PRECAUTION. CHAPTER I.

[figure description] Page 001.[end figure description]

“I wonder if we are to have a historical
in the Deanery soon,” inquired Clara
Moseley, addressing herself to a small party,
assembled in her father's drawing room,
while standing at a window which commanded
a distant view of the mansion in
question.

“Oh yes,” replied her brother, “the
agent has let it to a Mr. Jarvis for a couple
of years, and he is to take possession
this week.”

“And who is the Mr. Jarvis that is about
to become so near a neighbour to us?” asked
Sir Edward Moseley of his son.

“Why, Sir, I learn he has been a capital
merchant, that has retired from business
with a large fortune; that he has, like yourself,
sir, an only hope for his declining years
in his son, who is an officer in the army;
and, moreover, that he has a couple of fine
daughters; so, sir, he is a man of family,
you see. But,” dropping his voice, “whether

[figure description] Page 002.[end figure description]

he is a man of family in your sense, Jane,”
looking at his second sister, “is more than
I could discover.”

“I hope you did not take the trouble, sir,
to inquire on my account,” retorted Jane,
colouring slightly with vexation at his
speech.

“Yes, but indeed I did, my dear sis, and
solely on your account,” replied the laughing
brother, “for you well know, that no
gentility, no husband; and it's dull work to
you young ladies without at least a possibility
of matrimony; as for Clara, she is—”

Here he was stopped by his youngest
sister Emily placing her hand on his mouth,
as she whispered in his ear, “John, you
forget the anxiety of a certain gentleman,
about a fair incognita at Bath, and a list of
inquiries concerning her lineage, and a few
other indispensables.” John, in his turn,
coloured, and affectionately kissing the hand
which kept him silent, addressed himself to
Jane, and by his vivacity and good humour
soon restored her complacency.

“I rejoice,” said Lady Moseley, “that Sir
William has found a tenant, however; for
next to occupying it himself, it is a most desirable
thing to have a good tenant in it, on
account of the circle we live in.”

“And Mr. Jarvis has the great goodness
of money, by John's account,” dryly observed
Mrs. Wilson, a sister of Sir Edward's.

[figure description] Page 003.[end figure description]

“Let me tell you, madam,” cried the rector
of the parish, looking around him pleasantly,
“that a great deal of money is a very
good thing in itself, and that a great many
very good things may be done with it.”

“Such as paying tythes, ha! doctor,”
cried Mr. Haughton, a gentleman of landed
property in the neighbourhood, of plain exterior,
but great goodness of heart, and between
whom and the rector subsisted the
most cordial good will.

“Aye, tythes, or halves, as the baronet
did here, when he forgave old Gregson one
half his rent, and his children the other.”

“Well, but my dear,” said Sir Edward to
his wife, “you must not starve our friends
because we are to have a neighbour. William
has stood with the dining room door
open these five minutes—”

Lady Moseley gave her hand to the rector,
and the company followed them, without any
order, to the dinner table.

The party assembled on this day round
the hospitable board of the baronet, was
composed, beside the before-mentioned persons,
of a wife of Mr. Haughton, a woman
of much good sense and modesty of deportment;
their daughter, a young lady conspicuous
for nothing but good nature; and the
wife and son of the rector—the latter but
lately admitted into holy orders himself.

The remainder of the day was passed in
that uninterrupted flow of pleasant

[figure description] Page 004.[end figure description]

conversation which was the natural consequence
of a unison of opinions in all leading questions,
and where the parties had long known
and esteemed each other for those qualities
which soonest reconcile us to the common
frailties of our nature. On parting at the
usual hour, it was agreed to meet that day
week at the rectory, and the doctor, on
making his bow to Lady Moseley, observed,
that he intended, in virtue of his office, to
make an early call on the Jarvis family, and
that, if possible, he would persuade them to
join the intended party at his house.

Sir Edward Moseley was descended from
one of the most respectable of the creations
of his order by James, and had inherited,
with many of the virtues of his ancestors,
an estate which placed him amongst the
greatest landed proprietors in the county.
But, as it had been an invariable rule never
to deduct a single acre from the inheritance
of the eldest son, and the extravagance of
his mother, who was the daughter of a
nobleman, had much embarrassed the affairs
of his father, Sir Edward, on coming into
possession of his estate, had wisely determined
to withdraw from the gay world, by
renting his house in town, and retiring altogether
to his respectable mansion, about a
hundred miles from the metropolis. Here
he hoped, by a course of systematic, but
liberal economy, to release himself from all
embarrassments, and make such a provision

