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Leader (1850-1860), 9th November 1850, Edition Town of 1, Page 788

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      Untitled Article

      SKETCHES FROM LIFE . By Harriet Mabtineau . I . —T HE OLD GOVERNESS . The afternoon was come when the Morells must go on board . They were going to Canada at last , after having talked about it for several years . There were so many children , that it was with much difficulty they had got on for some years past ; and there was no prospect for the lads at home . They had , with extreme difficulty , paid their way : and they had , to a certain extent , educated the children . That , however , was Miss Smith ' s doing . " We shall always feel , every one of us , " said Mrs . Morell , with tears , to the elderly homely governess , " that we are under the deepest obligations to you . But for you , the children would have grown up without any education at all . And , for the greatest service you or any one could possibly render us , we have never been able to give you your due , —even as regards the mere money . " " I can only say again , " replied the governess , "that you do not look at the whole of the case . You have given me a home , when it is no easy matter for such as I am to earn one , with my old-womanish ways and my oldfashioned knowledge . " " I will not hear any disparagement of your ways and your knowledge , " interrupted Mrs . Morell . "They have been everything to my children : and if you could have gone with us " This , however , they all knew to be out of the question . It was not only that Miss Smith was between fifty and sixty , too old to go so far , with little prospect of comfort at the end of the journeyj but she was at present disabled for much usefulness by the state of her right hand . It hud been hurt by an accident a long time before , and it did not ge * well . The surgeon had always said it would be a long case ; and she hud no use whatever of the hand in the meantime . Yet she would not part witli the baby till the last moment . She carried him on the left arm , and stood on the wharf with him —the mother at her side—till all the rest were on board , and Mr . Morell came for his wife . It was no grand steamer they were going in , but a humble vessel belonging to the port , which would carry them cheap . " Now , my love , " said the husband . " Now , Miss Smith , " taking the child from her . " Words cannot tell ... " And if words could have told , the tongue could not have uttered them . It was little , too , that his wife could say . " Write to us . Be sure you write . We shall write as soon as we arrive . Write to us . " Miss Smith glanced at the hand . She said only one word , " Farewell !" but she said it cheerfully . The steam-tug was in n hurry , and down the rivor they went . She had

      one more appointment to keep with them . She was to wave her hand "" kerchief from the rocks by the fort ; and the children were to let her try whether she could see their little handkerchiefs . So she walked quickly over the common to the fort , and sat down on the beach at the top of the rocks . It was very well that she had something to do . But the plan did not altogether answer . By the time the vessel crossed the bar it was nearly dark , and she was not quite sure , among three , which it was , and she did not suppose the children could see her handkerchief . She waved it , however , according to promise . How little they knew how wet it was !

      Then there was the walk home . It was familiar , yet very strange . When she was a child her parents used to bring her here , in the summer time , for sea air and bathing . The haven and the old grey bathing houses , and the fort , and the lighthouse , and the old priory ruins crowning the rocks , were all familiar to her ; but the port had so grown up that all else was strange . And how strange now was life to her ! Her parents gone , many years back , and her two sisters since ; and now the Morells ! She had never had any money to lose , and the retired way in which the Morells lived had prevented her knowing anybody out of their house . She had not a relation nor a friend , nor even an acquaintance , in England . The Morells had not been uneasy about her . They left her a little money , and had so high an opinion of her that they did not doubt her being abundantly employed , whenever her hand should get well . They had lived too much to themselves to know that her French , learned during the war , when nobody in England could pronounce French , would not do in these days , nor that her trilling , oldfashioned style of playing on the piano , which they thought so beautiful , would be laughed at now in any boarding school ; and that her elegant needleworks were quite out of fashion ; and that there were new ways of teaching even reading , spelling , and writing . She knew these things , and cautioned herself against discontent with the progress of society , because she happened to be left alone behind . She suspected , too , that the hand would not get well . The thing that she was most certain of was that she must not rack her brain with fears and speculations as to what was to become of her . Her business was to wait till she could find something to do , or learn what she was to suffer . She thought she had better wait here . There was no call to any other place . This was more familiar and more pleasant to her than any other —( the Morells' cottage being far away , and out of the question)—and here she could live with the utmost ]) ossible cheapness . So here she staid .

