OR, SELF-DEPENDENCE. CHAPTER I. Ir was on a wild and stormy night of a bitter December, that I was born. My birthplace was an Irish town in Galway; and for many weeks, I was hushed to sleep by the roaring of the lake over which my nursery hung. My father was a young Irish officer; my mother an English woman, who, captivated by his handsome face and chivalrous bearing, waltzed off with him one night from her godfather's house in London: and while it was supposed they were admiring the flowers in the conservatory, the happy pair were as far on the north road as the speed of four horses could hurry them. soon ceased to soothe and conciliate her husband, and tried to play off her indifference and contempt against his fits of passion and neglect. This was very sad, for in their hearts they still loved each other; and, although both took a strange way of showing it, there was, even at this time, enough of their first affection left to constitute, if rightly managed, a fund to draw upon through life. But Pride, their great archenemy, whispered to them always, and was cherished as a faithful counselor by both so that when Love and Memory pleaded in their hearts for gentleness and forbearance toward each other, he would say to Alice, "Don't relent! don't smile, or play his favorite music! He will Fortunately for the runaways, my mother was behave as ill to-morrow, and then how you will the youngest and favorite child of her parents, have lowered your dignity. No! show a proper who tried to forget, in their love for her, that spirit, and teach him that you are as indifferent her husband was a spendthrift, and, if report as he is." Then this same traitor would urge spoke truly, a gambler also. Not many weeks upon the husband his right to be late or early, after the hasty and ill-considered marriage, Alice furious or gentle, at home or abroad, just as he Vere, now Mrs. Sackville, found that she had pleased, without reference to any one but himplaced herself at the mercy of a man whose self; and would insinuate, that his wife's pale violent and jealous temper, wholly beyond his cheeks and wasted figure were caused, not by own control, rendered her miserable. The slight-anxiety and care, but by her own willfulness and est provocation, and often no provocation at all, was sufficient to transport him beyond the bounds In this way passed the first year of their union; of reason; and, at such times, she would sit and when, at its close, I was born-a cross and trembling before him until the paroxysm was troublesome infant-my parents had thwarted past, or till he left her in a frenzy. Still she and vexed each other until little of the wild love loved him; for, when the storm was over, there which had led them to marry remained. Still, was a charm in his manner, and an eloquence in an occurrence which took place a few weeks behis voice, that were irresistible. Her feminine fore my appearance in this weary world, will vanity, too, was enlisted on his side; for certain-show that, although their affection was diminly, when at the head of his men, or doing the honors of the ball-room to the guests of theth, there was no man she had ever seen who could compare with him. He was a gallant soldier, too, and idolized by the peasantry, for whom he was always ready to do a service; as he loved popularity, and liked people to see the influence he held over the wild denizens of mountain and bog. For a time all this helped to reconcile my mother to her lot; but scarcely six months elapsed, after her marriage, ere she found her society deserted for the billiard-table, and her conversation rudely avoided or silenced, whenever, as was now daily the case, her husband could spend his time more agreeably in discussing and betting upon the next steeple-chase or Curragh races. There was in Alice Sackville's nature a great leaven of obstinacy and pride; therefore, she temper. ished, it was not totally destroyed, and that Alice Sackville was not as indifferent toward her husband as she would fain have had him believe. The part of Ireland in which my father's regi ment was then stationed being in a very unsettled state, the troops had been sent there mainly to preserve the peace. But one duty which fell to their lot, was most odious; and of such a nature as to make almost every officer anxious to avoid it. This was searching for and seizing whisky stills: and called in derision "still-hunting." To men who had distinguished themselves both in India and the Peninsula-who bore Seringapatam and Vittoria upon their colors-it was a service which most felt to be a degradation; and nothing but high military discipline, the officers' sense of duty, and the men's habits of subordi nation, prevented loud remonstrance. Of all the regiment only one officer (a man who had not long joined it, and was known to be of low