[figure description] Page 005.[end figure description]

for his younger children, the three daughters
already mentioned, as he conceived their
birth entitled them to expect. Seventeen
years had enabled him to accomplish this
plan; and for more than eighteen months
Sir Edward had resumed the hospitality and
appearance usual in his family, and had
even promised his delighted girls to take
possession the ensuing winter, of his house
in St. James's Square. Nature had not qualified
Sir Edward for great or continued
exertions, and the prudent decision he had
taken to retrieve his fortunes, was perhaps
an act of as much forecast and vigour as his
talents or energy would admit of; it was the
step most obviously for his interests, and
safest both in its execution and consequences,
and as such had been adopted: but, had it
required a single particle more of enterprise
or calculation, it would have been beyond
his powers, and the heir might have yet laboured
under the difficulties which distressed
his more brilliant, but less prudent parent.

The baronet was warmly attached to his
wife; and as she was a woman of many valuable
and no obnoxious qualities, civil and
attentive by habit to all around her, and perfectly
disinterested in her attachments to her
own family, nothing in nature could partake
more of perfection in the eyes of her husband
and children than the conduct of this beloved
relative; yet Lady Moseley had her failings,

[figure description] Page 006.[end figure description]

although few were disposed to view her
errors with that severity which truth requires,
and a just discrimination of character
renders necessary. Her union had been one
of love, and for a time, objected to by the
friends of her husband, on the score of fortune;
but constancy and perseverance had
prevailed, and the protracted and inconsequent
opposition of his parents, had left no
other effects, than an aversion in their children
to the exercise or even influence of parental
authority, in marrying their own descendants,
which, although equal in degree,
was somewhat differing in effect. In the
husband it was quiescent; but in the wife,
slightly shaded with the female esprit du
corps, of having her daughters comfortably
established, and that in due season. Lady
Moseley was religious, but hardly pious;
she was charitable in deeds; but not always
in opinions; her intentions were pure, but
neither her prejudices or her reasoning powers
suffered her to be at all times consistent;
yet few knew her but loved her, and none
were ever heard to say aught against her
breeding, her morals, or her disposition.

The sister of Sir Edward had been married,
early in life, to an officer in the army,
who, spending much of his time abroad on
service, had left her a prey to that solicitude
to which her attachment to her husband necessarily
exposed her; to find relief from
which, an invaluable friend had pointed out

[figure description] Page 007.[end figure description]

the only true course her case admitted of—a
research into her own heart, and the employment
of active benevolence. The death of
her husband, who lost his life in battle,
causing her to withdraw in a great measure
from the world, gave her time for, and induced
those reflections, which led to impressions
on the subject of religion, correct in
themselves, and indispensable as the basis of
future happiness, but slightly tinctured with
the sternness of her vigorous mind, and possibly
at times more unbending than was
compatible with the comforts of this world;
a fault, however, of manner, and not of matter.
Warmly attached to her brother and his
children, Mrs. Wilson, who had never been
a mother herself, had yielded to their earnest
entreaties to become one of the family; and
although left by the late General Wilson
with a large income, she had since his death
given up her establishment, and devoted most
of her time to the formation of the character
of her youngest niece. Lady Moseley had
submitted this child entirely to the control
of her aunt; and it was commonly thought
Emily would inherit the very handsome sum
left to the disposal of the General's widow.

Both Sir Edward and Lady Moseley had
possessed a large share of personal beauty
when young, and it had descended in common
to all their children, but more particularly
to the youngest daughters. Although
a strong family resemblance, both in person

[figure description] Page 008.[end figure description]

and character, existed between these closely
connected relatives, yet it existed with shades
of distinction, that had very different effects
on their conduct, and led to results which
stamped their lives with widely differing degrees
of happiness.

Between the families at Moseley Hall and
the Rectory, there had existed for many
years an intimacy, founded on esteem, and
on long intercourse. Doctor Ives was a
clergyman of deep piety, and very considerable
talents; he possessed, in addition to a
moderate benefice, an independent fortune in
right of his wife, who was the only child of
a distinguished naval officer. Both were
well connected, well bred, and well disposed
to their fellow creatures. They were blessed
with but one child—the young divine we
have mentioned, who promised to equal his
father in all those qualities which had made
the Doctor the delight of his friends, and
almost the idol of his parishioners.

Between Francis Ives and Clara Moseley,
there had been an attachment, which had
grown with their years, from their childhood.
He had been her companion in their youthful
recreations—had espoused her little quarrels,
and participated in her innocent pleasures,
for so many years, and with such
evident preference for each other in the
youthful pair—that on leaving college to
enter on the studies of his sacred calling
with his father, Francis here rightly judged,

[figure description] Page 009.[end figure description]

that none other would make his future life
so happy, as the mildness, the tenderness,
the unassuming worth of the retiring Clara.
Their passion, if so gentle a feeling could
deserve the term, had received the sanction
of their parents, and waited only the establishment
of the youthful divine, to perfect
their union.

