THE ADOPTED CHILD.

It was now Anna's turn to support her father. [page 139]

THE
ADOPTED DAUGHTER,

A TALE
FOR
YOUNG PERSONS.

By MISS SANDHAM,

Author of "The Twin Sisters," "William Selwyn," and many
other Approved Works.

"You took me up a tender flower."

SECOND EDITION.

LONDON:
PRINTED FOR J. HARRIS AND SON,
ST. PAUL'S CHURCH YARD.
1822.

LONDON
PRINTED BY COX AND BAYLIS,
GREAT QUEEN STREET, LINCOLN'S-INN-FIELDS.

[PREFACE.]

The following tale is intended to shew what people ought to be, rather than what they are; as there are few, possessing Mrs. Meridith's fortune, who have an inclination to dispose of it in the manner she is represented to have done. Indeed, the characters here introduced are too near perfection to be met with in real life, yet the Author hopes that her young readers will receive instruction, as well as amusement, in perusing it.

Some of the incidents may have been before introduced in works of the same kind; though she is not aware of plagiarism, or borrowing from other authors, and as she has endeavoured to pourtray those smaller delineations of character which often escape a general observer, she hopes many of the ideas will be found to be new; and that the present work will not lesson the favour which her former publications has so abundantly met with; and which she holds in grateful estimation.

THE
ADOPTED DAUGHTER.

[CHAPTER I.]

"You took me up a tender flower."

Mrs. Meridith was the heiress of two considerable estates, one of which was in Sussex, on which she was born, and where, at the commencement of this history, she came to reside: her earliest and happiest days of childhood had been spent in the village adjoining, where she was nursed by a respectable farmer's wife, having had the misfortune to lose her mother, who died in bringing her into the world. Various sorrows, and the loss of an affectionate husband very early in life, made Mrs. Meridith prefer the quiet scenes of the country to the glitter of dissipation, or the more uniform amusements of a provincial town; and on entering Rosewood, the name of her estate, she hoped to lose the remembrance of her distresses, which had hitherto heavily oppressed her, in endeavouring to alleviate those of her tenants and the neighbouring poor. Her father, Mr. Woodville, was a great fox-hunter, and on the death of his wife, which he did not feel so keenly as might be expected from the amiable character she possessed, earnestly entreated Mrs. Campbell, who was the wife of his favourite tenant, to take charge of the helpless infant. He could have wished she had been a boy, as she was his only child; "yet," said he, "she must be taken care of, though a female, and I will not injure the fortune to which she will be entitled; and by and by, when she is old enough, I shall be glad to see her at the head of my table;" but while she was a baby, he thought if he entrusted her to a careful nurse, such as he was sure Mrs. Campbell would be, it was all that could be required of him. Nor was he desirous of having her in his own house, but perfectly satisfied that she should be removed to the farm, where he could see her as often as he wished. He frequently called on his return from the chace, and repeated his thanks to Mrs. Campbell for her kind attention to his child, earnestly requesting her not to want any thing which his house afforded; but Mr. and Mrs. Campbell were above want, and possessed every comfort which their moderate wishes required, so that, except the allotted stipend which Mr. Woodville engaged to pay, she sought no other recompence, and seldom went to Rosewood, but when its owner was confined by accident or illness, and wished his daughter to be brought to him.

She continued with the farmer and his wife till nearly six years old, regarding them as parents, and loving them equally with her father, who, as she advanced in childhood, grew more attached to her, and, pleased with her winning ways, he never came to the farm without some new toy, or sweetmeat, or sugar-plums, the servants at home being ordered to have something nice always in readiness for him to take to their young mistress. These repeated presents insured him a welcome from his daughter, nor did he suspect that he was buying that love which she freely bestowed on her mammy Campbell, for so she styled her affectionate nurse. The little girl who was her foster sister always shared in these favours, and another part was put by for the boys till their return from school, and whom she looked upon as her brothers.

It was the eldest of these boys who now occupied the farm on which Mrs. Meridith had spent her infant days; his father and mother were both dead, and he had taken a long lease of it just before that lady came into possession of the estate. Mr. Woodville had been dead some years, but Mrs. Meridith had not visited Rosewood since that event, nor after her marriage till now, being deprived of her husband, with whom she had lived on her other estate in Lincolnshire, she turned her thoughts to Rosewood, where she hoped to forget her grief, and if any of the companions of her childhood were living, she could by adding to their comforts, increase her own. Here she found not the farmer Campbell she had formerly called her father, but his son, whom she once loved as a brother; her good old nurse had died a few years before, and her foster sister also, but the latter had left a child, which the present Mr. and Mrs. Campbell brought up as their own. There were but two houses of any size in the village of Downash, except the parsonage, which was occasionally occupied by the vicar, a single man, who lost the pleasure he might have found in assisting those whom he professed to take the care of, in drinking and visiting the neighbouring towns, as often as his situation would allow: the others were occupied by farmer Campbell and farmer Ward, who divided the arable land of Mrs. Meridith's estate between them, and the cottages of their labourers formed what was called the street. No sooner was Mrs. Meridith settled at Rosewood, than she felt the ties of affection renewed which had bound her to it in infancy, and she felt the truth of the following observation—

"Meanwhile returning to our native hearth,

"How keen the pleasure that our grief repays,

"When drinking every gale from kindred earth,

"As redolent of youth's refreshing days,

"Fancy the wonders of her art displays,

"And o'er each object we in absence mourn'd,

"Shedding the richness of her fairy rays;

"Bids e'en the little hedge-row that we scorn'd,

"Rise in a mellow light, by some new tint adorn'd."

Local Attachment.

and she determined to seek for happiness once more within its precincts. "Often as I have been disappointed in the search," said she, "and severely as I have felt its loss, let me at least endeavour to use those blessings yet left me for the good of others: and is wealth alone the only blessing left me?" continued she, as she walked pensively up and down the avenue which led to her house. "Alas! I have now no relations whom I can share it with, no one whom I can call an intimate friend! My fortune would make many profess to be such, but I have proved the fallacy of such friendship, and know on what ground they are formed. I will seek the Campbells: if they are like their parents, they will not be parasites, for they were content with little, and thought the bread they ate the sweeter for being procured by their own industry." With these sentiments she called at the farm, within a few weeks after her arrival at Rosewood, and found Mr. and Mrs. Campbell sensible of her condescension, though not servilely so. They were both well informed, and paid her the respect which was due to her as the owner of their farm; nor were they ashamed to acknowledge her their superior, not only from her possessing more money, but from the difference the distinctions of society had made between them. She found the farmer sitting with two children on his knee, and his wife with an infant on hers, in the very place where the late Mrs. Campbell used to sit, and to whom she had often ran with the sweet things her father brought her while a child under her care. The shelves, the chairs, and oaken tables were the same as when she lived there, except that several books were added to the simple library her foster parents possessed. On entering the room quite unexpectedly, she was not at first recollected as the lady they had seen at church the Sunday before; her face was particularly expressive, but it was marked with melancholy; and her voice faltered as she apologized for her abruptness; nor could she refrain from tears on observing the extreme likeness of the farmer to his good old mother, whose features she perfectly recollected. "It is Mrs. Meridith!" said he, on seeing her advance farther into their large stone kitchen; and setting the children on their feet, who were lost in astonishment at the appearance of a stranger, he jumped up and hastened to offer her a chair. Mrs. Campbell also rose, and remarking the agitation of her countenance, imagined that something had alarmed her, and she had fled to their house for shelter.

"Will you take any thing, Ma'am?" said she, "I am sure you are very much frightened."

"No, no," replied Mrs. Meridith, "but the recollection of old times and old friends were at the moment almost too much for me; these walls and that face are no strangers to me:—do you not recollect me, Mr. Campbell?" continued she, holding out her hand to him. With a countenance expressive of pleasure, yet with the utmost respect, he took her offered hand.

"Certainly, Ma'am, I do," he replied, "and esteem myself obliged that you should still remember me."

"Alas!" said she with a sigh, "the loss of so many later friends has made me wish to see those of an earlier date; not that I did not often think of those I left at the farm, and only wish there were now more of them for me to meet. Your dear mother I know is dead; but my sister Anna, where is she? Ah! that little girl puts me in mind of her—and of a still dearer tie," added she, with a sigh half suppressed, while her eyes were suffused with tears.

"It is her child, Madam," returned Mr. Campbell; "I lost my sister when she was born, and she is ours now."

"Poor little thing," said Mrs. Meridith, drawing the child towards her, "your mother dead also! May you find in the present Mrs. Campbell as kind a nurse as I did in the former, and you will not know your loss. But your brother," continued she, "is he living?"