birth and quarrelsome disposition), found pleasure in Once or twice Captain Sackville had spoken contemptuously of the readiness with which the new man accepted "active service," and suggested whether a still would not now be a fit addition to the trophies and honors blazoned on the colors of the regiment. One of those busybodies who are always ready to make mischief, repeated my father's sarcasm to the object of it, and before many hours had elapsed from the time of its utterance, a challenge was given and accepted; the meeting being arranged to take place the next morning, upon a wild moor five miles from the barracks. During the afternoon which followed this arrangement, the suspicions of my mother's English maid were aroused by the hints and mysterious looks of her lover; who, being Captain Sackville's servant, had his master's pistols in charge. These surmises she conveyed to her mistress, whose fears, thus excited, were but too painfully confirmed by my father's manner when he came to her room to take leave of her, before starting, as he said, upon a "stillhunting" expedition, which would detain him until the next morning. My mother fixed her eyes upon her husband as he spoke, and holding the hand which he had extended in farewell, said, "Are you really going up the mountains, Gerald? Are you sure?" "Of course, of course," he replied, with a short, nervous laugh: "what makes you ask such a question? Don't I often go upon these glorious errands ?" "Yes, but I have a strange fancy that you are not going on such service to-night." "Why, what Banshee has been wailing at the window to frighten you, Alice? You look as if you saw one, now: but, don't you know, they never appear until night; so don't be silly, but say good-by and wish me success." spoke he snatched up his cap. And as he My mother's heart stood still, as the thought that she might never again see him alive rushed across her mind. The ardor of their first passionate love seemed all at once to return; and with an impulsive cry of grief, she sprang from her seat, and threw herself into her husband's arms. Why, Alice! what is the matter? Are you ill ?" said he, as she clung hysterically to him. "No no: but you, Gerald! you! where are you going!" she sobbed out. "Where I told you, silly one. Where else do you think I am going? Come, lie down, and I'll send Marcy to you, and she shall read you to sleep." 'Oh, Gerald! do tell me the truth." "But you will not believe me, you little infidel! You are nervous and tired, and have got the blue-devils, I'm afraid, from sitting alone. George shall go across and ask Mrs. Martin to come and talk scandal to you-so good-by, and mind you are better to-morrow," "And thus they parted: the man thinking that he had succeeded in his deception; and the woman as thoroughly convinced that he was try- Marcy to discover that no still-hunting expedi- er's first arrival in Ireland, her maid had been It had so happened that, soon after my mothill, and that during her absence a young girl, the daughter of the only decent inn-keeper in the village, had been engaged to attend upon the bride. Mrs. Sackville and Honor had been mutually pleased with each other; and, after her short service was over, many were the chickens churning, brought by the warm-hearted Irish of her own rearing and pats of butter of her own maid to the "English lady." And now, in her rying out the wild scheme she had formed, my grief and fear, with no one at hand to aid in caronce, and took into her confidence. The assistmother thought of Honor, whom she sent for at ance and secrecy required of Honor were promised with that heartiness, with which-be their ways respond to the need of a friend. Honor faults what they may-the children of Erin alfought, and to bring a car, driven by her own undertook to find out where the duel was to be "bachelor," to a certain spot on the road, where Mrs. Sackville was to meet it, and be taken as nearly as possible to the ground, in order that she might be at hand in case the meeting terfirmly assured that the girl's promise would be minated fatally; and the miserable wife was as performed as if it were already done. CHAPTER II. The rain wretchedness of that night. It was in the midOFTEN have I heard my mother describe the dle of October, which month had, contrary to cusfell in torrents, and the clouds were driven across tom, come in cold, gusty, and wet. the face of the heavens as if angry spirits were at war, and they fled in terror before them. Every now and then the moon gleamed out with her glare upon the pools of water in the street, and white, round, passionless face, and cast a sickly the glass of the opposite windows. The measured tread of the sentry, and the challenge of the officer of the guard, were the only sounds, except the plashing rain, that broke the stillness; ish