than his haughty lady; and 
 the Marquis was of all other men the least conscious 
 of the superior advantages of rank or fortune, of which 
 *.he Fisher's Daughter bad an abundant share : her 
 father was possessed of riches, far beyond the most 
 wealthy in the town of Cromer ; and being his only 
 child she was by no means on a par with the common- 
 ers in that county. The Marquis was besides ex- 
 tremely partial to this unassuming and lovely young 
 woman; and aware of the intimate connection which 
 subsisted between her and his daughter-in-law, Lady 
 Agatha Montault, was particular in his attentions to- 
 wards both her and her worthy husband. A press- 
 ing invitation to stay and spend the remainder of the 
 day at the Castle, though faintly seconded by his lady, 
 was warmly made by his lordship, who turning to 
 Samuel congratulated him on his accession to Mr. 
 Blust's valuable share in the herring fishery. 
 
 '.* You will now do well Mr. Rnssel to promote it as 
 much as possible," uttered he ; u and there is little 
 doubt, at your time of life, but you will become the 
 most wealthy member of the society. Would to God 
 that my rank and station did not preclude me from 
 taking an active share in the concern, and of laying 
 out my money to better uses than it is at present ex- 
 clusively confined to ; but such it is, and man is most 
 Wise when he conforms to the station of life in which 
 he is born. Yet I repine, because I have lived to prove 
 how inadequate is rank and station to the real sun- 
 shine of happiness, which in a humbler sphere is the 
 result of a happy and contented mind." 
 
 A panse of some minutes ensued, and a deep sigh 
 
ihe fisher's daughter. 589 
 
 followed the remark, not much to the satisfaction of 
 the Marchioness, who with some difficulty concealed 
 the expression of contempt that was playing on her 
 lip, at such grovelling sentiments and plebian notions 
 being expressed by her lord ; and she longed also for 
 the departure of the Fisher's Daughter and her hus- 
 band, in order to inspect the contents of the Duke's 
 packet. Lady Winstone, equally curious, took it in her 
 head that she would that day stay and dine with beau- 
 tiful mamma, though her lord was waiting dinner foi 
 her at Winstone Park j but who can stop a woman's 
 curiosity when once it is completely on the alert ? and 
 both mother and daughter secretly rejoiced, when 
 Jessy, thanking the Marquis for the honour he intended 
 her, modestly declined accepting his invitation, stating 
 that she expected her father to the Red House, and 
 would not willingly be absent when he arrived. 
 
 " For my father, my lord," cried Jessy with a tear 
 moistening her lovely eyes, and with a dignity of 
 demeanour that would not have disgraced a princess, 
 " my father, ever since J knew what it was to have 
 one, has been my principal concern, and to study to 
 please him, my principal delight. I lost my mother 
 at too tender an age to appreciate her value ; but he 
 has amply supplied her loss ; a better father never lived 
 than mine, and when I cease to remember my duty to 
 him, I must cease to exist ; in death alone can I forget 
 my father." 
 
 The Marquis spoke not a word, and the Marchioness 
 was silent too, while a deep circling blush tinted the 
 face of Lady Lavinia, who, when Jessy curtseyed to 
 her as she quitted the room, could not for the life and 
 
590 THH FlSHJilt's DAUGHTER. 
 
 soul of her deny the meed due to the merit of so 
 airnahle and lovely a creature ; and felt for a moment, 
 with all her splendid rank and riches, that a Fisher's 
 Daughter had taught her a lesson which was Worthy 
 of imitation. Perhaps Lady Winstone, in her present 
 critical situation, being far advanced in a state of 
 pregnancy, was for a moment disgusted with her late 
 fashionable follies ; and, but for the example of her 
 mother, had easily been induced to enjoy more ration- 
 ally the domestic comforts of her own fire-side. But 
 when a mother paves the way to dissipation, when a 
 mother is the criterion to a young and lovely daughter, 
 and that daughter is unconscious that she is doiug 
 wrong, it is a very hard task to persuade her she is, 
 while, acting under those precepts which have been so 
 early ingrafted in her by the author of her being. 
 
 But to proceed. Immediately after the departure of 
 Mr. and Mrs. Russel, the Marchioness requested that 
 she might be informed of the contents of the packet 
 which Mrs. Russel had delivered to her hands. 
 
 " Which it is most extraordinary that the Duke 
 should have sent in this sort of way," exclaimed her 
 ladyship indignantly; "not that I have any dislike to 
 the young woman, she is much above the class of the 
 vulgar beings to whom she owes her origin. Yet I 
 think a letter might have been conveyed to you from the 
 Duke of Braganza, through any other channel than the 
 Fisher's Daughter." 
 
 <; Oh ! mamma, but you forget that the Fisher's 
 Daughter is the confidential friend and favourite of 
 Lady Agatha," cried Lady Lavinia spitefully— the 
 amiable impression which Jessy had left on her mind, 
 
I HE FISHER S DAUGHTER. 
 
 being, by this remark of her mother's, completely eva- 
 porated. 
 
 The Marquis shot an angry glance at his daughter; 
 and while breaking the seal of his brother's letter, ex- 
 claimed — 
 
 " And would to God that a daughter of mine resem- 
 bled at this moment a Fisher's Daughter j and that 
 both your mother, and you knew how to appreciate 
 merit before you contemned it." Having by this 
 time unsealed the packet of the Duke, the Marquis 
 read aloud to his impatient auditors, the following 
 letter, which was alternately addressed to the Mar- 
 chioness and her husband. 
 
 Chateau La Flours, Veuice. 
 
 " My dear Brother and Sister, 
 
 " My silence has proceeded from unavoidable delays, 
 but never from a want of affection, or intentional neg- 
 lect towards you, or I should never have written at 
 all. 
 
 " Montague, as I understand, has already acquainted 
 you with our progressive journey over the Alps and 
 Appenine mountains, the dangers and difficulties of 
 which were carefully concealed from our female tra- 
 vellers, or we should never have succeeded in carrying 
 them over at all ; and we at last arrived at the capital 
 of this delightful country in perfect safety, the beau- 
 ties of which I need not describe to you, who have so 
 ofttn wituessed them. We travelled with a charming 
 family, with whom we have since formed an intimate 
 connection, of the name of Dor Hortensia, of consider- 
 able rank, and descended from the principal noblesse— 
 
592 the fisher's DAUGHTKR. 
 
 a widowed lady, whose gallant husband, with many 
 others, fell in the battles of the usurper Christopher, 
 and the Emperor Julian. 
 
 " The Marchese Dor Hortensia has two lovely 
 daughters, the eldest of whom I fear is progressively 
 advancing to the last stage of a consumption ; the young- 
 er, a most fascinating accomplished young creature, 
 with all that delightful naivete, which so peculiarly 
 distinguishes the females of this country. Their society 
 was a charming acquisition to my daughter, who 
 would have felt dreary without female companions on 
 so long a journey. You may acquaint the Marchio- 
 ness that we have provided a little granddaughter for 
 her against our return to England. This event having 
 taken place somewhat unexpectedly, prevented my 
 writing sooner, my beloved child having suffered 
 greatly by the birth of the little stranger, which 
 promises to be a beautiful, though a delicate child. 
 
 " You request me, my dear brother, candidly to tell 
 you what I think of the health of our dear Montague ; 
 and whether a radical cure will be effected in his con- 
 stitution by a change of climate. Alas ! how painful 
 is truth when accompanied by the thought that it in- 
 flicts a deep wound on the hearts of objects we love 
 by its assertion ; but say, my friends, would not false- 
 hood strike deeper, when the colours fade of the flat- 
 tering illusion your hopes have cherished ? and can I, 
 ought I to deceive ? am I not a father, and do I not 
 know what it is both to possess and to lose a child, 
 dear as my own existence ? Oh ! my brother, I both 
 feel it a necessary and yet a painful duty to inform you 
 of what you must sooner 01 later be made acquainted 
 
THE FlMIEIt's DAUGHTER. f>i)3 
 
 with; but bear it with the fortitude of a man and a 
 Christian : the blow is ready to fall ; and though it is 
 tardy in its final termination, yet no earthly power 
 can avert it. 
 
 " It is true that Montague has received benefit from 
 the change of the temperate air of Italy, and his mind 
 being constantly amused ty novel and pleasing scenes, 
 he is less sensible of his complaint than he would 
 otherwise be, by a dull monotony ; while the unremit- 
 ting attentions of those around him, soothe, tranquil- 
 lize, and even animate him with enlivening hope and 
 pleasure, and the messenger of death is yet near 
 his pillow, his slumbers are peaceful and serenely blest. 
 But oh ! my friends, I alone mark the change which 
 deceives even his best beloved, his Agatha ! He gains 
 no strength ; and the rose that returns to his pale 
 cheek is but the narbinger of that paler hue which will 
 last for ever. His eyes sparkle indeed, but that light 
 is the mere brilliance of the meteor's flash ; they are 
 sunken and heavy when this momentary light has 
 departed ; and the hectic fever again returns with its 
 usual symptoms: do not cherish hopes which will 
 surely prove futile then, my dearest brother, for be 
 assured that Montague will never recover from that 
 fatal disease which is hourly hastening him away from 
 us. Though, as I observed before, he is not worse, 
 he certainly does not get better; and in this opinion 
 the physicians concur. All that human skill can 
 avail will be tried ; yet is it not a mockery to say so ; for 
 when was man's act effective when God destined that 
 it should be otherwise ? and who shall avert his high 
 authority ? For my poor girl my heart bleeds, for she 
 
 c 25 4 f 
 
594 the fisher's daughter. 
 
 has long flattered herself with the hope that her hm 
 oand is beyond the reach of danger. The charm musf 
 be broken, and the awful truth revealed to her. Poor 
 Montague hailed the birth of his daughter with rap- 
 ture, and talks of scenes which, alas ! to him will nevet 
 be realized. I can no longer dwell on this painfu. 
 subject, but will write to you should any material 
 change take place in the health of our beloved son. I 
 had forgot to observe that Orlando is much improved 
 and a most clever child. Present my best regards to 
 Lavinia and my Lord Winstone, and believe me, 
 
 Ever truly yours, 
 I Sraganza." 
 
 The contents of this letter was not read without re- 
 ceiving many interruptions before its final conclusion 
 from an agonized father and an afflicted mother ; for 
 with all the faults which could be attached to this 
 haughty woman, she yet most passionately loved her 
 son. The heart-rending intelligence of the Duke, 
 with the fatal prediction which accompanied it, was a 
 thunderbolt to her ; and she fainted and was carried 
 to her chamber, where she remained inconsolable for 
 several days. 
 
 Nor was Lady Lavinia insensible to the sufferings of 
 her afflicted mother — she attended each day succes- 
 sively during her indisposition j and Lord Winstone 
 was seldom absent from the Marquis, who bore up 
 manfully under the burthen of his grief j but his pale, 
 silent, and melancholy countenance betrayed the an- 
 guish of his heart to every eye that beheld him, for 
 Lord Montague had been the idol of his father as much 
 
THE KJSHKU's DAUGHTER. 595 
 
 jvs of his mother, because, from an infant, his health had 
 always been delicate and fluctuating. 
 
 Lord Winstone, however, spared no effort of his 
 to console his father-in-law under the heavy stroke 
 which was approaching ; and things were precisely in 
 this situation at the Castle of Montault, when Mrs. 
 Russel was again made happy by the handwriting of 
 her beloved friend, who, recovered from her recent con- 
 finement, addressed her in the following manner : 
 
 Chateau La Floure. 
 
 *' To Mrs. Jessy Russel, 
 
 " Once more I have the happiness of addressing my 
 dearest Jessy, and of telling her that J am a second 
 time the happiest mother in existence, by the birth of 
 a sweet little cherub girl ; but she is so very delicate, 
 Jessy, that I have some apprehensions I shall not 
 be able to rear the little darling, whom I would not 
 willingly part with if Providence is pleased to spare 
 her to me, for she is so like my Montague you cannot 
 imagine — his deep full blue eyes, fair complexion, and 
 light auburn hair. 
 
 " Rebecca has had a very fatiguing time of it, and so 
 have I ; but \ have now regain'd my strength, and will 
 let no one nurse my girl but myself. But do you know 
 that Orlando is perfectly jealous of his little sister 
 already, and the first time he beheld her in my arms, 
 the urchin struggled violently to take her away from 
 me, crying— 
 
 " Mamma don't love me now ; where did mamma 
 §et that baby, Rebecca, that she is always kissing 
 
59(5 the fisher's daughter. 
 
 so ? I don't like it, because it takes away all my 
 kisses.' 
 
 " My dear lord was present, and he could not help 
 laughing at the chagrin of the poor little fellow. 
 
 " ' Come hither, Orlando/ cried he, drawing bim 
 towards me. ' I will tell you who that baby is, if you 
 will promise to love it and let nobody hurt it.' 
 
 "On which the boy, looking up in his face, replied — 
 
 " ' Must I love it, papa? Why must I love it ? Tell 
 me that, papa ?' 
 
 " ' Because that baby is your sister, she is the 
 daughter of your father and your mother, and it is the 
 duty of a brother to love and protect his sister.' 
 
 " ' Did God give her to us, papa ?' 
 
 " ' Yes, the same as he gave you,' cried my lord. 
 
 " My dear Jessy, had you seen the boy you would 
 never have forgotten it ; he ran up to me and placed 
 his arms around the neck of the infant, kissed it fondly, 
 and told his father that he would never forget that 
 baby was his sister. 
 
 " ' And when I am a man, papa,' added he ; c if any 
 body affronts my sister, 1 will knock him down as sure 
 as a gun.' And ever since he has discovered the most 
 passionate fondness for the child, and goes regularly 
 every morning into the nursery to ask Rebecca to let 
 him kiss his little sister. 
 
 " O ! Jessy may that tender link be ever entwined 
 aiound the hearts of my children, pure and disinterest- 
 ed from all mercenary views, and all selfish principles j 
 that when arrived to a riper age, they may confide in 
 each other,in purest friendship, and in kindred affeciion. 
 
the kishkr's daughter. 59J 
 
 " So my father consigned to your charge a packet 
 for the Marquis and Marchioness ; it must have been 
 of serious import, for he was unwilling to sulTcv cither 
 my dear lord or I see the contents; it is strange, as he 
 generally reads the letters he addresses to Montault 
 Castle ; and he was out of spirits the day he wrote it. 
 
 " I have a strange forbodiug that its contents were 
 of a melancholy nature, and that he feared to disclose 
 his thoughts to me. I will not dwell on a subject so 
 painful, because I have no reason to suppose that the 
 health of my Montague is more delicate than usual; 
 his spirits appear considerably better. Even the phy- 
 sician is not so constant in his attendance on him ; 
 is not this a favourable conclusion, my Jessy ? 
 
 The Dor Hortensia family are as kind and as ami- 
 able as ever; during my confinement the Marchese 
 visited me several times, and my sweet Fauchette is 
 perfectly delighted with my little wax doll, for so she 
 calls my girl whom I have some idea of having named 
 after the Marchese, (Emmeline) who has petitioned 
 to stand godmother; and my dear lord seems pleased 
 with so flattering a compliment being paid to his 
 daughter, so I believe it will be settled thus. And 
 next week the carnival here begins, which they assure 
 me exceeds all power of description ; I am really long- 
 ing to see a festival so celebrated, more especially as 
 the Marchese has actually prevailed on the Baroness 
 of Walbergh to accompany her to Venice, which it ap- 
 pears she has not visited for successive years ; and . 
 shall then have the pleasure of beholding this extra- 
 ordinary and heroic-minded woman. The Marchese 
 assures me that she is equally impatient to be intro- 
 
59S the fisher's daughter. 
 
 duccd to me and my dear lord, whom Fauchette has 
 been painting in the most glowing colours to her aunt, 
 to induce her to visit Venice ; and I was perfectly 
 angry with the little gipsey when she told me of it. 
 
 " ' Now, Fauchette,' uttered I, * I am more inclined 
 to be displeased than gratified, by your giving the 
 Baroness so favourable and flattering an impression 
 of your English friends, who may fall very far short 
 of your description when she beholds them.' 
 
 " ' That is morally impossible, dear Lady Montague,' 
 cried the lovely girl ; l for I am a very bad artist, and 
 although I dipped my pencil in colours so fair, they 
 are nothing in comparison to the original whom I now 
 see before me.' 
 
 if * On my honour, Fauchette,' uttered my lord, who 
 was looking over her shoulder all the time, ' it is very 
 well that you are not a handsome young cavalier who 
 is paying these compliments to my wife, instead of 
 being a handsome young woman, or I should be jealous 
 of you.' 
 
 " 'And call me out? — is not that the term given for 
 a challenge by the gentlemen in your country, my 
 lord?' cried Fauchette, immoderately laughing. ' In 
 Italy, they have a shorter and more conclusive way of 
 settling jealous quarrels. However, that not being the 
 case in point at the present moment, I shall content 
 myself with wishing that I may be made an English 
 wife of, the very first opportunity, for I don't like jea- 
 lous husbands I promise you.' 
 
 " Montague looked at me with more meaning than 
 volumes could have expressed, dear Jessy, for he pro- 
 bably guessed at my thoughts ; though I was silent he 
 
thr fisher's daughter, 599 
 
 smiled, while a slight suffusion of colour passed over 
 his cheek. 
 
 " I am sorry to hear the account you give of domes 
 tic occurrences, both at Montault Castle and Win- 
 stone Park, though I must own that it occasions me 
 to feel no very extraordinary surprise, for the Marchio- 
 ness is the most improper personage on earth to set 
 the example of connubial happiness to her daughter. 
 Still I imagined that when Lady Lavinia was married 
 to such a man as Lord Winstone, she would have re- 
 signed some of her fashionable propensities, and re- 
 collected the duties of a wife and a mother. My Mon- 
 tague often speaks of his father, the Marquis, with deep 
 and melancholy regret, well aware that his mother's 
 continued indulgence of the pernicious habit of gam. 
 bling, will not only be injurious to his peace of mind 
 but detrimental to his fortune. 
 
 " Farewell, dearest Jessy, I shall not write to yon 
 again till after the carnival has taken place, and then 
 in all probability I shall have seen the Baroness of 
 Walbergh. 
 
 " To your family remember me most kindly, with 
 a kiss to Matilda. 
 
 Agatha Montague Montault J" 
 
 This letter was not answered by Mrs. Russel, in the 
 expectation of hearing again from her lovely friend 
 after the carnival was over, and according to her inti- 
 mation that she intended so doing : but when week 
 after week clasped, and no letter arrived from Venice, 
 she becama exceedingly alarmed, and expressed het 
 
#00 »HE fisher's daughter. 
 
 fears to her husband that some accident had occurred 
 to occasion the lon£ silence uf Lady Montault ; and 
 Samuel confessed that he entertained fears of a similar 
 nature, and that some sudden change had taken place 
 in the health of Lord Montague, whose disease 
 there was no doubt would shortly terminate his exis- 
 tence. 
 
 " Let us wait the event of another week, my love," 
 uttered Samuel, " and then if you have no letter you 
 may write off immediately ; or it may be possible that 
 letters may have arrived at Montault Castle by this 
 time, with some intelligence of Lord Montague." 
 
 " At all events, 1 will be satisfied on that point," 
 cried Jessy. " There will be no impropriety in making 
 the enquiry of the Marquis himself, nor do f a se- 
 cond time fear an unwelcome reception from the Mar- 
 chioness." 
 
 On these words, Jessy throwing on her bonnet and 
 pelisse, and in a plain morning dress, accompanied by 
 her husband, who would not permit her to go alone, set 
 out for thb Castle; but not as on a former occasion 
 were they refused admittance. The porter now knew 
 his duty better, and opened thegates with all due submis- 
 sion. Jessy sent in her name, and did not wait a mo- 
 ment before she and her husband were conducted to 
 the presence of the Marquis, who exhibited such 
 alarming agitation on her entrance to the apartment 
 where he was sitting, that Jessy concluded all was 
 over, and that Lord Montague was actually no more; 
 and unable to articulate a sentence, of what she in- 
 tended, she sat herself down on a chair, and beckonea 
 
THE FISHK!t's DAUGHTER. 601 
 
 Samuel to sit beside her, not willing to interrupt the 
 solemn silence that prevailed ; at length the Marquis, 
 looking at Jessy, exclaimed — with a deep and affecting 
 pathos in his voice that melted her to the heart — 
 
 ™ Mrs. Russel, I fear you have bad tidings to relate 
 from Italy, if so, keep not an agonized father in sus- 
 pense — is my boy — " The Marquis could proceed no 
 further; a sudden gush of tears filled his eyes, and his 
 emotion stopped his utterance; when Jessy, entreating 
 him to be composed, assured him that no such melan- 
 choly event to her knowledge had taken place, that 
 she had not heard from Italy for four weeks, that 
 the last letter she had the honour of receiving from 
 Lady Montault, spoke in terms highly favourable of 
 the health of Lord Montague, and that her sole mo- 
 tive for coming to the Castle that morning, was to 
 know if he had lately received any communication 
 from them. 
 
 " Indeed, my lord, your fears are groundless," ut- 
 tered Jessy, considerably moved by the situation of 
 the Marquis, " Lady Agatha assured me only in her 
 last letter that Lord Montague was mending sur- 
 prisingly." 
 
 To which, in a solemn tone, the Marquis replied— 
 
 *' Yes, Mrs. Russel, 1 know she thinks so ! Poo* 
 deceived child ! I know she fondly cherishes the hope 
 that her husband is hourly recovering, and that he 
 will long be spared to her and his little ones. Mrs. 
 Russel, I grieve to tell you that her hope is visionary, 
 and that in reality, Lord Montague is gradually approach- 
 ing the fatal termination of that disorder, which, upon 
 its very first attacks on his constitution, was deemed 
 
 a 26 4 g 
 
602 the fisher's daughter. 
 
 incurable by the gentlemen of the facuky. They, 
 knowing the long and progressive stages of it, did not 
 immediately reveal the fatal truth, while at the same 
 time they recommended all that they imagined could 
 be beneficial to his recovery — change of climate, and 
 novelty of scenes ; they may have retarded in some 
 degree, but they cannot prevent the change which is 
 now rapidly approaching. The packet you brought 
 me, Mrs. Russel, contained the heart-rending intelli- 
 gence from my brother the Duke of Braganza, that he 
 entertains not the slightest hope of Lord Montague's 
 recovery, and that he is hourly sinking, though uncon- 
 scious of its approach, to the arms of death. Alas! I 
 do not know, but at this very moment my boy is not 
 numbered with the dead." 
 
 A silence, to this affecting observation, (but yet the 
 most natural that could be conceived from the long 
 silence of Lady Agatha,) ensued. The tender-heart- 
 ed Jessy, wholly overcome by the most endearing re- 
 collections of the friendship and kindness which she 
 had received from Lord Montague, could not support 
 the shock of hearing so suddenly the melancholy 
 change which was expected to take place : and putting 
 her handkerchief to her face sobbed audibly ; she was 
 some minutes before she recovered her composure, 
 sufficiently to take leave of the afflicted Marquis, who, 
 pressing her hand with fervour, exclaimed — 
 
 " God bless you, Mrs. Russel ! few hearts resem- 
 ble yours, in truly partaking of the sorrows of the 
 afflicted ; may you long be spared from the trial of 
 fortitude I am now suffering, and your child live to 
 reward vour maternal affection. Farewell, madam! the 
 
the fisher's daughter. 603 
 
 ssene of this morning will never fade on my me- 
 mory." 
 
 Jessy, leaning on the arm of her husband, was con- 
 ducted through the hall, in solemn and affecting silence. 
 The Marchioness was stiil confined to her chamber, 
 and the domestic was no stranger to the cause of her 
 sudden indisposition ; her fondness for her son having 
 been manifested on every occasion. 
 
 Poor Jessy returned to her own habitation with a 
 full heart; and had not the sight of her little Matilda, 
 who came running to tell her that her grandfather had 
 been putting her on a horse to ride, and was down in 
 the parlour, she would not have been so quickly 
 aroused from the gloomy retrospection, into which 
 she was plunged by the melancholy news she had 
 heard at the Castle, as she now was by the playfui 
 smiles of her little darling, who exclaimed — 
 
 " And grandfather is smoking, mamma, and I 
 lighted his pipe for him with a bit of the brown paper 
 you curled my hair with ; I took it out of one of my 
 curls, and grandfather did laugh so ! Come and look 
 at the little pony he has brought into the stable — such 
 a pretty one ! I can ride upon it, indeed mammal 
 can. 
 
 " But you must not learn to do any such thing, my 
 love," uttered Mrs. Russel, who at this moment en- 
 countered the fisher with his pipe in his mouth, who 
 saluted her with the following exclamation' — 
 
 " Shiver my topsails, Jess, where the devil have Sam 
 and you been all the morning, that a body can't get a 
 dram out of the lockers if they were dying for it. Why* 
 I say Jess, what's the matter with your eyes ? thev are 
 
604 the fisher's daughter. 
 
 as red as a ferret's : you have been crying ? Nay, dang it, 
 don't go for to hide the truth from me ; you have been 
 crying, and what is the cause of it ? There's my pipe," 
 and he smashed it on the ground with his usual vio- 
 lence,) " and shiver my topsails if I smoke another 
 whiff till I know what you have been a piping of your 
 eye for." 
 
 Jessy was now under the immediate necessity of 
 answering enquiries which in calmer moments she 
 would have preferred ; but to deceive her father, she 
 might as well have contended with the wind and the 
 waves, and she thought it best at once to let him know 
 the cause of her shedding tears ; fearful, that by her 
 preserving a mysterious silence, he might imagine 
 that her husband had occasioned them : she therefore 
 related to him a very accurate account of the motives 
 .yhich had induced her and Samuel to visit that morn- 
 ing the Castle of Montault, of the indisposition of the 
 Marchioness, and the affecting interview which had 
 taken place between her and the affected Marquis. 
 
 Our readers are too well acquainted with the dispo- 
 sition of the fisher Blust to accuse him of a want of 
 humanity; for though rough on the outside, like a 
 melon, he inherited all the sweetness and the softness 
 of the qualities of the interior part of it ; and in terms 
 which reflected credit on the benevolence and kindness 
 of his heart, expressed a deep regret for the misfor- 
 tunes of the Montault family; but more especially felt 
 for the situation of his once dear little favourite Agatha 
 gingleton. 
 
 " Poor Agatha," uttered he, " I always told her 
 site was the daughter of misfortune, and that she 
 
THE FISHKR S DAUGHTER. 605 
 
 would never be a bit the happier for going among 
 the fine-fangled folks she were a-kin to. Lord love 
 her little heart and soul, its a sad thing at her time of 
 life to be made a widow of; and to lose a fine young 
 fellow that she were so mortal fond of; but then 
 what's to be said about it? we must all go when our 
 time comes, every mother's son of us. I say, Sam, 
 give us a drop of the brandy bottle, I feel a little 
 swimmey or so, like my Jess. I can't stand the storm 
 of adversity when it do blow a gale against a brother 
 or a sister in misfortune ; and if I had Agatha Single- 
 ton here, without a husband to protect her, or a shil- 
 ling in the world to help her and her fatherless chil- 
 dren, shiver my topsails if I would'nt be a father to 
 her and the poor little babes too : I'm a saying, Sam, 
 if she wanted it — though thank God she do noi 
 yet : I do feel a warm heart towards her and her chil- 
 dren too. She were a good girl to Captain Singleton ; 
 and though she be turned out to be a great man's 
 daughter, dang me if I think that she were ever the 
 happier for it. There's poor Montague were jealous 
 of her you know, and all that, about a poor lad, that I 
 
 do think I do think But, Sam, I shan't say 
 
 what I think, and that's coming to the point of the 
 compass at once." 
 
 " Exactly so, my dear sir ; and you had better not 
 go a point beyond it," cried Samuel, who was aware 
 that his father-in-law had always entertained an idea 
 that Lady Agatha's uncommon partiality to Wolf 
 arose from a softer sentiment than friendship. And 
 when he was three sheets in the wind, and alone with 
 Samuel, he had always maintained this point in spite 
 
606 the fisher's daughter. 
 
 of every argument that could be adduced against it; 
 and he often dreaded the effects of his temerity 
 in broaching such sentiments, when the supposed Miss 
 Singleton became the wife of Lord Montague Mon- 
 tault, and the acknowledged daughter of the Duke of 
 Braganza. 
 
 In vain did Samuel caution him to silence on so 
 delicate a subject, while the fisher adduced arguments 
 that he was right in his conclusion, and that Agatha 
 would have preferred uniting her destiny with Wolf, 
 if Wolf had been of an age to marry her, to the 
 splendid offer of Lord Montague Montault, had not 
 her exalted birth been proved. 
 
 " It don't signify talking, Sam," cried Peter, brand- 
 ishing his pipe in his usual significant manner, " I do 
 know that Agatha loved the hair of that boy's head 
 better than she did all the lords in Christendom ; and I 
 do say that if Wolf were living now, and Agatha were 
 made a widow, which she be like to be, poor little 
 soul, she would marry Wolf before any man that 
 ever were born ; and Jess knows it, though she do say 
 nothing." 
 
 " Lord, father ! I don't know any such thing I am 
 sure," cried Jessy; " you never heard Agatha confess 
 any such sentiment for Wolf in all your life; who, 
 poor fellow, now lies in a watery grave. It is cer- 
 tainly true that this young man loved Agatha ; never 
 did I know a passion so deeply fixed, as in the heart 
 of Wolf for Lady Agatha Montault, which, being hope- 
 less as unconquerable, I believe often occasioned my 
 dear friend to regret that she was the cause of so 
 much unhappincss to that noble youth. Yet no 
 
the fisher's daughter. 607 
 
 blame would be imputed on either side; Agatha was 
 faultless, and so was Wolf. It was an unfortunate at- 
 tachment; but it is now buried in the ocean, and 
 should never be repeated. 
 
 " Humph!" cried the fisher, and smoked his pipe 
 with additional force; and on being told of the illness 
 of the Marchioness, he vociferated — 
 
 " Shiver my topsails, and what does she feel more 
 than what other mothers feel when their children are 
 dying by inches? I would not give a rope's yarn for a 
 woman that did not feel for her child ; but as to her 
 feeling, its all a fudge! I won't believe any such thing 
 unless I saw it, and that's flat. Jess, you be a tender- 
 hearted little soul, and you do think that every body 
 is like you. But don't tell me about the feeling of a 
 woman that's been in the habit of going to the gam- 
 ing table every night of her life, and squandering all 
 her husband's property away upon cards : — ?why I tell 
 you what the report is, at Cromer, about the Mar- 
 chioness, and that Lady Winstoue her daughter, that 
 the Marquis be a ruined man ; and I don't wonder at 
 it. Shiver my topsails, if I wonder at any man's 
 going headlong to ruin, when he has the misfortune 
 to be tacked alongside of such a Jezebel of a wife." 
 
 It was morally impossible for either Jessy or 
 Samuel to preserve their gravity at this remark, made 
 by the fisher with his usual jocularity ; and as neither 
 of them could contradict the assertion he had made, 
 they permitted him to indulge in his humour, without 
 attempting to offer him any thing in the shape of what 
 they knew he could not bear — contradiction. 
 
608 THE FISHER'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 CHAPTER XXVI. 
 
 ** Weep no more, lady ! weep no more, 
 
 Though the flower of life be fled, 
 There's a fragrance gay shall hallow for age 
 
 The remains of the valiant dead. 
 Then weep not «o 
 In hopeless woe, 
 Nor canker youth with sadness ; 
 
 From his place of death, 
 
 Thy lover's breath 
 Bids thee change thy grief to gladness. 
 
 Mourn no more, minstrel ! mourn no more. 
 
 Tune thy harp to a lighter ray, 
 His memory's as green as the verdant sheen, 
 
 Though the stone o'er his head wears grey. 
 Then mourn not so 
 In hopeless woe, 
 Nor wake the wild harp to sadness , 
 
 From the seraph choir, 
 
 His heaven strung lyre 
 Shall echo thy notes to gladness. 
 
 Though the mind of Jessy had been greatly relieved 
 since her arrival at her own habitation, from the agi- 
 tation in which she had been thrown at the Castle of 
 Montault, by the playful and innocent caresses of her 
 beautiful child and the well-known jocular humour nf 
 
I he fisher's daughter. 609 
 
 her father; without saying that her kind and affection- 
 ate husband had done all in his power to tranquillize 
 her spirits and lessen her great anxiety for the wel- 
 fare of her beloved friends in Italy; yet when she re- 
 tired to rest, her slumbers were often interrupted by 
 fearful and terrific dreams, in which Lord and Lady 
 Montault were the principal objects. For, at one mo- 
 ment, she beheld the sorrowing Agatha mourning over 
 the pallid corse of her departed lord, and in the next 
 she beheld the young Orlando clad in deep mourning 
 standing by her side, a fatherless child : in short, 
 turn on which side she would, poor Jessy could not 
 sleep; and in the morning arose feverish and restless 
 from her couch, telling Samuel all her fears, and that 
 she was certain Lady Montault's next letter would be 
 to inform them of the death of her husband ; for thrice 
 she had dreamt that it was so. Sam endeavoured to 
 laugh her out of such foolish fancies :— - 
 
 " For they are nothing more or less, my dear," ut- 
 tered he, " dreams are but dreams, which, were we 
 even to suppose always prophetic, would either make 
 us madmen or fools; therefore, 1 entreat you, my 
 dearest Jessy, not to yield to such wild imaginations ; 
 which, did they amount to reality, are nothing more 
 than what you have a right to expect, after what the 
 Marquis has communicated to us respecting the pre- 
 carious situation of his son. Consequently, to hear 
 that he was no longer living, would not be the effect 
 of your dreams, but what the Duke has actually told 
 j'ou, that no hopes can possibh 7 be entertained of his 
 recovery. Do not impute to dreams more than be- 
 longs to them ; they are mere phantoms that have 
 
 526 4k 
 
610 THU FISHKti's DAUGHTER. 
 
 previously occupied your mind ; you cannot suppose, 
 my love, that the book of fate, which an all-wise and 
 merciful Being has for ever made impervious to mor- 
 tal eye, would be disclosed to us only in the hours of 
 sleep, the season destined for the calm repose of his 
 creatures, and not for their torment : it is our own 
 thoughts that render them fearful and terrific ; but it 
 should not be so. When the conscience is pure, how- 
 ever misfortune may oppress us, we should rest tran- 
 quil in the assurance of the protection of that Being 
 who created us, and who judges better for us than we 
 for ourselves ; and in that hope rest secure, although in 
 a dangerous gloom. Now, I think it very probable 
 after what the Marquis has told us, that either Lord 
 Montague is no longer living, or on the verge of that 
 awful change, to which sooner or later we must all ap- 
 proach ; in which case, my Jessy, you ought to be 
 prepared, rather than sink under your fears. For 
 Lady Agatha I do not fear ; she will have fortitude 
 to sustain the blow ; a mind like hers was formed to 
 meet all changes with piety and resignation to the will 
 of Heaven — for so bare she the death of her supposed 
 father, Captain Singleton, when she thought he perish- 
 ed in the ocean 5 and so bare she her misfortunes in 
 the Old Abbey : she is a heroine, and for her I have no 
 fears. Be quieted therefore, my sweetest love, and 
 wait the issue with patience. 
 
 Nor did Jessy listen to the mild exhortations of her 
 husband, without greatly profiting by them. Although 
 far more than a fortnight elasped before her anxiety 
 was relieved by a letter from her beloved friend, she 
 never more yielded to the indulgence of those sensa- 
 
THE FISHER'S DAUGHTER. 611 
 
 tions which rendered her husband unhappy by witness- 
 ing them ; and her forbearance was rewarded with the 
 following letter : — 
 
 Chateau La Flours, Venice. 
 
 " Dearest Jessy, 
 " 1 know that my very long silence has caused you 
 some pain ; but if you had written to have enquired 
 into the occasion of so much apparent neglect, I was 
 incapable of answering it, so greatly has my mind been 
 agitated since I wrote to you last, then in the expec- 
 tation of witnessing the carnival which was so im- 
 mediately to take place. Alas ! my friend, how fre- 
 quently do we short-sighted mortals project schemes 
 and anticipate pleasures that are never to be fulfilled ! 
 I informed you that the Marchese Dor Hortensia and 
 her amiable family had already consented to join us in 
 a large party, which my dear lord had invited to his 
 chateau to celebrate the gay festival, at which in this 
 happy country all hearts rejoice and all hands meet in 
 friendship and in love; and I had prepared an elegant 
 entertainment for my lord's guests. The Marchese 
 had promised to take up her abode at my house dur- 
 ing her stay at Venice, and the Baroness of Walbergh 
 was to accompany her ; it was the night before the 
 carnival that we were anticipating the pleasure we 
 should receive on being introduced to this charming 
 woman, and shewing her the rights of hospitality 
 from English strangers. It was in the cool of the 
 evening that we were sitting in the veranda, to inhale 
 the fresh breezes which were wafted from the ocean 
 after an intensely hot day, the orange-flower blossoms 
 
G12 jiiti fisher's daughter. 
 
 yielded the most delicious fragrance, united with the 
 perfume of the musk rose, the hyacinth, violet, and 
 the Arcadian lily. Several gondolas were sailing down 
 the stream, where the merry guitar was pouring forth 
 its lively strains, struck by the hand of grace and 
 beauty ; every thing was calm and heavenly, and sweet 
 and tranquil as the brealh of angels, while the full 
 orbed moon tinged with her silver light the tops of 
 the pine and pomegranate trees that surrounded the 
 walls of our chateau. Never had I seen my dear lord 
 since his arrival in Italy so animated and so cheer- 
 ful ; and as the night progressively advanced he ex- 
 claimed — 
 
 " ' Now then, let us retire and pray for morning 
 as tranquil and as peaceful as we have passed this 
 evening in our cool and pleasant veranda, my dearest 
 iove. Yet what do I say? I cannot expect it to pass 
 thus, for to-morrow is the day of the carnival, and we 
 must receive visitors ; and our dearest friends the 
 Marchese and her amiable daughters will be here to 
 partake with us in the festivities of the day, and join 
 us in all those enchanting .scenes which they have long 
 portrayed. The gentle Amelia and the lively Fau- 
 chette — ' 
 
 " ' Yes, and the Baroness of Walbergh,' exclaimed 
 I, equally delighted that in a few hours hence, we 
 should be gratified with the society of our charming 
 friends ; * you forgot my dear lord that this distinguish- 
 ed lady is to be one of your guests.' 
 
 " But scarce had i uttered this sentence, my Jessy, 
 when one of our attendants suddenly entered the 
 veranda, and presented me a fetter which came ex- 
 
the fjsher's daughter. 613 
 
 press from the chateau of the Marchese Dor Hor- 
 tensia and occasioned me to feel some alarm. The 
 handwriting, though elegant, was quite unknown to 
 me, and the seal was black; my hands trembled so I 
 could scarcely open it ; but how was I shocked when 
 I became acquainted with its contents ! The letter was 
 and from the Baroness of Walbergh. 
 
 " ' To Lord and Lady Montague Montault. 
 
 " ' As friends of my dear and now deeply afflicted 
 sister, I have undertaken the painful task of commu- 
 nicating to Lord and Lady Montague Montault, the 
 melancholy event which suddenly took place this 
 morning in the death of my beloved niece, Amelia 
 Dor Hortensia, for which no immediate cause can be 
 assigned, but the awful visitation of Almighty power 
 The dear girl was not worse than usual, but ap- 
 parently better than she had appeared for some weeks, 
 and naturally anticipating the gay festivities she was to 
 witness to-morrow, at the carnival. She was sitting 
 between her mother and her sister, when this awful 
 mandate arrived, and assisting the latter to tie up 
 some bows of ornaments with which their carnival 
 dresses were to be decorated, when she suddenly 
 leaned forward to her mother and exclaimed — 
 
 " * Mamma, let me lean my head upon your breast j 
 for I am dying — it was my first cradle, it is now my 
 bed of death ! — I go mamma — angels are waiting to 
 bear me away. — Bless you, mamma — my sister, and 
 my aunt — farewell — pray — pray — for your Amelia.* 
 
 " ' The last words were scarcely audible, she sighed 
 
61 1 THE FISHER'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 gently; but in that gentle sigh resigned her spotless 
 and immaculate soul to the bosom of her heavenly 
 Father. 
 
 " ' Need I describe to you a mother's agonies, or a 
 sister's piercing cries, when all our efforts were inef- 
 fectual to restore her. Alas! we could not believe 
 her dead, so angelic was the fair countenance that 
 jife had deserted ! Our family physician imme- 
 diately opened a vein, although assuring us the remedy 
 was unavailng. It was so — she was gone for ever ! We 
 were to have met you at the carnival to-morrow! The 
 cause of disappointment I hastened to unfold, my poor 
 Emmeline being at present inconsolable for the loss of 
 a beloved child, and Fauchette overwhelmed with the 
 deepest anguish at so unexpected a trial of her sensi- 
 bility, which is ardent as sincere. She was passion- 
 ately attached to her invalid, but now transcendantly 
 happy sister, whose long sufferings in this mortal 
 state of existence are over, and who has none to fear in 
 the next; for what has innocence to fear? Would 
 that such a prospect awaited the death-bed of every 
 care-worn sufferer as that which sealed up the eyes of 
 Amelia Dor Hortensia. The Marchese expects that 
 you will not reject her solicitation to enter the house 
 of mourning ; aware of the friendship with which you 
 have so greatly honoured her, she cherishes the hope 
 of seeing you very shortly. 
 
 " ' I have the honour to subscribe myself (though 
 yet unknown to Lord and Lady Montague) 
 
 Your most humble servant, 
 
 Eloise Walhergh:* 
 
•"•he fisher's daughter. 615 
 
 " Imagine Jessy, for a moment, what my dear lord 
 and my father and I felt ; and how deeply we all en- 
 tered into the grief of this amiable family, by this 
 heavy and afflicting domestic calamity, whom (instead 
 of going to the carnival, for which I instantly lost all 
 relish) we visited at their chateau on the following 
 day. Well might it be called the house of mourning; 
 for both the Marchese and Fauchette yielded to the 
 strongest and most powerful emotions when they be- 
 held me and my dear lord approach them. I endea- 
 voured by every means in my power to teach them to 
 bear with more fortitude the fiat of an over-ruling 
 Providence, painted to them in glowing colours the 
 long, painful, and protracted sufferings of the dear de- 
 parted spirit who had flown to gentler skies, and how 
 far more transcendantly happy she now was, when 
 removed from all mortal trials and all mortal cares ; 
 that her innocence, her youth, and her loveliness, could 
 not be better bestowed, though it might have lingered 
 yet a little behind ; and that the longest life was but 
 journeying to that eternal space, in which I had no 
 doubt but all kindred and blessed spirits again met and 
 were never more divided. The Marchese looked at 
 me with inexpressible kindness, and Fauchette flew 
 to my side and eagerly pressed my hand to her lips, 
 while she exclaimed — 
 
 " e Dear Lady Montague, with this consoling thought 
 how do you soothe and tranquillize my spirits ; and I 
 am sure dear mamma will moderate the violence of 
 her grief, by the voice of so sweet a comforter. Yes, 
 we shall meet Amelia in a happier world, dear mam- 
 ma ! We are only separated till that messenger who 
 
(516 the fisher's daughter. 
 
 same for her will also summon us hence; then 1 shall 
 behold my sister, and join her in the heavenly choir 
 of " I know that my Redeemer liveth ;" and who— 
 who will dare disown that such a union after death will 
 be eternal ?' 
 
 " Fauchette then threw her arms around her mo- 
 ther's neck, with a look so perfectly seraphic, and a 
 countenance so expressive of filial affection for her 
 sorrowing and afflicted parent, while she endeavoured 
 to conceal her own grief, that both my dear lord and I 
 felt as if we. could have worshipped the sweet girl ; 
 while the Marchese exclaimed — 
 
 " ' I feel I am criminal ! God forgive me, Lady 
 Montague, I feel I am criminal ; for who, that has a 
 child like this left to console them, would murmur at 
 he loss of another whom Heaven has taken to itself,' 
 11 From that moment the Marchese grew more com- 
 posed. At her most earnest entreaty we continued 
 with her till towards the evening, when at an early 
 hour we departed for our chateau; and to say the 
 truth, Jessy, I was much disappointed in not seeing 
 the Baroness of Walbergh, as I anticipated we should 
 have done ; and so I dare say was my dear lord, who, 
 J cannot help fancying, has not either been so lively or 
 so well since the death of Amelia Dor Hortensia, 
 whose primary cause of disease bore so striking a 
 similarity to his own, with the only difference that she 
 inherited hers from her birth, and had not strength to 
 combat with it. Still I fancy things that are terrible, 
 since this delicate flower was cut off so suddenly j 
 but I will endeavour to strive against these fancies, 
 (if such they are,) and to call philosophy to my aid.' 
 
THK FiSHER's DAUGHTER. 01/ 
 
 *' The Marchesc apologized for the absence of her 
 sister, by pleading a slight indisposition, and her want 
 of spirits, which had been greatly harassed in her 
 close attendance on her since the event which had 
 plunged them in such deep affliction. 
 
 " * But she anticipates the pleasure of being intro- 
 duced to my dear English friends the next time they 
 honour me with a visit,' added she ; after which we 
 took an affecting leave of the amiable family, and shall 
 not visit them again probably till the day of the inter- 
 ment of the sweet angel whom they have lost, and 
 whose lovely remains are to be consigned to the family 
 vault in the church of St. Mark's. It is the custom 
 here as in England, for personages of rank and title to 
 be attended with the utmost magnificence to their last 
 earthly tenement ; but the Marchese has an aversion 
 to all this idle pomp and parade, as being a mockery to 
 the dead ; and she is determined that her daughter's 
 funeral shall not be conducted after this fashion, but 
 that the emblem of her innocence and lovely simplicity 
 shall be preserved even in the last ceremony that na- 
 ture claims. I will not close this letter till after I 
 have repeated my visit to the chateau of the Mar- 
 chese." 
 
 [It was resumed again by Lady Montault after 
 a laspe, as it appears, of ten days, in the following man- 
 ner ; which in spite of evident struggles to conceal an 
 agitated mind, was too perceptible in almost every 
 line of the lovely writer.] 
 
 " Jessy, we are but just returned from witnessing a 
 melancholy spectacle, and I am scarcely able to des 
 
 r26 4i 
 
()!8 the fishek's daughter. 
 
 **ribe it to you — the interment of Amelia Dor Hur- 
 tensia, at which my dear lord was so powerfully affect- 
 od that he has been indisposed ever since. I would 
 have given worlds that he had declined witnessing this 
 melancholy ceremony ; but it was to no purpose that 
 I endeavoured to dissuade him from it, for my father 
 from the first was particularly averse to it ; but he the 
 more strenuously opposed our united wishes, and of 
 course was suffered to follow his inclination. 
 
 " The funeral was performed by torch light, and 
 was throughout the most solemn and affecting I ever 
 witnessed. 
 
 " When we arrived at the chateau of the Marchese, 
 we were conducted to the funeral chamber, in the 
 most solemn and affecting silence, where the friends 
 of the Marchese were already assembled. The room 
 was hung with black, and lighted brilliantly with large 
 Roman candles ; some frankincense was placed in a 
 silver lamp, and emitted a slight and delicate sense of 
 its odour which was grateful and refreshing in an 
 apartment in which there were nearly thirty person- 
 ages, both male and female, of the most distinguished 
 rank. The ladies, who were elegant and dignified in 
 their appearance, were all deeply veiled, and the gen- 
 tlemen were in habits according to the costume of the 
 ccuntry. In the centre of the chamber was a bier, which 
 supported the coffin of the deceased, which was indeed 
 an emblem of the pure and spotless body which it en- 
 closed; it was composed of the most delicate white vel- 
 vet with silver handles, and it had no ornament but 
 the plate which told the name and age of fie deceased ; 
 
1HK KIMiklt's DAUGHTkR. 619 
 
 the family arms were above it, and of the richest 
 embossed silver. 
 
 " There were two females, who were kneeling at 
 the head of the coffin, deeply shrowded in black, and 
 employed in the most solemn devotion, one of which 
 I knew was theMarchese herself; and, though deeply 
 veiled, I concluded the other to be the Baroness of 
 Walbergh. At the foot of the coffin 1 observed Fau 
 chette with six other young females, all at devotional 
 exercises; but to my utter astonishment, Jessy, Fau- 
 chette was clothed in a habit of the purest white, and 
 covered like the rest of her companions with a white 
 flowing veil, so that not a feature was discernible. Each 
 held a prayer-book in her hand, and I could per- 
 ceive that the sweet girl was powerfully affected ; every 
 limb trembled, and the bosom heaved convulsively. In 
 this apartment there was an organ, which was occa- 
 sionally used when private service was performed by 
 the chaplain of the Marchese ; and he now attended 
 in a full mourning habit : at his entrance the whole of 
 the funeral party respectfully arose and saluted him; 
 be bowed with humility, slowly approached the head 
 of the coffin ; and with the most affecting ceremony 
 unclosed it to the full view of all present. Had not this 
 been the custom of the country, 1 should have started 
 back involuntarily, as supposing it was an indelicacy on 
 so solemn an occasion. 
 
 " But what did it represent ? On the first glance of 
 the remains of Amelia Dor Hortensia, every one was 
 tempted to exclaim, " She is not dead but sleepeth;" 
 so little had death changed her lovely countenance and 
 
620 the fisher's daughter. 
 
 features ; and pallid, but beautiful, was the calm se- 
 renity that it portrayed — not a word was uttered — 
 not a sigh murmured, for the celestial happiness of the 
 departed angel there before us could not be doubted — 
 could not be questioned ; and there was a solemn 
 silence prevailed when the swelling notes of the organ 
 were gently raised by the organist, who was concealed 
 from our view; and a beautiful anthem sung by the 
 six young females who had kneeled at the foot of the 
 ;offin, at the conclusion of which each of them threw 
 some flowers over the body of their sister virgin, and 
 last of all Fauchette ; but she lost her firmness, a con- 
 vulsive sob burst from her bosom, and she was obliged 
 to be conducted to a seat during the remainder of this 
 affecting ceremony, which the chaplain performed in 
 the most impressive manner by reading a prayer of 
 considerable length, during which every face was co- 
 vered, every knee bent, and I believe every eye wept. 
 At its conclusion, another silence prevailed — the chap- 
 lain slowly closed the lid of the coffin that shrouded 
 for ever from all mortal view, the earthly remains of 
 the fair x\melia. The Marchese wept audibly, and 
 leaning on the arm of her sister, she led on the 
 slow and melancholy procession, which followed to the 
 church of St. Mark's, where service was performed 
 with all its usual solemnities by the dignified professor, 
 at which there was not an eye but was moistened with 
 the tear of sensibility ; the coffin was then lowered into 
 lhe vault which was of plain white marble. The 
 organ played mournfully but. melodiously ; and we re- 
 turned to the chateau i«f ifetj Mar*-^**?, not in proces- 
 
THE HSHKIi S DAUGHTER. 
 
 !1 
 
 sion as we went, but cartridges awaited to conduct us 
 thence, which were numerously and magnificently at- 
 tended by the friends of the deceased. 
 
 M It is customary here not to retire after such a 
 ceremony, but to remain at the house of mourning, (as 
 they very justly deemed it, when the mourning is sin- 
 cere ;) and devote some hours in soothing and con- 
 doling with the afflicted survivors, till they leave them 
 in a state of apparent tranquillity j and then they depart 
 in peace. 
 
 " A custom certainly most beneficial in such cases, 
 as it often prevents the indulgence of that excess of 
 grief and terrific gloom, which to delicate and sensitive- 
 minded persons are always attendant on the last pain- 
 ful and melancholy duties they have to perform over 
 objects whom they loved most dearly ; and the vacuum 
 is assuredly most felt whenever their remains are re- 
 moved from the mansion which they inhabited. You, 
 my Jessy, know that from experience, when poor Olive 
 died ; and I, when I lost my dear foster father, Captain 
 Singleton : the Cottage on the Cliff presented a 
 dreary blank to me the morning after his funeral. But 
 to proceed : a magnificent supper had been prepared on 
 our return from the funeral obsequies, and the whole 
 of the company stayed to partake of it. The Mar- 
 chese sat at the head, and Fauchette and the six 
 young ladies, now having changed their habits to the 
 deepest mourning, appeared at the table, where my lord 
 and I and my father were honoured with the most 
 distinguished attention, as being English nobility. 
 Still I saw not the Baroness of Walbergh ; she was 
 
022 the fisher's daughter. 
 
 not visible till the whole of the numerous guests had 
 departed ; and when I enquired of Fauchette the cause, 
 she answered — 
 
 " O ! if you knew what an aversion my aunt has 
 to the Italian noblesse, you would not at all be sur- 
 prised at her absence, because some of them are the 
 descendants of Julian's house, and they espoused the 
 cause against my uncle, the Baron, when he went to 
 the wars with Christopher. But anon, dear Lady 
 Montague, you will behold her, she is longing to see 
 you; and when the guests are all departed save your 
 family alone, then she will come among us. I was 
 satisfied ; and I was astonished to see the composure 
 of the Marchese and Fauchette, when they were doing 
 the honours of their table ; no one would have imagined 
 they had come from the burial of the dead, and that 
 dead so beloved by them. Yet it is the custom, and 
 custom it has been said is at least second nature. We 
 do things differently in England ; but let me ask if our 
 English people are possessed of more feeling or better 
 refinement for it? No — I positively reject such an idea. 
 I beheld with no small satisfaction the numerous car- 
 riages depart, which they did immediately after the 
 rich banquet of which they had partaken ; and I ob- 
 served that each of them kissed the left cheek of the 
 Marchese when they bade her farewellj which I could not 
 account for — neither for the singular ceremony of their 
 leaving an olive leaf at the place where they had taken 
 their seat at the table, till I whispered to Fauchette, 
 and she informed me that the one signified friendship, 
 and the other was a token that they wished to leave 
 peace behind them. 
 
the fisher's daughter. 623 
 
 " When the guests had finally departed, and we 
 alone remained with the Marchese, she became ano- 
 ther character — 
 
 " * For I am not Italian,' uttered she ; ' but it is 
 necessary, that being so long a resident here, I should 
 conform to its customs. I am a lone widow, much ex- 
 posed to the authority of the legislative power ; and for 
 the security of certain monies, which by the decease 
 of my husband I became the sole possessor of, I must 
 conform to the laws of the country. Nothing else, my 
 dear Lady Montague, would have made me entertain 
 so numerous a company of guests, after having just 
 attended the funeral obsequies of my beloved child ; 
 but had I not done so, I should have been held up to 
 public derision and contempt by the Italians, and en- 
 tailed disgrace upon myself and my child for ever 
 afterwards. My conduct therefore has been rather 
 caused by policy than inclination, for many of the 
 guests whom you beheld here to night, are more the 
 objects of my aversion than friendship.' 
 
 " ' My sister the Baroness of Walbergh is differently 
 circumstanced with respect to her estates, they lie fat 
 distant, and are wholly out of the jurisdiction and au- 
 thority of those whose laws govern this country. She is 
 therefore at full liberty to act according to her own dis- 
 cretion ; and disliking the Italians, she does not very 
 commonly mix among them, orobserve their established 
 customs ; this was the cause of her absence this evening 
 at the banquet ; but now they are departed, I will go 
 and entreat her presence.' After a few minutes conver- 
 sation, which she held with my dear lord and my father, 
 
624 the fisher's DAUGHTER. 
 
 she retired, and left Fauehctte to entertain us till her 
 return. 
 
 " * You have greatly suffered, my sweet young 
 friend,' cried I ; ' by the occurrences of this evening , 
 yet they are passed, and retrospection is not only pain- 
 ful but unavailing. You must now endeavour to tran- 
 quillize your own spirits as well as those of your ami 
 able mother, by adverting as little as possible to tht 
 memory of your now sainted and happy sister.' 
 
 " ' Ah ! that is my consolation, dear Lady Mon- 
 tague,' uttered Fauchette, her eyes filling at the same 
 moment with tears, ' my sister is happy, and though I 
 weep because she is no longer an inhabitant of this 
 world's earthly space, yet I would not recall her back 
 from those regions of bliss to which her pure spirit has 
 flown ; still will I fondly cherish her memory while life 
 remains.' 
 
 t( At the moment that Fauchette uttered these 
 words, the Marchese entered, introducing the Baroness 
 of Walbergh. But, O ! Jessy, what were my emo- 
 tions when throwing her veil aside and extending a 
 hand to each of us, I beheld the counterpart of the 
 features and the countenance of our lost lamented 
 Wolf, though softened by all the graces and delicate 
 expression of female beauty. An involuntary excla- 
 mation escaped me — I started back ! I gasped for 
 breath — when both my lord a:,d my father, struck 
 with the same similitude before them, explained to 
 the astonished lady the cause of my extraordinary 
 emotion, by informing her that she bore a strong re- 
 semblance to an object that I had once known. 
 
' ///■ _ />/<■;; ■/, 
 
 s> <t? Mi//t>tpA/ <fy"^te<ty--smrt/awt£'^sffai/aa# 
 
 Published, liy O.Vu-UL6.26.JiyZan^i:-Bcix/iJtr.-BrijtoL. 
 
THTC FiSUKK's DAUfilll ku„ 625 
 
 u The apology was most politely received by the 
 Baroness, and I endeavoured by every effort in my 
 power to regain my composure ; but in vain, for the 
 moment I heard her voice I again became transfixed 
 as a statue, for it was the same deep melodious tone 
 as that of the Danish youth. 
 
 " \ I am either most unfortunate or most happy 
 in thus engaging your attentions, Lady Montague,' 
 uttered she, kindly taking my hand, ' though I grieve 
 that it should be accompanied with any painful 
 retrospection of past events, which renders the sight 
 of me so distressing to your feelings. I have indeed 
 been led by fancy to contemplate features in certain 
 objects that I thought had been familiar to me ! but, 
 alas! it was only fond illusion! for those objects 
 only lived in my memory — in my heart ; they were no 
 longer in existence but in fancy.' 
 
 " This was said with a forced but melancholy smile. 
 And I again attempted to apologize to the Ba- 
 roness for the weakness I had been guilty of ; but, 
 Jessy, as I pondered over every lovely feature, I again 
 saw Wolf before me, and could have worshipped the 
 being that I no longer doubted had given him birth; 
 though it is still wrapped up in impenetrable mystery. 
 
 " The person of the Baroness is elegant and com- 
 manding, and finely proportioned according to the line 
 of beauty, her eyes brilliantly dark and piercing, her 
 complexion a clear brunette, her nose acquiline, and 
 the expression of her countenance bewitching; she has 
 the look of a heroine, yet her style of beauty is perfectly 
 feminine; and she does not want a single quality that 
 you would have, either in her form or her face 
 
 a 27 4 h 
 
626 THE FISHKRS D.AUGIirKR. 
 
 She is under forty, and i should not take her for so 
 much, had not Fauchette told me that she believed she 
 was so; her resemblance to Wolf is in almost every 
 lovely feature, and more especially when she is speak- 
 ing energetically on any subject that deeply engages 
 her attention ; and when you add to this that she is 
 also a most highly accomplished woman, whose men- 
 tal graces accord with the loveliness of her person, the 
 tout ensemble is complete. 
 
 " ' I am already enchanted with the Baroness of 
 Walbergh,' uttered I to the Marchese, when I bade 
 her adieu ; ' what shall I be on a more intimate ac- 
 quaintance with her? which ?'io\v me to hope, amiable 
 Marchese, she will permit me to cultivate ; and that 
 during her stay in this country, I may frequently be 
 honoured with her society.' 
 
 " ' Of which 1 shall positively grow extremely jea- 
 lous,' uttered the Marchese smiling, ' I had no inten- 
 tion that Eloise was to monopolize the company of 
 my sweet little English favourite, when she came to 
 Venice. No, indeed, I shall hot consent to any such 
 arrangement, Lady Montague, I assure you.' 
 
 " l Nor I neither, mamma,' cried Fauchette ; 
 ' though my aunt Walbergh is of all personages the last 
 object that would excite my jealousy, because I love 
 her so.' 
 
 " *. But do you not know that love and jealousy are 
 frequently the companions of each other, Fauchette!' 
 answered 1 ; 'and when, too, we are least sensible of 
 the connection that is between them.' 
 
 " And after this conversation we bade farewell to 
 our charming friends, and I returned to Venice with my 
 
the fisher's daughter. 627 
 
 mind so occupied by the Baroness of Walbergh, that I 
 could not avoid questioning my lord and my father on 
 the subject; and whether they did not imagine, like 
 myself that Wolf must have been the stolen child 
 which the Marchese alluded to, as having been s- 
 mysteriously taken from the bosom of its mother 
 when in the field of battle she lay insensible on the 
 lifeless body of her husband.' 
 
 " To which my lord replied — 
 
 " ' It is probable that he may, but there is no cer- 
 tain and substantial proof of his being the heir of the 
 Baron of Walbergh ; he certainly bore a strong resem- 
 blance to the Baroness, which 1 own struck me most 
 forcibly the moment 1 beheld her; yet this is not suffi- 
 cient, as I told you before my love, to prove him to 
 be the son of the deceased Walbergh, unless the ob- 
 ject could be discovered who removed the child from 
 the bosom of its mother. He or she alone could elu 
 cidate so mysterious an affair, which even divulged 
 would pierce the heart of the Baroness with unutter- 
 able pangs, only to know the fate of her child in one 
 instance, and then be informed in the next that he 
 found a watery grave/ 
 
 f f Yet certainty is better than agonizing suspense,' 
 uttered J ; * and if I thought that it were really 
 Wolf that was the son of Walbergh, would it not be a 
 duty incumbent upon me to reveal his history to his 
 mother from the period that he was shipwrecked on 
 the coast of Cromer to that fatal one of his departure 
 from thence, and of the catastrophe which ensued on his 
 voyage to India. Still she will know that her son had 
 friends and kind protector?, though it pleased Almighty 
 
628 THE FISHKk's DAUGHTER. 
 
 Providence to remove him from their love to his. Still 
 the Baroness will be thankful that thus far he was pre- 
 served, and died a spotless youth.' 
 
 ff ' There is certainly no impropriety in mentioning 
 these circumstances to the Baroness,' uttered my lord, 
 ' was there any existing proof of Wolf's natural affinity 
 to her; but otherwise, wherefore should you agitate 
 her mind on such an occasion, my dearest love?' 
 