"Yes, Madam, and has taken a farm about fourteen miles from hence, and is married."

"My poor Anna!" repeated Mrs. Meridith, "how sorry I am that you are not here! she was the only one I ever called sister, Mr. Campbell: who did she marry?"

"A young man from the neighbouring town, Madam; but he was far from a kind husband to her: she lived with him but little more than a twelvemonth, and I fear it hastened her death, for she was so beloved by her own family, that she felt his unkindness doubly keen. This little one is now three years old; on her death-bed she begged us to take it, and its unnatural father has never inquired for it since; nor have we heard of him, except that he was gone as a soldier or a sailor, and perhaps ere this is dead in battle."

The little girl looked hard at him as he related this tale, seeming not to understand of whom he spoke, but as if wishing to be certain it was not herself, she took him by the hand with an inquiring look, saying, "You are my father, a'nt you?"

"Yes, my dear, and always will be a father to you," he replied, with an affectionate kiss. "But give me leave, Madam," added he, "to introduce my wife to you," who still stood contemplating the features of the lady, and hushing the baby in her arms, who seemed disposed to cry at a scene so new to her.

"Did I not know her, when a child?" asked Mrs. Meredith.

"I believe not, madam; her name was Dallwyn, and her father the owner of the farm my brother occupies."

"I can only say, that I shall be happy to know more of her," returned their kind visitor, "and to see her often. Thirty years have not obliterated the kindness of your family from my memory, and I cannot forget that to your mother's care I owe my preservation in childhood. Neither have I forgot your own efforts to please me, when I used to call you my brother William; you were always kind."

"And you were so to me, Madam," returned Mr. Campbell, with a smile; "that shelf (pointing to the place where she used to deposit the sweet things she reserved for her brothers on their return from school) often reminds me of you."

Mrs. Meridith smiled also. "Ah! those were happy days," said she; "would I could forget many that has intervened!"

"Madam, I am sorry any of your days should have been less happy," replied the farmer, "but let us hope that there are yet happier ones in store."

Mrs. Meridith felt that the soothing voice of friendship, though from so humble an individual, was a cordial to her heart, and she thanked him for expressing it. "I wish," said she, "to forget all distinctions of rank between us, for I have found very little to recompense me for the trouble these have given; and for the future I hope you and your wife will look on me as your friend, and treat me as such."

"Your friendship, Madam," returned Mr. Campbell, "I should be ungrateful not to prize, and I hope I shall do nothing to forfeit it; but though you are so kind as to forget the distinction there is between us, I trust we never shall. Consider us, Madam, as the most faithful of your servants, and from our knowledge of each other in our younger days, believe me the most attached of your tenants."

Mrs. Meridith, after walking over the garden and visiting the barn, in which, when a child, she used to play with Anna and her brothers, fixed a day for Mr. and Mrs. Campbell to dine with her; and retired with a sighing heart, yet not unmixed with pleasure at having found a friend.

"Perhaps," said she to herself, "in these humble acquaintance I may find more real pleasure, and greater gratitude than in more refined society: had his mother been alive, I should have been happy to have made her comfortable; but at least I will do good to her sons. I know perhaps better than I did how to bestow what is useful, and money I have in plenty. May I be enabled to make a right use of it."

She returned home more at ease than she had felt for some time, and resolved to exert herself for the people of the village. "But it shall be by employing them," thought she, and she immediately planned several alterations in her gardens and pleasure grounds, and ordered her servants to employ all the old men and boys who were at that time out of work about them.

[CHAPTER II.]

Mrs. Meridith also visited the cottages of the poor, and from every one she heard something of the goodness of Mr. and Mrs. Campbell. "His father and mother were kind to us," said one of the old women, "and so is he and his wife also: she lets nothing be wasted in her dairy, or her pantry, and is always kind to us when we go there, and gives us something to eat and drink, and often some victuals to bring home with us."

Mrs. Meridith enquired if there was any school in the village, and on being directed to the old dame's house, who instructed all the little ones in their A B C, she determined not to deprive her of her employment, but endeavoured to find out a younger woman who could undertake the education of larger children, and teach them plain needle-work, &c. The bigger boys used to walk to a neighbouring village to school, and as she found the man had a large family, and bore an excellent character, she did not set up any other in opposition to him, but engaged to pay him for those boys whose parents could not afford it. Her servants were ordered not to turn any of the poor people away without relieving their wants; and in a very few months the inhabitants of Downash felt the benefit of having such a kind patroness living at Rosewood, as their houses were better furnished, themselves and children better clothed, and all their beds provided with blankets.

When the day came for Mr. and Mrs. Campbell to pay their promised visit at the great house, unused as they both were to visiting, it appeared in anticipation a formidable thing, notwithstanding the affability and condescension of Mrs. Meridith, which they had so amply experienced in her visit to them; but they dreaded the long train of servants and "saucy footmen" they should have to pass through, having heard that such were always more ready to notice any thing awkward than their owners: but they were agreeably surprized to find no such men at Rosewood. Mrs. Meridith's household consisted of no more servants than were absolutely necessary, and one footman and a black servant were all they saw. Her table and sideboard were neatly spread, without any appearance of ostentation; and by the great respect with which she treated her guests, she taught her servants to do the same. After dinner, Mrs. Meridith led them to the garden and pleasure-ground, and consulted Mr. Campbell on the improvements she intended; and by every action endeavoured to shew that she affected no superiority over them. Mrs. Campbell soon lost the restraint her being a stranger had occasioned, and Mrs. Meridith found her a sensible, well-informed woman. From this time she grew more attached to the family, and had frequent opportunities of observing Mr. Campbell possessed a solid understanding, with the strictest principles of morality and rectitude: she grew very fond of their children, and at length proposed adopting the little Anna, then about four years old, for her own. "I should have been happy to have shewn her mother every kindness," said she, "but since that is out of my power, let me transfer my affections to her child. Alas! I once had children of my own, but Providence has seen fit to deprive me of them; this little one will soothe many a lonely hour, and if she possesses the disposition of her family, will not be unworthy of my regard. I have an ample fortune and no near relation."

Mr. Campbell heard this proposal with silent respect and many thanks, and on her repeating that she had long thought of it, he begged to consult his wife on the subject.

Their conversation was not such as many of my readers may suppose; the farmer recollected she was the child of his only sister, whom his mother had brought up in the plainest and most industrious habits, "and I had intended," said he, "to follow her plan in regard to this second Anna; we have only one girl of our own, and I am blessed with health and strength, and a flourishing farm, and did not fear we should ever find her an incumbrance to us."

Mrs. Campbell declared the same, and that she loved her equally with her own children; "but yet," said she, "Mrs. Meridith will not take her away from Downash, she always intends living here, and seems attached to the place, and we know Anna can learn no evil of her. Will it be acting right, therefore, to deprive Mrs. Meridith of the amusement Anna will be, or Anna of the advantages Mrs. Meridith's fortune can obtain for her? We see riches has not made that lady proud or dissipated, and with such an example, may we not hope Anna will escape the effects which wealth and idleness too commonly produce?"

"If her father should ever inquire for her," said Mr. Campbell, "he cannot be displeased at finding her so situated; though I should fear, was he to know it, it would tempt him to seek her out, in hopes of being benefited by Mr. Meridith's kindness to her."

Mrs. Campbell observed, that his long absence from the place, and the report of his going abroad, made it very unlikely he should yet be alive, and as he was perfectly indifferent to her fate before he knew that they should take the charge of her, it was very unlikely he should think of her now. The fear of offending Mrs. Meridith went a great way in gaining their consent, and it was agreed the offer should be accepted, but not before old Molly, who had lived in the house when Anna's mother was born, had been consulted, and prevailed on to give a willing affirmative to the arrangement.

"She will never be happier in any great house than here;" said she, "and as for money, what's the use of having more than is necessary? Sure, sure, a farm-house is the happiest place in the world; always busy, and something to look forward to from every employment which will be useful to ourselves and others. I should never wish to see our little Anna any other than a farmer's wife, such as her dear grandmother was, not but what Mrs. Meridith is a very good lady: a very good lady indeed: but riches won't make people happy, that's plain to be seen in her. How dull she looks sometimes!"

"That proceeds from the many misfortunes she has met with, dear Molly," said Mr. Campbell, "and a farm-house is not exempt from the loss of family and friends, though our's, thanks be to Providence, has been so highly favoured."

