Newton Forster | Page 9

disposition, and a habit of rigid
self-command--were the characteristics of Edward Forster; whom I
shall now awaken, that we may proceed with our narrative.

"Well, I do declare, Mr Forster, you have had a famous nap," cried Mrs
Beazely, in a tone of voice so loud as to put an immediate end to his
slumber, as she entered his room with some hot water to assist him in
that masculine operation, the diurnal painful return of which has been
considered to be more than tantamount in suffering to the occasional
"pleasing punishment which women bear." Although this cannot be
proved until ladies are endowed with beards (which Heaven forfend!),
or some modern Tiresias shall appear to decide the point, the assertion
appears to be borne out, if we reason by analogy from human life;
where we find that it is not the heavy blow of sudden misfortune
tripping the ladder of our ambition and laying us prostrate, which
constitutes life's intermittent "fitful fever," but the thousand petty
vexations of hourly occurrence.----We return to Mrs Beazely, who
continued--"Why, it's nine o'clock, Mr Forster, and a nice fresh
morning it is too, after last night's tempest. And pray what did you hear
and see, sir?" continued the old woman, opening the shutters and
admitting a blaze of sunshine, as if determined that at all events he
should now both hear and see.
"I'll tell you all, Mrs Beazely, when I am dressed. Let me have my
breakfast as soon as you can, for I must be off again to the cove. I did
not intend to have slept so late."
"Why, what's in the wind now, Mr Forster?" said the old lady,
borrowing one of his nautical phrases.
"If you wish to know, Mrs Beazely, the sooner you allow me to get out
of bed, the sooner I shall be able to give you the information you
require."
"But what made you stay out so late, Mr Forster?" continued the
housekeeper, who seemed determined, if possible, to have a little
information en attendant, to stay her appetite until her curiosity could
obtain a more substantial repast.
"I am sorry to say, there was a vessel wrecked."
"Oh dear! O dear! Any lives lost?"

"All, I am afraid, except one, and even that is doubtful."
"O Lord! O Lord! Do, pray, Mr Forster, tell me all about it."
"As soon as I am dressed, Mrs Beazely," replied Mr Forster, making a
movement indicative that he was about to "turn out," whether or no,
and which occasioned Mrs Beazely to make a hasty retreat.
In a few minutes Forster made his appearance in the parlour, where he
found both the kettle and the housekeeper boiling with impatience. He
commenced eating and narrating until the respective appetites of Mrs
Beazely and himself were equally appeased, and then set off for the
abode of Robertson, to ascertain the fate of the infant.
How different was the scene from that of the night before! The sea was
still in commotion; and as the bright sun shone upon its agitated surface,
gilding the summits of the waves, although there was majesty and
beauty in the appearance, there was nought to excite terror. The
atmosphere, purified by the warfare of the elements, was fresh and
bracing. The short verdure which covered the promontory and hills
adjacent was of a more brilliant green, and seemed as if to bask in the
sun after the cleansing it had received from the heavy rain; while the
sheep (for the coast was one extended sheep-walk) studded the sides of
the hills, their white fleeces in strong yet beautiful contrast with the
deep verdure of nature. The smooth water of the cove, in opposition to
the vexed billows of the unsheltered ocean; the murmuring of the light
waves, running in long and gently curved lines to their repose upon the
yellow sand; their surface occasionally rippled by the eddying breeze as
it swept along; his own little skiff safe at her moorings, undulating with
the swell; the sea-gulls, who but a few hours ago were screaming with
dismay as they buffeted against the fury of the gale, now skimming on
the waves, or balanced on the wing near to their inaccessible retreats;
the carolling of the smaller birds on every side of him, produced a
lightness of heart and quickened pulse, to which Edward Forster had
latterly been a stranger.
He soon arrived at the cottage, where the sound of his footsteps brought
out the fisherman and his wife, the latter bearing in her arms the little

object of his solicitude.
"See, Mr Forster," said Jane, holding out the infant, "it's quite well and
hearty, and does nothing but smile. What a lovely babe it is!"
Forster looked at the child, who smiled, as if in gratitude;