 " I was at a loss to reply to my lord's question, 
 Jessy. I coloured deeply without being guilty of one 
 thoiight that would have reflected discredit on my 
 feelings ; but merely because .hat he looked with 
 keener expression than usual, and I should have suf- 
 fered more embarrassment if my beloved father had not 
 flown to my aid, and exclaimed — 
 
 " ' Still I think that Agatha is right, Montague, by 
 imparting to the Baroness all she knows of the history 
 of the Danish youth ; it is but justice to the feelings of 
 a parent and his protectors ; and there was one in- 
 fallible mark on the breast of Wolf, which the fisher 
 Blust mentioned to me most impressively when I took 
 him under my protection— and that was the head of a 
 lion ; I questioned the youth about it, and he informed 
 me that it was a mark he could remember from his 
 infancy ; but that the old man and woman in the 
 Black Forest never would tell him how it came there. 
 It was on his left breast, and it was a mark very un- 
 likely to be unknown to the mother who gave him 
 being, and was placed there no doubt for some myste- 
 rious purpose.' 
 
 " On this question being put to the Baroness she 
 will surely resolve it, as it is by no means an improper 
 
thk fishkr's daughter. 629 
 
 ote, especially as the poor youth now lies in the bosorn 
 of the ocean. 
 
 " My lord seemed struck with astonisnment ana 
 surprise that this mark on the breast of Wolf had 
 never been mentioned to him before, and asked me if 
 I had ever known of it ; to which 1 replied with great 
 truth that 1 had heard your father speak of some mark 
 on the boy's breast, when he was lying senseless on the 
 shore, which they took for gunpowder ; but I never 
 heard that it was the head of a lion, 
 
 " ' But it grew into one probably afterwards,' cried 
 my lord, laughing immoderately; 'old Peter is re- 
 markable for producing prodigies. May I ask your 
 Grace if you ever saw this lion's h^ad on the breast of 
 the Danish youth ?' 
 
 " To which my father replied gravely — 
 
 " ' No, but J will vouch for the sincerity of honest 
 Peter ; he is incapable of uttering a downright egregious 
 falsehood, which would not be either beneficial to him- 
 self or any person in existence ; and he told me that 
 he had seen it, and that was sufficient.' 
 
 " My Montague was now silenced, and admitted if 
 that was the case it could very easily be ascertained 
 from the Baroness of Walbergh whether her infant son 
 at the time he was stolen had any such mark as allud- 
 ed to ; and if so, Wolf was indeed the son of the 
 Baron of Walbergh. 
 
 " It was now agreed tnat at some future oppor- 
 tunity, when I became more intimately acquainted 
 with the amiable Baroness, I should sound her on 
 this subject by explaining to her whom she resem- 
 
6$G Villi HSHlUl's CAL'tiHlES. 
 
 bled when I became so startled at the first glauce 
 of her features ; and then, if she questioned farther, 
 to reveal the whole history of the Danish youth to 
 her. 
 
 " ' For I have now a strong and resistless curiosity 
 to learn whether the Baroness is really the mother of 
 poor Wolf or not,' cried my lord j ' there was cer- 
 tainly a something noble and commanding in his per- 
 son, and a great resemblance to the lady in question. 
 Yet, poor fellow, little it avails him now whether he 
 was the son of a beggar or a prince.' 
 
 " When I look at the amazing length of this epistle, 
 I fear I shall impose no small tax upon my Jessy's 
 patience ; but it was no use to give her shreds and 
 patches, as, like Othello, I wished her ' with a greedy 
 ear to devour up my discourse,' rather than feast her 
 appetite with one subject, and have no relish for the 
 remainder. In my next you will hear more of the 
 Baroness of Walbergh whom 1 am more than ever 
 persuaded is the mother of Wolf; it is strange that I 
 never once thought of this mark on his left breast, 
 which will in all probability identify his birth. O ! 
 Jessy, had it but pleased Heaven to have spared him 
 till now! but dare we murmur? No! let me not be 
 guilty of such impiety. 1 have visited St. Mark's 
 twice since the interment of Amelia Dor Hortensia, 
 and was led into contemplations of the most awful 
 and affecting kind ; yet, though melancholy, they were 
 by no means uupleasing; and as I cast my eyes upon 
 the sepulchre which contained the ashes of the sweet 
 seraphic maid, I thought even the calm silence of the 
 
the hishrr's daughter. 631 
 
 sleeping dead was preferable to the cares which ever. 
 in some bewildered shape of other, haunt the living. 
 
 The church of St. Mark's is one of the most beau- 
 tiful of ancient architecture I ever beheld ; the monu- 
 ments magnificently adorned and of the purest marble, 
 and some of the inscriptions on the tombs are worthy 
 of the observation even of the most inspired bards. 
 There is a delightful specimen of poetic excellence 
 contained in some lines which are entitled, ' A Mid- 
 night Invocation ;' and which particularly charmed 
 and fascinated my attention, a copy of which I have 
 carefully preserved, because I know that my Jessy's 
 taste is ever congenial with my own, and that she will 
 admire them as the emanation of a most enlightened 
 and reflective mind, blended with the most delicate 
 flowers of poesy. But I must first inform you from 
 whence this Invocation owes its most holy and bril- 
 liant light, and that it is said, it was the belief of St. 
 Augustine, St. Gregory, and some other primitive 
 fathers of this church, that an angel was appointed to 
 watch over each individual, and that another order of 
 angels have the care of the material world which was 
 divided among them, to each a species. 
 
 The Invocation. 
 
 " Sylphs, angels, intercessors ! whatsoe'er 
 Your high names promise or your office be — 
 If as the men interpret, whom the church 
 jjoth rev'rence for their penitential lives 
 And early comment on the sacred writ, 
 Ye wait around the throne, the shrouded throne, 
 Invisible to the bright seraph's gaze, 
 V\ litre the world's light and the world's heat are ost 
 
THK FISHKk's DAUGHTER* 
 
 And long before that beamy path be trod, 
 
 The comet wheels its swift career—— 
 
 If ye watch o'er the devious flood of lift* 
 
 To see that nature runneth not to waste, 
 
 Nor man forsake the stream that leads him onward, 
 
 To pluck the flowers that sparkle on its banks— 
 
 O ! then among you there is one whose seal 
 
 Is upon me, and upon my life fixed 
 
 Whose care should warn when passions whisper wrong, 
 
 Whose light illumine when the way seems dark, 
 
 And model good desires and strengthen hope, 
 
 And, if perverseness check not, make me blest. 
 
 " 'Twas thou, kind spirit, then that smooth'd my brow 
 When evening followed on the weary day; 
 And as I trimm'd my solitary lamp, 
 And closed the volume e'er the night could pass, 
 The blood that darted through my bosom was 
 By thee impell'd ; the image on my brain, 
 Of all that early study might create 
 Of future fortuue, then was traced by thee ; 
 Thou brought'st the hand that gave to me a friend 
 Thou mad'st me feel the worth of such a name 
 The honest pleasure and the satisfaction 
 That arose from smiles, kind treatment, fancies 
 Of perfection, which my mind hath form'd— 
 Imaginations of poetic thought; 
 All of past life that yielded ine delight, 
 Instruction, happiness, or hope, was thine. 
 
 " And often when my erring head and heart 
 Made me, or speak, or act as virtue must, 
 Have blushed for, the voice that did forewarn mo, 
 Which 1 call'd conscience, was thy voice; and thfu 
 Didst stand aloof and veil thine eye, aud drop 
 An angel's tear on wrong thou could'st not stay. 
 Could incredulity be conquered, or if faith 
 Depended upon ought but strict belief, 
 How soothing were this thought ! like to the creed 
 Of those who dream that what was woman ono» 
 Doth mediate 'twixt her heaven-begotten So* 
 and his frail brethren in mortality j 
 )ut real faith is as the sun's fair flower, 
 
TMK 1-IMIku's DAUGHTER. 633 
 
 Which, mid the clouds that shroud it, aud toe gu»t» 
 That wave it to and t'ro, and all the change 
 Of air aiid earth and skies, doth rear its head, 
 And looketh up still stedfast to its God." 
 
 " The allusion to the sun-fl<>wer is extremely beau- 
 tiful, is not it, Jessy ? Well my love, it is now high 
 time to take a little breath over this enormous volume 
 that I have at different times sat down to compose for 
 your perusal ; and I beg you to believe that under all 
 changes, 
 
 I remain your faithful and affeetionate 
 
 Agatha Montague Montaxdtr 
 
 P. S. — u I had forgot my boy and girl ; they are both 
 well, and my little Emmy (as v\ e call her in abbrevia- 
 tion of Emmeline) is improving wonderfully, though 
 she will always be an exceeding delicate child. Adieu 
 mon amie, I can spare a kiss for your little cherub 
 Matilda. By the bye, Jessy, I have a shrewd guess that 
 grandfather will make her unfit for your management, 
 and take her under his own ; she is much too young to 
 be made a lady of the whip already ; yet for my soul 
 I cannot help laughing at your father's whimsicality 
 which is provokingly irresistible." 
 
 Mrs. Jessy Russel, to Lady Agatha Montault. 
 
 " Never was letter more welcome than yours, my 
 dear friend, for I had been for some time in a most 
 alarming state of anxiety at your long silence, which 
 is now happily relieved by the sight of your well- 
 known hand ; and thrice have I perused your charm- 
 
 Z» 27 Ah 
 
V34f THE FISHER 3 DAUGHTER. 
 
 ing volume, as you call it, without feeling weary over 
 one of its pages. 
 
 e< Your account of the death and the funeral of the 
 lovely Amelia Dor Hortensia affected me to tears ; yet 
 wherefore should we weep, or wish to recall such 
 a transcendantly happy angel from the skies, for 
 every thing here is as fleeting and short as the summer' 
 day or the sunbeam of an hour ; but while we cease 
 to mourn over her, there is some sympathy due to the 
 agonized feelings of a mother, who alone knew the 
 value of such an inestimable child, and yet bows to 
 the will of Heaven with that becoming submission 
 and humility which is the duty of every one who be- 
 lieves in the goodness of an omnipotent power; for 
 my own part, were I to lose my Matilda, perhaps 1 
 could sustain the loss of her much better now than if 
 she had attained the age of maturity. A thousand 
 thanks for your solicitude about her. my dearest Aga- 
 tha ; but what can I do with poor old father? it would 
 make me so unhappy if I were to utter any unguarded 
 expression that might occasion him to feel the slightest 
 uneasiness on my account or his granddaughter's. No. 
 dearest Agatha, I believe I must let her ride on the 
 pony if my father will have it so : and when she is of 
 proper age, she will learn to discriminate between 
 those pleasures which may be called feminine and 
 those which are not so. 
 
 " You cannot conceive what interest I feel in the 
 Baroness of Walbergh, and how anxious I shall be 
 till I hear from you again on that subject; yet I have 
 not the least doubt but she will clearly ascertain that 
 
the fisher's daughter. 635 
 
 she is the mother of Wolf, and that you will have the 
 happiness of telling her how worthy this amiable 
 youth was of the kind attention and protection that 
 was afforded to him by those who took such a deep 
 interest in his fate. I wonder that the mark on his 
 left breast which was so frequently mentioned by my 
 father, should have escaped your recollection. Both 
 David and Alice beheld it, and the latter has often pro- 
 phesied that it would be the leading star of Wolf's 
 fortune ; but she did not augur rightly, did she Agatha ? 
 " I shall wait most anxiously for your next, and re- 
 main 
 
 Yours most faithfully, 
 
 Jessy Ruatel." 
 
l5«Jj6 IHE FISHER'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 CHAPTER XXVII. 
 
 
 " She never told her Jove, 
 
 But let concealment, like a worm in the btkvl, 
 
 Feed on her damask cheek ; 
 
 She pined in thought, 
 
 And with a green and yellow melancholy, 
 
 She sat like patience on a monument 
 
 Smiling at grief." Shakespeare. 
 
 A more considerable and alarming lapse of time, 
 even than the former one, took place before Mrs. 
 Russel's anxiety for the health and the happiness of 
 her lovely friend, was relieved by her well-known sig- 
 nature, apparently, however, written under the influ- 
 ence of extreme hurry and agitation ; the contents of 
 which were as follow, and but too clearly elucidated 
 the nature of her feelings : — 
 
 " My Dear Jessy, 
 " Do not suppose me forgetful of you ; for, alas ! 
 my memory is retentive only of the painful duties 
 which I am now again performing for my dear lord, 
 who is again an invalid ; and I will suffer no one to be 
 hid nurse but myself. O ! Jessy ! Jessy 1 1 fear it 
 
•I HE MSHKU'S DAUGHTER. *i3" 
 
 will be for the last time J 1 am no longer to be blinded, 
 nor am I to be flattered with the hope of his recovery, 
 only to be the more miserably deceived ! You feel sur- 
 prised, no doubt, that J speak of this subject so calmly ; 
 but do not imagine that it has cost me no struggle to 
 do so, while to Heaven I poured forth the anguish of 
 my heart, as I implored divine aid and divine conso- 
 lation in that moment of trial which I am well assured 
 is at no immeasurable distance of time — alas ' perhaps 
 nearer than 1 already presage. My little girl is unwell 
 too, and has caught the measles, and the very few mo- 
 ments 1 can spare from her dear father are exclusively 
 devoted to her. I have always entertained an idea 
 that I should never rear this delicate little pale flower 
 to perfection, who so strongly resembles my poor Mon- 
 tague in constitution ; and should I lose her, I am in 
 part prepared. I am therefore thankful that 1 have 
 had her baptized in the form of our English religion, 
 by the name of her godmother, ..ne Marchess Dor 
 Hortensia (Emmeline) who was kind enough to come 
 over to Venice expressly for the occasion. This ami- 
 ble family has not as yet recovered from the sevdc 
 domestic loss they have sustained by the death of tha f 
 angel Amelia; Fauchette is no longer the playful crea- 
 ture she used to be ; and the Marchese in her deep 
 mother's weeds exhibits a most interesting appearance, 
 and often looks and speaks unutterable things when 
 she gazes on the pallid countenance of my poor Mon- 
 tague. My Orlando is actually grown a strapping fel- 
 low, and his mind partakes greatly of the vigour of his 
 form j he is sadly grieved at the illness of his little sis- 
 ter, and expresses the most affectionate solicitude oil 
 
638 the fisher's daughter. 
 
 her account, while the dear babe, as if already con- 
 scious of a brother's regard, will take any thing he 
 offers her with the utmost good humour, and smiles 
 upon him, though she is suffering so much pain. I 
 should not like to lose my little darling, but if she 
 must go, Jessy, who can stay the hand ? 
 
 ft My dearest lord was attacked in his usual way, 
 spasms in his chest, difficulty of respiration, and hectic 
 flushes and faintness, which so exceedingly alarmed 
 me that I flew to the bedside of my father who imme- 
 diately arose and sent for the physician. The usual 
 remedies were resorted to, and he was relieved horn 
 pain; but ever since he has been languid and spirit- 
 less, and visited every day by his medical attendants, 
 who pronounce him better ; but I can perceive by 
 their looks that they consider his present symptoms* 
 dangerous ; and my father is so silent that I this morn- 
 ing enquired of him most earnestly why they did not 
 give my husband medicine, to which, with evident 
 emotion, he replied — 
 
 " ' Because, my love, it is very probable that they 
 do not think it necessary.' 
 
 " f Or rather,' cried I, bursting into tears which in- 
 voluntarily sprang from my eyes at the same moment ; 
 ' because, dear father, they are already assured that 
 medicine will have no avail in a disorder which is 
 rapidly approaching to its last fatal climax. O ! why 
 then am I kept in ignorance of that danger which even 
 to my eyes is too apparent to be mistaken ! do not let 
 me hear the thunder rolling at a distance ; let the bolt 
 fall, and crush my brain at once.' 
 
 " ' Mv dear child.' uttered mv father much affected 
 
tub fishkr's daughtkk. G.19 
 
 by the emotion which I betrayed ; ' I have on this 
 subject once before ventured to give you my senti- 
 ments. I grieve to be under the painful necessity of 
 again repeating that they are still the same with re- 
 spect to the state of poor Montague, and that you 
 must prepare your mind to meet all changes that \ on 
 may experience with firmness and resolution. We 
 cannot avert the ordination of Almighty Providence 
 Rely on its protection, which we cannot truly merit 
 if we do not truly bow in humble submission to. Man 
 cannot see what is good for himself — God can all 
 things — comprehensible and incomprehensible — nor 
 ought we to murmur at his decrees.' 
 
 " * I do not murmur,' uttered I ; ' but, O! father! 
 I must feel! He pressed my hand to his lips ; and I 
 have endeavoured by every effort in my power to hide 
 the anguish of my heart from the observation of my 
 adored husband, who does not seem at all sensible of 
 his unceasing danger ; he is considerably affected by 
 the illness of his little Emmeline, and enquires fre- 
 quently if the child is in any danger; but 1 wave the 
 subject as much as possible, and exert every nerve to 
 enliven and animate his drooping spirits.' 
 
 " But, O ! Jessy, what pain does this exertion cost 
 me, and how can I tell that my poor Montague does 
 not see it ! 
 
 " He has twice mentioned a wish to return to 
 England ; then shaking his head with a gentle sigh, ex- 
 claimed — 
 
 " * No, no, my life — [ had forgot that I have not yet 
 recovered my strength, and that my little angel is still 
 an invalid — time and patience do wonders— we must 
 
640 the fisher's daughter. 
 
 both get out of the doctor's list — then hey for old 
 England and our absent friends.' 
 
 " Had my Montague looked in my face at this pre- 
 cise moment, Jessy, he would have seen how little I 
 cherished the hope of visiting England again with 
 him ; my tears were trickling fast down my cheek, and 
 I was obliged to turn my head away from him to con- 
 ceal them. I am going with the children to the warm 
 baths, for a moment I leave my Jessy." 
 [It was resumed thus : — ] 
 
 " Jessy, I write in better spirits than I did last ; for 
 my dear lord appears much better, his appetite has re- 
 turned, and his troublesome cough is greatly sub- 
 sided ; let me hope that this is a favourable symptom 
 in the crisis of his disorder. My dear little Einine- 
 line still continues extremely ill, which considerably 
 adds to the restless agitation of my dear lord. 
 
 " To-morrow we receive company. The Baroness 
 of Walbergh is to dine at our chateau, with her amiable 
 sister and our little favourite Fauchette. The sweet 
 girl has lost none of her attraction by having a little of 
 the il Pensorosa in her manner. I anticipate much 
 pleasure in being favoured with the company of the 
 Baroness, and hope my dear lord will be able to enjoy 
 her charming society. I shall probably have s^me in- 
 teresting conversation with her, which may add to the 
 grand object of enquiry. 
 
 '■' Whether Wolf is or is not the son of the Baron of 
 Walbergh, is an enquiry, however, which I am aware 
 must be handled with the utmost delicacy, or she may 
 deem it intrusive. Fauchette has frequently informed 
 us that her aunt is very tenacious of making mention 
 
TIIU FlSftEP. S DAUGHTER. 641 
 
 either of her husband ur her child, at which I am not 
 in the least surprised, when I reflect on the mysterious 
 manner it was taken from her, and the melancholy 
 fate of her brave husband. 1 will not close this letter, 
 my Jessy, till after the visit of the Baroness, which will 
 be to-morrow, and which 1 think will be a most in- 
 teresting one to all parties. Adieu for the present, mon 
 amie." 
 
 [Lady Montault appears to have resumed her letter 
 three days afterwards, by the following sentence : — ] 
 
 lt ! my Jessy, I have scarce recovered from the 
 agitation which two days ago the interesting discovery 
 of Wolf's birth and near affinity to the Baroness d 
 YValbergh had produced on my mind. The secret is 
 at length- revealed, and that noble and fine spirited 
 youth was indeed the lawful heir and only child of the 
 Baron and the Baroness of Walbergh ; but to proceed 
 more accurately, I will inform you that the amiable 
 Marchese, Fauchette, and their lovely and interesting 
 relative the Baroness, were most true to their appoint- 
 ment, and arrived at an early hour at the Chateau La 
 Flours. 
 
 " My dear lord received them with the most raptur- 
 ous and joyous welcome; indeed, both Montague and 
 my beloved father vied with each other in paying them 
 the most marked and delicate attention that could 
 possibly be imagined j and we sat down to a late din- 
 ner in the utmost harmony and spirits. Never did 
 I behold my Montague but on one occasion more ani- 
 mated ; I could scarcely have bnlieved him to have 
 been an invalid, but for that alarming hectic flush 
 
 c27 4 m 
 
642 the fisher's daughter 
 
 which so usually tinges his cheek, after six in the 
 evening. The Baroness in compliment to her sister was 
 attired in mourning habiliments of the richest cos- 
 tume, and altogether was the most elegant and in- 
 teresting figure, at her season of life, that I ever be- 
 held. 
 
 " We retired to an adjoining apartment, when both 
 my children were brought into the room ; my dear lit- 
 tle girl (whom I rejoice to say is much better,) was 
 most anxiously enquired for by her godmother; but 
 it was on my Orlando, who had ran up to the side 
 of Fauchette, that the Baroness had riveted her 
 eyes with peculiar earnestness, not unmarked with 
 emotion, which drew from her bosom a deep sigh as 
 she enquired the age of the blooming boy before her. 
 
 " c Ah ! Lady Montague,' exclaimed she; * once — 
 yea once, I was the happy and transported mother of 
 such a child ! my son, the only son of an idolized and 
 dearly sacrificed husband — sacrificed, alas ! to the fatal 
 feuds of his country, and his blind and infatuated 
 attachment to a usurper and a tyrant. He rushed to 
 the field in spite of all the tears and entreaties of 
 fond and faithful wife, and in battle he fell ; but not 
 alone — O ! no— no. Even in the battle's rage and the 
 tumults of a rude ferocious set of lawless savage 
 men, 1 did not desert my husband! yes, yes, in spile 
 of female fears and woman's delicacy, I followed him 
 with an infant boy scarce three years old buckled 
 on my back. I threw myself in the midst of this bloody 
 fight, where the whole fields were dyed with the crim- 
 son gore of thousands that had perished ; yet, unap- 
 
the fisher's daughter, 643 
 
 palled, I sought the idol of my heart, my Walbergh, and 
 I found him. O, God ! even at this moment my 
 blood recoils at the spectacle which then presented 
 itself to the eyes of a fond adoring wife. The man- 
 gled body of my slaughtered husband lay in the heap 
 of carcasses of men and horses that strewed the en- 
 sanguined plains with blood ; I uttered a piercing cry 
 of horror, and at that moment, regardless of the living 
 claim I had upon my affection, thought only of the 
 dead that I so dearly cherished in my heart's love. I 
 threw myself on the body of my husband, and in that 
 moment became senseless of the passing scenes around 
 me. My dear babe, fatigued and oppressed with 
 weariness, slept unconscious of a mother's frantic 
 agony or a father's death ; but when I returned to my 
 recollection, Lady Montague, my child was gone ; 
 some unseen and mysterious hand had snatched him 
 from a mother's bosom, and from that hour no traces 
 could I ever yet discover of my stolen boy, and the 
 heir of Walbergh ; that lovely innocent bears in fea- 
 ture some similitude of my darling Walace ; and fills 
 my soul with such unutterable despair and anguish that 
 J no more can know a mother's joy or a mother's care. 
 The dear lineaments of a departed husband, it would 
 have been some consolation for me to have traced ; 
 but that consolation to me was lost for ever. J raved 
 frantically of my lost child ! I had wealth unbounded 
 to bestow on any one who could restore him to me ; 
 but vain was the effort, unavailing all my tears. No 
 mortal means could give me back my child, and I con- 
 cluded tl at the only rancorous foe I ever had in ex- 
 
644 THE FISHERS DAUGHTER. 
 
 istence, the hated and revengeful Rodolph, brother 
 of the emperor Julian, whose cause my husband 
 had opposed, and by whom my husband fell, had 
 treacherously robbed me of the son of Walbergh. I 
 have had, however, no proof of this cruel deed having 
 been performed by him ; it was only conjecture ; but I 
 am to this day from that eventful period, Lady Mon- 
 tague, wholly ignorant of the destiny of my beloved 
 boy; perhaps he sleeps in death! and, if living, how 
 uncertain is his fate!' 
 
 i( A most affecting pause ensued, and to me a most 
 momentous one, for I now longed to know if the child 
 had on his left breast a mark resembling a lion's head j 
 yet to inform her by what means I discovered it, and 
 that he only arrived to the age of maturity to find a 
 watery grave in the bosom of the ocean, made me very 
 undetermined of informing her of each succeeding 
 event ; fearful that the surprise, and the shock which 
 she would afterwards receive by knowing that he was 
 again lost, would overcome her feelings. Still it was a 
 duty incumbent upon me, and I at length summoned 
 up resolution sufficient to enquire of the Baroness if 
 her son had any particular mark about his person, by 
 which he might be known ? 
 
 (C The Baroness started at the question, turned pale 
 and red alternately, and looking at me with expression 
 almost undefinable, she hesitatingly replied — 
 
 " ' He had, Lady Montague, a very particular one ; 
 but, why, why — for Heaven's sake I implore you to 
 tell me, why do you ask that question ? You cannot, 
 you surely are unable to give me any intelligence of 
 
THE FISUliK's DAUGHTER. G 49 
 
 y dear lost child. Yet I will satisfy you on this 
 point, whatever be your motive for such an enquiry. 
 My dear little Wallace had on his left breast a slight 
 mark which imperfectly had some resemblance to the 
 head of a lion, with which 1 had been frightened dur- 
 ing the first stage of my pregnancy.'" 
 
 " Jessy, what were my emotions at this discovery 
 ■ — this incontrovertible proof of the identity of poor 
 Wolf, and of his being the son of the Baron of Wal- 
 bergh ! In vain I endeavoured to veil my agitated 
 feelings from the eyes of his lovely and unfortunate 
 mother. 
 
 " I clasped my hands together! I burst into tears ! 
 I entreated her to listen with calm composure and 
 resignation to the interesting though painful tale J had 
 to unfold. 
 
 " ' But you must promise to possess your mind with 
 fortitude, Baroness,' uttered I ; 'or it will be impossi- 
 ble for me to disclose a narrative so affecting, while 1 
 feel that every word I must necessarily utter is so har- 
 rowing to a mother's heart.* 
 
 " Breathless with surprise, wonder, and astonish- 
 ment too great to be expressed, she waved her hand 
 in the most mournful silence; the Marchese and Fau- 
 chette placed themselves on each side of her, while 
 from the very first night of the storm that dashed the 
 vessel on the cliffs of Cromer, and gave to the winds 
 and the waves the shipwrecked boys who found shelter 
 and protection beneath the roof of your father, I be- 
 gan to state every most trifling particular and incident 
 which had related to her son ; but when I arrived jti 
 the fatal catastrophe of bis loss, and the dieadful eer- 
 
6i6 the fisher's daughter. 
 
 tainty that be had perished in the ocean while on his 
 voyage to India, the Baroness could no longer sub- 
 due the internal anguish of a mother's feeling; she 
 wept bitterly, hiding her face with her handkerchief; 
 but it was evident that she made some struggles to 
 command her feelings in compliment to me, for she 
 saw that I was greatly affected by a recital so painful; 
 for 1 did not omit to inform her of a part of my own 
 history and sufferings in the ruins of the Old Abbey, 
 in which poor Wolf had been the companion of my 
 solitary and dreary exile. At the conclusion of my story 
 she grew gradually composed, and affectionately em- 
 bracing me, she exclaimed — 
 
 " ' What shall I call you now, dear Lady Montague, 
 how, how shall I thank you or express my gratitude 
 to your noble father and the worthy family who so 
 kindly protected my poor boy! it is impossible to utter 
 what F feel towards them, or the wish I have to be- 
 hold the dear youth who might well be termed his 
 foster brother in misfortune, though it did not please 
 Heaven that he should share the same fate. But dare 
 I arraign ics high authority? — No! submission is the 
 duty of us poor erring creatures — here in a state of 
 transitory existence, the hope of an eternal one should 
 temper the misfortunes of the believing Christian, and 
 smooth the rugged path over which we are destined 
 to wander, by the reflection that there is a blissful 
 hour in which we shall cease to be burthened with 
 worldly cares. I have teen a heroine, and I will be a 
 heroine still; my boy sleeps with angels, and there is 
 no earthly consolation that I can receive greater 
 than to be assured thai he did not disgace his pro- 
 
THE FISHERS DAliGHl'RR. G4? 
 
 tectors ind his friends, while he lived beneath their 
 fostering roof. 1 have no doubt now remaining on 
 my mind what treacherous hand robbed a mother of 
 her only child ; ii was some emissary of the villain 
 Rodolph, placed on the field of dreadful carnage that 
 surrounded me when I lay insensible on the body of 
 my dear lord. Then was the hour they bore away my 
 beauteous boy ; but Heaven will avenge the sacrilegious 
 deed, nor suffer it to go unpunished ! Rodolph yet 
 lives, but he has yet to die! — that to the wicked how 
 terrible ! — that hour for Rodolph will not be spared. 
 
 " After this interesting conversation the Baroness 
 again embraced me, and assured me of her unalterable 
 regard and eternal gratitude, and grew more tranquilly 
 composed; she addressed some words to my father 
 which affected him to tears, and I now find by a letter 
 from Fauchette that she has formed the resolution of 
 going to Denmark and exploring every part of the 
 Black Forest, to endeavour to trace if any vestige re- 
 mains of the savage monsters, whom Wolf described as 
 having treated him so brutally, and to learn who had 
 employed them in so vile and diabolical a transaction ; 
 but in this expedition I fear the amiable Baroness will 
 not eventually succeed, for by this time it is more 
 than probable that one or both of these wretches have 
 ended their miserable existence, for Wolf describes 
 the man to have been decrepid and old, and the wo- 
 man not much his junior. 
 
 " She is, however, determined to adopt this plan, 
 and, that immediately, in which case the Marchese 
 and her daughter will be the companions of her journey, 
 
648 the fishhr's daughter. 
 
 and I shall lose the society of my charming friends, at 
 a time too when they are so conducive to my hap- 
 piness. 
 
 " My husband now acknowledges that there was 
 a certain dignity in the look and manner of Wolf that 
 always suggested an idea that he was nobly born, and 
 far superior to the station in which he represented 
 himself to be with the man and woman in the Black 
 Forest ; to them he owed nothing, for they had taught 
 him only cunning and ferocity; but his spirit, and his 
 innate principles of honour, sensibility, and feeling were 
 natural to him ; nor could the example of these savages 
 divest him of native ingenuousness, integrity, or 
 truth, which he always held sacred. Fauchette tells me 
 that it is the intention of her aunt amply to pro- 
 vide for Alfred, of whose respectable connections little 
 doubt can be entertained ; for you may remember, 
 Jessy, that he always told us that his father was the 
 Captain of the vessel in which they sailed from Den- 
 mark, and that when he embarked on board of her, he 
 was taken from a public seminary where he had been 
 for some length of time ; he was certainly a well-edu- 
 cated youth, and his manner was refined ; there is con- 
 sequently no doubt of the respectability of his birth. 
 
 " How distressing, Jessy, was it to my feelings when 
 the Baroness requested me to give her an accurate de- 
 scription of the person of her son! my dear lord and 
 my father were present, and I knew not how it was 
 that I both felt embarrassed and blushed so deeply. 
 
 " Why did I so ? it was not a blush that guilt be- 
 trays j but the Baroness fixed her eyes on me most 
 
THK fishkr's daughter. 019 
 
 intensely ; and so did my Montague, whose feelings I 
 would not have wounded for the whole created world. 
 " I rejoice to hear that Lady Winstone is likely to 
 contribute to the comforfs of her lord's fire-side at 
 last; and that the birth of her child has made so pleas- 
 ing a change in the family. The Marchioness has 
 written twice to my father, and he has never shewn her 
 letters either to me or Montague. Alas! Jessy, 1 
 partly guess at their contents, and the subject is con- 
 cealed from me because it will give me pain ; yet will 
 I cherish hope while any hope remains — love to yoi r 
 dear comical father — a kiss for Matilda — and respects 
 to your kind husband. 
 
 Yours ever truly, 
 Agatha Montague Montault* 
 
 Mrs. Russel did not again hear from Venice, till she 
 received a letter from his Grace the Duke of Braganza, 
 and being sealed with black she instantly surmised the 
 melancholy intelligence which it foretold ; with a trem- 
 bling hand she broke the seal, and found her fears too 
 fatally prophetic; for it informed them of the demise 
 of poor Lord Montague, that the afflicted Agatha was 
 inconsolable, and incapable of leaving her chamber, to 
 which she was dangerously confined since the death 
 of her husband, and that he himself was overwhelmed 
 with the deepest affliction at the situation of his be- 
 loved daughter ; but that both the Marchese and the 
 Baroness of Walbergb were at the Chateau La Flours, 
 and endeavouring by the kindest assiduities to restore 
 thHr sorrowing friend to some *\n\e of composure. 
 
 His Grate then described the gi ef of Agatha to be 
 
 a -IS 4 n 
 
6,0 jus r is nun's uaughteb. 
 
 ho heart-rending, that t he fender heart of poor Jessy 
 most deeply sympathized in her affliction. 
 
 The death of Lord Montague was far more sudder. 
 than was expected by his medical attendants, he having 
 lately exhibited some favourable changes in his dis- 
 order ; Ladv Montault had therefore encouraged the 
 hope of his recovery. 
 
 What then were her shocked feelings to find that 
 he was near the hour of dissolution, which in a short 
 time exterminated all mortal sufferings ; it was past 
 the power of language to convey the nature of her 
 feeling, — it was grief unutterable, and which almost 
 bewildered her senses, as with tearless eyes and quiver- 
 ing lips she sat in the chamber of death, (from which 
 no entreaties could remove her,) gazing on the pale 
 cold lifeless form of her adored husband, who a few 
 hours since had breathed his last sigh on her affection- 
 ate bosom, and whose last words were, " Bless my 
 faithful Agatha." 
 
 For the very moment that Lord Montague grew 
 worse, he was sensible of his approaching dissolution ; 
 even while the hand of death pressed on his closing 
 eyelids, he yet eagerly grasped that of his Agatha's, 
 and thrice he pressed a dying kiss on those lips which 
 had never opened on him but with a smile of gentle- 
 ness, confidence, and affection, the strongest proof of 
 which she had given by her faithful, watchful, and un- 
 remitting attentions towards him during all the heavy 
 stages of his long and painful illness. 
 
 ** You have left me not a wish ungratified, my dear- 
 est life," uttered the dying Lord Montague ; " weep not, 
 nor cherish my memory with unavailing sorrow, for 
 
thb fishkr's daughter. 651 
 
 be assured that I die hi peace, and with the hope that 
 ; gain we shall be united where death can no more 
 divide us. I charge you to live happy, and, for your 
 dear little one, exert your fortitude to bear the man- 
 date from above. To your father I bequeath the edu- 
 cation of my son, who alone is fit to undertake the 
 charge ; — for my daughter, you are the best judge — 
 let her but resemble her mother, and I shall die con- 
 tented that she will never disgrace the memory of her 
 father. You may one day marry again my Agatha — 
 remember, my love, that 1 forbid you not to make a 
 second choice, and who else has a right to do so ? 
 Where are my children ? Where is your father ?" 
 
 They were in turns presented to the dying sufferer, 
 and received his blessing. The little girl stretched out 
 her arms towards her father as she was wont to do, 
 and the innocent unconsciously smiled in his pallid 
 face! it was too much — nature struggled, and at the 
 very moment that the infant was taken from his feeble 
 grasp, he closed his eyes for ever. 
 
 Agatha did not forget her recollection ; she fainted 
 not, nor at that moment wept — but her look was 
 heart-rending, and melted the hearts of all around her 
 with the deepest sympathy for her sufferings. 
 
 For some time she could converse with no human 
 being, or bear the sight of her children ; but when 
 tears gave her relief she recovered the dreadful state 
 of fixed torpor and inanity, which at first had so ex- 
 ceedingly alarmed not only his Grace but the physician. 
 The children were then eagerly enquired for — she wept 
 over them, but in s few hours afterwards she was 
 enabled to converse with ber father tranquilly, and 
 
652 THK FISHER'S DAI GUI EH. 
 
 also to see the Marehese and the Baroness. It was at 
 this period that the Duke conveyed the melancholy 
 intelligence of his lordship's death to Mrs. Russel, and 
 the Marquis and Marchioness of Montault, both of 
 whom were plunged in the deepest affliction by the 
 mournful though long expected event. 
 
 Montault Castle was completely shut up, and h 
 splendid escutchion with the armorial bearings of Lord 
 Montague Montault, placed over the doors of his late 
 mansion at Violet Vale, to which it was the intention 
 of Agatha immediately to return, foreign scenes now 
 being hateful to her sight, and only reminding her of 
 the deep loss she had sustained. The remains of 
 Lord Montague were placed in spirits for preservation, 
 and afterwards deposited in a leaden coffin, for the 
 purpose of being interred in the family vault of his 
 ancestors, which was a most magnificent one, in the 
 vhapel belonging to the Castle of Montault. 
 
 It was therefore necessary that the departure of 
 Lady Montault and family from Venice, should be as 
 peedy as possible ; and orders were given that Violet 
 Vale should instantly be got ready for her reception. 
 
 Every arrangement being made by the Duke for 
 their embarkation, the now sorrowing and discon- 
 solate widow had only to take a painful adieu of her 
 amiable and so firmly attached friends ; and when 
 they finally embarked, tears choked the utterance of 
 the whole party, insomuch that the Marchese was 
 carried out fainting from the embraces of Lady Mon- 
 tault. Notwithstanding which, Agatha displayed a 
 heroism of mind and character which was truly ad- 
 mirable, and which it is very certain she had cndea- 
 
THK FISHKft's DAUGHTER. tk)3 
 
 vourcd to acquire from the religious precept she had 
 imbibed from the tuition and example of Lady Ma- 
 tilda St. Clair in the convents of the holy sifters ; she 
 had stood the test of many severe trials, and though 
 this was the hardest that woman ever sustained — the 
 loss of a beloved husband, in comparison to which all 
 other troubles seem light; yet she would not yield 
 to that excessive indulgence of her grief, which pre- 
 vented the exertion of her excellent faculties, and 
 which the exhortations of her dying husband had even 
 in that awful hour taught her to sustain. 
 
 Over this scene we will now gently draw a veil ; 
 excessive sorrow, unless occasioned by excessive guilt, 
 was never intended to continue by an all- wise and 
 merciful Creator, who rather would impart joy to the 
 creatures whom he formed, unci for whom he so won- 
 derfully prepared a world of blessings, if they did not 
 make an improper and an imprudent use of them. 
 
 There is joy in heaven, and there is joy on earth, 
 which we are not forbidden to share, or else why were 
 they given to us? Let philosophers instead of authors 
 (who are no philosophers at all; resolve that simple 
 question. 
 
 A regular correspondence was promised to be esta- 
 blished between the fair friends before they parted at 
 Venice. The Marchese being averse to remain in that 
 tountry where she had witnessed so lately such me 
 lanchoiy scenes, and the Baroness determining that she 
 would not travel to Denmark without the company of 
 her sister and her niece, they agreed to set out imme- 
 diately on the departure of Lady Montault; and we 
 m ill leave them puming their destined route, lb fob 
 
6M thb fisher's daughter, 
 
 low me new made widow and her little family to the 
 shores of England, (with their melancholy charge the 
 mortal remains of Lord Montague Montault,) which 
 they reached with the most favourable weather. 
 It was an affecting sight when Lady Montault in her 
 willow's weeds with her fatherless little ones, present- 
 ed herself to her vassals and attendants who waited 
 in melancholy procession to greet her at the gates j 
 but when the coffin of their beloved lord followed in a 
 hearse and was taken into the hall, the seat of many a 
 joyous scene of hospitality produced by the overflow- 
 ings of his generous heart, a general burst of sorrow 
 moistened every eye and melted every heart ; and 
 it was with some difficulty that Agatha reached the 
 apartment now deserted by the presence of her be- 
 loved Montague. 
 
 O, God ! there is a pang at the moment that a hus- 
 band's presence is missed, in the house where he so 
 lately filled his station, that strikes unutterable daggers 
 to the breast of his sorrowing and afflicted widow, 
 which can only be known to those who have felt the 
 pang before, and for which the joys of the whole cre- 
 ated world cannot compensate; and such was the feel- 
 ing of Lady Montault when she entered her deserted 
 mansion — to her deserted, for where was her dear lord ? 
 
 Lord Orlando was old enough to feel the loss he 
 had sustained by the death of his father: and though 
 he loved his mother passionately, he often wept for his 
 dear papa; and clinging round her neck would ex- 
 claim, when he saw the tears trickling dow* her fair 
 face— 
 
 " O ! mamma, why do you cry so, when you told 
 
THF. FISIIKRS D AT'OIITKR. f. r )5 
 
 me papa #fts gone to heaven among augc s who do 
 not weep at all, because they are so good and so 
 happy? and papa is happy, if he is among them. Is it 
 because you want, him back again, mamma? but that 
 is very naughty, for you cannot make him so happy as 
 ! e is with angels, can you mamma ?" 
 
 !t was tiiese remarks of the youthful son, alternately 
 mixed with the innocent caresses which were so fre- 
 quently blended with them, that restored Agatha in 
 some degree to her wonted firmness of mind and cha- 
 racter, added to which were the endearing and tender 
 assiduities and attentions of her excellent parent ; his 
 calm exhortations, and his animated conversation were 
 not lost upon her sensible and active mind ; and after 
 the interment of her beloved husband she became per- 
 fectly resigned to the awful dispensation which had so 
 sharply assailed and so deeply afflicted her. 
 
 Her meeting with the Marquis and Marchioness 
 was affecting beyond description, and Lady Winstone 
 even shed tears ; but nothing could equal that when 
 she folded her beloved Jessy again to her heart, and 
 once more beheld the face of honest Peter, who was 
 obliged to have recourse to his usual remedy, a glass 
 of grog, to drown his sensations of sorrow. The 
 mourning dress of Agatha recalled to his mind the 
 hour when first she came beneath his roof, as the 
 supposed daughter of Captain Singleton, and he ex- 
 claimed— 
 
 " Shiver my topsails, but thee do look so like my 
 dear little Agatha Singleton when thee were a crying 
 thy pretty eyes out in the Cottage on the Cliff, on the 
 
656 THE KISHER's DAUGKTEi . 
 
 night of the tempest, when we did all think that the 
 poor Captain were lying in the bottom of the ocean, 
 that it do bring my anchor afloat, and that be the truth 
 of it.'' — Then, adverting to the discovery of Wolf's 
 noble birth and parentage, he suddenly exclaimed — 
 
 " And so Wolf were the son of a great lord and a 
 great lady, after all ; but shiver my topsails ! he were 
 never much the better for that, poor fellow, and he 
 might as well have been the son of a cobler for any 
 good he received from his grand parentage; and it 
 don't matter a single rope's yarn to the country where 
 he be gone to, who gave him birth on this side of the 
 water, do it my lady ?" 
 
 " True my dear, sir," uttered Agatha with a mourn- 
 ful sigh, " that is of little consequence ; still it is some 
 satisfaction to know who were the authors of bis 
 being." 
 
 The fisher's looks implied that he was of a very dif- 
 ferent opinion to his fair narrator of this wonderful tale, 
 which it was probable that Peter would have been 
 very slow in giving credit to from the lips of any other 
 personage than Lady Montault. 
 
 The astonishing improvement of the Fisher's Daugh- 
 ter she could scarcely have believed, whose face and 
 form were so uncommonly beautiful, that she contem- 
 plated the fair smiling girl with the most unspeakable 
 delight and satisfaction ; and Alfred being with her, 
 who was spending some weeks on a visit at Violet 
 Vale, and who had been greatly affected at the afflict- 
 ing event in the family, she softly whispered — 
 
 " Did you ever see so uncommonly lovely a creature ? 
 
THE FISHER's DAUGHTER. (>5/ 
 
 Does she not remind you extremely of her aunt Olive, 
 Alfred? her beautiful dark brilliant eyes, and her finely 
 arched brows — " to which he replied — 
 
 " Yes, your ladyship, in point of beauty Matilda 
 Russel greatly resembles Miss Blust, though it is in- 
 finitely more of the softer kind, and she is quite as 
 gentle and as mild as her mother; yet I fear they will 
 make her vain, and a little too aspiring for the rank 
 she is likely to hold in society. Her grandfather per- 
 fectly spoils her by his excessive indulgence, and Ma- 
 tilda is but too sensible of the ascendancy she has 
 gained over him. What do you think of that girl 
 already reading plays, and all the novels of the day ? so 
 young, I think it will tend to have an improper bias, 
 and too early give her a turn for romance, which I al- 
 ready think her much inclined to." 
 
 Lady Montault was surprised at the severity as well 
 as at the energy with which these words were uttered 
 by Alfred, which she at first attributed to the grave 
 habits of his clerical profession ; but when she had 
 seen more of the youthful Matilda, she found that his 
 statement was correct, and that she was completely 
 the heroine of romance, and affected sensibility which 
 was of the most dangerous description that a young 
 female could possess ; and a hint to Jessy that it was so, 
 made her restrain her little daughter from pursuing 
 her favourite studies; but she complained to her 
 grandfather of the severity of her mother, who, remon 
 strating with Jessy, the books were restored to her 
 again j although Jessy had frequently told him how 
 improper it was to indulge the child in every foolish 
 propensity. 
 
 b 28 4 o 
 
658 THK fishkr's daughter. 
 
 At which the fisher would immediately shiver hi* 
 topsails, and stir up a breeze, not of the gentlest kind, 
 saying that his little Matty should have every thing she 
 liked, in spite of all the lords and ladies in Christ- 
 endom. 
 
 And whenever Lady Montault visited Jessy, she was 
 shocked to find how little her advice had been taken ; 
 too delicate, however, to wound her friend's feelings 
 on the occasion, she never afterwards resumed the 
 subject. At a proper season Miss Russel was sent 
 to school, and Lord Orlando had masters of every de- 
 scription to attend him. He was both the idol of his 
 mother and of his grandfather, was possessed of 
 the brightest intellect, the finest disposition, and the 
 most manly and noble spirit that could possibly be 
 conceived ; for his young sister, whose health was as deli- 
 cate as her form, he always evinced the most passion- 
 ate regard, as did the sweet little Emmeline for him ; 
 while her likeness to her dear lamented father^ gave 
 her a double claim to her mother's fond affection. 
 To the repeated enquiry of the Marchioness, of " Why 
 don't you send Emmeline to school ?" the reply of 
 Lady Montault was — 
 
 ff It never was my intention, your ladyship ; her health 
 is the first object of my solicitude, and she is too deli- 
 cate to be removed from a mother's care. I will 
 myself be the preceptress of my darling girl, and when 
 she is old enough I will engage a governess to super- 
 intend her studies." 
 
 This was shortly the case j Lady Emmeline at a very 
 early age exhibiting a taste for drawing, it was culti- 
 vated with the utmost zeal and attention bv her fond 
 
the fisher's daughtkr, 659 
 
 mother, and under her own eye she received every 
 other accomplishment that was required for a young 
 lady of her exalted rank. 
 
 In the meanwhile, Lady Montault had entered into 
 a regular correspondence with the amiable family of 
 the Dor Hortensias ever since her return to England, 
 and they were now in Denmark endeavouring by every 
 means in their power to trace by what treacherous 
 hand she had been robbed of her child ; but no dis- 
 covery of that mysterious circumstance had yet been 
 brought to light, so that the Baroness was in despair 
 about it; and Fauchette, longing to visit England, and 
 to behold her dear Lady Montault again, addressed her 
 in one of her letters in the following manner: — 
 
 " I will not go back to Venice, indeed, Lady Mon- 
 tault, I will not, for I could never bear to visit that 
 country which once contained such dear objects of 
 my regard, from whom I am now separated ; and my 
 dearest mamma has almost prevailed with my aunt, 
 when we quit Denmark, to accompany her over to 
 Great Britain, that ancient seat of hospitality, friend- 
 ship, and sincerity ; besides, I am really longing to 
 see the ladies of that charming country — ay, and the 
 gentlemen too. Am not I a saucy girl, Lady Montault, 
 for presuming to broach such a sentiment ? but you 
 will pardon your little Fauchette, and correct her in 
 your most delightful letter, if she is guilty of too much 
 boldness. 
 
 " The account you give of Lord Orlando, and matn- 
 jia's sweet little goddaughter (Lady Emmeline) charms 
 
660 the fisher's daughter. 
 
 us all. So she is really an adept in drawing, and is 
 learning French and music ! 
 
 " O ! that time would fly on more roseate wings 
 than it does at present, and this gloomy country out 
 of my sight; for I never could endure Denmark, and 
 it is really absurd of my dear aunt to continue longer 
 in it, when she knows that the object of her visit to 
 the Black Forest is so unavailing." 
 
 This was nearly the substance of the lively Fau- 
 chette's letter, of whom, as well as of the Marchese 
 and the Baroness of Walbergh, Lady Montault gave 
 Alfred the most animated description. 
 
 " You will be perfectly enchanted with this charm- 
 ing girl," uttered she to the young divine one morn- 
 ing as they sat at breakfast, when Alfred was at Violet 
 Vale, where he was now a frequent visitor ; " but mind 
 you steel your heart against the power of the little 
 blind boy, for I can assure you that his power is in- 
 vincible." 
 
 To which Alfred blushingly replied — 
 
 " So I have been told your ladyship, though I have 
 never yet felt the effect of its potent influence." 
 
 It was now the summer vacation, and Matilda Rus- 
 sel who had been absent for some time from dulcet 
 home, (and dear grandfather had with much diffi- 
 culty been prevented from paying her unnecessary 
 visits, in the course of her studies,) returned to the resi- 
 dence of her father again ; previous to which Mrs. Rus- 
 sel had called one morning at Violet Vale, and casually 
 mentioned that her daughter was expected on that day. 
 
the fisher's daughter. 661 
 
 *' Is she indeed madam ?" cried Lord Orlando, who 
 was pointing out to his young sister the beauties of 
 a drawing which his master had just purchased for 
 him. " O ! how I rejoice to hear it! I have not seen 
 Miss Russel for such a prodigious length of time, that 
 I shall feel quite delighted to behold her !" 
 
 " What do you call a length of time, Orlando ?" en- 
 quired Lady Montault, surprised at the energy of her 
 son in speaking of the Fisher's Daughter, which he 
 had frequently done before in the same sort of way ; 
 " it is scarcely six months since Matilda passed a dav 
 with us at Violet Vale." 
 
 To which his lordship replied — 
 
 " You mistake, dear mother, for you that happiness 
 was only designed. I was out with Lord and Lady 
 Winstone on that day j and I was so disappointed when 
 my sister told me that Miss Russel had been here, that I 
 could not sleep all night about it ; because Miss Russel 
 was my favourite playfellow once, and she is my favour- 
 ite still. I gave her a little robin ; and I remember she 
 then told me she would keep it for my sake so long as 
 ever it lived. Did she keep her promise, madam ? Is 
 the robin alive yet ?" 
 
 Mrs. Russel answered in the affirmative, and Lord 
 Orlando withdrew with the drawing in his hand, leav- 
 ing both the mothers looking at each other with an ex- 
 pression which neither of them at that precise moment 
 could exactly define ; but Emmeline being present, no 
 farther -conversation w^s resumed on the subject of 
 Matilda, Lord Orlando, or the robin, and Mrs. Russel 
 took her departure. 
 
 Jessy, however, fancied that she beheld something 
 
6(32 THE FISHKll's WAUGH'fEB. 
 
 in the countenance of her lovely friend that was un- 
 pleasiug, when her son was thus speaking of her Ma- 
 tilda; who, when quite a child, was not a very great 
 favourite with Lady Montault, because she considered 
 that she was too forward, and that her temper was 
 spoiled by her grandfather; and Jessy proudly re- 
 pelled the thought of her daughter going any where as 
 an unwelcome guest ; besides, her growing charms 
 might really attract the attention of Lord Orlando, 
 who, youthful as he was, might entertain a growing at- 
 tachment towards her, as dangerous to the peace of 
 Matilda as to himself; for she was well aware that a 
 Fisher's Daughter would never be considered a suita- 
 ble connection for the heir of Braganza, and that Lady 
 Montault herself, dearly as she prized her friendship, 
 would never sanction such a union for her son. 
 
 Jessy therefore very prudently resolved to tell her 
 husband, from whom she kept no secrets, what she 
 suspected, and never to permit their daughter to fall 
 in the way of the young Lord Orlando, if by any means 
 they could avoid it. 
 
 And so they intended; but our intentions are verv 
 often counteracted by almost invisible means. 
 
 Matilda returned home on the day she was expected, 
 so improved in her manners, so mild, so modest, so 
 graceful, so unassuming, and so beautiful in her person, 
 that it was impossible for the eye of prejudice to dis 
 cern a fault in her. And when her grandfather ran 
 out to meet her (for he had been on the look-out for her 
 an hour before she arrived at the Red House,) he led 
 her into the parlour with the following exclamation — 
 not the most delicate that could be imagined from the 
 
IHK HMlt -li's D.Ut.HTP.R. 663 
 
 sight of so lovely and graceful a creature ; but ele- 
 gance was not the forte of Peter Blust, so our fair 
 readers will excuse him — 
 
 " Shiver my topsails there be a bouncer, a proper 
 tight little frigate as ever a man would wish to see swim- 
 ming on the salt sea ocean ! talk of your lords and 
 your ladies 1 1 tell you Jess, its all a fudge, there's not 
 one of them that can carry such colours at their mast 
 head as my Matty, if they were to patch and to paint 
 till they could'nt see out of their eyes. There's lilies 
 and roses, all a growing and a growing, as the gardener 
 says, and as fresh as the blooming spring. Come 
 Matty, sit down and make yourself easy." 
 
 This long oration, which produced a hearty laugh 
 both from Mr. and Mrs. Russel, as well as Matilda 
 herself, was followed by a kiss of the roseate lips of 
 his lovely granddaughter, who could not help remind- 
 ing her grandfather that he was a little rough in his 
 embraces. 
 
 At which he smiled ; and a long dish of discourse 
 began, and many enquiries made by Matilda after 
 absent favourites and friends — next came her dumb 
 favourites — 
 
 " And pray mamma, how is my pretty robin," en- 
 quired the artless girl ; '* that Lord Orlando gave me, 
 such a long while ago; and how is Lord OrJando, 
 mamma? He is almost grown, I dare say, as much as 
 1 am." 
 
 " Yes, my dear, Lord Orlando is certainly grown," 
 cried Mrs. Russel ; " but pray why do you not en- 
 quire after Lady Montault and Lady Emmeline, as 
 »ve.l as Lord Oilando?" 
 
664 THK. KISHlill's JV-UJGHTKR. 
 
 " It vvas because, mamma, that I was only thinking 
 of Lord Orlando when I made the enquiry," uttered 
 Matilda without a moment's hesitation. 
 
 The fisher chuckled at something that exceedingly 
 amused him, and protested that Matty was a Joan 
 Blunt, and that it was better for her to speak the truth 
 and shame the devil, than all the fine compliments in 
 the world. 
 
 Jessy was aware that this was not a moment to im- 
 pose any command upon her daughter, in the presence 
 of her father, who would without ceremony have called 
 her to account for it; but she very shortly found a 
 seasonable opportunity, when they were both seated at 
 work in the summer house ; it was the second day after 
 her return home, and she exclaimed — 
 
 " Pray mamma, when are you going to pay a visit 
 at Violet Vale?" 
 
 " Not shortly ; and when I do go it is very likely 
 that I may not take you with me," cried Mrs. Russel 
 with the utmost composure. 
 
 The work, about which Matilda was employed, very 
 nearly escaped from her hand ; and sne reddened 
 like the hues of roseate morning, while timidly she 
 uttered — 
 
 " Why, mamma ? You always did take me with 
 you to Violet Vale ; and why cannot I go now that I 
 am so much older ? I shall be a better playfellow for 
 Lord Orlando now, than I was then." 
 
 " That is the very reason," cried Mrs. Russel, as- 
 suming an air of considerable gravity ; *' because you 
 are so much older than when you formerly visited at 
 Violet Vale, that I am averse to your going there. 
 
thb fisher's daughter. 6Ga 
 
 You are getting too old Matilda, to be a playfellow for 
 a voung gentleman j besides, Lord Orlando is not 
 irour equal, and for these reasons I forbid you to use 
 \ny familiarity with him. Lady Montault would be 
 exceedingly displeased with me if I permitted you, 
 while her opinion of you would not be flattering either 
 .o your pride or your vanity. I must not have a 
 daughter of mine thought lightly of, by the most valu- 
 able friend 1 have in existence ; neither would I by 
 my worst enemy ; I would have you retain the good 
 opinion both of friends and foes, and you cannot do 
 that if you act improperly. There is nothing in na- 
 ture so disgusting as a bold forward girl ; 1 do not say 
 that you are one, Heaven forbid ! but you would 
 soon be considered so, were you to romp with Lord 
 Orlando." 
 
 Before the conclusion of her mother's speech, Ma- 
 tilda's tears had flowed copiously ; unconscious of hav- 
 ing acted with any degree of impropriety, and just old 
 enough to know that what her mother had told ber 
 was perfectly correct, her pride and her vanity (of 
 which it was impossible for so beautiful a creature to 
 be without some share) were both severely mortified. 
 She wept abundantly, and declared that she would 
 never speak to Lord Orlando more, no nor to Lad) 
 Montault, if she was so much the object of hei 
 aversion. 
 
 Jessy assured her that she was not so. 
 
 M Then why did she persuade you to take away all 
 my pretty books, mamma? ' The Fatal Promise/ and 
 4 The Rash Vow,' and 'Youthful Indiscretions,' and 
 ' The Elopement,' and 'The Misfortunes of Lousia Dud- 
 
 c 28 A r 
 
066 the fisher's daughter. 
 
 ley/ and all those delightfully pathetic, tender, and 
 interesting tales ?" 
 
 There was a naivete in Matilda's manner when she 
 uttered these words, marked with such genuine sim- 
 plicity that it was morally impossible for her mother 
 either to be angry with her or to resist laughing at 
 her ; yet again looking with serious gravity, Mrs. Rus- 
 sel replied — 
 
 " My dear, the books you selected from Adams's 
 circulating library were not proper for a girl of your 
 age, nor do I think them either useful or entertaining 
 at any time of life. They are the very worst descrip- 
 tion of novels, because the colours are false, my love, 
 and give you improper notions of a world upon which 
 you ought to enter with very different impressions; 
 they lead both the heart and the judgment astray, and 
 picture man and womankind either too grossly or too 
 warmly flattering. Friendship is there depicted, wild 
 enthusiasm — and love, passion. My dear, I have my- 
 self an utter detestation of all such inflammatory pro- 
 ductions, and so has Lady Montault for the self-same 
 reason — because they are a false representation of 
 nature, sensibility, and feeling, and are a compound 
 of weakness and affectation, to give the mildest 
 term that is possible to such farragos of nonsense. 
 Besides, my dearest love, I have still a more potent 
 reason and a stronger motive than even those 1 have 
 just stated to you, for my invincible dislike to works 
 of this description : — you have often heard me men- 
 tion an only and beloved sister, who died in the full 
 bloom of youth and beauty, your aunt Olive. 
 
 "Yes, mamma/' uttered Matilda; "she whom 
 
the fisher's daughter. 667 
 
 every body say* I so much resemble. Lady Montuult 
 atid Mr. Alfred say I am the very picture of her— and 
 — and — and — she was very handsome, was not she, 
 mamma?" 
 
 " And very unfortunate ; — bear that in your me- 
 mory," cried Mrs. Russel, without immediately reply- 
 ing to her daughter's question, and wishing to repress 
 her vanity instead of blowing it into a flame ; " and 
 remember that her misfortunes (of which I shall, when 
 you are of a proper age, inform you more perfectly) 
 were the fruits of her indiscretion ! Beauty is a fading 
 and perishable flower, my Matilda, if not guarded by 
 prudence and virtue. You have heard me say that 
 this sister was the idol of my heart; she was my only 
 one, and I loved her with the fondest and the truest 
 affection! She had faults, but I always tried to hide 
 rather than expose them to the observation of the 
 world, or the severity of my father. She had passions 
 of the most violent and ungovernable kind ; and in- 
 stead of tempering them with moderation, she added 
 to their fury by yielding to the excessive indulgence of 
 them ! They were the cause of her downfall. She 
 had no taste for reading, except for the productions I 
 have described ; a beautiful heroine in distress, or a 
 tragical history of sentimental sorrow, alone suited her 
 taste, and was the criterion by which she judged of 
 the merit of a book. She would read no other than 
 those which gave her a false impression of the passions 
 of human nature. What she wished, she too credu- 
 lously believed, and of course became the easy prey of 
 art and duplicity. She fancied herself the heroine of 
 her favourite romance — as lovely, and as unfortunate 
 
(568 the fisher's daughter, 
 
 She oved too! but ah, my Matilda ! in that love she 
 was treacherously and cruelly betrayed, and fell a sacri- 
 fice to those erroneous principles she had imbibed from 
 the illusory description of mankind, portrayed by the 
 writers of her favourite works. Thus she perished — 
 the sweetest and the fairest flower that ever opened 
 its fragrance to greet the orient morning. Can you 
 now wonder, my dearest child, that I forbid you to de- 
 vote your hours, which may be more usefully employed, 
 to reading books of this dangerous description." 
 
 " No indeed, mamma," answered Matilda, who had 
 most attentively listened to her mother's discourse ; 
 " and I will never read another again out of Adams's 
 circulating library as long as I live. I would sooner 
 throw them into the fire, after what you have related 
 to me about my poor aunt Olive; but may I read 
 poetry, mamma? it is very pretty. 
 
 " Yes, my love, the works of such authors as reflect 
 credit on their compositions," replied Mrs. Russel ; 
 " poetic talent is a very fine one ; and some both sub- 
 jime and beautiful works owe their origin to poetic 
 genius ; Milton, Thomson, Goldsmith, and Gray, are 
 those which I most admire and approve of. J will 
 stock you with a library of these useful and elegant 
 productions, to which you can resort whenever fancy 
 or inclination lead you : in this I have no wish to re- 
 strain yon, my love; for it will be the pride of my 
 heart, i am fond of works of literature, to which we 
 are indebted for the expansion of the mind, and every 
 noble and liberal feeling that humanity displays, with- 
 out which we should be on a level with senseless brutes 
 and savages," 
 
thk fishkk's daughter. 669 
 
 Matilda expressed herself delighted at the thoughts 
 of being stocked with a library which she could call 
 her own, and that she was permitted to indulge in one 
 of her favourite propensities — the love of poetry; pro- 
 ducing from her pocket book at the same moment, 
 and handing over to her mother, some beautiful lines 
 which she had transcribed from a bard of inspired 
 genius and literary fame, and which, while reading to 
 her preceptress, had particularly delighted her glowing 
 and romantic fancy ; the highly pleased and gratified 
 mother perused them with the greatest attention. 
 
