HARFORD'S TALE.

Otago Daily Times, Issue 301, 6 December 1862, Page 6

HARFORD'S TALE.

(From Temple Bar.)

a Fourteen months ago, I was lodging for thesummer in a farmhouse in a village, no matter where. The only house there belonging to gentlefolks, except thei wretched old parsonage, was Squire Ringwood's. It was a big stupid-looking mansion on a hill, -staring down overbearingly at the poor little tenements huddled together below j and the burly squire himself was for all the world- like his house, as he sat on his tall horse, and looked down pompously over his vast waistcoat at a frightened crew of village children. The squire had an ugly sickly wife and daughter, they -h act a humble companion that.was an ange! of beauty. I fell in love with her at church. Oh, the little church in the west countrie, hid in the bowery orchard hollow II fell in love with Fanny Yale before I knew her name: I learnt that* from the farm house, folks with whom I lodged. They told me, moreover, that she was a young widow, and still in weeds when she came to lodge very humbly in the village ,six months before ; that the squire's wife aiid daughter had fc-.ken a fancy to her, and had adopted her into their family as a, kind of reader and useful companion of all work.' I made her acquaintance by a note which I threwat her feet, over a hedge, ,the first time I spied her walking alone. I neednofc swear to you that I never had an evil wish or thought about her. To me a woman was a holy thing desecrated by no lowness of condition, desemngof any gentleman's love and rsverence if endowed with certain qualities. These qualities I now took on trust, and being enchanted by her beauty, saw also, the perfection of moral loveliness in her face. Such an angelic face ! There she satin the squire's pew, beside her ugly patroness, with such intelligence in her melancholy blue eye and fair Thalfmoon of brow, such a breathing sensibility in her silence: and; when I 'came to know her, what' sympathy in her smile, what silken manners,. .so soft, graceful caressing,- : yet modest and full of suave, dignity! She f did' not answer my note; but when I went to the copse behind Ringwood House, where I had implored "her io meet me, she was there. She came, she said.only to beg me to come, and write no more. She was a poor dependent, and the least suspicion falling on her would crtst her homeless and. friendless on the world. I will not dwell on this stale love-story : it was perfectly .coramon-place of its kind, except that the dupe was not, for once, the humble beauty, but the gentleman .from. London. ' She consented to be'my wife; and at the summer's end, without asking her a single question as to her past, without knowing more of ifc than the farm folk had volunteered to tell me the first, day I saw her, I brought this girl to Loudon, to a respectable house, and thence married her. That's Twhat came of being too good for this world, incapable of evil', or the comprehension of. it. - I had written to tell my father of my intended marriage to (I frankly confessed) a perfectly obscure and penniless young woman, that had of course everything but position'atid wealth to recommend her. *I wrote a respectful letter, which I receive! back in a blank cover. Yet my lie&rfc yearned to the cross-grained old man, and from the glory and joy of my fool's paradise I emerged voluntarily, before the honeymoon was over, to seek a reconciliation with my father.