      The hand got well , as far as the pain was concerned , sooner than she had expected . But it was in a different way from what she had expected . It was left wholly useless . And , though the time was not long , it had wrought as time does . It had worn out her clothes ; it had emptied her little purse . It had carried away everything she had in the world but the very few clothes she had on . She had been verging towards the resolution she now took for three or four weeks . She took it finally while sitting on the bench near the fort . It was in the dusk ; for her gown , though she had done her best to mend it with her left hand , was in no condition to show by daylight . She was alone in the dusk , rather hungry and very cold . The sea was dashing surlily upon the rocks below , and there was too much mist to let any stars shine upon her . It was all dreary enough ; yet she was not very miserable , for her mind was made up . She had made up her mind to go into the workhouse the next day . While she was thinking calmly about it a fife began to play a sort of jig in the yard of the fort behind her . Her heart heaved to her throat ; and the tears gushed from her eyes . In this same spot , fifty years before , she had heard what seemed to her the same fife . Her father was then sitting on the grass , and she was between his knees , helping to tassel the tail of a little kite they were going to fly : and , when the merry fife had struck up , her father had snatched up her gay Harlequin that lay within reach , and made him shake his legs and arms to the music . She heard her own laugh again now , through that long course of fifty years , and in the midst of these tears . All that night she pondered her purpose : and the more she considered the more sure she was that it was right . " I might , " thought she , " maintained by charity , no doubt : I might call on any of the clergymen of this place , and the rich people . Or I might walk into the shops and tell my story , and I dare say the people would give me food and clothes . And , if it was a temporary distress , I would do so . 1 should think it right to ask for help , if I had any prospect of work or independence in any way . But I have none : and this , I am convinced , points out my duty . Hopeless cases likfj mine arc those which public charity—legal charity—is intended to meet . My father little dreamed of this , to be sure ; and the Morells little dream of it at this moment . But when do our parents and friends , when do we ourselves , dream of what our lot is really to turn out ? Those old notions have nothing to do , if we could but think so , with the event . Nor has my tMsgust anything to do with my duty . The plain fact is , that I am growing old , — that I am nearly helpless ,- —that 1 am cold nnd hungry , and nearly \ iaked , — that I have no friends within reach , and no prospect whatever . I f an , therefore , an object for public charity , and I will ask for what is my ' ' . jue . I am afraid of what I may find in the workhouse- ;—the vicious peor Je , the dirty people , the diseased people , —and , I suppose , not one among ? Jiem who can give me any companionship whatever . It is dreadful ; but it r an ' t be helped . And the worse ? the case is about my companions—my fellow- paupers —( for I must learn to bear the word)—the greater are the changes of my finding something to do for them ;—something which may prevei ' . t my feeling myself utterly useless in the world . This is not being who ' ily without prospect

      Untitled Article

      ACTION . " Act ! Act !"—fights . Pause not , nor ponder , To give thy doubts play ; Or sad will thy night be , And gloomy thy day : The sun will his power lose To gladden thy sight ; And dim , dark , and starless , Thy heaven at night . Each hour , as it passeth , New troubles will bring- ; And each lagging moment Behind leave a sting ; The earth , brightly smiling , "Will smile not for thee ; Her glory and beauty Thine eye will not see . But , up and be doing , — Work , work for thy kind , — The mist and the darkness Will pass from thy mind ; The day and its duty Will beam on thy sight ; And life and its beauty Become to thee bright . By action thy pathway With flowers will be strown ; And thou mayst walk gaily , Though -walking alone . Thy heart will be throbbing " With hope , love , and joy , Which dark days may shadow , But cannot destroy . Pause not , nor ponder , To give thy doubts play : Or sad will thy night be , And gloomy thy day ; But , up and be doing , — Work , -work for thy kind , — The mist and the darkness Will pass from thy mind ! rirmingham . John Alfived IjAnofoud .

      Untitled Article

      We should do our utmost to encourage the Beautiful , for the Useful encourages itself . — Goethe .

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      Untitled Article

      788 SijCtLea&I ?? , [ Saturday ,

  • Citation
    • Leader (1850-1860), Nov. 9, 1850, page 788, in the Nineteenth-Century Serials Edition (2008; 2018) ncse-os.kdl.kcl.ac.uk/periodicals/l/issues/vm2-ncseproduct1858/page/20/