CHAPTER II.

DOMESTIC DISTRESSES.

THE letter which was to decide the fate of Rosina Wellford was not written for some time. Mr. Wellford on the day following the discussion with his wife, had a feverish attack, of which he at first made light, but which became sufficiently serious to confine him to the house. On the second day of his illness, he grew so much worse that Mrs. Wellford was alarmed and sent for Mr. Good, who no sooner beheld his patient than he pronounced his fever to have been caught of Betty Wilson, and advised Mrs. Wellford to send her children instantly beyond the reach of infection, offering to receive them beneath his own roof. She thankfully accepted the proposal. Hannah, however, now about thirteen years of age, earnestly implored leave to remain as assistant nurse. She had been in her father's room, she said, the whole of the preceding day, had often held his fevered hand in hers and felt his breath on her cheek; therefore in all probability had either taken the infection already or was not liable to it. Mrs. Wellford consented, and the affectionate girl took her place at her father's bedside, held the cooling draught to his lips and pressed his burning forehead with her soft, cool hand. When, after a delirious night, he for a short time recovered his senses, he seemed uneasy at her presence, and asked why she was allowed to incur so much danger; but her gentle answer satisfied him, and he soon was again insensible to any thing that passed around him. Poor Mrs. Wellford, beholding the rapid progress of the disorder, was so bewildered by grief as to be scarcely capable of acting rationally; while Hannah, pale as death, but perfectly collected, moved to and fro with noiseless steps, fumigated the room, administered the medicines, and implicitly followed every direction which Mr. Good had given her mother in her hearing. It was strange and beautiful to see so young a girl made regardless of her own danger by intense affection, and preserving through the very intensity of that affection, the self-possession which enabled her to control her tears and perform every necessary office with the steadiness of an indifferent person. On the third day, Mr. Wellford breathed his last. He became sensible a short time before his decease, murmured blessings on his wife and daughter, and expired in their arms. Hannah, whom the

experience of a few days seemed to have matured into excellence, would now have abandoned herself to the wildest grief, had she not been awed into the restraint of her feelings by the speechless agony of her mother. All the simple arts of affection were used by her to rouse Mrs. Wellford from the stupor of despair; and when the unhappy widow at length burst into tears, Hannah found relief in sobbing on her bosom.

The loss of such a husband and father as Mr. Wellford, was irreparable: if sympathy could have healed the affliction of his family, their tears would soon have been wiped away, for every one loved and pitied them. It was soon neces

sary to leave the vicarage to make way for Mr. Wellford's successor; and as Mrs. Wellford had no wish to quit the neighbourhood, she took a large cottage in good repair on the skirts of Summerfield, the low rent of which was proportioned to her diminished means. It stood at the extremity of a pleasant lane in the valley behind the church, and was capable of being made a pretty residence under judicious direction. The grief and the bustle of moving being once over, every thing in their new home tended to subdue the sorrow of the widow and orphans to that tone of quiet regret which we would not, if we could, dismiss from our hearts after the loss of an estimable object. A few days after their establishment, the new vicar arrived, a Mr. Russell, whom every body was sure beforehand, they should dislike. This being the case, no wonder that many invidious comparisons were drawn, the first Sunday between him and Mr. Wellford. Mr. Greenway thought his sermon too flowery; Mr. Good too argumentative while Miss Margaret Holland pronounced it a quarter of an hour too long; and Farmer Holland declared nothing but curiosity had prevented his falling asleep. Phœbe Holland had some hopes of his proving a marrying man in more senses than one; and from deciding at the first glance that he was "at least thirty,-oh, certainly, thirty or more," she gradually made more and more allowance for a staid turn of countenance, and set him down for six or seven and twenty. His person was pleasing, his manners gentlemanly and quiet. Every one soon liked him " very well," except the young. Wellfords, and perhaps their mother.

CHAPTER III.

THE VICAR'S MENAGE.

WHEN Lady Worral heard that Mrs. Wellford had taken John Pearce's cottage at the end of the blackthorn lane, she remarked that she feared the poor woman would find her less neighbourly than formerly, for that the hill, though very easy to come down, was mighty hard for her to climb up again. Perhaps Mrs. Wellford might have already derived a momentary satisfaction from the idea that this would be the case, though we will not suppose her to have chosen an abode in the valley for the express purpose of freeing herself from an interfering patroness; and indeed fourteen years of intimacy had so habituated her to the old lady's ways that she was not so sensible in this instance, as many woman might have been, of "the gain of a loss."

Curiosity induced Lady Worral to brave the fatigue of the walk a few days after the widow's removal to the White Cottage, when she took occasion to find fault with the colour of the parlour walls, which she said might have been washed with a good buff at half the expense. Green indeed! There

was too much green every where round them already. Green hedges, green trees, green fields-one would think they had sore eyes; and to be sure Mrs. Wellford's did look rather blood-shot. Buff would have been cheaper, and twice as cheerful.