The retirement of Sir Edward's family
had been uniform, with the exception of
occasional visits to an aged uncle of his
wife's, and who, in return, spent much of
his time with them at the Hall, and who
had declared his intention of making the
children of Lady Moseley his heirs. The
visits of Mr. Benfield were always hailed
as calling for more than ordinary gayety;
for although rough from indulgence in his
manner, and somewhat infirm from his
years, the old bachelor, who was rather addicted
to those customs he had indulged in
in his youth, and was fond of dwelling on
the scenes of former days, was universally
beloved where he was intimately
known, for his unbounded, though at times,
singular philanthropy.

The illness of the mother-in-law of Mrs.
Wilson had called her to Bath the winter
preceding the spring our history commences,
and she had been accompanied by her nephew
and favourite niece. John and Emily, during
the month of their residence in that city,
were in the practice of making daily

[figure description] Page 010.[end figure description]

excursions in its environs; and it was in one of
these little tours that they were of accidental
service to a very young and very beautiful
woman, apparently in low health. They
had taken her up in their carriage, and
conveyed her to a farm-house where she
resided, during a faintness which had come
over her in a walk; and her beauty, air, and
manner, altogether so different from those
around her, had interested them both to a
painful degree. They had ventured to call
the following day to inquire after her welfare,
and this led to a slight intercourse,
which continued for the fortnight longer
they remained there.

John had given himself some trouble to
ascertain who she was, but in vain. All they
could learn was, that her life was blameless,
she saw no one but themselves, and
her dialect raised a suspicion she was not
English. To this then it was that Emily had
alluded in her playful attempt to stop the
heedless rattle of her brother, which was not
always restrained by a proper regard for the
feelings of others.

CHAPTER II.

[figure description] Page 011.[end figure description]

On the morning succeeding the day of
the dinner at the Hall, Mrs. Wilson, and
all her nieces and her nephew, availed themselves
of the fineness of the weather, to walk
to the Rectory, whither they were in the
frequent habit of such informal and friendly
visits. They had just cleared the little village
of B—, which lay in their route, as a
rather handsome travelling carriage and four
passed them, and took the road which led to
the Deanery.

“As I live,” cried John, “there go our
new neighbours, the Jarvis's; yes, yes, that
must be the old merchant muffled up in the
corner, which I mistook at first for a pile of
band-boxes; then the rosy-cheek'd lady,
with so many feathers, must be the old
lady—heaven forgive me, Mrs. Jarvis I mean—
ay, and the two others the belles.”

“You are in a hurry to pronounce them
belles, John,” cried Jane; “it would be
well to see more of them, before you speak
so decidedly.”

“Oh!” replied John, “I have seen
enough of them, and”—he was interrupted
by the whirling of a tilbury and tandem,
followed by a couple of servants on horse-back.
All about this vehicle and its masters,
bore the stamp of decided fashion, and

[figure description] Page 012.[end figure description]

our party had followed it with their eyes for
a short distance, when having reached a
fork in the roads, it stopped, and evidently
waited the coming up of the pedestrians, as
if to make an inquiry. A single glance of
the eye was sufficient to apprise the gentleman
on the low cushion of the kind of
people he had to deal with, and stepping
from his carriage, he met them with a
graceful bow, and after handsomely apologising
for troubling them, he desired to know
which road led to the Deanery. “The
right, sir,” replied John, returning his salutation.

“Ask them, Colonel,” cried the charioteer,
“whether the old gentleman went
right or not.”

The Colonel, in the manner of a perfect
gentleman, but with a look of compassion
for his companion's want of tact, made the
desired inquiry; which being satisfactorily
answered, he again bowed, and was retiring,
as one of several pointers who followed
the cavalcade sprang upon Jane, and
soiled her walking dress with his dirty feet.

“Come hither, Dido,” cried the Colonel,
as he hastened to beat the dog back from
the young lady; and again he apologised in
the same collected and handsome manner—
when turning to one of the servants, he said,
“call in the dog, sir,” and rejoined his companion.
The air of this gentleman was peculiarly
pleasant; he was decidedly

[figure description] Page 013.[end figure description]

military, had he not been addressed as such by his
younger and certainly less polished companion.
The Colonel was apparently about
thirty, and of extremely handsome face and
figure, while his driving friend appeared
several years younger, and of different materials
altogether.