"If then we are liable to lose any of our children by death," said Molly, "there seems the less occasion to give one away; but you knows best; I would not be the child's hindrance; yet I should not like her to be taken a great way off, as poor Mrs. Meridith was herself."

"There is no fear of that, Molly," resumed her master, "for Mrs. Meridith seems inclined to prefer Rosewood as her home to any other place."

"Heaven be praised for that," returned Molly, "for sure she has done a power of good since she lived there, and if little Anna is to go no farther, I can see her as often as I like, for Mrs. Meridith has asked me to come often and often; and told me never to take the children out for a walk without calling there; and latterly, some how or other, I never have, for let me go which way I would, the boys always contrived to come home round by Rosewood, and little Anna would peep and pry about through the paling, and the hedges, to see if she could find Mrs. Meridith, or the black man or woman; and I used to think to scold her for it, but some how or other I always forgot it."

Molly had now began talking, and it was some time before she stopped; for though there were but few subjects she could talk upon, she always found enough to say upon them; and she did not leave off till she was perfectly satisfied Anna should be Mrs. Meridith's child, so that while she lived she could see her as often as she wished.

The next time, therefore, that Mrs. Meridith called, and made the same proposal, it was readily agreed to, and little Anna was called in from her play with the boys, and the great mastiff dog who was letting them all ride upon his back. On being asked if she would like to live with Mrs. Meridith? she replied, "if William and John go too." John was but a few months older than herself, and William nearly seven years old.

"They shall come and see you every day," said Mrs. Meridith.

"And father and mother going too?" asked the artless child, "and old Molly, and Growler," which was the name of the dog.

Mr. Campbell smiled and said, "she is encroaching on your goodness already, Madam, and would bring all my family with her."

"They shall come and see us very often," replied Mrs. Meredith, anxious to see the child accede to her proposal without regret, "but you shall be my little girl."

"And mother's too?" returned the child, looking towards Mrs. Campbell, whom she had always considered her parent.

"Yes, my dear," replied Mrs. Meridith, "but won't you call me mother?"

"You are good Mrs. Meridith," lisped the child; "and I do love you dearly, but I am my mother's own little girl."

"So then you won't be my little girl also?" said Mrs. Meridith, "nor won't come and live with me, and Bella, and Syphax!" the name of the black man and woman, of whom Anna was very fond.

"Yes, I will, I will, and walk in the garden, and play on the green," her little eyes sparkling with pleasure, "and William and John play too; but then I sleep at home; and Molly put me to bed?"

"Yes, when you are here," replied Mrs. Meridith, "and when you sleep at Rosewood, Bella shall put you to bed."

"And William and John too?" asked she.

"Yes, when they sleep there she shall put them to bed likewise," replied her kind friend, fearful of hearing her flatly refuse to leave them; and not choosing to urge her suit any farther that day, she invited the whole family (not forgetting Molly and the youngest child who was to be of the party) to dine with her on the next. Nothing could be happier than the children were the whole of that day; and Mrs. Meridith, afraid of Anna's expressing any dislike to remaining with her at night, would have wished William and John to sleep there, also; but Mr. Campbell advised her otherways, as it might make her expect it another time, "and I," said he, "may have as much trouble to make my boys willing to return home, as you apprehend having to make her stay." Before it was their bed-time, he took Anna into the garden, and told her she was going to stay all night with Mrs. Meridith; and from leading her to imagine it was a very great favour, though it could not be supposed she could at present comprehend the extent of the kindness intended her, he made her very well satisfied with the change.

Molly then took the boys and the little girl home, and Bella put her new charge to bed, whom, knowing her mistress's intention towards her, she was particularly anxious to please, lest her dear lady should be vext at finding her otherwise. The novelty of the room, and her new attendant, with the pretty little bed which had been prepared for her, all took Anna's attention, and she dropt asleep without inquiring for her brothers: but it was not so with them, and old Molly, who, while undressing them, talked of nothing but little Anna, and her not coming home any more.

[CHAPTER III.]

In a short time Anna was quite reconciled to her situation, and no longer thought any place her home but Rosewood; and Mrs. Meridith, after the indulgence of a few weeks' holidays, began the plan of education she had proposed for her own children, had she not been deprived of them. But though she wished Anna should know every thing necessary to adorn the station in life she intended her to fill, she was equally anxious that she should not pride herself upon it. The little girl had already learnt her letters, and could spell a few words, and for the first two or three years of her being Mrs. Meridith's child, that lady was her only instructress. Anna was allowed to take a great deal of exercise, and her cousins were not more expert in running, driving the hoop, and such amusements than herself. All the old men who worked in the gardens rejoiced at her good fortune; they remembered her mother, and had often pitied her fate.

"Now," said they, "we wish she could see how well her child is provided for: she deserved a better husband, for there was not a prettier, nor a more industrious, clean, neat girl in all the parish; and so kind-hearted."

"Ah!" replied another, "I remember when she was but a little thing, how she came to see my poor Nancy that was ill, and cried over her, and brought her every thing which she thought she could eat! and when she died"—here the poor old man wiped a tear from his eye and could say no more. In short Anna was caressed by all the inhabitants of the village not only on her mother's account, but on Mrs. Meridith's also, who was pleased at every attention paid her "adopted daughter."

Who then can wonder that our young heroine should begin to think herself of more consequence than she really was? and that her little head was nearly turned with the notice which was always taken of her? And here it would be well if many children, who find themselves objects of attention to their friends, would consider that it is not for any thing extraordinary in themselves; or any particular merit, or talents which they possess; but for the sake of their parents, or because of some misfortune, perhaps, which is attached to them, those who are good and benevolent are inclined to notice them; how foolish then to grow proud of themselves on such an account! they ought to be obliged to the kind friends who thus favour them, and endeavour to repay their kindness by attention; but it is a proof of their folly to value themselves on what arises from others, and not from themselves.

Mrs. Meridith had new clothes of every kind made for Anna; and though she drest remarkably plain herself, and Anna had never been used to see any other, the exchanging her coloured frocks for more white ones gratified her vanity, and she could not help shewing them to her cousins when they came to visit her.

"I wish Mamma would give you a new suit of clothes," said she to William, "how well you would look if you had more buttons."

"Nonsense," replied William, who had imbibed all his father's notions; "What for? these clothes keep me warm, and they are whole in every part; and should I be happier if I had more buttons on my coat? I don't think you are more so in that white frock than in a coloured one; you don't enjoy a game of play so well, for fear you should tear it."

"I don't consider that," returned Anna; "I have plenty more in the drawer; and Bella has nothing to do, but to mend it for me, and Mrs. Meridith would not be angry."

"Well, but still," said William, "I am sure you could play as well in the coloured ones you used to wear, and eat and drink as well; and sleep as well when you went to bed, so that I don't see any difference in them."

Mrs. Meridith overheard this conversation as she was walking in the garden, and sighed lest she should not find her protégée, who was now about seven years old, all she wished her. She took no notice of what she had heard, but the next time Anna tore her frock, which was not long after, she called her in, and desired her to mend it.

"Bella will do that," replied Anna with a thoughtless air, "she does it so well, that you won't see where the rent was."

"But Bella has something else to do," replied Mrs. Meridith, "cannot you do it yourself? You tore it."

Anna looked at her friend, as if doubting she had heard her plainly. "Bella always mends my things," said she.

Mrs. Meridith smiled, but it was accompanied by a sigh; "one would think," said she, "that this little girl had been bred in India, where she had slaves at her command, rather than in a farm-house, for the first four years of her life: I must alter my plan with her, she will expect too much and be disappointed,—as I shall be," thought she, and another sigh escaped her. Anna watched her countenance, and saw sorrow expressed in it, and her own instantly bore traces of the same.

"What is the matter, dear Mamma?" said she, "are you sorry that I have torn my frock? if Bella is busy now, she can mend it another time, or if you wish it," continued she, "I will try if I can do it myself, but I never—" did darn, she would have added; when Mrs. Meridith thus addressed her.

"It is not that I am sorry for the frock, my dear, but that you appear so little sensible of the trouble you give, when you are so repeatedly tearing your clothes: if you considered others you would be sorry Bella should be forced to work for you; her eyes are not good, and she is getting old; and because she is kind and would do any thing for you, you seem disposed to give her what trouble you can without any apology."

"I will mend it myself," said Anna, with a face reddening with shame, and no little anger, as she thought Mrs. Meridith had never spoken so unkindly to her before.