the sense of loneliness. Honor had sent Mrs. and these appeared to add to, rather than diminSackville word that at three o'clock she would be waiting with a car under the plantation, to the left of the chapel. Up and down her room my mother paced all night, only stopping to look at her watch by the dim fire-light-for she dared not have candles, lest their appearance at so unusual an hour should arouse suspicion in the minds of any one who might be passing. At length the clock in the Barrack-square struck the last quarter past two, and, wrapped in a large gray cloak, and trembling from head to foot, my mother stole out into the street, and walked hurriedly toward the plantation. Very few words were spoken when she reached it, for Honor saw that Mrs. Sackville was in no mood for talking; so, having for the last time whispered directions to her lover, she obeyed my mother's gesture, and running quickly down the hill, soon disappeared. After a dark and jolting ride of more than an hour, Mike took up his position under shelter of a rock, close to the spot fixed upon by the combatants. There the agitated wife awaited in painful suspense the issue; having nothing wherewith to beguile the tedious hours which must elapse before daybreak, but her hopes and fears, and the prayers which she from time to time offered up for her husband's safety. At last the morning dawned, and as it broke drearily over the wild and lonely landscape, a chaise driven at full gallop appeared upon the moor. It had scarcely stopped when another arrived, and the trembling wife was near enough to hear her husband speaking in cheerful tones to Major Martin. There was a long low range of rocks, which lay about three hundred yards to the right of the spot where Captain Sackville was placed, and under cover of their shadow my mother crept along in the misty light, and stood as near her husband as she dared." It was her determination, that if the lives of both combatants were spared she would return home, and never betray her knowledge of the meeting; but that if Gerald fell, or killed his antagonist, she would instantly go forward, and either succor her husband, or accompany him abroad. Brief were the greetings exchanged by the party; the seconds made a formal, but of course ineffectual attempt, to bring about a reconciliation between their principals; they then examined the pistols, placed their men, and went through all the rest of the hateful business necessary for the proper perpetration of honorable murder. Strange influence of custom! Of all the men who took part in the arrangements, not one but would have turned away disgusted from witnessing the necessary proceedings of a slaughter-house; and yet they were met at an unseasonable hour, under cover of twilight and secrecy, to aid a project which had for its fulfillment the temporal, perhaps eternal death of one, if not two fellow-men, whom each one there called friend. My mother trembled and clung to the rock in breathless alarm and anxiety, and long as she thought the time spent in these fearful preparations, yet she would not have shortened it by a word but when Major Martin, who had been occupied at a little distance from his friend, walked quietly over the ground toward him, the horror-struck wife could scarcely repress a Scream She had so placed herself that she was opposite to her husband, and as she gazed upon his face, and marked its perfect calmness, the utter absence of uneasiness or dread, the quiet, manly courage with which he stood, waiting, as it seemed, for death, she could hardly refrain from rushing forward; and she felt as if she could die with him. All her old love came back, and filled her heart with such a tumult of alarm and fondness, that its wild beating was well-nigh stilled forever. At this time my mother was far from being a religious character: she had been too fashionably educated, too much idolized and flattered, to have learned many of the deep truths of Christianity; it is not, therefore, to be wondered at, that the only feelings now present to her mind were a woman's admiration of bravery, and a wife's dread of her possible loss. To her fancy there was something heroic in her husband's position and attitude; something sublime in his dauntless and soldierlike serenity. Nothing was exaggerated or done for display; all was the natural effect of a brave heart-and high health: for more than heroes would like to think, does their unflinching courage depend upon their temperance. No fear of an eternal future, no thought of the outraged law of an Almighty Creator visited my father's conscience to make him craven. He was only doing what his father, and his father's father, had done before him; and what, for not doing, a young man in his own regiment had been sent to Coventry by his brother officers, and, finally, hunted