“I wonder,” said Jane, as they turned a
corner which hid them from view, “who
they are?” “Who they are?” cried her brother,
“why the Jarvis's to be sure; did'nt
you hear them ask the road to the Deanery?”

“Oh! the one that drove, he may be a
Jarvis, but not the gentleman who spoke to
us—surely not, John; he was called Colonel
you know.”

“Yes, yes,” said John, with one of his
quizzing expressions, “Colonel Jarvis, that
must be the alderman; they are commonly
colonels of city volunteers: yes, that must
have been the old gentleman who spoke to
us, and I was right about the band-boxes.”

“You forget,” said Clara, with a smile,
“the polite inquiry concerning the old gentleman.”

“Ah! true; who can this Colonel be then,
for young Jarvis is only a captain I know;
who do you think he is, Jane?”

“How do you think I can tell you, John;
but whoever he is, he owns the tilbury, although
he did not drive it, and he is a gentleman
both by birth and manners.”

“Why, Jane, if you know so much, you

[figure description] Page 014.[end figure description]

might know more, but it is all guess with
you.”

“No, it is not guess—I am sure of it.”

The aunt and sisters, who had taken little
interest in the dialogue, looked at her with
some surprise, which John observing, he exclaimed,
“Poh: she knows no more than we
all know.” “Indeed I do.” “Poh, poh,”
continued her brother, “if you know, tell.”
“Why, the arms were different, then.”

John laughed as he said, “that is a good
reason, to be sure, for the tilbury being the
colonel's property; but now for his blood;
how did you discover that, sis, by his gait
and movements?”

Jane coloured a little, and laugh'd faintly,
as she said, “the arms on the tilbury had
six quarterings.” Emily now laughed, and
Mrs. Wilson and Clara smiled, while John
continued his teazing until they reached the
rectory.

While chatting with the doctor and his wife,
Francis returned from his morning ride, and
told them the Jarvis family had arrived; he
had witnessed an unpleasant accident to a
gig, in which were Captain Jarvis, and a
friend, Colonel Egerton; it had been awkwardly
driven in turning in the deanery gate,
and upset: the colonel received some injury
to his ancle, nothing, however, serious he
hoped, but such as to put him under the care
of the young ladies probably for a few days.
After the usual exclamations which follow

[figure description] Page 015.[end figure description]

such details, Jane ventured to inquire of the
young divine who Colonel Egerton was:
“Why, I understood at the time from one of
the servants, that he is a nephew of Sir Edgar
Egerton, and a lieutenant-colonel on half-pay
or furlough, or some such thing.”

“How did he bear his misfortune, Mr.
Francis?” inquired Mrs. Wilson.

“Certainly as a gentleman, madam, if not
as a Christian,” replied the young clergyman,
smiling; “indeed, most men of gallantry
would, I believe, rejoice in an accident which
drew forth so much sympathy, as the Miss
Jarvis's manifested.”

“How fortunate you should all happen to
be near,” said Clara, compassionately.

“Are the young ladies pretty?” asked
Jane, with something of hesitation in her
manner.

“Why, I rather think they are; but I took
very little notice of their appearance, as the
colonel was really in evident pain.”

“This, then,” cried the doctor, “affords
me an additional excuse for calling on them
at an early day, so I'll e'en go to-morrow.”

“I trust Doctor Ives wants no apologies
for performing his duty,” said Mrs. Wilson.

“He is fond of making them, though,” said
Mrs. Ives, speaking with a benevolent smile,
and for the first time in the little conversation.

It was then arranged that the rector should
make his official visit, as intended, by himself;

[figure description] Page 016.[end figure description]

and on his report, the ladies would act; and
after remaining at the rectory an hour, they
returned to the hall, attended by Francis.

The next day the doctor drove in, and informed
them the Jarvis family were happily
settled, and the colonel in no danger, excepting
from the fascinations of the damsels, who
took such evident care of him, that he wanted
for nothing, and they might drive over
whenever they pleased, without fear of intruding
unseasonably.

Mr. Jarvis received his guests with the
frankness of good feelings, if not with the
polish of high life; while his wife, who seldom
thought of the former, would have been
mortally offended with the person who could
have suggested that she omitted any of the
elegancies of the latter. Her daughters were
rather pretty, but wanted, both in appearance
and manner, the inexpressible air of haut ton,
which so eminently distinguished the easy
but polished deportment of Colonel Egerton,
who they found reclining on a sofa with his leg
in a chair, amply secured in numerous bandages,
but unable to rise; yet, notwithstanding
the awkwardness of his situation, he was
by far the least discomposed person of the
party, and having pleasantly excused his
dishabille to the ladies, appeared to think no
more of his accident or its effects.

