This worthy resolution formed, she became more serene, and awaited the arrival of her daughter with as much firmness as could reasonably have been expected. Little weened the good ladies of Glenfern the ungracious reception their protégé was likely to experience from her mother; for, in spite of the defects of her education, Mary was a general favourite in the family; and, however they might solace themselves by depreciating her to Mrs Douglas, to the world in general, and their young female acquaintances in particular, she was upheld as an epitome of every perfection above and below the sun. Had it been possible for them to conceive that Mary could have been received with anything short of rapture, Lady Juliana's letter might, in some measure, have opened the eyes of their understanding; but to the guileless sisters it seemed everything that was proper. Sorry for the necessity Mrs Douglas felt of parting with her adopted daughter-was "prettily expressed;" had no doubt it was merely a slight nervous affection-"was kind and soothing ;" and the assurance, more than once repeated, that her friends might rely upon her being returned to them in the course of a very few months, "showed a great deal of feeling and consideration." But as their minds never maintained a just equilibrium long upon any subject, but, like falselyadjusted scales, were ever hovering and vibrating at either extreme-so they could not rest satisfied in the belief that Mary was to be happy-there must be something to counteract that stilling sentiment; and that was the apprehension that Mary would be spoilt. This, for the present, was the pendulum of their imaginations. 66 "I declare, Mary, my sisters and I could get no sleep last night for thinking of you," said Miss Grizzy; we are all certain that Lady Juliana especially, but indeed all your English relations, will think so much of you-from not knowing you, you know-which will be quite natural, that my sisters and I have taken it into our heads-but I hope it won't be the case, as you have a great deal of good sense of your own-that they will quite turn your head." Mary's head is on her shoulders to little purpose," followed up Miss Jacky, "if she can't stand being made of when she goes amongst strangers; and she ought to know by this time, that a mother's partiality is no proof of a child's merit." 66 "You hear that, Mary," rejoined Miss Grizzy: "80 I'm sure I hope you won't mind a word what your mother says to you, I mean about yourself; for, of course, you know, she can't be such a good judge of you as us, who have known you all your life. As to other things, I dare say she is very well informed about the country, and politics, and these sort of things-I'm certain Lady Juliana knows a great deal." "And I hope, Mary, you will take care and not get into the daadlin' handless ways of the English women," said Miss Nicky; "I wouldn't give a pin for an English woman. "And I hope you will never look at an Englishman, Mary," said Miss Grizzy, with equal earnestness; "take my word for it, they are a very dissipated unprincipled set of young men-so you may think what it would be for all of us if you was to marry any of them." And tears streamed from the good spinster's eyes, at the bare supposition of such a calamity. "Don't be afraid, my dear aunt," said Mary, with a kind caress; "I shall come back to you your own 'Highland Mary.' No Englishman, with his round face and trim meadows, shall ever captivate me. Heathcovered hills, and high cheek-bones, are the charms that must win my heart." "I'm delighted to hear you say so, my dear Mary," said the literal-minded Grizzy. "Certainly nothing can be prettier than the heather when it's in flower; and there is something very manly-nobody can dispute that -in high cheek-bones: and besides, to tell you a secret, Lady Maclaughlan has a husband in her eye for you ;we, none of us, can conceive who it is, but, of course, he must be suitable in every respect; for you know Lady Maclaughlan has had two husbands herself, so, of course, she must be an excellent judge of a good husband." "Or a bad one," said Mary, "which is the same thing. Warning is as good as example.” Mrs Douglas's ideas and those of her aunts did not coincide upon this occasion more than upon most others. In her sister-in-law's letter she flattered herself she saw only fashionable indifference; and she fondly hoped that would soon give way to a tenderer sentiment, as her daughter became known to her. At any rate, it was proper that Mary should make the trial, and, whichever way it ended, it must be for her advantage. 66 Mary has already lived too long in these mountain solitudes," thought she; "her ideas will become romantic, and her taste fastidious. If it is dangerous to be too early initiated into the ways of the world, it is perhaps equally so to live too long secluded from it. Should she win herself a place in the heart of her mother and sister, it will be so much happiness gained; and should it prove otherwise, it will be a lesson learnt—a hard one, indeed! but hard are the lessons we must all learn in the school of life!" Yet Mrs Douglas's fortitude almost failed her as the period of separation approached. It had been arranged by Lady Emily that a carriage and servants should meet Mary at Edinburgh, whither Mr Douglas was to convey her. The cruel moment came; and mother, sister, relations, friends, all the bright visions which Mary's sanguine spirit had conjured up to soften the parting pang, all were absorbed in one agonising feeling-one overwhelming thought. Oh! who that, for the first time, has parted from the parent whose tenderness and love were entwined with our earliest recollections, whose sympathy had soothed our infant sufferings, whose fondness had brightened our infant felicity;—who, that has a heart, but must have felt it sink beneath the anguish of a first farewell! Yet bitterer still must be the feelings of the parent upon committing the cherished object of her cares and affections to the stormy ocean of life. When experience points to the gathering cloud and rising surge which may soon assail her defenceless child, what can support the mother's heart but trust in Him whose eye slumbereth not, and whose power extendeth over all! It was this pious hope, this holy confidence, that enabled this more than mother to part from her adopted child with a resignation which no earthly motive could have imparted to her mind. It seems almost profanation to mingle with her elevated feelings the coarse, yet simple, sorrows of the aunts, old and young, as they clung around the nearly lifeless Mary, each tendering the parting gift they had kept as a solace for the last. Poor Miss Grizzy was more than usually incoherent, as she displayed "a nice new umbrella, that could be turned into a nice walking-stick, or any thing;" and "a dressing-box, with a little of every thing in it;" and, with a fresh burst of tears, Mary was directed where she would not find eye-ointment, and where she was not to look for court-plaster. Miss Jacky was more composed, as she presented a flaming copy of "Fordyce's Sermons to Young Women," with a few suitable observations; but Miss Nicky could scarcely find voice to tell, that the housewife she now tendered had once been Lady Girnachgowl's, and that it contained Whitechapel needles of every size and number. The younger ladies had clubbed for the purchase of a large locket, in which was enshrined a lock from each subscriber, tastefully arranged by the jeweller, in the form of a wheatsheaf, upon a blue ground. Even old Donald had his offering, and, as he stood tottering at the chaise-door, he contrived to get a "bit snishin mull" laid on Mary's lap, with a "Bless her bonny face, an' may she ne'er want a good sneesh!" The carriage drove off, and for a while Mary's eyes were closed in anguish. Chapter xxxij. Farewell to the mountains, high cover'd with snow; H Scotch Song. APPILY in the moral world, as in the material one, the warring elements have their prescribed bounds, and "the flood of grief decreaseth when it can swell no higher;" but it is only by retrospection we can bring ourselves to believe in this obvious truth. The young and untried heart hugs itself in the bitterness of its emotions, and takes a pride in believing that its anguish can end but with its existence; and it is not till time hath almost steeped our senses in forgetfulness, that we discover the mutability of all human passions. But Mary left it not to the slow hand of time to subdue in some measure the grief that swelled her heart. Had she given way to selfishness, she would have sought the free indulgence of her sorrow as the only mitigation of it; but she felt also for her uncle. He was depressed |