"You shall try at it," said that lady; "and it may be you will then find out the trouble it is to other people; you are now seven years old, and had you continued with Mrs. Campbell, would most likely have been better able to do it than you are now." The tears stood in Anna's eyes, and for the first time she almost wished herself again there; but she took out a needle and thread from her work-bag, and began the task she was quite unaccustomed to. Already the rent appeared ten times larger than it did before; she looked at it each way, and began to think her Mamma was right in saying she would now know the trouble of it; but still her pride prevailed, and she would not own she could not do it.

After holding it some time in her hand, she said, "may I go and ask Bella to begin it for me, Mamma? it is impossible I should know how to do that, but if it was once began I could go on with it."

"I have told you Bella is very busy," returned Mrs. Meridith.

"Will you begin it for me then, Mamma?" said the little girl in a more humbled tone, and after she had pulled it backwards and forwards, and looked at it again and again.

"Yes; and do it too;" thought Mrs. Meridith, who could scarcely bear to see her so distressed; "and kiss those frowns from your face if I dared; but your nature would not bear it." She therefore only desired her to bring it to her, and began the darning, which she returned into Anna's hand; well knowing that she could never finish it for it to be worn any more; but the frock was of little value in Mrs. Meridith's opinion, if Anna might be taught a lesson of humility by it. She continued her own work, and Anna set a few stitches, but very different from the pattern set her, and often did she turn her eyes to the window hoping to see either her uncle or cousins coming up the lawn, which she hoped would put an end to the work.

"How do you get on with it?" asked Mrs. Meridith, "have you done half?"

"No," said Anna, "my cotton is so troublesome."

Mrs. Meridith again took it in her hand, and saying that would not do, she cut out all that Anna had done, and then putting it once more in a proper way, she made her sit down by her, saying, she feared her eyes were directed more to the window than her work. Anna could scarcely suppress her tears; yet once more made the attempt to finish the work, and was as unsuccessful as before, though Mrs. Meridith directed her each time where to put her needle.

"Are you convinced now," said she, "of the trouble you give Bella every time you tear your clothes?"

"Yes, dear Mamma," replied Anna, bursting into tears, and hiding her face in her lap, "and I am very sorry for it."

"That is enough, my dear child, promise me that you will be more careful, and more thankful to those who do any thing for you."

"I will, indeed," replied Anna, venturing to raise her eyes, and longing to be reconciled to her kind friend, who soon gave her the consolatory kiss, and then once more addressing her, she said:—

"I should regret my ever taking you to be my child, my dear Anna, if I spoilt you; I would wish you to know that I once had children of my own, whom I did not love better than I do you; but I took you to be my child, because I lost them, and because your grandmother was a kind nurse to me when I was a baby, and I knew your mother when she was a little girl, but more because you were unfortunate, and had lost your parents, though they were well supplied to you by your uncle and aunt." Anna's mingled feelings of regret, confusion, and gratitude, would not permit her to speak, but she looked with the most expressive earnestness at her friend, who thus continued:

"I am now your mother and wish to make you happy, but it must be by adding to the happiness of others, not taking from it." Anna's tears now flowed afresh; and she threw her arms round Mrs. Meridith's neck.

"Oh, I hope I shall be a good girl, and deserve your kindness," said she: "indeed I have nothing to be proud of, but I have given Bella a great deal of trouble, and you, my dear Mamma, and thought nothing of it; pray forgive me."

Mrs. Meridith re-assured her of her forgiveness, and only hoped the foregoing scene might be impressed on her memory, and prevent her thinking so highly of herself another time; and she then proposed their walking to the farm together.

[CHAPTER IV.]

When Anna returned with her kind friend to Rosewood, she sought for Bella in order to tell her that she was sorry that she had hitherto given her so much trouble, and found her busily employed at needle-work, and two or three little girls of the village with her, to whom she was distributing several articles of clothing. This, for the present, prevented Anna's speaking of what she came to say, and she only asked, "what she was about?" and why these little girls were there.

They were not unknown to her, and she had formerly played with them before she left the farm; but now they saw her white frock and yellow shoes, and remembered she was taken to be Mrs. Meridith's daughter, they each made her a curtesy:

"Oh, don't curtesy to me;" said Anna, full of what had passed in the morning; "I am only a little girl like yourselves, and if it had not been for a good uncle and aunt, and Mrs. Meridith's kindness, I should have been a great deal worse off than you, for I had no father or mother to take care of me."

"Oh, Miss Anna, don't talk so," said Bella; "every body loves you, and would be glad to take care of you."

"But I would wish her not only to talk so, but to think so also," said Mrs. Meridith, who just then entered the room, and had heard Anna speaking, "if it will keep her mindful not to give more trouble than she can help; and I should be sorry she should forget, that these little girls have as much right to her kindness as she has to mine, when she has it in her power to show them any."

"I will, Mamma, I will," replied Anna, "for they are all my old playfellows, and I used to love them very much."

Mrs. Meridith then inquired into the work Bella was doing, and Anna found she was going to clothe them also, and she heard her give directions for more things to be made, and tell the children to send another family out of the village to her.

As soon as they were gone she burst into tears, and said, "Oh, Mamma, I might have been one of these little girls, and you would have been good to me as you are to them. But how much more kind to take me as your own! And why was it me? why not one of them? they are better little girls than I have been, and would never have given you so much trouble; but my dear Bella I am ashamed of it; you shall never have to mend my frocks as you have done."

"I never complained of it, my dear," returned Bella, who did not know what had passed.

"But you will have more time to assist the poor children in the village," observed Mrs. Meridith, "who are all obliged to do something towards supporting themselves already, and therefore your working for them will be more useful than for Anna."

The little girl agreed to all her Mamma said, and she sat down to dinner with her with very different ideas than the day before.

As soon as she saw William and John coming up the lawn, whom Mrs. Meridith had asked to tea, she asked her leave to go and meet them; and as they walked slowly round the garden together, she told them all about the torn frock which she had vainly endeavoured to mend. "You told me," said she to William, "that these fine clothes did not make me happier, a little while ago, and I have found it out now; but however I will never tear another if I can help it; at least I shall know what trouble it must be to Bella to mend it."

The afternoon passed rapidly away, and when she went to bed, Anna felt more grateful for the happy home provided for her, than she had ever done before. She frequently reverted to her former state, in conversation with Mrs. Meridith, and her uncle and aunt, while the latter always endeavoured to imprint on her mind the sense of her obligation to her kind benefactress, by whose name she was now universally known, though that which really belonged to her was Eastwood, for so her parents were called.

In the course of a few years Mrs. Meridith evidently grew happier, while according to her own maxim she added to the happiness of others; she suffered no one to want work who were capable of it, and she regularly supplied those who were old or ill in the village with every comfort they needed. Blankets were sent to every house, and each year her house was open for a whole week at Christmas. A plentiful meal was provided every day, but nothing superfluous; and her barrels of home-brewed ale were tapped, that all might have their allotted portion. In short, from her extensive fortune and her earnest endeavour to make these poor people happy, there was not a family in Downash who had not at least one of their children apprenticed to some useful trade, while the others worked in the fields; nor was there a child in the village who had not learned to write and read; and while Mrs. Meridith was thus careful for Downash and its inhabitants, she was not unmindful of the poor on the estate she had left in Lincolnshire, but gave orders to her agent there that they should be provided with what was necessary for them; and often sent Syphax, her confidential servant, to see that it was done.

Mr. and Mrs. Campbell continued to receive many marks of her favour, and as their family increased, she added to her liberality; nor did she forget the other brother and his family, but on his first visit to the farm after her settling at Rosewood, recognized him as one of her early friends with her usual kindness. She also sent handsome presents to his wife and children; and was always endeavouring to find out where she could be materially useful to both of them. At length the farm which the younger Mr. Campbell rented was to be sold; and unless he became the purchaser he expected to be turned out. On hearing this, Mrs. Meridith advanced the money for him, and at the same time presented a deed of gift to the elder brother, of the farm which he rented of her. This perhaps would have been carrying her generosity too far, had she not possessed so ample a fortune, with no near relation to inherit it after her death, and those she had were all in a state of affluence. She therefore gratified herself by thus obliging two worthy families, and convincing them that the kindness of their mother to her in infancy was not forgotten. All who heard of these acts of kindness, rejoiced that they were shewn to men so deserving of them, except the other farmer in the village, whose name was Ward: he could not see what the Campbells had done to merit such a recompense, nor bear that they should be the owners of their farms while he only rented his. At market, or wherever they met, his envy was apparent; and yet he could attach no blame to either of the brothers, since they were both ignorant of her intention, and would have declined her offer had she made it to them before the purchase was necessary. As it was, Edward Campbell insisted on paying her what money he had laid up against the time he expected the farm would be sold; and to satisfy his scruples Mrs. Meridith accepted it; and also the same sum from his elder brother, which she immediately, and unknown to them, placed in the funds in the names of their respective children. But yet farmer Ward was still hard to credit that they had paid any purchase money: he had for some time viewed the notice Mrs. Meridith took of the family with a jealous eye, and much had been said by his wife and daughters of the increased consequence of farmer Campbell and his family, since the lady of the manor had done so much for them.