The captain, Mrs. Jarvis remarked, had
gone out with his dogs to try the grounds
around them, “for he seems to live only with

[figure description] Page 017.[end figure description]

his horses and his gun: young men, my lady,
now-a-days, appear to forget that there are
any things in the world but themselves; now
I told Harry that your ladyship and daughters
would favour us with a call this morning—
but no: there he went as if Mr. Jarvis
was unable to buy us a dinner, and we should
all starve but for his quails and pheasants.”

“Quails and pheasants,” cried John, in
consternation, “does Captain Jarvis shoot
quails and pheasants at this time of the year?”

“Mrs. Jarvis, sir,” said Colonel Egerton,
with a correcting smile, “understands the
allegiance due from us gentlemen to the ladies,
better than the rules of sporting; my
friend, the captain, has taken his fishing rod
I believe, madam.”

“It is all one, fish or birds,” cried Mrs.
Jarvis, “he is out of the way when he is
wanted most, and I believe we can buy fish
as easily as birds; I wish he would pattern
after yourself, colonel, in these matters.”

Colonel Egerton laughed pleasantly, but
did not blush at this open compliment to his
manners, and Miss Jarvis observed, with a
look of something like admiration thrown on
his reclining figure, “that when Harry had
been in the army as long as his friend, he
would know the usages of good society, she
hoped, as well.”

“Yes,” said her mother, “the army is
certainly the place to polish a young man;”

[figure description] Page 018.[end figure description]

and turning to Mrs. Wilson, “your husband,
I believe, was in the army, ma'am?”

“I hope,” said Emily hastily, “that we
shall have the pleasure of seeing you soon,
Miss Jarvis, at the Hall,” and preventing the
necessity of a reply from her aunt; the
young lady promised to be early in her visit,
and the subject changed to a general and uninteresting
discourse on the neighbourhood,
country, weather, and other ordinary topics.

“Now, John,” cried Jane in triumph, as
they drove from the door, “you must acknowledge
my heraldic witchcraft, as you are
pleased to call it, is right for once at least.”

“Oh! no doubt, Jenny,” said John, who
was accustomed to use that appellation to
her as a provocation, when he wished what
he called an enlivening spirt; but Mrs. Wilson
put a stop to it by a remark to his mother,
and the habitual respect of both the combatants
kept them silent.

Jane Moseley was endowed by nature with
an excellent understanding, at least equal to
that of her brother, but wanted the more essential
requisites of a well governed mind.
Masters had been provided by Sir Edward
for all his daughters, and if they were not acquainted
with the usual acquirements of
young women in their rank in life, it was not
his fault: his system of economy had not embraced
a denial of opportunity to any of his
children, and the baronet was apt to think
all was done, when they were put where all

[figure description] Page 019.[end figure description]

might be done. Feeling herself and parents
entitled to enter into all the gayeties and
splendour of some of the richer families in
their vicinity, Jane, who had grown up during
the temporary eclipse of Sir Edward's
fortunes, had sought that self-consolation so
common to people in her situation, which
was to be found in reviewing the former
grandeur of her house, and had thus contracted
a degree of family pride. If Clara's weaknesses
were less striking than those of Jane,
it was because she had less imagination, and
because that in loving Francis Ives she had
so long admired a character, where so little
was to be found that could be censured, that
she might be said to have contracted a habit
of judging correctly, without being able at
all times to give a reason for her conduct or
opinions.

CHAPTER III.

[figure description] Page 020.[end figure description]

The day fixed for one of the stated visits
of Mr. Benfield had now arrived, and John,
with Emily, who was the old bachelor's favourite
niece, went in the baronet's post
chaise to the town of F—, a distance of
twenty miles, to meet him, and convey him
the remainder of his journey to the Hall, it
being a settled rule with the old man, that his
carriage horses should return to their own
stables every night, where he conceited they
could alone find that comfort and care, their
age and services gave them a claim to. The
day was uncommonly pleasant, and the young
people in high spirits, with the expectation
of meeting their respected relative, whose
absence had been prolonged a few days by a
severe fit of the gout.

“Now, Emily,” cried John, as he fixed
himself comfortably by the side of his sister
in the chaise, “let me know honestly, how
you like the Jarvis's and the handsome colonel.”

“Then, John, honestly, I neither like nor
dislike the Jarvis's or the handsome colonel,
if you must know.”

“Well, then, there is no great diversity in
our sentiments, as Jane would say.”

“John!”

“Emily!”

[figure description] Page 021.[end figure description]

“I do not like to hear you speak so disrespectfully
of our sister, and one I am sure
you love as tenderly as myself.”

