Page images
PDF
EPUB

and peaceful shades. But who shall enumerate the variety of lovely flowers which beautify these verdant solitudes ?-flowers of various tints and hues; and fitted for almost every climate, according to their situation on the southern bank or northern crag. These lovely pastures gradually rise from the depths of the valley up to the rocky summits of the snow-clad mountain.

At the moment when the carriage which conveyed Madame and her family entered the valley, the summits of the mountain exhibited a bright and rosy tint, which, contrasted with the dark shades at its base, presented a scene so glorious as to defy all description. Madame appeared cheerful; her spirits were raised by seeing herself again surrounded by her family; and the presence of Monsieur seemed to give her renewed pleasure. Monsieur was a botanist, and anticipated much pleasure in exploring the mountain; and Madame, though formerly fond of company and gaiety, was not without some taste for the beauties of nature. She was much pleased with the lovely scenes, which varied every moment as they advanced into the valley; and Antoinette, full of admiration which these attractive objects inspired, was not less happy than the rest of her companions. Eleanore was the only one who was not pleased. She did not like the tinge of solitude which every object exhibited. Eleanore could not live without gay excitement; and though there were many villages scattered over this district, yet the appearance of the houses did not excite the anticipation of much pleasure, or the lively amusement which she had found in the neighbourhood of the English cottage.

At length, Monsieur pointed out, with much glee, the gable ends of his old mansion, appearing from between two small groves of chestnut. The house was of stone; of old and heavy architecture; with a large stone porch projecting in front. The travellers had scarcely time to glance at this enlivening object, when it disappeared, owing to the winding of the road, for a considerable length of time; till, at length emerging from a shadowy lane of exquisite beauty, they suddenly found themselves in the paved court-yard of this old mansion, which was now converted into a farm-house.

A neat Swiss dame was ready to receive them, and to conduct Madame through the old hall to a large parlour, opening with folding-doors into a garden, where a collation of fruit, cream, cheese, and butter, was set forth on a rustic table.

Madame loved novelty, and the scene suited her; for the garden was fragrant with flowers, rich with fruit, and gay with bees. Beyond the high old wall which encompassed the garden, were the groves of chestnut before spoken of; and above and beyond these appeared the nearer parts of the mountain, exquisitely disposed in lights and shades, in upland and dingle, in lawn and woodland; and beyond, still beyond, arose the snowy peaks, now no longer glowing with a rosy hue, but of a brilliant and dazzling white. Madame was all rapture, and Monsieur full of talk; Antoinette was therefore glad to withdraw into silence; her newly taken up character of loquaciousness being as uncongenial to herself as it was now unnecessary.

After having partaken of the refreshment, and spent some time in conversation, the family adjourned to their apartments.

At the usual hour in the morning, Antoinette went to her mother, hoping to find that she had slept well; but what was her grief on perceiving that she was in tears, and that the high spirits of the day before had yielded to an excessive depression! "O, Antoinette!" said she, "I am unhappy; I have been thinking of you and Eleanore; I have been reflecting on all that was said to me in the convent; I have been blaming myself for marrying a heretic; I have been blaming myself for bringing up my children among heretics; and unless you, my child, my Antoinette, the daughter of my heart, unless you consent to renounce your heresies, I shall be miserable through life."

Antoinette had a small Bible in her hand, which she had brought with her, with the design of reading to her mother. She raised the book in her hand, and said, "Dear parent, we shall now have abundance of leisure; we will talk together every day in the beautiful environs of this place; we will sit down at the foot of the mountain, and I will read this holy book to you; and I will

promise you, that in whatever instance you shall be able to prove to me that any one of my opinions is contrary to Scripture, I will renounce that opinion; and we will pray together; pray that we may be guided into truth; and I doubt not but our prayers will be heard."

Madame seemed consoled by this proposal of her daughter, and consented to rise and go down to breakfast.

There is a restlessness frequently attendant on derangement of the head; a restlessness which proves a very severe trial to the afflicted person, and also to those with whom they associate. Madame had always been fond of novelty, and became soon weary of the same place, and of permanent employment. But this restlessness was now become excessive; so that she was never easy but when walking about, and being talked to, read to, or attended to, in some form or other; being in twenty moods in one day; sometimes laughing, sometimes crying, sometimes talking, sometimes silent, sometimes angry and irritable, and again pleased to excess with every thing.