out of the army. It was then a matter of course, almost of duty, in a soldier. God's laws, the God of peace and love, are the very last thought of by the duelist. My father was no worse, and, in many things, much better than his fellows; but until men learn to know that the Eternal law, "thou shalt do no murder," is as binding upon a gentleman as upon a peasant, and that in the eyes of the Everlasting, there is no distinction between the murderer whose life is forfeited to the outraged laws of man, and the duelist who goes out in cold blood to take the life of one who has been, perhaps, his dearest friend, offering for excuse the hazard of his own-Christianity, as our Lord left it to us, can have no place in their hearts. We may have brave and dauntless soldiers in our service, but Christian gentlemen we can not have. This same sad perversion of feelings-this confusion of right and wrong-was shared by my poor mother; else how could she have refrained from springing forward and, by her presence, putting an end to the scene upon which she looked? Some may be tempted to say, that she was cold-hearted or unwomanly, thus to have stood, and yet not have interfered! "I could not have done so! I could not have seen my husband killed before my face, or taking another man's life," one may exclaim. Another may remark, "I wonder why she went at all: she could not have loved him, and yet have borne to stand by and see him in danger of being murdered; that is impossible." No, it is not impossible, for it is true." Mrs. Sackville was the sister of a man who had been shot in a duel, and buried with military honors; whose name was cherished as that of a hero, while his antagonist had been dismissed the service. She was the wife of a soldier, and well knew that, if urged by her fem inine fears and wifely love, she rushed forward and stayed the duel, her husband would be the object of men's derision: that they would say he had given her a hint of what was going on, and anticipated her interference. She knew that, with his hot and fiery temper, he would imagine such things, even if they were never said; and that this one meeting so interrupted, would thus lead to others. She had experienced his distaste for all displays of affection made by wives, and well knew that, so sensitive was his pride, he would rather lose ten lives than be quizzed as the object of his wife's doting love. Knowing all this, therefore, my mother stood in silent tremor by the rocks, and when all was ready, clasped her hands so tightly, in the agony of apprehension, that her finger-nails turned livid with the pressure. Her eyes were riveted upon her husband, as if her gaze could protect him; but, at the sudden flash and report of his pistol, her courage failed her, and she fainted. When she recovered, she found herself at home, and the first sound which met her ear was her husband's gay laugh under her window. Honor and Marcy were beside her, chafing her hands and weeping; for her insensibility had lasted so long that they began to be alarmed, and to think that they were acting imprudently in concealing the state of his wife from Captain Sackville; but just as they had decided upon sending for him, her eyes unclosed, and consciousness was restored. In reply to my mother's looks of inquiry, she was told that Honor, fearing lest her strength should fail in the hour of need, had followed the car, and was actually present during the whole of that agonizing night-watch. She had witnessed the duel, and had seen that Lieutenant Tregear's ball had shot away his antagonist's epaulette, while Captain Sackville had fired in the air; she had also heard the reconciliation that followed. On seeing Mrs. Sackville fall, she waited until the gentlemen had re-entered their carriages and driven off, and then, with Mike's assistance, had carried my mother to the car, and by taking a short road, had reached home a few minutes before the late combatants had entered the town. This explanation was scarcely over, when my father rapped at the door; for, although it was still very early, he fancied that he heard his wife's voice, and remembering her anxiety of the night before, was come to relieve it in person. small vein in her head, and in a moment she lay bleeding at his feet. This accident, alarming, as it seemed, was in effect a most fortunate occurrence; for the excitement of the past night had brought on fever, which was thus timely subdued by the loss of blood. CHAPTER III. STRANGE as it may appear, this incident annoyed my father greatly; and although he could not help being touched by his wife's devotion, still the idea that he had been watched, and was exposed to jesting remarks upon her romantic affection, irritated him continually. My mother's quick perception soon discovered this, and the reaction in her mind was