“I acknowledge my error,” said the brother,
taking her hand affectionately, “and
will endeavour to offend no more; but this
Colonel Egerton, sister, he is certainly a gentleman,
both by blood and in manners, as
Jane”—Emily interrupted him with a laugh
at his forgetfulness, which John took very
good-naturedly, as he repeated his observation
without alluding to their sister.

“Yes,” said Emily, “he is genteel in his
deportment, if that be what you mean; I
know nothing of his family.”

“Oh, I have taken a peep into Jane's Baronetage,
and I find him set down there as Sir
Edgar's heir.”

“There is something about him,” said
Emily, musing, “that I do not much admire;
he is too easy—there is no nature; I always
feel afraid such people will laugh at me as
soon as my back is turned, and for those very
things they seem most to admire to my face.
If I might be allowed to judge, I should say
his manner wants one thing, without which
no one can be truly agreeable.”

“What's that?”

“Sincerity.”

“Ah! that's my great recommendation,”
cried John, with a laugh; “but I am afraid I
shall have to take the poacher up, with his
quails and his pheasants indeed.”

[figure description] Page 022.[end figure description]

“You know the colonel explained that to
be a mistake.”

“What they call explaining away; but unluckily
I saw the gentleman returning with
his gun on his shoulder, and followed by a
brace of pointers.”

“There's a specimen of the colonel's manners
then,” said Emily, with a smile; “it will
do until the truth be known.”

“And Jane,” cried her brother, “when
she saw him also, praised his good nature
and consideration, in what she was pleased to
call, relieving the awkwardness of my remark.”

Emily finding her brother disposed to dwell
on the foibles of Jane, a thing at times he
was rather addicted to, was silent; and they
rode some distance before John, who was
ever as ready to atone as he was to offend,
again apologised, again promised reformation,
and during the remainder of the ride,
only forgot himself twice more in the same
way.

They reached F—two hours before the
lumbering coach of their uncle drove into the
yard of the inn, and had sufficient time to
refresh their own horses for the journey
homeward.

Mr. Benfield was a bachelor of eighty, but
retained the personal activity of a man of
sixty. He was strongly attached to all the
fashions and opinions of his youth, during
which he had sat one term in parliament, and

[figure description] Page 023.[end figure description]

had been a great beau and courtier in the
commencement of the reign. A disappointment
in an affair of the heart, had driven him
into retirement, and for the last fifty years,
he had dwelt exclusively at a seat he owned
within forty miles of Moseley Hall, the mistress
of which was the only child of his only
brother. In his figure, he was tall and spare,
very erect for his years, and he faithfully
preserved in his attire, servants, carriages,
and indeed every thing around him, as much
of the fashions of his youth, as circumstances
would admit of: such then was a
faint outline of the character and appearance
of the old man, who, dressed in a cocked
hat, bag wig and sword, took the offered arm
of John Moseley to alight from his coach.

“So,” cried the old gentleman, having
made good his footing on the ground, as he
stopped short and stared John in the face,
“you have made out to come twenty miles
to meet an old cynic, have you, sir; but I
thought I bid you bring Emmy with you.”

John pointed to the window, where his
sister stood anxiously watching her uncle's
movements. On catching her eye, he smiled
kindly, as he pursued his way into the house,
talking to himself.

“Ay, there she is indeed; I remember
now, when I was a youngster, of going with
my kinsman, old Lord Gosford, to meet his
sister, the Lady Juliana, when she first came
from school, (this was the lady whose

[figure description] Page 024.[end figure description]

infidelity had driven him from the world;) and a
beauty she was indeed, something like Emmy
there, only she was taller, and her eyes were
black, and her hair too, that was black, and
she was not so fair as Emmy, and she was
fatter, and she stooped a little—very little;
oh! they are wonderfully alike though; don't
you think they were, nephew?” as he stopped
at the door of the room; while John, who in
this description could not see a resemblance,
which existed no where but in the old man's
affections, was fain to say, “yes; but they
were related, you know, uncle, and that explains
the likeness.”

“True boy, true,” said his uncle, pleased
at a reason for a thing he wished, and which
flattered his propensities; for he had once before
told Emily she put him in mind of his
housekeeper, a woman as old as himself, and
without a tooth in her head.