Severe in the extreme was the trial to her daughters. And now was the time when the work of grace was to be proved. It was not the trial of an hour or a day, but of many weary hours and lingering days. It was a trial which Eleanore could not endure; she shrank from it, and confessed that it was a burden too intolerable to be borne. "My mother," she said, "is humoursome, she is whimsical, she is gloomy, she is self-indulgent; I do not think we ought to comply with her.”

"Her head is evidently injured by the accident,” said Antoinette; "she is not herself. Let us try to bear with her; or rather let us pray for help.”

Eleanore made no reply; and the burden of attention was thrown on Antoinette, excepting at those short intervals when Monsieur or the maid servant were enabled to relieve her.

And now let us attend this pious and lovely young woman through all her patient labours to serve and please an afflicted mother. Let us see her conducting her distressed and afflicted parent through all the beautiful environs of the farm-house in which they resided;

sometimes, when the weather suited, sitting down with her on the grass; then strolling with her through a shady lane, or by a mountain brook; sometimes leading her through the farm-yard, or dairy, or in any path her wayward fancy might direct her; talking to her, at times, in a lively strain, or telling her stories, or watching an opportunity to pray with her, or to read to her from the sacred Scriptures. Often would she take occasion, from some striking scenery of nature, to lead her thoughts to heaven; and to speak of the blessedness of that region where sorrow and sighing shall be no more, and where everlasting bliss will be enjoyed in the presence of the Redeemer.

The divinity, the character, the offices, the merits, and the death of the Redeemer, were the frequent subjects of this young woman's discourse; and when Madame alluded to the supposed merits of the saints, or any other popish error, Antoinette had always some little manœuvre to draw off her mother's attention from these matters; till, by the divine blessing, she had contrived to place the whole paraphernalia of popery so far in the back-ground, that Madame's mind was almost conducted to the simplicity of the Reformed Religion without being sensible of it; and the consequence of this was, that her mind was more calm, her opinions were more simple, her desires more heavenly, and her affections much refined; and all this was accomplished without her being conscious that she was no longer a Papist.

One morning, while Antoinette was congratulating herself upon this blissful change in the mind of her mother, Eleanore, on some slight occasion being given at breakfast, began to speak upon the subject of religion; touching on some of those points which had formerly been the cause of dispute between herself and her mother. Madame's cheek began to flush, and her eyes to express displeasure. Antoinette looked imploringly_at her sister; but Eleanore refused to take the hint. Madame grew angry-she spoke loudly-she trembled, and reverted to the unpleasant affairs which had taken place in the convent; adding, that the abbess had censured her justly when she condemned her for allowing heretics to educate her daughters.

Antoinette was exceedingly displeased; perhaps she had seldom, in the course of her life, felt herself so carried away by hasty feelings. She turned to her sister, and said, “Eleanore, by your entire neglect of our mother, for many weeks past, you have forfeited your right to address her any longer on religious subjects."

Eleanore, as might be expected, answered with warmth. But as she spoke, Antoinette had time to recollect herself; and, with true Christian grace and humility of spirit, she held out her hand to her sister, and begged her pardon; while, in a tone more worthy of her high and holy profession, she humbly entreated her, as a friend, henceforward to avoid religious disputes; and thus the contention ceased between the sisters. But not so the consequences of the imprudent remarks made by Eleanore; for she had revived by them so many painful remembrances in the breast of her mother, that the poor afflicted lady was again filled, for a length of time, with spiritual distress; and it was many days before Antoinette could be the means of restoring her to a composed state.

Now the spring arrived with all its attractions; and Antoinette was engaged in leading the parent she loved through the fair and pleasing scenes which surrounded them. Antoinette found perpetual objects of amusement for her dear parent; and discovered, with delight, that she was gradually recovering her cheerfulness; though, at the same time, she perceived more childishness and feebleness of intellect in the afflicted lady than she had remarked in the autumn.

It was in the month of April, when all nature was smiling around, that the family were surprised, one morning, while they were at breakfast, by the arrival of a young gentleman; who, entering the room, addressed Madame as his aunt, the two young ladies as his cousins, and Monsieur as an old friend.

This was no other than the eldest son of Madame Northington's brother, the Compte de J, the young Theodore de J- ; or, as he was termed, the Chevalier de J. He had been taking a tour in Italy, and, on his return, had left his travelling companions, that he might visit his relations in the valley of Anzasca.

« EelmineJätka »