'* When'l got to his. door, he -drove me away like a beggar, like a strange dog, with his lifted stick, 'with his mouth full of curses. This is the.last I ever saw of him. He died, six months after, implacable. "I hurried back to town, to be comforted by the angel in my house. I returned.' sooner; than was looked fbr. I opened the door by a latch-key,; aud went softly up-stairs to surprise my wife, It: was about two in the afternoon. Our little drawing-room, had folding-doors, which were now ajar. No one was in the front-room, but I heard—l heard my wife's voice in the other. I heard her voice and a man's-—I. had but to step forward, andsawr-" It was quite dark by this time, and hereythe voice that had come out of Harford?s black corner • suddenly broke into an awful sob. y T " Don't go on," said I, much distressed. " Let me alone," gasped Harford savagely, j In less thari a minute he resumed steadily. i "I. saw my wife with her arms ; round a man's neck. She was passionately entreating him not io leave her; he was trying to release himself. : The next moment they saw me, and started apart. Then, instantly, my wife, that tender.angel, flung herself at. me like a wild cat. She did not scream; but through her shut teeth she said. " I'll kill you, I'll kill you, if you touch him !" Her blueeyes glared much like yonder blue lightning that keeps flashing out there, and something glittered close .to my face. She had snatched up her scissors, and I verily believe would have,dug them intoimy. temple if her man, her lover, had not come and pulled down her hand. Then she fell into his arras again, kissing him before my face. He put ber from him, not very gently, and told her yjo sit down. She obeyed hira instantly. I cannot in the least describe my s.tate of mind all ' this: time, which was only a minute or two, I suppose. My impression, is that I ceased to-feel ; that if my brain and heart had 7 been scooped but, I could not have been emptier of emotion and thought ; that I was not conscious of anyvindictive rage, or any transpprii of despair. Some people may think lought to have kicked that man downstairs. .1 neither, did so, nor felt ariy desire to hurt him. It was he who took the initiative, and made me & sign to go into the front room with him, which I did. Then, when I stood there face to face with him, I said suddenly, andyasit were, involuntarily- >; ♦"Whbareyour '; • * "' lam sony for you,' said he in a gentle drawl, looking at <me quite compassionately; ,-.* this woman has treated you very badly.- Still, you know^ you have only yourself to thank. : Your* conduct has really been quite inconceivably rash, you know—' '■■■;■'.. "'Who arefyou?' -I repeated, staring at him bluntly. ' Ar.Ar ■.; yy; >'. *'' lam Captain Edward Ringwood. This woman was my unstress a year before you saw her. I assure you I knew nothing of your love affair or proposed marriage. If I had known.-an time; I should certainly have considered it my duty to have, warned you' of the awful blunder you were making ;inot(that.l am- responsible-for tie young woman's character, which was piettynbtoriousbeforel met her,; -i When I; went: abroad witb my regiment L did not leave het: destitute;! and then,'it seemsTj she chose rtd gbjdown andwrriggle herself into my family. A , yWhat' hbr mo- . tive was, I can't imagine- She iis a most artful dan-; gerous-woman thatisclear. . Shesaw my returrrto^j England in the papers yesterday,; and ;serit. me a note j inviting me to come and see dieir at -thy address,-' which I did. "■!• give you my word of honor I hadTnOt been here ten;minute when you? made your; appear-^ ance. ?; She had just told me sherwas .<married, and - this was yOrir hduse; upon which I got up ahd.wished i her good day ?:<■ <sy y>',u'•• -yy 7 yy'-vy^-j-.y).] -y^y " By this time P had foundniyself unable to 4tand,; and was sitting bn the sofa with mvhead betwieen my hands. When Captain Ringwood deffcbff speaking > I-' looked :np;^irieamrig to i say.;something, abut? forgot what it was, and only stared at him silent!y;b;s I ■;*-y-y' y,s'!^',H(_'.il^'a^r;-'rtight--y(>niijj man,?>abOrit thirty, with handsome, thin features; and largff :lighfc-hrown whiskers; He stood thereiooking at me with; the same good riatured concern in his face that-hehadexpres^df in words, in his fashionable affected-way. :•■ A} -. j r.i yy Irecollected wl^tsL had;been' going; tor say, and told him; I Swished to;; beideffcxalonel «He' silentlytook out his card, laid'-it on tbechimheypieeep .aM WentfOUt. < 7 ! -'^'7si;y v^y y7X- M^yv.'77:..f7s >- 'i';:.;',•? I

" I don't know how many hours I remained "lying on the sofa, with eyes shut, in that strange torpor j but it fcas night when I opened them, and found my wife standing by me. She had lighted the,x:andle& on the chimney piece, and was Btboping down over me 'She started upright as my eyes opened,»hut. she» did* not -avoid -them. She confronted, me, arching' back her" nymph-like -figure/ .arid leaning one f hand *on a- < table' r behind,1 .her.* | 1 folfcno emotion at sigh#of her, but' looked at 'her as if she hadbden a picture. • Her beauty-was splendid.. All her fair golden hair was turned oft her white face in a sort of glittering ameola." Her great- turqoisblue eves flwed under slightly contracted! brows ; :the nostrils of her delicate straight nose, arid her infantine mouth, expre&sedlrage'and pain,' * 'm^ . -*'£ axugiadyouare awake, 1 said sh^, *I? want yon* tobewi^9Jaylhateyo(ul^,' * • ± i.t.