On meeting his niece, Mr. Benfield, (who,
like many others that feel strongly, wore in
common the affectation of indifference and displeasure,)
yielded to his fondness, and folding
her in his arms, kissed her affectionately as a
tear glistened in his eye; and then pushing her
gently from him, he exclaimed, “come, come,
Emmy, don't strangle me, don't strangle me,
girl; let me live in peace the little while I
have to remain here—so,” seating himself
composedly in an arm chair his niece had
placed for him with a cushion, “so, Anne
writes me, Sir William Harris has let the

[figure description] Page 025.[end figure description]

deanery.” “O yes, uncle,” cried John. “I'll
thank you, young gentleman,” said Mr. Benfield
sternly, “not to interrupt me when I
am speaking to a lady; that is, if you please,
sir: then Sir William has let the deanery to
a London merchant, a Mr. Jarvis; now, I
knew three people of that name—one was a
hackney coachman when I was a member of
the parliament of this realm, and drove me
often to the house; the other was valet-de-chambre
to my Lord Gosford; and the third,
I take it, is the very man who has become
your neighbour. If it be the person I mean,
Emmy dear, he is like—like—ay, very like
old Peter, my steward.” John, unable to contain
his mirth at this discovery of a likeness
between the prototype of Mr. Benfield himself
in leanness of figure, and the jolly rotundity
of the merchant, was obliged to leave
the room; while Emily, smiling at the comparison,
said, “you will meet him to-morrow,
dear uncle, and then you will be able to
judge for yourself.”

“Yes, yes,” muttered the old man to himself,
“very like old Peter; as like as two
peas;” and the parallel was by no means as
ridiculous as might be supposed.

Mr. Benfield had placed twenty thousand
pounds in the hands of a broker, with positive
orders for him to pay it away immediately
for government stock, bought by the
former on his account; but disregarding this
injunction, the broker had managed the

[figure description] Page 026.[end figure description]

transaction in such a way, as to postpone the
payment, until, on his failure, he had given up
that and a much larger sum to Mr. Jarvis, to
satisfy what he called an honorary debt, a
short time before his stoppage. It was in
elucidating the transaction Mr. Jarvis had
paid Benfield Lodge a visit, and restored the
bachelor his property. This act, and the
high opinion he entertained of Mrs. Wilson,
with his unbounded love for Emily, were the
few things which prevented his believing some
dreadful judgment was about to visit this
world, for its increasing wickedness and follies.

The horses being ready, the old bachelor
was placed carefully between his nephew
and niece, and in that manner they rode on
quietly to the Hall, the dread of accident
keeping Mr. Benfield silent the most of the
way. On passing, however, a stately castle,
about ten miles from the termination of their
ride, he began one of his speeches with,
“Emmy dear, does my Lord Bolton
come often to see you?” “Very seldom, sir;
his employment keeps him much of his time
at St. James's, and then he has an estate in
Ireland.” “I knew his father well—he was
distantly connected by marriage with my
friend Lord Gosford; you could not remember
him, I expect:” (John rolled his eyes at
this suggestion of his sister's recollection of
a man who had been forty years dead, as his
uncle continued;) “he always voted with me

[figure description] Page 027.[end figure description]

in the parliament of this realm; he was a
thorough honest man; very much such a
man to look at, as Peter Johnson, my steward:
but I am told his son likes the good
things of the ministry—well, well—William
Pitt was the only minister to my mind.
There was the Scotchman they made a Marquis
of, I never could endure him—always
voted against him”—“right or wrong, uncle,”
cried John, who loved a little mischief in his
heart.

“No, sir—right, but never wrong. Lord
Gosford always voted against him too; and
do you think, jackanapes, that my friend the
Earl of Gosford and—and—myself were
ever wrong? No, sir, men in my day were
different creatures from what they are now:
we were never wrong, sir; we loved our
country, and had no motive for being in the
wrong.”

“How was it with Lord Bute, uncle?”

“Lord Bute, sir,” cried the old man with
great warmth, “was the minister, sir—he was
the minister; ay, he was the minister, sir,
and was paid for what he did.”

“But Lord Chatham, was he not the minister
too?”

Now, nothing vexed the old gentleman
more, than to hear William Pitt called by his
tardy honours; and yet, unwilling to give up
what he thought his political opinions, he
exclaimed, with an unanswerable positiveness
of argument, “Billy Pitt, sir, was the

[figure description] Page 028.[end figure description]

minister, sir; but—but—but—he was our minister,
sir.”

Emily, unable to see her uncle agitated by
such useless disputes, threw a reproachful
glance on her brother, as she observed timidly,
“that was a glorious administration, sir,
I believe.”