 " I was encompass' d by a thousand stones, 
 The proud sepulchre and the humble tomb ; 
 
 On earth lay scatter'd human skulls and bones, 
 
 Plough'd by the sexton's arm from earth's clay'd womb. 
 
 He seem'd a harden'd soul — 'prenticed in trade, 
 Amid death's desolatiou — smiling in his toil ; 
 
 Laughing as he moved the axe and spade, 
 Which seem'd the very children of the soil. 
 
 My heart felt sick, I turn'd away mine eye 
 
 From the chill sight — a blank came o'er my mind 
 
 I said, * Here titles, honour, power, lie,* 
 
 I felt the nothingness that shrouds mankind. 
 
 Where are the laurels round the warrior's brow? 
 
 Where are the garlands round the poet's head ? 
 Which in their summer time did proudly blow, 
 
 Till Winter cast them on bis icy bed. 
 
 Where is the blazonry which graced the shield ? 
 
 Where is the pride of birth, the banners hun$ 
 Amnnd his hall who now to death roust yield? 
 
 Where is the v,,ice which once his glory sun?;? 
 

 6/0 . THfc. FJSHER f S DAUGHTKk. 
 
 And where is he, who held an empire's sway, 
 
 Whose wide ambition grasp'd from pole to pol^—» 
 
 Who couquer'd men, aud millions swept away— 
 Who Heaven forgot, aud earthly thought his soul? 
 
 Beneath some carve;! monument he lies, 
 By all forgotten — and uuseeu by all — 
 
 Save one who dwells amid the starry skies — 
 The awful Judge ! the King '. the Lord of all ! 
 
 i iaw a little grave with humble stone — 
 
 I saw the red-breast many flowers bringing— 
 
 I heard her warble in a mournful tone 
 
 Dirging with angels who above were singing. 
 
 A mournful cypress round the spot was growiug, 
 Whose venerable truuk look'd grey with years j 
 
 An unseen sun had kept it ever blowing, 
 
 And dews and showers mingling form'd its tears. 
 
 There was no epitaph on him below : 
 
 What poet's tongue could all his virtues speak ! 
 
 God needs no herald of our worth to shew ; 
 To tell it mortals would be vain and weak. 
 
 Another grave I met o'ergrown with weeds 
 And nettles — with a huge enclosure round, 
 
 The stone's bold face blazed forth a string of deeds ; 
 And all that man could build, preserved the ground. 
 
 Vain was the task, the mouldering work seem'd falling, 
 The treach'rous damp had just euclosed the stones; 
 
 Around the spot a race of worms were crawling, 
 And birds triumphant hover'd o'er the bones 
 
 That lay beneath— and then I said and sigh'd, 
 * The rich, the poor, the peasant, aud the king, 
 
 Here mix their dust, reposing side by side, 
 
 Brought by death's hand tu one poor levelling.' " 
 
 Scarce had Mrs. Russel concluded this beautifully 
 reflective and elegant poem, which she extolled most 
 
THE FISHER'S DAUGHTER. 67' 
 
 highly, than they heard the rattling of carriage wheels 
 through the gateway; and a domestic immediately 
 came running into the summer house, to announce to 
 her mistress the name of Lady Montault. 
 
 tc O ! my gracious, mamma! and we are neither of 
 us yet dressed. I wonder if her ladyship is quite— 
 quite alone; perhaps she has brought Lady Emmeline 
 with her — and — and — perhaps — " Matilda made a 
 full stop and blushed deeply, at an expressive glance 
 of her mother's soft azure eye ; while she most adroitly 
 turned off the sentence she was going to utter by 
 saying, — " Perhaps, mamma, you will let me pull my 
 hair out of paper, and put on my white frock with the 
 lace tucker, before F go into the parlour." 
 
 This permission being granted, Matilda flew up to 
 her dressing room to change her attire, while Mrs. 
 Russel flew in another direction to receive the visit of 
 her beloved friend, who was just descending from her 
 carriage, followed by Lady Emmeline and Lord Orlando 
 who held in his hand a small basket of most delicious 
 fruit, consisting of pineapples, pe-aches, and nectarines, 
 fresh gathered by the gardener, before the sun had 
 arisen that morning ; and his young sister had a beau- 
 tiful nosegay of flowers which emitted the most charm- 
 ing fragrance as they went along the hall that led to 
 the staircase. Both the fruit and the flowers were 
 intended by the young people as gift offerings to Mrs. 
 Russel, with the entire approbation of Lady Montault; 
 but Lord Orlando had certainly slipped a fine peach 
 slyiy into a corner of his pocket, and tied a sprig of 
 myrtle and a >-«sp neatly together before he came 
 
6/2 THE FISHKR's DAUGHTER. 
 
 away ; which being done in the presence of his sister, 
 she archly exclaimed— 
 
 " Orlando, wont you take a flower out of my posey ? 
 They are much finer than yours ; come take this pretty 
 rose, for I know who you design it for, though you 
 have been so sly about it." 
 
 Not deeper was the rose in Lady Emmeline's deli- 
 cate little white hand, than the colour which now tinted 
 the cheek of her brother. 
 
 li But you wont tell, Emmeline, will you ?" uttered 
 he, patting her fair cheek in a coaxing accent. 
 
 " Who, me brother?" cried the sweet little crea- 
 ture; "not I indeed — I should be ashamed of telling 
 tales out of school. My governess told me that was 
 very wrong, and I would not besides do any thing, 
 Cor all the world, to offend my dear Orlando." 
 
 " Nor would [ offend you, Emmeline, I am sure," 
 cried Lord Orlando, clasping his sister round the neck 
 and imprinting on her roseate lips a kiss of affection. 
 " Not that I am at all ashamed of presenting this little 
 nosegay to Miss Russel ; for if the flowers were twenty 
 times more beautiful I should think her worthy of the 
 
 gift." 
 
 " To be sure she is, brother," answered Lady Em- 
 meline ; " she is so good tempered, is not she ?" 
 
 11 And so beautiful, too, Emmeline," exclaimed 
 Lord Orlando, his eyes sparkling with the most joyous 
 expression, while extolling the charms of his young 
 favourite; u 1 never saw any girl half so handsome as 
 Matilda Russel." 
 
 " Nor I neither, brotbev," cried Lady Emmeline. 
 
the fisher's DAUGHTBh. 673 
 
 " But' governess says that beauty is a very dangerous 
 thing, and very mischievous too ; but how can that be, 
 Orlando ? I am sure it is a very pretty thing. But it 
 would not have been right to have contradicted my 
 governess, you know ; so I let her have her own way, 
 and said nothing at all about it." 
 
 At this moment, Lady Montault appeared, the car- 
 riage drew up to the door, and very shortly after they 
 proceeded in it to the residence of Mr. and Mrs. Rus- 
 sel. Her ladyship received the warmest welcome. 
 The basket of fruit and the nosegay of flowers were 
 then respectfully presented by the brother and sister, 
 with which Mrs. Russel was highly gratified. 
 
 ee I assure you, my dear friend,'' uttered her lady- 
 ship, u my children were dying with anxiety to bring 
 you some little token of their respect. In fruit and 
 flowers we abound, so I set the gardener to work this 
 morning, to gather some of the finest he could select, 
 and both Orlando and Emmeline were delighted with 
 being the bearers of it. But pray where is your Ma- 
 tilda ? taking a ride with grandfather I suppose, as 
 usual. O, Jessy, Jessy ! how these grandpapas do 
 spoil our children." 
 
 Mrs. Russel smiled, and Lord Orlando, whose eyes 
 nad been continually straying towards the door ever 
 nee he came in, looked perfectly chagrined and dis- 
 appointed by loosing His chance of seeing his favourite 
 a second time ; but he was most agreeably surprised 
 when her mother said — 
 
 *' Matilda will be here in a few minutes, to pay bet 
 respects to yon, Lady Montault." 
 
 At that moment she entered, making a modest and 
 a 29 4 o 
 
674 the fisher's daughter. 
 
 graceful curtsey and looking so enchantmgly lovely, that 
 it was impossible for her not to meet the admirim* 
 eyes which all fixed upon her; she blushed deeply 
 when Lord Orlando arose and gave her his chair, tak- 
 ing another close beside her. 
 
 (l Good heavens ! how much your daughter is 
 grown!" exclaimed Lady Montault j "why Matilc'a, 
 vou will very soon overtop your mother." 
 
 The sweet girl replied — 
 
 " To imitate my mother, your ladyship, will be the 
 proudest aim of my ambition." 
 
 The sweet little Emmeliue drew closely to the side 
 of her brother's favourite ; but Orlando was far more 
 shy, and addressed but few sentences to her during 
 the whole of his visit; the cause of which no one 
 could guess at, not even Matilda herself. But Lady 
 Montault going out of the room for a few moments 
 with Mrs. Russel, he approached her with — 
 
 " Dear Matilda, how I rejoice to see you once again, 
 and looking so delightfully well." 
 
 tf I am very well I thank you, my lord," uttered 
 Matilda with so cold and distant a curtsey, thai 
 Lord Orlando was perfectly petrified with her changed 
 manner towards him ; and deeply hurt, retired to his 
 seat, struck dumb with astonishment. In the mean 
 while, Emmeliue feeling most acutely for her brother's 
 mortification, and wishing to palliate matters as 
 much as possible, exclaimed with a look of ineffable 
 sweetness — 
 
 " Orlando, you have got something in your pocket 
 for Miss Russel, hy don't you give it to her?" 
 
 " Perhaps, Elm incline, Miss Russel will not con- 
 
the fisher's waughteh. (ijh 
 
 descend to accept of any tiling I have to offet her," 
 cried Lord Orlando, presenting Matilda at the same 
 instant with the peach and the little posey of flow- 
 ers, which was peremptorily though modestly de- 
 clined, to the still deeper chagrin of poor Orlando and 
 the regret of his sister. But Matilda tempered her 
 refusal with an apology of so much sweetness and art- 
 Icssness, that it was impossible to feel angry with her 
 even for a moment, when she exclaimed to her young 
 playmate — 
 
 " Indeed, my lord, believe me that I do not willingly 
 refuse your gift; but my mother, sir, must supersede 
 every wish of mine, when she thinks that it is impro- 
 per ; and she would not permit me to accept of any 
 young gentleman's presents without her knowledge. 
 You will therefore pardon my seeming indifference to 
 any gift of your lordship's, when not sanctioned by my 
 mother's approbation." 
 
 Orlando, now as much charmed by her frank- 
 ness, as he was before hurt by her coldness towards 
 him, easily perceived that it was not Matilda herself, 
 but her mother who had desired her to assume it, 
 but he could not tell why. And poor little Emmeline 
 was left totally in the dark, unable to imagine the 
 cause of such a change in the manners of their former 
 agreeable playmate. 
 
 But the entrance of Lady Montault very soon put a 
 stop to all further conversation between the young 
 folks, and the visit now speedily terminated. 
 
 No sooner was her ladyship's carriage gone from 
 the door, than Matilda informed her mother of having 
 
676 the fisher's daughter. 
 
 declined to accept of the peach and the flowers from 
 Lord Orlando, which met with the warmest approval. 
 
 " Be ever thus frank and ingenuous towards your 
 mother, my dearest child," cried Mrs. Russel ; " and 
 you will ever ensure the smiles of approving con- 
 science, and the affection and respect of all your 
 friends. I do not say that you have any right to offend 
 Lord Orlando, nor is it pleasing to me that you should 
 decline his little presents offered to you in courtesey ; 
 but I have the strongest reasons for your preserving a 
 certain distance and decorum towards one so mnch 
 above you in exalted rank. Respect yourself, and he 
 will respect you." 
 
 On the arrival of Lady Montault at Violet Vale, she 
 found a sealed packet from her friends in Denmark, 
 in which was an epistle couched in the most respect- 
 ful and affectionate terms, from Fauchette, and con- 
 tained the following intelligence : — 
 
 " Dear Lady Montault, 
 
 " What a delightful task my mother always assigns 
 me, that of becoming her amanuensis to you. She 
 desires me to assure you that it will not now be many 
 months before she has the pleasure of embracing you 
 in England. My aunt has consented to accompany us, 
 if we will only go to Venice once more, to arrange some 
 business she has there to settle at the court, and she 
 will then pursue her route to England under our 
 banners. 
 
 " O, Lady Montault, how I do long impatiently for 
 that period to be over. I am counting every day and 
 every hour. 
 
THE FISHER'S DAUGHTER. <>77 
 
 fi Mamma has been presented with a most beautiful 
 marble monument, which is to be placed over the 
 tomb of our beloved Amelia, from the academy of arts 
 and sciences, by the Abbe Leo Roch, whose youngest 
 son was most passionately attached to her. The fol- 
 lowing lines are to be written under it in compliment 
 to the memory of my blessed sister. Mamma has 
 sent them for your perusal. 
 
 To the Memory of Amelia Dor Hortensia. 
 
 " We weep 110 more— for every eye intent 
 
 Gazed upon her who lay in death so fair ; 
 They fear'd no more ! for as they o'er her bent 
 
 Terror was render'd certain by despair.' 
 She sauk and perish'd like the flame's bright ray j 
 
 That unextinguished blazes to the last, 
 That droops in brightness, and that wastes away, 
 
 Each following glimmer weaker than the past.) 
 
 She was not pale — but whiter than the snows 
 
 That fall uuwafted on the verdant hill, 
 She seem'd to rest as weary in repose, 
 
 And sleep appeared to fan her eyelids still. 
 But all, alas ! was o'er — the parting breath — 
 
 That swept away the soul's expressive trace ; 
 And this the foolish of the world call death, 
 
 But it was death most lovely in her face." 
 
 " You have given us a most charming description of 
 the Fisher's Daughter, and from your account of her 
 beauty we are all longing to see her! But, dear Lady 
 Montault, why do you anticipate evil from the charms 
 of this bewitching girl ? Mamma is really inclined to 
 be half angry with you for cherishing such a thought. 
 
 " Lord Orlando is surely yet too young to have his 
 
(yJS the fisher's daughtkh. 
 
 passions awakened by the power of love, and Matilda, 
 as you call her, too innocent to wish to inspire it. 
 
 "■ They are merely the loves of children, — not as 
 ' Moore's Loves of the Angels.' This is one of your 
 English authors, with whose beautiful and animated 
 productions I am daily charmed. 
 
 " My aunt is longing to embrace you, and my mo- 
 ther and I equally fervent in our devotions. Pray kiss 
 dear little Emmeline for us all ; and to Lord Orlando 
 I send precisely one dozen on his blooming cheek. 1 
 am sorry to hear that my little waiting maid Beda is 
 so ill. 
 
 " I will remember the Madona you wish us *o pur- 
 chase for his Grace. The price is enormous ; but the 
 painting is exquisite, and much in the style of Corrigio. 
 
 " Farewell, most beloved lady! you will live in my 
 thoughts till we meet again, not shortly to be dis- 
 united. 
 
 Vours unalterab 
 Fauchette Dor Hortetwa." 
 
THK HISHEU's DAUGHTER. (>79 
 
 
 CHAPTER XXVI! 1. 
 
 " Farewell ! if ever fondest prayer 
 For others weal availed on high, 
 Mine will not all be lost on air, 
 But waft thy name beyond the sky. 
 'Twere vain to speak, to weep, to sigh : 
 
 ! more than tears of blood can tell, 
 When wrung from guilt's expiring eye, 
 Are in that uord, farewell ! farewell ! 
 These lips are mute, these eyes are dry ; 
 But in my breast and in my brain 
 Awake the pangs that pass not by, 
 
 The thought that ne'er shall sleep again. 
 My soul, nor deigns, nor dares complain, 
 Though grief and passion there rebel ; 
 
 1 only know J loved in vain, 
 
 I only feel — farewell ! farewell !" Lokd Fyron. 
 
 The perusal of Fauchette's letter, and the agreeable 
 intelligence that it conveyed, afforded the utmost pos- 
 sible satisfaction to Lady Montault; for there was 
 now some certainty of beholding her beloved friends 
 in England ; in short, though Jessy was the dearest 
 friend in existence, yet she languished again to behold 
 the Marchese and her accomplished sister, the Ba- 
 roness of Walbergh j the latter of whom her heart 
 
680 THE FISHER S DAUGHTER, 
 
 yearned towards with a feeling almost undefinable, with 
 a tender and melancholy association of ideas, which 
 often moistened her lovely eyes with the tear of sen- 
 sibility, and drew forth a sigh of sympathy uncon- 
 sciously from her too sensitive bosom, at the reflec- 
 tion of having only known an amiable and accom- 
 plished mother, to lament the loss of as amiable a son. 
 The state of widowhood, seldom enviable, where con- 
 nubial happiness has never been embittered by a tear, 
 was still less so to Lady Montault, who so passionately 
 and fondly adored her lord ; and with whom she had 
 lived in the most perfect amity and love — to her there- 
 fore the death of a husband was the most insupport- 
 able of all human feelings ; in the very full bloom 
 of youth and beauty, she was now consigned to a state 
 of solitary existence; and but for her two lovely chil- 
 dren, and the attention of a kind indulgent father, she 
 would have sunk into a deep and profound abstracted 
 melancholy not easily to have been removed. But 
 these tender pledges of the most chaste and honour- 
 able affection proved a stimulus to arouse her into 
 action ; and for a length of time she devoted herself 
 to the care and education of her children, and secluded 
 herself from all society, except the domestic circle of 
 her own fireside. But after the second year of her 
 widowhood, the rank she held in society made it abso- 
 lutely necessary that she should appear in public. 
 Lord Orlando was now under the care of masters ex- 
 clusively engaged to superintend his education, and 
 with that Lady Montault had little to do, being under 
 the sole direction of her father, as expressed by the 
 wishes of Lord Montague in his last moments; and 
 
the fisher's Daughter. G81 
 
 Lady Emmeline was yet too ,>oung and too delicate 
 n her health (partak'ng much of the constitution o, 
 her father) to be so eany confined to study, and al 
 that she did require at so tender an age, was taught 
 her by Lady Montault, who was too passionately fond 
 of her to remove her from her sight. Her uncommon 
 likeness to Lord Montague, and several affecting cir- 
 cumstances which attended the birth of this little deli- 
 cate flower, had made her an object of the tenderest 
 solicitude to her fond mother; but when she recover- 
 ed from the sickly habit which had so alarmingly pre- 
 sented itself in her infancy, Lady Montault had every 
 hope of rearing her to the age of maturity, and con- 
 sequently engaged a most respectable and accom- 
 plished woman, the widow of a clergyman, in the 
 capacity of a governess, who had been strongly re- 
 commended to her, to take charge of her youthful 
 daughter during the hours that she wished her to be 
 employed in study, and to instruct her in all the 
 branches of female education. Mrs. Maitland very 
 soon became acquainted with the capacity and the 
 disposition of her young and delicate pupil, and en- 
 deared herself to her by the most unremitting at- 
 tentions. 
 
 At first, Lady Emmeline was so shy and timid in 
 displaying any talent that she possessed, as scarce to 
 give the slightest promise that she would ever do 
 credit to the exertions made by her excellent precep- 
 tress ; but, by almost imperceptible degrees, she at 
 length became emulous to deserve the approbation of 
 her governess, who apf fauded and encouraged the most 
 £29 4 r 
 
(382 the fisher's daughter. 
 
 trifling specimen of her taste, shewing where it was 
 defective still, with the most gentle method, and re- 
 proving where actual negligence was the cause. Lady 
 Emmeline, grateful for the tender forbearance that her 
 kind preceptress evinced towards her, endeavoured by 
 the most unremitting assiduity to repair her faults ; 
 and what was once labour very soon became pleasure 
 to the young pupil, who, thus encouraged by her kind 
 preceptress, gave hourly promise of a most elegant and 
 refined taste, with a most delicate and enlightened mind. 
 In person, Lady Emmeline was formed with the nicest 
 symmetry, with the same fine shaped hand and arm as 
 her mother ; but in her features, complexion, and hair, 
 she resembled her father, being of the most transpa- 
 rent fairness and delicacy ; she had also the same ex- 
 pression and contour of countenance, which was an 
 exact Madona with large blue eyes j and if there was 
 any thing wanting of beauty in so sweet a face, it was 
 the pallid hue which so frequently pervaded it, — and 
 then she was so pale, that she resembled marble ; a 
 rose tint seldom mantled there, except when unusual 
 exercise called it forth, or a quick and lively blush 
 suddenly suffused her fair angelic countenance. Such 
 was the person of Lady Emmeline Montault, and her 
 mind, disposition, and manners, bore a correspondent 
 part ; she was so gentle and unassuming in conver- 
 sation, that no one would have imagined her claim to 
 talents had been so considerable, for she never be- 
 trayed it by any personal vanity or assumption over 
 her inferiors; she was therefore the idol of all who 
 were admitted to her society. Her love for her brother 
 
the fisher's daughter. 683 
 
 was her distinguishing trait, nor was it to be wonder- 
 ed at, when that brother from the earliest infancy had 
 been taught to look upon her with the most fond and 
 endearing affection ; and from the extreme delieaey of 
 her health, and the patient sweetness with which she 
 bore all her little ailments, Orlando, after the death of 
 his father, and when his little sister began to shew 
 some symptoms of amendment, and grew into strength 
 and opening beauty, perfectly adored her. Thus one 
 of the strongest attachments that was ever formed, sub- 
 sisted between these two kindred beings ; and they 
 might well have been compared to twin roses upon 
 one stalk ; so united were they by tender affection, 
 that though they might be torn asunder, they never 
 could be divided in heart. 
 
 The natal day of the infant daughter of Lord and 
 Lady Winstone, being about to be celebrated with the 
 usual rejoicings on such occasions, a most pressing in- 
 vitation was sent to Lady Montault and the DuUe of 
 Braganza, and also to the Marquis and Marchionsu, of 
 Montault, to add to the select party, which consisted 
 of numerous personages of rank and fashion. 
 
 It was the first time that Lady Montault had dress- 
 ed for a public party since the death of Lord Mon- 
 tague, for whom she had worn the deepest habiliments 
 of mourning for upwards of two years ; and though 
 she had looked lovelier in her widow's weeds than 
 other women with the splendour of every decoration 
 that could adorn or beautify their persons, yet the 
 Marchioness, who was at Violet Vale when Lady Win- 
 stone's card of invitation arrived, protested that it was 
 
681 the fisher's daughter, 
 
 highly ridiculous, nay absolutely preposterous, for her 
 to wear black on such an occasion. 
 
 " For in the first place you know, child," uttered 
 her ladyship, " it can do poor Montague no good, 
 and you a great deal of harm, to appear in any thing 
 like the shape of a widow on so gay and splendid an 
 occasion ; for on the one hand you will be accused of 
 affectation, and on the other it will be no advantage to 
 your person. You have worn a widow's cap long 
 enough, pray don't make yourself a laughing stock to 
 all Lady Winstone's fashionable acquaintance." 
 
 There was not only much rudeness, but much 
 brutality contained in this sarcastic speech of her 
 ladyship's, which at an earlier period of her domestic 
 calamity would have deeply wounded the feelings of 
 Agatha ; but conscious that she little merited the ac- 
 cusation of mourning for her husband only by exter- 
 nal appearances, or from a wish to make the world 
 imagine that she was more than a woman in her 
 widow's grief, she suffered it to pass unnoticed, more 
 especially because this speech had been addressed to 
 her in the presence of her children. Agatha could 
 have retorted most severely on her mother-in-law if she 
 had pleased, by hinting how little store she set by the 
 excellent husband she had now living, and the proba- 
 bility that if he was suddenly snatched away from her, 
 she would not very deeply regret or trouble herself 
 about the weeds she should wear for his sake ; well 
 convinced they would not be worn by her long, and 
 that her grief would not be of the most inconsolable 
 kind. 
 
the fisher's daughter. 685 
 
 "Are the children going?" enquired her ladyship, 
 with an air of the most provoking nonchalencc, and as 
 if it was a matter of the most perfect indifference to 
 her whether they were invited or not ; " I think I heard 
 Lavinia say something about it." 
 
 " Yes, indeed grandmamma, we are going," cried 
 Lady Emmeline; " and we are so delighted you can- 
 riot conceive, because dear mamma will be with us — 
 and she will go into the nursery and let me see my 
 little cousin, Lady Harriet; for do you know that aunt 
 Winstone says that nobody must go into the nursery 
 to see the baby, because they will frighten it ; but do 
 you think, grandmamma, that brother or I would do 
 any thing to hurt it? O ! no, indeed 1 would sooner 
 harm myself. Would not you, Orlando ?" 
 
 There was so much beauty in the mild angelic coun- 
 tenance of this sweet little creature, when she uttered 
 these words, that it was morally impossible not to love 
 her for the affectionate disposition that she displayed. 
 Still her grandson was a much greater favourite with 
 the Marchioness than the granddaughter, because she 
 thought that her mother and the Duke spoiled her,and 
 indulged her far more than they did Orlando, and she 
 exclaimed — 
 
 " Your aunt Winstone is perfectly right in not per- 
 mitting the child to be made a plaything of by every 
 body that chooses to pull it about ; and you are a very 
 bad nurse, Emmeline, and have not strength to be 
 carrying an infant in your arms all day long when you 
 are at Winstone Park. I was quite ashamed to see 
 your frock torn the other day with romping in trie 
 nursery." 
 
686 the fisher's daughter. 
 
 So unexcepted an attack from grandmamma in- 
 stantly brought tears into the eyes of the little gentle 
 Emmeline; and at this moment Lady Montault, who 
 had been absent only a few moments on domestic 
 business, entered the room, and looking at Lord 
 Orlando, enquired what was the matter with his sister. 
 
 To which he replied most indignantly — 
 
 " Something that grandmamma has been saying to 
 Emmeline has made her very uneasy; it is not me, 
 mother, who is the cause of it. You know I would 
 not occasion my sister to shed a tear to be made an 
 emperor of." 
 
 Lady Montault coloured deeply ; but still com- 
 manded her feelings so far as to subdue her resent- 
 ment againt this proud, haughty, and rebellious wo- 
 man, bidding Lady Emmeline, in the most soothing 
 accent that was possible, retire for a few moments 
 and compose herself. 
 
 " But you are not angry with me mamma, are you ?" 
 cried the sobbing Emmeline. 
 
 "Angry my love!" retorted Lady Montault; "I 
 am as yet ignorant of the offence you have commit- 
 ted, and till I know that, I am certainly not going to 
 chide you ; retire my dear, when I desire you, and seek 
 no further explanation." 
 
 Emmeline, glad to escape from further unmerited 
 severity, instantly left the room, and was immediately 
 followed by Lord Orlando, who endeavoured by every 
 means in his power to tranquillize the pained feelings 
 of his sister. 
 
 No sooner was Lady Montault left alone with her 
 mother-in-law, than she mildly demanded to know in 
 
the fisher's daughter. G87 
 
 what her daughter had offended her, to which her lady- 
 ship haughtily replied — 
 
 " I protest J hardly know what I said to her — some- 
 thing about tearing her frock in the nursery at Win- 
 stone Park, I believe ; but you see what a little cross 
 grained toad it is, you cannot say a word to her with- 
 out her piping her eye, and all about the merest trifles 
 imaginable; she is a dreadful temper, Orlando is worth 
 fifty of her." 
 
 A pause ensued; but so painful was the restraint 
 which, only a moment before, Lady Montault had 
 imposed upon her feelings, that she felt it would be 
 injustice to herself as well as to her beloved child 
 any longer to remain silent ; and she exclaimed— 
 
 " I am perfectly astonished that your ladyship can 
 discern an imperfection in Emmeline, which, from the 
 earliest moment of her life to the present period, no 
 one human being has ever discovered ; she possesses 
 a temper which I think one of the sweetest and most 
 pliant imaginable. But in the supposition that she 
 had, your ladyship ought in common humanity to 
 make allowance for a dear little suffering creature who 
 so strongly resembles her poor father in delicacy of 
 constitution, that till within this last six months she 
 has never known what it is to have two days' health ; 
 yet I never heard her complain, or evince the least sign 
 of impatience, in the extremity of pain which she en- 
 dured without intermission for successive weeks, in 
 which she must have suffered most acutely. Her 
 patience filled the attendants who waited on her witt, 
 wonder and amazement, and perfectly astonished me ; 
 
C88 the fisher's daughteh. 
 
 for I must confess I could not have borne it with equal 
 fortitude and resignation, ik-sides, there are other 
 motives which induce me to be particularly tender 
 and gentle with my poor little girl, and to indulge her 
 more than mothers generally do, in all her little whims 
 and propensities ; and which methinks your ladyship 
 should be the last personage to condemn me for. 
 Need I say what that motive is ? — look in that child's 
 face, and tell me whose features and whose countenance 
 she resembles ! — her father — her dear beloved and ever 
 to be lamented father !" No louger able to control 
 her feelings, which were now tenderly associated with 
 the memory of Lord Montague, Lady Montault burst 
 into an agony of tears, to the utter confusion of the 
 Marchioness, who, (conscience struck at her harshness 
 to the poor little innocent, who had scarcely seen the 
 light before she was destined to be deprived of her 
 father, and that father a son whom she had so passion- 
 ately loved,) began to assume an air of the deepest 
 contritiou towards Agatha, protesting that she had not 
 the slightest intention of affecting her feelings so deeply, 
 or of offending little Emmelinej and hoped she would 
 think no more of it. 
 
 " And I positively will not leave you, my love," 
 wheedled out she, " till I have made my peace both 
 with you and Emmeline; but lord ! you know, Aggy, 
 that I am a strange whimsical creature, and often say 
 a number of rude uncivil things, without having any 
 
 tention of offending. Come, you must forgive me, 
 
 d so must little Emmy." 
 
 " If 9 as y our ladyshiji has just asserted," uttered 
 
thk fisher's DAUGHTER. C89 
 
 Agutha, (placing as strong an emphasis on the word if 
 as she possibly could,) " you had no such intention, I 
 most willingly accept your apology, and beg you will 
 not say another word on the subject, much less con- 
 descend to ask either my forgiveness or that of your 
 granddaughter. I can forgive any thing, as far as re- 
 lates to myself; but I own I am tenacious of any se- 
 verity shewn to my children, whom 1 love as dearly 
 as my own existence; and because they have no 
 father to protect them, I feel that they have then a 
 double claim on my affection, and I have a double 
 right in defending them." 
 
 The Marchioness had till this moment only assumed 
 contrition, but at the conclusion of Agatha's affecting 
 speech she actually felt it — and betrayed symptoms of 
 unaffected sensibility, declaring that the offspring of 
 her dear Montague would always be to her objects of 
 the strongest affection. She then begged that Lady 
 Emmeiine might be called to her; and the moment 
 she appeared they became reconciled to each other. 
 We believe that ever afterwards the grandmother and 
 the granddaughter were upon the most amicable foot- 
 ing; certainly the Marchioness made it an essential 
 point never to find fault with her again in the hearing 
 of Lady Montault or Lord Orlando, who never forgot 
 the severity of the Marchioness to his beloved sister 
 about the torn frock at Winstone Park, and the man- 
 ner in which Lady Emmeline had resented it; for 
 though we are bound to forgive we are not to forget 
 in the same sort of wayj forgetting and forgiving are 
 two different things. 
 
 Hitherto the lovely widow had lived so retired and 
 c29 4 s 
 
G90 this fisher's daughter. 
 
 domesticated, that scarce any but her own relatives 
 and the fisher's family had easy access to Violet Vale, 
 she had always been averse to gay company in her 
 husband's time, because he disliked fashionable asso- 
 ciates, probably from a very just idea that he had con- 
 ceived of them— that they are often extremely prejudicial 
 to connubial felicity ; and having a young and lovely 
 wife, he wished to enjoy her society exclusively to him- 
 self; and so does every rational, thinking, and reflective 
 man, who loves his own fire-side. Few marriages are 
 productive of much happiness when a husband is con- 
 tinually seeking pleasures abroad, and preferring every 
 society to that which should possess a principal and 
 undiverted charm over "his senses, and the principal 
 claim to his attention — the society of a wife. It was 
 very unlikely, therefore, that Lady Montault after the 
 death of her lord should become a fashionable or dis- 
 sipated woman, or that she should immediately adopt 
 those habits which were so much his aversion ; on the 
 contrary she became more secluded than ever, and in 
 the bosom of domestic retirement passed the first years 
 of her widowhood. Her only male companions were 
 her father and her youthful son ; and in cultivating 
 the minds and forming the manners of her beloved 
 children, she felt more real and substantial happiness 
 than if she had passed her hours i& all the pomp and 
 pleasures of a splendid court. 
 
 But no sooner did she appear in public with changed 
 habiliments, than her beauty, far more interesting than 
 ever, attracted all eyes towards her, and she was as- 
 sailed on all sides with innumerable competitors for 
 her hand. Amonsr the number of her most enthu- 
 
THE FISHER'S DAUGHTER ('ii)I 
 
 siastic admirers was Sir George Cleveland, who was a 
 frequent visitor at Winstone Park since his friend's 
 marriage with Lady Lavinia Montault ; and when he 
 became a branch of that family, he more sedulously 
 courted his acquaintance in order that he might now 
 and then feast his eyes on the lovely wife of Lord 
 Montague ; which, however he had no chance of 
 doing, except seeing her either at Lord Winstone's or 
 at the table of the Marchioness, with whom he was no 
 small favourite, because he was immensely rich, and 
 one of her own coterie at the gaming table, where she 
 generally contrived to pigeon him out of some hun- 
 dreds with his eyes perfectly open to her finesse. 
 
 But none are so blind as those who wont see ; and 
 ne suffered himself to be gulled each successive night 
 by the Marchioness, well knowing that he would 
 lways be sure of a card of invitation at the Castle of 
 Montault, while he carried an overflowing purse always 
 at her ladyship's command. 
 
 The Marchioness's penetration was not slow to dis- 
 cover his glowing admiration of the charms of her son's 
 voung and lovely wife ; and, without seeming to no- 
 tice it, whenever Lord and Lady Montague dined at 
 .he Castle, Sir George Cleveland was always sure to be 
 included in the cards of invitation issued from the 
 splendid mansion of the Marchioness ; and he never 
 omitted to avail himself of the opportunity which the 
 gift and the smiles of fortune presented to him through 
 the influence of the Marchioness. It may be remem- 
 bered in a former part of this history, that Sir George 
 Cleveland had never been a favourite with Lord Mon 
 tague Montault, ever since he had made the then sup 
 
092 THE FISHEli's DAUCxKTER. 
 
 ootsv.d Agatha Singleton, the subject of his sarcastic 
 raillery the day he dined with his friend Lord Win- 
 stone ; and that he having defended the character of the 
 female whom he so passionately adored, a sharp quar- 
 rel had in consequence ensued between them ; and 
 though every concession had afterwards been offered 
 by Sir George for the unwarrantable liberty which she 
 had taken with this lovely and immaculate young lady, 
 yet Lord Montague had never forgotten it. Of course, 
 when his marriage afterwards took place with his newly 
 discovered cousin, then Lady Agatha Braganza, and 
 daughter of the Duke his uncle, he became still more 
 sedulous to avoid any intercourse with the fashionable 
 Baronet, and positively declined any invitation he re- 
 ceived from Cleveland Manor. It was not to be ima- 
 gined therefore that Agatha, who knew her husband's 
 dislike to Sir George Cleveland, was likely to accept 
 of such a man to supply the place of her departed 
 lord ; but to the utter astonishment of Lady Montault, 
 she received not only a declaration of regard from Sir 
 George Cleveland, but a regular offer of marriage with 
 the most splendid settlement, which was politely but 
 peremptorily rejected on her part to the great mortifi- 
 cation and absolute despair of the passionate adorer, 
 whose personal vanity had induced him to cherish the 
 hope of rendering his qualifications agreeable to the 
 lovely widow. He had even gone so far as to ask the 
 advice of Lord and Lady Winstone on the occasion ; 
 his lordship, was candid enough to tell him flatly that 
 he believed there was not the slightest chance of suc- 
 cess ; but Lady Winstone, to whom it was excellent 
 sport when she found that Sir George was absolutely 
 
1 thb fisher's daughter. 693 
 
 caught iu the trammels of Cupid, and that it was really 
 his intention to make an offer of his hand to her sister- 
 in-law, undertook to become his advocate on the oc 
 casion ; instead of which she called at Violet Vale 
 on purpose to ridicule his passion to Agatha — 
 
 " Why positively, my dear creature, the poor man is 
 dying in love with yon," uttered she ; " and you must 
 have been absolutely blind not to have seen that even 
 when my brother was living. Montague, you know, 
 always disliked Sir George, because he thought he ad- 
 mired his pretty wife. Don't you remember your 
 bracelet which nobody could find, that you lost at 
 Lady Tannington's route ; and which I always sus- 
 pected was picked up by Sir George, though he denied 
 it, for fear I suppose that the discovery would have 
 led to a duel with Montague ? I protest, my love, if I 
 did not yesterday see it affixed to a ribband which ho 
 always carries in his bosom. I laughed so prodigiously 
 that you cannot conceive how mortified that poor devil 
 looked." Lady Lavinia now paused to take a mo- 
 ment's breath, and Agatha, perfectly petrified at her in 
 telligence, exclaimed — 
 
 " 1 do not know what right Sir George Cleveland 
 has for a moment to suppose that I have the slightesi 
 intention of changing my present state, or that if 1 
 had he would be the object whom I should select in 
 preference to every other ; and as for his dying in love 
 with me, it is really, Lavinia, the most absurd thing 
 imaginable, as he must be well convinced that 1 nevei 
 gave him the slightest encouragement. Besides, I 
 have really no intention of ever marrying again." 
 
694 the fisher's daughter. « 
 
 " What ! at your age, and two years a widow J O ! 
 fie, Agatha, what a fib ! Go and look in the glass, my 
 love, and tell me if it would not be barbarous of you 
 to adopt such a resolution," cried Lady Lavinia. 
 
 To which Lady Montault gravely replied — 
 
 " It would be barbarous in me indeed to marry any 
 man whom I did not feel well assured that I should 
 prefer to every other in creation, and especially when 
 it when it would be disagreeable to my children." 
 
 " Your children !" echoed Lady Lavinia; " that is 
 laughable enough, when your children are both of them 
 so independent of the will or even the authority of a 
 second husband. Have not they most splendid for- 
 tunes; and is not your present establishment entirely 
 your own ? What right then have you to consult them 
 about the matter, pray ? I dare say that they wil. 
 not be quite so forward to consult you on such an 
 occasion." 
 
 " I have no reason to suppose that they will evei- 
 neglect their duty to their mother," cried Agatha with 
 dignified spirit ; " they are the most affectionate chil- 
 dren that ever mother was blessed with ; and although 
 they are certainly independent of me with respect to 
 property, I do not consider them so in every other 
 point. Both Orlando and my Emmeline are yet in a 
 state of minority, and it is my duty to see that they 
 form proper connexions, which, however, I have not 
 the least doubt of, as they possess no small share of 
 ntellect and feeling. Another thing, my dear Lavinia, 
 \ have to observe to you — I am solely independent of 
 my own actions, and I will never be forced into a 
 
the fisher's daughter. 695 
 
 second marriage contrary to my inclinations, to please 
 the caprice and the whims of any mortal in existence. 
 I would not even listen to such a subject from my 
 father, whom I so dearly love ; and I am very certain 
 that he would not expect it. My love for the memory 
 of your sainted brother is such, that if twenty years 
 had elasped instead of the two you so particularly 
 dwell on, I should not think I mourned for him too 
 long ; and if such are my views, why should any other 
 person interfere with so sacred a subject ?" 
 
 Lady Lavinia for a moment seemed struck with the 
 sentiment of so fine and heroic a mind as her sister- 
 in-law possessed, and could not deny the admiration 
 due to so exalted a character; her levity had received 
 a check which she was little prepared to expect, and she 
 was awed into silence. 
 
 At the entrance of the Duke (to the no small relief 
 of Lady Montault) this subject was discontinued, and 
 the conversation turned on other topics. Lord Orlando 
 and Emmeline, now disengaged from their morning 
 studies, came to pay their respects to their aunt, and 
 were invited to return with her in the carriage to dine 
 at Wi intone Park. 
 
 " If dear mamma will permit me, I am sure I can- 
 not have the least objection," cried the sweet girl, 
 looking towards her mother for her approval, " for I 
 do so long to play with my little cousin Harriet — she is 
 so engaging— and do you know aunt that I have got 
 such a pretty doll for her. I promised nurse Harmer 
 to bring it for her a long time ago ; but now I can taKe 
 it with me in the carriage — and she will be so delighted. 
 Shall I go and fetch it, mamma, and shew my aunt? 
 
696 THE FISHER S DAUGHTER. 
 
 But may we go to aunt Winstone's ? I had forgot to 
 ask that : and may my brother go ?" 
 
 " Certainly my love," cried Lady Montault, " pro- 
 vided vou do not tear your frock again in romping 
 about "the nursery." 
 
 " O ! I will never do that again, mamma, for fear 
 grandmamma will scold me," uttered Lady Emmeline, 
 as she glided out of the room like a little fairy. Lord 
 Orlando followed to change his dress, and to attend his 
 aunt. 
 
 Lady Lavinia then commented on the daily im- 
 provement of her niece and her nephew, and lamented 
 that her little Harriet was not old enough to be put 
 under the hands of so accomplished a governess as 
 Mrs. Maitland. 
 
 " I never beheld so great an alteration as there is in 
 Emmeline in my born days," cried her ladyship ; " for 
 really Agatha you were spoiling her very fast till you 
 put her under the care of Mrs. Maitland. She will 
 be excessively like my poor brother, dont you think 
 so, your Grace?" 
 
 " The very counterpart ; I have always thought so," 
 uttered the Duke ; " and as much so in her disposi- 
 tion ; poor little girl, she has been a great sufferer from 
 illness, but I entertain hopes that her youth will get 
 the better of that sickliness which has attended her from 
 the day of her birth, and which there is no doubt she 
 derived from her father." 
 
 " She is a sweet creature for all that," reiterated 
 Lady Winstone ; " and Orlando is really the most 
 beautiful fellow I ever beheld. I suppose you intend 
 to send him to college, Agatha j it is the best way of 
 
THE FISHBK'S DAUGHTl'.n. 097 
 
 disposing of boys, till they have ultimately finished 
 their education. They generally take advantage of 
 tutors at home by having indulgences which they are 
 are not allowed when they are bound to certain re- 
 strictions." 
 
 To which Lady Montault replied — 
 
 «* Of that I am not a competent judge, Lavinia; I 
 have really nothing to do with Orlando or his studies 
 cither. I have assigned him over to my father, and he 
 assures me that he does not find the management of 
 him a task of insurmountable difficulty." 
 
 His Grace smiled, and added — 
 
 " No, the boy is tractable enough, only a little too 
 high spirited at times ; this is the only fault that I can 
 discover in him. but that is easily subdued, for he is 
 open to conviction and patient under control: in all 
 else Orlando is a prodigy for his age. 1 never but 
 once beheld a youth that could surpass him, and that 
 was our young Wolf, alias Wallace, who, if he had 
 lived to this day would most unquestionably have been 
 the Baron of Walbergh." 
 
 A slight suffusion of colour mounted to the cheek 
 of Lady Montault, at the abrupt mention of the 
 Danish youth ; and a sigh so gentle as scarce to be 
 perceived, agitated for a moment her lovely bosom. 
 But here was a fresh topic of conversation for Laay 
 Winstone; and she exclaimed — 
 
 " Well, I protest that is the most extraordinary and 
 romantic tale I ever listened to in the course of my 
 existence, and one could scarce give credit to it, were 
 it not so authenticated by Agatha and your Grace; it 
 certainly was next to witchery that you should havfl 
 i 30 
 
0Q« JTHE FISHER'S DACGlllia. 
 
 encountered the mother of Wolf on the shores of so dis- 
 tant a country, and that existing circumstances should 
 have been so clearly proved about the identity of Wolf 
 to the Baroness of Walbergh. But what does it avail 
 now that he is no longer living, to what rank or station 
 he belonged, since no one is at all interested in the 
 affair. Yet I own I have some curiosity to behold the 
 woman who has been so much of the heroine, as to 
 follow her husband to the field of battle and endure 
 so many hardships for his sake; a woman of rank, 
 too, and nobly born ! I wonder how she could de- 
 grade herself so far as to mix in scenes so terrific and 
 appalling, and which one would have imagined any 
 female of delicacy would have revolted from, only that 
 Agatha painted the Baroness in such glowing colours, 
 that, relying on her judgment, as also on your Grace's, 
 we cannot be mistaken." 
 
 The cheek of Lady Montault was covered with a 
 dye of crimson, at the mere suggestion of either her 
 father or her having represented any thing falsely to 
 her husband's relatives, respecting the birth of Wolf; 
 and she was on the point of answering Lady Lavinia 
 most sharply, had not the Duke saved her th • irom Je, 
 by immediately replying — 
 
 " And does your ladyship think it any degradation, 
 for a wife, whatever be her station, to endure all hard- 
 ships for her husband's sake? and do you think that 
 female delicacy can ever be injured by the exertion 
 she makes towards his benefit, his convenience, his 
 personal happiness, or his comfort ? It is well for you, 
 Lady Lavinia, that you are not called upon for these 
 respective duties being performed ; for if you were, it 
 
the fisher's daughter. 693 
 
 is it query to me whether you would be possessed of 
 •irk or fortitude or affection for your husband, sufficiently' 
 
 discharge them. With respect to the birth of Wolf, 
 
 1 am clearly satisfied with his being the son of the 
 Baron and Baroness of Walbergh ; and although as 
 you observe it is of little avail now to know that he 
 did not disgrace his protectors, yet as my daughter 
 and 1 have both alike shared in the censure of having 
 befriended an object whom your mother and you 
 thought so much beneath you, it is to both my daugh- 
 ter and me of the utmost importance to state to those 
 who assume so much authority, what we have discover- 
 ed of his origin, when we find that he had equal preten- 
 sions to the splendid acquisitions of rank and fortune 
 with ourselves. You would do well, Lady Winstone, if 
 you and your mother could adopt the same principle 
 as we have — that of befriending the unfortunate with- 
 out enquiring whether they owed their origin to the 
 rich or the poor." 
 
 Lady Lavinia looked abashed and confounded, and 
 stammered out a sort of apolopy that she intended no 
 personal offence either to his Grace or Lady Agatha, 
 by making an observation which every body else who 
 had heard the history of the Danish youth had made 
 before. 
 
 And with this apology the Duke was satisfied, how- 
 ever warmly he had entered into the subject before he 
 •onsidered that the object before him was the daugh- 
 ter of his brother ; and having been led away by the 
 foolish propensities of her mother, and the fashion- 
 able education she had received, it was not easy to 
 eradicate these illiberal principles which she had im- 
 
700 THE MSHltlt's DAUGHTER, 
 
 bibed from her birth, nor the prejudices which so fre- 
 quently attend it. 
 
 The carriage being now drawn up to the door, 
 Lord Orlando and Lady Emmeline, elegantly attired in 
 half mourning, which they still wore for their father, 
 entered the room to accompany their aunt to dine at 
 Winstone Park. A large waxen doll Lady Emmeline 
 exhibited with no small degree of triumph, as a pre- 
 sent for her little cousin Harriet, and with which mark 
 of attention from this sweet and interesting girl, Lady 
 Winstone was much pleased. Soon after the carriage 
 drove off; and the father and the daughter, left by 
 themselves, enjoyed the pleasure of a free and uninter- 
 rupted conversation, in which Lady Montault informed 
 his Grace of the hints which had been thrown out by 
 her sister-in-law of the attachment of Sir George 
 Cleveland towards her ; and that Lady Winstone had 
 taken it for granted that he would be received at 
 Violet Vale in the character of an affianced husband. 
 
 On which his Grace expressed the utmost astonish- 
 ment and indignation, as well as displeasure, at the 
 indelicate and indecorous manner in which her lady- 
 ship had acted on the occasion. 
 
 " Insolent, vain, presuming coxcomb," uttered the 
 Duke; " to arrogate to himself pretensions in which 
 he never had a right to cherish the slightest hope of 
 encouragement or success. And as to Lavinia, I am 
 perfectly shocked and disgusted with the flightiness 
 and flippancy of her conduct ; and will certainly, if I 
 hear any more of it, speak to Winstone, and tell 
 him that her ladyship's communications will in future 
 be dispensed with, or listened to with not quite so 
 
the fisher's daughter. ?0\ 
 
 patient a hearing. Do not therefore, my love, trouble 
 your head about the mailer, but leave me to manage 
 these silly vain pretenders to your hand and person. 
 You are a treasure it is true, my Agatha, of which 
 monarchs might be proud to boast j but you are not 
 to be approached with impunity or knocked down to 
 the first, merely to please the caprice of the Marchio- 
 ness or Lady Winstone. There is really an absurdity 
 in her coming hither on such an embassy, at which I 
 should only laugh were I not certain of the rumour 
 which would very quickly be circulated among her 
 fashionable associates, that you really were on terms 
 of intimacy with Sir George Cleveland j and the novelty 
 of the thing would for a short time furnish both her 
 and the Marchioness with topics of conversation ; but 
 1 will take care that no such reports shall prevail — not, 
 my dearest love, that I have the slightest objection to 
 your forming a second alliance with a worthy and 
 honourable man, whenever any such may influence your 
 inclinations. You have been left in the flower of youth 
 and beauty, and it is exceedingly natural for you to enter 
 into a second connection, if you think proper ; no 
 one has any right to control you in that particular. 
 Your children are amply provided for, and you do not 
 militate against their happiness by marrying again ; 
 neither did your late husband leave any restrictions of 
 that nature which should conscientiously impose on 
 you the wish of obeying his commands; he having, 
 poor fellow ! in his dying moments as far as J can now 
 recollect, expressed himself quite the contrary. You 
 arc therefore, my love, at full liberty to form what 
 
702 rub fisher's daughter; 
 
 connections you please, and I am well convinced that 
 my dear child will never make any that will reflect dis- 
 grace on the memory of her husband, or cause her 
 father to blush for her selection." 
 
 The cheek of Lady Montault was moistened with a 
 tear of sensibility, at the sentiment which her beloved 
 father had so feelingly conveyed, and which was so 
 congenial with her own, and pressing his hand with 
 fervour to her lips, she energetically exclaimed — 
 
 " Why should J marry again, when kind providence 
 has left me so little to regret; am I not, though de- 
 prived of my husband, completely happy with a father 
 and children, who are the blessings of my life? what 
 other enjoyments should I seek, that are rational and 
 prudent, that I am not in the possession of? Tell me, 
 my father, why I should marry a second husband, when 
 1 shall never know a second object in affection ? I am 
 3iot the child of passion only, thank Heaven ! but rea- 
 son ever guided my choice ! that choice, my dearest 
 father, is far removed from my earthly view j yet in my 
 dreams I sometimes behold my sainted adored Mon- 
 tague, fresh and fair as on the first hour J beheld him ; 
 and when I awake" — Lady Montault could proceed no 
 further, tears fell fast over her lovely face, in spite of 
 every effort she made to restrain them ; while the 
 Duke, equally affected, in the most soothing and con- 
 soling accents, entreated his beloved child to be com- 
 posed and to remember that the same hand which 
 had inflicted a wound, had also the same power to 
 heal it. 
 
 And Lady Montault with that fortitude and strength 
 
THK FISIIRU^ DAl.'GHTKR. /^'3 
 
 of mind, with which she had resisted every attack of 
 adversity which had befallen her, gradually recovered 
 her self possession, and sat down to an early dinner 
 with her beloved father, harmony and rationality form- 
 ing the principal ingredients of the banquet. 
 
 When the wine and dessert were on the table, Mrs. 
 Russel's gig drove up to the gates, and on her name 
 being announced she was immediately admitted to the 
 presence of her beloved friend, who gave her the most 
 cordial and affectiouate welcome, as also did his Grace, 
 whose kind reception towards every branch of the 
 fisher's family had always been uniformly marked with 
 friendship and urbanity; and he was particularly par- 
 tial to the unassuming and modest merits of the gentle 
 Jessy. 
 
 A kind enquiry after Mr. Blust and Mr. Russel 
 was made by Lady Montault, while her ladyship ex- 
 claimed — 
 
 e But piay, why did you not bring Matilda with 
 you ?" 
 
 There was a slight suffusion of colour in Jessy's 
 cheek, while she replied — 
 
 " She would have been extremely happy to have 
 accompanied me; but her grandfather, who has some 
 little business to transact with the merchants of Cro- 
 mer, and Mr. Russel, insisted that Matilda should go 
 with them; and, as she is going to purchase some arti- 
 cles at Adams's library for her drawings and her. music, I 
 consented this once that she should accompany them." 
 
 " And it is probable that if you had not consented, 
 that grandfather would have taken her notwithstand- 
 ing," cried Lady Montault, and smiled. 
 
/04 the fisher's daughter* ! 
 
 And Jessy smiled too while she uttered — 
 '* O! more than probable; and you know hciv ut- 
 terly impossible it is for me to deny my father's re- 
 quests. Besides as Matilda is going baek to school 
 again, and is really worthy of any indulgence she re- 
 ceives, from the uniform propriety of her conduct, I do 
 not wish to deprive her of any cheerful or innocent re- 
 creation." 
 
 " And you do well to adopt this system of conduct 
 with your daughter, Mrs. Russel," cried the Duke ; il I 
 do not approve of young people being kept under too 
 rigid restriction. For, believe me, so far from profiting 
 by it, it is a serious injury to their endeavours to 
 apply themselves more assiduously to their studies. In- 
 nocent pastimes should always be indulged j for youth 
 is naturally jocund and happy, and if we deprive them 
 of pleasures suited to their age, we cannot expect them 
 to arrive at perfection at a more mature season of their 
 lives. It is not in nature to expect that youth should 
 either possess the gravity or the experience of age ; if 
 they did, they become obnoxious to society, and imbibe 
 the most illiberal and prejudiced notions, when they ar- 
 rive at a more advanced season j and youth is the sea- 
 son made for joy, say what you will of it ; and why 
 should it not, when joy is the offspring of innocence ? 
 It is cruel to deprive youth of its blessings — for alas • 
 the rose is too early despoiled of its bloom, be it ever 
 so fair or so fragrant, when once the canker creeps into 
 its bosom, and the chilling blast blows keen on its un- 
 sheltered head — when the genial sun forsakes it, it 
 droops and perishes, and its beauty and its fragrance are 
 seen no more — and I consider youth as a semblance of 
 
the fisher's daughter. 705 
 
 this early rose, the shooting buds of which should be 
 dearly and tenderly cherished. But may no such with- 
 ering storm blow keenly on so fine a flower as your 
 young Matilda." 
 
 " Heaven, forbid ! your Grace," uttered Jessy with 
 a gentle sigh. " 1 have endeavoured by every means 
 in my power to prevent the effects of a too glowing 
 imagination, and a too sanguine disposition in my be- 
 loved girl ; and I have partly succeeded in conquering 
 some of those propensities, which, receiving no check, 
 would in time have been highly detrimental to her 
 happiness. It is true that I cannot prevent my 
 father from indulging her to that excess which some- 
 times amounts to absolute folly — and having no other 
 child but her, she engrosses his whole attention. But 
 what can I say to my father, your Grace, whose growing 
 age and infirmities, which are hourly creeping on him, 
 make it impossible that I should ill-naturedly repress 
 his irregularities ; he, who has been the kindest and the 
 fondest of parents, sets me an example of imitation that 
 I cannot forego, especially when I know that a kind 
 and benevolent heart lies at the bottom of all his little 
 follies. I cannot call them vices, for he would dis • 
 dain to commit any action that is unworthy of a man 
 or a Christian ; besides, he has left his granddaugh- 
 ter almost the whole of his property, which is consi- 
 derable ; and though she is as yet profoundly ignorant 
 of her grandfather's liberality, yet 1 cannot always keep 
 her in ignorance ; for when arrived at the years of ma- 
 turity she will be completely independent both of her 
 father and me; yet, however wrong his partiality may 
 
 £30 4u 
 
706 THE fishek's daughter. 
 
 be, the act is to my beloved child, and I cannot con- 
 demn him for it." 
 
 So beautiful a defence of tl)e fisher's conduct, with 
 the wish to hide all her fatht r's imperfections, as a 
 grateful and affectionate daughk produced both from 
 Lady Montault and his Grace tht Hiost glowing admi- 
 ration ; and he paid the highest bmpliments to the 
 lovely Jessy, for traits so praisewoi fay in her disposi- 
 tion ; and added with a most cordia smile of approval 
 to all she had uttered in extenuation of her father's 
 faults— 
 
 " In reward for your patient forbearance, Mrs. Rus- 
 sel, you merit every blessing that may await you, and 
 1 most fervently hope that your daughter may event- 
 ually prove worthy of your maternal cares and anxious 
 solicitude for her happiness." 
 
 An enquiry was then made by Jessy for Lord Or- 
 lando and Lady Emmeline. 
 
 To which Lady Montault replied — 
 
 " They are gone to dine at Winstone Park, from a 
 very pressing invitation given by their aunt ; but they 
 are both well, and my dear Emmeline is quite another 
 creature since you saw her last, indeed I cherish the 
 hope that her strength will be renewed daily now she 
 is no longer afflicted with that pain in her side, which 
 has for months so dreadfully tormented her. They 
 will deeply regret, however, that they had not the 
 pleasure of seeing you ; but pray bring Matilda to see 
 us before she returns to school. So she has began her 
 lessons in drawing ?" 
 
 " Yes, and I assure you I am informed by her master 
 
THli KlSHKu's UAUGHTKIl. fb7 
 
 that she will excel in that accomplishment," answered 
 Mrs. Russel ; " her prize cottage is really beautiful ; 
 but what am I saying? I am no judge, and am speak- 
 ing without my book ! she would be ashamed of talk- 
 ing of any of her specimens before Lady Emmeline 
 and Lord Orlando, and will be very angry with me 
 when she knows I have mentioned it." 
 
 Soon after she had taken tea, Mrs. Russel left Violet 
 Vale, her servant having staid to drive his mistress 
 home ; and it was rather a late hour when Lord Orlando 
 and Lady Emmeline returned from Winstone Park in 
 high spirits, each of them laden with an elegant present 
 from the Marchioness. 
 
 " For grandmamma was there, and so was grand- 
 papa, do you know mamma," cried Lady Emmeline, 
 exhibiting a beautiful little workbox filled with trink- 
 ets for the use of young ladies; '* and after dinucr we 
 all went in the carriage to Adams's library, all but 
 grandpapa and Lord Winstone ; and when we got there 
 who do you think we saw ? though she was so shy and 
 distant that she would hardly speak to us, though 1 
 went over to the other side on purpose that .she might 
 not think I neglected her. Why Matilda Russel, 
 mamma, and her grandpapa Mr. Blust; and he bought 
 her so many fine things — and paid so much money for 
 them — and she was dressed so beautiful — and every 
 body was staring at her — and Mr. Blust looked so de- 
 lighted ; but grandmamma and aunt Winstone did not 
 take much notice of him, so I suppose Matilda was 
 offended; but you know, mamma, that was not my 
 fault, nor yet Orlando's. I could not make them speak 
 to Mr. Blust, if they did not choose to do it." 
 
,u 
 
 THK FISHHK. S DAUGHTER. 
 
 " But it was excessively rude, uay it was unkind of 
 grandmamma and aunt Winstone to treat Miss Kussel 
 so coldly," cried Lord Orlando, colouring deeply, and 
 manifesting the deepest chagrin and disappointment ; 
 " for I am sure she was no disgrace to aunt Winstone 
 and grandmamma, for every body said in the rooms 
 that she was as handsome as an angel ; and so she is, for 
 she is exactly like the angel that grandpapa brought 
 with him from the church of St. Mark's in Italy, that 
 he gave so much money for, which hangs up in our pic- 
 ture gallery. Is not she, Emmeline ?" 
 
 " O yes, brother, and a great deal handsomer," 
 cried Lady Emmeline ; " and her eyes are of a far 
 more beautiful colour than those of the lady in the 
 gallery, which are light blue, and Matilda's are black, 
 and the finest I think that I ever saw; they shine 
 like diamonds when she smiles and shews her pretty 
 white teeth." 
 
 " My dear children, I wish you would repress such 
 ridiculous eulogiums on the beaulyof Miss Russel," (ut- 
 tered Lady Montault, glancing towards the Duke a 
 look perfectly expressive of her feelings,) " which : * 
 nothing in comparison with the beauty of the miiK. 
 I beg I may hear no more of such conversation, which 
 is sickening and disgusting, and with which Mrs. Rus- 
 sel would herself be exceedingly displeased ; and as to 
 what conduct the Marchioness or your aunt Winstone 
 may think proper to adopt towards Matilda Russel, I 
 request, and I repeat this request most peremptorily, 
 that you will not make your comments upon it." 
 
 *« Why, what have they to say against so sweet a 
 girl, mother ?" demanded Lord Orlando, his eyes spark 
 
THE FISHER'S DAUGHTER. 709 
 
 ling with the strongest emotion that fluttered his youth- 
 ful breast. 
 
 To which Lady Montault sharply replied — 
 
 " I do not choose sir, to answer an interrogatory so 
 abruptly given ; it is quite sufficient that I command 
 you in future not to make your observations on your 
 grandmother and your aunt. You are yet too young, 
 Lord Orlando, to be giving your opinion on the con- 
 duct of those so much older than you in judgment and 
 experience ; and I beg that you will not teach your 
 sister to be following your example." 
 
 Not a word more was uttered either by Emmeline 
 or Orlando ; but they silently withdrew to their cham- 
 bers, having most respectfully bade his Grace and Lady 
 Montault good-night ; who, the moment they had made 
 their exit, highly applauded the conduct of their mother 
 towards them. 
 