S^lt^n^^^^S^^ Aa ;f $Ssfes%6i fla^|^t7^fc?the^i^hal f M&i j - Ax, 7;T '.;-'V77': :.A' .: f ■;"•-.-,' A7^: u®ut.:yc^ I tell you I always laughed at you and despised ,y o u! I married you because 7! thought it-would cive tne a • chahceTof wishing xiiitri, W^A^^i^^^-^^dajJ- | I ©jfcintb h|siami!y,^nditOadied i'lem an I inadelmjrTiJ rselftlieivservantsonlyliiThtenr7of h;na_7aad tofeel' hearer iiiih. arid be where liehadrbeeii—< loveT'h'im m!* -Ilove-no one elsa^^ kill you,'ahd ;aTdoi?rt like you. ta f"ave;lu"m from a:' i;njr?r-aehe. ,l-Svould'T'.rathyr'.;a;'-''th6»wahd-'.:Um4'.haye'-' a blow fi-om him than a "kiss fro'iii vou-^v- huivlred'? miUldu^rtmes I T When-I think of himy and tliat vbu^ ace between iis, I haie you—l abhor you I Hos/dare; ;you smile'rit me? I'll kill ybd I 7 ."-■•■'- ?; 7 {i I was quite unconscious of smiling; but she darted.'at. me, and struck at my throat. : I caught her band; this time she had a penknife, and I fe't that she had pricked me. That instinctive act'"ofTself-: defence roused me, arid probably save 1 my wits a' well as my life. -Wheu. I had 'mastered 'her,' arid thrbwirthe knife away> I held her hands in mine till she put down her face and bit them savagely; --"I tiedher wrists with my pocket-karidker< h'ef, and she sink panting ori a chair. All df a suddfri the unhappy creature burst out crying as-if her heart ■ was broken^as it well might be. I knew afterwards that RingwoodV cool rejection of her advances, and. his positive: refusal:-to receive, her :whea she had followed .hira back to This 'lodgings* some bours before, were at the bottom of that frenzy of: vituperation, and ythafc desperate j behaviour towards me. Bhe did not hate me, but was: simply mad with pain^ arid raved and struck out in her delirium- Pdo not believe that she: married ime with those, deliberately profligate iritentibbs; she> avowed,.but that she meant and wished to lead a! newlife, until the sight of Ringwood's name in the papers' and the knowledge of his-propinquity, in my abence, revived her passion /.for him, in which; hergood resolutions burnt like straw. I released her bands, and brought water and put it to her-lips j and:; when she was quiet through exhaustion ,1 advisedher to lie down, and hoped she would go to sleep. As I was leaving the room, she calledme back; in a low broken voice, and when I stood beside the sofa on which she lay, she joined her. hands, and asked? me with streaming eyes to forgive her.. I did so r freely. Of course Ringwood Was right. I had no; ! one but myself to thank. - My infatuation had! been1 jso monstrous, that I could no more complain ofthe j consequences than a man, sober, can complain of the ! consequences of some drunken folly. ! "As for thatpoor human flower, ■, still so beautiful and fresh to the eye while so withered at its heart, a kind of gloomy rage seized me as I looked at her , and thought of that selfish-ruffian, unknown,: who had tore oif this bud to stick in his buttonhole for an! hour, and cast into the kennel. Probably this fellowis living respected, and will die regretted. ; "People seem to go on a curious principle with regard to the one class of crimes. Eyidently, by the; way, they behave tothe chief actors in certain social tragedies, they consider the heavier (if not the bnly) blame to lie with the corrupted wife, the.terapted' daughter, not with the innocent wolf who leaps ; into; the told, the gay good-humoured man who train pies all laws, human and divine, to serve his accursed ■ends.:-.;'-..'. ■'".', .;,:'-■ ;;:; "7:''';'; -'-'

'In the morning, I took Fanny away to a farmhouse in Kent, a place she knewof, aad chore hfcrself for a retreat. She was quiet and humble, and apparently broken-spirited. Before Ileffc her she insisted on telling me her miserable bttle history. She was the daughter of a poor Welsh clergyman, and seduced by an idle gentleman on a Ashing tour. She cared little fcr him ! he took advantage of her vanity rather; than her love. He brought her to London, I "* You see I don't s deny,'- s^id she at her story's end, ' that we poor girls are very ready to: be led astray. But, then, why arc we 1 I want to know why we are so unprincipled, so easily tempted,) and have so little horror of vice ; and how it comes that there are so many devil's instruments, unconverted heathens, going about to temptus; in what is called a Christian land, with all its universities and churches and clergymen V" <

' But I will spare you poor Fanny's heterodoxies. "She did not remain at that farmhouse a momE; nor do I know whither she went, or where she has been ever since.

