Her Season in Bath Part 30

Then from the low French window at the side of the house Mrs. Travers appeared, and greeted her son with a tender welcome.

Mrs. Travers took the baby from her mother's arms, saying:

"She is too heavy for you, my dear; she grows such a great girl. Is not Phyllis glad to see father safely back again?"

The baby cooed as a sign of contentment, but whether this was the result of the contemplation of her silver rattle, or of her father's return, may not be told.

Then the happy party turned into the house, and Leslie drew from the wide pocket of his blue coat with bra.s.s b.u.t.tons a sheaf of letters.

He singled one from the rest, and said gravely:

"I got the letters at Louth. This tells sad news. It has been written for Amelia Graves."

"Dear Graves!" Griselda exclaimed; "what does she say?" She took the letter, written in a round clerkly hand from her husband, and read:

"DEAR AND HONOURED SIR:

"This leaves me well; but I have to inform you my poor mistress departed this life yesterday. I prayed by her, and asked the Lord to pardon her. Honoured sir--and you, dear Madam Travers--that bad man, Sir Maxwell Danby, behaved so ill, that she had to leave his home. He is gone to foreign parts again, and let us hope never to return. He treated my poor mistress shameful, and she was made miserable. We went to Bath for last season, but she was too ill to enter into gaieties, and sank into a sad state--mind and body.

"I send my duty to you, honoured sir, and the dear lady, your wife, and remain,

"Your humble servant,

"AMELIA GRAVES."

Griselda's sweet face became very grave as she read this letter. Then she folded it and returned it to her husband.

"I should like Graves to come and live with us, and take care of her in her old age. Might I ask her?"

Then Leslie bent over his wife, and kissing her, said:

"I knew that would be your wish. I will write by next post to Bath, and bid her come hither. She was good to you when you were in trouble, and won my lasting grat.i.tude."

"Poor Lady Betty! Oh that she ever was so blind--so foolish--as to marry that dreadful man! I never see his name without a shudder!"

The news this letter contained had brought back to the happy wife and mother many sad memories; but the past did not long cloud her present.

As she put her hand into her husband's arm that evening when the children were asleep, and no sound broke the silence as they paced the garden walk, she stopped suddenly, and said:

"Dearest, you have made my life so beautiful. You have taught me so much. You said once--do you remember?--you would die for me, or live for me! You have lived for me, and I----"

"And you have kept your promise, sweetheart," he said. "Do you remember that promise?"

"Yes," she said. "It has been so easy to keep it. All joy and pleasure to give you what you asked for that day in the Abbey church."

So, with interchange of loving words, the husband and wife saw the shadows of the night steal over the woods and far-stretching level country round their home.

The lovers were also enjoying their twilight walk, and talking, as lovers will, of the bliss of the future they are to spend together.

A happy dream is that dream of young love; but is there anything in this mutable life more beautiful than the deepening of that young love into the serene and blessed sympathy of a husband and wife who, through the changes and chances of ten years, can feel, as Leslie and Griselda felt, more secure in each other's loyalty and truth as time rolls on; who can feel that if all other earthly props and joys vanish, their love will remain, that sorrow is shared and grief softened, that all good will be intensified and all happiness doubled, because felt by _two_, who are yet _one_ in the highest sense?

This is the true marriage, which has been taken as a type of the highest and the holiest union. Why is it that it is so often missed? Why does the reality of love so often flee away, and only a ghost-like shadow and pale semblance remain?

There is a solution of this problem, but it is not for me to give it here. The hearts of many who read the story of Leslie and Griselda will, if they are true and honest, answer the question each one for herself, and it may be with tears and unavailing regret, yes! and of self-reproach also, that this full cup of bliss has never reached their lips, but that the honeyed sweetness of the elixir of youth has, long ere old age is reached, been as an exceeding bitter cup given them to drink!

As the husband and wife of whom I write, went into their peaceful home, they looked up at the sky where the stars were s.h.i.+ning in all their majesty, and their thoughts turned to their friends who were far away, and probably making their accustomed preparation for sweeping the sky.