 " Which has notwithstanding cost me no small de- 
 gree of pain I can assure you, my dear father," cried 
 Lady Montault ; " for I fear that the charms of this 
 youthful beauty, although she is the daughter of a wo- 
 man for whom I have the strongest affection, would, 
 if the slightest encouragement were afforded by me, 
 very soon attach the affections of my son towards her ; 
 he is, and ever was, much attached to Matilda Russei ; 
 and her exquisite beauty makes her an object of much 
 attraction, and consequently of much danger to a youth 
 of his age. I must be cautious, nay I must be 
 peremptory in my commands that he will not speak 
 of her in the passionate manner that he does; for 
 which reason I have always been averse to having 
 
710 THE FJSHER's DAUGHTER. 
 
 Matilda very frequently at Violet Vale. And it is 
 highly indecorous of Jessy (though I did not choose to 
 tell her so) to suffer so lovely a girl to go to 
 public libraries without a mother by her side;, and with 
 her grandfather to all public places, who, proud of her 
 beauty, takes delight in exhibiting her to all his ac- 
 quaintance." 
 
 il Nay, my dear Agatha, you are now too severe with 
 poor Jessy on this occasion," uttered the Duke with a 
 smile ; " what can she do with so strange a character 
 as Peter Blust ? and, having left his whole fortune to 
 his granddaughter, he surely has a right to her com- 
 pany whenever he chooses. As to Orlando and his pas- 
 sion for the little girl, it is mere badinage, and will 
 pass over his youthful mind as quickly as the meteor 
 passes through the skies. At all events it is exces- 
 sively wrong of you to notice it ; avoid it for the future, 
 my Agatha, or you will certainly put into his head 
 what he never yet dreamt of; besides, they will shortly 
 be separated ; and are not likely to meet often. Ma- 
 tilda will be grown into womanhood long before Or- 
 lando will again have an opportunity of beholding her, 
 for he will be at college, where I intend to keep him 
 for some considerable time; and by that time the 
 Fisher's Daughter will no doubt be surrounded by in- 
 numerable suitors for her hand ; she has a fortune fit 
 for an emperor, and beauty enough to captivate the 
 proudest peer of the realm ; and won't have to go beg- 
 ging for a husband, you may depend upon it." 
 
 With these satisfactory assurances from tier father, 
 Lady Montault was satisfied that no danger would yet 
 
THE FISHER'S DAUGHTER. /I I 
 
 accrue from the charms of Matilda to endanger the 
 heart of her youthful son, about whom she was more 
 solicitous than occasion warranted, and more tenacious 
 than existing circumstances pointed out the necessity 
 of j and with all the perfections of Agatha, both men- 
 tal and personal, there was yet a fault of which even 
 the Duke, her father, was not insensible ; and that was 
 pride— for it could be nothing else that made her so 
 averse to her son's forming a connexion with the 
 Fisher's Daughter. For even if he had done so, Agatha 
 should have recollected, that Matilda Russel was the 
 granddaughter of the man who had sheltered her be- 
 neath his fostering roof, when it was supposed that she 
 had no other protector living to offer her an asylum 
 from the frowns of a merciless and censorious world j 
 — and that the offspring of that benevolent protector 
 should have been the last object in creation, when 
 raised to her present rank and prosperity, that she 
 should have considered an improper connexion for her 
 son. We weep over humanity when we find that, 
 however exalted, it yet descends to weaknesses which 
 would degrade the mind of the meanest peasant. Pride 
 is the most baneful passion in human existence. 
 
 ■ ■ 
 
712 
 
 VME F1SH1R S DAUGHTER. 
 
 CHAPTER XXIX. 
 
 W> saw 
 
 ■ 
 
 j 
 
 
 " I cannot forget what I was.. 
 
 Remembering what I am. 
 
 —Fortune hath play'd me falsely 
 
 In a most evil hour : 
 
 I pluck'd the rose ; but, O ! 
 
 The thorn I found amid its blushing leaves, 
 
 Hath pierced me deeply. 
 
 Forgive me, gentle love, and shed a tear 
 
 Over the frailty and the weakness 
 
 Of my soft sex ; had thy arm 
 
 Been out-stretch'd to save me, 
 
 I had not fallen in this mass of ruin 
 
 Which now encloses me." Massenger. 
 
 Lady Agatha was not insensible to the reproof 
 which was contained in the observation made by the 
 Duke, her father, and, being the only one he had given 
 her in the whole course of her existence, she felt it 
 most bitterly when she retired to her chamber for the 
 night, — at that silent hour when serious reflection 
 comes over the contemplative mind with additional 
 force ; and she repented of the severity she had shewn 
 to her children, and of the manner in which she had 
 addressed her son on the subject of Matilda Russel. It 
 
THE FISHER'S DAUGHTBR. Ji'S 
 
 was certainly letting him know more than she ought 
 to have revealed ; for if his youthful heart had imbibed 
 a passion for the Fisher's Daughter, (and it was more 
 than probable that he had,) she had certainly adopted 
 the surest method that was possible to increase the 
 passion, instead of diminishing it, in the heart of her son ; 
 and she perceived with deep regret, that the Duke 
 most strongly disapproved of it. In future, therefore, 
 she determined to be more upon her guard, and to 
 take no further notice to Lord Orlando about the mat- 
 ter* or the accidental meeting which had taken place 
 between him and Matilda at Adams's circulating li- 
 brary. 
 
 But although the mother had determined to treat 
 the matter lightly, it had made too deep an impression 
 on the mind of the high-spirited disposition of the son 
 to be easily obliterated from his memory ; for he saw 
 no reason why Lady Agatha should be so exceedingly 
 averse to his forming whatever opinion he liked of 
 Matilda Russel, and that he should not be upon the 
 same terms with her as when she was his little playmate 
 at Violet Vale. It was not because she was older and 
 was grown so tall and so handsome, that his mother 
 could have so great a dislike to his renewing his intimacy 
 with Matilda; surely not! for every body liked her the 
 better for these improvements which had so rapidly 
 taken place in the lovely face and form of the Fisher's 
 Daughter. And this being the general observation, why 
 should he not make use of his eyes as well as other 
 people? In short, Orlando, who had anhighly cultivated 
 and intelligent mind, and natural quick perception of 
 thought and character, began to conceive that he had 
 
 c30 4x 
 
714 THE FISHER'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 arrived to an age already to think as he pleased, if he 
 might not act as he pleased ; and he pre-determined 
 that not even his mother, whom he yet loved and 
 reverenced more than any other earthly being, should 
 ever prevent him from forming the most favourable 
 impression of the Fisher's fair Daughter ; and that be- 
 fore he finally bade adieu to Violet Vale to go to col- 
 lege, if Miss Russel was not invited there as usual, 
 he would by stealth pay a visit to the Red House, 
 on purpose to have an opportunity of feasting his eyes 
 on her pretty face, even if he was not allowed to speak 
 to her ; for the coldness of Matilda, which she had so 
 lately assumed towards him, was not natural to her 
 frank and ingenuous disposition ; she must have been 
 influenced by some one to treat him with such unkind 
 reserve ; and if by any chance he could but see her 
 alone, he would certainly endeavour to seek an expla- 
 nation in some way or other. Perhaps his sister 
 Emmeline would lend her assistance — he had a great 
 mind to ask her — she had never refused him the most 
 trifling request he had made to her : and he would in- 
 stantly go into her dressing room, where she was sit- 
 ting with Mrs. Maitland at work, and tell her that he 
 wanted to see Matilda Russel ; but he could not do 
 that without she lent him her aid, and that with the 
 greatest possible secrecy. 
 
 Lord Orlando always breakfasted with his tutor, Mr. 
 Welshman, a most amiable and clever accomplished 
 man, and though reduced in circumstances, his brilliant 
 talents had long established him for the capacity which 
 be now held in noblemen's families, to inspect the 
 education of the younger branches till they were qua- 
 
THE FISHER'S DAUGHTER. /lb 
 
 lifted for admission to college studies ; he had been highly 
 recommended to his Grace the Duke of Braganza, and 
 nis services were immediately accepted for Lord Or- 
 lando. 
 
 Lady Emmeline, always delicate, never rose early, and 
 therefore was not expected to commence her studies 
 >efore she had taken her breakfast with dear mamma ; 
 and his Grace, who was accustomed to ride several 
 hours in the morning, generally breakfasted in his own 
 apartment, and seldom mixed with the family before 
 dinner, which was uncommonly late ; and then he de- 
 voted the remainder of the day to the society of his 
 beloved daughter. Lord Orlando and Lady Emmeline, 
 however, were always expected to dine with his Grace 
 and Lady Montault. This was the order of the es- 
 tablishment at Violet Vale without intermission, which 
 being under the direction of a most excellent house- 
 keeper, the utmost regularity and economy without 
 parsimony prevailed, nor ever was there a dissenting 
 voice or a murmur of disapprobation heard ; each do- 
 mestic had their several duties to fulfil, and each was 
 expected to perform it with the utmost punctuallity 
 and decorum. 
 
 Beda, (who was now called Miss Michello, being 
 fully of age, was under the care of Mrs. Maitland,) 
 whose loveliness of person was now greatly im- 
 proved by the graces of her manners and her 
 mind, had attracted the attention of a most respecta- 
 ble young man, whose father was a miller of some re- 
 pute in the vicinity of Cromer ; and understanding 
 precisely the situation of Miss Michello in the family 
 of Lady Agatha Montault, and most passionately ad- 
 
716 THE FISHER'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 miring the charms and the appearance of the pretty 
 Beda, whom every sabbath he had the pleasure of 
 seeing at church, (where it was possible that the little 
 warm Italian girl nad been by no means averse to 
 meet his advances,) he, with the consent of his father, 
 very formally addressed a letter to her august protec- 
 tress, offering proposals of marriage, and soliciting her 
 adyship's permission to approach Miss Michello in the 
 character of a lover, as also her intercession in favour 
 of his suit. The letter was signed Andrew FairfieLd ; 
 and, on Lady Agatha's carefully perusing its contents, 
 she handed it over to his Grace and requested his 
 opinion of the suit of the young miller, while she 
 added with a smile of the most ineffable sweetness — 
 
 " Cupid, you see, has been playing his gambols even 
 in church, and Beda's devotions there have not been 
 quite so fervent as I supposed ; love, it appears, has 
 found some share in her thoughts. However, as the 
 young man's proposals are certainly very honourable, 
 and he has no doubt made some impression on the heart 
 of my little Italian abigail, I do not see why I should 
 reasonably object to so modest and candid an avowal of 
 bis affection ; besides, Beda is certainly growing too 
 attractive to remain long unnoticed by the male sex, 
 and the sooner she can obtain the protection of a hus- 
 band the better ; she is now old enough to judge for 
 herself whether she can or cannot return the affection 
 of the honest young miller." 
 
 To which his Grace replied — 
 
 " I should think that is a point already settled be- 
 tween them ; and as it is really a most advantageous 
 offer for a girl in her humble situation, I would by nc 
 
THE FISHER'S DAUGHTER. \ Y] 
 
 meain reconimeud you to delay coming to a conclu- 
 sive arrangement of the matter, after we have clearly 
 ascertained that the young man is really what he has 
 represented himself to be. I will myself undertake 
 this mission for you ; in the meantime you can converse 
 with Beda on a subject so momentous to her future 
 happiness as the election of a man, to whom when she 
 consigns herself, happiness or misery must ultimately 
 be her portion. However, as you observe, her ena- 
 moured swain writes the dictates of a heart perfectly 
 void of guile, and has made her an offer which no 
 girl in her senses would reject if she really loved him. 
 Beda is certainly very pretty, and as men naturally 
 look at very pretty women with views not exactly 
 quite so honourable as the young miller, the sooner 
 the match is concluded on the better ; 1 will go to his 
 father, to whom he has referred you for particulars, and 
 I have no doubt but I shall find his statement perfectly 
 correct." 
 
 Away went his Grace, taking Welshman in the car- 
 riage with him, to make the proper enquiry, and pro- 
 ceeded to the house of the miller Fairfield, according 
 to the directions given by the son, which was about 
 three miles and a half distant from Cromer; where 
 we will leave them for the present, while we attend to 
 the Lady Agatha, who, after the departure of his Grace, 
 was not long before" she summoned the daughter of 
 Michello to her presence, who appeared with evident 
 marks of confusion exhibited on her countenance — 
 which was a proof incontestable of her having being 
 perfectly acquainted with the nature of the business 
 on which she had been brought before her august pro- 
 
/18 THE FISHER'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 tectress, and that she was no stranger to the conten 
 of the letter, which had that morning been addressee 
 to Lady Agatha Montault from Andrew Fairfield. It 
 was indeed laying on the table when she made her ap- 
 pearance in the drawing room ; and no sooner had her 
 eyes glanced towards it, than she turned red and pale 
 alternately, and trembled so that she could scarcely 
 stand. She was desired to sit down by her protectress. 
 " What is the matter, Beda, that you appear so ex- 
 ceedingly alarmed on your being summoned to my 
 presence ?" uttered Lady Agatha, viewing the counte- 
 nance of the agitated girl with some surprise. " Is it 
 because you are aware of the reason why I sent for 
 you hither, or that you imagine you have given me any 
 cause for displeasure ? either one or the other must oc- 
 casion you to feel such extraordinary emotion. Inno- 
 cence has nothing to do with fear, and yet you seem 
 under the influence of that sensation ; but come, I 
 will not doubt the propriety of your conduct, or dis- 
 tress you unnecessarily, because I am convinced that 
 you know the subject on which I am going to address 
 you ; speak candidly, do you not, Beda? I have always 
 taught you truth, and I hope you will not on this oc- 
 casion depart from it. Do you know such a person as 
 Andrew Fairfield ?' 
 To which Beda blushing deeply, replied — 
 " Yes 5 my lady, I have met a young man frequently 
 when I went to church, who told me that his name 
 was Andrew Fairfield, and that his father was a miller 
 who resided at Seven Oaks ; and that having seen me 
 so often there in the seat opposite to him, that he— 
 that he" — Beda faultcred and stopped. 
 
TBI fishkk's daughter. 719 
 
 ?*. That he what ?" uttered Lady Agatha, scarcely able 
 to resist from laughing most immoderately, " why 
 don't you finish your sentence?" 
 
 " That he — could not help falling in love with me, 
 for the life and soul of him," simpered out Beda in the 
 utmost confusion that was possible ; " and I could 
 not help hearing him, my lady, because I was not 
 deaf." 
 
 " Nor yet blind, I should conceive," cried Agatha 
 with a look of gravity which she found it difficult to 
 preserve ; yet determined to be informed of every 
 proceeding with her and the young miller, and how long 
 the intimacy had begun, she continued : " and pray 
 where was this conversation carried on between you ? 
 not in the church, I should hope 3 and if out of it, it 
 was exceedingly indiscreet of you to be forming ac- 
 quaintances with young men and listening to protesta- 
 tions, when you knew not but they might prove utterly 
 false : these are the steps which lead so many young 
 women into ruin." 
 
 " But I am very sure that Andrew is too good a 
 young man to ruin me. His only intention was to 
 make me his wife, for he has told me so a thousand 
 and a thousand times over," cried Beda. 
 
 " Indeed you have reason to be thankful for his 
 honesty, and that he did not entertain a very different 
 opinion of you, from the impropriety of your conduct 
 in being so apt to credit his assertions," uttered Lady 
 Agatha j " and which, had you been a prudent girl, 
 you ought to have informed me of immediately." 
 
 iC And so I intended my lady," cried Beda (now 
 
720 thk fishkr's daughter 
 
 feeling her mistress's reproaches most severely ;) " if 
 Andrew had not cut the matter quite short, by saying 
 that he was going to write a letter to tell your ladyship 
 all about the matter, and to ask your consent if he 
 might marry me ; for I told him that I had no 
 father or mother ; and that I should have been quite a 
 poor forlorn and distressed girl, if your ladyship had 
 not taken compassion on me, and been kinder to me 
 than ever a father or mother were. And so you 
 have, and my lord too, God rest his memory; he 
 was the best master that ever lived : and so I told An- 
 drew, that if he thought he could not make me a good 
 husband he had better never persuade me to change 
 my condition, which was a very happy one. So I don't 
 know my lady what he said to you, I am sure; but if 
 you will forgive me, I will never speak to Andrew 
 again, though I am certain sure he loves me dearly." 
 
 Tears very rapidly followed this remark of the sim- 
 ple artless girl ; and Lady Agatha feeling that her lec- 
 ture was now both cruel and unnecessary, and that she 
 had said quite sufficient on the subject, bade her dry 
 her tears, and assured her that, so far from being dis- 
 pleased with the conduct of the young miller, that she 
 most highly applauded the honourable way in which 
 he had solicited her affections, and that she would 
 answer his letter immediately to that effect. And if she 
 really loved him, so far from having any objection to 
 the honourable proposal he had made her of marriage, 
 she rejoiced that she had made choice of an object so 
 worthy both of her and the little property of which 
 she was possessed, which, with some little addition 
 
iHK riSHKR S DAUGHTER. /2l 
 
 she intended to make to it, on her nuptials with 
 Andrew Fairfield, would make them a very pretty pro- 
 vision for a rainy day. 
 
 On this communication of her kind and generous 
 protectress, Beda was so transported with joy that she 
 could find no words to express her grateful acknow- 
 ledgments ; yet, being a total stranger to the legacy 
 which had been bequeathed to her by Captain Single- 
 ton, she begged to know what was the little property 
 that her ladyship was pleased to allude to. Her father 
 had never informed her that she had any. 
 
 " No," uttered Lady Agatha ; " it is not to your fa- 
 ther that you are indebted for so liberal a bequest, 
 but to one whose revered memory we must ever hold 
 in dear and sacred respect. Captain Singleton be- 
 queathed yon a legacy of five hundred pounds at his 
 demise, on condition that you entered into a matri- 
 monial connection with an object whom I might think 
 worthy of your affections. You have hitherto been kept 
 in ignorance of this circumstance, because my dear 
 lord and I feared that, being young and inexperienced, 
 you might disclose it to those who would take advan- 
 tage of your youthful credulity, and seek your hand 
 rather through interest than undisguised affection j my 
 fears are now at an end, and I rejoice that you will 
 bestow both that and your portion on one who does so 
 much credit to your election." 
 
 The sensations of Beda were, as may very naturally 
 be supposed, of the most pleasing and joyous kind ; and 
 his Grace having returned from the father of honest 
 Andrew, with the most satisfactory intelligence of the 
 respectable connections to which lie belonged, he was 
 
 a 31 4 y 
 
/22 the fisher's daugktkr. 
 
 sanctioned with the free consent of Lady Agatha to 
 marry the daughter of Michello, after a decent time of 
 courtship ; and their nuptials were then solemnized in 
 the village church of Cromer. 
 
 Lady Agatha, on the day of her marriage, presented 
 Beda with a gift of two-hundred pounds, and an entire 
 new wardrobe worth at least one hundred pounds 
 more. Beda, now Mrs. Fairfield, was then taken home 
 to the miller's house, who shortly after built his son a 
 snug cottage, and completely furnished it for the young 
 couple, who certainly were very deserving of the com- 
 forts which were provided for them ; for Beda made a 
 most notable little wife, and honest Andrew an exce- 
 lent and industrious husband. But it cost Beda many 
 tears to part with her lovely mistress, and Lord Or- 
 lando and Lady Emmeline, to whom she was most 
 affectionately attached since the very earliest stages of 
 their infancy, and they were equally attached to her ; 
 Rebecca too, who still remained in the service of Lady 
 Montault, felt deep regret in parting with her young 
 companion, in whose society she had been so much 
 accustomed to share; though she had received a very 
 cordial invitation from Beda and the young miller, to 
 visit them as often as she liked, and was assured that she 
 would always meet with a welcome reception. 
 
 We will now return to Lord Orlando, whom we 
 left deliberating in what manner he should approach 
 his sister, and whisper in her ear his earnest petition, 
 that she would assist him in obtaining a sight of Ma- 
 tilda Russel. • And fortunately an opportunity very 
 soon presented itself for conversing with his sister 
 alone on the subject nearest his heart. Mrs. Mait 
 
v///' /W/T 
 
 
 . . I 
 
TKK •.■lNllKll's DAUGHTER, //j 
 
 land was engaged with Lady Agatha in another apart- 
 ment, and, with a light step and a beating heart, Lord 
 Orlando presented himself before Lady Einmeliue. 
 The gentle girl beheld an unusual anxiety in his coun- 
 tenance which she pretended not to define, though she 
 probably guessed the nature of his feelings the preced- 
 ing night, and was equally sensible of her mother's 
 severity; and on his approaching her she extended 
 her hand towards him with a sweet smile, exclaiming — 
 
 " Dear Orlando, are you not well, that you look so 
 pale and spiritless ?" 
 
 To which, softly tapping her fair cheek, he replied — 
 
 " Quite well, dearest Emmy, but certainly out ol 
 spirits ; I could not sleep one wink last night for the 
 life of me, but tumbled and tossed on all sides like a 
 ship in full motion." 
 
 " And what, my brother, has so disturbed your 
 rest?" enquired the sweet Emmeline with a somewhat 
 arch smile playing round her cherub lips." 
 
 " Cannot you partly guess, dearest Emmesine ?" cried 
 Orlando, a roseate colour mounting to his cheeks in 
 crimson hues. 
 
 To which she replied — 
 
 " I have my thoughts, but thoughts, brother, are not 
 always to be revealed." 
 
 " Always, dearest sister, when they are gu<iltl?ss 
 ones; and nought but purity can dwell with Emme- 
 line," uttered Orlando ; " but mine are anxious and 
 painful one:., and 1 can reveal them to none but you. 
 Emmebne alone can relieve the anxiety of Orlando." 
 
 " And have you a doubt that 1 will not instantly do 
 
7"24 the fisher's daughter. 
 
 that, if the means should he in my power?" exclaimed 
 Emmeline. 
 
 " The means are in your power, dearest sister. I 
 have a most urgent request to make to you ; and if 
 von love your brother you will surely not refuse it," 
 cried Orlando. 
 
 " If I love my brother! — how unkind is that word 
 if" uttered Emmeline, tears starting to her love- beam- 
 ing, soft blue eyes, which resembled violets gently 
 charged with dew. te You know I love you dearly, 
 dearly — next to dearest mamma, dearer than all on 
 earth. Do you credit my assertion ?" 
 
 " J do — I do — you are an angel, and now to the 
 point at once — 1 want to see Matilda Russel — coldly 
 as she behaved to me yesterday at Adams's library — 
 proudly I might say ; but why should not Matilda have 
 pride, as well as others, who have not half her perfec- 
 tions to boast of? My mother last night rebuked me 
 sharply; and for what? only for speaking what I 
 thought of Matilda Russel." 
 
 " So she rebuked me," cried Emmeline ; '' and i 
 felt it deeply — yet she is our mother — and we should 
 bear her rebukes — with patience — with mildness." 
 
 li And so I will," cried Orlando, struck with the 
 beautiful filial sentiment that his sister had conveyed ; 
 " yet I will think of Matilda Kussel as I think she 
 merits, and no mortal power shall control me." 
 
 Without noticing the firm manner in which this was 
 spoken, or making the slightest comment that would 
 be offensive to her brother, Emmeline mildly en- 
 cmired what request he had now to make, in which 
 
THH FISHER 5 DAUGHTER. / 2o 
 
 *he coal J so essentially serve him ; and to name it 
 quickly, as Mrs. Maitland might very shortly return 
 and prevent the continuance of their conversation. 
 
 " I wish you to contrive to make some excuse to go 
 over to the Red House this afternoon, and ask leave 
 to take me with you, do — do — dear Emmeline, you 
 can do any thing with my mother. It is the last time 
 I shall see Matilda Russel before I go to college ; pray 
 — pray oblige me, and henceforth command the ser- 
 vices of your brother while life remains." 
 
 " Well, well, pray don't be so agitated, or ym will 
 perfectly frighten me out of my senses ; you know what 
 a little nervous creature I am ; yet I cannot bear to see 
 you so uneasy, and to make you happy I would wil- 
 lingly make any sacrifice that does not overstep the 
 bounds of discretion," cried the lovely Eaimeline, 
 throwing her arms around Orlando's neck and kissing 
 him most affectionately : and as warmly he returned 
 her embrace, calling her his dear sister, angel. 
 
 " Hush ! hush ! we shall be overheard," cried 
 Emmeline, resuming her work, which she had quitted 
 at the entrance of her brother, with the greatest avi- 
 dity ; " Mrs. Maitland is returning, and she will 
 wonder what I have been doing in her absence ; leave 
 me now, Orlando, and I promise to accede to your 
 wishes. I have some flower seeds to take to Mrs. 
 Russel, and a work bag which I am going to make a 
 present to Matilda, I will ask mamma to let me go, 
 and—" 
 
 " That is of little use, if you do not ask for me to 
 accompany you," cried Orlando impatiently. 
 
 " But you shall. There, there, naughty brother, I 
 
/26 the fisher's daughter. 
 
 will scold you if you arc so impatient with me. Go, 
 go— .when we meet at dinner all shall be well," ut- 
 tered Emmeline; and Orlando immediately made his 
 exit without any one knowing that they had been to- 
 gether for so long a time. Mrs. Maitland never en- 
 quired of Lady Emmeline why the portion of work 
 was not in a better state of forwardness at her return, 
 or what she had been doing in her absence ; it was as 
 much as her situation was worth to shew the least 
 severity to her youthful pupil, over whom, indeed, she 
 had but little cause to exercise it. The patient, mild 
 sweetness of Lady Emmeline's disposition, with her 
 natural propensity to study and improve her mind 
 whenever her health would permit it, made it impos- 
 sible to find fault with her ; and the idolized fond- 
 ness of Lady Montault towards her daughter would 
 not have permitted it, even if she had neglected her 
 studies ; so that Lady Emmeline had a very fair excuse 
 for retiring at an early hour from her preceptress, 
 under the pretext of a severe head-ache, to dress for 
 dinner. This in reality was no pretext at all : for the 
 sweet girl, unaccustomed to sustain the least agitation, 
 was rendered extremely uncomfortable by the uneasi- 
 ness which her brother had betrayed ; and not very well 
 pleased that he should have called upon her for anv 
 influence that she might exert with her mother on the 
 present occasion, with respect to Matilda Russei. For 
 Lady Emmeline was too well aware of her mother' 
 motives for precluding Lord Orlando from forming any 
 attachment to the Fisher's Daughter, and that her 
 charms were already too much the object of her bro- 
 ther's contemplation : in this case it was highly impro- 
 
THE FJSHKK's DAUGHTER. 7-7 
 
 per that she should encourage what her mother dis 
 approved of. 
 
 Yet she so idolized her brother, that she found it 
 difficult to refuse his request; though, after this once, 
 she determined she would never sanction his meeting 
 Matilda without the knowledge of Lady Montault : 
 he was shortly going to college, and his removal might 
 obliterate from his mind this seductive passion, so 
 early formed in his boyish days. The real nature of 
 this passion Emmeline could not divine; she had read 
 of love, but she could not tell what it was ; and her bro- 
 ther was so young that it was scarcely possible he 
 could feel it for Matilda Russel, or that it was capable 
 of rendering a human being so uncomfortable, at an 
 a^e when his studies should have engrossed his more 
 serious attention. Being too young and too innocent 
 to reflect much about the matter, however, Lady Em- 
 meline thought only of the promise she had given him, 
 that he should certainly accompany her, if she went at 
 all that evening, to the Red House. 
 
 Aud being dressed early, she tripped into her mo- 
 ther's dressing room with the work-bag destined for 
 Matilda, and the flower-seeds for Mrs. Russel, in her 
 hand, and solicited permission to walk over with them 
 to the Red House after dinner. 
 
 And never was a more seasonable moment for Lady 
 Agatha to grant her request ; for already repenting of 
 the severity she had used on the preceding night, she 
 instantly exclaimed — 
 
 '•' Certainly, my love, if yon think the walk after 
 dinner to the Red House will not be too fatiguing fo* 
 
728 THE FISHKii's U.U.'GHTKli. 
 
 you ; had you not better take the carriage ? yet uo, the 
 air and the exercise in the open fresh fields will be 
 more beneficial. You ought not, however, to go alone ; 
 Randal must go with you." 
 
 " Or suppose that my brother was to be my esquire 
 on this occasion," cried Lady Emmeline ; " and now I 
 think of it, you promised Mrs. Russel some grapes the 
 last time she was here ; don't you remember, mamma ? 
 you said Orlando should bring them. Suppose now 
 that we were to kill two birds with one stone — Or- 
 lando take the grapes and take care of his sister at the 
 same time ? Come, shall 1 go and tell Orlando to order 
 the gardener to gather the grapes ? and after dinner we 
 can set out for the Red House immediately; may f, 
 mamma?" 
 
 At this precise moment, there was a look in Lady 
 Emmeline so expressive of her lamented father and 
 her dear Lord Montague Montault, that her fond mo- 
 ther, gazing on her angelic countenance with pained 
 yet delighted emotion, felt that she could refuse no 
 earthly wish that she had the power of granting to her, 
 however extravagant the boundaries ; and folding her 
 to her maternal bosom, while a tear sacred to the 
 memory of her father bedewed her cheek, she ex- 
 claimed — 
 
 " Go, my darling, and do whatever your inclination 
 may suggest, for I am well assured that it will never 
 lead you to do wrong. Tell Orlando that he has my 
 permission to go with you to Mrs. Russel's, and that 
 some grapes of the finest quality may be deposited in a 
 basket. You may also invite Matilda to come and 
 
THE FISHEll's DAUGHTER. 7^ 
 
 spend a day with us before she goes to school ; but 
 remember I shall expect you to return early, I do not 
 like late hours. I shall send the carriage for you and 
 Orlando precisely at eight o'clock, and I will not per- 
 mit you to exceed that hour." 
 
 " Dear, dear, mamma, could I act contrary to your 
 wishes for one moment, it would be inflicting pain on 
 my heart, for no punishment could be greater to me 
 than to know that I had incurred your displeasure,'' ut- 
 tered the lovely girl, as she withdrew transported with 
 the success of her embassy, and delighted to tell Or- 
 lando that she had succeeded beyond their most san- 
 guine expectations. She instantly repaired to his 
 dressing room, where he was preparing to change his 
 dress for dinner, and tapping softly at the door was 
 immediately admitted ; when she lost not a moment in 
 communicating the joyful tidings of her having suc- 
 ceeded in his request, with the additional good news 
 that she was to invite Matilda to spend a day at Violet 
 Vale. 
 
 " O, you dear little angel !" cried Lord Orlando ; " I 
 protest I could almost devour you with kisses, for the 
 active part you have taken in this business ; well, I will 
 go and order Michael to gather the finest bunches of 
 grapes immediately; but do, dear Emmeline, let us 
 go as soon as possible after dinner." 
 
 This being mutually agreed upon by brother and sister, 
 they parted till they were summoned to meet again at 
 the dinner table, where they found Lady Montault and 
 his Grace already seated. It was very plainly to be 
 perceived that Lord Orlando's spirits were in a state o. 
 the greatest hilarity, and that something unusual had 
 
 A31 4 z 
 
730 the fisher's daughter. 
 
 given rise to it; no remark, however, was made by 
 Lady Montault on this circumstance, farther than, when 
 he and Lady Emmeline were about to depart, she 
 entreated him to take care that his sUter did not 
 fatigue herself too much with walking about the gar- 
 dens, when they arrived at the Red House. 
 
 (C For you know," uttered her ladyship, looking ten- 
 derly at her daughter, " how willingly Emmeline 
 coincides with the wishes of others, and that she never 
 thinks of self when she is conferring happiness on 
 those objects whose comforts and convenience she 
 studies more than her own." 
 
 This was a home stroke to Lord Orlando, and he 
 coloured deeply, though his mother was unconscious 
 that this remark could in any degree apply to 
 him. And while the fond sister and brother are pe- 
 suing their route over flowery fields and daizied meads 
 towards the pleasant habitation of Mr. and Mrs. Rus- 
 sel, and anticipating the happiness they shall enjoy 
 in the society of their favourite Matilda; — before their 
 arrival, let us enquire into the nature of that young 
 lady's feelings ; and whether she was prepared to meet 
 her unexpected visitors with a smiling face, after the 
 cool and cutting indifference with which both she and 
 her grandfather were treated by the Marchioness and 
 Lady Winstone, the day she had met them at Adams's 
 library ? or whether the fisher Blust had yet forgotten 
 the slight which his darling girl had received ? 
 
 Not he, indeed • Peter was not very apt to look 
 over offences like these in a very quiet or peaceable 
 manner. He had noticed the contemptuous looks of 
 scorn they had cast upon his granddaughter, who was 
 
THK msh'kKS DAUGHTER. 731 
 
 the object of admiration to every body else at the li- 
 brary ; and it was with the utmost difficulty he put a 
 restraint upon the clapper of his tongue, from giving 
 them the retort courteous in the face of the numerous 
 company who were assembled there ; but no sooner 
 had he reached the outside of the door than he be 
 stowed epithets on their ladyships not of the most 
 delicate or choice kind ; and not all the persuasions of 
 his pretty granddaughter could silence him or bring 
 him to any order. 
 
 " For Heaven's sake, dear grandfather," uttered 
 Matilda, " do not talk so loud in the street j every 
 body will hear you, and look, there is the carriage 
 of Lady Winstone drawing up to the door of the 
 library." 
 
 To which the fisher, louder than ever, vociferated— 
 
 I* It may draw up to hell gate an't will ; shiver 
 my topsails if I care a rope's yarn who hears me, and 
 if one of the she devils were to come across me just 
 now, I would tell them slap in the face what I thought 
 of them. I'd teach them better manners, I warrant 
 me, before I had done with them, or my name's not 
 Peter Blust. Run up their noses at my Matty ! why 
 they can't shew such a face, not one of them that be 
 there, with all their patching, and their painting, and 
 their trinkem-trankems, and their thingembobs that 
 be hanging about their tails and their heels. I tell 
 you what, Matty, I have as good a mind as ever I had 
 in my life to go back again to the shop and tell them a 
 bit of my mind." 
 
 " Pray, grandfather, don't think of any such thing," 
 
732 THK USHI'K S PACGHTER. 
 
 uttered the now really affrighted Matilda, pulling the 
 enraged fisher along by the arm to hurry him towards 
 the inn where they had left the chaise in waiting; 
 " think to what ridicule you will expose both yourself 
 and me by such violence of temper." 
 
 " Expose a fiddlestick's end," cried the fisher. 
 " You silly little toad, what be you trembling and shak- 
 ing for ? don't every body know here in Cromer, that 
 my name's Peter Blust, and that I have got the shiners 
 by the sweat of my brow, and that's as good a title as 
 any lord's in Christendom ] but come, 1 wont say any 
 more, since you don't like it — but when I gets along- 
 side of your mother and father, who do think so much 
 of these great lords and ladies, with a pipe in my 
 mouth and a glass of grog before me, shiver my top- 
 sails if I don't tell'um a bit of my mind." 
 
 By this time Peter had fairly talked himself out of 
 breath, and being arrived at the door of the inn, to the 
 no small relief of Matilda, lie walked quietly into the 
 parlour they had quitted ; and the chaise being in wait- 
 ing, she prevailed on her grandfather, after cooling his 
 choler with a glass of brandy, to step into it, when 
 they immediately drove off to the Red House. There 
 a similar scene took place, and twenty times more 
 epithets bestowed on recapitulating the nature of the 
 affront he had received from the Marchioness and 
 Lady Winstone, at which it was scarcely possible for 
 Jessy or her husband to preserve any appearance of 
 gravity. 
 
 But the feelings of Matilda were not equally dis- 
 posed for mirth ; she had been deeply mortified at the 
 
THK FISHER'S DAUGHTER. 7^3 
 
 coolness of the ladies towards her, and that she was 
 compelled to adopt a manner to Lord Orlando and his 
 lovely sister, for which her heart secretly reproached 
 her. He was grown so handsome, so graceful, and so 
 tall ', and he looked at her, ah ! what did not his looks 
 convey ? But Matilda knew better than to let her 
 mother know the sensations she experienced on this 
 occasion, much less her grandfather, whose liberality 
 to her was unbounded ; and when she displayed her 
 purchases on the table, she was under the necessity of 
 >f forcing a smile in her countenance, while she ex- 
 claimed — 
 
 " Look, mamma, what beautiful presents grand- 
 father has made me ; here is a cornelian little heart, and 
 aecklace, and earrings, that do you know cost fifteen 
 guineas j and many ladies wanted them, but would not 
 give that price for them ; and when grandfather pulled 
 out his purse and threw the money down upon the 
 counter to Mrs. Adams, you cannot conceive how they 
 tared at both grandfather and me 5 and one of the gen- 
 tlemen asked Mrs. Adams who that young lady was, 
 fend whether I was not related to the old gentleman 
 who was fooling away so much money on my account , 
 and I coloured so you cannot think, mamma, it was 
 such a very odd speech for the gentleman to make in 
 my bearing, was it not ? But grandfather did not hear 
 it, so I did not mind." 
 
 " And, shiver my topsails, if 1 had 1 would have 
 given him a Rowland for his Oliver, I warrant me," 
 cried Peter, who now being three sheets in the wind, 
 was not very nice in his style of expressing himself. 
 
 " And what reply did Adams make to his interro- 
 
734 the fisher's daughter. 
 
 gatory," demanded Mrs. Russel, a little hurt (hat her 
 daughter had been exposed to such impertinent obser- 
 vations, and determined that she should never again 
 £o to the public library without being accompanied by 
 either herself or Mr. Russel; for although her father's 
 singularities were well known to the inhabitants of 
 Cromer, yet they were not so to the fashionable visitors 
 who resorted to the coast in the bathing season, conse- 
 quently they never failed to excite risibility whenever 
 he was in a humour to be jocular; and he little re- 
 garded whose eyes were upon him, or who was his 
 companion. And a young and lovely granddaughter 
 was by no means the most proper object that could be 
 selected to appear with him in public; and Jessy 
 was now rendered most uncomfortable by the reflec- 
 tion, that it was utterly impossible for her to prevent 
 it. Her father having made Matilda sole heiress ot 
 the immense property that he was possessed of, she 
 could not in reason or in nature deny him the privi- 
 lege he had certainly an undoubted right to share in, 
 that of enjoying his little whims and humours with his 
 granddaughter; of which, should she have deprived him, 
 it was possible that she might not only injure the in- 
 terests of her beloved child, but endanger the happi- 
 ness of her aged father, in whose affections she had no 
 rival before the birth of Matilda. Jessy also reflected, 
 and reflected most wisely, on the nature of affairs; that 
 providence had dealt most bounteously and liberally 
 towards her, for if her sister Olive had lived and had 
 oeen married, her offspring would have been equally en- 
 titled to her father's affection as her own ; and that 
 although she had ever been his favourite, yet her chil- 
 
THE FISHER'S DAUGHTER. 735 
 
 dreu had an equal right to their grandfather's affec- 
 tion j but here all was her own. There was no rival 
 grandson or daughter to contend with on her sister's 
 side, and having but one only child herself — how na- 
 tural it was for her father to love and to cherish it. 
 And how imperative was it for her, as the duty of an 
 only daughter, to indulge that father in any wish of his 
 heart, while the evening of his life could be rendered 
 happy by any coincidence she might offer to his 
 wishes. 
 
 And she determined never to oppose him while he 
 yet lived, with respect to Matilda; or suffer pride, that 
 bane of all human happiness to step in between to de- 
 prive them of the peace and the harmony that had so 
 long subsisted. 
 
 Before Matilda went to bed, however, and when her 
 grandfather was safely bestowed in his little chamber, 
 (which was his usual custom when he was unable to 
 return to Herring Dale, either by stress of weather, or, 
 what was more frequently the case, his having in- 
 dulged in too free a libation to Bacchus,) Mrs. Rus- 
 sel enquired more minutely into the occurrences of the 
 evening, and whether the accusation of the fisher 
 against the Marchioness and Lady Wiustone was really 
 'rue, or owing to the caprice of her grandfather. 
 
 " For 1 know very well that he is sometimes apt to 
 _*LKe strange fancies in his head," cried Mrs. Russel; 
 and he might think that because the ladies were not very 
 familiar with him, they were in consequence uncourte- 
 ous to you. Tell me, my love, here in the presence of 
 your father, the whole truth of the matter. Were the 
 
/36 THE fisher's daughter. 
 
 Marchioness and Lady Winstone really rude to you, 01 
 did your grandfather only fancy that they were so?" 
 
 Matilda, thus called upon by her mother, was ob- 
 liged to answer ingenuously, and she replied — 
 
 " Not absolutely rude, mamma, but not perfectly 
 consistent with what I have been taught to consider as 
 a line of good breeding, especially from personages in 
 their exalted rank of life; for when I curtseyed to 
 them on their first coming into the library, which 
 being seated next to them I thought it my duty to do, 
 they scarcely condescended to return it ; Lady Win- 
 stone indeed gave a slight inclination of her head, but 
 the Marchioness never noticed me at all, but went on 
 whispering to Lady Winstone all the while that grand- 
 father was purchasing the necklace and the earrings ; 
 and when he had paid the money down on the counter 
 to Mr. Adams, I heard her exclaim contemptuously — 
 ' Fools and their money are soon parted !' and when 
 Mr. Adams answered the gentleman, and said 1 was 
 the granddaughter of Mr. Blust of Herring Dale, she 
 laughed, and said to Lady Winstone, ' Yes one of the 
 young fry that owe their good fortune to the utter 
 destruction of the finny tribe that swim on the 
 ocean.' 
 
 "j I am perfectly satisfied, my love," uttered Jessy, 
 deeply hurt and mortified that she had put the feelings 
 of her daughter to so severe a test. " Then I find that 
 the statement of your grandfather was perfectly cor- 
 rect, and that his displeasure was very properly ex- 
 cited against them. However, I will take care the 
 next time you go to public places, to accompany you 
 
THE FISHER'S DAUGHTER. 7$/ 
 
 myself, for I am very well persuaded had your mother 
 been with you, that neither the Marchioness or Lady 
 Wins tone would have acted in the manner you de- 
 scribe." 
 
 " Very probably not, dear mamma," answered Ma- 
 tilda ; " neither did Lord Orlando or Lady Emmeline, 
 for they were with them, and on seeing me they both 
 flew anxiously to my side, and made kind enquiries 
 after my health, and appeared very solicitous to engage 
 my attention ; but I was vexed, and I know not how 
 it was, mamma, but at the precise moment that Lord 
 Orlando spoke to me, I felt prouder than ever I did 
 before, and very coldly curtseyed both to him and 
 L dy Emmeline as if they had been the aggressors in- 
 stead of the Marchioness and Lady Winstone." 
 
 Matilda coloured excessively deep as she uttered 
 ihese words, to which her mother replied— 
 
 " That was certainly wrong of you, my love, as you 
 well know that neither Lord Orlando or the sweet 
 Fm incline could be answerable for the conduct of their 
 relatives, who are so unlike the amiable Lady Agatha, 
 who no doubt will feel much hurt when she hears 
 of it." 
 
 Eat h now retired to their respective chambers. 
 Matilda, not being able to reconcile the conduct she 
 had adopted towards her young friends, could not 
 close her eyes all night for thinking of them, and how 
 she snould repair the fault she had committed ; and 
 was ouite out of spirits the ensuing morning, and would 
 i>rob*»oly have continued so, had not an opportunity 
 so fortunately presented itself by the unexpected visit 
 
 c 31 5 a 
 
7&S THK FISHER'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 of Lord Orlando and his lovely sister at the Red 
 House. 
 
 Matilda was netting a silk purse for her mother 
 when thev arrived, and she immediately arose, with 
 Mrs. Russel, on their entrance, and saluted them with 
 the warmest welcome. 
 
 The grapes were presented by Orlando, and the 
 work-bag, which was composed of materials the most 
 elegant and costly, to Matilda by the lovely Emmeline. 
 
 " Thank you, dear Lady Emmeline," cried Matilda. 
 O ! how 1 shall treasure it for the sake of friendship — 
 yet — yet — " and her cheeks assumed a colour of the 
 brightest carnation ; " on recollection, I am quite un- 
 worthy of your generous gift." 
 
 " How so, dear Matilda ?" enquired Lady Em- 
 meline. 
 
 a By the manner in which I behaved to you at the 
 library," replied Matilda j "I am quite ashamed of 
 myself for it, and hope both you and Lord Orlando 
 will forgive me." 
 
 " You see what an impression it has made on me/* 
 cried the sweet Emmeline, and smiled ; " but I cannot 
 say that my brother was quite so easy about the mat- 
 ter, were you Orlando ?" 
 
 " No, sister," replied Lord Orlando, colouring 
 deeply ; " it is no easy matter to bear contumely, or the 
 frowns of those objects for whom we feel the highest 
 veneration, with the consciousness of uot having merit- 
 ed their severity." 
 
 A deeper blush overspread the transparent cheeks of 
 Mcttiida. 
 
THK FISHER'S DAUGHTER. 7^9 
 
 " 1 assure you, my lord, that I had no intention of 
 offending: you," timidly pronounced she ; " but I was 
 taught a lesson of humiliation, from a quarter where I 
 least expected it, and consequently was obliged to profit 
 by it." * 
 
 The entrance of Mrs. Russel, who had stepped cut a 
 few moments on domestic concerns, put an end to the 
 conversation which was beginning to grow exceedingly 
 painful to the young friends, both conscious, even at. 
 this early age, that they were dear to each other, be- 
 yond the power of language to express, and also 
 conscious of the necessity of concealing it. They 
 passed, however, a very delightful afternoon and evening 
 at the Red House, Mr. and Mrs. Russel doing all in 
 their power to enliven them. Lady Emmeline did not 
 faii to invite Matilda to spend a c'ay at Violet Vale be- 
 fore the vacation had expired. 
 
 zt Mamma begs that you will permit Matilda to 
 come, dear Mrs. Russel," cried Lady Emmeline ; "and 
 I hope you will not refuse her solicitation." 
 
 To which Mrs. Russel replied — 
 
 t{ It is not very likely, my sweet love, that I can re- 
 fuse any solicitation made by Lady Agatha Montault. 
 Matilda shall certainly avail herself of the kind invita- 
 tion with which she so greatly honours her." 
 
 " But when will that be, dear Mrs. Russel ?" most 
 anxiously enquired Lady Emmeline. Shall it be to- 
 morrow ? say to morrow, and we will send the carriage 
 for her. 
 
 *• Then to-morrow shall be the day,'' answered Mrs. 
 Russel \ and with this condolatory assurance, the car- 
 riage being arrived, Lord Orlando and Lady Em me- 
 
740 THE FISHER'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 line, precisely at the hour of eight, took their departure 
 from the Red House. 
 
 Such was the quiet and serene temperature of 
 things in the family of Mr. and Mrs. Russel and Lady 
 Agatha Montault, when one morning dispatches ar- 
 rived from the continent, and the well-known hand of 
 the amiable Marchese Dor Hortensia met the enrap- 
 tured eye of Lady Agatha. Hastily she broke the seal, 
 and there was another letter from Fauchette enclosed 
 in her mother's. 
 
 The communications of the Marchese were as 
 follow : — 
 
 " My dearly beloved friend will imagine that she is 
 erased from the memory as well as the heart which 
 she has so long inhabited, by the very long silence 
 which has prevailed ; but when she is fully informed 
 of the causes of it, she will no longer wonder at the 
 delay — the discovery we have made respecting the 
 Wretched monsters, who were accessary to the con- 
 cealing and carrying off the heir of Walbergh and 
 rending with anguish the heart of a fond doating mother. 
 
 " But you shall hear in what manner this discovery 
 took place. We were on the eve of departing from 
 the hateful environs of Denmark, after a most unsuc- 
 cessful attempt to endeavour to trace in the Black 
 Forest the robbers of our dear little Wallace ! but in 
 vain was the search, and I prevailed ou Eloise to re- 
 linquish all thoughts of further enquiry into so myste- 
 rious a circumstance, but to let it rest in the hands of 
 Providence ; and she at length acceded to my wishes, 
 *vhen I pointed out to her thr useless expense which 
 
the fisher's daughter. 741 
 
 attended it, and the time which had already been 
 wasted on so perilous and uncomfortable an expedi- 
 tion, and the following morning we bade farewell to 
 Denmark, as I hoped, for ever. We had passed the 
 Black Forest without meeting with any impediment 
 on the way, and our guide proposed, as the evening 
 advanced, to strike into an opposite direction, fear- 
 ful of meeting with company that might not be quite 
 so pleasant or agreeable to our feelings j as their 
 purpose would be plunder, for which there was 
 neither redress or law in this part of the country. On 
 this intelligence not only my little Fauchette but mv 
 sister became dreadfully alarmed, and entreated that 
 he would stop at the first inn on the road, however 
 humble or wretched, rather than run the hazard of 
 endangering our property or our lives. 
 
 " To which the guide replied — 
 
 " * I know but of one house of entertainment on 
 the road, my lady, and that is scaroely able to accom- 
 modate the muleteers, who are obliged by stress of 
 weather alone to seek a shelter from the storm in this 
 miserable hovel, which hath acquired a name of no 
 great repute, as it is said at Denmark that a traveller, 
 journeying to Venice with some small wares and mer- 
 chandize, was formerly murdered there by reason of 
 the little property that he had about him ; there was a 
 sad piece of work about it I remember, and though 
 the host and the hostess of this miserable hotel plead- 
 ed ignorance as well as innocence of the vile trans- 
 action, aud it could not be fairly proved that they had 
 purloined the unfortunate man's property, yet theic 
 ^as no doubt but thev had a principal hand in the 
 
742 THK FlsHKK'S DAUGHTKR. 
 
 nffair, lo. they iiad much ado from keeping the halter 
 being put about their necks.' 
 
 •' * Good heavens! into what a dilemma have I 
 irought you, my dearest sister!' exclaimed the Ba- 
 roness ; and turning to Fauehette, whose cheeks were 
 blanched with fear, she told her to apprehend nothing, 
 for if gold could procure us an asylum any where for 
 the night at any of the neighbouring convents, that 
 we should instantly repair to it. There is St. Marco 
 not very far distant from the part through which we 
 are travelling,' uttered she; 'and though it is extremely 
 difficult of access, yet it is very remarkable for its hu- 
 manity to strangers; it lies on the eastward of this dis- 
 trict, and is distinguishable by three white marble 
 figures, that decorate its portal, of Faith, Hope, and 
 Charity. Suppose, guide, you turn your horse's head 
 that way, and lose no time in getting thither ; gold will 
 pave our way when naught else could prevail. Use it 
 freely ; J am known to the Abbess St. Celestina, and 
 the moment I give in my name at the portal, not even 
 the holy fathers dare refuse me admission. On with 
 your mules, and fear not but I will amply reward you 
 for the speed you make. 
 
 '* That gold has magic, need not be doubted, espe- 
 cially with that class of beings whose expectations of 
 gain principally arise from their labour. La Flour, 
 which was the name of our guide, wanted no other 
 stimulus to set him in motion, and our little cava* 
 cade moved on at a rapid pace towards the turret 
 of the distant convent of St. Marco; the lights in it 
 were brilliant, and, though at a distance of a mile and 
 a half, amid the dark foiloge of the trees, emitted an 
 
the fisher's daughter. 743 
 
 enlivening ray. It was a towering and majestic pile 
 that reared its lofty head almost to the skies; and I 
 shall never forget the impression which it made udoii 
 us, when first it met our view. We had nearly arrived 
 at the grand entrance where the figures described by 
 Eloise shone transcendantly beautiful, when our guide 
 recommended to us the propriety of stopping at some 
 paces from the convent, before we rung at the massy 
 bell. 
 
 " ■ There is a monk there/ cried he, ' of the name 
 of St. Francis, or more properly known by Francis 
 the Incorruptible, over whose austere habits no one 
 has yet been able to effect a change ; his power over 
 the Abbess Celestina and the superiors of the con- 
 vent, is so great that none can be admitted without an 
 order from him to enter the holy sanctuary, save those 
 only who are the outcasts of wretchedness and poverty.' 
 
 " e Although I am not so, yet will I gain admission,' 
 uttered Eloise. 'Do as you are commanded. Ring at 
 the gate.' 
 
 " The guide did so, and immediately the porter ap- 
 peared to demand what he wanted. 
 
 " ' Protection for travellers overtaken by the dark- 
 ness of the night, and who solicit from the Abbess and 
 the superiors, and the ghostly confessors of this bless- 
 ed convent, a night's lodging,' cried the guide. 
 
 *' * Of what quality and condition are those for whom 
 you solicit this protection ?' uttered the porter. ' We 
 admit none within this holy sanctuary, but the sons 
 and the daughters of human misery.' 
 
 **' ( And are not those miserable who stand in dan- 
 ger of being attacked by robbers who would take both 
 
744 THE FISHER'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 their property and their lives?' retorted the guide; 
 ' and who have a double claim to the protection of 
 your holy sanctuary ; for they are females, and I believe 
 of high quality.' 
 
 " ' That will not ensure them a reception in this con- 
 vent the more welcome. We do not consider high 
 birth and riches of the slightest value : however, I will 
 prefer your petition to the superior of the lay brothers, 
 the holy father St. Francis. None here can enter 
 without his permission, though they were crowned 
 monarchs. He is incorruptible ; knowest thou not 
 that?' 
 
 li ( I have heard,' uttered the guide, c of the power 
 of that holy father, nor doubt his high authority, 
 though all men are not incorruptible who appear 
 so. The gem is brightest whose lustre is obscured, 
 and the flower in the shade more lovely than the 
 proud exotic that rears its lofty head to meet the 
 skies.' 
 
 " A sort of murky smile, (for it certainly was not one 
 of good humour,) rested for a moment on the surly 
 brow of the porter as he closed the massive gate full in 
 the face of the guide, muttering — 
 
 " e I will send in thy petition on behalf of the be- 
 nighted travellers, and will return and tell thee of the 
 result.' 
 
 " Which he did in a few moments, with the follow- 
 ing words. 
 
 " ' The holy father St. Francis dolh much wonder 
 at females of rank and quality travelling at this lonely 
 hour, and doth require some voucher ere he can ad- 
 mit them within these holy walls 5 for what purpose 
 
Tim usher's daughter. /h x o 
 
 £r i .. yon Lravelling, and whither arc you going, and how 
 dost thou mean to tarry here ? These questions must 
 thou resolve, and truly, ere thou canst obtain a night's 
 lodging in the convent of St. Marco.' 
 
 " As the whole of this conversation was carried on 
 in a loud tone, we overheard every sentence uttered by 
 the man of the holy order ; audi o'jr honest guide and 
 the Baroness now thought it necessary to interfere, con- 
 ceiving that the father St. Francis was going beyond 
 the boundaries of his authority, which, however high, 
 was no reason why he should usurp it improperly over 
 those who were not his inferiors; and taking from her 
 pocket-book a card on which was written * Eloise, Ba- 
 roness of Walbergh,' she desired our guide to tell 
 the porter to convey it instantly to the Abbess Celes- 
 tina, and to inform Father St. Francis, that she did 
 not think proper to answer interrogatories demanded 
 with such assumption ; but would answer them to the 
 holy lady, by whom alone she would submit to be thus 
 interrogated. 
 
 ' It was under the most profound astonishment 
 and confusion that the porter listened to this message, 
 and in silence took the card from the hands of the 
 guide, and instantly disappeared. 
 
 " In a few minutes he returned with so altered a 
 countenance, and his former sullen and uncouth 
 demeanour so changed, that it was very easy to 
 imagine under whose orders he was now acting, and 
 what potent influence the card of the Baroness of 
 Walbergh had upon the mind of the Abbess Celestina ; 
 for instantly the massive gates flew wide open for our 
 carriage to enter the grand portico, and attendants 
 
 «32 5 b 
 
740 the fisher's daughter. 
 
 waited to conduct us to the presence of the holy lady, 
 by whose orders the guide was also bestowed in an 
 apartment belonging to the order of the domestic part 
 of the establishment, and the carriage and the mules 
 were taken care of. 
 
 r{ We passed through a magnificent suite of cham- 
 bers, though all of the gothic structure, and all lighted 
 up with wax tapers ; silver lamps were also placed in 
 several directions, which emitted a soft and delicate 
 odour of frankincense ; and at length we reached the 
 apartment which contained the holy lady of this superb 
 and magnificent edifice. The person of the Abbess, 
 though greatly disguised by her conventual robes, sur- 
 passed all I had ever seen of mild and angelic beauty ; 
 a smile of ineffable sweetness played round a dimpled 
 chin and mouth, which had the look of a cherub; her 
 eyes were blue, and her skin had the transparent 
 whiteness of drifted snow, and though but little of her 
 hair was seen, yet through the folds of her white flow- 
 ing veil you could perceive that it was of a lovely light 
 auburn shade; she appeared to be about eight and 
 thirty years of age, and I could not help wondering (as 
 Eloise told me that the lady Celestina had been the 
 Abbess of this convent several years) what could have 
 induced so young and beautiful a woman, to have 
 taken the vow which for ever shut her out from the 
 world and all its fascinations ! Perhaps it was owing 
 to my having so fixed an aversion to a life of this kind, 
 (because I always conceived it to be most unnatural 
 and even unjust,) that so much excited my astonishment 
 when ? beheld so lovely a sacrifice as the beautiful 
 object before me, the victim, it might be possible, to ' 
 
I"HB KISHliR's DAUGHTER, j X] 
 
 parental authority more than the inclinations of her 
 own heart; for in this country it is shocking to re- 
 late, that children are forced to take the holy vows 
 whether they like it or not. when the authors of their 
 being cannot portion them out in marriage. 
 
 " This is a picture from which I turn with disgust, 
 as both nature and feeling revolt at it. I am called off, 
 my amiable friend. Eloise is dreadfully agitated by 
 the sight of the monster who bereft her of her child— 
 who is now at the last gasp of nature. I will resume 
 my journal in a few hours — till then, may all good 
 
 ongeis attend you. 
 
 Emmelme Dnt iiortrnsia:' 
 
74 W THE FISHER'S DAUC.HTd 
 
 CHAPTER XXX. 
 
 «* When Heaven dissolves the sacred lie 
 7h*f. bind? tvo faithful h<?irts inons, 
 
 Where can the sad survivor fly 
 The arrows of despair to shun ? 
 
 O ! can the musing hours of grief 
 
 A pause from keen remembrance know ! 
 
 Or rooted sorrow find relief, 
 
 From empty forms of outward woe ? 
 
 Ah ! no! this world no cure bestows. 
 
 In vain is every human art ; 
 From pure religion only flows 
 
 A balm to heal the wounded heart." 
 
 Yeate. 
 
 " I relinquished the pleasing task which Eloise had 
 assigned to me 5 my beloved friend, in consequence of 
 a summons I received to accompany her and the 
 Abbess Celestina to vespers ; but I must first inform 
 you that this holy and surely as lovely a lady, not only 
 offered us an asylum for the night, but evinced towards 
 us the greatest friendship and hospitality; she also gave 
 us a most pressing invitation to spend a few days with 
 ner at the convent of St. Marco, the neatness and 
 
the fisher's daughter. 749 
 
 the order of which establishment exceeded that of 
 every other I have yet witnessed in any country; and 
 a cheerful temperature of disposition, creating harmony 
 and peace, seems to be diffused among them. Many 
 of the nuns were related to families of distinction, as 
 also were the boarders ; some of them were young and 
 extremely beautiful, and from the miid and angeiical 
 expression of their countenances, it did not seem as if 
 by any means they regretted the pleasures or' that 
 world, from which they bad shut themselves out for 
 ever; for here they reigned in purity of thought as 
 well as action, with no care tc molest them, and no 
 anxiety to corrode the passing hour or embitter life's 
 siiort fleeting passage to eternity. Still I could not re- 
 concile the idea of this voluntary imprisonment, or the 
 necessity of flying from temptation for the security of 
 virtue — because virtue is certainly most timid in the 
 very midst of the dangers that surround it ; like 
 hidden reasures in the golden mine, it would not shine 
 with half its lustre, was it not to pass the firey ordeal, 
 and there become the more purefied and refined. Bur, 
 o proceed — 
 
 " I was under some sensation of surprize upon our 
 entrance to the apartments of the lady Abbess, to hear 
 her address Eloise in the most familiar terms, while 
 Eloise as familiarly addressed her, sometimes calling 
 Her, e dear Celestina,' and exchanging looks and glances 
 tvhieh to me appeared wholly unintelligible ; for I never 
 heard the Baroness mention her having a friend of that 
 description, and I thought the circle of her acquaintance 
 had not any females in it whom I did not know; but. that 
 the Abbess was not only a n:ost particular friend of the 
 
/.lO THE FJSHKR*S DALGMTEii, 
 
 Baroness of Walbergh, but with whom she had the 
 most unbounded influence, I could scarcely doubt, 
 from the manner in which we had been received at 
 the convent, and her subsequent behaviour to us. 
 But I had too much delicacy to request even of my 
 sister an elucidation of circumstances which she her- 
 self did not choose me to be acquainted with, and there- 
 fore preserved a silence which I thought was incum- 
 bent on me ; besides it was probable that Eloise was 
 not at liberty to disclose all she knew respecting the 
 history of the Abbess of the convent of St. Marco ; and 
 what right had I to penetrate into secrets which did 
 not belong to me. I had too much dignity and too 
 much pride, Lady Montault, even with a beloved sis- 
 ter, to become inquisitive about secrets that did not 
 concern me. 
 
 " Whether Eloise perceived this delicacy in me I know 
 not ; but I believe she did, as she frequently asked me 
 what [ thought of the Lady Celestina, and my an er 
 was — 
 
 " ' I thiuk she is an angel — I never saw so lovely a 
 creature with such little consciousness of her perfec- 
 tions; yet I cannot help wondering at 'the strong in- 
 ducements she must have had in making choice of a 
 conventual life. You know my sentiments on this 
 head, Eloise, and I will forbear saying any more on the 
 subject.' 
 
 " ( True,' cried the Baroness with a smile, ' and 
 they are also mine, Emmeline; I could endure any 
 punishment on earth so 1 had but liberty. But it was 
 not the choice of the Lady Celestina to be what you 
 behold her now ; a far different prospect attended her, 
 
isik kisiii?.r's daughtkr. 7b\ 
 
 but slip, made the sacrifice to save her father from t lie* 
 inquisition; she yielded the pleasures, and the gaities, 
 the homage, the adoration of a world that bowed to 
 her shrine, to save him from the cruelty of these bar- 
 barians—he was innocent of the crime which was 
 alleged against him ; but nought could avail to prove 
 him so.' , 
 
 " Interest was made at the convent of St. Marco, for 
 the intercession of the holy fathers to spare him from 
 the torture of the rack. They did so; but demanded 
 as a ransom for the extended pardon to the culprit, the 
 young and lovely daughter of St, Cuthbert— the far- 
 famed peerless maid, Celestina, for a virgin saint, 
 whose beauty was the idol of an admiring world, and 
 which could only be equalled by her mental graces and 
 accomplishments. 
 