"She wroie me a long letter, to say. she could not bear the dulness of her life, and ths wearing patn,of her own thoughts. " She ended, iri something! like these words:.— * I have tried hard to be good. I'have prayed, on my knees till I was -exhausted and stupid, and prayed nonsense. All in vain. To-day I am twenty-two ; and I am going back, with open eyes, to the life I was cast upon, blindfold, at sixteen. That's what we are almost, all -driyenT.'tbj nbt by povej-tyj. not even by contumely, but just ly the hopeless1 cor ruptionof bur own souls. But, bad as I am, I wiil never trouble you more. Ido implore vbu to be sure of that, and to forget 'me, or think' of me as dead/ -',".-'.'.''.' --.■■•')-:

"I am afraid to. think bf lier at all. I made every possible effort to trace"her, but in vain ; arid I Suppose, I-could effect no good if I succeeded. ThafcsTkit added Harford, after a moment's pause; and there's the history of your friend and the wife of his bosoiri.''. 5"

THE MILANESIAN MISSION. ;>. 7'f The object of this mission has been often stated, viz. :—-the conversion of those races which inhabit the many groups of islands in the South Pacific, lying to the north-west of. New Zealand, and stretching!right away to New Guinea. '■ - ■.

The plan that has beeri adopted is also probabty well knowu-r-to visit frequently the different islands by means of the mission vessel; bringing away scholars to New Zealand, with reference; to the ultimate occupation of their islands by native- teachers and missionaries. ..■'.-.-

>: What has been aimed afc has not been to bring- indiscriminately as large a number of scholars ai possible from different islands,? but rather te-selecfc isaine few lads,' at those places which seem to present'niost advantages for fnture . working centres j and- to. induce them to come a^ain and again for a part bf the year to New Zealand, that they may be there tiiined to become themselves," with the help of English superintendence, the. heralds of the Gospel to their own and the neighboring tribes. • jThe difficulties of the work arise; cbiefly frbiri two causes: Ist, the immense number of dLstincij lauguates among these people/ often many dia'ects spoken on the aim J. island ; and, second!y,-the unhealthiness, with but few, exceptions, of the climate, rendering it unsafe foe the Europeans. to live;iu it for many months together^ • The present plan, first conceived and long carried on by the Bishop of New Zealand, seems the > only one adapted to meet all the difficulties presented by the workamong these islands; combining, as itdoes, the greatest economy of men and material, with the widest diffusion of that knowledge which it is its endeavor to convey. Itdoes not contemplate, for; several years at least, the permanent location of any European Missionaries on any of the islands; Pev^r and ague, and unhealthiness of the soil making this generally unsafe for any but those who have been first to some extent acclimatised by making short : stays among them ; while, as the Mission vessel will probably spend regularly, six months-of every ye&r, in moving about among the different groups of islands, it will insure several visits to each station during the reason.,.. . '~-,-,:..,;,;

. The'lslaud of Mota, Tin the-Banks' (Jroup, may' M given as an instance of the working of this plani .It is now five years sirice this island was first-visited by the.Bishopof New Zealand and Bishop Pattafom Tlie people seeiried then to have had no intercourse as -yet with civilised man. Some few of them Came on board m their canDes to see the- strange vessel, and showed by ;their manner that all they .saw was perfectly new to them.. The boat pulled tOithe beach, and was met by severalrmenoftheiidand,ariried,: but apparently very friendly. Nowbinenand children were yet fo be seen, andthe pebplehave since told, us that they were themselves, at that very time,;Concea'ed;in numbers among the trees overhanging >the beach; with 7ibeir, bows drawn, ready to send a shower^of -arrows undn us, should we attempt to molest them.:.-: Suspicion!, howeverj.was soon-disarmed by a few presents Tot hatchets; arid cfish-hobks, and by friendly gestures/and the repetition, on the part of the Bishop and his party ofthe two or three-words and phrases tliat they had picked up. The next day many canoes came across to the harbour at the neighboring island of Vanua Lava, where the strange vessel was lying. The steelyards were quickly set up on the shore, and large numbers of hatchets became the property of the admiring natives" in exchange for a given weight of yams, cocoa liuts,, and other native produce. Meanwhile the Bishop and Bishop.Patteson were endeavouring bywords, and signs,*to explain to the people their wish "t'jat some of their I lad 3 should accompany „ them to New" Zealand. None, however, < could muster • courage enough this time; but ten months later, when the vessel again visited these people, two men were induced to remain on board.. They accompanied Bishop Pattest to Lifu, one of the Loyalty Islands, where he was that year holding his winter school, and spent some months with him. - 1 - . ' i." ' *„ No difficulty was experienced after this in obtaining' scholars for New • Zealand; and two years later, Bishop , Patteson spent a night on shore at Mota, talking to the large numbers,of people that had assembled from all parts ofthe island to see (him, and makine; arrangements for paying them a visit of some months' duration>another year. - , „ * .Next winter, accordingly j he remained on Mota 1 with a small party of Loyalty Islanders, and scholars from the -Solomon. Islands, s During this, stay the people treated him and his party with perfect friendliness. Much, more was learnt than had every before been known concerning the habits, aud religion (if i their numberless superstitious-practices ma_Mbe so ! called) of this people; and many opportunities^ were ' afforded of declaring, in-all paijts of the island, the I message they had come to bring. The impression made was of course as yet but very small. * In, 1861, Bishop Patteson again remained on'Mota •with his mission staff.- The; natives- continued their .friendly behaviour,-and interested-ihen^lyes more. in 4 thelnew teaching. This year \ lajcgejjiouse vaß built to serve as a school-room^n' wjbiph ja§arlyf 150. people'often assembled on.-Sundays to r? prayers7and' fschool. > A central school was also established at'..tho T