terrible. She had suffered intensely; she felt that she had controlled her own feelings from tenderness to his; and, as proud people always do, she dwelt upon his ingratitude, until her own faults were forgotten, and she fancied herself the most ill-used and miserable wife in existence. Alas! how many people make their own sorrows by exaggerating their wrongs, and wholly overlooking their own sins, both of omission and commission. It was in the midst of all this bitterness that I was born; and certainly there was nothing in my appearance or disposition to conciliate; for I was an ugly child, with a furious temper, and even then showed a true feminine love of my own way. Poor old Cicely, my Irish nurse, was a faithful believer in all fairy legends, and had taken no little trouble to procure, a properly-shaped horse-shoe to fix upon my cradle the moment I was deposited in it, to preserve me from the power of evil spirits. But this was not all; not only was I to be protected from evil powers, it was also necessary to propitiate the good, and accordingly, my mother having sunk to sleep at the fortunate hour upon the right day, I was carried by Cicely to a place where four roads met, there to make my offering of green ribbon to "the good people." This was done very successfully, and greatly to my nurse's satisfac tion; especially as a slight breeze carried the propitiatory offering exactly in the centre of a fairy ring, which adorned the little green patch between the roads: and this, to a proficient in fairy lore, was known to signify that the gift was accepted. My mother, attired in a long frilled white dressing-gown, was lying on the bed, to which the girls had carried her when she was first brought in; while her rich fair ringlets, straight- The unhappy and the unfortunate are proverbened by the dank night-air, and hanging loosely ially superstitious above their fellows, and, in about her pale face, mingled with the half unplait- my days of sorrow, I have often caught myself ed tresses behind, and gave her a ghastly appear- wondering where my fairy patrons were, who ance. Round her eyelids was a deep circle of had at my birth appeared so propitious; and black, and her eyes wandered as if she was not often, too, when some strange good chance, yet wholly conscious; but hearing her husband's equally unlooked for and welcome, has come voice, she sprang from the bed, and, answering suddenly to my relief, I have thought to myself, him quickly, advanced with a tottering, feeble with more earnestness than I should have liked to step to meet him. As he entered, she crossed confess, "Ah, my fairies have not forgotten the room, and, to his terror and amazement, me." I do not defend this folly, nor wish to excaught at a small table to steady her trembling cuse it; but I do say, that there are few hearts steps, and before he could inquire what was the among us in which, if they were honestly searchcause of her strange appearance and evident ed, some nook would not be found, where a halfsuffering, she reeled and fell; a scent-bottle acknowledged superstition, dearer to us than breaking in the fall, a portion of the glass cut awe think, nestles and thrives. Partly because I was the child of a man they liked, and partly because-having been born on their own soil, and having, thanks to Cicely, complied with a darling prejudice-I seemed to belong to them, I was a cherished favorite among the people, who watched me in my walks and rides as if I were a young princess; and by the time I attained my sixth year I had become duly impressed with my own importance, having been told hundreds of times a week, that I was "a rale lady, one of the ould sort. God bless 'em!" which I thought a very sufficient reason for giving way to every impulse of passion and pride. rendered her incapable of acting upon her own opinion in any matter of importance: but she was mercifully spared the trial, for she died a few months before her husband. The servants at Ingerdyne were all old dependents; many of them had lived in the family from childhood, being sons and daughters of former domestics, and they all welcomed my mother with delight. She had been a great favorite with them, and they were prepared to love her children now, as much as they had formerly done herself. But this was not so easy a matter, for I was a difficult little person for these quiet, well-ordered English people to About this period my mother took my sister manage, and they were in a constant state of and myself to England on a visit to her parents, perplexity between their love for the mother, whom she had not seen since her marriage; and and their annoyance at the child. Yet my denever shall I forget my astonishment and disap- linquencies seldom went further than trampling probation when we reached Ingerdyne (which over the flower-beds, leaving