“But thou who, mindful of the unhonored dead, Dost in these lines their artless tale relate,
If chance, by lonely contemplation led,
Some kindred spirit should lament thy fate,
Haply some hoary headed swain may say,
Oft have I seen him at the peep of dawn,
Brushing with hasty steps the dews away,
To meet the sun upon the upland lawn.”
“I left Enniskillen,” said Oscar, “in the utmost distress of mind, for I left it with the idea that I might no more behold Adela. Yet, dear and precious as was her sight to my soul, I rejoiced she had not accompanied the regiment, since to have beheld her but as the wife of Belgrave would have been insupportable. Had the disappointment of my passion been occasioned by its not meeting a return, pride would have assisted me to conquer it; but to know it was tenderly returned, at once cherished and, if possible, increased it. The idea of the happiness I might have attained, rendered me insensible of any that I might still have enjoyed. I performed the duties of my situation mechanically, and shunned society as much as possible, unable to bear the raillery of my gay companions on my melancholy.
“The summer you came to Ireland the regiment removed to Bray, whose romantic situation allowed me to enjoy many delightful and solitary rambles. It was there a man enlisted, whose manner and appearance were for many days subjects of surprise and conversation to us all. From both, it was obvious he had been accustomed to one of the superior situations in life. A form more strikingly elegant I never beheld. The officers made many attempts to try and discover who he really was; but he evaded all their inquiries, yet with the utmost agitation. What rendered him, if possible, more interesting, was his being accompanied by a young and lovely woman, who, like him, appeared sunk beneath her original state; but to their present one both conformed, if not with cheerfulness, at least with resignation.
“Mary obtained work from almost all the officers; Henry was diligent in his duties; and both were universally admired and respected. Often, in my lonely rambles, have I surprised this unfortunate pair, who, it was evident, like me, sought solitude for the indulgence of sorrow, weeping together as if over[Pg 516] the remembrance of happier hours. Often have I beheld them gazing with mingled agony and tenderness on the infant which Mary nursed, as if shuddering at the idea of its destiny.
“The loveliness of Mary was too striking not to attract the notice of Belgrave; and from her situation he flattered himself she would be an easy prey. He was, however, mistaken. She repulsed his overtures with equal abhorrence and indignation. She wished to conceal them from her husband, but he heard of them through the means of his fellow-soldiers, who had several times seen the colonel following his wife. It was then he really felt the bitterness of a servile situation. Of his wife he had no doubt; she had already given him a convincing proof of constancy, but he dreaded the insults she might receive from the colonel. The united vigilance of both prevented, however, for some time, a repetition of those insults. Exasperated by their vigilance, the colonel at last concerted one of the most diabolical plans which could have entered into the heart of man. A party of soldiers were ordered to the sea-side to watch there for smuggled goods. Henry was named to be of the party, but when the soldiers were drawn out he was not to be found. Belgrave’s servant, the vile agent of his master, had informed him that the colonel meant to take advantage of his absence, and visit his wife. He trembled for her safety, resolved to run every risk, sooner than leave her unguarded, and accordingly absconded till the departure of the party. The consequence of this was, that on his reappearance he was put under an arrest for disobedience of orders, tried the next day, and sentenced to be flogged on the following one. The very officers that passed the sentence regretted it, but the strictness of military discipline rendered it unavoidable.
“I shall not attempt to describe the situation of the unhappy young couple; they felt for each other more than for themselves, and pride heightened the agonies of Henry.
“Pale, weeping, with a distracted air, Mary flew to my apartment, and, sinking at my feet, with uplifted hands besought me to interpose in favor of her husband. I raised the poor mourner from the ground, and assured her, yet with a sigh, from the fear of proving unsuccessful, that I would do all in my power to save him. I therefore hastened to the colonel, to ask for another that favor I should have disdained to desire for myself; but to serve this wretched couple, I felt I could almost humble myself to the earth.
“The colonel was on the parade; and, as if aware of my intention, appeared sedulous to avoid me. But I would not be[Pg 517] repulsed by this, and followed him, entreating his attention for a few minutes. ‘Dispatch your business then in haste, sir,’ said he, with an unusual haughtiness. ‘I shall, sir,’ cried I, endeavoring to repress the indignation his manner excited, ‘and I also hope with success.’ ‘What is your business, sir?’ demanded he. ‘’Tis the business of humanity,’ I replied, ‘and ’tis only for others I could ask a favor.’
“I then proceeded to mention it. Rage and malice inflamed his countenance as I spoke. ‘Never,’ exclaimed he, ‘shall the wretch receive pardon from me; and I am astonished at your presumption in asking it.’ ‘Yet not half so astonished,’ replied I, ‘as I am at your obduracy. Though, why do I say so? from your past actions, I should not be surprised at any act you may commit.’