This last event did not take place till after Anna had been ten years with her kind patroness, whom she was now accustomed to look on as more than a mother, though often the circumstance of the torn frock was reverted to by her uncle, and he reminded her that it was the humanity of Mrs. Meridith, and not from any claim she had to her kindness, which had placed her in the situation she was.

As she was now arrived at the age of fourteen, the best masters the country afforded for music, French, and drawing, attended her; "and these," said her attentive uncle, "you ought to be assiduous in learning, that you may be able to amuse Mrs. Meridith as her age increases;" but Anna's attention to these accomplishments did not prevent her from paying the same to more domestic concerns.

"It may be," said Mrs. Meridith, "you may never wish to play, or sing, after your masters have left you; but you will always have a family to attend to."

As music was what Anna was particularly desirous of improvement in, and as she had a very good voice, her kind friend did not discourage her endeavours to advance in it; "but remember," said she, "that to add to the happiness of others, you must do something more than sing to them.—A song, or a concerto on the piano will not satisfy the calls of hunger, or still the pains of sickness; and the poor in the village will not thank you for sitting whole hours at your instrument, if it leads you to neglect them; and may you recollect my dear, that one chief reason, why I adopted you for my daughter, was that you should supply my place to the poor of Downash, when I am no longer here to assist them." Anna always heard her with tears upon this subject, and faithfully promised to regard her injunctions.

At this time she often walked among the villagers and listened to their wants, or rather their account of how they had been relieved; and the praises of good Mrs. Meridith: and when the purchase of the farms were made, she met with various congratulations.

"I am sure both your uncles were deserving of it," said one of their labourers, at whose house she called to know why his daughter was not at school the week before; "they are as good masters to work for as can be found in all the country, and we be all heartily glad that the farms are their own."

"Mrs. Meridith," replied Anna, "has given us all reason to rejoice that she came to live here; what has she not done for me?"

"Ah, dear Miss," returned the man, "now you speaks of that, your poor dear mother was deserving of it."

"It is all for her sake," answered Anna, "but did you know her?"

"Ah, and your father too, Miss, if he deserved to be called so, who could leave you as he did."

Anna sighed. "I wonder where he is," said she, not expecting the old man could inform her.

"Why some do say that he went for a sailor," returned he, "but I did hear a little while ago that some one see'd a man that had seen him about a twelvemonth before."

"You don't say so," returned Anna, with eagerness, half afraid yet anxious to hear more: "Who was it, and where was he?"

"Why I don't know for the truth of it, Miss," said he, "nor whereabouts it was he see'd him, but I thinks it was somewhere beyond sea; but it was at farmer Ward's my daughter heard it, and the reason, Ma'am, she h'an't been to school this week, is, she has been there, while their girl was gone home to see her mother."

"At farmer Ward's?" replied Anna, "I thought they would have had some of their own labourer's daughters."

"And so should I, Miss, but somehow Nancy Ward has taken a great fancy to my girl, so I let her go, as 'twas but for a little while; but I hopes to get her into your aunt's, Miss, when she wants a girl, and if you would be so good as to speak for her it would be doing a great kindness; she is very handy, and knows how to do a great many things. But here she comes, and Nancy Ward with her, I declare." Anna looked out and saw them coming towards the little wicket, she therefore would not leave the house till they entered it; and as it was at farmer Ward's that something had been heard of her father, she thought she might hear more of it from Nancy, whom, though she had not seen for some months, yet as children they were often together; but she was not aware of the difference Mrs. Meridith's late kindness to her uncles had made in her behaviour, as well as in that of her father.

"How do you do, Nancy?" said she, "I hope you are well? You are much grown since I saw you."

"And so are you, Miss," replied Nancy, with a saucy air; "and all your family I think,—the farmer Campbells are quite gentlemen now, and Miss Meridith, or Miss Campbell, or Miss Eastwood, or whatever name I may call you by, is quite a fine lady."

"Not more so than I was a few years ago, when you did not account me so," answered Anna, with rather a haughty air; but it was immediately humbled when the insolent girl proceeded, "according to the old proverb, set a beggar on horseback."

"A beggar!" returned Anna.

"Yes," said Nancy, "your father was one, or is one now; and it would be a good thing for him if he could come in for some of Mrs. Meridith's bounty."

"I believe," replied Anna, with some spirit, "that if he needed and deserved it, he would not have long to wait for it; but can you tell me where he is?"

"O dear no, Miss, I have no acquaintance with him, nor do I wish it: I only think that if he knew how generous Mrs. Meridith is to all who belong to you, he would soon be here to get a little out of her."

"Fye, Nancy, fye, I am ashamed of you," said the old man; "if you can't talk better than that, you should hold your tongue; you may be ashamed of yourself; can any one help the faults of their parents?"

"It is the first time," thought Anna, "that I have suffered for the faults of mine; till now every body pitied me for having such a father."

"Oh!" returned the girl, determined now to vent her spleen as she had began, "the poor little Anna Eastwood, or Campbell as she was called, is so proud since she has become Mrs. Meridith's daughter, that she ought to be told of what she was; she was only taken out of charity at first."

"I know it," replied Anna, with a dignified air; "and I am obliged to Mrs. Meridith for giving me such an education as has not disgraced that charity. If I am proud, I am sorry for it, for I well know I have nothing to be proud of; but I hope I shall never be insensible to the kindness of Mrs. Meridith, or my uncle and aunts; and as for what that lady has done for them, it was because their mother was her first friend; they wanted not her assistance, though they know how to value her friendship and condescension in noticing me as she has done; and there are other people who rejoice at it for my mother's sake.

"That we all do, Miss," said the old man; "and as for your being proud, no one thinks you so, any more than Mrs. Meridith herself; and it is a rare thing to see ladies like her with so little, and remember former kindnesses and friends as she does. I am sure old Mrs. Campbell was a good nurse to her, and she has rewarded her family for it."

"I think so, indeed," replied the envious girl, "when she has given them both farms for it."

"You are mistaken there," said Anna, very mildly, for the honest encomiums of the poor man had calmed her anger. "My uncles had not laboured so long, nor my grandfather before them, not to be able to purchase the farms you mention; and Mrs. Meridith only gave the preference to any other buyer."

"My father could buy a farm as well as them, I fancy," replied Nancy, with a toss of the head.

"I dare say he could," returned Anna, "but you do not imagine Mrs. Meridith would have sold that in which my uncle lived, away from him, if it was in his power to purchase it, any more than she would sell your father's to another person if he wished to have it." Nancy Ward now looked half ashamed, and Anna turning from her, said something to the other girl (who had stood by in evident distress during this conversation) about her coming to school the next week, and then bidding the old man farewell, she hastened home ruminating on what she had heard, and particularly on that which concerned her father.

[CHAPTER V.]

When Anna related what had passed at the old man's cottage to Mrs. Meridith, that lady said, "I am glad you answered her as you did, for to return anger for anger is never of any use; and if she intended to mortify you, she will find she has lost her aim."

"No," replied Anna, with a dejected air; "for she has mortified me greatly, by telling me my father was a beggar; sure he was not so low as that, or my mother would not have married him?"

"He professed to be a gentleman," said Mrs. Meridith, "as your uncle has told me, and that he was by no means an uneducated man; and his manners were very prepossessing, but he was little known in this neighbourhood till your mother married him."

"And where could she meet with him?" asked Anna, "I thought she knew nobody out of this village."

"But little of the world," said Mrs. Meridith, "or she would not have been taken with his specious appearance; but when about eighteen, she went to return a visit she had received from a young friend at the next town, and there she first knew him; he apprehended her to have more money than she really had, I suppose, and she was handsome, and agreeable, and perhaps at that time he did feel attached to her; it was evident she was pleased with him, and he gained her regard by following her home and making proposals to her father, who did not altogether approve of it; so your uncle says, but he saw her attachment, and therefore complied; a small house was taken for them in the village, and I believe he was to have part of your grandfather's farm, who promised to assist and instruct him in cultivating it; but he soon discovered himself unworthy of so good a wife; and at length she died; and you know the rest."