the park gates was the name of my grandfather's place). I don't open, and thus setting free the horses that were know what I expected, nor with what ideas grazing within its boundaries, upsetting the Cicely had filled my head; but the quiet, stately flower-pots in the greenhouse, or frightening house, and somewhat grave and formal inhabit- whole families of little chickens by running at ants, filled me with anger and disappointment. full speed across the poultry-yard where their Later in life I learned to love the dear old place mothers were cooped up. I was not mischievwell; but then, fresh from the flattering at- ous-unless mischief is a more innocent kind of tentions of the wild and enthusiastic Irish people, thing than it is usually described; for I had no and the gayety and bustle of a home enlivened love of wanton destruction for its own sake. I by uniforms, and not remarkable for the regu- was even vexed with myself when I saw the larity of its management, the quiet manners and flowers crushed into the mould by the presure dignified visitors, the peaceful walks, and steady of my wayward little feet; and if I had stopped habits of tidiness and subordination, which pre- to listen, I should have been sorry to hear the vailed at Ingerdyne, could not fail to be dis-shrill chirping of the terrified chickens as they agreeable to me. My grandfather was one of the old school of English country gentlemen, and although small in stature was stately in manner: nobody could take a liberty with him; one would as soon have thought of proposing a waltz with Sphinx as to put a jest upon him. He was a man whose simple affirmation, even to a stranger, would have been sufficient guarantee of his good faith; for there was something in his open brow and clear eye, and even in the tone of his voice, that bespoke the integrity of a gentleman. He never made a bargain; gambling and wagers of every sort were utterly distasteful to him; he never could understand how it was possible for a gentleman to practice either. He was proud as a Spaniard of his ancient family and honorable birth, for he had an old-world scorn of traffic in all its ramifications; and, though he never boasted (he was far too high-bred for that), yet he loved to think that no tradesman, wholesale or retail, could trace the most distant cousinship to him; but with all his reserve and dignity he was generous, courteous, and kind; ready to listen to a tale of distress, and liberal to bestow relief; open-hearted and chivalrous. My grandmother was a fit wife for her husband, gentle and gracious, simple and tender. Her want of natural energy was never discovered, because her habit of reliance and dependence upon my grandfather was so great, that no one suspected her retiring manners arose from any thing but her having deference to him in all things. Not that he was a tyrant, or she a slave, but because she really believed that he exceeded all other human beings in wisdom and goodness. What she would have done had it pleased God she should become a widow, I can not imagine, for long habit seemed to have ran fluttering in dismay to the shelter of the hen-coops, in bodily fear of the heedless invader. No! I certainly was not mischievous; I was simply thoughtless and uncontrolled. The only one of my freaks which really afforded me delight, was the escape of the wild young horses through some gate which I had left open, and the alarm of the slow and astonished servants. I loved to see the beautiful animals, after a furious gallop, stop altogether, standing with heads erect and distended nostrils, until their captors with coaxing call approached within a few yards and put out caressing and deceitful hands; when, as if moved by one general impulse, the horses would all wheel about at once, and race round and round the fields till their frolic was over, and they swept in through the gate to their prison again. In all my peregrinations I was accompanied by an English nurse, chosen for me by my grandmother before I arrived, for her careful and sedate propriety; but, with all her anxiety and real desire to do her duty, it was impossible for her to restrain the eagerness and ardor of my disposition: I was as far beyond her comprehension as she was beyond mine. I have often wondered how it was that my grandfather, with his love of order and regularity, brooked my way. ward recklessness and irregular habits; but I suppose he consoled himself with the feeling, which he one day put into words, in reply to a lady who expressed a fear that I should grow up "vulgar." "No, madam," he said, with his proud little smile, "Florence has not one drop of plebeian blood in her veins; and, wild as she may be, she can never be vulgar." I believe he was right, for of all the bad qualities attributed to me by different people at different |