LETTER XXXIII.

ED. OTWAY, ESQ. TO REV. MR. OLIPHANT.

_Marsden._

My dear and excellent Friend,

I begin my letter with news which, if it convey to you in any proportion the pleasure which its announcement imparts to me, may well be called cheering intelligence. From the time that General Douglas heard of our late rector’s illness, he was anxious to procure the succession of that parish, in which Glenalta stands, for you; but doubtful of his power to accomplish the end in view, he begged that you might not be informed of his design. Last night’s post put us in possession at the same moment of the papers which mention Mr. Green’s death, and a letter stating the agreeable information that all difficulties in the way to your preferment are smoothed by the general’s promise to provide for a young person, by the gift of a small living, of which he has the advowson, in this country. The joy of this little circle is quite vociferous. Your young friends have not slept, I believe, since the glad tidings were communicated; and would gladly resign the happiness of travelling into new scenes, for the gratification of helping to make the bonfires which they think will redden the horizon in token of good will upon the present occasion. I heard Fanny telling her brother this morning that she had no doubt St. John’s Eve never presented such a blaze upon the Beacon Hill, as your appointment will kindle. This is a bold prophecy, but she stakes her credit on the justness of her prediction.

Now, my dear Oliphant, I have a request to make, which you will not refuse. The glebe house wants a library to make it comfortable. I enclose you a draught for £500, and desire that, by the time of my return, I may find you in possession of a room in which you can write your sermons, and pore over your _Elzevirs_ in all the quiet of abstraction from household cares. Poor Mrs. Green and her children will be desirous to leave their present abode, I dare say; and you will oblige me by requesting them, in my name, to make use of Lisfarne, as an asylum, while it may suit their convenience. When they have evacuated your new premises, desire Barnes, my steward, to send trees, shrubs, and plants, of whatever kind you may want, to furnish your garden and shrubbery.

And now I must tell you an anecdote of your friend Frederick, which will delight your heart. His uncle, who wins hourly upon our affections, alarmed us a few days ago by a fainting fit, which seemed to threaten sudden dissolution, but before the arrival of a physician, for whom we sent to the next town, his sister’s skill had brought him back to life, and his eyes opened on a group of such tender and genuine mourners, as must have gratified the best feelings of his breast. For a day or two Dr. Pancras looked grave, and paused in giving his opinion; but the dear general has rallied considerably, and wishes to hasten his departure.

On Tuesday evening Mr. Peltry, the solicitor, reached Marsden from town, bringing with him the title deeds of this place, and some other papers of consequence. On the following day, after breakfast, my valued friend sent for me to his study, desiring that Frederick should join us immediately. As soon as we were together he took his nephew by the hand and said, “My dear boy, I have sent to London for the gentleman who arrived last night, in order that I may legally dispose of my property, and provide for some who are dear to me before ‘I go hence, and am no more seen.’ I intend Marsden for you, and wish that this kind guardian (turning his eyes upon me), who has aided your beloved mother in the task which she has so admirably performed, should be witness to my purposes. There is but one condition which I desire to propose in leaving Marsden to you. It is that you should all live here during the next five years, or till the marriage of your sisters may naturally occasion a dispersion of the family. After this trial, which will be of sufficient length to ascertain the _wishes_ of each individual, if you should prefer Ireland to England, you are at liberty to bring this place to the hammer. I bought it myself; it is no hereditary possession. I shall soon leave it, and should inflict rather than confer a kindness were I to impose a restriction on your inclinations that might have the effect of converting what I mean to be a benefit into a burthen.”

Frederick, whose face had expressed every variety and gradation of feeling which such an address was calculated to inspire in a breast which is the abode of all that is most noble, and most tenderly affectionate, could restrain his emotion no longer. He pressed his uncle’s pale hand to his lips with ardour, and bathed it with tears of honest grief and affection. My poor friend was deeply agitated, which his nephew perceiving, he struggled with his own feelings to avoid exciting those of the invalid; and, making an effort, thanked his benefactor with that warm yet dignified expression of countenance and manner, which, while it bespoke the vividness of gratitude, betrayed no symptom whatsoever of joy in the mere acquisition of fortune.

“Now then, we will call in Mr. Peltry, and you may go, my dear Frederick,” said the general.

“Oh not yet,” replied the generous youth. “Do not banish me for a little while; I have an earnest request to make, and only hesitate lest you, my dear uncle, should think me for a moment, either ungrateful or presumptuous.”

“I cannot think you either,” answered General Douglas; “proceed, tell me what you would have, and if I can, I will indulge you.”

“Forgive me then,” said Frederick, “if I speak all that is on my heart. I say nothing to deter you from making a final disposition of your property, because every man must feel a weight of anxiety taken from his mind when he has performed an act by which he provides for the future interest of those who are dear to him. Such an act, far from shortening his days, is likely to prolong them, by removing a painful pressure from his mind; and therefore I shall have pleasure in thinking that this deed is done, as well as in being thought worthy of mention in it. But, dearest uncle, a slight remembrance in point of vulgar estimation may be rendered supremely valuable by the manner of bestowing it, and should I survive you, any mark of your affection will be preserved with love and veneration while I live. May I then, without dread of offending, by the appearance of dictating to your better judgment, suggest Arthur Howard as a fitter representative of your fortune than I am. He is a noble fellow; and by the disinterestedness of his conduct, likely to be reduced from high expectations to almost abject poverty. He is at this moment raising money to keep his brother-in-law, Lord Crayton, out of jail, and prevent the effects of such event upon his mother’s shattered nerves. I, on the contrary, have been educated with the view to improving my patrimony by professional labour, the idea of which is not at all displeasing to me; and I frankly own that the love of my native soil is so strongly impressed upon my heart, that little Glenalta has greater charms for me than a ducal residence in any other place could possess.”

Frederick sat on the sofa by his uncle, and held his hand while he spoke. When he paused, the general clasped him round the neck, and concealing his tears, which were flowing fast, by leaning his head on his nephew’s shoulder, he exclaimed, “There I recognize the son of Henry Douglas! Yes, Frederick, you are worthy of the father and the mother from whom you spring. Your fine disposition shall be indulged, though not in exactly the manner which you suggest. _You_ shall be lord of Marsden: but I promise you to take care of Arthur by leaving him such a sum, as shall free his estate from a portion, at least, of its incumbrances; and now, dear boy, leave me; I must not lose time, and I am anxious to see Mr. Peltry. Say nothing, I charge you, of this conversation to your mother and sisters, I know them too well not to be assured that the recital of what has passed between us, would give them pain, and I wish to spare them every uneasiness in my power to prevent them from suffering.”

Your young friend then left the room, the solicitor was sent for, and such testamentary arrangements were made by this interesting being, who has just come to make us feel the full value of what we are about to lose, as reflect the highest honour on his justice and impartiality.

We shall soon set out, and I feel a mournful presentiment that we shall return to England a diminished number. The progress of my poor friend’s disease is very slow, and imperceptible, and he has intervals of apparent improvement, so encouraging to our hopes, that had experience not frequently proved how delusive are these temporary amendments, we should be led from time to time to increase the measure of disappointment by giving way to fallacious expectations.

I am summoned to attend him in an airing, and must say adieu.

Your faithful friend,

ED. OTWAY.