 "'It is too much,' cried St. Cuthbert; 'rather 
 let me endure whole ages of torture than make a 
 sacrifice of my child, my only child. If I am guilty 
 she is innocent; why on her devoted head do you bring 
 down your vengeance for a father's crime, which be- 
 longeth not to the innocent offspring? I will perish 
 before my Celestina shall be dragged to the cold 
 cloisters of a convent's solitary gloom— she who was 
 formed to adorn a world which hath not yet found her 
 fellow.' 
 
 " ' Give her to the world then,' uttered they in the 
 most contemptuous and scornful accents; ( but you, 
 St. Cuthbert, who are so improvident of the happiness 
 which is intended for your daughter, shall perish— a 
 just example of your folly in having rejected a pardon 
 which can onlv be obtained but bv the terms we offer 
 
752 THE FISHKR's DAUGH'tlMl- 
 
 Choose once more, your alternative — if you are wiay 
 you will adopt it — Celestina, or the ['ower of the in- 
 quisition, which is — 
 
 H ' Death !' uttered St. Cuthbert ; i too well I know 
 xe stern sentence which will be pronounced against 
 ne by men of no mercy, though in /ourselves as guilty 
 as the vilest wretch that ever stood before your dread 
 tribunal. I am no stranger to the doom you intend 
 lie; still I will deny you as haughtily as though I were 
 to receive a diadem at your hands. I will not make 
 a sacrifice of my daughter. Put then your sentence in 
 force, and I will bear it unshrinkingly.' 
 
 i( At this moment a loud and piercing shriek was 
 neard, and a female implored admittance from the 
 stern accusers of her father ; it was the voice or' 
 Celestina. 
 
 " ' Let her come forward,' cried the notary; ' and 
 she instantly appeared with all that transcendant beauty 
 and softness about her, which had captivated all eves 
 and irresistibly won all hearts towards her. She had 
 the look of a seraph ; and well might they want such a 
 vestal saint to be offered up to the walls of the hoiy 
 sanctuary — the brightest and the sweetest jewel that 
 could adorn and shed a lustre on the convent of St. 
 Marco.' 
 
 " ' Daughter of St. Cuthbert, what do you demand ?' 
 uttered the fathers of the inquisition, not unmoved 
 with the beauty and innocence of the peerless maid. 
 We have already pronounced sentence on St. Cuth- 
 kert. Yon alone can alter our determination to lead 
 him to confession, where on the rock he will be corn 
 peHed by bodily tortures, to — ' 
 
the fisher's daughter. 753 
 
 u * Hold, for mercy's sake! end not your cruel sen- 
 tence," uttered the firm but agonized maid j 'here 
 on my bended knees in humble agony I sue to you for 
 a moment's respite from that horrible doom. Save 
 but my father, and Celestina is your servant — is your 
 slave ! What are the terms you propose for his emanci- 
 pation ? bid me fly over icy mountains, or plunge into 
 the abyss of Etna's burning flames ; and behold I am 
 ready, so that you pronounce St. Cuthbert free.' 
 
 u ' Eternal vows of celibacy in the convent of St 
 Marco,' uttered they. 
 
 "'Celestina, I command you to pause before yoi: 
 take that fatal vow,' exclaimed the frantic father. 
 " My child, my child, wherefore should you become a 
 sacrifice for my sake ! unhappy parent that I am, why 
 was I the author of your being to doom you to such 
 a fare !' 
 
 " ' That is a question, St. Cuthbert, you should have 
 asked before you were brought before us for the foul 
 commission of unworthy actions,' cried the superior, 
 frowning on him ; ' let your daughter determine your 
 fate, and quickly. We cannot delay further time; 
 Celestina, are you willing to take the holy vow? Here 
 is the book that must bind vou to the sacred oath 
 press but your virgin lips on its leaves, and St. Cuth- 
 bert is at liberty to depart, by order of the holy fathers 
 of the inquisition, and the superiors of the convent of 
 St. Marco — Celestina, your word now decides it — i& 
 your father free ?' 
 
 " * For ever and eternally free in this world's earthly 
 space, it my choice can decide it,' cried the angelic 
 
 ?> 32 5 c 
 
"54 the fisher's daughter. 
 
 and heroic maid. " Holy fathers, I make no sacri'ice 
 in ottering up my vows to Heaven and to my God ; 
 for my thoughts have never been fixed on the plea- 
 sures and the vanities of this world. 1 have no ties on 
 earth, and no affections but what 1 bear my father. 
 Cheerfully I go into that holy sanctuary beneath whose 
 hallowed walls 1 may perchance taste of more peace 
 than if I had mixed with human passions and human 
 vanities — do you require more to give my father per- 
 fect freedom ?' 
 
 " i None, Celestina, thou peerless matchless maid,' 
 uttered the superior, viewing her lovely countenance 
 with unspeakable delight and satisfaction. ' St. Cuth- 
 bert is free — he may depart, blest with the remem- 
 brance that Heaven gave him such a daughter. To- 
 morrow you will enter into the convent of the blessed 
 sisters, of which you will form the brightest ornament. 
 To night use your liberty as you may to prepare you 
 for that holy ordinance.' 
 
 " ' Come then, father,' cried Celestina, linking her 
 arm in that of St. Cuthbert's, ( we will devote this night 
 to earthly pleasures. To-morrow I bid farewell to all 
 its fascinations for ever.' 
 
 " l Celestina took the holy vow at the time appointed 
 for her; and St. Cuthbert, who was possessed of im- 
 mense property, died of a broken heart, in consequence 
 of the sacrifice which his young and lovely daughter 
 had made, which he considered unnatural and unjust. 
 He lingered out a (ew years, but they were miserable 
 ones : and shortly he terminated his wretched exis- 
 tfince 9 ieaying Celes'iia the whole of his wealth, and a 
 
1HE FISHERS DAUGHTER. JoO 
 
 handsome donation to the convent of St. Marco; the 
 i hen bess, who was aged and infirm, very soon 
 made a vacancy, and the beautiful vestal saint was ap- 
 pointed in her stead ; her beauty, not more than her 
 engaging manners, her gentle disposition, and pious 
 conduct, had rendered her the idol of the convent ; and 
 without one dissenting voice, at the death of Thersa, 
 she was called upon to supply her station. 
 
 " ' Thus you see, Emmeline, the motives which have 
 induced the Lady Celestina to become what you now 
 see her. Though I knew her before she took these 
 holy vows, when living with her father in an elegant 
 chateau on the banks of the Rhine, where she was ad- 
 mired and courted by all who beheld her; the crime 
 for which her father would have suffered, J never 
 knew, except that he had concealed within his house 
 a deserter, an officer of high rank in the service of the 
 Emperor Julian, which was deemed high treason, he 
 having suffered him to escape. I could never learn 
 that St. Cuthbert had been guilty of any other 
 offence; but this alone was sufficient to subject him 
 to the abitrary laws of the inquisition, which in this 
 country are imperative.' 
 
 " If J had been before interested in the looks and the 
 manners of the lovely Lady Celestina^ how much more 
 was I so at the recital of her history from Eloise ! and 
 1 could not now behold her without feeling sentiments 
 of the most enthusiastic admiration, at which every 
 inother's hearf throbs with commingled sensations of 
 pity and maternal tenderness, which cannot be ex- 
 pressed in terms too glowing or rapturous. 
 
756 niK fishkk's daughter. 
 
 " No one had the power to dispute her authority or 
 disobey her commands in the convent, and conse 
 quently we had unlimited power, while we remained 
 her guests, to visit such parts of the holy sanctuary as 
 we thought proper, and which indeed were well worth} 
 of observation ; and my Fauchette was delighted with 
 the novel scenes which she beheld here; she held many 
 interesting conversations with the young novices, some 
 of whom dined at the same table with the Abbess, and 
 constantly spent their evenings with her. 
 
 " ' I do not like to be unnecessarily severe or rigid 
 with these amiable young women,' cried the Lady 
 Celestina, ' who have nothing to do with the holy 
 order of our profession, but are merely placed under 
 my care for a portion of time, to complete their educa- 
 tion ; and while their recreations are harmless and in- 
 nocent, I do not see what right I have to deprive them 
 of enjoying each others society in what manner they 
 think proper. I therefore do not withhold from them 
 indulgences becoming their age and capacities, ex 
 cept on those days which are alone sacred to religious 
 duties. To night there is a grand mass to be per- 
 formed for the repose of one of our departed sisters, 
 where all are expected to attend who are in the body 
 of this convent. I do not ask my fair friends to join 
 the number of this mournful ceremony, unless they 
 wish to hear the service performed : the father St. 
 Francis is to officiate on this occasion, and I am 
 obliged to be present when this holy man attends. 
 
 " We all expressed a wish to be permitted to attend 
 the ceremony. 
 
I'HE FISHER'S DAUGHTER. 7^7 
 
 '-' ' Then 1 must make nuns of you, positively, ladies,' 
 cried the Lady Celestina with a sweet and fascinating 
 smile ; ' you cannot go to mass in that attire.' 
 
 '•" We consented to change our habits to any she 
 thought proper to adopt ; and I assure you that my 
 Fauchette made a very pretty little nun. On our en- 
 trance to the chapel, which was hung with black, and 
 lighted with wax tapers, the pious orgies commenced, 
 and father St. Francis in a solemn and affecting tone 
 performed his duty in a most impressive manner, and 
 gave a most judicious and elaborate discourse on the 
 immortality of the souls of departed saints. It was 
 however, too solemn and affecting a subject for my 
 lively Fauchette ; and it was probably some tender and 
 affecting remembrances sacred to the memory of her 
 so greatly lamented sister, that so powerfully agitated 
 the feelings of my poor girl ; for she sobbed audibly 
 daring the performance of the ceremony; but when 
 the requiem was chaunted by the attendant and pro- 
 fessional nuns, whose faces were covered with black 
 veils which descended to their feet, in soft, mournful, 
 yet melodious accents, she became again tranquil and 
 composed, and resumed her cheerful spirits when we 
 again returned to the apartments of the Abbess Ce- 
 lestina. 
 
 '' i Your daughter is possessed of strong passions 
 and powerful sensibility, Marchese,' uttered the holy 
 lady; c she is a most enchanting and fascinating crea- 
 ture ; may every good spirit smile propitiously on her 
 fate, and shield her youthful and susceptible heart from 
 the dangers of temptation by which youth and beauty 
 are ever surrounded in the thorny paths of 'ife.' 
 
75S THE FlSHEll'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 " 1 then explained to the Abbess that I had recently 
 lost a most lovely and amiable daughter, who had been 
 many years a suffering invalid, and that it was possibly 
 owing to this circumstance, that Fauchette had dis- 
 covered so much agitation during the impressive 
 and solemn ceremony we had witnessed, which, to 
 those who were not familiar with such scenes, were, as 
 might be very naturally supposed, such as to produce 
 a very potent effect upon the human mind. Lady Ce- 
 jestina acknowledged the truth of the observation. 
 
 " After supper, as we were about retiring for the 
 night, an attendant lay brother of the convent sud- 
 denly made his entrance with a message from the 
 father St. Francis, requesting a private audience of the 
 Abbess Celestina on an affair of extreme urgency. 
 The Abbess expressed some surprize, and apologizing 
 for her absence immediately went into an anti-cham- 
 ber, begging that we would not retire till she returned 
 to us again ; which she did in a few moments, calling 
 the Baroness of Walbergh aside, to whom having ut- 
 tered a few sentences, Eloise turned paler than ashes, 
 and exhibited marks of the strongest agitation. 
 
 " ' Possess your mind with fortitude, my beloved 
 friend,' uttered the Abbess, taking the hand of my 
 agitated sister with an air of tenderness combined with 
 the most endearing sympathy. ' This man has some- 
 thing to confess to you which may be of the greatest 
 importance; he is also a dying penitent — and we can- 
 not in pity refuse his solicitation — he has been con- 
 fined by severe illness for more than two years in this 
 convent, and is now I believe rapidly approaching to 
 the last stage of human sufferings; his great infirmities 
 
THE FISHER'S DAUGHTER. 7&* 
 
 have induced us to treat him with every mark of hu- 
 manity and assistance, that the established order of 
 our convent would afford ; and his abstracted fits of 
 melancholy and despair have led us frequently to ima- 
 gine that he has some concealed crime laying on his 
 conscience, which will not permit him to depart this 
 life in peace until he discloses it. St. Francis was 
 summoned to his cell at a late hour at midnight, when 
 he eagerly requested to know if there was not a lady 
 stranger guest, who had been lately sojourning at the 
 convent for several days ; from one of the lay brothers, 
 he had learned by accident that the name of the lady 
 was Eloise, Baroness of Walbergh, with whose name he 
 was most intimately acquainted ; he stated that he had 
 a secret to disclose to her of the most important nature j 
 and that feeling his dissolution to be near at hand, he 
 could not die easy unless he saw the Baroness of Wal- 
 bergh, and held a private conference with her. 
 
 " ' This is the communication which the father St. 
 Francis has now made to me,' cried the Lady Celestina; 
 ' in this case, my beloved friend, I would not have 
 you hesitate one moment about complying with his 
 request/ 
 
 " ( Stay yet one moment, Lady Celestina,' cried my 
 sister, now agitated beyond expression at the intelli- 
 gence she received ; f in what manner was this man 
 introduced into your holy sanctuary, or by whom re- 
 commended? since I know that powerful interest is 
 required to admit even a penitent within these holy 
 walls.' 
 
 " ' It is so,' uttered the Abbess ; f yet the claims of 
 
760 THt fisher's daughter. 
 
 humanity to the sons and the daughters of misfortune 
 were never yet denied : his name is Ronald \ and the 
 applicant who wrote for his admission here, having 
 powerful connections and unbounded wealth, part of 
 which he appropriates to the charities of this sanctuary. 
 his access was almost immediate. Count Rodolph ac- 
 companied him hither, and invested a considerable 
 sum of money in the hands of the holy fathers, for the 
 expenses and maintenance of this suffering invalid.* 
 
 " e Count Rodolph !' uttered Eloise, uplifting her 
 hands with the most profound astonishment ; e he per- 
 form acts of charity, and distribute his monies for the 
 relief of the unfortunate! — Count Rodolph, the bro- 
 ther of the Emperor Julian, — he the friend of humanity J 
 Then is the tiger converted into the lamb.' 
 
 " ' Of that conversion I know nothing ; yet the ap- 
 plicant of whom I speak is certainly Count Rodolph, 
 the brother of Julian,' uttered the Abbess. 
 
 " ' My most mortal, hated, and detested enemy,* 
 cried Eloise ; e and I go prepared to hear a horrible 
 confession from the lips of this dying penitent, as 
 Heaven grant he may be ; lead me to his presence, 
 dearest Celestina — I will be patient; yet I guess at 
 the dreadful secret he has to unfold. Emmeline, your 
 arm ; 1 cannot, will not encounter this man alone.' 
 
 " e The moments are precious,' cried the Abbess, 
 f let us not lose that which never may again return/ 
 
 "The Baroness waved her hand as if to inform us 
 she was duly prepared ; and drawing her veil over her 
 face, so as completely to disguise her features as well 
 as to conceal her powerful emotion, a lay brother 
 
the fisher's daughter, /"ti 5 
 
 conducted us to the cell of the dying man. The Ab- 
 bess and the father St. Francis waited for us in an 
 adjoining chamber. 
 
 " A lamp glimmered with a pale and feeble ray 
 — a crucifix was placed on a table — and a wretched 
 and emaciated being, who had scarce the resemblance 
 cf any thing human, lay stretched on a pallet. On our 
 entrance he moved not, nor raised his eyes from a con- 
 fessional paper which was placed before him j a lay 
 brother, who had just administered to him a cordial, 
 stood beside him, and he intimated in a low whisper 
 that visitors were approaching him; he then started, 
 and was apparently convulsed with a slight movement, 
 and in a hollow and sepulchral tone, murmured — 
 
 " £ My hour is almost come, yet you bring not the 
 Baroness of Walbergh before me — you will suffer me 
 (o die with a dreadful secret yet unrevealed — and 1 
 shall endure endless tortures hereafter, without the 
 forgiveness of that angelic injured lady. Ah ! the 
 field of battle ! I see her now — and the boy — the boy 
 panting for breath on her bosom— there's the body o« 
 her slaughtered Baron too — the child — the child — see, 
 see how they mock my misery — fiends tear me asun- 
 der, and they will not prevent it. Rodolph, Rodolph, 
 1 say come and save me from the look of that angel—- 
 he was the boy I took from Eloise's breast; but you 
 bid me do it — you — you, Rodolph plunged me into 
 guilt — look at the boy — he is here — he tugs at rny 
 heart. O ! ! tear me not thus — O ! I faint, I 
 expire.' 
 
 " The lay brother motioned to the Baroness not to 
 advance at this critical moment, requesting her not 
 
 c32 5d 
 
~6*2 the fisher's daughter. 
 
 to be alarmed^ as these fits were usual with the jn- 
 happy man ; — after awhile he would be cairn, and 
 being now perfectly exhausted he would tender him 
 some medicine which would have the instantaneous 
 effect of lowering his paroxysms, and he would then 
 inform him that she was there. 
 
 " Not a word was uttered by my poor Eloise, who 
 trembled so excessively that I could scarcely support 
 her tottering frame; the agonies of the dying man, 
 while under the pangs of so tortured a conscience, dis- 
 turbed now alone on her account, made her on the 
 point of relieving him, and she insisted that the lay 
 brother should apprize him that she was already in -his 
 chamber. 
 
 " i I will do so presently, lady,' uttered he; and tak- 
 ing a wine glass, poured the contents of a small phial 
 into it, and gave it to the parched lips of the dying 
 Ronald, which immediately produced the effect he 
 had informed us of; for in a few minutes he seemed 
 revived and tranquillized, still faintly enquiring if they 
 had delivered his message to the Baroness of Wal- 
 bergh . 
 
 " On which the lay brother, raising his head gentry 
 on a pillow, in an under tone exclaimed — 
 
 " * The Baroness is here, Ronald ; she advances to- 
 wards you aud tenders pardon and peace to your 
 departing spirit.' 
 
 " ' f do, I do, articulated my sister/ approach- 
 ing his bedside, ' wretched man ; if my pardon can 
 avail, I give it freely.' 
 
 " 4 Let me but see your angel face as I already hear 
 the '.one of that angel voice, and then 1 will believe that 
 
THE FISHER S DAUGHTER. 763 
 
 you are the Baroness of Walbergh,' cried the miser- 
 able culprit. 
 
 " Eloise instantly lifted up her veil, and bidding 
 the unhappy man compose himself, and tell her the 
 whole extent of his guilt with respect to his having 
 secreted and stolen the heir ofWalberg, we stationed 
 ourselves in chairs by the bedside ; when he began as 
 follows, though frequently interrupted by his internal 
 agonies and difficulty of respiration : — 
 
 " ' Lady, I was a poor but guiltless man when first 
 I inhabited a small hut on the borders of the Black 
 Forest ; but I had the misfortune to cohabit with a 
 Spanish woman of the name of Jacquelina, who, be- 
 cause of my extreme poverty ai^d inability to provide 
 for her more amply, often reproached me with the 
 bitterest invectives and abuse, constantly threatening 
 that she would abandon and leave me to my fate, if I 
 did not find means to support her as other foresters 
 did their wives and families. 
 
 " ' They do that by plunder and rapine !" exclaimed 
 I ; ' nay, they do not hesitate to perpetrate the black- 
 est of crimes to possess themselves of their property. 
 They murder and they steal; I would scorn to do 
 either.' 
 
 " ' Yet you starve and they feed, and they will live 
 when we perish ; so much for your honesty and your 
 virtue,' uttered she. 
 
 li ' What wouldest thou have me do, woman ?' ex- 
 claimed I ' Wouldest thou have me become a rob- 
 ber and a murderer for thy sake ?' 
 
 " ' To which she fiercely replied — for Jacquelina 
 was a woman of the most vindictive and outrageous 
 disposition— ■ 
 
J61 THE FISHER'S DAUGHTE 
 
 " 1 1 would have you follow the example of your 
 betters. They get wealth, and nobody asks them, when 
 they go to the public markets and expose their goods 
 for sale, how they became possessed of them. The 
 merchants buy, and they are esteemed good and vir- 
 tuous men ; yet they do not enquire of the venders by 
 what manner of means they obtain their merchandize ; 
 it sufliceth that they become purchasers. These men 
 are wise — but you are a fool — go to, and fast and 
 pray, and belike you will grow fat upon it ; for me, I 
 must provide for myself; since you are like to starve 
 with honesty, I leave you to enjoy its blessings/ 
 
 " { Lady, I was at this time truly as Jacquelina had 
 said, a man in a most perishable condition; and the 
 season being past for wood being cut down in the 
 forest, I had no employment save now and then a 
 working job in the gardens belonging to the rich 
 domains of the Lord Rodolph, the brother of our Em- 
 peror St. Julian, and cousin to the rebel Christopher 
 Ferdinand. Jacquelina had frequent access there by 
 reason of her dexterity in cooking a sort offish in the 
 Spanish style, of which the Lord Rodolph was very fond : 
 he was as great an epicure in his living, as he was a 
 voluptuary in all his other violent propensities, though 
 even the higher order of his domestics were ignorant of 
 his profligacy. However, it so happened on a public day, 
 (a most fatal one to me,) that the assistance of Jacque- 
 lina was wanted again and again ; she went, and again 
 she returned, bringing with her each time a quantity of 
 provisions, and other dainties of a most luxuriant qua- 
 lity; sometimes she brought flasks of wine, and bade 
 me drink it ; and when I demanded of her who had 
 
THE FISHElt's DAUGHTER. "J()5 
 
 £iven her all these fine tilings, her answer was, ' Mind 
 your fool's head, I have got them and that is sufficient.' 
 
 " ' All this while, Lady, I was a distracted man, for 
 I loved Jacquelina, though she was not my wife ; she 
 was a beautiful woman, and I feared that the luxuries 
 she obtained were not got by means the most delicate 
 or honourable, and I resolved to go to Lord Rodolph's 
 and make some enquiry into the nature of her con- 
 duct. 
 
 " ' But I was spared that trouble, for one evening 
 as i was cutting down wood in the forest, I was 
 accosted by two gentlemen on horseback, both of whom 
 J knew to be squires of the Lord Rodolph. At this 
 period the times were perilous and the wars bloody 
 and furious. The Emperor Julian was then fighting 
 against the usurping rebel Christopher, and it was not 
 deemed politic for any man to say what he thought, 
 whether he was right or wrong. 
 
 " ' Honest Ronald,' cried one of them, pulling in. 
 his horse's reins ; • you are working hard there, and as 
 I take it but for little profit ; our soldiers have taken 
 good care that thou shouldest not be overburthened 
 with too much fuel to light thy fire with. They have 
 cleared the woods, and pretty nigh destroyed our lakes; 
 there's not a fish but must now be dished up to supply 
 the appetites of these craving cormorants. How likest 
 thou the wars, Ronald ?' 
 
 M ' Or rather say,' uttered his companion, who was 
 surveying me with great attention ; ' how likes he the 
 Emperor Julian? or how Christopher? Which side 
 art thou of, Ronald ?' 
 
 " ' To which, being on my guard, I replied— 
 
760 THE FISHEIl's DAUGHTER. 
 
 " ' So please, you gentlemen, without offence, I am 
 on neither side ; I am a poor man, and whether there 
 be peace or war it does not make much difference to 
 Ronald, so I can get my pennyworth, and turn it 
 honestly.' 
 
 " ' Bravely said,' cried they ; f then you are an in- 
 dependent man at all events, and that's more than 
 your betters can say, by Jupiter. Well, would you 
 like to try your fortune in the wars ?' 
 
 " ' I have no great inclination to please you, sirs,' 
 uttered 1 calmly. 
 
 " ' It would be better than cutting down wood in 
 the forest, and getting nothing for your pains,' uttered 
 they. 
 
 <( ' Yet with the little 1 have I am content,' retorted 
 I, feeling that I was going to be bribed for some- 
 thing, but did not know for what. 
 
 " ' Hast thou a wife, and hast thou children ?' was 
 the next interrogatory. 
 
 sf ' To which I replied, while a suspicion of Jacque- 
 lina's infidelity towards me crossed my mind indig- 
 nantly— 
 
 " * I have neither, but wish most truly that Heaven 
 had given me both.' 
 
 tc ' That's curious,' uttered the squire, * since it is 
 very clear that you have no means of providing for 
 them. Wherefore then do you repine at the loss of 
 them who would only be an incumbrance to you in 
 your poverty ?' 
 
 c{ ' Because it is seldom, sir, that a wife ever deserts 
 her husband, or a mother is found forsaking her chil- 
 dren ; 1 should then be certain of the affections of the 
 
TUK K1SUKK S DAUGMTKR. 
 
 m 
 
 woman whom I love; but now I am not so; for I 
 have a woman whom I love, by whom I am in danger 
 of being abandoned every moment; for her sake I 
 would endure poverty, for mi tie she will endure no- 
 thing.' 
 
 " ' At this they laughed heartily ; and after indulging 
 in their mirth for several minutes, one of them ex- 
 claimed — 
 
 " ' And can you blame the woman for abandoning 
 her keeper, who can provide better for both himself 
 and her, but who will not embrace the opportunity 
 when he has one offered to him. By my troth she is a 
 wise wench, no longer to stay and starve with so mad 
 a fellow, who can better his fortune, but chooses 
 rather to cut wood in a forest which will very shortly 
 be in the hands of the enemy.' 
 
 " * And every mother's son blown to atoms that 
 will be found lurking near the spot,' rejoined his com- 
 panion. 
 
 " * Lady, I have already said that the times were 
 perilous, and on this intelligence I became alarmed for 
 the safety of Jacquelina and myself, which, added to 
 my fear of losing her, almost distracted me ; and I de- 
 manded to know of Lord Rodoiph's squires in what 
 capacity they would have me serve. 
 
 " c For 1 have never been bred to arms gentlemen, 
 uttered I. 
 
 •' - But you will have no objection to become a 
 feather-bed soldier,' exclaimed they; ' for they do not 
 require arms at all, they make more use of their legs, 
 for whenever there ,is any danger they run from the 
 fight, not rush into it ; yet, when all is over they are 
 
708 THE FISHER'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 congratulated on the glorious victory they have ob- 
 tained over the enemy.' 
 
 ' I should not wish to purchase my laurels so in- 
 gloriously,' cried I ; ' still gentleman I would not de- 
 cline the honour of any station that may be appointed 
 for me, and in which I can be of any service to my 
 employer. 
 
 " ' Now thou hast spoken wisely, and I will report 
 you to the Lord Rodolph, in whose presence yon must 
 appear to morrow,' uttered they ; ' by the hour of 
 twelve, Ronald, we shall expect you at ihe grand ren- 
 dezvous. The watchword is " faithful" — pronounce it 
 to the advanced guards, and you will pass freely to t he 
 outer portals, and be conducted to our liege lord.' 
 
 " ' As in duty bound I will punctually obey you 
 sirs,' uttered I ; and setting spurs to their conrseis, 
 they were instantly out of the forest, leaving me at a 
 loss to imagine whether they intended me good or evil 
 by this sudden and unexpected offer of good fortune, 
 as there appeared some mystery attached to itj and 
 gathering up the wood I had hewn down, I returned 
 to my hut and found Jacquelina busily employed in 
 frying some fine fish for our supper. 
 
 " * I thought she eyed me curiously as I made my 
 entrance; and turning over the fish with an air of 
 gaiety, she exclaimed — 
 
 ** * We live merrily now, don't we Ronald? Heaven 
 bless the wars for it ! I hope they will last for ever, 
 since every night they bring us so dainty a supper. 
 There was rare doings in the camp yesterday night. 
 The soldiers of the opposing army fought like bull 
 dogs, and dead men's heads laid on the ground like so 
 
THE FISHER'S DAUGHTER. /G9 
 
 many potatoes. Julian has lost, and Christopher has 
 won ; good luck to him and the battle too, he made 
 warm work of it, they say ; another such day, and St. 
 Julian will be defeated.' 
 
 '* e And where got you this intelligence, Jacquelina?' 
 demanded I, eyeing her with impatient curiosity. 
 
 " ' Where, but at Count Rodolph's,' replied she ; 
 
 * where I got this fish and yon flask of wine, and 
 where more is to be had when that is gone. Heaven 
 bless the wars/ 
 
 " ' You would have made an excellent soldier, Jac- 
 quelina,' uttered I ; e but it is not becoming of your sex 
 to be so fond of war and bloodshed.' 
 
 " ' I am fond of that which brings the grist to the 
 mill, you silly oaf you,' cried she contemptuously; 
 
 * what is it to you how many men are killed in battle, 
 or how much blood is shed, so long as it don't come 
 from your veins ?' 
 
 " ' But it may shortly,' gravely uttered I. 
 
 " ' And I then repeated all that the squires of Lord 
 Rodolph had said to me in the Black Forest, and that 
 I was summoned to attend his presence the ensuing 
 morning, at which intelligence her eyes sparkled with 
 the most rapturous expression, and she exclaimed — 
 
 " i Did not I tell you, Ronald, that your fortune 
 would be made by the wars ?' 
 
 " ' I can't see that, Jacquelina,' cried J, ' in the 
 little time that they are likely to continue; if the battle 
 is decided between the Emperor and Christopher, 
 there will be an end to fighting for this many a long 
 year ; and I don't see how my fortune is to be made 
 in a day.' 
 
 U 33 5 e 
 
770 THE FISHER'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 •' ' You fool, it will be made in an hour, if you mind 
 what you are about,' uttered Jacquelina with a look 
 that fully convinced me she was acquainted with the na- 
 ture of the business on which I was summoned to the 
 presence of Lord Rodolph. 
 
 " l You seem to know all about it Jacquelina,' 
 cried I. 
 
 " ( Well, suppose I do,' replied she ; c a woman 
 can be trusted with secrets as well as a man, 1 war- 
 rant me. Aye, and keep them too, when they are 
 paid for keeping their mouths shut.' 
 
 " i It is very strange that you should be in the se- 
 crets of Lord Rodolph,' uttered I ; e and not very com- 
 mendable in you to conceal it from me.' 
 
 " ' What do you think I have had all these fine 
 presents for — fish, and fowl, and wine ? I should be 
 glad to know.' 
 
 " ' So should I,' muttered I ; 'for I confess I am 
 very anxious to be informed.' 
 
 * * Then you may guess, for I shan't tell, you I pro- 
 mise you,' cried she ; ' but you will know to-morrow, 
 so you may go to bed and sleep upon it,' 
 
 " ' But, Lady, I could not sleep ; and this unfeeling 
 woman beheld me a prey to the most distracting 
 thoughts without attempting to relieve my anxiety, as 
 I began to fear that the impropriety of her conduct 
 had given rise to what she called making my fortune 
 under the banners of the Count Rodolph j and I re- 
 pelled the idea of having my fortune made on such 
 disgraceful terms, as the sacrifice of the affections of 
 the woman I yet so passionately adored. Alas ! how 
 f ar was I from guessing at the real cause of the favour 
 
 ■ 
 
THK FISHKR S DAUGHTKI . //I 
 
 T had found in the sight of the Count Rodolph; and 
 how falsely had I attributed to Jacquclina the motives 
 of his conduct towards me ! in this instance, whatever 
 other might be her faults, she was guiltless. 
 
 a ' I went to the rendezvous according to my appoint- 
 ment with the squires, who conducted me to the Count 
 in the most mysterious manner, informing me that I must 
 put on a mask as I passed through the gallery, lest 
 my person should be recognized by any of the order of 
 the emperor, who might take me for a spy, being a 
 Dane ; and that the guards would immediately fire on 
 me without further ceremony. 
 
 " ' Such, however, were the suspicions I had formed 
 of the conduct of Jacquelina, that I was not. clear 
 whether I was not more in danger of being fired on 
 by the order of Count Rodolph, than of Julian. 
 
 " * But I was obliged to keep these thoughts confined 
 within my own breast, well-knowing the punishment 
 that would succeed if I disclosed them to mortal ear. 
 At length I was conducted across the gallery, from 
 whence ascended a lofty staircase, and then into an 
 apartment, inhabited only by the Lord Rodolph, of 
 such superlative splendour and magnificence, that on 
 the mask being removed, my eyes were dazzled with 
 the exceeding brilliance of the lights that appeared be- 
 fore me. 
 
 " ' The Count, who was seated under a canopy of 
 rich crimson velvet, smiled most graciously on my ap- 
 proach ; and the squires being dismissed, he bid me set 
 down — I declined — he insisted — and being thus in- 
 vited, I no longer refused to obey his commands. 
 
 " ' He then addressed me in the folk wing terms: 
 
7/2 THB FISHER'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 " ' Ronald, you are a tenant of mine, you have long 
 inhabited a hut in the Black Forest, and from what I 
 can learn are an honest, industrious, pains-taking man, 
 which is much to your credit ; for the times will 
 scarcely permit any man to be honest, let his inclina- 
 tion be what it may.' 
 
 " ' There was a pause, and I thought proper to fill it 
 up that I might lose no time in coming directly to the 
 point of his lordship's business, and I replied— 
 
 " * Yes, your lordship, times are bad enough, and no 
 man has felt the severity of them more than myself; 
 yet I have laboured hard to keep a roof over my head, 
 and a morsel of bread to put into my mouth ; and 
 sometimes I have not had even that, so I was obliged 
 to go without, and look forward to another day for 
 bringing better luck ; tt is of no use, your lordship, to 
 repine under misfortunes which could not be remedied, 
 bo I was content.' 
 
 " ' True, honest Ronald,' replied the Count; * con- 
 tent is a contiuual feast, though it is not every man 
 who is wanting the means of life, who can reconcile 
 himself to this assertion; and possibly you taught this 
 lesson of philosophy to your family also.' 
 
 " ' No, my lord, that I cannot do, with all my phi- 
 osophy,' I replied. * Jacquelina often reproaches me 
 bitterly for my abject state of poverty, which, as I can- 
 not avoid, is the more heart-rending to my feelings/ 
 
 " ' I should readily conceive so,' answered his lord- 
 ship ; ' consequently you must live somewhat unhap- 
 pily with your wife, notwithstanding your assertion of 
 contentment; a ra'ling woman is the torment of a 
 man's existence. Have you any family? 
 
THE FISHER's D4UGHTBR. 7f3 
 
 " ' J replied in the negative. 
 
 " * That is some consolation,' uttered the Count; 
 a scolding wife with children also would be additional 
 olessings to your contented disposition.' 
 
 " ' Another pause succeeded, when I thought proper 
 to remind his lordship that I was somewhat in arrears 
 of rent for the small hut that I inhabited in the forest. 
 
 " * And which you have no means of discharging, 
 rcjoiued he. 
 
 " ' Not at present, my lord/ answered I ; l but' — 
 1 hesitated ; for I knew not what to say at this cri- 
 tical moment, when all seemed mystery around me, 
 and I was still profoundly ignorant for what pur- 
 pose I had been summon -u before him. 
 
 " * No matter, I will forgive your arrears of rent, 
 honest Ronald,' cried the Count ; ' and moreover will 
 advance your fortune be, ond your most sanguine ex- 
 pectations. I am going to join my brother's allies, and 
 must set forward on my expedition to-morrow to the 
 camp of Julian. You must enlist under my banners, 
 though not in the service of arms ; the strict perform- 
 ance of the service 1 require will advance you to the 
 highest post of honour you ever yet enjoyed. No officer 
 under my command will be more amply rewarded for his 
 services ; here is a purse of shining gold to prepare you 
 for your grand mission, for which you will receive no 
 instructions from me till we reach the place of action — 
 then be vigilant and faithful ; the battle on the plains 
 of Cormac burns fiercely between the contending 
 armies, and it is yet doubtful whe'her Julian or Chris- 
 topher will gain the day. Thither must we oena our 
 course ; and when we arrive at the spot, then follow 
 
7J4 THE FISHERS PAUGHTER. 
 
 my instructions. In the meanwhile hie thee to the 
 forest, and the few hours you have to spare devote to 
 mirth and revelry with thy Jacquelina— leave her gold, 
 and take home wine with thee and food — and be merry. 
 But mark me, Ronald, be secret — should but a syllable 
 escape your lips that I have other service for thee thar 
 a soldier's, thy life, man, will answer for thy temerity.' 
 " ' Lady, I was confounded, and taken so utterly by 
 surprise, that I had not the power of articulation, much 
 less was T able to oppose the command now given by 
 this haughty and arbitrary tyrant ; to have refused this 
 mysterious mission, which I judged to be no good, 
 would have been desperation little shore of madness ; 
 and I was led into the snare without being able to ex- 
 tricate my weary wings. I was in his power, and 
 durst not disobey him ; yet to impart my fears to 
 Jacquelina or tell her what I thought of Count 
 Rodolph, would, I was certain, only make matters 
 worse, with getting her abuse into the bargain. So 
 like a man who is going to swallow a medicine which 
 is either to kill or to cure him, I swallowed Count 
 Rodolph's golden bait, and entered my hut with an 
 air of satisfaction, though I inwardly cursed that state 
 of poverty which had exposed me to so dangerous a 
 temptation, and made me the prey of a splendid villain, 
 though at that moment I was not aware of it. I 
 placed the wine on the table, and the purse of gold, and 
 told Jacquelina from whom I had received it, at sight 
 of which she was so transported with joy, that she 
 could scarcely conceal the sensations she experienced ; 
 white T. by no means entering into the spirit of her hu- 
 mour remained thoughtful ?\i)d abstracted, at the sin 
 
THK FISHER'S DAUGHTER. 77»> 
 
 gularity of my situation, and the change which only 
 a few hours had effected ; and which was aggravated 
 by my not knowing of the embassy I had undertaken, 
 and by Jacquelina's repeatedly exclaiming — 
 
 " f Heaven bless the wars ! I wish they may last for 
 a thousand years, since they bring us gold, and food, 
 and happy fortunes ! And how like you Count Rodolph, 
 Ronald ? is not he a proper man, aud a man of a 
 handsome figure, beshrew me I never saw a gentleman 
 with so sweet a deportment and so goodly a speech.* 
 
 " * To which I quaintly replied — for I was by no 
 means in a pleasant humour — 
 
 " * So is a devil when he assumes a shape that is 
 pleasing; but how came you to be so well acquainted 
 with his goodly speech, Jacqueliua? it is not likely that 
 Count Rodolph would ever converse with you.' 
 
 " ' To which she replied, laughing — 
 
 " ' As likely as that he should ever converse with you. 
 You are a fool and a blockhead if you think I don't 
 know the business you are going upon to the battle of 
 Cromac. You never would have arrived at this high 
 post of honour if it had not been for me.' 
 
 " i Indeed, I believe that truly, madam Jacquelina,' 
 cried I ; ' but I can tell you that such high posts of 
 honour don't suit, and that I would much rather be 
 exalted by any other means than owe it to the charms 
 of your pretty face. Ah ! Jacquelina, I thought you 
 would never have done such a thing ; but women are 
 as false as they are fair, and that's the honest truth 
 of it.' 
 
 " c I had no sooner uttered these words, than Jac 
 

 77b THE FISHER'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 que Una burst into a most immoderate fit of laughter, 
 and exclaimed — 
 
 « < Why, holy virgin, and the blessed saints ! have 
 you the audacity to suspect such a gentleman as the 
 Count Rodolph guilty of so foul an action ? by my good 
 faith, Ronald, I have more than half a mind to be re- 
 venged upon thee for such a thought; for by the mo- 
 ther that gave me birth I never did you wrong ; though 
 we have been starving in the forest this many a long 
 year, yet I always loved your ugly face too well to better 
 my fortune in the way you think ; and I would tell you 
 a secret, only I have sworn to keep it. Aye, and by 
 the blessed saints I will too, for your impudence.' 
 
 " ' I found I had gone a step too far ; her passions 
 when once roused were like the raging ocean, and I 
 was obliged to exert every faculty that I possessed in 
 order to be reinstated in her good graces, by submit- 
 ting to all she said without offering the slightest oppo- 
 sition to her wishes.' 
 
 " * But the wine, aided by the more powerful auxi- 
 liary of the shining gold, very speedily restored her to 
 good humour, and we parted on the most friendly 
 terms, my jealous fears being now completely erased 
 from my mind ; for the thoughts of Jacquelina's mis- 
 conduct had given me far more uneasiness than any 
 other sensation. With my mind now perfectly re- 
 lieved from that apprehension, J enlisted the next 
 morning hi the service of the mighty Rodolph, to the 
 once flowery and smiling fields of Cromac ; but which 
 now, alas ! presented nought but the ravages of war and 
 bloodshed. We halted with the army on the brow 
 
THE FISHER'S DAUGHTER. 777 
 
 of a hill., and lay encamped there all night. Nothing 
 could exceed the horrors of the fight on the following 
 morning, or the horrid spectacles which presented 
 themselves j and as we advanced towards the scene of 
 action, the loud thundering of the cannon's dreadful 
 roar, the neighing of the prancing high mettled 
 coursers, the shouts of the victors, and the groans of 
 the dying and the wounded soldiers, all met in succes- 
 sion in one tremendous crash upon my ear, and per- 
 fectly stunned me. We were just approaching to 
 the outer posts when one of the equerries belonging 
 to the Emperor Julian rode up to Count Rodolph, 
 and, whispering something in nis ear, he immedi- 
 ately countermanded the orders he had given to the 
 soldiery. 
 
 " ' Halt, my brave fellows V thundered out he ; '1 
 have intelligence this moment that Christopher lias 
 now the weakest of the army, and there is no. doubt 
 but Julian will be the conqueror; we must immediately 
 encamp behind the hill, rank and file, or we shall be 
 pursued by the enemy/ 
 
 a i w e did SOi but ere the morning sun again darted 
 its beams in the western sky, the fate of the battle 
 was decided — the rebel was defeated, and ten thou- 
 sand of his brave army slain. Among the most gallant 
 of his officers, it was reported that the Baron of Wal- 
 bergh was numbered among the dead. Lady, 1 would 
 not harrow up your feelings by recalling to your mind 
 the particulars of this sad event, was it not connected 
 but too fatally with the sequel of my wretched history, 
 for here the scene of action commenced with Lord 
 Rodolph and me. I knew your gallant husband onty 
 
 b 33 h v 
 
/ 78 THE FISHER'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 by the name he had gained in arms, which was match- 
 less and renowned, and his fall was lamented by a)} 
 but his bitterest and most malignant foe, and that was 
 Rodolph ; with savage triumph he heard, and gloried in 
 the fall of your brave lord ; the cause of which I could 
 not then define. But suddenly he called me into his 
 tent ; his eyes shone with the fury of the most demoniac 
 rage and vengeance, and as he paced his tent with 
 wild and phrenzied passion, I heard him pronounce — 
 
 " l Now, Eloise, thou proud and scornful beauty, 
 now is thy hour come to requite the goodly deed 
 thou hast performed for the rejected and despised 
 Rodolph ; no more in love's soft, language will I sue to 
 thee for pity ; no more thy beauty fires my soul, no 
 more thy slave, but tyrant. Vengeance is come for 
 Rodolph ; and truly haughty fair shalt thou feel and 
 know it. The husband has escaped the compliment 
 which this day I meant to pay him in the battles heat ; 
 but thy child— thy child — the hated offspring of the 
 yet more hated Walbergh — the proud aspiring heir of 
 all his rich domains — he shall supply my thirst of ven- 
 geance, and atone for all his mother's hate to Rodolph ! 
 Then musing for a moment, his eyes rolled horribly, 
 and when he called me, methought I beheld a mur- 
 derer before me. 
 
 " i Ronald,' uttered he, lowering his voice to a 
 whisper, l look to the tent, and bar its entrance; let 
 not my guards come hither, on the peril of their lives, 
 while thou art with me.' 
 
 " i I instantly secured the entrance. 
 
 fi ' Ronald,' again continued he, ' now is the mo 
 mer ,t arrived when I shall demand the strict perform- 
 
THE FISHElt's DAUGHTER. /"<J 
 
 ance of the secret mission that I told ytu of; are you 
 ready to receive my instructions ? from which, if you 
 depart iu a single item, your life shall instantly atone 
 for your disobedience of my fell commands — the mo- 
 ments are precious— put on that friar's habit, and has- 
 ten to the field of Cromac where the dying and the 
 dead are mingled together : heed not their cries, i» 
 they stop yon in your course, you can avail them 
 nothing; but mark, on the body of the Baron Wal- 
 b^rgh, who has fallen among the number, you will dis- 
 cover a female lamenting and almost insensible with 
 grief; you may approach her quietly, you cannot mis- 
 take her, she is beautiful, and in costly garments — the 
 wife of the commander-in chief, who was the Baron ; 
 she has an infant boy scarce three years old on her 
 bosom, seize on it with a lion's grasp, and concealing 
 it beneath your cloak fly with it to my tent. Fear not 
 the mother, she is insensible to all that passes around 
 her, and will soon be trampled over by the wounded 
 horses, who, losing their riders, have become furious 
 with the smarting of pain ; but the boy — the boy — 
 look to him, fold him carefully in thy cloak, and though 
 the screams of the frantic mother rend the vaulted 
 heavens, bear the infant here. Away ! fly ! remem- 
 ber thy life depends upon the accomplishment of thy 
 mission.' 
 
 " ' O ! lady !' and here the wretched man heaved a 
 convulsive sigh ; ' what were my sensations of pity 
 and commiseration when at last I found you — you 
 had fainted — and, nearly crushed by your fall on the 
 body of your slain husband, your infant boy lay pant- 
 ing for breath — -in one moment the child had breathed 
 
780 THE FISHER'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 no more. I snatched him thence — the action was in- 
 stantaneous ; one only witness beheld it, a dying soldier 
 who lay near the spot covered with the blood that was 
 flowing copiously from his wounds ; he was speechless, 
 though his eyes glared on me when I took your child. 
 Having covered the babe with my cloak, I instantly bore 
 it to the tent of Rodolph; he received it from my arms 
 exultingly, and pouring on its parched lips a few 
 drops of a cordial ; it revived and sunk into a gentle 
 slumber; it was laid on a couch, and covered over with 
 a warm cloak. Methought as Lord Rodolph gazed 
 on the innocent face of the sleeping boy that his eyes 
 were moistened with a tear; but he quickly assumed 
 an air of ferocity, and hastily turning from it ex- 
 claimed — 
 
 " ' There, there, the brat will sleep soundly ; it was 
 a slight opiate that I administered, and that he sucked 
 in so greedily, when he awakens I will give him rice 
 and milk, and he will thrive I warrant me. It is a strong 
 healthy cub, there's no fear of him, for he has beei: 
 bred in camps; his saintly dame of a mother was too 
 fond of him to leave him behind her; yet I swear by 
 the holy prophet had not the boy so much of his mo- 
 ther in his face I would have strangled him.' 
 
 " e Shocked and horrified beyond expression at a 
 speech so inhuman, I could not help uttering an in- 
 voluntary exclamation of — 
 
 " ' O ! my lord, and could you stain your hands 
 with so foul a crime as the murder of that smiling in- 
 nocent? almighty powers, forbid it !' 
 
 " c Humph !' uttered Lord Rodolph ; ' amen to that 
 sweet prayer — no, no, Ronald — I do not mean tn 
 
THE FISHER S DAUGHTER. /8i 
 
 murder the brat — that would be doing work tot- 
 quickly — but come to the point of our concerns — you 
 have performed your business promptly and excellently 
 well, and you shall be rewarded as liberally ; before 
 which you must take a solemn oath to keep that child 
 concealed from all mortal knowledge, and all mortal 
 eye. In the forest must it be reared, in the woods must 
 it be educated, nor must it ever know the authors of 
 its being ; if ever you reveal to this boy the name of 
 the Baron or the Baroness of Walbergh, I will have 
 you tried by the laws of the inquisition and tortured 
 on the rack.' 
 
 " ' What must I do with it hereafter, my lord ?' de- 
 manded I. 
 
 " ' In heaven or in hell, which mean you ?' uttered 
 he with a horrible smile; e answer me that question.' 
 
 " ' I cannot, my lord,' cried I. 
 
 " ' And why not ? it is a plain one, honest Ronald,' 
 repeated he ; ' but come, I will spare you any further 
 trouble on that head; swear the oath that I require, 
 and 1 will provide for the boy hereafter ; at pre- 
 sent he must take up his abode with you in the Black 
 Forest — you his father, and Jacquelina his mother. 
 Tush ! tush man, hence with these sickly phantoms 
 which men call conscience, but I tell you there is no 
 conscience where interest is concerned ; and I laugh 
 at yours — think you that you are the only man who has 
 fathered a lord's child ? No Ronald, your betters do it 
 every day, and why should not you, when you will 
 live independently all your days, by assuming an ho- 
 nour that does not belong to you.' 
 
 41 i Lady, J had never yet thrown a veil over my ac- 
 
782 the fisher's daughter. 
 
 tions, and was yet not so hardened by hypocrisy as to 
 appear pleased with a proposal that neither reflected 
 credit on my employer or myself; and I would have 
 turned with abhorrence from it, had not the icy fet- 
 ters of poverty bound me in chains ; yet, though I did 
 not refuse to comply with the conditions he proposed, 
 Heaven be praised I took not the oath. An office 1 ' 
 from the camp of Julian demanded an immediate 
 audience with him ; and in a few minutes he returned, 
 with terror and affright Wendid in his countenance. 
 
 " ( Ronald/ uttered he; f the Baroness of Walbergh 
 is recovered, and having lost her infant the greatest 
 search is made after him who has taken it from her ; 
 should they search for it here we shall be discovered, 
 and exposed to the laws of Venice, where she holds 
 powerful connections ; take it hence, and bear it to the 
 forest — here is a purse of gold — conceal the child as you 
 value life, and when the storm is blown over expect 
 to see me at your hut. Tell Jacquelina to take care 
 Qf the boy and she will be amply rewarded for the 
 trouble.' 
 
 " - But, my lord, the infant has not yet awakened 
 from its slumbers,' uttered I ; *. so shocked, lady, at the 
 barbarity of Lord Rodolph,that inwardly my heart cursed 
 him for his want of humanity to the sleeping babe.' 
 
 " At this moment of the unhappy man's confes- 
 sion, dear Lady Montault, my poor Eloise, no longer 
 able to command the agonizing sensations she felt at 
 this horrid recital, almost fainted in my arms. 
 
 ** ' I can bear no more,' uttered she. i O, mon- 
 sters ! O, barbarians ! what did you do with my child, 
 my tender darling, snatched from a mother's bosom 
 
the fisher's daughter. J83 
 
 while yet bending over his father's pale and mangled 
 corse? Where did you take my boy? ye wretches. 
 I wonder that a thunderbolt had not fallen on both 
 your heads for the commission of so foul a crime.' 
 
 " Ronald, exhausted by his sufferings, could not bear 
 her agonies whom he had so much injured ; and had 
 not the lay brother assisted him he would have ex- 
 pired, while I by every means in my power endeavoured 
 to tranquillize her agitated feelings. 
 
 " ' Eloise,' cried I, ' you know the worst, you know 
 the fate of your child — add not to the miseries of this 
 poor unhappy eulprit, by turning a deaf ear to his 
 confession ; hear him out, and be not harsh to him 
 while yet he lingers in this space of mortality.' 
 
 iC She then approached him,— e Bring him wine,' 
 uttered she; ' by my orders let him now receive all 
 the comforts that his fleeting life can afford. Ronald, 
 I forgive you — let not my emotions, which I cannot 
 control, disturb your dying moments. 1 forgive you 
 freely, I forgive you, and will no more add to your suf- 
 ferings. You then took my boy by order of Lord Ro- 
 dolph to the Black Forest ; but did you use him 
 kindly?' 
 
 " e Lady,' cried the dying Ronald, ' I did all I could, 
 but my power was of no avail ; I had fallen into the 
 hands of a bad and wicked woman who has long since 
 paid the forfeit of her crimes. She used your son 
 hardly, but it was not by my consent, and in a moment 
 of desperation he escaped from her tyranny — he fled — 
 I know not whither; the Lord RocJolph was furious j 
 but on Jacquelina only exerted his violence, because 
 he was well aware that I loved the boy too wen' to 
 
784 the fisher's daughter. 
 
 hurt him. We called him Wolf by desire of Lor 
 Rodolph. One day Jacquelina beat him, and he fled 
 from her cruelty ; Lord Rodolph inflicted on her the 
 severest punishment, and we returned, for this offence, 
 to the same state of poverty in which he had found 
 us ; he never afterwards bestowed the least mark 
 of liberality towards us. At length Jacquelina caught 
 a fever of the most malignant nature, and died ; and 
 Lord Rodolph, in the fear of betraying him, placed me 
 in this convent, were I was borne down by sickness 
 and by poverty : but more by my conscience, which 
 has haunted my pillow night and day, since 1 lost poor 
 little Wolf j had I but known what had become of him, 
 I should have been happy; for he was a boy of a 
 most intrepid spirit. His noble father shone in all his 
 actions, and I often told him he was of great and no- 
 ble birth, yet dared not reveal his history.' 
 
 " ' Which now I know full well,' cried Eloise; ' he 
 fell in kind hands, and he perished by shipwreck, 
 R(. tiald, and has now joined kindred angels in the 
 skies, where the wicked cease from troubling and 
 where the weary are at rest. I found his protectors — 
 they are now my dearest friends — he perished on a 
 voyage to India — yet not before he was the admiration 
 and the delight of all who knew him.' 
 
 " ' Then Ronald dies happy and pardoned by his 
 angelic mother/ uttered the dying penitent, with whom 
 life was now ebbing fast away. 
 
 " ' You do, you do,' cried Eloise ; * your crimes 
 were neither of your own seeking nor your own mak- 
 ing; let him who caused them answer for them.' 
 
 " The dying Ronald grasped the hand of my agi- 
 
the fisher's daughter. 785 
 
 tated sister ; he invoked every blessing on her head ; 
 murmured an adieu to the lay brother, who had never 
 once quitted his side j and, while attempting to raise 
 his head upon the pillow, the wretched man suddenly 
 expired. 
 
 " It was then that my poor Eloise gave vent to the 
 anguish of her heart, and I conveyed her to her cham- 
 ber, wholly overpowered by the confession she had 
 heard of the guilt of Lord Rodolph. 
 
 " ' And yet this man said he loved me,' cried she ; 
 ' cursed be that love which renders the object of it 
 miserable ; and he has had the audacity, since my years 
 of widowhood for my dear departed lord, twice to 
 make an offer of his detested hand ; but sooner would 
 I link me to the meanest vassal that perished with my 
 Walbergh, than I call Rodolph husband.* 
 
 " For three days after the death of Ronald my 
 poor Eloise kept her chamber, dear Lady Montague, 
 in which she was attended by the most affectionate 
 and consoling attentions of the lady Celestina. At length 
 we have succeeded in restoring her agitated spirits to 
 a state of composure, and propose in a week hence to 
 embark for the shores of Albion, where, in your dear 
 society and that of your amiable father, she will I hope 
 forget the scenes which have so recently harrowed up 
 her soul with anguish. The remains of poor Ronak 
 were privately interred, nor did my sister know whet, 
 the ceremony took place. 
 
 " Expect us then, my beloved friend, in a few weeks 
 in England. I have made every arrangement in my 
 own concerns, and have disposed of my chateau and 
 furniture to an Italian nobleman and his family. The 
 
 e33 5 g 
 
/86 THE FISHER'S DA UGH IKK. 
 
 valuable paintings in my possession I intend making a 
 present to the Duke, as a testimony of my respect for 
 that most amiable and excellent man. 
 
 " You have no idea of what my Fauchette feels on 
 this joyful occasion, and the thoughts of so shortly 
 beholding her English friends; and I anticipate no 
 small pleasure in witnessing the improvements of my 
 sweet Emmeline, my lovely goddaughter. Lord Or- 
 lando too must be grown a sweet fellow ; in short, my 
 dear friend, we are all longing to see you and your 
 charming family, and shall embark shortly in the Lady 
 Carolina bound for England. I understand that an Eng- 
 lish family is now on board, who are returning from a 
 tour on the continent, which will make our society 
 during the voyage extremely pleasant to all parties. 
 
 " So your little Beda has entered into a matrimonial 
 state with a young man of some respectability. Heaven 
 grant that her change in life may be a prosperous one j 
 there are so many blanks to a prize in matrimony, that 
 the hazard is at least two blanks to one prize all the 
 world over. 
 
 " Eloise has not yet recovered the shock she has 
 received from the confession made to her by that un- 
 happy man, Ronald ! which revives so many tender re- 
 collections of her dear lost Walbergh, and her son also, 
 that I fear it will be a considerable length of time 
 Defore she regains her wonted serenity and peace of 
 mind \ yet I blame her for indulging in it to such excess, 
 and I find that she was no heroine except while her 
 husband lived, and perhaps it was for his sake alone 
 hat she endured so many hardships. 
 
 " I shal' write to you again before we leave this 
 
THE FISHF.r's DAI'GMYKK. /$7 
 
 country, and inform you of the precise ti.nc that we 
 expect to embark on board the Lady Carolina j in the 
 mean time you will have an opportunity of giving us 
 pne of your charming epistles once more j Fauchette 
 says she would give the world to copy the style of 
 Lady Montault. What a monster was that Rodolph ! 
 alas, my friend ) to what shameful degradations will 
 not mankind expose themselves when in the pursuit of 
 their guilty and licentious passions. My sister had 
 several times refused the hand of this man before she 
 became the Baroness of Walbergh, and to this she was 
 indebted for this brutal and unmanly revenge. 
 
 " He is now, however, dangerously ill at his chateau, 
 and his given over by his physicians. Thus do crimes 
 always carry their punishment along with them, as 
 irtue always meets its merited reward ! 
 " Adieu my most dear and respected friend ! 
 Yor.fs most faithfully, 
 
 IfrnmeVme Dor H rterma." 
 
788 THE FISHf"! S DAUGHTER. 
 
 
 CHAPTER XXXI. 
 
 '* I am not merry ; but do beguile the thing I am, 
 
 By seeming what I am not." Shakespeare. 
 
 The pleasure which the communications of the 
 amiable Marchese had afforded to Lady Montault and 
 his Grace the Duke of Braganza, were beyond expres- 
 sion ; and that there was at last a prospect, and a cer- 
 tain prospect, of benolding them in England, and of 
 enjoying the charming society of this accomplished fa- 
 mily, cheared and enlivened the spirits of all the in- 
 mates of Violet Vale. 
 
 Lady Montault and her father had many serious 
 hours of conversation, on the extraordinary confession 
 made by the dying penitent Ronald, to the Baroness 
 of Walbergh, respecting her lamented son, whom if he 
 had now lived would have been restored to all his 
 rights and privileges, and succeeded to the titles and 
 estates of his brave and noble father, the Baron 01 
 Walbergh, while to his lovely and heroic mother he 
 would have been the greatest ornament and praise, 
 reflecting lustre on the honours of his house, and 
 
the fisher's DAUGHTER. /8U 
 
 gilding the evening of his mother's days with a calm 
 and brilliant sunshine, as well as rewarding her for all 
 the sufferings and perils she had endured, and for the 
 weary and painful pilgrimage she had undergone with 
 her husband. 
 
 His birth was now clearly established, and what 
 since had happened to him when ripened into maturity 
 perfectly known to his fond and idolizing mother, who 
 had discovered this only to lament the loss of such a 
 son. 
 
 " I own, my love," uttered his Grace, after a thought- 
 ful pause, " that so severe a trial of fortitude and sub- 
 mission to the will of the most High One, without being 
 able to account for the awful dispensations which he 
 has been pleased to afflict her with, hardly ever yet 
 occurred to my knowledge, as in this one single instance 
 of the Baroness of Walbergh — and ic would seem to 
 us blind and unthinking mortals that Heaven itself was 
 unjust to its faithful and believing votaries j but let us 
 pause, my Agatha, ere we admit so impious a thought 
 to possess our imaginations j for it is utterly impossible 
 to suppose that the divine Author of our being can 
 ever be unjust. There is some wise purpose or ordi- 
 nation, only known to Him that directs the supreme 
 agency of his all-wise and powerful operations, which 
 no mortal creature is able to resist ; nor do I ever ima- 
 gine that human beings are ever punished without 
 good cause that it should be inflicted on them. Your 
 mother, my beloved Agatha, was a faultless and an- 
 gelic being, and as free from mortal failings as a being 
 in the image of its maker could be 5 but was she re- 
 warded for her sufferings here on earth, though she 
 
790 TH.K FISHER'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 now inherits a crown of celestial glory ? But, my Aga 
 tha, was I faultless ? was my mother faultless ? did I 
 not commit a fault by abandoning my wife to her 
 mercy ? and in my Agatha's hard fate were not the 
 sins of the father visited upon the children ? is it not 
 so in holy scriptures ? have we not right to expect it ? 
 and dare we arraign providence when we bring upon 
 ourselves the misfortunes and the calamities which we 
 so righteously have deserved ? No ! Agatha, the book 
 is shut, we cannot see the fate to which our follies or out 
 vices will expose us, and if we did, man is not wise 
 enough to shun them. The voice of an angel could 
 not teach him to forego his lustful appetites, his re- 
 vengeful passions, or his evil propensities j for which, 
 if there is no repentance here, there is none in the 
 grave ; and he must not expect to escape, or console 
 himself with the reflection, that if he has punishmen 
 here he has none to receive after this life ; for if 
 he does not sue for pardon and forgiveness here, be 
 assured, my Agatha, there is none for him hereafter. 
 
