Legends of Lancashire 23

Legends of Lancashire 23

“It is beyond my comprehension, Alice. I have no desire to be a

literary lady, to nib my quill for poetry, and glancing up to the

ceiling for inspiration, commence to abuse the innocence of paper;

indeed, I am not certain whether my patience would extend to the

act of counting my fingers, through the length and breadth of a

sonnet.”

 

“Ah, Katharine,” returned Alice, with an attempt at mock pathos,

“you are insensible of the pleasures which a young lady feels when

engaged in literary pursuits. The pen in her hand, is the fair

fan with which she cools the fervid glow of her imagination and

affections. How interesting she appears when she has the requisite

strength of mind to banish toys, silks, and dresses, and introduce

on her dressing table nothing but long rolls of manuscript! She

dreams not of soft whispers, sweet glances, and handsome lovers;

but of that nice ode, that sublime epic, or the passionate drama,

which she made yesterday. She rises to stare at the sun, frighten

the flowers, and overflow the very Thames with ink, on paper. Or

should she be an astronomer, how becoming for a young lady to use a

telescope, instead of a quizzing glass!”

 

She then searched the desk, and discovering some rude drafts of

verses, addressed to “a lady,” inquired of Katharine whether

she had yet obtained a fair copy of them. For a time she was as

mischievous as usual; but all her sport was evidently feigned. In

the midst of it, at length, she became silent, and snatching up

a light, hurried to the clock, and instantly returned pale and

breathless.

 

“Katharine!” she exclaimed, while she grasped her hands, “it is

but a few minutes from midnight! He has become a traitor to his

home and his country. I have stopped the clock, that whenever

he returns, it may not disgrace him. Near midnight, and he

absent,--and at such a time, when all our fears are excited by

rebellion!”

 

Her companion, who was, naturally, of a firmer and more heroic

cast of mind, attempted to console her, although she needed one to

perform the same kindly office for herself.

 

“Nay, dear Alice, your brother is loyal.”

 

“Is that loyal?” she returned with a shriek, as her eye glanced

over some of her brother’s papers, where the Pretender’s name

was mentioned in glowing terms of admiration. “I knew it. James

has long admired Prince Charles Edward, and frequently, when no

subjects but those nearest to our hearts have been introduced, he

has spoken so feelingly of the royal youth’s exile in France. When

the news of his landing in Scotland reached us, an involuntary

exclamation escaped James, and he prayed for his safety, aye,

even for his success. Nay, I cannot divine any other motive for

his absence from the University, than to obtain leisure to watch

the progress of the Prince, and, at a fitting time, to join his

standard. But hush, let us be cheerful, for I hear my father’s

footsteps, and he is impatient at my brother’s absence.”

 

The old man entered. Katharine Norton rose to meet him, and he

addressed her kindly, as was his wont. But the smoothness of his

manner soon disappeared. In person, Dr. Dawson was tall and thin,

though very much bowed down by age, but now his form became erect.

He had a lofty forehead, on which a few white locks were sprinkled.

His hands were palsied, but now, by the strength of his feelings,

they were nerved, and he stood forth, firm and collected. He had

dark eyes, which had not lost the fire of his youth; and which

seemed to become brighter and brighter, by looking at his gold.

He was not altogether a miser, for he, as we have already stated,

loved his children occasionally, and even displayed bursts of

tenderness and affection; but his idols must be of gold, as well

as of flesh and blood. Ever since he was married, pretty fingers

must have gold rings, before he could admire them, and in his

profession, he had often been prevented from feeling the pulse for

some time, so much absorbed was his attention by the diamonds which

glittered.

 

After addressing Katharine, he turned to his daughter, “Alice,

where is your brother, has he not returned yet? I must wait for

him, considerate youth, although these aged limbs should long ere

now, have been reposing on my couch! I have no staff but this cane,

and money bought it. Money can do any thing but make children

obedient, except to close a parent’s eyes, and that they gladly

attend to. Come, affectionate youth, and see me die!” and he

laughed hysterically, in scorn and anger.

 

The two ladies supported and caressed him fondly, compelled him to

sit down, and almost smothered him with kisses. The old man could

not forbear smiling. “Ah, innocents, you would sooner heap them on

my son.”

 

“Nay, dear father,” returned Alice, in a merry tone, “a different

treatment from us awaits him, when he arrives.”

 

Her father heard her not, for he had relapsed once more into a fit

of passion, and he walked across the room, stamping violently.

 

“And I must totter on my cane, at my kind son’s inclination, and he

must dance so merrily, to give me pain. Oh! how fondly he is now

speaking to his fair partner, and doubtless requesting her not to

allow herself to be too much fatigued. He takes her to a recess,

lest she be weary with the dance; but his poor old father must

watch for him all the night. It matters not how weary I be. No, no,

I do my son wrong, great wrong. He wishes me to be at rest,--in

my grave. How kind! Nay, daughter, speak not in his favour. Hark

to the sounds of revelry around him. Sweet they are to his ears,

almost as sweet as my dying words.”

