Volume I Part 1 (2/2)
The reputation of her sister for talents rested on a basis much less extended; it would indeed have been a false concord to talk of her talents, for she had but one in the world. Untaught, and unconscious of the power nature had bestowed, she sang with the sweet shrillness of the lark, and had science been set to work upon her for six months, Silverton might have boasted one of the finest native voices in the kingdom.
Mrs. Compton was proud of both her daughters, and however difficult it might be to procure shoes and gloves out of an income of somewhat less than four hundred pounds a-year, the winter b.a.l.l.s of Silverton never opened till the Miss Comptons were ready to stand up.
Had she been a little less brutally cross to her poor husband, Mrs.
Compton would really at this time have been almost interesting from the persevering industry and ingenuity with which she converted the relics of her own maiden finery into fas.h.i.+onable dancing-dresses for her girls.
And on the whole the Miss Comptons were astonis.h.i.+ngly well-dressed; for, besides the above-mentioned h.o.a.rds, every article of the family consumption was made to contribute to the elegance of their appearance.
Brown sugar was subst.i.tuted for white at the morning and the evening meal; the butcher's bills were kept down wonderfully by feeding the family upon tripe twice a-week ... the home-brewed was lowered till the saving in malt for one year bought two glazed calico slips, four pair of long white gloves, and a bunch of carnations for Martha and of lilies for Sophia. Nothing, in short, was over-looked or forgotten that could be made to distil one drop of its value towards decorating the beauties of Silverton.
Few subjects have furnished more various or more beautiful images for the poet's pen than maternal fondness. From the heart-stirring fury of the dauntless lioness when her young ones are threatened, down to the patient hen red-breast as she sits abrood, lonely, fasting, and apart from all the joys of birdhood, awaiting the coming life of her loved nestlings ... in short, from one extremity of animal creation to the other, volumes of tender anecdotes have been collected ill.u.s.trative of this charming feature of female nature; and yet much still remains to be said of it. Where is the author who has devoted his power of looking into the human heart, to the task of describing the restless activity, the fond watchfulness, the unwearied industry of a proud, poor, tender mother, when labouring to dress her daughters for a ball? Who has told of the turnings, the dyings, the ironings, the darnings, that have gone to make misses of ten pounds a-year pin-money look as smart as the squanderer of five hundred? Yet such things are: the light of morning never steals into the eyes of mortals to spur them on again to deeds of greatness after nightly rest, without awaking many hundred mothers whose princ.i.p.al business in life is to st.i.tch, flounce, pucker, and embroider for their daughters!... All this is very beautiful!... I speak not of the st.i.tching, flouncing, puckering, and embroidering ... but of the devotion of the maternal hearts dedicated to it.... All this is very beautiful!... yet never has gifted hand been found to bring forth in delicate penciling, traits such as these with half the study that has been often bestowed on the painting a cobweb. This is unjust.
Great, however, as were Mrs. Compton's exertions for the establishment of her daughters by the ways and means above described, her maternal efforts were not confined to these: for their sakes she on one occasion armed herself for an enterprise which, notwithstanding the resolute tone of her character, cost her some struggles. This desperate undertaking, which was nothing less than the penetrating to the rarely-invaded retreat of Miss Betsy, for the purpose of asking her to give the girls a little money, was occasioned by a great event in the annals of Silverton.
The officers of the ---- regiment, a detachment of which had been quartered there for a twelvemonth, gallantly determined to give the neighbouring families a fete before they left the town, in return for the hospitalities they had received. I am writing of the year 1813, a period when the palmy days of country quarters still existed, and many may still remember the tender sensibilities excited by a departing regiment, and the gay hopes generated by an arriving one. Either of these events were well-calculated to chase the composure of spirits arising from the unbroken routine of ordinary existence, and it may easily be imagined that, upon an occasion where the effects of both were brought to act upon the hearts and souls of a set of provincial fair ones at the same moment, the emotions produced must have been of no ordinary nature.
Such was the case at the fete given by the first battalion of the ---- regiment on their leaving Silverton; for, as it chanced that they were to be replaced by the second battalion of the same corps, the compliment intended for the neighbourhood was so arranged as to be shared by the officers who were about to be introduced to it; and thus an immense ma.s.s of joys and sorrows, regrets and hopes, tears and smiles, all came into action at once; and volumes might be filled in the most interesting manner, solely in describing the states of mind produced in the most charming portion of the inhabitants of twenty-seven of the princ.i.p.al houses of Silverton and its vicinity.
”It was so quite unlike any other party that ever was given,” as Mrs.
Compton well observed, in talking over the matter with her daughters, ”that it was downright impossible not to make some difference in the way of preparing for it.”
”Different!... I believe it is different!” exclaimed Miss Martha; ”it is the first ball we ever showed ourselves at by daylight, and I should like to know how we, that always lead everything, are to present ourselves in broad suns.h.i.+ne with dyed pink muslin and tarnished silver?”
”You can't and you shan't,” replied her affectionate mother, ”if I sell the silver spoons and buy plated ones instead.... I will _not_ have my girls disgraced in the face of two regiments at once. But, upon my life, girls, money is not to be had for the asking; for truth it is, and no lie, that there is not above twenty pounds in the bank to last till Michaelmas, and the butcher has not been paid these five months. But don't look glum, Martha!... Shall I tell you what I have made up my mind to do?”
”Carry a plate round the mess-room, mamma, when they are all a.s.sembled, perhaps,” replied the lively young lady, ”and if you asked for aid for the sake of our bright eyes, it is likely enough you might get something; but if it is not that, what is it, mother?”
”Why, I will walk over to Compton Basett, Martha, and ask the ram's-horn, your aunt, for five pounds outright, and tell her into the bargain what it is for, and, stingy and skinflint as she is, I can't say that I shall be much surprised if she gives it; for she is as proud as she's ugly; and it won't be difficult to make her see, this time, that I am asking more for credit's sake than for pleasure.”
”Go, mother, by all means,” replied the young lady with a sneer, that seemed to indicate despair of any aid from Miss Betsy. ”All I know is, that she never gave me anything since I was born but a bible and prayer-book, and it don't strike me as very likely she'll begin now. Set off, however, by all manner of means, and if you come back empty-handed, I'll tell you what my scheme shall be.”
”Tell me now, Martha,” said the mother. ”It's no joke, I can tell you, striding over the hill this broiling day. I don't want to go for nothing, I promise you. Tell us your scheme, girl, at once.”
”Why, if I was you, mother, I would go to Smith's shop, and tell him confidentially that I wanted a little more credit, and that everything would be sure to be settled at Christmas.”
”That won't do, Martha Compton. Your father has given him a bill already for thirty pounds, due in November, and it is a chance if it gets honoured, I promise you. Smith knows too much about our money matters to be caught napping.”
”Well then, set off, mother! I'd offer to go with you, only I know that Captain Tate will be sure to be walking on the Hatherton Road, and I shouldn't wonder yet if he was to come out with a proposal.”
”Oh! never mind me, child, I can go alone, and that's what you can't do, my dear.... You must take Sophy with you, mind that, and don't get talked of just as the new set are coming in.”
”Nay, for that matter, Sophy will be as likely to meet Willoughby as I shall be to meet Tate, so there is no fear I should have to go alone.”
”Well!... take care of yourselves, and don't let the sun get to tan your necks, mind that.”
Having given these parting injunctions, Mrs. Compton set forth upon her expedition, the result of which shall be given in the next chapter.
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