 " The crimes of the poor dying Ronald were nothing 
 to the extent of those of the Count Rodolph j for by 
 compulsion he was forced into the commission of an 
 act of which it appears (and I believe his assertion to 
 be sincere) that he ever afterwards repented ; and 
 therefore I by no means hold him guilty — the man 
 was poor and honest, till his honour was corrupted by 
 this perfidious villain, who made a tool of his poverty 
 to betray him into a crime at which it seems he always 
 revolted ; and there is no crime so odious or repellant 
 to humanity, as to take advantage of those who are 
 defenceless and wretched j it is the very dev'l himself 
 
the fisher's DAUGHTER. /9I 
 
 who then assumes the shape of man to decoy and tempt 
 the votaries of virtue. Had Ronald been rich or not 
 in the power of Rodolph, he would not then have 
 marked him out for his easy prey; and wanting reso- 
 lution, he fell a victim to his cursed arts, with the aid 
 of the base female with whom he cohabited ; it was 
 she who led him on : a virtuous female would have 
 Uught him to repel the evil temptations of a tyrant, 
 and to have submitted to poverty rather to have him 
 enriched by wicked means. Here, however, let us 
 pause,, and if possible draw a veil of oblivion over all 
 that is past with respect to the misfortunes of the 
 Baroness of Walbergh, and to consider that whatever 
 is, is right. However hard the exertion of our philo- 
 sophy or the trial of our fortitude may be to prove it 
 such, we must still think it so, and trust to provi- 
 dence for the rest." 
 
 The arrival of Mrs. Russel and her daughter Matilda, 
 who had come to take her leave preparatory to her 
 going to school to finish her education, put an end to 
 this conversation ; it was an invitation long given 
 her by Lady Montault, and therefore she was gladly 
 received. 
 
 Lord Orlando and Lady Emmeline very soon joined 
 the party, and the young people were then allowed to 
 amuse themselves in any way they liked best, while the 
 senior party enjoyed a rational and most interesting 
 conversation. 
 
 " I will positively have nothing to do with you Ma- 
 tilda, to day," cried Lady Montault ; " you are the 
 guest of Emmeline and Orlando, so they must enter- 
 tain you in the best way possible." 
 
792 the fisher's daughteh. 
 
 " Then pray, mamma, may we go out in the plea- 
 sure boat?" cried Lady Emmeline; "Orlando can 
 manage it so well, and the weather is so enchantingly 
 fine, there will be no danger." 
 
 ". Can you, Orlando ?" enquired his Grace. 
 
 " Yes, grandfather," uttered Orlando ; " I sail in it 
 almost every morning, and am reckoned the most 
 expert of all the rowers. None of them can match 
 me." 
 
 On this declaration, the final consent was given, on 
 a promise that they would not stay long on the water, 
 as Matilda Russel still experienced the effects of a 
 severe cold ; but never did she appear so delicately 
 beautiful, her fair transparent complexion being finely 
 contrasted with a colour which, neither too red or too 
 pale, resembled on either cheek the half opening rose. 
 Her fond mother had dressed her with peculiar neat- 
 ness and simplicity; a white muslin pelisse lined with 
 oale pink, set close to a form that might have set to a 
 sculptor for symmetry and elegance, under which was 
 a frock neatly trimmed with fine lace ; a pale pink rib- 
 band fastened her slendeu waist, and her white straw 
 gipsey hat was lined with the same colour, and 
 admitted partially her fine dark, luxuriant, auburn 
 tresses, which parted on her snowy forehead in flowing 
 curls, while sweetness, modesty, and sensibility, marked 
 a countenance divinely expressive of the soft and 
 feminine virtues which were enshrined in so fair and 
 angelic a form ; and if ever the heart of Lord Orlando 
 was in danger of being seized captive by her charms, 
 it was on this day, when he was permitted to enjoy -so 
 many hours of her society alone, at least only with 
 
the fisher's daughter. 793 
 
 Lady Emmeline to be witness of the ardent and im- 
 passioned glances, which at intervals he could not help 
 directing towards her; though Matilda more particular^ 
 on her guard than ever, from the instructions she had 
 received from her mother before she set out for Violet 
 Vale, endeavoured by every means in her power to 
 check the ardent admiration of Lord Orlando, by con- 
 tinually conversing and exclusively devoting her atten- 
 tions to his lovely sister. 
 
 When the pleasure-boat pulled off from the shore, 
 and the young ladies were comfortably seated under 
 the awning, which was composed of silk drapery of a 
 light celestial blue, Lord Orlando would admit of the 
 assistance but of one rower besides himself, though 
 persuaded to take another by the old man who had 
 the care of the boat and the superintendance of it ; but 
 to which he made a strong objection. 
 
 " Now where is the use of it, Walter ?" uttered he ; 
 " since I am to be one of the rowers myself, and the 
 wind is so gentle that it will scarce ruffle the surface 
 of the lake ; and as we are going to sail for a short 
 time, it is quite unnecessary to take another hand." 
 
 To which the old man, looking up to the sky and 
 then casting his eyes down on the water, very quaintly 
 replied, for he had been many years in the service of 
 the Montault family— 
 
 •' Why as to the use, my Lord, you will be better 
 able to judge that, if the wind should take a sudden 
 change before you come back, and you should want the 
 assistance of another hand and cannot get one. I have 
 known a fairer day than this turn out a very stormy 
 one, I promise you ; though I hope it won't be the case 
 
 a 34 5 h 
 
THE USHERS DAUGHTER. 
 
 now when you have got the young ladies with you; yrm 
 might bear it well enough, but they would be sadly 
 frightened." 
 
 " So we should, indeed Walter," cried Lady Emme- 
 line ; " I would not have any accident happen for the 
 world ; mamma would be so dreadfully alarmed, and so 
 would Mrs. Russel. Pray, brother, take Walter's ad- 
 vice, and let yon lad go with us in 'he boat." 
 
 " Dear Emmeline, I repeat that it is quite an unne- 
 cessary appendage to our cargo," rejoined Lord Or- 
 lando, and the boat was immediately drifted from the 
 shore, the weather being then so delightfully fine, and 
 the prospects around them so enchantingly beautiful, 
 that no fear was entertained by any of the party, that 
 a change in the atmosphere would be likely to take 
 place; a man directed the helm ; and Lord Orlando, 
 delighted with the beauteous freight of his adventurous 
 little bark, proved himself to be a very expert rower; 
 and both Lady Emmeline and her lovely companion 
 enjoyed the charming recreation to which they had 
 been invited by the gallantry of the youthful lord. 
 
 This beautiful lake, which emptied itself into a basin 
 after a distance of three miles, had been kept in the 
 greatest state of beauty and preservation ever since the 
 period that the late Lord Montague Montault had pur- 
 chased the estate to which it belonged ; who, being fond 
 of the marine scenery which surrounded it, had be- 
 stowed no small pains and expense to render it an ob- 
 ject of considerable attraction, in the rich domains of 
 which he was the sole and entire possessor. When 
 he married the beauteous daughter of Braganza, the 
 Duke had long held in his eye the beautiful residence 
 
ThB FISHKRS DAUGHTER. "J9fi 
 
 of Violet Vale, which, with all its valuable appurte- 
 nances, was upon sale, in consequence of the decease 
 of the nobleman to which it belonged ; but the Duke 
 declined becoming a purchaser of the household fur- 
 niture and other effects, which, though very splendid, 
 had still been in wear, and not such as he intended to 
 present his Agatha with on her bridal day. An entire 
 new and magnificent establishment was therefore im- 
 mediately selected, and the recent effects carried away , 
 he then paid an enormous price for the family man- 
 sion, which, however, wanted no repairs; and it was all 
 ready for the bride and bridegroom on the evening of 
 the day that their nuptials were solemnized, and pre- 
 sented to Lady Agatha as the gift of her noble father ; 
 and never was a daughter more gratified by a gift ; 
 for when she was conducted to it by her adoring lord, 
 there was nothing wanting to render it the abode of 
 connubial happiness j there had not been a thing neg- 
 lected for her convenience and even luxury. The 
 rooms were spacious and splendidly furnished, the 
 gardens beautiful and highly cultivated ; and all that 
 Lord Montague had to provide for the accommodation 
 of his beauteous bride, was a carriage and liveries, 
 which were of course as splendidly elegant as the 
 i est of the order of the establishment ; which she had 
 an undoubted right to command, with the noble pro T 
 perty which the Duke her father immediately invested 
 in his hands on his marriage with his beloved child ; 
 and as Lady Agatha had never exceeded in her ex- 
 penses the one half of it, when she became the widow 
 of Lord Montague, the estate was in the most nourish- 
 ing and prosperous condition. The Marquis M'as by 
 
796 the fisher's laughter, 
 
 no means so opulent, as his brother-in-law the Duke 
 of Braganza, who by a former marriage of course in- 
 herited the estates and title of his father, over which 
 the late Duchess had no control ; she had been hand- 
 somely provided for in the will of her husband ; but 
 could not touch an atom of the large fortune which 
 descended to her son Orlando, or it is very probable 
 that she would have done so long before her second 
 marriage with the Marquis of Montault, who left in 
 issue a son, the father of Lord Montague and Lady 
 Lavinia ; the former of whom married his cousin, Lady 
 Agatha Braganza, and the latter Lord Winstone ; but 
 so generous was the Duke to his brother-in-law, for 
 whom he always had the truest affection, than when 
 the settlements were drawn out for the marriage of 
 Lord Montague and his daughter, that he refused to 
 take any part of the property he was to give his son, 
 and he exclaimed— 
 
 " No, no, Montague ! you are poor, and I am rich ; 
 my girl does not want money. I have enough to give 
 her without impoverishing myself; you are not ade- 
 quate to give your son a property without rendering 
 yourself a needy man. 1 know your circumstances, do 
 not attempt to disguise them; you have another child 
 beside Montague, and that is a daughter; you have 
 besides a large establishment to support. I pray you 
 then keep the money you intended as a marriage por- 
 tion for your son, and convert it to your own uses ; for 
 positively I will not suffer Montague or Agatha to re- 
 ceive one farthing of it; he is my nephew, and if my 
 beloved child had never been so miraculously restored 
 - to me, he would indubitably have been left the heir of 
 
THK FISHHR's DAUGHTER. /97 
 
 all that I possessed ; he will still be so in the long run, 
 though he has another to share it with him, with whom 
 I believe he has no objection to become a joint posses- 
 sor of the property of his uncle. We will therefore if 
 you please settle the matter between us — pocket your 
 money or pocket the affront." 
 
 So generous and unlooked for a proposal, could not 
 fail to impress on the mind of the Marquis of Montault 
 so enthusiastic a regard for his brother-in-law, that it 
 was no wonder that he almost idolized his beauteous 
 daughter and her lovely offspring ; and after the death 
 of his son, he became more passionately attached both 
 to her and the children of his lamented Montague. He 
 was, however, particularly fond of the delicate little 
 Emmeline, who so strongly resembled the features of 
 ner father, which soon created a jealousy with Lady 
 Winstone after she became a mother; and she often 
 complained to beautiful mamma of the partiality which 
 the Marquis her father evinced towards her brother's 
 children above her own, in which complaint beauti- 
 ful mamma, according as the whim took her, generally 
 sympathized with her, especially when she had oc- 
 casion for a loan to discharge a gambling debt, by ex- 
 claiming — 
 
 " To be sure, my love, it is certainly barbarous of 
 your father to act in this sort of way j I have frequently 
 observed to him the little notice he takes of your lovely 
 little Harriet, to what he does of Emmeline Montault 
 and Orlando. Though I am sure the sweet little pet 
 B twenty times more engaging than either of them ; 
 for Emmeliue is perfectly spoiled by her mother, and 
 the Duke has made quite a fool of Orlando : in short 
 
,98 1'Hls FISHERS DAUGHTER 
 
 the boy has grown so consequential and conceited of 
 late, that I am quite sick of the airs he gives himself; 
 but it is all owing to the improper management of 
 Agatha, who now she is her own mistress thinks there 
 is nobody can do any thing like her : if your poor bro- 
 ther had lived he would have taught his son better; 
 besides, the Duke is greatly to blame in permitting the 
 boy to remain so long from college studies ; he >ught 
 to have quitted Violet Vale long ago instead of lounging 
 about with his tutor, who spends half his time in fish- 
 ing. I actually passed them the other morning in the 
 carriage near the residence of that old sea-bear Peter 
 Blust, where I suppose Lord Orlando had been paying 
 his devotions to the Fisher's Daughter. Here is ano- 
 ther very prudent mark of Lady Agatha's conduct, 
 with respect to the management of her son and her 
 daughter ; she actually suffers them to visit this low- 
 bred family ; and the consequence of this improper 
 system will be, as may very naturally be imagined, that, 
 as the girl is well looking, Orlando when he is older 
 will be attracted by her youthful charms, and I should 
 not all wonder will one day make me grandmother 
 to a fisher's brat." 
 
 " O ! I protest beautiful mamma, that I think no- 
 thing more likely," spitefully retorted Lady Winstone ; 
 ** I thought so the other day, when we saw her at 
 Adams's library. Did you observe how deeply Orlando 
 coloured and Miss simpered, when h so rudely left 
 us in order to make an enquiry after her health. I 
 could have freely given him a box on the ear as well 
 as Emmeline, for presuming to take any notice of such 
 a chit in our company; not that I can see that pro- 
 
TUB FISHER'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 digious beauty in her that every body is talking about. 
 I was so monstrously provoked with Gorget, that I 
 verily believe I will not speak to him for a month to 
 come." 
 
 " And why so, my sweet love ?" coaxingly enquired 
 the Marchioness ; " surely he could not admire that 
 maukin, when Lady Winstone was so near him." 
 
 " Indeed, but he did though," rejoined Lady Win- 
 stone, colouring like scarlet; "he said loud enough 
 for every body in the rooms to hear him, that the 
 Fisher's Daughter was one of the loveliest creatures 
 he had ever beheld; and what was more mortifying, it 
 was attested by his companion Lord Foxgrove, who was 
 staring at her all the time she was there. ' Colonel !' 
 cried I, highly provoked, you may be sure, mamma." 
 
 " I don't wonder at it, my dear, it was positively 
 the most barbarous thing I ever heard of in nature; 
 but 1 hope you resented it?" repeated the Mar- 
 chioness. 
 
 " You shall hear," rejoined Lady Winstone : " ' Co- 
 lonel !' cried I, e the next time you go out a shopping 
 with me, I beg you will leave your eyes at home'— 
 ' Or reserve them only to gaze on the charms of the 
 divine Lady Winstone,' uttered Foxgrove close at my 
 elbow. Conceive how maliciously provoking at the very 
 instant that Gorget was going to apologize to me in 
 the sweetest manner imaginable, to be prevented by 
 this intolerable coxcomb, who has the assurance to 
 quiz the Colonel about his passion for me." 
 
 " And is besides dying in love with you himself." 
 uttered the Marchioness ; " however, we shall meet 
 
800 THE FISHER'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 them both at Tannington's to night j and I'll tell you 
 how we will mortify them." 
 
 " O ! I positively will cut both of them/' exclaimed 
 the mortified fashionable beauty. 
 
 To which the Marchioness eagerly replied-— 
 
 " No, my dear, we will cut their cards and win their 
 money, and that will cut them more than any other cut 
 imaginable. Foxgrove is in full feather — he won pro- 
 digiously last night — every hit was successful j and the 
 Colonel you know is never out of luck, yet we can 
 pluck him of every feather at any time. Suppose we 
 try?" 
 
 " Yes, if Winstone does not take it in his head to 
 follow me there. You know his objection to my playing, 
 and he don't like the Colonel, because he once heard 
 him say that Lady Winstone was a prodigious fine 
 woman. I quizzed him about it, and told him to be- 
 ware of the green-eyed monster ; and what do you 
 think the wretch said ?" 
 
 " O, my love ! I can believe any thing that husbands 
 say to their wives," uttered the Marchioness, laughing 
 immoderately. 
 
 " Why, he positively bid me beware of making him 
 a monster instead of a man," replied Lady Winstone 
 indignantly. 
 
 " It is a monstrous good joke to frighten him with 
 that," cried her ladyship ; " but let us go at all events : 
 when I am with you he wont be jealous ; but you are 
 so beautiful that I don't wonder at it in the least, you 
 are ten times handsomer than ever. But Livey, what 
 phall I do ? I have got no money. Can you cash up ?" 
 
THE FISHER'S DAUGHTER. 801 
 
 Lady Winstone, though unprepared for this attack, 
 was in no humour to refuse beautiful mamma the 
 loan she required; her vanity was gratified — and they 
 separated for a few hours, only to meet each other 
 again to enjoy the luxuries of the gaming table, while 
 both of their lords were pursuing a more rational 
 amusement in going over to Violet Vale to see the 
 lovely widow, in whose society they ever found delight 
 and satisfaction ; and we will leave them there at 
 present, while we return to the pleasure boat and the 
 juvenile party who were sailing on the lake. The 
 woodland scenery, which surrounded the beautiful 
 gardens and plantations, in the rich domains belonging 
 to Violet Vale, was grand and magnificent beyond 
 description ; and on the banks of this lovely lake, 
 Lady Montault had caused the most odoriferous plants 
 and flowers to be arranged on each side, from which, 
 as they sailed along, the most delightful fragrance was 
 emitted, and now and then Lord Orlando leaned upon 
 his oar, and entered into conversation with his young 
 and lovely companions, requesting that they would 
 tell him when they were weary of their little sailing 
 match. 
 
 " O ! let us sail a little longer, if you please bro- 
 ther," cried Lady Emmeline; " for I should never be 
 weary in such charming weather ; could you, Matilda ?' 
 
 To which Miss Russel replied — 
 
 " I am certainly not weary, Lady Emmeline, for we 
 have had nothing to do since we sailed along, but to 
 admire the enchanting prospect of the country which 
 surrounds us on every side ; but though we have beeu 
 idle your brother has not, and I think he must be 
 
 b 34 5 i 
 
THK USHIill S DAUGHTER. 
 
 fatigued with his exertions. Are not you a little tired 
 now with rowing us so far, Lord Orlando?" 
 
 " Not if I was to row for a twelvemonth, provided I 
 had always so lovely a burden in the boat, as you 
 Matilda," cried Orlando with the most passionate 
 ardour. 
 
 The lovely cheek of the Fisher's Daughter glowed 
 with a colour of the most roseate hue, and with a 
 smile of the most ineffable sweetness, she replied — 
 
 *' O, my lord! do not let unmeaning compliment 
 supply the place of that good sense, with which you 
 are so eminently gifted. Pray, pray, do not flatter 
 me." 
 
 " By Heaven ! I do not flatter you, my dearest Ma- 
 tilda," uttered Lord Orlando, letting the oar fall from 
 his hand as he leaned upon it, while he seized the 
 snowy one of the Fisher's Daughter j and, in spite of 
 her resistance or the presence of his sister, carried it to 
 his lips with the most passionate fervour. " Nor can 
 I think that my good sense of which you are pleased 
 to say I have so abundant a share, though I have 
 not yet had the vanity to discover it myself, will 
 ever be taxed by paying any compliment to you ; I 
 have only uttered the effusions of a heart, which, O, 
 Matilda ! will never beat for any object but you." 
 
 At this moment, Lady Emmeline had turned her 
 head aside, probably out of the greatest delicacy to her 
 friend and her brother, not wishing them to suppose 
 that she was listening to the conversation which was 
 passing between them j neither did the man seated at 
 the helm observe the scene which was passing 
 around him, and even if he had, he was too respectfi*.* 
 
THB FISHUR'S DAlbu.tR. 803 
 
 to notice the gallantry of Lord Orlando to tbe young 
 ladies ; for all he uttered was in so low a voice, yiftt 
 it amounted to nothing but a whisper; but what was 
 the confusion of the blushing Matilda, when in faulter- 
 ing accents she pronounced — 
 
 '* Forbear, my lord ! I entreat you to forbear from 
 addressing such language to one so greatly your in- 
 ferior in station and in birth ; indeed, indeed, it is 
 extremely indecorous of you ; and I must not, can- 
 not listen to a repetition of it. You do not, my 
 lord, consider my situation, and you are forgetful of 
 yours. Heaven knows how unwilling I should be to 
 offend you ; but we are no longer in a state of child- 
 hood as formerly, and this foolish weakness must not 
 be indulged, it is detrimental both to your happiness 
 and mine j and I hope you will never a second Hme 
 give me occasion to remind you that it is so." 
 
 The high-spirited blood of the ardent and impetu- 
 ous, (though generous youth,) mounted to his cheek 
 in one moment ; he had by no means expected such a 
 retort from the naturally timid, and gentle disposition 
 of Matilda Russel; and not only his pride but his 
 vanity was wounded by it. Unaccustomed to meet 
 with the slightest opposition to his wishes since the 
 death of his father, and indulged by the Duke his 
 grandfather, as well as the Marquis of Montault be- 
 yond what his youthful years ought to have given a 
 claim to, his proud spirit (which was certainly that of 
 his mother's, whom he strongly resembled in features 
 as well as disposition ; for Agatha had always been 
 proud though she endeavoured to conceal it) felt 
 the check he received from the Fisher's Daughter most 
 
804 the fisher's daughter. 
 
 keenly and bitterly ; and after a pause in which all the 
 parties seemed evidently confused, Lord Orlando ex- 
 claimed — 
 
 " 1 am extremely sorry, Miss Russel, that I should 
 have been so unfortunate as to offend you on a day 
 like this, which I expected to have been one of the 
 happiest of my life; but be assured that you will never 
 be offended in the like manner again, while my name 
 is Orlando. I love you, Matilda, in spite of all that has 
 been said to me on that subject by persons whose 
 names I shall not report ; but I could not bear your 
 scorn if you were a princess, therefore let what f have 
 said be erased from your memory ; and since I am so 
 hateful to you, I will take care after this never to come 
 into your presence again. I am going to College in a 
 few days, and you are going to school ; we shall not see 
 each other again very shortly I dare say, so you need 
 not be under any apprehensions of my repeating my 
 offence as you call it, it will be the last time that Or- 
 lando will ever be treated with such disdain bv Matilda 
 Russel." 
 
 And without waiting for a moment's reply from poor 
 Matilda, wno was almost dissolved into tears by the 
 struggles she had made to act according to her mo- 
 ther's instructions, Lord Orlando very dexterously 
 applied himself to the oars again to row them to shore. 
 In the meanwhile Lady Emmeline, who had been 
 watching the clouds for some time past, and wholly 
 inattentive to the conversation that had been pass- 
 ing between her brother and her fair friend, suddenly 
 exclaimed — 
 
 " My Heavens ! it is going to rain ; how dark the 
 
the fisher's daughter. 805 
 
 cloiuls are, what shall we do, Matilda, in our thin mus- 
 lin pelisses ? we have got no cloaks to cover us, and if 
 it rains we shall be wet to the skin." 
 
 Matirda made no reply, for her heart was full ; and 
 at that moment it made very little difference to her 
 whether it was hail or sunshine, a storm or a calm ; 
 and absorbed in her own uncomfortable reflections, 
 she actually did not hear the soft gentle voice of Lady 
 Emmeline when she addressed her, who, unable to 
 account for the abstraction of her friend, exclaimed — 
 
 " Dearest Matilda, what is the matter with you ? I 
 have twice spoken to you, and you have taken no no- 
 tice of what I was saying about the weather." 
 
 " Miss Russel is meditating on the planets," cried 
 Lord Orlando, in a somewhat sarcastic tone of raillery; 
 " but as there is no conjunction with Mars and Venus 
 at the present moment; she will profit but little from 
 her observations." 
 
 Matilda felt her cheeks glow with something like 
 resentment ; but determined not to discover the slight- 
 est chagrin at this pointed speech of Lord Orlando, 
 she apologized to her lovely little friend for her inat- 
 tention, and agreed with her on the changed aspect of 
 the atmosphere. 
 
 " Which, I fear portends a storm," uttered she ; 
 " however, I have no doubt but we shall be fortunate 
 enough to escape it ; but pray don't alarm yourself 
 Lady Emmeline. There is no danger, is there, sir ?" 
 addressing herself to the helmsman. 
 
 To which he respectfully replied — 
 
 " None in the least, young lady, only from a heavy 
 -shower of rain or so before we get to shore • but if 
 
806 
 
 THE FISHKK S DAUGHTKR. 
 
 there was much wind it would not be quite so pltasant 
 or so safe ; you had better, my lord, keep to the west- 
 ward if you please." 
 
 Lord Orlando very gladly followed the instructions 
 of the man at the helm of the boat ; and plied the 
 oars with all his strength and dexterity, most heartily 
 repenting that he had rejected the advice of old Wal- 
 ter, by not taking another hand with him on this 
 little excursion, for he saw that both his sister and 
 Matilda were alarmed ; and though he constantly en- 
 deavoured to reanimate the spirits of the timid Erarae- 
 line, yet he could not entirely divest himself of some 
 fear from the increasing cloudiness of the sky, from 
 which already descended large drops of rain ; and 
 though they were within half a mile of the banks of the 
 lake from whence they had set sail, yet what could he 
 do to shelter them from the rain if it came on faster ! 
 Emmeline was so delicate that she would certainly 
 take cold in such a situation, and Matilda had scarcely 
 recovered from the effects of a violent one already. 
 
 In the meanwhile, the helmsman proposed that they 
 should each of them take off their coats and wrap 
 them round the young ladies if the rain did not cease; 
 and after some little hesitation, this offer was very 
 gladly accepted, as shortly after the rain descended 
 from the sky in torrents ; and to their inexpressible 
 concern the wind was beginning to blow smartly from 
 the eastward. 
 
 Emmeline faintly expressed her fears, and clung 
 close to Matilda, who said all she could possibly sug- 
 gest to console her and to relieve her anxiety for her 
 brother, who was now nearly wet through with the 
 
thm. fisher's daughter. 807 
 
 rail) as we.l as the exertion he had made to get to 
 shore, which he could not have done without some 
 difficulty, had not the helmsman supplied his place at 
 the oar ; and labouring hard against both wind and 
 tide, they were nearly exhausted when they arrived in 
 safety at the river's bank, where in a state of the 
 most alarming apprehension they beheld his Grace the 
 Duke of Braganza, and some of the attendants from 
 Violet Vale, all loaded with bonnets, shawls, cloaks, 
 and coats of various descriptions. The Duke ex- 
 pressed the utmost concern at perceiving the misera- 
 ble plight they were in ; for the wind and the rain had 
 entirely destroyed the shape of the young ladies 
 straw hats. But this was of little consequence when 
 compared to the danger of receiving some injury to 
 their health, by this amusing water frolic, besides 
 alarming the whole family with the apprehension of 
 their personal safety, if a storm came on ; should the 
 rain and the wind redouble its violence, the boat 
 would be overset on the lake, and their lives be lost ; 
 even in so small a depth of water it was possible that 
 such an accident might happen. And what were the 
 sensations of the tw T o mothers, who sat silently watch- 
 ing the approach of the rain long before it darkened 
 the sky ! and they expressed their fears to the Duke 
 for the safety of the dear children. 
 
 " I hope Orlando has taken Walter with him,'* 
 cried Lady Montault, " who knows so well how to 
 manage the boat when the weather is likely to be 
 tempestuous ; but what will become of the dear chil- 
 dren if it should happen to rain ? neither Etnmeline or 
 Matilda have any thing on but muslin pelisses, which 
 
808 THE F J SHER's DAUGHI'RII. 
 
 would not defend them from the slightest shower, ana 
 Orlando has taken no great coat with him. Why, 
 why, did I suffer them them to go?" 
 
 " I really do not see why you should not have per- 
 mitted them to take this indulgence when the wea- 
 ther was so enchantingly fine," uttered the Duke , 
 " be not alarmed, my .ove, they will be home long 
 before the rain comes on, and in the meantime I will 
 go down to the bank-side and take John and Thomas 
 with me well provided with cloaks." 
 
 Before the Duke could put this scheme into execution, 
 the rain poured heavily and the wind blew a hurricane ; 
 and he had just reached the river's side, filled with 
 serious apprehensions for the safety of the young people, 
 when the boat fortunately came in sight, and they were 
 safely landed to the inexpressible joy of their delight- 
 ed grandfather, who exclaimed the very moment he 
 oeheld them — 
 
 ' f Thank Heaven, my dear children, that I behold 
 you safe on terra firma again, and though you have 
 got a good ducKing by your little excursion, that you 
 have suffered no other personal inconvenience than 
 weathering out the storm ; but come, my dear loves, 
 let us quickly post in home to relieve the fears of your 
 fond and anxious mothers, who are enduring much 
 apprehension on your account, and where every thing 
 that is comfortable will be immediately administered 
 to prevent the effects of the cold. Orlando, wrap that 
 oox coat about you, and Walter you will see to the 
 ooat ; here is something for you and the helmsman to 
 legale yourselves with, after this water frolic." 
 " Which so, please your Grace, if his young lord- 
 
THK 'fisher's Daughter. 809 
 
 ship Mad taken my advice he would have been rowed 
 to shore long before this squall had come on," cried 
 Walter; " but lauk a mercy, we cannot put old heads 
 utl young .shoulders." 
 
 " No, that can we not, honest Walter," cried his 
 Grace j "but never mind, they will find that out 
 themselves when you and I are mouldering in the 
 earth. Drink, and make yourselves merry, and be 
 content that matters are no worse; for my head- 
 strong grandson would have upset the boat by this 
 time, if the wind had blowed so strongly as it does 
 now." 
 
 *' That's to a certainty, your honour," murmured the 
 old man, " if it had been a few hours later, by reason 
 that there was no sail to carry her ; yet Lord Orlando is 
 one of the finest youths my eyes ever beheld, saving 
 the Danish young gentleman thai 1 am told perished 
 at sea, the more's the pity ; for I never saw the like 
 of Mr. Wolf in my born days ; be could manage a 
 boat as well as the oldest of our seamen ; and where 
 he learned his navigation I couid never think, by rea- 
 son that he was so young." 
 
 " He was indeed an expert and a clever youth/' 
 cried his Grace, checking an involuntary sigh that so 
 flourishing a flower had blossomed to maturity only 
 in the grave; "however, Walter, he shines more 
 glorious where he is at present, than all the glory 
 which could have awaited him in this mortal world, 
 though he had the crown of a monarch seated on his 
 brow." 
 
 " True, true, your honour,*' uttered the old man ; 
 " and it would be a crying sin for any who wished the 
 
 c34 5 k 
 
810 THB FISHER S DAUGHTER. 
 
 young gentleman well, that would call him back to su 
 a wearisome world as this is." 
 
 The old man bowed, and then respectfully made his 
 exit. In the meanwhile the young water party had with 
 the assistance of the attendants, made the very best of 
 their way to Violet Vale; and when the Duke return- 
 ed, the young ladies were completely attired in fresh 
 clothing, Miss Russel being accommodated with a 
 dress of Lady Emmeline's ; and Lord Orlando had 
 also undergone the usual preventives against catching 
 cold ; his fond mother had immediately shifted him, 
 and applied warm flannels to his chest, and adminis- 
 tered a cordial which she always kept by her for such 
 occasions, and which she had brought with her from 
 Italy. Although Lord Orlando protested that nothing 
 ailed him from the effects of the rain which had pour- 
 en on him in such torrents than that he felt a slight 
 head-ache; yet it was very perceptible from his flush- 
 ed countenance and parched lips, that he had endured 
 more than he chose to confess, to which it is possible 
 that his little quarrel with Miss Russel had in no small 
 degree contributed to heighten, which, added to the 
 fears he had entertained for their personal danger* 
 while his sister and she were under his immediate 
 care, had almost put him in a fever. He had no 
 sooner taken some refreshment, than Lady Montault 
 insisted upon his going to bed, with which request he 
 complied, being really exhausted with the fatigue he 
 had undergone and the mental anxiety he had expe- 
 rienced for two dear objects ; for the preservation of 
 whose lives he would freely have parted with his own, 
 baa danger been immediate. 
 
THE FISHER'S DAUGHTER. 811 
 
 And no less care was bestowed upon the young 
 ladies. Matilda Russel had experienced nothing but 
 the fear for Lady Emmeline, who being delicate was 
 the most likely to suffer from the cold. 
 
 " But indeed I do not feel at all ill, mamma," ut- 
 tered the sweet girl. " Matilda wrapt me so warmly 
 in the seaman's great coat, while she herself had only 
 Orlando's to keep her warm, and which was so very 
 small that I am sure it could afford her but little 
 warmth ; for her pelisse was quite wet when we came 
 on shore.'* 
 
 " And yet I do not think that I have taken the 
 least cold," cried Matilda; "my only fear was, that 
 Lord Orlando would, being quite drenched to the skin 
 with the rain." 
 
 " So you had Orlando's coat to shelter you from the 
 rain, Matilda," cried Lady Montault ; " well it was 
 very proper that he should have exerted a little gal- 
 lantry on this occasion ; having exposed you and his 
 sister to so unpleasant a situation, he deserves to suf- 
 fer a little personal inconvenience himself; it was cer- 
 tainly very wrong of him not to take another hand 
 with him in the boat, and highly improper when he 
 saw the rain coming on that he did not return 
 sooner." 
 
 " I do not think that my brother was so much to 
 blame, mamma," cried Lady Emmeline. 
 
 "Then pray who was?" enquired Lady Montault ; 
 " you had all the use of your eyes I presume, and if you 
 made use of them in a proper manner you must have 
 seen the »torm gathering in the clouds long before it 
 
812 THE FISHER'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 ^ame on. You have been absent four hours by thft 
 hall clock." 
 
 " t was looking on the water, mamma," cried Lady 
 Emmeline; " and so was Matilda." 
 
 " And what was Orlando looking at, that made him 
 so forgetful either of time or objects?" enquired Lady 
 Montault. 
 
 Lady Emmeline coloured deeply. 
 
 " I cannot tell, mamma," uttered she. 
 
 " And probably cannot guess, Emmeline," retorted 
 her ladyship ; " nor you, Matilda ?" 
 
 The cheeks of the Fisher's Daughter, though before 
 pale, were now lighted up with a glow of the brightest 
 vermillion, and without a moment's hesitation she 
 replied — 
 
 " Yes, your ladyship, I can not only guess, but posi- 
 tively inform you at what object Lord Orlando was 
 looking when the storm came on — it was at me — he 
 had addressed some conversation to me which I thought 
 improper; and I told him that I thought so, and beg- 
 ged that he would never repeat it again. His lordship 
 seemed greatly offended ; but however sorry I was to 
 displease him, I feel conscious that I was acting rightly, 
 and while that is the case I do not fear the displeasure 
 of any one." 
 
 A pause ensued. Mrs. Russel could have worshipped 
 her daughter, while the admiration of Lady Montault 
 towards her arose to the hightest pitch ; and turning 
 on the blushing and agitated girl a look highly expres- 
 sive of her approbation, she exclaimed — 
 
 s Sweet, amiable, and ingenuous girl, act always 
 
THE FISHER'S DAUGHTER- 813 
 
 tinder the impulse of such feelings, and you cannot 
 fail to increase your own happiness, while you con- 
 tribute to the peace and command the respect of all 
 around you. Orlando is a foolish boy, he knows not 
 what he is saying ; and I am happy that you have too 
 much good sense to mind all his little flights and 
 fancies ; when he is older he will know better. Think 
 no more of it, Matilda." 
 
 Mrs. Russel had experienced no very pleasant or 
 comfortable reflections during this speech of Lady 
 Montault to her lovely daughter, the latter part of 
 which she thought it would have been quite as well 
 if her ladyship had suppressed ; and a recollection of 
 former days and former scenes filled her mind with 
 painful remembrances j the half ready tear started to 
 her soft blue eyes. She saw no reason why her beloved 
 child should be mortified by the boyish folly of Lord 
 Orlando, and she determined after this day that Ma- 
 tilda should never repeat her visits to Violet Vale, 
 however strongly solicited by the parties, and under 
 any consideration whatever. Jessy had pride, and 
 the pride of a mother, as well as Lady Montault j and 
 she begged that her chaise might be ordered, that she 
 might convey her daughter home immediately, before 
 the evening air came on to increase her cold. 
 
 *•' I thought you intended to leave Matilda with us 
 till to-morrow," cried Lady Montault; " would it not 
 _>e better after this unpleaeant little water frolic? and 
 we will bring her safe home, Emmeline and I. What 
 say yon, Jessy ?" 
 
 Mrs. Russel very civilly declined the proposal, al- 
 ledging that both Mr. Russel and her grandfather 
 
814 the fisher's daughter. 
 
 would be uneasy at her absence, and imagine that Ma- 
 tilda was really ill when she was not so." 
 
 " And what is more, he would lay all the blame or 
 it on my careless boy," uttered Lady Montault, and 
 smiled. 
 
 The mother and daughter then took their departure 
 from Violet Vale, Lady Emmeline promising her lovely 
 friend that she would call soon and bring her pelisse 
 and frocks with her. 
 
 They were no sooner gone, than after a thoughtful 
 pause Lady Montault enquired of Emmeline if she had 
 heard any part of the conversation which had passed 
 between Orlando and Miss Russel- 
 
 " No indeed, mamma, I did not," replied the sweet 
 girl ; " I did not know that they had particular con- 
 versation, till Matilda herself mentioned it to you." 
 
 " They spoke low, and probably in whispers, on 
 purpose that you might not hear them," rejoined her 
 ladyship. 
 
 " I do not know any thing about that, mamma," 
 faultered out Lady Emmeline, for she was very unwil- 
 ling that either her brother or Matilda should be sus- 
 pected by her mother of the slightest mark of impro- 
 priety, and she repeated that she had never heard them 
 whisper at all. 
 
 " It is strange that in so small a circle in which 
 you were sitting in the boat, you should be so pro- 
 foundly ignorant of what they said to each other," 
 cried her ladyship ; " but hear me, Emmeline, I must 
 in future lay the strongest restrictions upon you, once 
 more, not to encourage Orlando in any professions of 
 attachment for Matilda Russel who, however beau- 
 
the fisher's daughter. 815 
 
 tiful and amiable, (and I acknowledge that she is,) 
 really is notwithstaLding a very improper object for 
 your brother, who must be taught when he is arrived 
 to maturity to seek an alliance more equal to his ex- 
 alted rank and station, than the daughter of Mr. Rus- 
 sel. Had your dear father been living he would greatly 
 have disapproved of Lord Orlando's forming any such 
 connexion, and I, as his mother and the representa- 
 tive of my dear lord, feel myself in duty bound to act 
 upon the same principle as he would have done. I 
 will allow that the merit of the object in question is 
 great, Matilda is a beautiful girl and is equally modest 
 and sensible ; and being the child of a most beloved 
 and respected friend 1 have the greatest affection for 
 her, and was your brother her equal I could not object 
 to his growing attachment; but that not being the 
 case I must discountenance it all together, and I re- 
 quire you precisely to obey me in this particular. It is 
 really excessively ridiculous of Orlando to be talking 
 of such nonsence to Matilda who is a mere child, and 
 seeking opportunities of conversing with her on such 
 improper subjects ; and I rejoice, most heartily rejoice, 
 that now thtie is a chance of their being separated 
 for a leugth of time, he will then forget this boyish 
 passion and have more serious pursuits to occupy his 
 attention. You say nothing, Emmeline, I hope you 
 are not an advocate for \our brother's romantic attach- 
 ment to Matilda Russel." 
 
 " Dear, mamma !" cried the lovely girl, her eyes 
 tilling with tears at the same moment; *' it would be 
 very indelicate it me, were 1 in any one single instance 
 to advance a sellable coinrary to your superior judg- 
 
810 the fisher's daughter. 
 
 roent. I am very foiid of Matilda Russel, and O, how 
 I love my brother ! there is not an earthly being, next 
 to you, whom I so dearly love as Orlando, it would 
 grieve me to say any thing to make him unhappy, for 
 he never makes me so ; and he has often told me that 
 my dear papa when he was alive used to tell him to love 
 his little sister, and does he not, mamma ? O, yes, yes ! 
 I know that Orlando does love his sister ; dear, dear, 
 mamma, then how can I interfere between Matilda 
 Russel and him ? I will say nothing — but do — do not 
 command me to be severe on my brother! he would 
 not be severe with me. I don't know what this love 
 is ; but I am sure if it is so terrible a thing I shall 
 always pray that I may never be tormented with it." 
 
 It has already been remarked, that the youthful 
 Emmeline had the very looks of her father, Lord 
 Montague Montault, which had on several particular 
 occasions rendered it so difficult a task for her mother 
 to refuse any request if made by this little darling girl ; 
 and her artless appeal was now so affecting, that Lady 
 Montault, bursting into tears, clasped her to her 
 maternal bosom with tenfold rapture; she was so in- 
 nocent, so gentle, so unoffending, and she exclaimed 
 as she dropped a tear unconsciously on her fair fore- 
 head — 
 
 " Thou dearest pledge of the fond affection of a 
 doating husband, thou sweetest resemblance of the 
 features of thy adored father ! I will never again give 
 vou so hard a trial of that exquisite sensibility, with 
 which yon was born my dearest, dearest girl, my ten- 
 der babe, while yet unconscious that a dying father's 
 arms enclosed your little form, you were the last 
 
the fishkk's daughter. 817 
 
 earthly object that his eyes ever gazed upon ; be that 
 recollection ever sacred to your mother ! I will never 
 press you again on this subject, my angel ; be com- 
 posed. They must have hearts of flint that could be 
 harsh to you for one moment. Lady Emmeline 
 returning her mother's affectionate embraces, bade her 
 good night; and retired to her chamber, followed by 
 Rebecca, her old nurse, who was dreadfully alarmed at 
 the water frolic, in the fear that it would endanger the 
 health of this delicate little blossom, whom she had 
 reared with such tender care, spending many a long and 
 weary night with painful watchfulness. She gave her 
 every preventive she could think of, to avoid the baneful 
 effects of cold, wishing, as she drew the curtains softly 
 around her, that there was not such a thing as a plea- 
 sure boat in the world ; and muttering to herself all 
 the way she went down stairs — 
 
 te A pretty pickle they have made the dear child in 
 with their frolics on the water, with the Fisher's 
 Daughter ! it was only the other day that she got her 
 frock all torn to pieces with going in the woods with 
 her brother, to gather nuts for Matilda Russel ; a mighty 
 fuss he makes about this girl ! but I can see, I can 
 see ! its quite high time that my lady put a stop to his 
 going to the Red House. There will be no good come 
 of it, I can see ; and I'll make bold to tell my lady so 
 this very night ; yes, yes, I can see how things are 
 going. Miss would have no objection to have a 
 coronet on her head instead of a fish slice. I can see." 
 
 But it was plain that Rebecca could not very clearly 
 see at this precise moment; for down tumbled the 
 brass candlestick she was carrying in her hand, on the 
 
(SJ8 the fisher's daughter. 
 
 gouty toes of old Thomas the butler, who was hob- 
 bling up the back stairs to get to his bedchamber; and 
 he exclaimed — 
 
 " The devil you can, Mrs. Rebecca ! but the next 
 time you come tumbling down stairs with a brass 
 candlestick in your hand, I wish you would let it fall 
 on your own toes instead of your neighbour's. What 
 a confounded twinge you have given me." 
 
 " Beg pardon, Thomas, I am sure I did not see 
 von/' cried Rebecca; " but I was talking to myself, 
 and when that is the case I never minds nobody; if my 
 iady had been here, it would have been all the same to 
 Bcekey. Good night, Thomas, I'll send up Randal 
 with a glass of hot brandy and water; I never does no 
 mischief but what I likes to repair." 
 
 Rebecca was as good as her word, the hot brandy 
 and water was sent, and the injury sustained by the 
 fall of the brass candlestick on the gouty toes of poor 
 Thomas was readily forgiven. 
 
 In the meanwhile, Mrs. Russel and her lovely 
 daughter returned to home, sweet home, at an early 
 hour the same evening, where every cheerful and do- 
 mestic comfort awaited her, by her own fireside, with 
 an affectionate kind husband ; who, as he ran to the 
 gateway to assist her and Matilda to alight from the 
 chaise, and assiduously took off her cloak, whispered 
 — on observing the countenance of Jessy to be uncom- 
 monly flushed — 
 
 " My dear love, you look fatigued, and so does youi 
 Matty. Your visit to the great folks seems to have 
 exhausted all your spirits; come, take a glass of H'ine, 
 and endeavour to recruit them. 
 
THE FISHER'S DAUGHTER. 819 
 
 Jessy smiled, and took such refreshment as Samuel 
 requested her, which was a glass of white wine and a 
 biscuit, of which also Matilda partook. The bird was in 
 the cage that Lord Orlando had given her so long 
 since, and was now on his perch fast asleep ; and 
 Matilda for many reasons did not choose to make it 
 the first object of her solicitation, as soon as she got 
 home : she began playing with a little favourite kitten 
 who lay sleeping at the fire- side. 
 
 <( Ah, mamma !" cried she, while she patted pussy's 
 cars, " there is no place like home after all, as the 
 song says." 
 
 To which Mrs. Russel replied — 
 
 " No, there is not, indeed, my love ; and the longer 
 you live, and the more you see of the world, will you 
 find the truth of that good old adage." 
 
 Mr. Russel now informed them that Mr. Blust had 
 been several times to enquire after them in the course 
 of the day, and there was no doubt but he intended to 
 come and take his supper with them at the Red 
 House. 
 
 " If it is only to hear all the news that is stirring at 
 Violet Vale/' added Samuel ; " and he was so impa- 
 tient the last time when he found you had not yet re- 
 turned, that I do believe he had more than half a mind 
 to go over and fetch you and Matty home. However, 
 I am very glad that he did not, it would have appeared 
 so ridiculous, would not it my love?" 
 
 et Very so, indeed my dear," cried Jessy, though 
 she could not help smiling, as this was an old habit of 
 her father's in former days which he had never broken 
 himself of j for her sister Olive and she had never been 
 
£20 THK KISHi:tl's JlAUGHTKP!. 
 
 invited out on a party of pleasure, either to dinner or 
 ro supper, witiiout Peter's saddling his horse, and com- 
 ing post haste to fetch thetn away long before the rest 
 of the company had departed from their friencb* 
 nouses. 
 
 This was exceedingly provoking to two young girls 
 to be always interrupted thus, in the very midst of 
 their youthful spirits and merry pastimes, by their 
 father's singular propensities; and the high-spirited 
 Olive was frequently- rebellious about it. For when- 
 ever they went out, to the fisher's constant repetition 
 of— 
 
 " Mind you don't stay late, girls ; if you do, shiver 
 my topsails if I don't come after you, and that's flat;''' 
 
 She would very frequently reply — 
 
 " Lord, father ! I never saw the like of you for in- 
 terrupting people's comforts and pleasures in all my 
 born days ! as if there was any harm in keeping it up 
 all night long when one is among friends ! why the 
 dancing won't be over at Mrs. Farthingale's, before 
 midnight, will it Jessy ? There will be so many 
 couples." 
 
 { ? The devil it won't," vociferated the fisher, smack- 
 ing his pipe on the table in his usual vehement way. 
 " I'll couple you with a vengeance if you are going 
 to stay out such hours as that, I will you husscy, 
 you." 
 
 " I don't see no harm in it, father," pouted Olive j 
 " there's Miss Molly Malony, the baker's daughter, 
 and Miss Muz the milliner, staid out all night at the 
 ast ball, and were never thought a bit the worse 
 for it." 
 
THE FISHER S DAUGHTER 821 
 
 This provokafne instead of a palliative on the part 
 of the saucy Olive, only the more enraged the fisher, 
 who exclaimed — 
 
 " Curse Miss Muzy the milliner, and Miss Molly 
 Malony the baker's daughter; do you think I'll suffer 
 you to follow their example, or that the daughters of 
 Peter Blust shall be kicking their heels and prancing 
 about with a pack of idle young fellows at a gossip's ball 
 all night long ? no, I shan't do any such sort of a thing, 
 Miss Olive, I can assure you. Jessy, you are a sensi- 
 ble girl, arid have ten times more prudence than your 
 rattle-brained sister. [Olive had just stepped out of the 
 room to put on her scarf r.nd gloves.] Do you hear 
 child, mind you don't exceed the hour of twelve bafore 
 you give over dancing." 
 
 " No, father," uttered Jessy who was now going to 
 follow her sister. 
 
 " Stay, Jess," cried the fisher, "a word in your ear 
 my wench ; if any of the young fellows offer to squeeze 
 your hand or tread upon your toes when you are goiiag 
 down the dance — set him up for an ass, and leave him 
 in the middle of it. Do you hear, Jess ?" 
 
 " Yes, father," mildly replied Jessy, and was again 
 going off ; but just as she had got to the door Peter 
 called her back. 
 
 " Jess/' uttered he ; " you have forgot one thing '•' 
 
 w And what is that, dear father?" answered Jessv, 
 enduring all this tantalizing interruption with the 
 sweetest forbearance. 
 
 *' You have forgot to give your poor old father a 
 kiss before you go a frolicking." 
 
822 THK FISHKll's DAUOJITKIl. 
 
 Jessy held up her roseate cherub lips to meet the 
 hearty smack imprinted on them by her father. 
 
 " There, God love thee," uttered he, gazing on her 
 fair innocent face with inexpressible fondness. " Thee 
 bee'st my darling, and that be the truth of it. Olive — 
 but I wont say a word about the slut, for I do know 
 that it do vox thee." 
 
 " Yes, father, I don't like you to be cross with 
 siste?-," answered Jessy; *■ she is a very good girl, for 
 all she is a little flighty pr so ; but — " 
 
 ' But shiver my topsails if I have ever been able to 
 find that out since she was born," reiterated Peter ; 
 " but go tby ways, go thy ways, thou kind warm- 
 hearted little soul, and remember the hour of twelve, 
 the squeezing of hands, and the treading upon toes." 
 
 u Yes, father," repeated Jessy, and was now allow- 
 ed to make her final exit without further interruption. 
 
 And it is no wonder that on so amiable, affectionate, 
 and dutiful a child, Peter doated, and gave her a 
 preference to her high-spirited and turbulent sister, 
 who on every occasion testified towards him, the most 
 insolent and ungovernable disposition. As the fate of 
 this unfortunate young woman is, however, too well 
 known to our readers, we will no longer dwell upon 
 the melancholy theme; but cast the veil of oblivion 
 over all her follies and her weaknesses, a fate she 
 would most certainly have avoided, had she adopted 
 the mild and endearing qualities of her amiable sister, 
 nnd the prudence which was the impulse of all her 
 actions. 
 
 But to proceed— 
 
THE FISHER'S DADGHTRIl. 823 
 
 The fisher, as was expected by Mr. Russel, made his 
 appearance at supper time, which was always early at 
 the Red House; and Mrs. Russel well knowing her 
 father's favourite dish, had a couple of fine ducks set 
 down to roast at the fire with a dish of fine green 
 peas, and some tartlets which were cold in the pantry. 
 Samuel had also provided an ample supply of his fa- 
 vourite cordial, and an excellent selection of pipes 
 and tobacco, with which Peter could not have dis- 
 pensed one moment, suspecting that he would not 
 depart at a very early hour from the Red House, if he 
 departed at all ; and as they never permitted him to 
 return to Herring Dale when he was three sheets in 
 wind, a bed was always prepared for him next to the 
 bedchamber of Mr. and Mrs. Russel, who would suffer 
 any personal inconvenience rather than have the com- 
 forts of her father neglected. 
 
 Previous, however, to Peter's arrival at the residence 
 of his son-in-law, Jessy thought proper to acquaint 
 her husband with the occurrences and disasters of the 
 day at Violet Vale, he having made some enquiries as 
 to the changed habiliments of his daughter, as she was 
 so differently dressed from what she was when she 
 went out from home; her straw hat was also almost 
 torn to pieces ; and Mrs. Russel laughed heartily 
 at relating to her husband the little water frolic of 
 Lord Orlando, and the woeful plight the young mariners 
 were in when they reached terra firma. 
 
 At which Samuel observing that Matilda looked a 
 little confused, as well as pale and spiritless, looked 
 somewhat displeased, while turning to Jessy, he ex- 
 claimed — 
 
824 the fisher's daughter. 
 
 (i My dear, I do not consider this water frolic as you 
 call it, of so froiicsome a nature : and [ should not have 
 treated it as such had I been there, I promise you ; such 
 a frolic has cost the lives of many persons before now, 
 and they have perished in the ocean while on a party 
 of pleasure 5 it is exceedingly dangerous when unskil- 
 ful persons are left to the management of a boat which 
 they cannot navigate, when the wind and the tide are 
 strong against them. I don't thank Lord Orlando for 
 inviting my girl to partake of such an excursion on the 
 water, had it been on land I should not have minded ; 
 but I can tell you, trifling as it may seem, they have 
 had a narrow escape of their lives; for if the boat had 
 overset, they would inevitably have perished in the 
 lake. So headstrong an expedition I never knew, 
 and old Walter told me the other day that he expects 
 nothing less than to see his young lordship drowned 
 in one of them. 
 
 " And pray, Matty, how did you feel on this occa- 
 sion ? and how would your grandfather have felt to 
 have seen you under the management of such an un- 
 skilful pilot ? but I shall take good care that you shall 
 never run such a risk again for all the lords in Chis- 
 tendom." 
 
 l( Why, father, I cannot say that I experienced much 
 terror, because I did not know the danger we were ex- 
 posed to j but Lady Emmeline was very much fright- 
 ened, so I had to keep no her spirits as well as my" 
 own ; but dear me, I don't feel a bit the worse for it 
 now it is over ; but Lord Orlando was wet to the skin, 
 he had not a dry thread about him when we came to 
 
the fisher's daughter. 825 
 
 shore, and we left him in bed when mamma and I 
 came away/' 
 
 " And if he had a good lacing over his back a.s well 
 as a good ducking, it would have served him rightly. 1 ' 
 cried Samuel, by no means pleased at the hazard he 
 had run in exposing his daughter to such imminent 
 danger ; " such youngsters fancying themselves sea- 
 men when they know nothing at all about the matter J 
 I have no patience — he shall have no more of such 
 water frolics with you, Matty, you may depend upon 
 it." 
 
 Matilda was silent, she thought her father was par- 
 ticularly severe upon Lord Orlando ; but she could not 
 with propriety utter a word in extenuation of his con- 
 duct 5 and neither could Jessy dissent from her hus- 
 band's opinion, — she knew that w T hat he uttered was 
 sound stnse, and judgment; and therefore preserved 
 the same silence as her daughter. 
 
 And at this precise moment the fisher bounced into 
 the room, and surveying the confused looks of his 
 granddaughter and Jessy, and the displeased ones of 
 Samuel, he exclaimed — 
 
 " Shiver my topsails, but I know all about it. You 
 need not open your mouths ; and a very pretty kettle 
 of fish you have made of it ; this comes of going to dine 
 at great lords' houses. I went to my lady, and she told 
 me all about the matter, and that her son was ill a-bed 
 with the ducking he had got." 
 
 " So says I, The devil mend him. Where's my 
 Matty ?" 
 
 " Good Heavens, father ! you surely did not say any 
 b 35 5 m 
 
826 the fisher's daughter. 
 
 such thing to Lady Montault, did you ?" cried Jessy 
 with the utmost anxiety." 
 
 " I would have said it to the Queen of England, 
 when I thought my girl was in danger," cried Peter. 
 
 At this moment the supper came piping hot on the 
 table, and Peter reserved all the communications he 
 had to make till after the cravings of his appetite were 
 fully satisfied. 
 
THE FISHER'S DAUGHT7E. 827 
 
 CHAPTER XXXI!. 
 
 ** O ! thou with whom my heart was wont to share, 
 
 From reason's dawn, each pleasure and each ears; 
 
 With whom alas ! I fondly hoped to know 
 
 The humble walks of happiness below ; 
 
 If thy bless'd nature now unites above, 
 
 An angel's pity with a husband's love, 
 
 Still o'er my life pursue thy mild control, 
 
 Correct my views and elevate my soul, 
 
 Grant me thy peace and purity of mind, 
 
 Devout, yet cheerful, active, yet resign'd. 
 
 Grant me like thee, whose heart knew ne disguise, 
 
 Whose blameless wishes never aim'd to rise, 
 
 To meet the changes time and chance present, 
 
 With modest dignity and calm content." Roger*. 
 
 Not a word was uttered by the dissatisfied party 
 while they remained at supper. Jessy, who felt ex- 
 tremely mortified at the unnecessary visit which her 
 father had made at Violet Vale, not knowing in what 
 manner he had conducted himself towards her lovely 
 friend, or in what light she had considered it, still 
 avoided expressing the slightest mark of her disappro- 
 bation of it to her father, from fear of increasing the 
 no very pleasing disposition which he exhibited on hie- 
 
$28 thk fisher's daughter. 
 
 arrivalthere ; and Samuel (who always prudently imi 
 tated the example of his amiable wife in all that re- 
 lated to Mr. Rlust) was rather gratified than regretted 
 that he had resented the folly, and as he also thought 
 the presumption of Lord Orlando in attempting the 
 navigation of a boat, which, if the weather had proved 
 more tempestuous, would have exposed the life of his 
 beloved child to tic n^st imminent danger- During 
 supper, however, Peter had relaxed much of his seve- 
 rity, and finding that his darling granddaughter had 
 sustained no injury or inconvenience by this water 
 frolic, he began to treat the matter with indifference, 
 merely saying that lords had better mind their own 
 business than meddle and make with what did not 
 concern them ; and he appealed to Samuel for the 
 truth of his assertion, who of course immediately sub- 
 scribed to his opinion, by exclaiming — 
 
 " Yes, I agree with you there father, it is time 
 enough when boys arrive to the state of manhood to 
 set themselves up for seamen. But I don't know what 
 the world is come to, for my part ; young people now- 
 a-days seem to bid defiance to the experience of age, 
 and laugh at us into the bargain." 
 
 This observation of his son-in-law was so perfectly 
 congenial with the sentiments of Peter, that he not 
 only chuckled at it, but it had the immediate effect 
 of restoring him to good humour and jocularity, to 
 which, however, a glass of grog and his pipe and 
 tobacco, had in no small degree contributed ; and he 
 replied — 
 
 " So they do, Sam, so they do. Young folks are 
 now so self-willed and confoundedly conceited, that 
 
the fisher's daughter. 829 
 
 curse me if they would'nt soon turn the world topsey 
 Purvey if it was not for a few sober plain speaking 
 fellows, such as you and I, that now and then tip 
 them a little plain English, and make them ashamed 
 of themselves, such as I would have done with this 
 young lord if he had not been stowed in his hammock, 
 I promise you ; so finding he was not there I tipped it 
 to my lady, his mother, and that made all the difference, 
 for she is a sensible woman, and will listen to reason 
 without being at all offended. So says J, 'My lady, do 
 you call this a sensible thing of your son to be taking 
 two young girls upon the water, with only one man in 
 the boat when he ought to have taken four, and pretend 
 that he knew how to manage her as well as the sea- 
 men ? but, I tell you, my lady, its all a fudge ! Shiver 
 my topsails if he knows any thing at all about the mat- 
 ter, no more than my old torn cat at Herring Dale ; 
 and if the boat had happened to overset in the heavy 
 squall that came on, and your daughter and my grand- 
 daughter had all gone down to Davy Jones's locker, it 
 would'nt have been quite so pleasant either to your 
 feelings or mine. Don't you think now that he was 
 to blame, my lady ?' 
 
 " To which the sweet-tempered little soul replied, 
 just as she used to do when she was Agatha Sin- 
 gleton — 
 
 " ' I am to blame more than Orlando, my dear sir; it 
 was certainly wrong to continue so long on the water 
 with the dear girls, when the approach of rough wea- 
 ther should have hastened his return to shore ; but I 
 was equally to blame when I granted him this indul- 
 gence, and I must take the whole of the fault on my- 
 
830 the fisher's daughter. 
 
 self, and pray you to pardon a fond foolish mother, 
 too apt to second the wishes of two dear fatherless 
 children.' 
 
 ( Do you think I said any thing more to the sweet 
 little soul about the matter ? No, shiver my topsails ! I 
 could have twisted a rope's yarn about my neck first ; 
 so we shook hands and parted as good friends as ever, 
 and there's an end of my story." 
 
 That this was the finale of Peter's visit to Lady 
 Montault, and the subsequent conversation that he 
 held with her, Jessy most heartily rejoiced ; and now 
 no longer fearing any unfavourable report from her be- 
 loved friend, she recovered her serenity, while the heart 
 of her youthful daughter was, by this frank confession 
 of her grandfather, disburdened of the load, which 
 had weighed so heavily on it, and pressed her spirits 
 down ; though the name of Lord Orlando had never 
 once escaped her lips, she could not quite so easily 
 banish him from her thoughts when she retired to 
 her chamber for the night ; or when she offered up 
 her prayers to the Deity, avoid the goodly wish she 
 breathed towards him. 
 
 ■ To account for the prejudice which her grandfather 
 so strongly expressed against Lord Orlando, as also 
 her father, poor Matilda puzzled herself in vain ; for a 
 more frank and generous youth, or one more divested 
 of personal pride and vanity could not be ; he never 
 seemed to think of either his splendid expectations or 
 his exalted rank, whenever he had paid them a visit 
 at the Red House ; and she condemned both her re- 
 lations for this unnecessary severity towards an object 
 so truly amiable and praiseworthy in every respec . 
 
the fisher's daughter. 831 
 
 Yet Matilda buried these reflections in her own bosom, 
 resolved to follow her mother's injunctions in every 
 particular respecting Lord Orlando, and if possible 
 to forget all tender recollection of the intimacy which 
 had subsisted between them in former days. So said 
 prudence ; but what said love ? which of course was on 
 the strongest side, for love was the sentiment which 
 had crept unconsciously into the bosom of the youth- 
 ful Matilda, and triumphed in the influence it had 
 gained there. 
 
 In the meanwhile, Mrs. Russel communicated to 
 her husband the conversation which had passed at 
 Lady Montault's respecting her daughter, which had 
 made her decline the invitation Matilda had received 
 from her ladyship to stay all night at Violet Vale, 
 which met with the fullest approbation of Mr. Russel, 
 as he actually confessed he had no inclination or am- 
 bition to encourage the attentions of Lord Orlando to- 
 wards his young and lovely daughter; and that as 
 highly as her ladyship might appreciate the merits of 
 her son, he was equally sensible of those of his be- 
 loved child ; and therefore felt not only hurt but 
 indignant at the pointed observations which Lady 
 Montault had thought proper to make on the subject, 
 and which he could not have imagined she could have 
 been guilty of, considering the many long years of 
 friendship which had been so firmly established be- 
 tween them. 
 
 The ever kind and amiable Jessy, endeavoured by 
 every means in her power to palliate the conduct of 
 her beloved friend, and partly succeeded, a3 it was 
 
T>/)'2 THE FISHER S DAUGHTER. 
 
 a very rare instance indeed, if Samuel was ever found 
 to dissent from the opinion of his lovely wife. 
 