“His passion grew almost to frenzy; he asked me if I knew whom I was addressing. ‘Too well,’ I replied; ‘I know I am addressing one of the completest villains upon earth.’
“He raised a small rattan he held, at these words, in a threatening manner. I could no longer oppose my indignation. I rushed upon him, wrested it from his hand, broke it, and flung it over his head. ‘Now,’ cried I, laying my hand upon my sword, ‘I am ready to give you the satisfaction you may desire for my words—words whose truth I will uphold with my life.’ ‘No,’ said he, with the coolness of deliberate malice; ‘’tis a far different satisfaction I shall expect to receive. Some of the officers had by this time gathered round us, and attempted to interfere, but he commanded their silence in a haughty manner, and ordered me under an immediate arrest. My fate I then knew decided, but I resolved to bear that fate with fortitude, nor let him triumph in every respect over me. I was confined to my room, and Henry the next morning was brought forth to receive his punishment. I will not, my sister, pain your gentle heart by describing to you, as it was described to me by an officer, his parting from his wife. Pride, indignation, tenderness, and pity, were struggling in his heart, and visible in his countenance. He attempted to assume composure, but when he reached the destined spot, he could no longer control his feelings. The idea of being exposed, disgraced, was too much for his noble soul. The paleness of his face increased. He tottered, fell into the arms of a soldier, and expired groaning forth the name of Mary. Four days after this melancholy event a court-martial was held on me, when, as I expected, I was broken for contempt to my superior officer. I[Pg 518] retired to a solitary inn near Bray, in a state of mind which baffles description, destitute of friends and fortune. I felt in that moment as if I had no business in the world. I was followed to the inn by a young lieutenant with whom I had been on an intimate footing. The grief he expressed at my situation roused me from almost a stupefaction that was stealing on me. The voice of friendship will penetrate the deepest gloom, and I felt my sorrows gradually allayed by it. He asked me had I fixed on any plan for myself. I replied I had not, for it was vain to fix on plans when there were no friends to support them. He took my hand and told me I was mistaken. In a few days he trusted to procure me letters to a gentleman in London who had considerable possessions in the West Indies, if such a thing was agreeable to me. It was just what I wished for, and I thanked him with the sincerest gratitude.
“In the evening I received a message from the unfortunate Mary, requesting to see me directly. The soldier who brought it said she was dying. I hastened to her. She was in bed, and supported by a soldier’s wife. The declining sunbeams stole into the apartment, and shed a kind of solemn glory around her. The beauty that had caused her misfortunes was faded, but she looked more interesting than when adorned with that bloom of beauty. Sighs and tears impeded her words for some minutes after I approached her. At last, in a faint voice she said, ‘I sent for you, sir, because I knew your goodness, your benevolence would excuse the liberty. I knew you would think that no trouble which could soothe the last sad moments of a wretched woman.’
“She then proceeded to inform me of the motives which made her send—namely, to convey her infant to her father, a person of fortune in Dublin, and to see her remains, ere I did so, laid by those of her husband. Her unfortunate Henry, she added, had been son to a respectable merchant. Their families were intimate, and an attachment which commenced at an early period between them was encouraged. Henry’s father experienced a sudden reverse of fortune, and hers, in consequence of it, forbade their ever thinking more of each other; but they could not obey his commands, and married clandestinely, thus forfeiting the favor of all their friends, as Henry’s thought he wanted spirit, and hers deemed her deficient in respect to her father. They were therefore compelled by necessity to a state of life infinitely beneath them. ‘But in my grave,’ continued she, ‘I trust my father will bury all his resentment, and protect this little orphan.’
[Pg 519]
“I promised a religious observance to her commands, and she expired in about an hour after I quitted her. Mournful were the tasks she enjoined me. I attended her remains to the grave, and then conveyed her child to Dublin.
“Startled, amazed, distressed, her father too late regretted his rigor, and received her infant to his arms with floods of repentant tears.
“I now procured my recommendatory letters, and sailed for England, having first written farewell ones to my father and Mrs. Marlowe, in which I informed both I was about quitting the kingdom. As soon as I had procured cheap lodgings in London, I repaired to the gentleman to whom I was recommended; but conceive my consternation when I heard he was himself gone to the West Indies. I turned into a coffee-house, with an intention of communicating this intelligence to my friend. While the waiter was getting me materials for writing, I took up a newspaper, and cast my eyes carelessly over it. Oh! my Amanda, what was the shock of that moment, when I read my father’s death: grief for him, anxiety for you, both assailed my heart too powerfu............