|pe%?^^^a^^#oriie^fi^ 7Jt w^^fi^^bh^tTth^tlmtlttie i^S^lP^^ Reefed, tJMwerEbrdughfr7last4 ;^orit^^Bishogriidre7than^^eSmakinrf^^ inquiries of biiny-bf which irianyhopeful' «^nver^atxorisA^reihevresultyf" A7-"B':7'! y^Axr A7-':- y 77-last- winterythe- 'was a^aitv pCcupiied for" a ! .W^ti'npjy^Oof^theHiishop^staff were-lfcft ftlicr«7 :<;ieven;wpeks/*hile he Was his long; .ipand of visifeto ih* "-lhV>rgroin:s; -y^-^A^A'' ! yy . Perhaps the/nVost hopeful feakrn of fltfM?st visit,: ywas the coasfstcat arin7gteady Coriduc^bf "theTNew" Ze;ilan(| siiholars •. wUhbrife'exc^ioiiv ihev'conducted; themselves most pafisaatbriiy,- "as those who began to realise what a responsibility was.'eiitailed upon them.; '■'?I- tbeir having lejjrrit' mbre^abtiiitthe Wrutli than e;?.^ ubtTymen. They remained- at the station,. assisting to the best of their pdwbr in' evbry way, tak r ing .tfieir Town classes iri the school/ and going ;out iii tl*riis toythe different village* to teach there; One' young niaTried couple especiTaily/wlio hi&': spent the summer before in. New Zealand, behaved in' a manner; beyond? air:pviise: i,; Indeed/the induct of the party generally' was. such !as; tb-?give 'cause for the y^a.^3tT*harikfu)n^ss. 7it seems now'not' tbb (Imuch t» hope,:thaTt:iri ai; veiy fewyeara, with (^d'slblesinar. the whole of the Banks', group, witli;.;a';-'populaiibn 'of probably not les3 than 12,000, may be almost entirely ;Worked by a stafi* of its own riative teachers and mis siouaiiea.-- ; . ■; ■■

Jt istj be hoped that several of thei Moth1 scholars may be baptised "iri the course of the summer. All those of last year have returned but one. The whole number of natives from the Banks' Islands is twentv•twb, all of whom had'first- to remain on trial at the central school on Mota before brought to New Zealand. •-.•■*■..• ...;■.; -y. .■.■■.■.,..: ~-..\- ...;.... •:

This imperfect sketch of what has been done on one of the smallest islands of the Banks' group, will perhaps be sufficient to give some idea of the plan >by which it is proposed to work the Islands. The Bishop has duringthislast voyage/lauded;in some hundreds of places, and has brought back no less than fifty-two scholars froiritwentyrthree differentislandsy speaking twenty-four distinct languages^ V Many more places are now open; in; which central winter'schoolsmight atonce be established,' as has been abready done on ■Mota* . The prayers,^therefore; of" all interested in this mission are more than ever needed, that God may continue" to p?nfeirto~lc the liberal measure of success-hitherto afforded. : " ■-■-.-