 " But on no a-ccount, Jessy," uttered Samuel ; " will 
 I ever again permit our daughter to fall in the com- 
 pany of this young lord — it may be dangerous to the 
 peace of both parties — they are of a critical age — Ma- 
 tilda is the very child of sensibility, and there is no 
 knowing what influence an object of such potent at- 
 traction, as the heir of Bragranza may have already 
 obtained in the eyes of our Matilda. She always 
 blushes at the very slightest mention of his name ; and 
 I see that she don*t much relish any observation that 
 is made of him to his disadvantage, though she at- 
 tempts by every effort that reason can suggest on so 
 youthful a mind as hers, to conceal with the greatest 
 caution the prepossession she feels in his favour. Yes, 
 yes, I see that Matilda is prudent; but is she not in- 
 experienced in the ways of the world ? she is not 
 vicious, Heaven be praised ! but is she not credulous? 
 and when hope tells a flattering tale, can we prevent 
 her from believing it ?" 
 
 Jessy scarce knew what reply to make on this sub- 
 ject to her husband, as she very much feared that Ma- 
 tilda, young as she was, was capable of strong and last- 
 ing attachments, which, if they gained too much as- 
 sendancy over her youthful mind, could not easily be 
 broken when she arrived at a more ripened age ; and 
 Lord Orlando was certainly the first object, for whom 
 she had discovered a predilection ; and nothing could 
 be more natural or reasonable to be expected, when it 
 is remembered at what an early age they were endeared 
 
THE FISHEIl's DAUGHTER. 833 
 
 to each other's society — playmates and companions 
 before they had been taught to feel that there was any 
 difference of rank or station between them, it was now 
 a task almost of immeasurable difficulty to make them 
 believe that there could be any cause to oppose their 
 youthful inclinations, or that there was any impro- 
 priety in owning the glowing admiration which they so 
 ardently felt. It burst upon them therefore like a 
 thunderstorm when they were forbidden to disclose a 
 warmer sentiment than friendship ; arid they expe- 
 rienced the violence of the shock the greater, on their 
 pained and mortified feelings which were now to be 
 suppressed, and their strong attachment which hac 
 been gaining strength since the very earliest days of 
 infancy stifled for ever ; for Lord Orlando had more 
 than once heard his mother's sentiments on the 
 subject of the Fisher's Daughter, and Mrs. Russel had 
 neglected no opportunity whatever of suggesting to 
 her lovelv daughter the impropriety of encouraging 
 the attentions ot the heir of Braganza. 
 
 They aimed at all points to gain a victory over the 
 weakness of her youthful heart, Matilda determined 
 to follow her mother's council rather than adopt her 
 own inclinations, and banish Lord Orlando as much as 
 possible from her thoughts ; and by intense application 
 to her studies, after she again returned to school, where 
 she was on the point of finishing her education, this 
 lovely and amiable girl had certainly received some 
 benefit from her prudent and praiseworthy resolution 
 and there were only stated times that she permitted he 
 mind to dwell for a moment on Lord Orlando, 
 
 in the meanwhile some changes had taken place at 
 
 p35 5 k 
 
831 THE FISHEH.'s DAUGHTER. 
 
 Violet Vale ; his lordship had departed for College, and 
 the Dor Horteusla family had arrived from Denmark, 
 where they were received with the most rapturous 
 congratulations, by their English friends, who had so 
 long anticipated the pleasure of beholding them in 
 England ; an elegant and superb suite of apartments 
 had been for several weeks prepared for the reception 
 of the Marchese, her lovely accomplished sister the 
 Baroness of Walbergh, and the little lively Fauchette, 
 whose manners were more engaging and fascinating 
 than ever, and whose pretty person was greatly im- 
 proved by a greater proportion of the en bon point, 
 in the beautiful symmetry of her figure than when in 
 Italy. 
 
 " O ! dear Lady Montague," uttered she; " I pro- 
 test I never was more happy in my life, than when 
 mamma actually made up her mind to embark for 
 Great Britain ; for I began to despair of ever leaving 
 that gloomy pile, the convent of St. Marco, without 
 being made a nun of; and that would have been so 
 shocking you know, for such a merry girl as me, who 
 have made up my mind to marry an English husband. 
 That is, you know, dear Lady Montague, if I can get 
 any one in the humour to pop the question." 
 
 To which Lady Montault, who could not help 
 smiling at the playful vivacity of this charming girl, 
 replied — 
 
 " O, my dear! pray don't alarm yourself with the 
 apprehension of your coming to this country to die an 
 old maid j for which I am seriously of opinion that 
 the fates never destined you. You will have many to 
 pop the question to you as you call i*. I promise you.' 
 
TF1K FISHKR S DAUGHTER. teto 
 
 " Well, any thing but a jealous husband," exclaim- 
 ed Fauchette; " it must be so shocking you know, 
 Lady Montague, to have one's husband always watch- 
 ing and purring about one, like a cat that is in search 
 of a mouse." 
 
 " And is the first step that would make a wife run 
 into temptation, in order to be revenged of unfounded 
 suspicion," replied Lady Montague ; " yet I own that 
 an indifferent husband is even worse than a jealous 
 one j for that will expose her to the slanderous tongue 
 of a censorious world more than a jealous madman. 
 However, they are both bad enough in all conscience, 
 and I hope my dearest Fauchette, it may never be 
 your lot to encounter either the one to treat you with 
 indifference, or the other to entail upon you disgrace 
 a d infamy, by unjust accusations." 
 
 The Marchese was enchanted with the improved 
 state of health of her charming goddaughter, who, ex- 
 cepting being very delicately fair, exhibited no marks 
 of that pallid and languid countenance, which every 
 one supposed would have terminated in that same fatal 
 and dangerous disease which had undermined the con- 
 stitution of her suffering father; but happily the dis- 
 order of Lady Emmeline had been less of a consump- 
 tive kind than Lord Montague, it was merely the ef- 
 fects of a weak system which gradually decreased 
 as she gained age and strength j still, however, the 
 slightest cold would effect her delicate and fragile 
 form, and it was on this account that Lady Montaulc 
 was so particularly cautious of endangering her health; 
 and she was of so sweet and gentle a disposition, and 
 so humble and diffident of her merits, that it was no 
 
i'liO the fisher's daughter. 
 
 wonler that her mother loved her almost to adoration ; 
 for in the course of her hitherto blameless life, she had 
 never occasioned that mother to feel a moment's re* 
 gret with respect to the uniform propriety of her con- 
 duct : her passionate fondness for her brother appeared 
 to be the most distinguishing feature in her character ; 
 for she could never bear to hear him found fault with, 
 even by Lady Montault, when his little foibles (for they 
 were not many) absolutely called for the severest re- 
 prehension ; but in this case, Lady Montault could see 
 nothing to censure in her daughter; she had beef- 
 taught in the earliest dawn of infancy to love Orlando 
 with the most enthusiastic affection ; and he had re- 
 turned it with equal fervour; to offend his young sister 
 even when a mere infant, was seriously to offend him 
 And as they grew in years, their mutual affection in 
 creased to such a degree, that Lady Emmeliue always 
 felt more keenly the reproaches of her mother towards 
 Lord Orlando than any directed to herself; for whic^ 
 reason Lady Montault never lectured her son in the 
 presence of his sister. 
 
 This she most severely did, after he had recovered 
 from the effects of the water frolic, on the subject of 
 the Fisher's Daughter, a few days previous to his tak- 
 ing his departure from Violet Vale ; and even in the 
 presence of his grandfather. 
 
 ff Do you know, sir, what you subjected me to, from 
 your folly on that day you took Matilda Russel on the 
 water ?" uttered her ladyship with a gravity which she 
 had much difficulty in preserving. " I had not only 
 to encounter my own fears and apprehensions, that 
 vour dear sister's health would have been materially 
 
thk usher's DAUGHTER. 83/ 
 
 injured by your imprudent management ; but I had to 
 endure the severe reproaches of Mr. Blust, who I 
 assure you was by no means sparing of his invectives 
 against you, for exposing the life of his granddaughter 
 to such imminent danger." 
 
 A colour brighter than vermillion mounted to the 
 cheeks of the high-spirited and impetuous youth, 
 while, in despite of the presence of the Duke, he ut- 
 lered — 
 
 '* Expose the life of Matilda Russel to imminent 
 danger ? I expose her to danger, who would sacrifice 
 the dearest drop of blood I have in my veins to pre- 
 serveher! Mr. Blustand Mr.Russeloughtto haveknown 
 me better, than for a moment to have imagined that I 
 would wantonly or maliciously have endangered either 
 the life of Miss Russel or my sister, by any voluntary 
 act of my own ; but I could not wage war with the 
 elements ; the winds and the waves were not under my 
 control, and I could not foresee the approaching storm, 
 the weather being so fine when we set out. I am 
 sorry to have incurred the displeasure of Mr. Blust ; 
 but I should be more sorry if Matilda herself bad con- 
 demned me, for what I feel conscious that I do not 
 deserve." 
 
 " But if your mother condemns you, it is of no con- 
 sequence at all," cried Lady Monlault deeply colour- 
 ing, " nor the whole world, provided that Miss Russel 
 is to applaud your actions ! bat I can tell you Lord 
 Orlando, that I once more insist that Miss Russel is 
 not to be an object of your consideration when your 
 mother commands you to think less of her ; and 
 henceforward I will not have that girl's name repealed 
 
83& THE FISHER'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 in my presence ; she can be nothing to Lord Orlando 
 Montault; and with my consent you shall never have 
 an opportunity of seeing or conversing with her again 
 in private, which you have frequently done without 
 my knowledge ; and i beg you will do that no more, 
 sir, on peril of my eternal displeasure. Hear me, Or- 
 lando, for I am firm and decided on this point, and 
 ever will continue so ! it is not that I have any dislike 
 towards Matilda, or that I do not sufficiently appreciate 
 her merits, for I certainly do ; and her being also the 
 daughter of a highly respected friend, she is the more 
 entitled to my regard : nor do I even wonder at your 
 admiration of her, for Matilda has, most avowedly, 
 uncommon personal loveliness j still I must inform you, 
 Lord Orlando, that she is by no means such a connexion 
 as the son of Lord Montague Montault ought to form 
 of a matrimonial kind, and it is my duty to apprise 
 you, as your mother, that I never will consent to any 
 thing of the kind. Had your father lived I should 
 have been spared from giving you any advice on this 
 head ; for be assured he would have opposed you most 
 strongly, in this your boyish, foolish, and romantic 
 passion for a girl whose station is so far beneath you. 
 But as I am deprived of your father's authority, I shall 
 now exert my own, being his representative ; and I 
 once more repeat my commands, and expect they will 
 no longer continue to be disregarded by you as a duti- 
 ful and affectionate son. You may think of Matilda 
 Russel with the warmest friendship ; but b-vond this, 
 do not again wound my feelings so deeply as to 
 be under the necessity of putting a further restraint on 
 vHtfr conduct respecting Matilda Russel. 
 
THE FISHER S DAUGHTER. 
 
 Lord Orlando for some moments had been suffering 
 a severe conflict with his feelings, which at length 
 overpowering him, he burst into a flood of tears, im- 
 ploring the forgiveness of his mother, for having 
 occasioned her a second time to reproach him so 
 severely. 
 
 " Which I feel pain in doing, my dear boy, believe 
 me," uttered Lady Montault, greatly affected at this 
 proof of her son's sensibility. 
 
 " And which I never more will give you cause to 
 do, my most beloved and revered mother," cried Lord 
 Orlando ; " but indeed, indeed, it will be a task of 
 immeasurable difficulty to make me forget Matilda 
 Russel, or to look upon her coldly ; yet I will en- 
 deavour to do so, because I am commanded by my 
 mother. Matilda is an angel in an earthly form, and 
 she will forgive me for any inattentions I may now be 
 guilty of towards her ; she may think me unkind, and a 
 light fickle-minded youth ; but no matter, I shall have 
 one reflection to console me for the pain I shall suffer 
 from that thought, the having performed my duty 
 as a son to one of the best and most amiable of mo- 
 thers, whom it would break my heart seriously to of- 
 fend ; for in spite of all my little random flights, want 
 of affection to her has never been my failing." 
 
 An interval of some moments ensued, in which the 
 Duke, who from delicacy had remained wholly silent 
 during the foregoing conversation between his grand- 
 son and his mother, could scarcely conceal his admi- 
 ration of the proper manner he had replied to her 
 ladyship's severe lecture, which he. thought was unne- 
 cessarily repeated ; especially as no other injury had 
 
84C the fisher's daughter. 
 
 been sustained by either of the party on the water 
 nan merely a little wetting from the rain. But when 
 Lord Orlando retired to his chamber, and he was left 
 tete a tete with his daughter, he could not avoid 
 observing that she was adopting a system of conduct 
 with her son, which, instead of diminishing his youth- 
 ful passion for Matilda Russe], was only likely to 
 make it gain strength. 
 
 To which her ladyship replied— 
 
 " You astonish me, my dear father ! how so, pray ?" 
 
 "I will tell you, Agatha," uttered the Duke; "if 
 die boy is so perpetually lectured about this girl, 
 and with such severity, it will make him think the 
 more of her ; thus, instead of remedying the evil, you 
 will rather add to it, and make it of greater magnitude. 
 However, thank Heaven he will very shortly be out of 
 the way of temptation, and will have other pursuits to 
 occupy his time, than dwelling on the beauties and 
 perfections of the Fisher's Daughter. I have written 
 to Cambridge, and expect a final arrangement to take 
 place in the course of a few days ; in the meantime, 
 let '- ' e as indulgent as we can, and leave this little 
 dangeroi s beauty and Orlando alone." 
 
 Lady D. ontault immediately subscribed to the su- 
 perior judgment of the Duke ; and the day previous to 
 Lord Orlando's taking his departure for the University 
 pf Cambridge, he was permitted to go over to the Red 
 House, and bid farewell to Mr. and Mrs. Russel and 
 their lovely daughter; his sister accompanying him. 
 But Mr. Blust being there, he could find no opportu- 
 nity of uttering one word in private to the object of 
 his affecticnj for the fisher watched with a jealous 
 
the fisher's daughter. 841 
 
 and suspicious eye, every .ook which he directed to 
 Matilda, who, equally on her guard, fearful of betraying 
 the slightest emotion, was under the necessity of im- 
 posing the severest restraint upon her feelings j and 
 the parting between them was cold, distant, and formal 
 on both sides. 
 
 When Lord Orlando, on his arrival at the Red House, 
 informed the fisher that he was to set off for Cam- 
 bridge the ensuing morning, and that he had come to 
 take his leave of them, Matilda was placing some 
 fresh-gathered flowers in a vase j and her hand being 
 unsteady from some cause or other, at this very precise 
 moment, they fell to the ground ; and she was again 
 collecting them together, when Peter, in his usual blunt 
 way, replied — 
 
 " Well, my lord, and I think it's high time for you 
 to be doing something better than staying at home 
 cracking of nuts and counting of marbles." 
 
 The manner in which the fisher had uttered these 
 words would have excited the risibility of the gravest 
 philosopher ; and it would have been a moral impos- 
 sibility for either Jessy or her husband to have been 
 withheld from laughter, if they had not felt for the 
 situation of Lord Orlando, who with the utmost good 
 humour received the badinage of Mr. Blust, while he 
 playfully exclaimed — 
 
 " I have really sir, no very particular propensity 
 either for cracking of nuts or playing at marbles. I 
 hope I have always found better amusements; my pur- 
 suits have never been of so trivial a kind." 
 
 " No, you like better to sail on the water," answer- 
 ed Peter, immoderately laughing ; " but I say, my lord, 
 
 a 36 5 o 
 
842 the fisher's daughter. 
 
 the next time you go a pleasuring, don't take the com- 
 pass in your own hands ) for shiver my topsails, if you 
 do, you'll stand a chance of paying a visit to Mr. Davy 
 Jones, at the bottom of the sea, sooner than you think 
 of it," 
 
 This sarcastic raillery was almost too much for poor 
 Orlando, and he coloured deeply with vexation; yet 
 for the sake of Matilda he bore it with temper, merely 
 saying that none more regretted his folly than himself, 
 though he had been so severely reproached for it, both 
 at home and abroad. 
 
 " Well so you have, so you have," cried the fisher, 
 who having no intention of seriously offending him, now 
 began to repent of having said so much on the sub- 
 ject ; " and because you have borne it with such good 
 temper, I'll say no more about it ; so give me your 
 hand, my lord. I wish you all prosperity and happiness 
 in your new occupation ; and I suppose the next time 
 I see you, you'll be grown quite out of knowledge/' 
 
 " But not out of friendship, I hope, my dear sir," 
 uttered Lord Orlando, who now arose to take his 
 leave. 
 
 " Friendship ! out of friendship !" repeated the 
 fisher, " God forbid that I should feel any thing but 
 friendship towards any child of my once dear little 
 Agatha Singleton. You s ll excuse me, my lord, for 
 making so free with the name of your mother ; but I 
 can't, for the life of me, forget old times and old friends, 
 which present times have not much changed for the 
 better, I give you my word for it ; however, lad, God 
 bless you wherever you go — blow high, blow low! 
 ;ind that's a sailor's motto all the world over." 
 
i he fisher's Daughter. 84b 
 
 Lord Orlando now feeling the necessity of making 
 his exit as speedily as possible, lest he should betray some 
 sensations he was so sedulous of concealing from all 
 mortal knowledge or all mortal eyes, bade Mr. and 
 Mrs. Russel farewell j but when he approached to 
 take the hand of Matilda, his voice faltered, and he 
 turned pale, while Matilda in vain attempted to hide 
 her emotions from the penetrating glances of her 
 father, grandfather, and mother. 
 
 " Matilda, why don't you bid Lord Orlando farewell, 
 without all this foolish nonsense," cried Mr. Russel j 
 " don't you see he is waiting to shake hands with 
 you," 
 
 " All health and happiness attend you, Miss Russel," 
 cried Lord Orlando, and scarce touching the fair 
 transparent hand which then trembled within his own, 
 or daring to exchange another glance with her, he 
 hurried out of the room, flew to the gateway, and 
 sprung over a fence some minutes before Lady Em- 
 meline met him on the path, which led from the Red 
 House to the main road." 
 
 f Dear, Orlando, how could you leave me so ab- 
 ruptly and so suddenly?" uttered the sweet girl; " I 
 protest I had a good mind that you should return 
 home without me. Come, come, recover yourself, and 
 don't let dear mamma see you in this flutter of spirits; 
 you will meet Matilda Russel at the next vacation — 
 and — and — " Lady Emmeline paused. 
 
 " And be as miserable as I am now," exclaimed he. 
 •' No, Emmeline, I will never meet her again ; we have 
 met for the last time ; my mother's wishes shall be 
 obeyed. I would not again endure the insulting Ian- 
 
844 THE FISHER S DAUGHTER. 
 
 guage of Mr. Blust, or the scornful glances of the 
 fisher's family, to reign sole monarch of the world! Even 
 Mrs. Russel looked coldly on me, and Mr. Russel wai 
 scarcely within the limits of good breeding, while Ma- 
 tilda herself saw how I was treated, and the eyes oi 
 the lovely angel glistened with a tear ; but this — this 
 is my mother's work, and I thank her for it." 
 
 " For Heaven's sake talk not thus, Orlando, I can- 
 not listen to you if you do," uttered the lovely 
 Emmeline; " do not reproach our mother." 
 
 " Who am I to reproach then ?" cried Lord Or- 
 lando, exhibiting the strongest marks of agitation to his 
 alarmed sister, who endeavoured by every means in 
 her power to pacify and console him, before he should 
 enter the presence of Lady Montault ; " has she not 
 been talking to Mrs. Russel about Matilda and me, 
 and has she not set the whole of the fisher's family 
 against me ? is not that evident, from their conduct this 
 morning ? did I not see the eyes of Mr. Blust scowling 
 at me like a mastiff dog, and Mr. Russel watching 
 every glance I directed to Matilda, as if I had come, 
 like a thief at night, to rob him of his daughter? But 
 no matter ! stop till I am a man and have a will of my 
 own ; for hear me, sister Emmeline, I will have the 
 Fisher's Daughter in spite of them, as soon as ever I 
 am out of my minority, and I will have no other. I 
 swear by that bright and shining firmament that beams 
 with such celestial glory over our heads, that none but 
 Matilda Russel shall ever be the wife of Orlando 
 Montault j and were my father living, I would tell 
 him so." 
 
 '• O! dear brother, do not swear any thing so 
 
the fisher's daughter. 845 
 
 rashly," cried the affrighted girl. " Oaths are regis- 
 tered in Heaven." 
 
 " And so is mine, dear sister; I have sworn it more 
 than once, when holy angels have listened to the 
 prayer, that I will wed none but the Fisher's Daugh- 
 ter, if any I wed at all. No change but in death shall 
 I ever know, and no change of clime can alter my de- 
 termination. You and the bright Heavens are now 
 witness of my thoughts ; keep them secret, dearest 
 Emmeline; but why should I doubt your firm alle- 
 giance to your brother? you have never deceived mc, 
 and therefore will never betray me." 
 
 " Betray you, Orlando ! no, I would sooner perish 
 first," uttered the mild affectionate girl ; " J cannot 
 blame you for loving Matilda Russel, for why should I ? 
 she is the sweetest girl in existence, and I know of no 
 other whom I should so willingly call my sister — but 
 mamma — " 
 
 " Has prejudiced you against her, as she would 
 have done me," uttered Lord Orlando most indig- 
 nantly; " and I am surprised at my mother, Emme- 
 line, more especially ; for I am no stranger to the cir« 
 cumstances under which she was born ; had the Duke 
 my grandfather taken the advice she is now giving me, 
 had he renounced his first and early love in conjunc- 
 tion with the harsh commands of an unfeeling, proud, 
 and arbitrary mother, who so strongly opposed his 
 union with the fair Florentine, who was our grand- 
 mother, Emmeline, Lady Agatha Montault had never 
 been in existence. You have heard the story of our 
 grandmother, have not you Emmeline, and the Cottage 
 on the Cliff?" 
 
846 this fisher's daughter. 
 
 *? O ! yes, brother, Rebecca has often told me," 
 cried Lady Emmeline, still clinging closer to her bro- 
 ther's arm, and looking fearfully around her as they 
 approached the Cliffs j " and whenever I look at that 
 cottage which my mother so delights to visit at the 
 most dreary season of the year, I always tremble and 
 think of Rebecca's story j but was it true, bro- 
 ther ? was the late Duchess of Braganza so vile a wo- 
 man ? Do you know that Rebecca once told me (but 
 do not mention it, brother) that grandpapa's mother 
 would have drowned his wife and her infant child, 
 (now our mother) in the bosom of the ocean, and em- 
 ployed some wicked men to do it ; but they failed in 
 the attempt, and our mother was spared. Js it true, 
 brother ?" 
 
 " As holy writ," cried Lord Orlando, " our grand- 
 mother on our father's side was a fiend in a human 
 shape, she on our mother's was an angel ; she died in 
 the mouldering ruins of the Old Abbey with a brain 
 fever, occasioned by her excessive mental sufferings, 
 leaving our mother in the care of a Captain Singleton, 
 till her exalted birth could be fairly proved, and she 
 could be acknowledged as the heiress of Braganza, 
 whose only child she was, by the fair Florentine whom 
 he espoused before he went to Italy. Beda was the 
 daughter of the treacherous villain who was employed 
 by our wicked grandmother to destroy her child ; but 
 it pleased providence to bring all things to light, and 
 my mother, restored to her natural rights, became the 
 wife of her cousin Lord Montague Montault, our late 
 beloved father. My mother does not think 1 know 
 so much, nor of her having once been protected by 
 
the fisher's DAUGHTER. 847 
 
 the fisher's family; but I have heard it all, and much I 
 wonder at her asperity. Had the Duke of Braganza died 
 in Italy, she would have been poorer than Matilda the 
 Fisher's Daughter, whom she thinks so utterly beneath 
 her; for her title to the Braganza estates could never 
 have been established, and she would only have been 
 known as the daughter of Captain Singleton, who 
 was by all accounts a most inestimable and worthy 
 man." 
 
 ' And who was this Wolf, that I have heard so 
 much praise of? mamma never speaks of him without 
 shedding tears," cried Lady Emmeline in the most 
 innocent and artless manner j " and Rebecca once 
 told me— Ah ! 1 know what she told me, and Beda was 
 by too, and she laughed ; and I thought it so strange. 
 I was a very little girl, but I can remember what they 
 said about mamma and this Wolf." 
 
 " Why, what did they dare to say in your presence, 
 my sweet sister ?" most anxiously enquired Lord Or- 
 lando. 
 
 To which Lady Emmeline, in a low soft voice, re- 
 plied — • 
 
 " Why, Rebecca said as she tied on my frock the 
 first day we went out of mourning for dear papa, to 
 Beda, who was putting on her cap at the glass, 
 
 * " So my lady has been a widow a twelvemonth on 
 this very day ; more's the pity 1 say, when she could 
 have married twenty times over if she had liked it/ 
 
 " ' And so she would have been, if a certain person 
 had been alive/ cried Beda, ' I warrant me. I would 
 lay a guinea to a penny if Mr. Wolf had been here, 
 she would soon have forgot Lord Montague 
 
848 the fisher's daughter. 
 
 " ' I don't think that of my lady neither/ cried Re- 
 becca ; f she was very fond of my lord, but I always 
 thought, some how or other, that young man was cut 
 out for her, he was as like her as two bean-blossoms on 
 a stalk; and certainly sure Mr. Wolf was downright in 
 love with my lady long before he went abroad ; and, 
 lauk a mercy, how fond he was of my Lord Orlando 
 who was then a baby, and how mortal fond the boy 
 was of him !' 
 
 " ! But it was all on my lady's account you know, 
 Beckey/ cried Beda ; ' you will never make me be- 
 lieve that he loved the child for any thing else ; and 
 how jealous my lord was of him ! My gracious ! do you 
 remember how terribly he frowned when he came one 
 morning and found him sitting in the nursery with the 
 baby on his lap? Yes, you may depend Beckey it would 
 have been a match, if Mr. Wolf had not been quite so 
 uncivil as to have popped off the hooks before master. 
 Well, he was a sweet young man, that was certain ; 
 was'nt he, Beckey ?' 
 
 " * That he was, every inch of him/ replied Rebecca; 
 1 it was a sad thing he should go to sea and then be 
 drowned, just when his birth was brought to light. 
 What a nice match he would have been for my lady V 
 
 " e Or for Miss Fauchette/ cried Beda; e she is his 
 cousin by all accounts, and as charming a young lady 
 as ever I clapped my eyes on ; but lauk a mercy there's 
 no use talking, what will be, will be, as the saying is, 
 in spite of every thing us silly mortals can do to pre- 
 vent it.' Thus ended, my brother, the conversation 
 which passed between my nurse and my mother's little 
 waiting maid ; but I have often since thought uf it, 
 
the fisher's daughter. 849 
 
 and whenever mamma happens to talk of this Wolf, 
 and SDeaks of him till tears start to her eyes, I can- 
 not help forming an idea that if he really were in 
 existence we might hail him as our father-in-law; for 
 I never heard mamma extol any one so highly." 
 
 " I have no doubt, my dear sister," uttered Lord 
 Orlando with some asperity, '* that my mother would 
 have made a second choice without thinking it an 
 essential point to have consulted your inclination or 
 mine in the affair ; she has refused the proposals of 
 Sir George Cleveland, it is true ; but she made no 
 sacrifice to us in doing so, because he possessed no 
 power over her affections. I have heard of this 
 story of Wolf before, whose name properly was 
 Wallace, the son of the Baron of Walbergh ; and 
 there is not the slightest doubt of my mother's having 
 a strong predilection in his favour. Then why should 
 she be so severe on her offspring, and why especially 
 to the offspring of her beloved friend, the granddaugh- 
 ter also of her former protector, the fisher Blust, but 
 for whose friendship and hospitality when left the 
 supposed destitute daughter of Captain Singleton, she 
 would have been exposed to all the malicious frowns 
 of an ill judging and censorious world ? But my mother 
 is proud, Emmeline, with all those amiable virtues 
 which distinguish her as a female. My mother has 
 more pride than even belongs to her, for pride alone 
 prevents her from countenancing the connexion between 
 me and Matilda Russel ; however, she is my mother, 
 and I will continue to obey her commands till I be- 
 come of an age, when her interference will be no 
 longer necessary. In the meantime, belored Bmme- 
 
 £36 op 
 
850 THE FISHKR's DAUGE1TES, 
 
 line, think not hardly of your brother, if, when arrived 
 to manhood, and his father's titles and estates, he re- 
 fuses to obey his mother's commands when opposed 
 to his strong attachment to Matilda Russel. I will 
 never forget yon my, dear girl, or cease to protect you 
 with the honour of a brother, while life remauis. 1 
 know that you are placed in a delicate situation with 
 respect to my mother, and that you are under the 
 most severe restrictions not to encourage the attach- 
 ment between me and Matilda. I do not ask you, 
 my sister, to make any unjust sacrifices on my account, 
 or to be disobedient to my mother's commands; but 
 when I am far distant do not banish me from your 
 thoughts, and when you see Matilda, treat her not 
 coldly or unkindly, for your brother's sake." 
 
 They had just arrived at the little paddock which 
 opened upon the lawn at Violet Vale, and to the ex- 
 treme regret of Lord Orlando he had no opportunity 
 of conversing with his sister when they once entered 
 the gates ; for the carriage of the Marchioness stood 
 in waiting, as also Lady Winstone's ; they were both 
 there, and Lord Orlando had only time to press the 
 hand of Lady Emmeline before he retired to dress, and 
 was summoned by his mother to come and take his 
 farewell of his grandmother and aunt, which he did 
 most respectfully. 
 
 " Well I am actually rejoiced that you are going, 
 Orlando," exclaimed the Marchioness; " for you will 
 quite discredit your mother if you remain much longer 
 at Violet Vale ; you will be a man before you are 
 a boy. How do you make that out, child ?" 
 
 To which Orlando replied — 
 
the fisher's daughter. 861 
 
 " Really, your ladyship, I am at a loss to solve 
 such an engima ; but whether boy or man, I hope I 
 shall ever conduct myself properly in either of those 
 characters whenever I am called upon to exert the 
 duties which each may require." 
 
 " Bravo, Orlando, that is well said," cried the Mar- 
 chioness j " and in consequence of that very pretty 
 sensible speech of yours, I shall instantly disclose the 
 contents of my green bag which I have brought with 
 me in the carriage, a present from your grandfather, the 
 Marquis of Montault; he has been making a purchase 
 for you this morning, by no means unworthy of your 
 acceptance." 
 
 The green bag was now produced, which contained 
 valuable books to the amount of fifty pounds, and which 
 were presented to Lord Orlando as the gift of his grand- 
 father; at which the young student was delighted, and 
 acknowledged the warmest gratitude. 
 
 " But may I not be permitted to pay my duty to 
 my grandfather before I depart ?" cried Lord Orlando 
 most anxiously. 
 
 " To be sure you may, my dear boy," uttered the 
 Marchioness, some tender recollections of his father 
 at that moment recurring to her memory, — " the 
 carriage is now waiting to carry you to him, to take 
 your farewell ; your mother has promised to spare you 
 for a couple of hours ; the Marquis being confined with 
 "he gout, cannot leave his chamber, I must theiefore 
 take you with me." 
 
 This proposal was most joyfully accepted by Lord 
 Orlando, whose affection for the amiable Marquis 
 was of the most ardent, sincere, and disinterested 
 
$1)2 THE FISHER^ DAUGHTEk. 
 
 nature — he was the father of his father, and had always 
 manifested the greatest kindness and indulgence to- 
 wards him since the earliest period of his infancy ; and 
 although it was supposed that Lady Emmeline was the 
 favourite of the Marquis of Montault, yet he had 
 equally been a sharer with his sister in his favours and 
 affection ; for if ever his grandfather made a present 
 to his granddaughter, be it ever so trifling, that was 
 always accompanied with one also to him, and now 
 he had given an ample proof of his regard by the 
 choice selection of valuable books, which he had pur- 
 chased on his going to college, which, in addition to 
 his own stock chosen by his tutor, made the private 
 library of Lord Orlando a very superb and extensive 
 one. 
 
 " You will return early in the evening, my dear Or- 
 lando," uttered Lady Montault; {t for I must positively 
 monopolize your company for two hours at least, be- 
 fore I go to bed ; besides, your sister will take her 
 farewell of you to night. You will set off on your 
 journey to-morrow at too early an hour for Emmeline 
 to be stirring/' 
 
 The Marchioness then departed, taking her grandson 
 in the carriage with her. 
 
 The Marquis received him in his chamber, and was 
 deeply afFected when he took his leave of him, giving 
 him such exhortations as he thought necessary for a 
 youth in his situation to receive. 
 
 " My dear boy," cried the Marquis j " you are now 
 going to enter on a course of life so different to what 
 yon have been accustomed, that I fear you will at first 
 experience some difficulty in reconciling yourself to 
 
the fisher's DAUGHTER. 853 
 
 the forms of a college, where yoa will have many 
 tempers to please j but above all things avoid conten- 
 tions and quarrels with your fellow students, who will 
 never cease to persecute you afterwards ; be civil to 
 all, but familiar with none of thena. If their habits are 
 profligate, shun them as you would serpents, for there 
 is nothing so shocking as depraved habits; I am scrry 
 to say that immorality is to be found as much with 
 in the precincts of a college as any where else, but it 
 may always be avoided. Your high birth and splendid 
 expectations will, when it is known, give you many 
 friends ; but it may also give you enemies, who will 
 flatter you only to lead you into temptation. In look- 
 ing over your library the other morning at Violet Vale 
 I discovered a deficiency which I have supplied j bear 
 them in memory, that they are the gift of your grand- 
 father. Remember that they contain some useful hints 
 that will give you some insight in your voyage through 
 life, the splendour, pomps, and vanities of which are the 
 most perishable of earthly things, for they must all 
 necessarily fade, and in the words of the immortal bard 
 * leave not a wreck behind.' Be careful then, my 
 child, to treasure up that wisdom which will lead you 
 to happiness and eternal peace beyond the grave ; and 
 may you, both here and hereafter, inherit the reward of 
 a virtuous heart, and the blessing of a pure and unsul- 
 lied conscience." 
 
 Orlando was deeply impressed by the exhortations 
 of his grandfather ; and assured him that he would 
 always endeavour to profit by them. 
 
 The parting with his mother and the Duke was 
 
854 the fisher's daughter. 
 
 equally affecting, and the tears of the lovely Emmeliue 
 bedewed his cheek when she bade him farewell. 
 
 From this period till nearly two years after the ar- 
 rival of the Dor Hortensia family in England, Lord 
 Orlando never quitted the University at Cambridge 
 but for two single days, and that was when Lady Em- 
 meline was taken dangerously ill and expressed a wish 
 to see her brother, which on so particular an occasion 
 was immediately complied with. But otherwise it was 
 contrary to the established rules of the college, to 
 permit the students the privilege of taking certain days 
 of vacation whenever they pleased. It had once been 
 attended with some very baneful and pernicious con- 
 sequences ; and restrictions on the young gentlemen's 
 pleasures ever afterwards were enforced by authority 
 of the masters, and death or illness only permitted 
 this custom to be encroached upon. Some changes 
 therefore had naturally taken place, since the absence 
 of Lord Orlando Montault, not only at Violet Vale but 
 at the residence of Mr. and Mrs. Russel. In the first 
 place, Matilda had entirely left school, her education 
 being perfected by a most accomplished preceptress; 
 the loveliness of her person could scarcely be equalled 
 but by the grace which adorned her elegant mind, and 
 her unaffected sweetness and simplicity; she played 
 and sung with infinite taste and execution, drew ad- 
 mirably, danced with inimitable elegance ; and was in 
 all respects one of the most lovely young creatures in 
 existence — the pride and joy of both her fond parents 
 —the darling of her grandfather's heart, by whom she 
 was idolized — and the delight of every eye that beheld 
 
the fisher's daughter. 855 
 
 her. Nothing was talked of at the public lioraries, 
 and by the visitors who accidentally caught a glance of 
 her, but the beauty of the Fisher's Daughter ; and in- 
 numerable admirers flocked to the Red House on 
 pretence of having some business with Mr. Russel, 
 merely to obtain a sight of Miss Russel; while other 
 young gentlemen of the greatest respectability in the 
 neighbourhood of Cromer and its vicinity, endeavoured 
 to court the society and friendship of old Peter Blust, 
 in the hope that through his interest they might get 
 an introduction to his beautiful granddaughter; but 
 Peter, perfectly aware of their motives and the shoals 
 of flattery with which they assailed him, would, if he 
 did not like them, without any ceremony exclaim — 
 
 " Its of no use your palavering me with all this 
 fine gibberish, I knows what — I am a queer sort of a 
 rum fish, that was catched before to-day, and don't 
 want to be catched again by no such flummery ; and as 
 for my being a gentleman and all that, I knows that 
 it's no such thing, I never was a gentleman in all my 
 born days— its all a fudge. 1 knows what you young 
 fellows mean by coming so often to smoke your pipe 
 at Herring Dale — its because you want to see my grand- 
 daughter ; but I tell you it won't do, and shiver my 
 topsails I'd rather a man speak his mind at once — tell 
 the truth and shame the devil— than go a round about 
 way to work, with a parcel of confounded lies in his 
 mouth that I don't believe a word of, and thars flat." 
 
 More than a dozen of the most ardent admirers of 
 Miss Russel, had been successively saluted bv Peter re 
 this style, and thus elegantly dismissed his house; some 
 of whom, perfectly disgusted, never went there again, 
 
856 the fisher's daughter. 
 
 while others determined to persevere, rather than lose 
 tne cha,.ce of so fair a prize, by good temperedly put- 
 ting up with all his ill seasoned pleasantry, and his 
 sometimes no very civil reception of them at Herring 
 Dale. 
 
 In the meantime an intimacy was still kept up be- 
 tween Mrs. Russel and LadyMontault ; the latter know- 
 ing that her son was entirely out of the reach of tempta- 
 tion, very frequently invited Matilda and her to Violet 
 Vale, during the abode of the Dor Hortensia family at 
 her house. The improved graces and beauty of the 
 Fisher's Daughter could not fail to excite the glowing 
 admiration of the foreign ladies. In particular the 
 Baroness of Walbergh expressed in terms of the warm- 
 est praise her prepossession for Matilda Russel, and at 
 the departure of her and her mother, one day when 
 they had dined at Violet Vale, exclaimed — 
 
 " It is not alone the uncommonly lovely person of 
 that sweet young creature that so particularly attracts 
 me towards her ; but do you know Lady Montault, 
 that I think her mind a very superior one ; she is ra- 
 ther pensive for her age, but there is something alto- 
 gether heavenly in her smiles, and she departs from 
 that extreme timidity which so evidently is the distin- 
 guishing feature of her character. I do confess, had I 
 a son nearly of her own age, I should feel delighted in 
 calling such a girl my daughter." 
 
 Lady Emmeline, who was present and who delighted 
 to hear the praises of her lovely friend, fixed her eyes 
 on her mother with a sort of expression which could 
 easily have been defined, while her ladyship gravely 
 replied— 
 
I HE FISHKIi S DAUGHTER. 85/ 
 
 " Yes, Baroness, but if you had a son the represen- 
 tative of his noble fathfr, you would not consider Ma- 
 tilda Russel a fit connexion for him, or that the hon- 
 ours of a house could be supported without birth and 
 rank on both sides ; she has certainly beauty, but 
 beauty alone is no lustre to the armorial bearings cf a 
 family whose names must descend to posterity." 
 
 Lady Montault coloured deeply, while uttering this 
 sentiment, but more on perceiving that somewhat of 
 a sarcastic smile rested on the beautiful countenance 
 of the Baroness of Walbergh ; she glanced towards 
 Lady Emmeline, and was surprised to see that the 
 eyes of the lovely girl were half humid with a tear; 
 she then immediately filled up the pause that her lady- 
 ship had made, by exclaiming — 
 
 " You must pardon me, Lady Montault, if I dissent 
 a little from your opinion in that respect; though I 
 have ever bowed to your superior judgment on other 
 occasions, I cannot imagine that the armorial bearings 
 of a family, however exalted, or however splendid, 
 can ever be disgraced by beauty, virtue, and modesty 
 forming a part of it. Would to God that some 
 armorial bearings which I could mention, had always 
 those qualities to support the honours of its house 
 The proudest peer of the realm would receive no de- 
 gradation in my mind, in bestowing his hand and his 
 title on the lovely and inestimable creature of whom 
 we are speaking ; for when a man of rank marries 2 
 woman of inferior station to himself, she is decidedly 
 his equal, for by marriage he raises her to the rank in 
 which he moves , although the same observation does 
 not hold good with the opposite sex, A man of iow 
 
 c36 5 q 
 
ft f & THE FISHER'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 connexion cannot exalt a woman of high birth, and it 
 is then she who degrades herself. You are unneces- 
 sarily severe my dear friend — do not encourage a sen- 
 timent so bordering on prejudice and illiberality — sta- 
 tion is proud enough of its acquisition of wealth and 
 riches. Let us not flatter it more." 
 
 Lady Montault coloured deeply, and felt a little 
 abashed by the ungenerous sentiment she had uttered, 
 in the presence of a female who was even of superior 
 rank to herself, and whose talents were so eminently 
 great, yet wno had not one atom of pride in her whole 
 composition, save the pride alone of performing heroic 
 actions. And willing to excuse herself in the eyes of 
 the Baroness, by explaining to her the cause of ex- 
 pressing herself so warmly on the subject, she made a 
 pretext for Lady Emmeline to withdraw, which she 
 had no sooner done than she uttered— 
 
 " You would not condemn me, dear Baroness, if 
 you knew what uneasiness I am suffering on that girl's 
 account; for unconsciously she has been the bane as 
 well as the antidote of all my joys and happiness with 
 m y son ; for do you know, that my Orlando, even from 
 the earliest dawn of infancy has loved the Fisher's 
 Daughter with the most uncontrolable affection ; and 
 though he has been severely lectured for this boyish 
 and romantic passion, and has been separated from 
 her since he went to college for these two years, yet 
 I do believe that !-is passion for her is as ardent as 
 ever, and that he would bestow his hand and title on 
 her at this very moment, if he were master of himself 
 and at liberty to follow his inclinations. Now dear 
 Baroness I would not so strongly oppose the wishes 
 
thk fisher's daughter. PhQ 
 
 of my son, if Matilda was of equal rank with himself; 
 she is the child of a most tenderly beloved friend, the 
 daughter of my former protector before I was restored 
 to my birthright, and acknowledged as the heiress of 
 Btaganza. Still, Baroness, I would wish my son to 
 form a more suitable connexion — becoming his ex 
 alted birth and station — such as his father would have 
 wished if he had been living. I cannot consent to his 
 marriage with a Fisher's Daughter." 
 
 A pause ensued, in which the Baroness did not, by 
 the expressive turns in her countenance, applaud the 
 sentiments of her friend ; she had before heard the his- 
 tory from ber own lips — all the events of her former 
 connexion with the fisher's family, even down to the 
 death of the unfortunate Olive, and Lady Agatha's 
 sufferings in the old Abbey; and much she wondered 
 at the prejudice which she now evinced to the very 
 branches of that family who had once protected her, 
 and but for whose hospitable roof, young and beautiful 
 as she then was, she must have endured much dif- 
 ficulty. 
 
 " I see that you do not approve of my discouraging 
 my son's attachment to the Fisher's Daughter, Ba- 
 roness/' cried Agatha, highly mortified by the expres- 
 sive glances which the Lady Walbergh occasionally 
 threw on her. 
 
 And the Baroness immediately replied — 
 
 " No, I certainly do not, Lady Montault, after what 
 I have heard from your own lips and that of your no- 
 ble father, who it appears loved your mother from the 
 same principle that your son's passion is founded up- 
 cn in loving the Fisher's Daughter, with this differ- 
 
860 THE FfSHER's DAUGHTER. 
 
 ence — pardon me, but I must speak truly — that your 
 mother was a poor orphan girl, wholly at the mercy 
 of your grandmother the dowager Duchsss of Braganza, 
 while Matilda Russel is the opulent heiress of Mr. 
 Blust, and is also under the immediate protection of a 
 most respectable father and mother, who, though they 
 have not exalted birth to boast of, have that which is 
 far more desirable, and which high rank and birth do 
 not always lay claim to, integrity and virtue. I cannot 
 see that your son's happiness would at all be degraded 
 by such a connexion ; if my Wallace was living, I would 
 never oppose his union with the w?| of his heart, only 
 because she had not a coronet waving over her head j 
 but as this subject is a very delicate one, you must ex 
 cuse me if I forbear giving my sentiments any further 
 on the subject ; but do not barter the happiness o 
 your child for a mere empty title, which will be of 
 little consequence to us when we are consigned to the 
 grave, where all are equal, whether they have lived a 
 peasant or a king." 
 
 This home stroke was sufficient, Lady Montault burst 
 into tears at the thought of poor Wolf; and his mother 
 was now before her, more exalted in rank than her, 
 and possessed of immense riches — and instantly her 
 pride was subdued; she acknowledged her earthly 
 weakness, and declared that she had overcome all her 
 scruples — 
 
 " Yes, indeed my dear friend, 1 am sensible of my 
 error," uttered she, " I will no longer oppose my son's 
 union with Matilda Russel, when he is old enough to 
 marry ber — poor Jessy, how have I tortured her ; but 
 I will repair my fault, I will instantly go and tell her, 
 
THK FISHER'S DAUGHTER. 861 
 
 that 1 do not think Matilda unworthy of my son ! My 
 dear girl ! my Emmeline, how have I wronged her ten- 
 der heart too, by disapproving of her brother's choice — 
 dear Baroness, teach me to be reconciled to myself 
 again ; 1 feel the undue severity I have exercised to- 
 wards my dear children ; I have asked of them too 
 much ; my father, as well as you, has often condemned 
 me." 
 
 " Because your father knew what human nature 
 was," cried the Baroness, not unpleased to observe 
 this contrition in her friend, "and judged of others' 
 feelings by his own — the best criterion on earth, to 
 form our opinion of the merits or demerits of others." 
 
 The entrance of the Duke put an end to this con- 
 versation for the present ; but his Grace could not but 
 perceive that something unusual had agitated his -be- 
 loved child, and he tenderly enquired into the cause — 
 
 " Which you shall know hereafter, your Grace," ut- 
 tered the Baroness; "you must at present leave her 
 to my care. We are going to take a ride over to the 
 Red House, to see Mr. and Mrs. Russel ; my sister and 
 Fauehette have been invited to dine at Lady Win- 
 stone's." 
 
 " .Where I certainly must be of the party, for I 
 have promised Lavinia that I would be there," cried 
 the Duke. 
 
 " Well then, your Grace, we are all disposed of for 
 the day," uttered the Baroness with a smile of fasci- 
 nation which was almost irresistible; " in which case 
 Lady Montault must enlist under my banners, and 
 strike to no other colours till I bring her safe back 
 aspin to the garrison of the commander-in-cnief. 1 
 
Ro'2 nit. fisher's BHUGfflHA'. 
 
 am a soldier's wife, and must, you know, adopt a 
 military phrase." 
 
 To which the Duke most gallantly replied— 
 
 " You can adopt nothing that does not reflect back 
 a lustre on yourself, while it sheds the most brilliant 
 and cheering light on all who are blest with the sunny 
 beams of your charming smiles." 
 
 The Baroness of Walbcrgh dropped a most graceful 
 curtsey to such a compliment, and taking the arm of 
 .he agitated Agatha, led her into an adjoining apart- 
 ment, and from thetice immediately set out for the 
 Red House, where they encountered a most welcome 
 and rapturous reception, from its peaceful and happy 
 inmates, who, unconscious of the purport of the visit 
 which was designed them, behaved with their usual 
 hospitality and kindness — 
 
 " lam come to dine with you, dear Jessy," cried 
 Lady Montault. 
 
 " Then you must excuse ceremony," uttered Mrs. 
 Russel, and immediately conducted her and the Ba- 
 roness to a repast, over which harmony and good 
 humour presided. 
 
 If luxury can do more — why is the banquet so often 
 embittered with thorns ? or the flowing bowl left un- 
 t as ted f 
 
THK FISHKU S DAUGHTER. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXI1F. 
 
 ■ « He stood confused, abstracted, and iu thought,, 
 
 He hal net seen Count Julian's daughter 
 
 Since in Rodolph's court, 
 
 Glittering in beauty and in innocence, 
 
 A radiant vision ; 
 
 More like a poet's dream, in form divine! 
 
 So lovely was her presence. — 
 
 But this alter'd face came like a ghost, 
 Which in the grave could find no rest j 
 Taking her cold hand he raised her, 
 And would have spoken ; but his tongue 
 Fail'd in its office. All he could faintly murmur, 
 Was her .oved name." Southe* 
 
 The Baroness of Walbergh had several times visited 
 the fisher's family, to whom she considered that she 
 owed eternal obligation ; and frequently conversing 
 with Mr. Blust she had acknowledged her thanks for 
 the kind and fostering protection he had given to her 
 poor unfriended, beloved, and lamented son, when the 
 rough waves threw him upon the hospitable shores of 
 Cromer ; while Peter did not fail in return to applaud 
 most warmly the conduct, and extol the merits of 
 poor Wolf, giving a description of his face and fine 
 
864 the fisher's daughter. 
 
 proportioned form, that often drew tears from his 
 lovely and unfortunate mother, that she had only dis- 
 covered the heir of her Walbergh, to lament his un- 
 timely end. These frequent conversations respecting 
 her son had insensibly drawn her attention to the 
 fisher's family, and excited the most lively interest in 
 their happiness and welfare. Peter, who liked the 
 Baroness because she had no pride attending her ex- 
 alted birth, felt himself perfectly at ease whenever she 
 came to the Red House, and without ceremony gave a 
 very unfavourable report to the Baroness of the inha- 
 bitants of the Castle of Montault, the Marquis and 
 and the Duke of Braganza only excepted from his 
 severity. 
 
 11 All the rest," uttered Peter, " are not worth the 
 boiling j as for that old cat the Marchioness, I can't 
 bear the sight of her, nor yet the young one that's mar- 
 ried to my Lord Winstone ; they are no good to any 
 one, my lady, you may take my word for it; and if I 
 had such a wife if I would'nt throw her at the bottom 
 of the Thames ! and sink or swim I shouldn't care what 
 became of her ; she turned up her nose at my Jessy, 
 only because she went to ax her a civil question." 
 
 " That was uncivil indeed, honest Peter," uttered 
 the Baroness, unable to preserve her gravity at the 
 plain blunt manner of the old fisherman; *' for your 
 daughter is worthy of being treated kindly wherever 
 she goes; her modest merit entitles her to the respect 
 ■>f all who have once se._n her." 
 
 ■' So it does, my lady, so it does," cried Peter, 
 chuckling at the compliment paid to his beloved child ; 
 " and you are a sensible woman for saying so. He 
 
THE FISKBli S bAl'UUIER. 8t)5 
 
 then entertained the Baroness with the whole account 
 of the late Duchess of Braganza, the history jf Agatha, 
 and the death of Captain Singleton, who he declared 
 was worth all the lords in Christendom ; then of Paul 
 Michello, of the manner in which Agatha was so 
 treacherously forced away from his protection, and the 
 spirited conduct of her son on the occasion — " bu; 
 that's no wonder," cried Peter, '* for your son was as 
 fond of Agatha Singleton as the two eyes in his head, 
 and they was'nt bad ones ; and betwixt you and I, my 
 lady, Agatha Singleton were as fond of him; and I do be- 
 lieve if there had'nt been a great lord in the way that 
 she were engaged to before, I am very certain sure 
 that— that— " 
 
 Mrs. Russel and Matilda coming into the room at 
 this moment, Peter suddenly stopped in his oration, 
 and the Baroness was left to guess at the remainder 
 of the sentence, and the allusion it conveyed, which, 
 was certainly by no means disagreeable ; for had that 
 really been the case, where could her son have formed 
 a more desirable connexion than with her charming 
 English friend — young, rich, beautiful, with manners the 
 most fascinating, and a disposition formed to engage al. 
 hearts towards her ? Where could her Wallace, if he 
 had been living, have fixed his affections more desirably ? 
 the disparity in his age and that of the Lady Agatha's 
 was so trifling, that it was not of a moment's consi- 
 deration : nor could she doubt the assertion of honest 
 Peter, though so bluntly made ; for on many occasions 
 she had observed the agitation of the Lady Agatha, and 
 her change of countenance, whenever any circumstance 
 occurred to recal the memory of her son, though 
 
 a 37 5r 
 
866 the fisher's daughter. 
 
 she forbore from motives of the greatest delieacy to 
 express the slightest hint of it to the Marchese. 
 
 And thus stood affairs while Lord Orlando was at 
 college. He had known no change towards the Fisher's 
 Daughter ; though he had arrived nearly to the state of 
 manhood, he had never once forgot the beautiful girl 
 who from infancy had been the idol of his affections. 
 
 When he came to visit the bed-side of his sister in 
 her severe illness, he was eager to make some en- 
 quiries after the health of the Fisher's Daughter. 
 
 And the gentle girl guessing at his thoughts, feebly 
 articulated — 
 
 " Orlando, I have seen Matilda, and she very kindly 
 enquired after you. Mamma was in the room, and I 
 could not say much to her about you ; but indeed she 
 made anxious enquiries after your health." 
 
 " Which without her would be valueless," cried Or- 
 lando; "but thanks, dearest Emmeline, a thousand 
 thanks, for this pleasing intelligence. I thought that 
 absence had made Matilda unmindful of her old friends : 
 but dear sister, you do not hear that she has got any 
 lovers, do you ? if so, tell me all I have to fear. 
 
 To which Lady Emmeline replied — 
 
 " O, yes ! a great many admirers ; but none that I 
 hear have been sanctioned by Matilda as lovers, and 
 you are well aware that her parents are too considerate 
 to force her into a connexion that her heart would not 
 fondly approve." 
 
 " I do not fear her father and mother," uttered 
 Orlando, " but her old perverse obstinate grandfather ; 
 there is no knowing, if he takes a fancy to any one 
 
THE FISHER 8 DAUGHTER. 807 
 
 particular object, what influence he may not endeavour 
 to obtain over the mind of Matilda." 
 
 Lady Emmeline again assured him there was not the 
 slightest apprehension of that kind ; for that although 
 Matilda loved her grandfather most dearly, she was a 
 girl of too firm a spirit to bestow her hand where she 
 could not equally bestow her affections. 
 
 And in this supposition the lovely girl was perfectly 
 correct, she would in all things obey her father and 
 mother — all but making a sacrifice of the dearest pri- 
 vilege in nature, liberty. 
 
 The Baroness of Walbergh when on a visit at the 
 Red House, had always insisted that there should be 
 no ceremony used with her, and that she should always 
 be considered a part of the family, whenever she came 
 to spend a day with them 5 and it was on this account 
 that on the day she accompanied Lady Montault to 
 Mrs. Russel's, she so unceremoniously was ushered 
 into the dining parlour where Jessy and her hus- 
 band were just going to sit down to dinner, which, 
 however, was a most excellent one; and consisted of 
 some delicacies which the season afforded, by no 
 means unworthy of the great personages who had so 
 honoured them with a visit. 
 
 An enquiry after the health of Mr. Blust was very 
 kindly made by the Baroness of Walbergh. 
 
 To which Mrs. Russel answered — 
 
 " My dear father is very well, I thank your ladyship, 
 he is 1 believe gone to Cromer to settle some com- 
 mercial business with the merchants, who have 
 not yet finally settled their accounts. I do not expect 
 my father here till a very late hour, and then I fear he 
 
868 the fisher's daughter. 
 
 will not be a proper companion to sit in the presence 
 of your ladyship." 
 
 " And why so," cried the Baroness ; " I have never 
 considered the fisher Blust as unworthy of my society ; 
 in short, I am pleased with his rough though genuine 
 humour, which in more refined persons would disgust ; 
 but his pleasantry is merely the effect of his sincerity, 
 which disdains to use any other language than that of 
 truth, which can never seriously offend, though it is 
 sometimes uupleasing to the ear." 
 
 " 1 do not mean that your ladyship," cried Jessy; 
 " Lady Montault perfectly comprehends my meaning, if 
 she will have the goodness to explain it." 
 
 Lady Montault smiled expressively, while she ex- 
 claimed — 
 
 " You are a very excellent judge of military phrases, 
 Baroness, aud 1 will now endeavour to make you un- 
 derstand marine ones. Mrs. Russel, knowing her 
 father to be rather a jocular companion, when he is 
 over a glass of what he calls grog with his friends, and 
 drinking the King's health with three times three, is 
 apprehensive that when he leaves the pleasures of the 
 table, he will be more than three sheets in the 
 wind ; and then he will certainly be unfit company 
 for the ladies, though an excellent companion at all 
 other times." 
 
 The Baroness laughed and said, if even that was the 
 case she should very readily pardon the mere little 
 errors of the tongue in which the heart had no share. 
 More interesting conversation now ensued, when the 
 ladies retired after dinner, and Matilda beirig employed 
 in collecting some flower-seeds of a rare quality, for 
 
the fisher's daughter. 869 
 
 her summer garden, of which she had the sole manage- 
 ment, the conversation was begun on the part of the 
 Baroness by observing to Mrs. Russel how much her 
 daughter had increased in height since she had seen 
 her last at Violet Vale. 
 
 " For I thought the sweet girl was then pale and 
 thin ; but she has surprisingly recovered the freshness 
 and vivacity of her complexion, and is altogether one 
 of the loveliest creatures I ever beheld. Ah ! Mrs. 
 Russel, had I such a daughter, how transcendently 
 happy I should think myself j but wherefore should I 
 impiously repine or murmur at the decrees of provi- 
 dence ! they are always just, though to us frequently 
 mysterious.*' 
 
 " If we can but think them so we should be happy 
 and wise," uttered Mrs. Russel, with a gentle sigh ; " it 
 is with great pleasure that I hear your ladyship thinks 
 so kindly of my beloved child, who I am proud to say 
 merits the good opinion of all her friends j both her father 
 and myself have endeavoured, as far as our humble 
 abilities would allow us, to teach her to know what is 
 right, and never foolishly to deviate from it. What we 
 could not teach her in completing her education, we 
 have obtained the first masters for, and amply has my 
 dear girl rewarded our affectionate solicitude for her 
 welfare ; she is all that our fond hearts could wish, 
 and to see her happily settled for life is now our only 
 care. Matilda has had of late unnumbered suitors, 
 some of whom offered proposals of great advantage; 
 but I know not how it is, she does not appear at all 
 anxious to change her condition ; of course we would 
 by no means influence her on so tender a point, but 
 
870 the fisher's daughter. 
 
 leave her entirely to her own discretion, well convinced 
 she will never disgrace us by her election." 
 
 Here was now a fair opening, by this candid speech 
 of the amiable Jessy, for Lady Montault ; but she 
 shrunk from the task, and felt a little embarrassed, well 
 aware how strenuously she had opposed her son's in- 
 clinations for Matilda, and how proudly the fisher's 
 family had repelled it themselves ; but the Baroness, 
 waving all affectation and ceremony, was determined to 
 bring things to the conclusive point she wished, and 
 exclaimed — 
 
 " But perhaps the election of your daughter is al- 
 ready made Mrs. Russel j I mean in her heart, I wish 
 you clearly to understand me. Miss Russel's affection 
 may already be fixed ; our inclinations do not always 
 spring at our command ; we may love or hate without 
 having the pow r er of preventing it." 
 
 " Then she has always had the prudence to conceal 
 it," cried Mrs. Russel, deeply colouring, " especially 
 where the object was not attainable, or was imagined 
 too much her superior in rank, though not in fortune." 
 
 Mrs. Russel was greatly agitated in uttering this sen- 
 tence ; she did not know for what cause she was so 
 closely interrogated by the Baroness about Matilda, or 
 why a mother's feelings should be so severely tortured ; 
 her own conduct had been blameless, and so was that of 
 her amiable child ; and being always of a timid nature, 
 she burst into tears, which so exceedingly affected the 
 Baroness, and Lady Montault, who principally could 
 guess the cause of it, that she immediately exclaimed 
 *-*.' throwing her arms around the weeping Jessy— 
 
 " Dearest Jessy, loved friend, and companion of 
 
THE FISHER'S DAUGHTER. 8JI 
 
 my heart, how bitterly do I condemn myself for hav- 
 ing caused your gentle and affectionate heart one 
 moment's pain, and it is the being conscious that 1 
 have done so, that makes me so unwilling to address 
 you on the subject of both our children j I alone am 
 to blame, Jessy, I acknowledge it — forgive me. I have 
 wounded both your feelings and Matilda's, by the strong 
 opposition I have made to the love my son bears your 
 daughter. Jessy, can you pardon me? I am come 
 hither solely for the purpose of imploring it here in 
 the presence of the Baroness of Walbergh, and to as- 
 sure you that I no longer oppose Orlando or Matilda, but 
 will encourage their growing attachment for each other, 
 provided that you and Mr. Russel have no objection 
 to sanction it. Suffice it to say that Lord Orlando's 
 union with Matilda will no longer meet with the 
 slightest opposition from his mother, when he is ar- 
 rived to a proper age to offer her his hand and his 
 title from his father's family. I may possibly incur 
 some severe animadversions, that I did not consider 
 title and high birth in the matrimonial connexion of 
 my son ; but I am now so thoroughly convinced of their 
 inefficacy to render a marriage state happy or comfort- 
 able, that I would content me in the meanest cottage 
 that peace inhabited, sooner than combat with the 
 idle pomps and vanities that surround earthly splen- 
 dour. — Jessy, you say nothing, you surely do not con- 
 demn me still !" 
 
 Jessy was about to reply, when the entrance of her 
 husbaud rendered any reply of hers unnecessary, for 
 the matter was easily adjusted without her; and it was 
 agreed that the young people should no longer be de- 
 
S72 1HB FISHER'S DAUUHIfiR. 
 
 barred from seeing each other ; and if Lord Orlando 
 still continued his strong attachment to Matilda, that 
 no disapprobation would be expressed to either party. 
 Each of them were to be delicately apprised of it at a 
 seasonable opportunity j for both Lord Orlando and 
 Matilda were too proud to be brought together by these 
 means, if they imagined that so much consultation had 
 been held about them. 
 