Many and many a summer night has come and gone since then; many and many eyes have been raised to the star-lit sky, and keen intellects and abstruse calculations have brought to light much for which the great astronomer, William Herschel, prepared the way. But I doubt if even amongst them all has been found a more single-hearted and reverent contemplation of the mysteries of that illimitable s.p.a.ce which he thus describes:

"This method of viewing the heavens seems to throw them into a new kind of light. They are now seen to resemble a luxuriant garden which contains the greatest variety of productions in different flouris.h.i.+ng beds, and one advantage we may at least reap from it is, that we can, as it were, extend the image of our experience to an immense duration. For is it not almost the same thing whether we live successively to witness the germination, blooming, foliage, fecundity, fading, withering and corruption of a plant, or whether a vast number of specimens selected from every stage through which the planet pa.s.ses in the course of its existence be brought at once to our view?"

This is a finely-expressed and profound thought, and the mind which originated it must indeed win our admiration and respect.

Surely the house in King Street, Bath, and the a.s.sociation with it, may well consecrate it as a shrine which all who appreciate true and honest labour, and brave struggles with difficulties, should visit. The discovery of the planet Ura.n.u.s in that house was a grand achievement.

The light thrown on the mysteries of double stars, and of the perpetual motion and marvellous evolutions of the milky way was scarcely a less memorable step towards the better understanding of the star-depths which mortals may well scan with bated breath, so infinite is the infinite! But it almost seems to me that pilgrims to the house where the great astronomer and musician lived and worked, may do well to think most of the faithful performance of duty, the unflinching perseverance, the courageous struggle with untold difficulties which was carried on by William and Caroline Herschel while the Bath season was at its height, and the b.u.t.terflies of fas.h.i.+on and the votaries of pleasure danced and chattered, and sang and made merry in the a.s.semblies, where a hundred years ago so many people whose names are now forgotten, flocked in the pursuit of health and amus.e.m.e.nt! There will always be these contrasts sharply defined. The bees and the b.u.t.terflies go forth together over the same flowery pastures. There are countless hidden workers, unknown to fame, who yet do their part--if a humble part, in life--in the place appointed them by G.o.d. But there are some who by force of an indomitable will and the highest gifts of intellect and culture leave behind them a name which to all time shall be honoured, and Bath may think herself favoured that in the long list of distinguished men and women who have frequented that fair city and Queen of the West, she may write in letters of gold the names of William Herschel and his sister Caroline.

DUELLING ON CLAVERTON DOWN.

In the year 1778 many foreign n.o.bles made Bath their residence. The Viscount du Barre and two ladies of great beauty and accomplishments, and Count Rice, an Irish gentleman who had borne arms in the service of France, lived in the Royal Crescent.

A quarrel at cards between Du Barre and Rice resulted in an immediate challenge--given and accepted. At one o'clock in the morning of November 18, 1778, a coach was procured from the Three Tuns in Stall Street, and Claverton Down was reached at day-dawn.

"Each man," says a contemporary, "was armed with two pistols and a sword, the ground being marked out by the seconds. Du Barre fired first, and lodged a ball in Count Rice's thigh, which penetrated to the bone. Count Rice fired, and wounded Du Barre in the breast. Afterwards the pistols were thrown away, and the combatants took to their swords.

"The Viscount du Barre fell, and cried out, 'Je vous demande ma vie!' to which Count Rice answered, 'Je vous la donne!' and in a few moments Du Barre fell back and expired. Count Rice was brought with difficulty to Bath, being dangerously wounded; and was found guilty, at the Coroner's inquest held on the Viscount's body, of manslaughter.

"Du Barre's body was left exposed on Claverton Down the whole day, and was subsequently buried in Bathampton Churchyard. Count Rice recovered; he was tried at Taunton for murder, and acquitted. He died in Spain in 1809. A stone slab in a wall skirting Claverton Down marks the spot where Du Barre fell. The ivory hilt of the sword once belonging to Count Rice is now attached to the City Seal in the town clerk's office."--Condensed from R. E. Peach's "Rambles about Bath."

WORKS BY MRS. MARSHALL.

ON THE BANKS OF THE OUSE; or, Life in Olney a Hundred Years Ago.

"No better story than this has been written by Mrs.

Marshall."--_Guardian._

IN FOUR REIGNS: Recollections of Althea Allingham from George III. to Victoria.

"A most charming tale of bygone days. The tone of the book is eminently high and refined."--_Literary World._

UNDER THE MENDIPS: a Tale.