"My poor mother," said Anna, "how happy should I have been had you lived to have afforded you some comfort! But I am ungrateful to you, my dear mamma, in not saying I am happy now; and you have had your sorrows also; oh! may I be a comfort to you!"

"True, indeed, my Anna," returned Mrs. Meridith, "I have had my sorrows, and deeply have I felt them!"

Anna had never heard more than that her kind benefactress and friend had lost an affectionate husband, and three children; and she forbore now, as on former occasions, to ask by what circumstances; yet her looks strongly indicated her desire of hearing a more particular account of them; and Mrs. Meridith, reading her wishes in her countenance, told her that the next evening her uncle and aunt were with them, she would endeavour to relate them, if she found the recollection not too painful.

"In the mean time," said she, "I am thinking of farmer Ward; it is clear that he and his family are jealous of my attachment to your uncle and aunt, but they do not consider that gratitude, and an early acquaintance has caused me to notice them more than others; besides there is such an upright integrity in your uncle, so free from any of the fulsome flattery I have met with, and so much unaffected intelligence, that his company is agreeable to me: and your aunt's likewise, who is a sensible, well-informed woman, and our sentiments agree: she knows what the world is from theory, I from experience; and I scruple not to say, I find them both pleasant companions. But it is not likely farmer Ward and his wife would be so; they were I know very differently brought up, and though very honest, industrious people, would despise any other conversation than that which related to their farm and its occupations; but I do not ridicule them for this, I thought they were happy and satisfied; at least they were so, till Envy reared her snaky head."

"Well, indeed," said Anna, interrupting her, "may Envy be thus represented surrounded by snakes, for she is extending her malice to every one she can reach, and instigating all in her power to do the same.

"It is Medusa, one of the three Gorgons, whose hair Minerva changed into snakes for polluting her temple, who is thus represented," said Mrs. Meridith; "but there is in one of the poets a very striking picture of Envy, describing her as eating her own bowels; if I am not mistaken, it is in Spenser's Fairy Queen, we will look this evening: but to return to farmer Ward, I tell you what I mean to do respecting him, because I hope hereafter (if you find no ill effect arising from it) you will do the same."

"Oh, mamma! could I but hope to do as you have done!"

"No flattery, my dear Anna," said Mrs. Meridith, smiling, "what I have done may be done by any one who has the means in their power so amply as I have; and if your means are lessened, your sphere of action will be so likewise. I thought that I shewed no distinction between the two farmers, except that I considered one as my friend; but I endeavoured to be impartial in what was done for them as tenants; though I have sold one farm and not the other, yet if farmer Ward wishes to buy his farm, he shall have it on the same terms as your uncle had his."

At this moment Anna would have said, "is not this rewarding farmer Wood for his malevolence to my uncle and me?" had she not recollected that in every thing Mrs. Meridith knew best: but the change in her countenance was not unnoticed by her kind friend, who said, "it is better to stop the mouth of envy by acts of kindness, than by returning their resentment; I should rather say, to endeavour to do it, for though our intention may be good, their animosity may prevent its having the desired effect."

Mrs. Meridith, therefore, took the first opportunity of asking farmer Ward, when he came to pay his rent, if he would like to purchase his farm?

"Oh Madam!" said he (malice still perceivable in the expression, though the kindness of her manners had seemed to soften his), "I have not so much money as my neighbour Campbell; I am not able to purchase it."

"I believe your land is of the same value as his," returned Mrs. Meridith, "and you have both made it more valuable by your care and cultivation; you have, therefore, a better right to enjoy the advantages of it than any others."

"Are you determined then, Madam, to sell my farm also?" asked Ward with apprehension on his countenance. "Certainly not, unless you are the purchaser," said Mrs. Meridith. This unexpected kindness altered the behaviour of the farmer; he made her a low bow, and thanked her with great cordiality.

"I am in no hurry to sell it," continued Mrs. Meridith, "and will readily promise you shall have the first offer of it when I do; and you shall have it on the same terms that farmer Campbell had his."

"I own I should like to be the master of a farm as well as he, ma'am," said the man, whose heart was now quite opened by her generosity: "but I must consult my wife and other friends about it; perhaps you would not refuse to take the money by instalments."

"In any way most convenient to you, farmer Ward," she replied, with her accustomed kindness, "for I have that opinion of your industry and honesty, as not to fear your paying me; and I shall have my estate bordered by two as flourishing farms as any in the country while farmer Campbell and yourself are the owners of them, for I know you spare no pains to make them so."

"Well, I declare I did not think you would have been so kind to me, ma'am," returned the farmer; "I have certainly done you wrong; but I'll speak the truth: I beg your pardon, but I thought all your favors were reserved for my neighbour Campbell, and that in a very few years he would have my farm as well as his own, and I should be turned out to make room for him."

"I am sorry you should think so," returned Mrs. Meridith, "you are convinced now, I hope, that there was no reason for it; I have always looked upon you and him, as tenants too good for me to wish to lose either."

"Well, this comes of evil surmising," said the farmer, conscious of his ill conduct to Campbell when they met at market, and other places: "I am ashamed of it, that I be—dear, dear, how unhappy have I made myself about it, and some other people too, I am afraid, madam," looking at Mrs. Meridith, to discover whether farmer Campbell had mentioned his behaviour to her, but he read nothing in her countenance which indicated it; and indeed he had not thought it worth while to relate it, though he was hurt that her kindness to him, should produce an effect in one who had for many years been his friend and neighbour. "Another evil surmise," resumed Ward, after a short silence. "I'll be bound Campbell ha'nt said a word about it; I'll go home, ma'am, and tell my wife how much I have been mistaken; and I begs your pardon for thinking as I have done; some future time we may talk about the purchase; and pray, madam, accept my hearty thanks for your kindness."

"Oh, don't mention that, farmer," returned she, "it is no more than your due, you have always taken good care of my land."

"I will, madam, for the future," said he, "whether I can raise money enough to buy it or not; but I am ashamed to say it, but truth will come out, I did not intend to take any more pains with it; for I thought Campbell would soon have it all."

"Oh, farmer, I hope you will never give way to such ill-grounded suspicions again," returned Mrs. Meridith, "depend upon it I would act with the same fairness to you as to him," and seeing the poor man quite confused with a sense of his error, she offered him her hand, and begged him to believe her as much a friend to his interest as to Campbell's; "only I have known him a longer time," said she, "and his mother was mine, when I had lost my own."

The farmer appeared quite melted by her condescension, and not being able to say another word, he gave her hand a hearty shake, and hurried out of the house to tell his wife how he had been mistaken in what he thought was Mrs. Meridith's intention.

[CHAPTER VI.]

About this time poor old Molly, who had been a faithful servant, first to their father and mother, and then to the present farmer Campbell and his wife, began to lose her strength, and she was not allowed to do any thing in the domestic affairs, but nurse the little ones when she liked, and rock the cradle. But her affection for Anna was not decreased by absence; and when she could no longer get to Rosewood to see her, Mrs. Meridith was anxious that Anna should pay her a daily visit. Mrs. Campbell had now four more children, and it was Molly's pride and pleasure to have as many of them about her as she could, but Miss Anna, and some of Edward Campbell's children must be there also, to make her as happy as any old woman of her age could be. In visiting her, and one or other poor person in the neighbourhood, part of every day was spent by Anna; and Bella would often accompany her, who, when she saw old Molly surrounded by the grandchildren of her former mistress, would sigh, and say it was just so in their country, and they were as happy and united, till the cruel white men came amongst them.

"When I was a girl," said she, "though they do call us savages, my father was good man; he did love his wife, and his father, and his mother, and his children; we did all live in one home; we work, and the old did look at us, and tell us what to do; we did no harm to anybody. Then came cruel war; my father and all the men went out to fight: oh shocking, shocking day! I cry now to think of it! then came cruel, wicked, white men; and I sold to be a slave!"

"Oh, do not talk of it," said Molly, clasping her feeble hands together, "be thankful, my dear, dear children, that you are born in England."

"No slaves here," said Bella, "but there be very many bad people, English people too; but not all bad, neither are all black people good. I could tell a great deal—but you are happy, happy people that live and die in this peaceful village: I lived in peaceful village once when I was a girl; I was happy then, so I am now I am old; my dear mistress very very kind to me; I shall die quiet here: no more wars, no more wicked white men; all good here: but I think of what is past, and that makes me cry. I never saw father, or mother, or brothers, or sisters, after I once taken away!"