Her ladyship took leave with a threat that she should not be able to call again for some time. However the morning after Mr. Russell's first sermon, she could restrain herself no longer, and posted down the lane to her old friend and favourite.

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A very promising young man," said she, as soon as she recovered her breath, "is our new minister. He dined with me yesterday after service, which I never could prevail on Mr. Wellford to do, and extremely to the purpose was his conversation, I assure you. I have no doubt he will do an amazing deal of good, and I am sure there is enough need for it. John Barton, in particular, is as hardened a sinner as ever lived, and your poor husband was not half sharp enough upon him. I took the opportunity of letting Mr. Russell into the characters of a great many of the most incorrigible of his flock, and I am persuaded he will lose no time in act

ing upon the hints I threw out. Oh! I've ways and means of finding out a good deal that you would not give me credit for! The back window of my dressing-room, you know, commands a view of the White Hart, and I always make my Sally sit there at her work and tell me what idle fellows go in and out. There are some you would hardly suspect of drinking that pay pretty long visits there three and four times a week, squandering the money they ought to take home to their families! but I don't tell all I see to every body, only keep it hanging over their heads. How was it you weren't at church yesterday?"

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I could not make up my mind to the effort."

Why, you took courage the Sunday before. To be sure, now that Mr. Russell is settled among us for good, it will be a trial, the first time you see him in the pulpit. But as it must come, first or last, I should think the sooner you get over it the better. Do you know whether old Harrison is out of employ yet? Mr. Russell asked if I could recommend him a gardener, for he said he could not bear that a spot which bore the marks of feminine care should run to waste. I told him Mr. Wellford always managed his garden himself; but he said he had not a turn for hoeing and raking, and hardly knew a cabbage from a cauliflower: so then I recommended old Joe Harrison, and said if he had him twice a week, that would be quite enough. I asked him if he meant to marry, at which he laughed and said no, he was a confirmed old bachelor. I said that was lucky, for that unless he stuck up to you, who were too old, or your daughter, who was too young, there was no choice for him, except among the Hollands, who, between ourselves, are too flighty. Besides, who are they? Quite below him in birth, any way; so that really -ha, ha,-if he ever should take matrimony into his head, I think his best chance would be with you, and then you know you could all go back to the vicarage."

"Oh pray, pray, Lady Worral, if you have the smallest regard for my feelings, never"

"Well, well, I won't; I was only in joke, but I see you are not able to bear that yet; and, seriously speaking he is much too young for you, for I asked him his age, and he said six and twenty. He looks more, and so I told him.”

If Mr. Russell had been desirous of ingratiating himself with Mrs. Wellford, he might with reason have exclaimed, "Save me from my friends." Certainly with the most candid of dispositions, and every wish to do him justice, Mrs. Well

ford's dread of seeing him, and antipathy to the mention of his name, were doubly increased by Lady Worral's injudicious eulogiums, at the expense, as it were, of the dead; and more especially by her acknowledgment of having jokingly alluded to Mr. Russell of the possibility that the dead should ever be forgotten. The ensuing Sunday was looked forward to with pain: before it arrived, however, the new vicar thought proper to pay his respects at the White Cottage, and in spite of Mrs. Wellford's many prejudices against him, she felt her dislike thaw away under the influence of his mild, pleasing manners. He entered easily into conversation, spoke of their mutual friend Dr. Pennington, and of Stoke Barton rectory, which, it seemed, he had lately visited; praised the "bowery scenery" of Summerfield, then went on with English scenery in general, and compared it with that of Portugal, where he said he had spent the preceding winter with a beloved sister. Mrs. Wellford, noticing an expression of melancholy in his tone, inquired whether ill health had been the motive of the journey. 'Yes,” he said, "his sister had been in a decline, and a milder air had been recommended; but not even Cintra could save her. He was left alone in the world."

Mr. Russell then cleared his throat, and spoke of the noise, filth, and discomfort of Lisbon. There was nothing to make it desirable for an invalid, he observed, except the air. Were he in ill health, he should prefer taking his chance at home.

Abruptly quitting the subject, he noticed the pretty view of the church from the parlour window, and asked Hannah whether she did not think it would make a good sketch, and whether she drew. He then spoke of the lower order of his parishoners, and made several inquiries of Mrs. Wellford respecting their characters and wants. Mr. Russell had too much tact, to hint how sorry, he was sure, she must have been to have quitted the vicarage, but he expressed his delight at the beauty and neatness of his new residence, which he said he should have pride in preserving in its present tasteful order; offered to take Rosina on his knee, for which he was rewarded with a push, and asked Hannah for one of her clove pinks, which were finer than any in his own garden.

“I think, mamma," said Hannah timidly when their visitor was gone," Mr. Russell seems a person whom we shall learn to like in time. At first I was almost sorry, and, I am afraid, rather envious when I heard people praise him—it seemed as if they were robbing papa of his rights. But now I begin to feel that we should be thankful he has been succeeded

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