 It was not tiil a late hour in the evening that the 
 ladies quitted the Red House, and Mr. and Mrs. Russel 
 were very much surprised that they had seen or heard 
 nothing of the fisher ; for if he did not return to his 
 own residence at his usual hour, Davy was in the 
 habit of mounting his nag and coming over to inform 
 them of it ; but on this night both master and man 
 were absent. What had detained the former so long be- 
 yond his usual hour, we cannot as yet determine; but 
 the cause of the absence of honest David was owing to 
 the following circumstance : — 
 
 When the hour began to grow so considerably late, 
 and the fisher did not arrive at Herring Dale, both 
 Alice and David suspected that he had taken his 
 nightly quarters at his son-in-law's, as was his wont- 
 ed custom ; and the old housekeeper complaining 
 of an intolerable pain in her face, declared that she 
 must go to bed whether master came home or not, 
 and prevailed on David to stay and smoke his pipe in 
 the kitchen. 
 
 " For I see no mortal use, Davy," uttered she, " of 
 your going to the Red House to look after master, for I 
 dare say he is by this time fast asleep at Miss Jessy's, 
 and drunk as David's sow, which is always the case 
 
the fisher's daughter. 873 
 
 whenever he goes to dine with those devilish mer- 
 chants at Cromer — the devil's in them I think for mak- 
 ing master three sheets in the wind as he calls it, so I 
 don't see what mortal use there is in our sitting up, when 
 master's snug a-bed and fast asleep at the Red House.'" 
 
 Davy, who had no particular relish for leaving the 
 warm chimney corner he was in, was very glad to 
 take the advice of the old housekeeper ; and after they 
 had taken their supper she retired, bidding him to 
 fasten the locks and bolts, and look after the house. 
 
 (t See that there is not a mouse stirring in it before 
 you go to bed," added she, trimming her lamp, after 
 which she hobbled away to her own chamber ; and 
 David lost no time in following her instructions. 
 Every door was barred and bolted, and every place 
 made secure from the midnight invaders at Herring 
 Dale, before he finally bade adieu to his snug chimney 
 corner, from which he had not taken his departure 
 more than an hour by the great clock in the hall, be- 
 fore he was disturbed from a profound slumber, by the 
 shrill voice of the old housekeeper at the key hole of 
 his door, exclaiming — 
 
 " The Lord be good unto me, lad ! have you no ears ? 
 why there's been a ringing at the great gate for this 
 half hour, and a hammering at the portal loud enough 
 to waken the dead unto life again. Do thee get up, 
 lad, and see what it be all about, for I do tremble and 
 quake, every limb of my poor old body ; lauk a mercy, 
 if Herring Dale should be robbed whilst old master is 
 away, what will become of us." 
 
 David rubbed his eyes, and for awhile totally disbe 
 b 37 o 8 
 
874 the fisher's daughter. 
 
 lieved the credibility of the old housekeeper, not hear- 
 ing the least noise that could give grounds for such an 
 apprehension ; and provoked at the innovation made 
 upon his nightly slumbers, somewhat sharply replied — 
 
 " The noise you heard is in your head, Mrs. Alice; 
 for the devil of any thing I hear save the flapping ot 
 the old raven's wings against the shutters of the win- 
 dows, and the grunting of the old sow with the litter 
 of young pigs that 1 have been penning up in the 
 stable. All you have heard has been in a dream, Mrs. 
 Alice, and I wish your dream had lasted till the morn- 
 ing sooner than have wakened me out of such a com- 
 fortable nap, and all about nothing ; you had better go 
 to bed again and make your life happy." 
 
 " Why you saucy jackanapes," cried the old woman, 
 now highly incensed at the reflection being cast upon 
 her sagacity, " what do you think you are kept here 
 for, but to watch the property of your master, you idle 
 mongrel ; what have you got to do else. Come down 1 
 say, or I will fetch you down with a vengeance — there, 
 there, don't you hear, you sleepy-headed fool you — ■ 
 they are at it again as loud as ever — there's the bell, 
 and there's the hammering at the door as though it 
 would break down. O ! Lord, there will be ravishment 
 and murder, and nobody to assist me, if I scream ever 
 so loud.*' 
 
 There was certainly at this moment some cause for 
 fear, and David half undressed, without shoe or stock- 
 ing, grasped an old rusty sword which had long been 
 suspended over the mantle piece in his chamber, and 
 very quickly made hie appearance to the now dread- 
 
the fisher's daughter. 876 
 
 fully affrighted housekeeper, who held her half extin- 
 guished lamp in her withered hand, while chattering 
 between her teeth — 
 
 " Now don't you hear, we shall be ravished — we 
 shall be murdered." 
 
 " We may be murdered," uttered Davy, taking the 
 lamp from her hand and shutting her into his bed- 
 chamber, where he told her to conceal herself and re- 
 main quiet; " I can't say any thing about that, but as 
 for being ravished, dang me Mrs. Alice if I think 
 there's any danger of that. There be Dolly at t'other 
 cud of the house, some harm may happen to she; but 
 as for your being ravished — lauk a mercy ! why it do 
 make a body laugh to hear you talk about any such 
 like matters." 
 
 Alice had by this time safely bestowed herself in the 
 chamber of Davy, and crept under a clothes press, 
 which was placed in a corner of the room. Davy 
 quieted her fears, by telling her he would lose every 
 drop of blood in his veins, before her virginity should 
 be in danger of being molested. 
 
 He then marched forth with the lamp in one hand 
 and the rusty sword in the other, down to the great 
 hall, at the door of which there was now a continued 
 hammering, and ringing at the bell. 
 
 And with a loud voice, in which fear was no pre- 
 dominant sensation, he vociferated— 
 
 " Who's there ?" 
 
 To which an answer was responded, in a mfld though 
 manly voice — 
 
 " A friend." • 
 
876 the fisher's daughter. 
 
 " What's your business at this late most uncon- 
 scionable hour?" was the next interrogatory of the 
 trusty squire. 
 
 To which the same voice replied-— 
 
 " My business is with the fisher Blust, and is of 
 urgent necessity ; I would speak with him — fear no- 
 thing to admit me to his immediate presence." 
 
 " That's quite impossible in two particular cases," 
 cried Davy, with the utmost composure ; " for in the 
 first place master's not at home to bespoken with, and 
 in the next place, if he was, I am not such a ninney to 
 let any body in this house, to speak to my master 
 without I knows their business — so you may hammer 
 away and welcome. I shan't let you in here, and that's 
 flat." 
 
 " You may repent of your temerity, honest friend," 
 uttered the unknown in a somewhat of an indignant 
 tone. 
 
 " For what?" answered the undaunted David ; " 1 
 am doing my duty in the absence of my master : if he 
 was here he would not condemn me. Teli me who 
 you are, and you will uot find me uncivil to my mas- 
 ter's friends." 
 To which the stranger answered without— 
 
 t( There are reasons why I cannot do that at the 
 present moment ; I am a soldier returned from a long 
 and perilous campaign ; and by the honour of a sol- 
 dier, 1 am a friend to the fisher Blust and to all his 
 family — the hour is late, I only arrived on your coast 
 within a few hours — the moment 1 landed I sought no 
 asylum, because I was assured that I should find it at 
 
the fisher's daughter. 877 
 
 Herring Dale. I do not want tnorjey friend, for I have 
 plenty, nor do I wish to corrupt you by offering you 
 any. All I ask is for admission into this house." 
 
 David felt both perplexed and confounded, and to- 
 tally at a loss in what manner he should act ; for there 
 was something not only familiar to his ear in the tones 
 of the stranger's voice, (which was manly and melo- 
 dious,) but he had appealed to him in a way he could 
 scarcely resist, the honour of a soldier, to which pro- 
 fession he was particularly partial, and he thought 
 there could be no harm in giving him admission, when 
 he had declared that he was the friend of his master. 
 
 And after a few moments' consideration, he replied, 
 that if he would wait the value of five minutes, he 
 would just go and tell his tale to Mrs. Alice the old 
 housekeeper 3 and if she had no objection to open 
 the door he could have none — and away posted 
 David. 
 
 tf A what !" cried the old woman. 
 
 " A soldier ! and what have you to say against that/' 
 uttered Davy; " its an honourable calling, beant it ?" 
 
 " Honour is that honour does/' mumbled the old 
 housekeeper, " mayhap he has gotten some gunpow- 
 der about him to blow up the house, after he has rob- 
 bed it, and a pistol in his pocket to shoot us through 
 the head. I don't like soldiers ; however, I will just 
 put on my spectacles and take a peep at him out of 
 the window, before we let him in ; for who knows, he 
 may be a friend of old master's after all, and we shall 
 get ourselves hauled over the coals if we send him 
 away. Are you quite sure though, Davy, that he has 
 
878 the fisher's daughter. 
 
 got no combustibles about him that may do us a 
 mischief." 
 
 <f Lord, Mrs. Alice, what signifies arguing about 
 such nonsense," uttered Davy, " when all this while 
 the honest gentleman is cooling his heels outside of 
 the door in the open air, and its none of the warmest 
 I can assure you." 
 
 On these words, Alice contrived to hobble down 
 stairs, already forgetting her precaution of putting her 
 head out of the window before she admitted the 
 stranger guest, whose patience must naturally be im& 
 gined was very severely tried on this occasion ; at 
 length the mandate was given for the locks, bolts, and 
 bars to yield beneath the pressure of David's brawney 
 fingers, by a signal given by the commander-in-chief, 
 Mrs. Alice, who had actually put on her spectacles to 
 have a full view of the stranger, who on the door being 
 unclosed, exhibited an appearance so decidedly in his 
 favour, that David giving a significant glance at his 
 ancient companion, slyly whispered — 
 
 " We are right here, I believe there's no deception, 
 he's a soldier every inch of him, there's a presence — 
 he stands seven feet high to a dead certainty, and is as 
 fine a figure as ever I clapt my two good-looking eyes 
 on." 
 
 And what David had advanced, amounted nearly to 
 the fact, for the stature of the stranger was not only 
 commanding and majestic, but his height was uncom- 
 mon ; and being dressed in a military costume it pro- 
 duced more strikingly the effect of novelty on the eye 
 of the beho'der. A cap somewhat in the shape of a 
 
thk fishfr's daughter. 879 
 
 helmet, with a rich plume of black feathers, waved 
 over his sunny brows which appeared to be deeply 
 tinged with an African soil, and the effects of a life 
 passed in hard service in the battles of his country j the 
 cap nearly disguised the one half of his features, but 
 the lower part of his face was handsome, and a smile 
 of ineffable sweetness played on his lips that seemed 
 roseate with health ; he had a military cloak, partly 
 over his shoulders and partly withdrawn, which dis- 
 covered rich regimentals beneath, but of what order, 
 neither the sagacity of David or the old house- 
 keeper could dream ; but the sight of them was suf- 
 ficient to convince them that he held no mean rank in 
 the army, and that he was a gentleman of some con- 
 sequence. 
 
 Most alert therefore now were they in offering 
 every mark of respect and civility, and in repairing 
 their indiscretion in being seemingly guilty of ill man- 
 ners towards him, on his first demanding admittance 
 to the Red House, at which he only smiled, telling 
 them that all he required in the absence of the fisher 
 Blusr, was only a bed to stretch his weary limbs on — 
 
 " What, and will not your honour please to take 
 some refreshment ?" cried old Alice surveying his fine 
 martial figure with looks of admiration, " the hour 
 is late, but what of that? there is always plenty in the 
 larder at Herring Dale, whether master be out or not. 
 Aye, and plenty of liquors and wine too in the cellar — 
 he never keeps them locked up from his old faithful 
 housekeeper j he has no need, the Lord be thanked, to 
 be afraid of my honesty ; for I am as careful of his pro- 
 perty as if it was my own. I have lived at Herring 
 
890 the fisher's daughter. 
 
 Dale, your honour, about thirty years, before any of 
 his children were born ; and he never had but two, the 
 sweetest girls you ever clapt your eyes on ; one of them 
 is dead poor thing, the Lord rest her soul! but the 
 other is living and married, and she were the flower 
 of the flock as a body may say ; if Miss Jessy had died 
 instead of Miss Olive, the Lord be good unto me ! poor 
 old master would never have held his head up again ; 
 for Miss Jessy was his favourite, and well she might 
 be, for there were never her fellow alive for sweet tem- 
 per ' s but perhaps your honour, you knows somethinp 
 about master's family, as you are a friend." 
 
 Till now the stranger, who had been conducted int3 
 the little oak parlour, where the embers of a wood fire 
 were most actively replenished, and kindled into a 
 cheerful blaze by the attentive David, had averted his 
 head from the inquisitive glances which were directed 
 towards him ; but taking off his helmet and heaving a 
 deep and profound sigh, he exclaimed— 
 
 M Know something of the family, did you say ? yes, 
 my good old woman, I am well acquainted with all 
 you have been telling me. I am no stranger to the 
 daughters of Mr. Blust, Olive and Jessy — I knew them 
 both well-— and how providence has been pleased to 
 dispose of them — both have had their reward — one is 
 an angel in heaven — the other is an angel upon earth ; 
 yet not less worthy than her sister, of obtaining ever- 
 lasting happiness hereafter. Poor Olive owed her 
 sufferings in this mortal existence, to the arts of a 
 perfidious villain, who by death alone expiated his 
 crimes. Jessy has escaped—who would have fallen too 
 by the same means, if a guardian angel had not inter- 
 
tub fisher's daughter. 881 
 
 vened with good counsel, to avert from her so dread- 
 ful a fate. Now then my friends, you are fully aware," 
 continued the stranger to the gaping countenances 
 both of the old housekeeper and David, who had been 
 listening to him in the most profound astonishment, 
 " that I know something about the fisher's family — 
 ask me no further questions. I am neither hungry 
 or dry, but I am strangely in want of sleep." 
 
 " And that you shall have, so please your honour, as 
 soon as possible," cried Alice; "for we have always 
 a bed well aired for master's friends ; I have nothing 
 to do but to clap a pair of sheets on it, and all is ready ; 
 but God save you, sir, do let me make something that 
 is warm and comfortable. Come, come, I am a very 
 old woman, and have a right to offer my services 
 when master is not here to do it himself, suppose I 
 make you a posset ? David, get a bottle of wine out 
 of the cellar, and I will put his honour to bed, as snug 
 and as comfortable as heart could wish." 
 
 David flew at the command of the old housekeeper, 
 who gave him the keys; and the stranger no longer 
 opposing her wish of conducting him to his chamber, 
 suffered her to light up to it without exchanging a syl 
 lable by the way, leaving his helmet and his military 
 cloak in the parlour. 
 
 " There, your honour," cried Alice, shewing him 
 into a small neat bedcnamber, covered with a light bme 
 tapestry, and some very pretty drawings decorated its 
 walls, " you may go into that closet and be getting 
 yourself undressed, while I am fixing the bed clothes. 
 J am an old woman, and don't mind much ceremony; 
 but I do assure you that it is a very great honour, my 
 
 c37 5r 
 
882 the fisher's DAUGHTER. 
 
 putting you into this bedchamber, above all others in 
 the house ; for it once belonged to one of the most 
 beautiful young ladies you ever saw in your life, though 
 she was no kin to master no more than I am. I could 
 tell you the story about her, only its too late." 
 
 The stranger on his first coming into this chamber, 
 had surveyed it with particular attention, and often 
 sighed deeply ; but when this remark was made by 
 the old housekeeper he smiled, and exclaimed — 
 
 " And suppose now that I were to be beforehand 
 with you, my good Alice, by informing you at once, 
 who was the lovely inhabitant of this long deserted 
 room. There was an angel slept in it for succeeding 
 months, and in the adjoining closet her attendant; the 
 former was called by the name of Agatha Singleton, 
 the latter Claribelle ; on the east side there was a bed- 
 chamber where Olive and her sister Jessy slept; a little 
 beyond that was the room of the fisher Blust ; and be- 
 yond him I could mark out the very spot where two 
 youths slept. Ah ! then in blissful peace and inno- 
 cence ! the one called Wolf and the other Alfred.'* 
 
 The old woman, utterly confounded at this intelli- 
 gence, looked at the unknown guest as if doubting the 
 evidence of her senses, and hastily throwing on the 
 bed clothes, very speedily made her exit, leaving a 
 ighted taper burning on the tube. When she en- 
 countered Davy in the kitchen, her countenance ex- 
 hibited the ghostly hue of a spectre; she panted for 
 breath, and seating herself in an arm chair, made 
 motions to David to secure and double bar the door. 
 
 " For I do believe child," uttered she; ic that the 
 man we have been ?o foolish as to open the door to, 
 
THE FISHER S DAUGHTER. 883 
 
 be no more nor no less than the very devil himself; 
 for he do know every thing that has passed here for 
 twenty years ago, pretty nigh ; and he do stare so 
 wildly, and do sigh so heavily, that I do think he be an 
 evil spirit come to haunt us while master be away. 
 What shall us do now, Davy? he be up stairs a 
 talking to himself, and he do want nothing to eat 
 and drink; for certain sure he be a spirit or some such 
 like; for he told me all about Miss Agatha Singleton, 
 and Miss Jessy, and Miss Olive as well as I could ; and 
 said as he were in the very bedchamber where she 
 slept. Aye, and what's more, he could tell to a very 
 hair where Master Wolf and Alfred did sleep when 
 they were at Herring Dale." 
 
 " That be comical enough for certain sure," cried 
 David ; " and though he be such a fine man, he have a 
 mortal queer look with his eyes. I say, Mrs. Alice, 
 suppose we locks the door and takes the key out of it. 
 Then if he be the devil, he will fly out of the keyhole 
 and we shall get rid of him." 
 
 This proposition meeting the fullest approbation of 
 the old housekeeper, David slipped up softly, and the 
 key being left on the outside of the door, he secured it, 
 and swiftly hastened down to Alice, and the stranger, 
 he who was probably in a profound slumber with fatigue 
 and weariness, as he had before expressed hknself to be, 
 was made their prisoner for the remainder of the night, 
 or rather morning, for already had daylight peeped 
 forth from a serene and cloudless sky. 
 
 The wine had been prepared into what Alice called 
 a comfortable posset ; but neither David or she felt 
 any inclination to administer it to their prisoner above 
 
£#4 *hb fisher's daughter. 
 
 stairs, whom they actually believed had come there for 
 no other purpose but to bewitch the dwelling of their 
 worthy master ; and each, unwilling to retire again to 
 their bedchambers, proposed to take their station at 
 the fire-side in the kitchen, and silently watch for the 
 return of broad daylight, when they imagined that the 
 evil spirit would disappear; and they would then re- 
 late the wonderful tale to their master, who would 
 applaud them for the manner in which they had dis- 
 charged their duty. 
 
 At length the wished-for daylight appeared through 
 the windows, and with it arrived the fisher Blust 
 from the town of Cromer. Peter was never fond 
 of sleeping out of his bed, which was slung in a ham- 
 mock, and he could not bear any thing out of his usual 
 way ; so the very moment that he opened his eyes, 
 at the Red Lion Inn, i& a close bed with curtains 
 around it, he jumped up«*cd whisked his clothes about 
 him — flew down stairs — from thence to the stable, 
 where he desired the ostler to saddle his horse imme- 
 diately; he then went to the bar of the inn — paid his 
 reckoning, and demanded to know who brought him 
 there the preceding night ; for he did not recollect 
 any thing about the matter. At which the landlord in- 
 formed him that he was in company with Captain 
 Harris, and both being a little merry or so, he had 
 persuaded them to stay all night at the Red Lion, that 
 his advice was taken, and that Captain Harris was still 
 in bed. 
 
 " Thank ye, Starling," vociferated Peter, " thank 
 you ; always lead a blind man, when he is going astray, 
 into the right path again. I never see Tom Harris, 
 
the fisher's daughter. 88b 
 
 but he and I drink to the health of our olc friends til'i 
 we cannot see a mole from a badger. I always make a 
 practice of sleeping over at my son-in-law's, whenever 
 I find I am getting three sheets in the wind ; but last 
 night I got into a story about the old Admiral, and 
 that always makes me want to wet my whistle the 
 more, because he was as good a fellow as ever swam on 
 the salt sea ocean ; and, as the song says, though his 
 body lies under hatches, yet I would lay a wager of 
 my hat full of the brightest shiners, that his soul is 
 gone up aloft, and that he has got a good birth there." 
 
 On these words, Peter vaulted into his saddle, on 
 the back of his favourite mare, and nodding to the 
 host of the Red Lion, while he threw some silver at 
 the ostler, proceeded in a brisk pace towards Herring 
 Dale ; and the very moment he arrived there, his 
 trusty squire David came forth to meet him with the 
 ioyful exclamation of — 
 
 " God be thanked, master ! that you are come safe 
 home once again, Mrs. Alice and I have had a blessed 
 time of it. I have got as stout a heart as any man 
 living, and never flinches at any thing as a body may 
 say ; but I can't say I likes to have dealings with the 
 devil." 
 
 At this moment old Alice came hobbling up to the 
 gate, and hearing Davy, corroborated his testimony, 
 that they had got the devil in the house. 
 
 At which the fisher laughed heartily— 
 
 " The devil take you for a couple of fools," cried 
 he; "What's all this nonsense about ? Shiver my top- 
 sails, tell me directly, and don't stand humming and 
 hawing and croaking like a toad in a hole. Who have 
 
886 the fisher's daughter. 
 
 you got at Herring Dale in the shape of the devil, that 
 you are both so confoundly afraid of? Come, lets have 
 him out, where have you put him, up the chimney or 
 in the coal cellar ?" 
 
 " O dear no, master, worse luck ! he is in a better 
 place," cried the old housekeeper, almost afraid to say 
 where she had bestowed this evil genius ; " for before 
 we found out that it was the devil, what does I do 
 but makes him up a comfortable bed, in the neat little 
 chamber that Miss Singleton used lo sleep in when 
 she was at Herring Dale." 
 
 i( The devil you did," vociferated Peter, laughing so 
 immoderately that he could scarcely dismount from 
 his horse ; " you was a mind to give the black looking 
 gentleman a snug birth of it." 
 
 " Not so black neither, your honour," uttered Davit/ 
 "a fine looking man for certain sure, as ever you seed 
 on a summer's day, and very civil and pretty behaved 
 too, as a body may say ; and I should never have taken 
 him for no evil spirit, not if Mrs. Alice, when she took 
 the lamp up stairs to light up to bed, had not come 
 down again as white as a turnip and told me what he 
 was — then to be sure we both quaked for fear. So I 
 whips me up stairs, all of a minute, and locks the door 
 and takes the key out of it." 
 
 " And is he there now ?" cried Peter, holding both 
 his sides with immoderate laughter ; " Come let's go and 
 have a squint at him. Davy, go and get my double- 
 barrelled gun, and my cutlass as I used to wear round 
 my middle when 1 was going to look out for squalls." 
 
 While David was dispatched on his errand, Alice re- 
 lated the whole of the particulars of this man, devil, or 
 
THK FISHliR's DAUGHTER. 887 
 
 8piiii ; in what nnnner he had obtained admittance, by 
 the declaration he made of being intimately known to 
 the family; and also of his extraordinary knowledge of 
 every occurrence which had taken place in it at differ- 
 ent periods. 
 
 " The death of Miss Olive, the marriage of Miss 
 Jessy, and as I am a living Christian, if he didn't know 
 all about Miss Singleton, and Mr. Wolf, and Mr. 
 Alfred ; he could tell whereabouts they all slept as 
 well as I did. So master I was afraid of him, because 
 I have heard say, that spirits never eats nor drinks — 
 so with that I leaves the light burning on the table, 
 and tells Davy to lock him up till you comes home to 
 set all to rights again." 
 
 The fisher, having collected all this information, be- 
 gau to look a little serious on the matter, unable to 
 form the slightest conjecture of who the stranger could 
 possibly be who was so well informed of the affairs of 
 his family ; yet convinced that by the manner in which 
 he had introduced himself, that he could have no hos- 
 tile intention towards him, he determined at once 
 to satisfy his curiosity, by going up immediately and 
 making the inquiry. 
 
 " Keep out of sight, Davy," cried he, " with the dou- 
 ble-barrelled gun and the cutlass ! for I will see who this 
 devil is before we go to attack him, I never like to 
 take a man on the defenceless side j if he has no weap 
 ons about him he cannot intend us any personal injury- 
 Come, let us immediately proceed to the chamber." 
 
 And accordingly they went, Davy gave the key to 
 his master, which being applied to the door, they en- 
 tered the cnamber without disturbing the slumbers of 
 
888 the fisher's daughter. 
 
 the stranger, who slept profoundly. He was partly 
 undressed, with his shirt collar wide open : and a 
 countenance which, so far from resembling any expres- 
 sion of a demoniac cast, exhibited the most manly 
 beauty. He had a smile which even in sleep was a 
 harbinger of peace and urbanity, his right hand was 
 placed over his breast, and on one of his fingers was a 
 beautifully embossed gold ring, the motto of which 
 was, *no change but in death;' his cheeks were sun- 
 burnt, but his forehead, over which fine dark glossy 
 hair waved in profusion, was white as snow ; and the 
 fisher, having carefully glanced at him a second time, 
 was struck with a similitude of features he had seen 
 before, though he had but an imperfect recollection at 
 what period he had beheld them ; yet they were cer- 
 tainly familiar to his eyesight. 
 
 "I wish he would awaken," uttered he; "for 
 shiver my topsails if I don't think that he do look 
 something like — but — no, no, that can't be, the thing's 
 quite impossible ; yet I could swear to that mouth and 
 to that nose, and his hair do wave over his forehead, 
 just for all the world like — like — I say, Davy, don't 
 you remember poor — " The fisher grew agitated, his 
 eyes swam in tears, he approached the side of the 
 sleeping stranger; and gently raised the flowing hair 
 that nearly overshaded the upper part of his counte- 
 nance, and which now fully revealed to the astonished 
 and transported eyes of the fisher Blust, the face of 
 Wolf, though greatly changed by climate and long 
 space of time. Yet in his features he could not be 
 mistaken — it was his adopted son ! the poor wandering 
 shipwrecked Wolf, whom he had imagined was long 
 
thk fisher's daughter. 889 
 
 buried in the bosom of the oeean — there could be do 
 doubt of it — his youthful beauty was no more ; bit the 
 energy of his manly expression of countenance still re 
 mained ; nature could not erase her beautiful work- 
 manship, and the fisher owned it as he would a lost 
 lamb that had strayed from its fold. 
 
 So transported were his sensations at the discovery- 
 he had made, (by what miraculous means he kucw 
 not,) that he could not contain himself within bounds ; 
 he capered, and he sung, and he danced, after he had 
 told David whom he suspected the devil was, so, 
 that he very soon awoke from his drowsy slumber the 
 sleeping stranger, who, fixing his eyes on the first object 
 within his view, which was the fisher, while he quickly 
 started from his recumbant posture, and throwing him- 
 self at his feet exclaimed — 
 
 " My dear foster father, do you not know me ? 1 
 am Wolf, returned once again from the supposed dead 
 to the living. The poor shipwrecked boy, whom your 
 humanity and kindness befriended in the adverse hour, 
 is now returned — no longer the son of poverty but of 
 abounding wealth, he comes to lay his fortunes at your 
 feet. If you require aid or assistance, here I am, at 
 once to prove my gratitude and my love toward you, 
 by sharing with you the reward which my long exile 
 and my sufferings have merited. I have been a slave, 
 1 groaned beneath the hand of oppression and of 
 tyranny; death has absolved my cruel bondage, and I 
 am now free. I set out for the shores of Aloion im- 
 mediately after my emancipation, and arrived only last 
 night upon that friendly coast which once received me 
 from the bosom of the ocean. Gratitude dictated that 
 
 a '38 5 u 
 
&{)*) THE FISHER'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 the first visit should be made to my protector ; the 
 hour was late, and 1 was so unfortunate as to find vou 
 p.bseui from home. I did not immediately think pro- 
 per to reveal myself to your domestics ; 1 appeared 
 only to them as a stranger; they were dubious at first 
 of admitting me, for which 1 cannot blame their pru- 
 dent caution, no offence being intended to me ; Dut 
 when the poor old woman conducted me to the very 
 chamber where Miss Singleton slept, when I beheld 
 in every vestige around it a part of her lovely self, \ 
 confess I was not master of my feelings, and uncon- 
 sciously threw out some unguarded expressions, which 
 so exceedingly alarmed old Alice that she quitted me 
 suddenly, supposing that I really must have had some 
 agency with evil spirits, having said so much on the 
 affairs of the family." 
 
 The fisher now thoroughly convinced of the identity 
 of the being whom he saw before him, and that he 
 was utterly ignorant of the good fortune that awaited 
 him, dared not tell him at the present moment, lest it 
 should have a potent effect on his senses ; for he nei- 
 ther knew that his beloved Agatha was now in a 
 state of widowhood, or that he had a mother non- 
 living to claim him as her son, or that he now stood 
 before him in his father's title as the Baron of Wal' 
 bergh. 
 
 And the fisher on the first impulse of his affection, 
 with the tears gushing from his eyes, exclaimed — 
 
 " Why lad, thee art as welcome as the flowers in 
 May, 1 knowed you was Wo if the very moment I seed 
 the black hair on your forehead ; and as to your nose 
 and your mouth, I could have sworn to it on my bible 
 
THE FtSHF.R's DAUGHTER. 891 
 
 oath ; but come, let's be jovial and happy; and as for 
 your riches, my dear lad, I don't want them ; and you 
 don't, if you knew as much as I do. As to the old 
 folks taking you for the devil, you must excuse them, 
 they knew no better ; for who the devil would have 
 taken you for any thing else, when you told them the 
 affairs of the whole family ? But we will go over to the 
 Red House and there settle matters accordingly. I 
 shan't tell you any thing, for Jess will tell you all 
 about it; but there's great changes taken place, you 
 may depend upon it ; but come, thee must have some- 
 thing to eat and to drink before we go to the Red 
 House." 
 
 And breakfast being oidered, it was instantly brought 
 in. During which time, the fisher was scarcely master 
 of his feelings — he longed to tell him of his rank and 
 quality, and his new discovered mother ; and that 
 Agatha was now a widow. And he capered and 
 danced about the room, which could not fail to excite 
 some astonishment in the agitated being before him 
 who at length exclaimed — 
 
 " You have surely, my dear sir, some particular 
 motive for these lively demonstrations of joy." 
 
 te To be sure I have," cried Peter, dancing and 
 capering the whole of the time, "to be sure I have; 
 but I won't say a word till you see Jess, and she will 
 tell you all about it, and then thee will dance and caper 
 too, mast high ; but I say, lad, what a strapper thee be 
 grown, why the Lady Agatha wiil hardly know thee." 
 
 At this name^ the cheeks of the supposed Wolf 
 glowed with a colour of the brightest crimson, and he 
 replied— 
 
892 the fisher's daughter. 
 
 " The Lady Agatha, sir, will not be obliged to put 
 her memory to much trouble about the recollection ot 
 ao object now long since forgot. I shall not intrude 
 myself upon the Lady Agatha or any of her family, 
 you may depend upon it." 
 
 As Wolf uttered this with feelings scarcely to be 
 tolerated, Peter could no longer repress the risibility 
 of his countenance, while he exclaimed — 
 
 " I shall say nothing, my dear lad, but that I am 
 so overcome with joy at seeing you alive, when we all 
 thought you were at the bottom of Davy Jones's locker, 
 that I can think of nothing but how you contrived to 
 get into safe moorings, and that's the truth of it." 
 
 To which Wolf (for at present we must call him 
 so) replied — 
 
 " Of that, sir, you shall shortly be informed. Till 
 now I have been in reality dead to the world and all 
 my former friends ; those I acquired in a distant clime, 
 I was bound by a sacred oath never to desert while 
 they lived, and I followed them to battle, where 
 they died a glorious death. I too have fought dearly 
 for my life, and suffered many hardships in the 
 most servile and abject slavery ; yet I trusted to pro- 
 vidence, of which I was the child; I am now restored 
 by its merciful dispensations to liberty." 
 
 " And you will shortly be restored to something 
 else, you little dream of," cried the fisher, chuckling j 
 *'* but I won't say a word about the matter till I have 
 you over to the Red House, so let us be off; but I say 
 Wolf what a strapper you are grown. I dare say you 
 made a fine soldier by the look of you ; but come, we 
 are only wasting time while yon are staving here/* 
 
the fisher's daughter. 893 
 
 Wolfdeclaied he was ready to follow him when- 
 ever he thought proper ; and having made his peace 
 with old Alice and honest David, for the alarming 
 fears he had occasioned them, and convincing them 
 that he had nothing of the devil about him, he set out 
 with Peter for .he habitation of Mr. and Mrs. Russel j 
 the fisher capering and singing before him all the way 
 the popular air of ' Rule Britannia.' 
 
 Jessy was seated at work with Matilda, and heard 
 her father's voice long before he made his appearance 
 at the gate, and she exclaimed — 
 
 H I protest I believe that my father is not yet per- 
 fectly recovered from his last night's frolic, by the 
 merry mood he appears to be in ; he is singing with 
 the greatest glee imaginable." 
 
 On this Matilda arose, and, as was her usual custom, 
 went out to meet him at the gate; but was a little 
 abashed on perceiving that he had brought a stranger 
 with him, who was surveying her with great attention, 
 and presently she heard him exclaim — 
 
 " Who is that beautiful creature ?" 
 
 " Who !" cried Peter, " why who but my Matty, 
 that you left a little round-faced dumpling in the cradle 
 when you went away." 
 
 "And is it possible," cried Wolf, "that time has 
 blown so lovely a flower into such perfection ? Re- 
 member your little granddaughter, sir ! ah ! can I cease 
 to remember any object that reminds me of the hap- 
 piest season of my whole life." 
 
 " Then perhaps you remember some other objects 
 quite as well as my Matty ?" cried the fisher, archly. 
 
894 THB f<sher's DAUGHTER. 
 
 Wolf made no reply, as Matilda by this time had 
 come close in contact with them. 
 
 " Good morning to you, dear grandfather," cried 
 -the sweet girl, "I am so glad you are come you cannot 
 conceive, as we had not the pleasure of seeing you 
 last night, when you came from Cromer ; Mamma 
 was quite uneasy." She then curtseyed to Wolf in a 
 most graceful manner. 
 
 " Ah ! that is an old acquaintance of yours, my 
 dear," cried Peter, leading her by the hand up to Wolf. 
 " This gentleman remembers you in your cradle, and 
 your mother before she was married ; be has been 
 fighting in the wars, has been many years imagined to 
 have been drowned at sea ; but thank God he is come 
 to life again in the most surprising manner. You have 
 heard your mother speak of Wolf, Matty ? This brown, 
 tall, stout looking gentleman is he ; go and shake hands 
 with him, and bid him welcome to the Red House." 
 
 An exclamation of involuntary surprise burst from 
 the lips of Matilda, and the welcome she gave to Wolf 
 was one of the most pleasing and cordial kind. 
 
 " But had you not better go and tell mamma, that 
 Mr. Wolf is coming ?" cried Matilda ; tc she will be so 
 suddenly surprised else ; dear me, how much she will 
 be surprised ; and how delighted the Lady Agatha will 
 be, and Lord Orlando, and Lady Emmelinc, and the 
 Baroness of Walbergh, and the Marchese ; they will be 
 so very, very happy." 
 
 "And who, may I ask, is Lady Emmeline. Miss 
 Russel ?" cried Wolf in the utmost perceptible confu- 
 sion, and with a countenance lighted up to enthusiasm 
 
thf. fisher's daughter. b95 
 
 bv the very mention of that beloved name, which had 
 been, though in long exile, the shrine of his idolatry. 
 
 And to which Matilda replied — 
 
 " Lady Emmeiine is the daughter of Lady Agatha 
 Montault." 
 
 " Aye, and the best of the whole boiling," cried 
 Peter ; " just such another little sweet tempered soul 
 as my Jessy." 
 
 i( Does she resemble her mother ?" cried Wolf, greatly 
 agitated. 
 
 et No, shiver my topsails if * think she is at all like 
 hei's* answered he ; " she. don't carry her head quite 
 so high as some folks that shall be nameless, though 
 she be a lord's daughter." 
 
 * s Lady Emmeline is reckoned more like Lord Mon- 
 tague," continued Matilda; "she has blue eyes and 
 lignt hair, and is extremely delicate and fair com- 
 plexioned ; indeed I have heard mamma and every 
 body say that Lady Emmeline is the very image of her 
 father." 
 
 " And so she is, so she is/' cried Peter, looking sig- 
 nificantly at his granddaughter, as much as to say that 
 he did not wish her to reveal more on that head ; " bnt 
 don't let's talk about that, we have got other fish to 
 fry, when you see Jessy. Stay here a moment with 
 Matty, and I'll just go and have a bit of chat with her, 
 it won't do to break in all of a sudden upon her; she 
 be tender-hearted thee do know, Wolf, though she be 
 auch a nice little trim-built vessel." 
 
 Wolf declared he wished to do nothing derogatory 
 to the feelings of those objects he esteemed as bis very 
 best friends, among which Mrs, Hussel was the first. 
 
896 the fisher's daughter. 
 
 And in marched Peter into the little back parloui, 
 where Jessy was at work ; and he entered with chaunt- 
 ing forth, ' Rule Britannia.' 
 
 ft Dear father, I am glad to see you so merry this 
 morning/' cried Mrs. Russel. " We were all uncom- 
 fortable last night by your absence ; but where have 
 you left Matilda?" 
 
 " With a gentleman of your acquaintance and mine 
 too,'* cried Peter, longing to let the cat out of the bag 
 at once, without further perambulation ; a very old 
 friend who is coming to pay his respects to you in a 
 very few minutes, who do you think it is Jess ? he has 
 been to sea, and is only just come back again. Who 
 do you think it is ?" 
 
 " I cannot form an idea," uttered Jessy, per- 
 ceiving that something very unusual had fluttered the 
 fisher's spirits ; " I do not recollect that 1 have any 
 particular old friend in the sea-faring line." i 
 
 " Well, I'll come to the point of the compass at 
 once," cried Peter ; " and tell you his name if you 
 wont be frightened — it is no other than our dear boy, 
 Wolf, as tall as a may-pole and as fierce as a turkey 
 cock; be has been in the wars a fighting, but shiver my 
 topsails if he's any the worse for that. You never 
 saw a finer fellow in all your born days. I would have 
 told him all about what had happened ; but I left all 
 that matter to you, Jess, you can do it better than me. 
 Come, shall I go and fetch him ?" 
 
 " Presently, presently, father, wait a moment till I 
 recover myself; for you have so astonished and con- 
 founded me by this sudden intelligence, that I confess 
 I am all of a tremour," faultered out Jessy. 
 
the fisheh's daughter. 897 
 
 ts All of a fiddlesticks' end," cried Peter, " I tel. you 
 it is Wolf and no ghost. I gript his hand pretty hard, 
 and so did he mine — there's no deception, true flesh 
 and blood I promise you." 
 
 " Good Heavens ! what a discovery," uttered Jessy, 
 throwing down her work ; " by what miracle has the 
 dear youth been again preserved from a watery grave ; 
 what a moment of rapture for the Baroness of Wal- 
 oergh ! and will all her past sufferings be now amply 
 repaid by the unlooked-for restoration of her beloved 
 child?" 
 
 The fisher had flown on the instant, and in the next 
 Wolf was by her side ; neither of them for a moment 
 could articulate but imperfect sentences. Jessy at 
 one glance recognized his fine handsome face, and sur- 
 veying his martial figure and soldier-like appearance, 
 exclaimed — while she burst into a flood of tears—- 
 
 " O ! dear, dear Wolf, these are indeed the tears of 
 joy; but come, sit and compose yourself, for, believe 
 me, the sensations I feel are of the most ecstatic and 
 joyous kind ; your friends will too rejoice, for you have 
 friends, dear Wolf." 
 
 "■ And do I not behold them at the present moment," 
 cried Wolf, " what friends can I more truly respect 
 than my dear foster father and his amiable family ?" 
 
 At this moment, honest Samuel added one more to 
 the happy party, and experienced the same wonder 
 and rapturous sensation at sight of the long lost Wolf, 
 as Jessy ; yet he called her aside and told her that 
 they had better reveal nothing to Wolf, till the Duke 
 was first consulted on the affair, nor that the Lady 
 Agatha was a widow, it might be indelicate of them to 
 
 £38 5x 
 
893 the fisher's daughter. 
 
 do so j and to send for his Grace by a private messen- 
 ger was the prudent plan now adopted by Mr. and 
 Mrs. Russel, which was accordingly immediately done. 
 In the meanwhile they sat down to dinner, but were 
 so overjoyed that neither of them could scarcely eat one 
 morsel, Peter alone excep'ed ; and he was so impatient 
 to be informed of the Wanderings of Wolf during the 
 many years that he had been supposed to be an inha- 
 bitant of the other world, that he would not let him 
 rest till he began to tell them ; and seated close to 
 Peter's elbow, he related, as concisely as possible, his 
 adventures in the following words : — 
 
 " I am convinced that nothing but the immediate 
 hand of Providence could have preserved the life of 
 poor Lawrence and myself in the dreadful tempest, 
 by which the ship in which we sailed, and the 
 whole of her brave crew perished, as well as the 
 St. Antonio, and several other fine vessels, directly in 
 sight of us. We could offer them no assistance, nor 
 could they render us any j we had manned a boat 
 full of passengers, and were proceeding to man ano- 
 ther, when, shocking to relate, even in such a fear- 
 ful hour a mutiny arose on the part of the seamen, 
 who laid down their oars and swore they would sink 
 the boat if another of the passengers were to be ad- 
 mitted on board of her. Unfortunately for Lawrence 
 and me, we two were in the boat when the^ mutiny 
 began. Our humane and brave Captain repeated 
 his commands, but in vain ; the inhuman monsters, 
 heedless of the lives either of women or their helpless 
 children, swampt the boat, and every soul perished, 
 8*.vc alone Lawrence and myself; even the very ruffians 
 
the fisher's daughter. 899 
 
 who had caused this destruction paid the forfeit of 
 their own lives for their outrageous violence. We were 
 now left wholly to the mercy of the waves. I was an 
 expert swimmer and so was Lawrence; we got upon 
 rafters which floated us a considerable time ; but soon 
 our utmost exertions would have failed us. I was 
 nearly exhausted, and so was my companion, when an 
 Algerian vessel hove in sight, but whether pirates or 
 •»ot', codld not then tell, I thought only of preservation j 
 and a boat came immediately to our assistance; I saw 
 the Princess Charlotte and the St. Antonio go down 
 at the same moment, with cries too horrible for de- 
 scription. 
 
 " More dead than alive we were conveyed on board 
 the Algerine vessel, and were soon made sensible 
 that we were the prisoners of the Captain s who had 
 rescued us from a watery grave ; he was a Corsair, 
 a ferocious fellow, but ordered us to be taken care 
 of in the sick cabin, whither we were immediately 
 conveyed. We were provided with food and dry 
 clothes, and I saw no more of daylight till we arrived 
 at Algiers, when we were brought forth and imme- 
 diately sold as slaves to the Hadee, a name given to 
 the merchants who go on board tc purchase slaves 
 for their high employer, the Dey of Algiers. I could 
 perceive that my appearance attracted their attention, 
 and that a very considerable price was paid for me ; 
 and as I could speak the Spanish language very toler- 
 ably, I entreated that they would permit my com- 
 panion to be in the same service with me. 
 
 " After some hesitation they consulted together ami 
 granted my request, I told them what 1 was — the 
 
900 the fisher's daughter. 
 
 country from whence I had come — and that to which I 
 was going — of my expectations in India — and that by 
 writing to England my ransom however considerable 
 would be advanced: with that they said they had no- 
 thing to do ; it was at the pleasure of the Dey of Algiers. 
 to whose domains I was then going, and that 1 must 
 prefer my suit to him, if I had any to make, and not to 
 them. 
 
 " On perceiving that my condition was now hopeless, 
 1 became a silent and a passive instrument in their 
 hands ; and I suggested to Lawrence to preserve the 
 same system of conduct for the security of our lives ; 
 to have offered the slightest opposition would have 
 been instant death. 
 
 " Suffice it to say, we were slaves, under one of the 
 most barbarous and unrelenting tyrants that ever ex- 
 isted, I bore my sufferings with fortitude, but I could 
 impart no consolation to Lawrence : soon after his 
 arrival at the Dey's palace he was seized with a brain 
 fever; and though attended by skilful professors, died 
 of the same disease on the fifth day of its attack. I 
 expected nothing less from the intensity of the heat, and 
 the laborious exercise I continually underwent in the 
 mines, in which, night and day, I was working with the 
 rest of the slaves. 
 
 " Sometimes I was obliged to draw water from a 
 well without intermission ; but as I never complained, 
 and was besides exceedingly alert, and useful in the 
 various capacities which were assigned to me, I was 
 treated by the superior who had the direction of the 
 s*avps with a sort of urbanity, which at peculiar times 
 bespoke the effusion of a heart not yet hardened to the 
 
the kisher's daughter. 901 
 
 sufferings of his fellow creatures; for Eorr.etimes he 
 offered me a cup of wine when nearly sinking under 
 the burden of fatigue in the plantations. 
 
 ** We were alone, and I thanked him in terms that 
 very soo 2 moistened his eyes with a tear. 
 
 " e You think I am hardened/ uttered he, * because 
 I am thus obliged to use the authority of my master; 
 but think not so, I was once in slavery, and my heart 
 bleeds for you — at the hour of sunset you will leave oft 
 work for a short time.' 
 
 " ' What not work all night, master ?' cried I ; 'is 
 there ! O ! is there one night of rest for a poor slave ?' 
 
 " At which he pronounced — 
 
 " " There is no work to night— the palace is in con- 
 fusion; theDey of Algiers has potent enemies, who now 
 threaten to oppose his long usurped authority; he must 
 go to battle, or shortly his castle will be beseiged, and 
 Algiers be taken. You are a brave fellow, I have often 
 marked you in the field, and have silently watched all 
 your motions. You may serve a master who will, not 
 consider you his slave ; but make you his friend and 
 companion. To yon retired hut covered with vine leaves, 
 at set of sun come forth and meet me ; be silent and 
 faithful, and Gandibert will never forsake you. 1 have 
 power here unbounded, while my daughter lives who 
 is the favourite of the Dey's son — follow my counsel, 
 and you will not repent of your fidelity towards me.' 
 
 " Imagine the transports with which my soul was 
 seized, I was going to pour forth a volume of gratitude, 
 but Gandibert stopped me. 
 
 " ' Be silent and withdraw/ uttered he, * we shall 
 be observed.' 
 
902 thb fisher's daughter. 
 
 " 1 obeyed j but vvitb what delight did I watch the 
 last rays of the setting sun — I hastened to the hut of 
 blushing vine leaves, and beheld the face of Gandir 
 bert peeping through the lattice. Cautiously he ad- 
 mitted me ; there were refreshments on the table, of 
 which he bade me eat. 
 
 " He then informed me, that the threatened invasion 
 was drawing near, which would involve Algiers in utter 
 ruin ; that the Dey had a chosen set of men imme- 
 diately to be enlisted in his service, over which young 
 Kufus was to have the command, his only son. 
 
 " ' I have represented you to the Dey,' uttered he, 
 * as worthy of his favour, and he consents to emanci- 
 pate you from slavery if you will join his army, and 
 swear never to desert his cause. The oath must be 
 kept sacred, you must bind yourself to certain condi- 
 tions and you are then free.' 
 
 W I did so, but it was a dreadful oath that I was 
 compelled to take ; but what was that compared to 
 slavery ? I entered cheerfully into the conditions, and 
 throwing myself at the feet of my deliverer, promised 
 him my eternal gratitude. Shortly after I entered the 
 service of the young Rufus, and encountered many 
 battles with him and innumerable hardships, at length 
 he became the conqueror ; and when I returned to 
 Algiers I claimed my liberty as the best reward of all 
 my services, when I was peremptorily and haughtily 
 denied. 
 
 " ' Dare you ask it after the oath you have taker), 
 cried Rufus, ' Gandibert has deceived me. You are 
 not the brave man he look. you for, for you would de- 
 sert your commander when he is in misfortune.' 
 
THE FISHElj's DAUGHTER. 903 
 
 " * If that is the case, my liege/ uttered I, much 
 hurt by his reproaches, ' I will remain with you for 
 ever.' 
 
 " * When my father dies, you shall be at liberty to 
 depart for your native shores,' pronounced he; * but 
 till that period arrives, you must be content to remain 
 quietly in Algiers ; and if not quietly, we have but oriv. 
 remedy to make you so.' 
 
 " c And do 1 merit death at the hand of Rufus,' ut- 
 tered I, bursting into tears at the base ingratitude of 
 the tyrant, ? 1 who have risked my life for him a thou- 
 sand times.' 
 
 " He was struck by this appeal, for he could not 
 deny the assertion ; but still remained inexorable to 
 my request ; Gandibert interceded, but in vain ; I was 
 appointed to a high office in his establishment; but I 
 was withheld from the power of leaving his dominions. 
 Another and another tedious year rolled away, and I de- 
 paired, my beloved friends, utterly despaired of ever 
 beholding you again. I was sitting one evening in my 
 chamber, a prey to the most gloomy and desponding 
 reflections, when Gandibert came to visit me. 
 
 a | received him coldly, for I thought he had been 
 guilty of some treachery towards me. 
 
 " i You suspect me of infidelity, my young friend,' 
 uttered he ; ' and that is the worst opinion you can 
 possibly form of mankind : I forgive you because I do 
 not merit it. In urging your cause so zealously I had 
 nearly been severely disgraced, had not my daughter 
 employed her influence to prevent it. The tyrant under 
 which Algiers has so long groaned beneath oppression 
 and slavery, is now no more, and you are now at 
 
904 the fisher's daughter. 
 
 liberty to depart from his dominions ; besides which, I 
 come to summon you to the presence of Rufus, now 
 the reigning Dey of Algiers j follow me to the council 
 chamber where, alone, he expects your coming.' 
 
 " I could not contain my raptures — I was near faint- 
 ing with excess of joy, and I implored forgiveness of 
 my good genius, for such I might well have termed 
 Gandibert; in reply to which he placed his hand o» 
 his heart and pointed towards heaven. 
 
 " In a moment I was before the throne of Rufus ; 
 on the table was placed the royal signet, which he 
 look in his right hand on my approach, and with the 
 other he lifted a casket of magnifrent jewels j both of 
 which he then presented to me with the following 
 words : — 
 
 " * Christian you are now free, here is the signet by 
 which you may instantly depart from these dominions ; 
 here is also wealth to remind you that an Algerine 
 conqueror does not forget a brave soldier, who has 
 risked his life in his service. Farewell ! returning to your 
 native land, give not a bad report to your countrymen 
 of the Algerines — who know how to reward as well 
 as to punish ; but who do not bear enmity when 
 the defenceless throw themselves upon their protec- 
 tion.' 
 
 9 I retired from his presence with a heart swelling 
 high with the most transporting sensations. I flew to 
 Gandibert — related all that passed between me and 
 Rufus— with which he was gratified ; by his means I 
 quickly converted my jewels into money, with the mer- 
 chants of the country ; after which 1 embarked on 
 board of an English vessel, and under the influence of 
 
the fisher's daughter. 905 
 
 the kindly heavens. I arrived last night within three 
 leagues of Cromer — I hired a boat — I could not stay 
 for morning — it was an age to poor Wolf; and here J 
 am, my friends, to prove, more than by words, my love 
 and gratitude towaids you." 
 
 Jessy wept more than once at the relation of Wolf's 
 sufferings; and the fisher two or three tknes had re- 
 course to his tobacco-box, while the lovely Matilda 
 listened with wonder at the dangers he had escaped, 
 alternately watching the changes in her beloved mo- 
 ther's countenance, and that of her grandfather's; nor 
 was honest Samuel the most inattentive of Wolf's au- 
 ditors, while Peter loudly vociferated — 
 
 " Shiver my topsails, ^lad, but thee hast had some 
 rare heavy squalls ; but what of that ? thee hast got thy 
 sheet anchor left, and that be an honest heart ; and 
 thee wilt have something else very shortly, thee dost 
 think but little of. Won't he, Jess ?" 
 
 At this moment Mrs. Russel was called out, and 
 carriage wheels rolled rapidly along : it was his Grace 
 the Duke of Braganza; and Jessy hurrying him into 
 an adjoining apartment, immediately unfolded her 
 budget of news. 
 
 His Grace, perfectly planet-struck by her intelligence, 
 could scarcely credit the evidence of his senses. 
 
 " What ! here my dear girl }" uttered he, " Wolf 
 here in this very house, our poor lost Wolf? Almighty 
 powers, let me behold him !" 
 
 Wolf rushed in at the door, and then into the ex- 
 tended arms of the Duke of Braganza : he heard the 
 voice of his natron ; and he could no longer control 
 
 c38 5 y 
 
H0() THK 1 IsHKR's DAUGHTER. 
 
 his sensations. The scene which ensued may easilv be 
 imagined. 
 
 The carriage was now waiting. Mrs. Russel was 
 prevailed upon to accompany them to Violet Vale. The 
 Duke whispered something in her ear, and she couid 
 not refuse his solicitation ; and while Jessy was putting 
 on her pelisse and bonnet, he exclaimed — 
 
 u My dear boy, I have to apprise you, before you 
 go to the Vale, that great changes have taken place in 
 the family. Lord Montague Montault is no longer 
 living, my beloved child is now a widow." 
 
 Wolf uttered an involuntary exclamation, but his 
 face was pale as ashes — he could hardly breathe ; and he 
 called for a glass of water before he could at all re- 
 cover himself. The Duke very delicately did not ap- 
 pear to notice his extraordinary agitation, but hurried 
 him into the carriage, and Jessy followed. When they 
 arrived at Lady Montault's, Wolf was immediately 
 conveyed to the library ; and Jessy went up to Lady 
 Montault, and begged to speak in private with her. 
 
 The Duke remained with the ladies, who were all 
 seated in the drawing room; and it was more than an 
 hour before any explanation could take place between 
 either of the parties. Lady Montault was unequal to 
 the task of seeing Wolf in the presence of his mother, 
 and had fainted in Jessy's arms on the very first intel- 
 ligence — all was confusion — the Baroness wondered 
 what could possibly be the matter. Every one seemed 
 frightened and agitated; and Fauchctte was running 
 ii>to the library, but a domestic prevented her. 
 
 The Baroness at length demanded to know of the 
 
the fisher's daughter. 90' 
 
 Duke, what sudden news had affected Lady Montault 
 so terribly. 
 
 Mrs. Russel came into the room. 
 
 " For heaven's sake ! dear Mrs. Russel, do tell me 
 what is the matter," cried the Baroness, •' 1 am really 
 seriously apprehensive thatsome misfortunehas happen- 
 ed to my dear friend. Is Lord Orlando ill, or what ?" — 
 
 " No, no, my dear lady," cried the Duke, " pray 
 compose yourself, for the disorder you see is occasioned 
 by surprise and joy only ; — an old friend has arrived 
 here suddenly whom we did not expect, whom we be- 
 lieved no longer in existence — Providence, however, 
 has miraculously restored him to us again. Here is 
 my daughter ; she will inform you who he is, and pre- 
 pare you for a discovery that is wonderful." 
 
 " Discovery !" uttered the Baroness, looking ear- 
 nestly at the Duke ; " and does it concern any one he- 
 sides your own families ?" 
 
 "It concerns us all, dear lady," cried the Dukej 
 " you also, all who are present." 
 
 u And will you not tell me, Lady Montault ? ah 1 
 how unkind ! I can bear any thing after what 1 have 
 borne ; fear not my fortitude," cried the Raroness. 
 " What is there that I should now shrink from !" 
 
 Agatha could no longer be silent, and exclaimed — 
 
 " Could you bear the sight of your child, your dear 
 lost boy ? — Wallace is living. Can you for a moment 
 meet him as a stranger r — he is at present ignorant of the 
 connexion between you." 
 
 The Baroness, with uplifted eyes and hands, essayed 
 *o speak, but could not — her lips quivered and het 
 bosom heaved convulsively. 
 
908 THE FISHEK3 DAUGHTER. 
 
 & It is too much for her," uttered the Marchese, 
 M my poor Eloise ! let us retire with her for a few mo- 
 ments, dear Lady Montague, she will recover pre- 
 sently." 
 
 She was led into the adjoining room by her sister 
 and Fauchette. In the meantime the Duke went to 
 relieve poor Wolf from his bewildered situation ; and 
 taking his arm, conducted him to the presence of his 
 daughter. 
 
 O ! for the pencil and colouring of a Titian, or a 
 Correggio, or a poet's fire, to paint the scene that pre- 
 sented itself at this moment in the drawing room at 
 Violet Vale, first with Lady Montault, and then with 
 the Baroness. Wolf (whom we must now call Wal- 
 lace, for that is his real name) was not the least affected 
 of the three; he wept with manly tenderness j — and 
 three whole hours were passed in mutual congratula- 
 tions and rejoicings by the family, at this unexpected 
 and joyful event, which subsided into calmer momeuts 
 the ensuing day, when a more explicit explanation took 
 place between the agitated and transported parties. 
 Wallace, now the Baron of Walbergh, conducted him- 
 self with all that good sense, delicacy, and honour, 
 which now became his exalted rank and change ol 
 fortune ; and which in the forest boy had always shone 
 like a brilliant gem, amidst the obscurity and darkness 
 which surrounded it. He had to relate his wanderings 
 once again to his delighted mother, who alternately 
 wept and smiled at the changes of his wayward fate. 
 Both Lord Orlando and Alfred, were directly sum- 
 moned to Violet Vale, where the meeting between hifti 
 and the Baron was deeply affecting, 
 
the fisher's daughter. 909 
 
 The Marquis, the Marchioness, and Lord and Lady 
 Winstone were likewise assembled on this happy oc- 
 casion. Alfred, who was called by the name of his 
 father, Sydenham, the captain of the vessel that was 
 wrecked near the Cottage on the CJiff on the coast of 
 Cromer, was by the Baron of Walbergh presented with 
 an ample independence for life, and a rich living by 
 
 the Bishop of C . He married the daughter of a 
 
 clergyman in Devonshire, where he resided, and with 
 whom he had long been acquainted ; but not without 
 the sanction of his august patron the Duke of Bra- 
 ganza, who wished to see him happily united. 
 
 And some months after the restoration of his be- 
 loved brother, Wolf, to his paternal rights, he was 
 summoned to Violet Vale to witness another union of 
 a now most blessed and transcendently happy pair. 
 Lady Agatha Montault, neither fickle nor coy, a prude 
 nor a coquet, when solicited for the honour of her hand 
 by the Baron of Walbergh, did not oppose his wishes 
 when fully ratified by the consent of her noble father. 
 Towards the memory of her first husband she had no- 
 thing to reproach herself — her unspotted life — her un- 
 affected piety — her children were the living proof's 
 that her husband had never been forgotten, or his 
 last injunctions disregarded ; she had reared his off- 
 spring the pride and the admiration of the whole world. 
 
 She now deserved to be happy, and she was so., 
 with an object worthy of the rich treasure he had 
 gained. 
 
 Lord Orlando, immediately on his coming of age was 
 united to the girl of his heart, the Fisher's Daughter ; 
 his lovelv sister and the amiable Fauchette were her 
 
$10 THK FtSHEkS PAUGHTKR. 
 
 bride's maids. All prejudice was now done away with, 
 respecting inequality of birth, and all such false refine- 
 ment that tended to injure the domestic comforts of a 
 happy fireside. The junior Baroness of Walbergh pre- 
 sented her son on his marriage with Matilda Kussel, 
 the beautiful mansion of his late father, Violet Vale, 
 the Baron having purchased a most magnificent seat 
 contiguous to that of his beloved mother, with whom 
 the Marchese and her daughter constantly resided. 
 Old Peter was allowed a sort of ad libitum situation 
 through the whole of the united families, to do exactly 
 whatever he pleased ; whenever he went to their houses, 
 he smoked his pipe and he drank his grog ; and though 
 at a greatly advanced age, in which his jocularity never 
 deserted him, would exclaim — 
 
 " Shiver my topsails, what's a man good for if he 
 lan't enjoy life when so many good things are set be- 
 fore him ! I am ready to go up aloft whenever it pleases 
 providence to take me, with a sound heart and an easy 
 conscience. I have been faithful to my friends and I 
 forgive my enemies, and I don't want any parson to 
 tell me no more about religion. That's my religion, and 
 the best religion that a man can steer his compass by 
 when he goes through the wide world — if not — why 
 shiver my topsails, that's all." 
 
 All who are acquainted with the oddities of Peter 
 Blust, must pardon him for having once more intruded 
 his topsails on their notice. We have now brought 
 him into a safe harbour, and the next voyage he takes, 
 it is probable that " the sweet little cherub who sits up 
 aloft," will as hitherto, look out for a good birth for 
 him. 
 
the fisher's daughter. 91 1 
 
 .uul now my gentle readers, will you allow me to 
 take my farewell of you ? If I have trespassed on your 
 patience, it was only eventually to prove, that virtue 
 has it c own reward, and vice its own punishment ; 
 that exalted birth never shines so orighuy., as when 
 it imparts happiness to its inferiors j and that it may 
 even be ennobled rather than be debased, by admit- 
 ting to its circles such a character as the Fisher's 
 Daughter, 
 
 THE bnp, 
 
DIRECTIONS TO THE BINDER 
 
 FOR PLACING THE PLATES. 
 
 I'rontispiece to face the Vignette PAOH 
 
 Jessy and Wolf 118 
 
 The remains of Captain Singleton 105 
 
 And her Ladyship certainly succeeded this day in ob- 
 taining a complete conquest 167 
 
 The Duke of Braganza and Lord Montault in the bed- 
 chamber of Lady Agatha 1 90 
 
 Ah 1 my Lord, you would not wish me to relinquish 
 
 the sweet task 222 
 
 One kiss of your little mopsey, and then I must depart 357 
 
 Beda 458 
 
 There was a minstrel sat in the midst of them, clad in 
 
 the costume of ancient times 550 
 
 The Baroness of Walbergh and Lady Montague Mon- 
 tault 625 
 
 To which, softly tapping her fair cheek, he replied, 
 
 " quite well, dearest Emmy." 72S 
 
 /. T Hiiiton, Printer, Warwick Square- 
 
This book is due at the WALTER R. DAVIS LIBRARY on 
 the last date stamped under "Date Due." If not on hold, it may 
 be renewed by bringing it to the library. 
 
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 in 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
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 Rev. 1/84 
 
 
 
 

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