All the children shed tears at her recital, and Molly folded them to her heart in unfeigned joy that this could never be their case. Anna and the elder boys each extended their hand to Bella, and their countenances more than their words told them how much they pitied her; the younger ones wept because the others did; and Mr. Campbell when he entered the room was surprized to find so sorrowful a party.

"Oh, father," said John, "Bella has been telling us how she was taken from her father and mother, to be a slave; was not that cruel?"

"Indeed it was, my dear," said he; "but they tell us now that the Slave Trade is abolished, or at least put under such restrictions, that it is less cruel than before."

"But why can't they hire the negroes, as servants are hired here?" asked Anna; "would not that be as well?"

"Ah, my dear," replied her uncle, "men, either as a body or individually, seldom do any thing well: but it is said the negroes are of such a disposition that nothing but bondage will do for them."

"O, master, their own conduct makes them so," exclaimed Bella; "they treat us ill at the first, and then think we must not seek revenge, or even to escape from their cruelty; but if they good to us, we good to them; we don't come to them; we want to keep out of their way, but they come for us, and buy us whether we will or not."

"It is a bad subject, my good Bella," returned the farmer, "nor can I justify many of my countrymen in their treatment of you; but some are good."

"Yes, some are good," said she; "but it was my lot to fall into very bad hands at first."

"What did they do to you, my poor Bella?" asked John, his heart beating with compassion.

"Oh, they beat me, and starved me; and, worse than that, they killed my child; or they would not let me see it after it was nine months old, but made me work hard hard work!" Here tears seemed to choke her utterance, and the children looked at each other and their father, in silent distress.

"Get something to revive poor Bella," said he to Molly, whose weeping eyes bore testimony that her feelings were not blunted by age; "and do not begin this subject any more, my dear children," continued he, "you see how it distresses poor Bella, and it only opens to your knowledge crimes which I hope you will never have the inclination to commit. If, as the Scriptures declare, these people are suffering for the sins of their forefathers, and their state of slavery has been foretold so many thousand years, we must acknowledge all God's decrees are just, though the crimes of those who enslave and ill-treat them will most assuredly be punished."

Bella was now a little revived, and Anna proposed their returning home.

"Thank you, good Sir, for your kindness to a poor negro woman," said Bella; "my mistress will tell you all, but me talk no more about it, it tears my heart too much."

Molly begged her to say no more, and the children, after kissing her, promised never to ask her any more questions on so distressing a subject.

In a few days after this poor Molly died, as she was sitting in her arm-chair; and her young companions supposed her to be asleep, till their mother came in and perceived her altered countenance. She was laid on the bed, and the two eldest children sent to tell Anna that Molly was very ill. Bella and she came down immediately, and every thing was done to restore the pulse of life: but it had ceased to beat, and Mr. and Mrs. Campbell rejoiced that their faithful servant had not suffered more at the close of life. She had lived in their family from the age of fifteen to seventy-five, and deserved, by her strong attachment to it, every attention which they paid her; and never did a master, mistress, and servant agree so well as Molly, and both the Mr. and Mrs. Campbells had done. All the children greatly lamented her loss, and with Mrs. Meridith's permission, Anna, Bella, and Syphax attended her funeral, Mr. and Mrs. Campbell being the chief mourners. Such is a village funeral, where the parade of ostentation is not known; but the simple honours which are paid to honest integrity come from the heart. Every one had a sigh and a good word for poor Molly, as they returned from the affecting scene; rendered still more so by the unfeigned grief of the children, and the grateful testimony her master and mistress gave of her fidelity and attachment. All the people were pleased that they were not above attending her funeral themselves; and that Mrs. Meridith should let Miss Anna (who was her child now) follow, was another proof of her condescension. But Mrs. Meridith knew what was due to merit, though in humble life, and rejoiced that she had escaped from a world, where such an acknowledgment of it would have been thought ridiculous, or at least superfluous.

Anna had seen Bella so distressed at reverting to her former days, and had felt so much herself at hearing the recital, that she feared to ask Syphax if he had known similar troubles; but one day, as he was assisting her in planting a piece of the garden, he looked up, and with a dejected air said:

"Ah, Miss, this is a deal better than planting sugar-canes, with the whip over my head, and irons on my feet."

"Irons on your feet!" said she, shuddering, "poor Syphax, why was that?"

"All the slaves wear them in the West-Indies, Miss; I come from there."

"Did you know Bella, there?" asked Anna.

"No Miss, she came away before I did come there: she got good mistress before me."

"And where did you know Mrs. Meridith first?"

"In the East-Indies, Miss; I ashamed to say how I became acquainted; she be too good to me if she has not told all."

"I never heard her say more than that Bella and you were both servants she brought with her from the East-Indies," said Anna.

"So she did, Miss, and thank her for it a thousand times, for we had no friends there; poor Bella torn from all her's long ago, and I never had any but poor slaves like myself. I was born a slave, but I did not feel the whip, or the irons, and the cruel ratings the less for that; but I have been a sad, sad man, Miss," continued he; "ask me no more, and if my good lady ever tell you, do not hate me for it, as she has forgiven me: I knew no better then, but good deal of good has come of it to me."

Anna was too mindful of her kind protectress's maxim, "the way to be happy ourselves is to add to the happiness of others, not to take from it," to press for any farther explanation from Syphax, when she saw he wished not to give it; and she looked forward to Mrs. Meridith's promised recital with increased anxiety.

"I am afraid Syphax has been the cause of some of her sorrows," said she to herself. "How wrong of him to distress so kind a friend! and what has she gone through! Oh! if I cannot add to her happiness, I shall never be happy myself."

With this view she was still more attentive to the instructions her kind friend was continually giving her, and those of the different masters provided for her. Accustomed to be Mrs. Meridith's constant companion; to read to her, and hear her remarks on what she read, as well as to express her own, and have her judgment informed and set right when she had formed a wrong opinion, it was not extraordinary that her understanding was beyond her years; and when little more than fourteen, her manners and sentiments were those of a woman double that age, and in many respects her ideas and knowledge was far more correct. Her conversation, also, was of great use to William and John; she either lent to them or gave them an account of whatever books she read, and this encouraged in them a taste for literature it is probable they would not have indulged, but that they might converse more freely with her.

Mrs. Campbell had now seven children; four boys and three girls. The infant which she had in her arms when Mrs. Meridith first visited them was grown a fine girl of ten years old, and her sisters were one eight, and the other six; the two youngest were boys, but none of these had that affection for Anna as William and John, who still thought of her as a sister. Anna would have instructed the girls in every thing she knew, had not her uncle and aunt prevented her.

"It is not necessary," said Mr. Campbell, "that our daughters should learn singing, and music, and French, or any accomplishment; though for Mrs. Meridith's child, as she has been pleased to make you, it is. Our's are farmer's daughters, and I hope never to see instilled into their minds a desire to be otherways; which might be the case were they to know a little, of what you I hope know enough to justly appreciate its value; and which is not worth anything, unless it enables you to amuse Mrs. Meridith, and to pass through the world with more credit to her, as her adopted daughter, than you could have done, had you been ill-bred and illiterate. But let my children never have an idea of learning accomplishments, for they can never be useful to them. Every thing which can make them sensible companions they shall know, as far as books, and my ideas of education will permit; and should you continue to live here as your kind patroness has done, I hope you will not find them unworthy of your friendship, or less agreeable companions than Mrs. Meridith, has condescended to say she has found their mother."

Anna could not but allow the justice of his remark; and while she saw how little he thought of those acquirements, which most young ladies are proud of possessing, she imperceptibly learnt how far she ought to value them in herself. She could not say her cousins were the happier for not knowing them, since she had not found them causes of unhappiness in herself: the idea of affording Mrs. Meridith amusement, or adding to her pleasure, gave a zest to her attainments; but this was a motive her cousins could not have, since their father and mother did not desire it.

"I will not say then," thought she, "that they cannot be happy without them, but it is all best as it is; it is right I should endeavour to attain them, and that they should not: thus shall we be each fitted for our separate stations."

[CHAPTER VII.]

The next time that Mr. and Mrs. Campbell came to dine with their kind friend, she recollected the promise she had given Anna of relating what had passed during her stay from Rosewood.

"I think it but right to relate it," said she, "lest from what has at various times escaped me you may have formed a wrong idea, and think that I was not so happy in the married state, as my regard for Mr. Meridith's memory would otherwise evince.

