And where was our own dear Emma during this live-long night ?— Seated at the window, where she had watched through the long hours of darkness, had listened to every footfall, and hearkened to every voice; while poor Cinderella sat sound asleep in a chair beside the fire, for no persuasion could induce her to leave her mistress;-and yet no Godfrey came! She had sat out the stars, and the gas-lamps, had seen the late drunkard return reeling home, and the poor mechanic sally forth to his daily labour, carrying his humble fare in a basket, and counting the hours that would intervene before he should again see his wife and children. All this she had seen, yet no husband came, although the morning sunshine was now sleeping upon the streets. At length she gave way to her feelings, and tear after tear slowly chased each other down her pale but lovely cheeks. She began to fear something had happened to him; that he had lost his way, or been molested in some dark street. Then came other thoughts ;-might he not have met with society far more congenial to his taste than her own was! Men of kindred spirits, or women of high intellect, whose accomplishments were far beyond hers, and who, by their fascinating manners might estrange his affections from her, and make him forget his own fond Emma. And she blamed herself for persuading him to go. At length she heard the sound of wheels! she threw up the window, and beheld her husband; and rushing down stairs, opened the door, and threw her arms around his neck, exclaiming, "Oh, Godfrey! I thought you had forgotten me!" Few and homely though these simple words were, they sank into Godfrey's heart; and the raven ringlets and dark eyes, and face lit up with an eager, though silent meaning, flashed full upon his mind's eye,' as he recalled the countenance of the lady whom he had that night helped on with her shawl, before leaving Lady Smileall's soirée. It was the first time that his conscience had ever smote him for harbouring in his bosom, even for a moment, another image than that of Emma's! Poor Cinderella! she was with difficulty aroused from her sound slumber, where she had sat with her head thrown back, and her mouth wide open, and her little old-fashioned cap half off her head! Dearly did this poor creature love her kind-hearted mistress! She wept when she saw her low-spirited, and sang when she found her merry. And, oh! her singing, it was a mixture of all street sounds, a mingling of the tones in which the man cried water-cresses, and the ragged boy who accompanied himself, while jumping Jim Crow," down to some odd note picked up while listening, as she stood with her basket on her little arm, to the organ of the Italian boy. And the odd way she had of showing her affection, the original notions she entertained of a lady's appetite, and the tit-bits' she sometimes bought out of the few pence that were occasionally given her. If Emma was poorly, and could eat but little breakfast, so sure as Cinderella went out, and had a penny of her own, she would bring in something 'so nice,' and endeavour to persuade her mistress to partake of it, saying, “Oh, do have a bit; it's so good!" Strange were the tastes of our poor Cinderella. At times she would bring in a few shrimps, the smell of which was enough for Emma; or a crab, which she had picked up for a penny, one of an old date; or two or three large whilks, or a thin outside rasher of ham; a stale egg, or three-days old pastry, and she would hang about her mistress; and although Emma invariably declined tasting such 'dainties,' yet sometimes she would take them, and put them away, promising to taste a little when she felt inclined, then seizing the first opportunity to throw them into the street, while her heart acknowledged to itself all the poor creature's well-meant kindness; and it really grieved her to refuse accepting it. And Emma's smiling countenance and Godfrey's approving smile, made poor Cinderella very happy; and sometimes she went into a corner and cried to herself, when she thought of the change which had taken place, since she left the service of the big gin-drinking brute of a landlady! And here we must digress for a few moments, and speak a word or two in favour of the poor Cinderellas. There are too many who treat their servants with less kindness than they do their dogs, who never in their lives evinced a spark of affection, or showed a sign of gratitude to the poor hirelings' who administer so much to their daily comforts; who 'pay,' and consider that it would be letting themselves down,' were they to be either kind or familiar to their servants. To such we would recommend the perusal of Lockhart's Life of Sir Walter Scott,' and there they will find how a good and a great man treated his domestics; and how they clung to him in return, amid his fallen fortunes. There are passages in the above-named work which ought to be framed and glazed, and hung up in every gentleman's house. They would serve alike as a lesson to master and man; for who can forget the old coachman trying his hand at the plough, and the kind master looking on, and promising that, if better days came, 'easy should be Pepe's cushion.' * Kindness is the safest capital a man can invest-the returns are an hundred-fold, and there is a pleasure in the outlay. It is a wealth which all may possess who choose-it makes even a beggar respected. Nay, we have seen a waiter, in a low alehouse, bring in half-a-pint of beer with a smile, and place it kindly before a poor customer, who never in all his life rewarded him with a penny, while he paid no attention to the ostentatious and domineering order of the wine-drinking, well-dressed gentleman in the next box, who added to his commands a 'be quick, sirrah!' God never ordained any man to be a slave, he made us all equal. Look at the letters written upon every grave! examine the dust of the dead! then point out man's great distinction! The common clod at last unites us all in one family! The mind's the standard of the man,' while here below. "I must note how greatly I admire the manner in which all his dependants appeared to have met the reverse of his fortunes-a reverse which inferred very considerable alteration in the circumstances of every one of them. The butler, instead of being the easy chief of a large establishment, was now doing half the work of the house, at probably half his former wages. Old Peter, who had been for five-andtwenty years a dignified coachman, was now ploughman in ordinary, only putting his horses to the carriage upon high and rare occasions;—and so on with all the rest that remained of the ancient train. And all, to my view, seemed happier than they had ever done before. Their good conduct had given every one of them a new elevation in his own mind; and yet their demeanour had gained, in place of losing, in simple humility of observance. "All this warm and respectful solicitude must have had a preciously soothing influence on the mind of Scott, who may be said to have lived upon love. No man cared less about popular admiration and applause; but for the least chill on the affection of any near and dear to him, he had the sensitiveness of a maiden. I cannot forget, in particular, how his eyes sparkled when he first pointed out to me Peter Mathieson guiding the plough on the haugh :-'Egad!' said he, auld Pepe (this was the children's name for their good friend),—auld Pepe's whistling at his darg. The honest fellow said, a yoking in a deep field would do baith him and the blackies good. If things get round with me, easy shall be Pepe's cushion.'"-Life of Sir Walter Scott, vol vii. p. 80. Edit. 1838. |