New Orleans daily crescent. [volume] ([New Orleans, La.]) 1851-1866, 1852-02-04
GRACE NEVILLE.
BY MISS MILFORD.

-
GRACE NEVILLE.
.s<k- MILFORD. g.,
Two or three winters ago, our little village
had the good fortune to have its curiosity ex-
| cited by the sudden appearance of a lovely and
| elegant young woman as an inmate in the house
OF Mr.. Martin, respectable farmer in the
place. The pleasure Of talking over new
conner in a country village, which, much as love
country villages, does, confess, occasionally
labor under a.stagnation of topics, must not be
lightly estimated. In the present instance, the
enjoyment was greatly increased by the oppor-
tune moment at which it occurred, just before
Christmas, so that conjecture was happily afoat
in all the parties of that merry time, enlivened
the tel-table, and gave zeal and animation to
the supper There was, too, a slight shade Of
misery, a difficulty in coming at the truth which
made the subject usually poignant. Talk her
over as they might, nobody knew anything cer
tain of the incognita, or her story; nobody
could tell who she was, or whence she came.
| Mrs. Martin, to whom her neighbors were on a
sudden most politely attentive in the way Of
calls and invitations, said nothing more than
that Miss Neville was young lady who had
come to lodge at Kinlay-end; and, except at
church, Miss Neville was invisible. Nobody
. could tell what to make of her.
Her beauty was, however, no question: BILE
matter. All the parish agreed on that point.
| She was in deep mourning, which set off advan-
4 tageously a tall and full, yet easy and elastic
figure, in whose carriage the vigor and frmness
Of youth and health seemed blended with the
elegance of education and good company.
Youth and health were the principal cha
racteristics of her countenance. There was
health in her bright hazel eyes, with their rich
dark eye-lashes health in the profusion of her
glossy brown hair health in her pure and bril-
iliant complexion; health in her red lips, her
} white teeth, and the beautiful smile that dis
4 played them health in her very dimples. Her
manners as well as they could be judged of in
passing to and from the church, leading one OF
the little Martins by the hand, and occasionally
talking to him, seemed as graceful as her per-
son, and as open rs her countenance. All the
village agreed that she was lovely creature,
and all the village wondered whom she could be.
1t was most amusing puzzle.
There was, however, no mystery in the story
of Grace Neville. She was the only child Of an
officer of rank who fell in the early stage of the
| Peninsular war. Her mother had survived him
but short time and the little orphan had beer
reared in great tenderness and luxury by hel
maternal uncle, a kind, thoughtless, expensive
man, speculating and sanguine, who, aftel
exhansting n good fortune in vain attempts Il
realize great one, sinking money suecessively
in farming, in cotton spinning, in paper making
J. in Il silk mill, and Il mine, found himself on
fair morning actually ruined. and died-sue
things have happened-of q broken heart
~ leaving poor Grnce, at three-and- twenty, wit
the habits and education of an heiress, almos
totally destitute.
re The poor girl found, as usual plenty of con
Is forters and advisers. Some recommended ht
to sink the little fortune she possessed, in rigl
t. of her father, in school: and some to lay it b
for old age, and 60 out as a governess; som
y limited at the possibility of inatrmony, adyisin
!; that at all events so fine young woman shoul
: try her fortune by visiting about amongst he
, friends for year or two, and favored her wit
husband hunting invitation accordingly. Blu
= Grace was too independent and too proud for
y governess; too sick of schemes for school
and the hint matrimonial had etfectually pre-
t vented her from accepting any. even the mos
r unsupported invitation. Besides, she said, an,
! perhaps she thought, that she was weary OF TIL
world so she wrote to Mrs. Martin, once he
t uncle's ouse-keeper, now the substantial wifi
, of II substantial farmer, and came down to lodg
with her in our secluded village
i Poor Grace, what a change! 1t was mid
e winter; snowy, foggy, sleety. wet. Kinlay end
e an old manor house, dilapidated into its presen
Q condition, stood with its windows half closed,
\ \ huge vine covering its front, and ivy climhin
up the sides to the roof-the very image of chill
ness and desolation. There was, indeed, on
: habitable wing, repaired and fitted up as a
s. occasional sporting residence for the landlord
>, nuu lnOSe apartments WtIe lOGheu dllu Oh
= lived like the rest of the family, in the centr
y of the house, made up of great, low. dark room
e with oaken panels, of long, rambling passage
% of interminable galleries, and broad, dust
i. stair-cases, up which you might drive a coac
e and six.
Such was the prospect within doors an
without, mud mud mud and nothing b,
" mud! Then the noises wind, in all its vari'
re ties, combined with bats, rats, cats. owls, pig
n COWS, geese, ducks, turkeys chickens and chill
ren in all varieties also; for besides the regul;
A. inhabitants of the farm yard-biped and qua,
ruped-Mrs. Martin had within doors sundl
~ NJ coops of poultry, two pet lambs, and four bo
20 from six years old downward, who were in sol
way or other exercising their voices all day Ion
Mrs. Martin too, she whilom so soft-spoken a
&c demure, had now found her scolding tongue, a
was, indeed, noted for that accomplishment
over the parish the maid was saucy and
ed farmer smoked.
It It. Poor Grace Neville! what trial what
er contrast she tried to draw; tried to sing tr
to read; tried to work; and, above all, tried
tic be contented But nothing would do. The va
est endeavor of all was the last She was Of
ew social, cheerful temperament, to which sympat
'rs n. is necessary; and having no one to whom :
rs. IS. could say, how pleasant is solitude began
find solitude the most tiresome thing in
ke, world Mr. and Mrs. Martin were very g
les sort of people in their way-scolding and sm'
ing notwithstanding but their way was so {
ferent from hers and the children, whom :
'n- might have found some amusement in spoili
a were so spoilt already, as to be utterly unbe
Mt able.
len Gu The only companionable person about
;I place was slipshod urchn, significantly tern
.ns .ns q the odd boy;' an extra and supplement-
,r ,ne domestic whose department it is to help all
Nes others out of doors and in; to do all they e!
undone, and to bear the blame of every TN
ned ID that goes amiss. The parsonage in quest,,'
ma Dick Crosby by name, was parish boy YAK AK
His from the workhouse. He was, as nearly as 90.
I Of be guessed, for nobody took the trouble 10
ooh OK certain about his age somewhere bordering
the eleven; long, lean, famished. looking ooy, "
the pale complexion, sharp thin features, anu $.
"ha 1La burnt hair His dress was usually hat vi
stnn out a crown: tattered round frock; stockil
The that scarcely covered his ankles, and shoes Il
and hung on his feet by the middle like clogs, dc
o. at heel and open at toe Yet, underneath IL
into rags, and through all his hufhngs and cufir
and from master and mistress, carter and maid,
heir boy looked and was merry and contented;
anS .nG even a sort of n wag in his own way; stu
or Of and independent in his opinions, and constan
king his attachments.
'fp''1 He had a pet sheep-dog-for among his
=, merous avocations he occasionally acted rs
wing der-shepherd--a ghastly-l looking animal vii