Discipline. Mary Brunton

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СКАЧАТЬ vigour; and a few more, while I received her evening blessing.

      At length three days passed, in which I had not seen my mother. I was then summoned to her presence; and, full of the improvident rapture of childhood, I bounded gaily to her apartment. But all gladness fled, when my mother, folding me in her arms, burst into a feeble cry, followed by the big convulsive sob which her weakness was unable to repress. Many a time did she press her pale lips to every feature of my face; and often strove to speak, but found no utterance. An attendant, who was a stranger to me, now approached to remove me, saying, that my mother would injure herself. In the dread of being parted from her child, my fond parent found momentary strength; and, still clinging to me, hid her face on my shoulder, and became more composed. 'Ellen,' said she, in a feeble broken voice, 'lift up thy little hands, and pray that we may meet again.' Unconscious of her full meaning, I knelt down by her; and, resting my lifted hands upon her knees as I was wont to do while she taught me to utter my infant petitions, I said, 'Oh! let mamma see her dear Ellen again!' Once more she made me repeat my simple prayer; then, bending over me, she rested her locked hands upon my head, and the warmth of a last blessing burst into tremulous interrupted whispers. One only of these parting benedictions is imprinted on my mind. Wonder impressed it there at first; and, when nearly effaced by time, the impression was restored with force irresistible. These were the well-remembered words: 'Oh be kinder than her earthly parents, and show thyself a father, though it be in chastising.'

      Many a tender wish did she breathe, long since forgotten by her thoughtless child, till at last the accents of love were again lost in the thick struggling sobs of weakness. Again the attendant offered to remove me; and I, half-wearied with the sadness of the scene, was not unwilling to go. Yet I tried to soothe a sorrow which I could not comprehend, by promising that I would soon return. Once more, with the strength of agony, my mother pressed me to her bosom; then, turning away her head, she pushed me gently from her. I was led from her chamber – the door closed – I heard again the feeble melancholy cry, and her voice was silent to my ear for ever.

      The next day I pleaded in vain to see my mother. Another came, and every face looked mournfully busy. I saw not my father; but the few domestics who approached me, gazed sadly on my childish pastime, or uttered an expression of pity, and hurried away. Unhappily, I scarcely knew why, I remembered my resort in all my little distresses, and insisted upon being admitted to my mother. My attendant long endeavoured to evade compliance, and when she found me resolute, was forced to tell the melancholy truth. She had so often combated my wilfulness by deceit, that I listened without believing; yet, when I saw her serious countenance, something like alarm added to my impatience, and, bursting from her, I flew to my mother's chamber.

      The door which used to fly open at my signal was fastened, and no one answered my summons; but the key remained in the lock, and I soon procured admission. All seemed strangely altered since I saw it last. No trace appeared of my mother's presence. Here reigned the order and the stillness of desolation. The curtains were drawn back, and the bed arranged with more than wonted care: yet it seemed pressed by the semblance of a human form. I drew away the cover, and beheld my mother's face. I thought she slept; yet the stern quietness of her repose was painful to me. 'Wake, dear mamma,' I hastily cried, and wondered when the smile of love answered not my call. I reached my hand to touch her cheek, and started at its coldness; yet, still childishly incredulous of my loss, I sprang upon the bed, and threw my arm round her neck.

      A frightful shriek made me turn, and I beheld my attendant stretching her arms towards me, as if fearing to approach. Her looks of horror and alarm, – her incoherent expressions, – the motionless form before me, at last convinced me of the truth; and all the vulgar images of death and sepulture rushing on my mind, I burst into agonies of mingled grief and fear. To be carried hence by strangers, laid in the earth, shut out for ever from the light and from me! – I clung to the senseless clay, resolved, while I had life, to shield my dear mother from such a fate.

      My cries assembled the family, who attempted to withdraw me from the scene. In vain they endeavoured to persuade or to terrify me. I continued to hang on the bosom which had nourished me, and to mingle my cries of Mother! mother! with vows that I would never leave her, not though they should hide me with her in the earth. At last my father commanded the servants to remove me by force. In vain I struggled and shrieked in anguish. I was torn from her, – and the tie was severed for ever!

      CHAPTER II

      Such little wasps, and yet so full of spite;

      For bulk mere insects, yet in mischief strong.

Tate's Juvenal

      For some hours I was inconsolable; but at length tired nature befriended me, and I wept myself to sleep. The next morning, before I was sufficiently awake for recollection, I again, in a confused sense of pain, began my instinctive wailing. I was, however, somewhat comforted by the examination of my new jet ornaments; and the paroxysms of my grief thenceforth returned at lengthening intervals, and with abating force. Yet when I passed my mother's chamber-door, and remembered that all within was desolate, I would cast myself down at the threshold, and mix with shrieks of agony the oft-repeated cry of Mother! mother! Or, when I was summoned to the parlour, where no one now was concerned to promote my pastimes, or remove my difficulties, or grant my requests, – on the failure of some of my little projects, I would lean my head on her now vacant seat, and vent a quieter sorrow, till reproof swelled it into loud lamentation.

      These passing storms my father found to be very hostile to the calm which he had promised himself in a fortnight of decent seclusion from the cares of the counting-house. Besides, I became, in other respects, daily more troublesome. The only influence which could bend my stubborn will being now removed, he was hourly harassed with complaints of my refractory conduct. It was constantly, 'Sir, Miss Ellen won't go to bed,' – 'Sir, Miss Ellen won't get up,' – 'Sir, Miss Ellen won't have her hair combed,' – 'Sir, Miss Ellen won't learn her lesson.' My father having tried his authority some half-a-dozen times in vain, declared, not without reason, that the child was completely spoiled; so, by way of a summary cure for the evil, so far at least as it affected himself, he determined to send me to a fashionable boarding-school.

      In pursuance of this determination I was conveyed to – House, then one of the most polite seminaries of the metropolis, and committed to the tuition of Madame Duprè. My father, who did not pique himself on his acquaintance with the mysteries of education, gave no instructions in regard to mine, except that expense should not be spared on it; and he certainly never found reason to complain that this injunction was neglected. For my own part, I submitted, without opposition, to the change in my situation. The prospect of obtaining companions of my own age reconciled me to quitting the paternal roof, which I had of late found a melancholy abode.

      A school, – it has been observed so often, that we are all tired of the observation, – a school is an epitome of the world. I am not even sure that the bad passions are not more conspicuous in the baby commonwealth, than among the 'children of a larger growth;' since, in after-life, experience teaches some the policy of concealing their evil propensities; while others, in a course of virtuous effort, gain strength to subdue them. Be that as it may, I was scarcely domesticated in my new abode ere I began at once to indulge and to excite the most unamiable feelings of our nature.

      'What a charming companion Miss Percy will make for Lady Maria,' said one of the teachers to another who was sitting near her. 'Yes,' returned the other in a very audible whisper, 'and a lovely pair they are.' The first speaker, directing to me a disapproving look, lowered her voice, and answered something of which only the words 'not to be compared' reached my ear. The second, with seeming astonishment at the sentiments of her opponent, and a glance of complacency to me, permitted me to hear that the words 'animation,' 'sensibility,' 'intelligence,' formed part of her reply. The first drew up her head, giving her antagonist a disdainful smile; and the emphatical parts of her speech were, 'air of fashion,' 'delicacy,' 'mien of noble birth,' &c. &c. A comparison was next instituted aloud between the respective ages of Lady Maria and myself; and at this point of the controversy, СКАЧАТЬ