"You remember, Mr. Campbell, when I left your house, I was not more than six years old; happy in having lived with you, and wishing for no other home. I loved my father, for he was very good to me, but I had rather see him at your house than his own, for there I had no one to play with me, or be my companion. When I dined with him, which you know was not very often, it was generally after he had been fatigued with a long ride in the morning; and when he had loaded my plate with every thing he called nice, and what he thought I should like, and allowed me as much fruit after dinner as I could eat, and gave me one or two glasses of wine to help my digestion (and truly I needed something for that purpose, as I never rose from the table without a violent head-ach), he would drink himself five or six times that quantity, and then fall asleep; and I was ready to follow his example: for not daring to open the door, lest I should awake him, I had no other amusement than creeping to the window, and there, with my eyes half shut, and my head and stomach violently oppressed, from the quantity I had eaten, I used to watch the coming of somebody to fetch me home; and glad I was to wake the next morning free from the head-ach, and without the expectation of going again to my father's.

"You know how differently the days passed at the farm, where I ate no more than was necessary for me, and I met with attention from all the servants and labourers, because I was the Squire's daughter; and, except the time your good mother took to teach me my letters and to spell a little, with the use of a needle and thread, I was allowed to play the rest of the day with Anna, whom I loved as a sister; and when you and Edward were at home, you always joined our party. Thus were my youngest days spent, and often have I looked back to them in far different scenes.

"At length a sister of my father's, who had married Sir Robert Meridith, and had no child of her own, proposed my living with them, saying that I should be quite a rustic if I remained any longer at Rosewood; and with some reluctance, as I have been told, my father consented. My aunt was much older than her husband, and he paid her but little attention; her fortune had been his chief inducement to marry, and of this he made ample use, though what was settled on herself he could not touch. She was proud and haughty, and continually reproved me for talking so much of the farm and your family, whom, she said, I ought to forget entirely; but this I thought I never could do.

"I remained a twelvemonth with her, at their house in Leicestershire, during which time my father came twice to see me; and being told by my aunt that I was already much improved, and only wanted education to make me what I ought to be, as his daughter and the heiress of Rosewood, he affected to be satisfied, and told her he left my education entirely to her. "Yet," said he, "I think my dear little Maria don't look so brisk and lively as when she was at the farm." I took this opportunity of inquiring for the friends I had left there; but he could not tell me half I wished to know, as how Anna was, and whether she went to school, and if Edward and you were grown; he said, you were all well, and grown very much, but as for any thing else he had not inquired. I sent you all many kind remembrances, and would have added some of my playthings for Anna, but as he travelled on horseback, neither himself or his servant could be incumbered with them.

"After this time my aunt went to London, and took me with her. My uncle had been there for many months; and his behaviour to my aunt after our arrival was still less attentive than in the country. He had his acquaintance, and she hers; a few old ladies like herself, with whom she formed card parties, and spent her evenings; while I was sent to what was called a very good school, and learnt every thing that was taught in it; and when I say this, my dear friends, perhaps you will not imagine it was much more than was good. I learnt from the masters who attended those accomplishments which are regularly introduced into schools; from the governess, all that feigned politeness, which teaches us to appear glad to see a person when we are not so; to tell them they look well, when their appearance is just the contrary; to acknowledge obligations where I felt none; and even to tell untruths rather than be uncivil, or say what would make my hearers think I wanted politeness. I learnt from the rest of the ladies, and some of the teachers, how to deceive our governess, and to make her think we had learnt our lessons when we had not; and these instructions, I am sorry to say, came very easy to me, though those from my masters were hard.

"Yet I often wished myself at the farm again, or at Rosewood, where I had nobody I desired to deceive, and scarcely knew what deceit was; but it was not required there, while here it was in daily requisition: for I had always some fault of my schoolfellows, if not of my own, to hide; and though from them I learnt to laugh at my aunt's finical ways, as they used to call them, I was obliged to put on all the courtesy and feigned politeness my governess taught me, whenever she came to see me.

"My father could never be brought to visit me in London, for he said he hated the smoke of it, and would by no means put himself in sight of a ladies' boarding-school, who would laugh at the manners of a fox-hunter, and teach his daughter to despise him. But when in the summer vacations I accompanied my aunt into Leicestershire, he would visit us for a day or two, and was evidently pleased when my aunt told him I was wonderfully improved, and knew as much as any young lady of my age. 'Well, well, I am no judge,' said he, 'but I hope she will make a good woman, and not disgrace her mother's memory. Ah! she was a woman, Lady Meridith, which is not to be met with in these days.'

"'But have you forgot your old friends, the Campbells?' said he to me.

"'No, indeed, papa,' I replied, their kindness rushing on my mind, 'and I hope I never shall;' and my inquiries were renewed after them and their family, without dissimulation.

"He told me that your father and mother were grown very old, and that you and Edward were nice boys, with every promise of making as good men as your father was. From my pocket allowance I was enabled to send my good old nurse some token of my remembrance, as my father said he would not wish me to forget either her or her children.

"'They will be her tenants by and bye,' said he to my aunt, 'and then what sort of figure will she make if she has forgotten them?'

"I was then about eleven years old, and I remained at this school till I was fifteen. My father died, as you know, very suddenly, and I was not apprized of his illness till he was no longer in this world. I was then thirteen, and was at first very much hurt, as his strong attachment to me, though singularly expressed, had never suffered him to see a fault in any thing I said or did; and I was sure to meet with indulgence from him, whenever I needed it. He appeared to have been doubly kind to me after I had lost him, but the new mourning I now appeared in, and the increased consequence I gained in the school, and with my aunt, on being the heiress of Rosewood and Coombdale, both my father's estates, made me soon forget it; and in two years afterwards I left the school highly accomplished, as my aunt's flattering friends told her (in my hearing), both in mind and person; and my vanity led me to think they told her true, though from the many lessons I had taken of dissimulation, I ought to have known the value of their commendations.

"I was now to be introduced to the world, but who was to introduce me was the question. My aunt was too old, and devoted to the card-table and her little coterie, to attend me to balls, routs, and dinner parties. Sir Robert had now given up even the appearance of civility to his wife, and lived in a distant county with another woman: but there was the widow of a brother of Sir Robert's, whom I had occasionally visited with my aunt, whose circle of acquaintance was much larger, and very different from hers. My aunt went round to about a dozen houses, while Mrs. Meridith visited all who lived at the west end of the town, and was intimate with but a very few: to her therefore I was consigned to see the world, which, in the meaning they attach to it, is to dance at several balls, dine at different houses, yet mostly meet the same company; and be able to speak of the merits and demerits of the principal performers at both theatres, and at the opera house; yet in this I was to be careful not to deviate from the general opinion, lest I should be called singular, and positively to know nothing. A few noblemen's ladies, or their titled daughters, might venture to differ in their likes and dislikes; but such an avowal would not do for me, who was only a commoner."

Mr. Campbell smiled at these distinctions, and began to hope the recital of their friend would not cost her all the anguish he had apprehended, since she could so cheerfully speak of her introduction to them.

Anna laughed, and said, "I hope I shall never be introduced to the world, for I should make a terrible figure in it; I have never been to boarding-school, you know, Mamma."

"True, my dear," returned Mrs. Meridith, "but the lessons you allude to are easily learnt without going there. I found them daily practised in the society I was in, and yet Mrs. Meridith was what was called an amiable woman, and, for so young a widow, remarkably strict in her conduct. She had one son, whom I had not yet seen, as he was then at college; but after I was so much at his mother's (for the evening parties to which I constantly accompanied her were so much later than my aunt's, that she allowed me to take up my residence there when we were in town,) he came home at the vacations, and I was introduced to him; and this Mr. Meridith, you will readily suppose, was afterwards my husband. But as my marriage will lead me into far different scenes, I shall, if you please, defer them till some other evening. You must be as tired of hearing as I am of relating those circumstances which,—however new they may be to you, are old and stale to me; and I am sick of what is called a knowledge of the world."

"And so, dear Madam, should I," replied Mr. Campbell; "but I cannot help acknowledging that we have too much of it in our little village, though in a humbler way. Human nature is the same every where, and a deceitful heart the characteristic which the word of God has given to man; we need not, therefore, go to London, or the great world, to find it out, unless our eyes are shut to what is going on within ourselves."

Supper was then ordered, and Mr. Campbell with great pleasure told Mrs. Meridith the alteration her last conversation with farmer Ward had made in his conduct towards himself.

"He has told me all," said he, "and with that ingenuousness, which I fear is not to be met with in the circles you have described to us, acknowledged himself wrong."

"In that respect," said Mrs. Meridith, "people belonging to less polished society have the advantage, for they are not ashamed to own themselves mistaken when they really feel they are so; while more polite ones never will."

[CHAPTER VIII.]