 

He looked around the room as minutely as if he had anticipated

conspirators and ruffians to start forth, at his son’s commission,

and take his life. He examined the desk, as if he expected to

discover poison purchased for him. He trembled as he took out a

brace of pistols, and scarcely dared to ascertain whether they were

charged or not. He dusted the books in the library, and glanced

over many of the title-pages, as if he were certain to lay hold of

a treatise on the duty and necessity of parricide. He would not

allow the ladies to speak, but he harshly interrupted them. They

seemed to be like thoughts in his own mind, which were unwelcome,

and which, therefore, he had the power and the right of forbidding

and preventing.

 

“If he should not return,” he muttered as he paced more calmly

across the room, “my executors will not be troubled with his name

in the will, and this may ease the dog of a good bone; yes, very

prudent of the young man to stay from home, very.”

 

“Father!” exclaimed Alice.

 

“Father me not,” he returned furiously, “or mock me with the name

but a little longer. Oh--” and tears flowed down his cheeks as he

went to the door, “no dreams of gold to night, no money bags; a

halter around my son’s neck, and that son a rebel!”

 

“Father, weep not. All shall yet be well with James. I cannot

endure these tears, you once told me that you had not one; that

although your hopes were gone for ever, you had not a tear to give

them; that you had not mourning apparel to attend them to their

grave!”

 

He harshly repulsed her, and retired to his own apartment.

 

The hour of midnight was now chiming. The drum and music had ceased

for a few minutes, and the town clocks were distinctly heard; but

instantly, upon the stroke, the revelry in the streets commenced

afresh, and the mob became still more noisy than before. The light

of torches glared in upon them, and for a moment they hid their

faces from it, as from something unpleasant and unwelcome. Alice

started up, and proposed that she should lead her companion to

their room for the night, where she promised soon to join her.

Katharine consented, although her fears were so much excited, that

she knew sleep to be hopeless and impossible. As Alice returned,

she wrapped herself closely in a cloak, and was descending to the

door, when she listened at that of her father’s room, and hearing

no noise or motion, entered. She beheld him asleep on the sofa,

and his breathing was difficult. A table was drawn to his side,

and on it lay a portrait of his son, in the character of Hamlet;

taken when he bore a prominent part in the histrionic displays of

the University. It was in the scene when the Prince of Denmark has

become thoroughly convinced that his uncle is the murderer of the

former king, and when he glories in the idea, that by the players

he has forced conviction into the villain’s heart, and when his

mother appears to charge him with his conduct towards that uncle.

Her words were written (and the ink was not yet dry) beneath the

portrait, “Hamlet, you have your father much offended,” and old

Dawson’s shrivelled and white hand was placed pointing to them.

This proof of affection, revenge, and imbecility, all mingled

together, overcame Alice. For a moment she sunk down upon the couch

beside her father, and gently kissed him. She then removed the cane

from his grasp, and covered his venerable head. He started up in

his dreams, but his eyes were shut.

 

“My son! oh! will none save him. None? Take my gold--yes all of it.

It will forge chains as heavy and as long, as these dismal iron

ones, which now bind his tender limbs; aye the body which my own

Helen gave me, is shackled. Take my gold, there is the key to my

chests, ransack them, and sell me. The gold will make a chamber as

large as that horrible cell! Oh! will none save my beautiful boy?”

 

“I will, I will,” exclaimed his daughter, and she rushed out of

the room. She summoned her own waiting maid, to watch over the

old man, and then she herself, alone, unattended, left the house

to seek her brother through the crowd. The night was beautiful and

clear in the sky above, and its lights were brilliant, yet soft;

but the illuminations of the town, threw their glare over all

around, and completely shamed the stars. Not a breeze was felt,

but the wafting of the flames. As the lights in the windows were

now almost expiring, and pale faces were seen within, watching by

them,--to the imagination an ominous fate for the Pretender seemed

to be predicted. But bonfires were blazing in every street, and

figures were crowding around them, and rubbing their hands, and

dancing in extravagant mirth. The gleam of arms was reflected from

soldiers, mingling along with the mob. Crowds were perpetually

hurrying past, to behold and make other sights. Not a child, or a

woman was to be seen; but all were men, intoxicated and raging,

or moving on, more helpless than infants. This almost served to

frighten Alice, as she held her way through the midst of them,

coming into contact with the rude touch of daring strength, or the

feeble clutch of old age; yet none interrupted her, save to stare

upon her earnest countenance, so young, beautiful, and innocent.

Many even seemed disposed to join and escort her to the place of

her destination, wherever that might be. Some rather loud whispers

were heard, asserting that she must be a friend of the Pretender,

proceeding on the errand of blessing, and cheering him, on his

dangerous expedition. Still she moved on, apparently indifferent to

every thing which might otherwise have been annoying, when some one

gently took her by the hand. Suppressing a shriek she started back in terror. But it was a young female who had ventured upon such a liberty, and Alice immediately recognized the young and blind Prophetess of the vale, who said in a quick but low tone,--