Memoirs of Emma Courtney - Mary Hays

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      The hour at length came, when, harrassed in body and in mind, I set out for Morton Park. I travelled alone, and reached the end of my journey at close of day. I entreated Mr. Morton, who hastened to hand me from the carriage, and welcome my arrival, that I might be permitted to retire to my apartment, pleading fatigue, and wishing to wave the ceremony of an introduction to the family till the next morning. My request was obligingly granted, and a servant ordered to attend me to my chamber.

      Many years had elapsed since I had seen this family, and my judgment was then so immature, that our meeting at the breakfast table had with each of us, I believe, the force of a first impression. You know my fanaticism on these occasions. I will attempt an imperfect sketch of the groupe, assembled in the saloon, to whom I was severally presented on my entrance, by the lord of the domain. Mr. Morton, himself, to whom precedence is due, seemed to be about fifty years of age, was of the middle stature, his features regular, and his countenance placid: he spoke but little, but that little was always mild and often judicious. He appeared not to be void of benevolent affections, and had the character of a humane landlord, but his virtues were, in a great measure, sunk in an habitual indolence of temper; he would sometimes sacrifice his principles to his repose, though never to his interest. His lady—no, I will not describe her; her character will, it may be, unfold itself to you in future—Suffice it to say, that her person was gross, her voice loud and discordant, and her features rugged: she affected an air of openness and pleasantry; It may be prejudiced, perhaps she did not affect it. Sarah Morton, the eldest of the daughters, was about my age, she was under the middle height, fair, plump, loquacious; there was a childish levity in her accent and manners, which impressed strangers with an unfavourable opinion of her understanding, but it was an acquired manner, for she was shrewd and sensible. Ann, the second daughter was a little lively brunette, with sharp features and sparkling black eyes; volatile, giddy, vain and thoughtless, but good humoured and pretty. The other children were much younger.

      Two gentlemen joined us at our repast, visitors at Morton park. Mr. Francis, the elder, was in his fortieth year, his figure slender and delicate, his eye piercing, and his manner impressive. It occurred to me, that I had somewhere seen him before, and, after a few minutes recollection, I recognized in him a gentleman who had occasionally visited at my father's, and whom I have already mentioned as the antagonist of the man of fashion, whose sentiments and volubility excited my youthful astonishment and indignation. Mr. Montague the younger, the son of a medical gentleman residing in a neighbouring county, seemed about one and twenty, tall, elegantly formed, full of fire and vivacity, with imperious manners, an impetuous temper, and stubborn prejudices.

      The introduction of a stranger generally throws some kind of restraint over a company; a break is made in their usual topics and associations, till the disposition and habits of the intruder have, in some degree, unfolded themselves. Mrs. Morton took upon herself to entertain; she exhibited her talents on various subjects, with apparent self-approbation, till a few keen remarks from Mr. Francis arrested the torrent of her eloquence. The young ladies scrutinized me with attention; even the lively Ann, while she minutely observed me, ceased to court play from Mr. Montague, who attended to me with the air, and addressed me in the language of gallantry. I sometimes caught the penetrating eye of Mr. Francis, and his glance seemed to search the soul.

      After breakfast, Mr. Morton having retired to his dressing-room, and the younger part of the company strolling into the pleasure grounds, whither I declined accompanying them, I took an opportunity, being ever desirous of active and useful employment, of offering my assistance to Mrs. Morton, in the education of her younger children; proposing to instruct them in the rudiments either of music, drawing, French, or any other accomplishment, for which my own education had capacitated me. Mr. Francis remained standing in a window, his back towards us, with a book in his hand, on which he seemed intent.

      'If,' replied Mrs. Morton, 'it is your wish, Miss Courtney, to procure the situation of governess in any gentleman's family, and it is certainly a very laudable desire in a young woman of your small fortune, Mr. Morton will, I have no doubt, have it in his power to recommend you: but in the education of my family, I desire no interference; it is an important task, and I have my peculiar notions on the subject: their expectations are not great, and your elegant accomplishments might unfit them for their future, probable, stations.'

      The manner in which this speech was uttered spoke yet more forcibly than the words.—I felt my cheeks glow.

      'I was not asking favours, Madam, I was only desirous of being useful.'

      'It is a pity, then, that your discernment had not corrected your vanity.'

      The housekeeper entering, to consult her mistress on some domestic occasion, Mrs. Morton quitted the room. Mr. Francis closed his book, turned round, and gazed earnestly in my face: before sufficiently mortified, his observation, which I felt at this moment oppressive, did not relieve me. I attempted to escape, but, seizing my hand, he detained me by a kind of gentle violence.

      'And why this confusion, my dear Miss Courtney; do you blush for having acted with propriety and spirit?' I burst into tears—I could not help it—'How weak is this, how unworthy of the good sense you have just manifested.'

      'I confess it, but I feel myself, at this moment, a poor, a friendless, an unprotected being.'

      'What prejudices! poverty is neither criminal, nor disgraceful; you will not want friends, while you continue to deserve them; and as for protection,' (and he smiled) 'I had not expected from Emma Courtney's spirited letter to Mr. Morton, and equally proper retort to his lady's impertinence, so plaintive, so feminine a complaint.—You have talents, cultivate them, and learn to rest on your own powers.'

      'I thank you for your reproof, and solicit your future lessons.'

      'Can you bear the truth?'

      'Try me.'

      'Have you not cherished a false pride?'

      It is too true, thought I, and I sighed.

      'How shall I cure this foible?'

      'By self-examination, by resolution, and perseverance.'

      'Be to me instead of a conscience.'

      'What, then, is become of your own?'

      'Prejudice, I doubt, has blinded and warped it.'

      'I suspect so; but you have energy and candor, and are not, I hope, of a temper to despond.'

      The return of the family terminated this singular conversation. The young ladies rallied me, on being found tête-à-tête with the philosopher; Mr. Montague, I thought looked displeased. I stole out; while the party were dressing for dinner, and rambled into the gardens, which were extensive, and laid out with taste.

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      I judged my visit here would not be very long. I scarcely knew whether I was most inclined to like or to fear Mr. Francis, but I determined, if possible, to cultivate his friendship. I interrogated myself again and again—From whence this restlessness, this languor, this disgust, with all I hear and see?—Why do I feel wayward, querulous, fastidious? Mr. Morton's family had no hearts; they appeared to want a sense, that preyed incessantly on mine; I could not love them, and my heart panted to expand its sensations.

      Sarah and Ann became jealous of me, and of each other; the haughty, yet susceptible, Montague addressed each in turn, with a homage equally fervent for the moment, and equally transient. This young man was bold, ardent, romantic, and enterprizing, but blown about by every gust of passion, he appeared each succeeding moment a different character: with a glowing and rapid imagination, he had never given himself time to reason, to compare, to acquire principles: following the bent of a raised, yet capricious fancy, he was ever in pursuit of meteors, that led him

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