Autobiographical fiction; England -- Fiction; Feminist fiction; Governesses -- Fiction; Single women -- Fiction
we have spent together, and which neither could have had without the
other, than I can the privilege of having been his nurse in sickness,
and his comfort in affliction.
“Will this do, children?—or shall I say we are all very sorry for what
has happened during the last thirty years, and my daughters wish they
had never been born; but since they have had that misfortune, they will
be thankful for any trifle their grandpapa will be kind enough to
bestow?”
Of course, we both applauded our mother’s resolution; Mary cleared away
the breakfast things; I brought the desk; the letter was quickly
written and despatched; and, from that day, we heard no more of our
grandfather, till we saw his death announced in the newspaper a
considerable time after—all his worldly possessions, of course, being
left to our wealthy unknown cousins.
CHAPTER XX.
THE FAREWELL
A house in A——, the fashionable watering-place, was hired for our
seminary; and a promise of two or three pupils was obtained to commence
with. I returned to Horton Lodge about the middle of July, leaving my
mother to conclude the bargain for the house, to obtain more pupils, to
sell off the furniture of our old abode, and to fit out the new one.
We often pity the poor, because they have no leisure to mourn their
departed relatives, and necessity obliges them to labour through their
severest afflictions: but is not active employment the best remedy for
overwhelming sorrow—the surest antidote for despair? It may be a rough
comforter: it may seem hard to be harassed with the cares of life when
we have no relish for its enjoyments; to be goaded to labour when the
heart is ready to break, and the vexed spirit implores for rest only to
weep in silence: but is not labour better than the rest we covet? and
are not those petty, tormenting cares less hurtful than a continual
brooding over the great affliction that oppresses us? Besides, we
cannot have cares, and anxieties, and toil, without hope—if it be but
the hope of fulfilling our joyless task, accomplishing some needful
project, or escaping some further annoyance. At any rate, I was glad my
mother had so much employment for every faculty of her action-loving
frame. Our kind neighbours lamented that she, once so exalted in wealth
and station, should be reduced to such extremity in her time of sorrow;
but I am persuaded that she would have suffered thrice as much had she
been left in affluence, with liberty to remain in that house, the scene
of her early happiness and late affliction, and no stern necessity to
prevent her from incessantly brooding over and lamenting her
bereavement.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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