“Glorious indeed! Emmy dear,” said the
bachelor, softening with the sound of her
voice and the recollections of his younger
days, “we beat the French every where—in
America—in Germany;—we took—(counting
on his fingers)—we took Quebec—yes, Lord
Gosford lost a cousin there; and we took
all the Canadas; and we took their fleets:
there was a young man killed in the battle
between Hawke and Conflans, who was
much attached to Lady Juliana—poor soul!
how she regretted him when dead, though
she never could abide him when living—ah!
she was a tender-hearted creature!” For Mr.
Benfield, like many others, continued to
love imaginary qualities in his mistress, long
after her heartless coquetry had disgusted
him with her person: a kind of feeling which
springs from self-love, that finds it necessary
to seek consolation in creating beauties, that
may justify our follies to ourselves; and which
often keeps alive the semblance of the passion,
when even hope or real admiration is
extinct.

On reaching the Hall, every one was rejoiced
to see their really affectionate and

[figure description] Page 029.[end figure description]

worthy relative, and the evening passed in
the tranquil enjoyment of the blessings which
Providence had profusely scattered around
the family of the baronet, but which are too
often hazarded by a neglect of duty, that
springs from too great security, or an indolence
which renders us averse to the precaution
necessary to insure their continuance.

CHAPTER IV.

[figure description] Page 030.[end figure description]

“You are welcome, Sir Edward,” said
the venerable rector, as he took the baronet
by the hand; “I was fearful a return of your
rheumatism would deprive us of this pleasure,
and prevent my making you acquainted with
the new occupants of the deanery; who have
consented to dine with us to-day, and to
whom I have promised in particular, an introduction
to Sir Edward Moseley.”

“I thank you, my dear doctor,” rejoined
the baronet, “I have not only come myself,
but have persuaded Mr. Benfield to make
one of the party; there he comes, leaning on
Emily's arm, and finding fault with Mrs.
Wilson's new fashioned barouche, which he
says has given him cold.”

The rector received the unexpected guest
with the kindness of his nature, and an inward
smile at the incongruous assemblage he
was likely to have around him by the arrival
of the Jarvis's, who, at that moment, drove
to his door. The introductions between the
baronet and the new comers had passed, and
Miss Jarvis had made a prettily worded apology
on behalf of the colonel, who was not
yet well enough to come out, but whose politeness
had insisted on their not remaining
at home on his account; as Mr. Benfield,
having composedly put on his spectacles,

[figure description] Page 031.[end figure description]

walked deliberately up to where the merchant
had seated himself, and having examined
him through his glasses to his satisfaction,
took them off, and carefully wiping them,
began to talk to himself as he put them into
his pocket—“No, no; it's not Jack, the
hackney coachman, nor my Lord Gosford's
gentleman, but”—cordially holding out both
hands, “it's the man who saved my twenty
thousand pounds.”

Mr. Jarvis, who a kind of shame had
kept silent during this examination, exchanged
his greetings sincerely with his
old acquaintance, who now took a seat
in silence by his side; while his wife, whose
face had begun to kindle with indignation at
the commencement of the old gentleman's soliloquy,
observing that somehow or other it
had not only terminated without degradation
to her spouse, but with something like credit,
turned complacently to Mrs. Ives, with an
apology for the absence of her son. “I cannot
divine, ma'am where he has got to; he is
ever keeping us waiting for him;” and addressing
Jane, “these military men become
so unsettled in their habits, that I often tell
Harry he should never quit the camp.”

“In Hyde Park, you should add, my dear,
for he has never been in any other,” bluntly
observed her husband. To this speech no
reply was made, but it was evidently not relished
by the ladies of the family, who were
not a little jealous of the laurels of the only

[figure description] Page 032.[end figure description]

hero their race had ever produced. The arrival
and introduction of the captain himself,
changed the discourse, which turned on the
comforts of their present residence.

“Pray, my lady,” cried the captain, who
had taken a chair familiarly by the side of the
baronet's wife, “why is the house called the
deanery? I am afraid I shall be taken for a
son of the church, when I invite my friends
to visit my father at the deanery.”

“And you may add, at the same time, sir,
if you please,” dryly remarked Mr. Jarvis,
“that it is occupied by an old man, who has
been preaching and lecturing all his life;
and like others of the trade, I believe, in vain.”

“You must except our good friend, the
doctor here, at least, sir,” said Mrs. Wilson;
and then observing her sister to shrink from
a familiarity she was unused to, she replied
to the captain's question: “The father of
the present Sir William Harris held that station
in the church, and although the house
was his private property, it took its name from
that circumstance, which has been continued
ever since.”

“Is it not a droll life Sir William leads,”
cried Miss Jarvis, looking at John Moseley,
“riding about all summer, from one watering
place to another, and letting his house
year after year in the manner he does?”

“Sir William,” said Dr. Ives gravely, “is
devoted to his daughter's wishes, and since
his accession to his title, has come into

[figure description] Page 033.[end figure description]

possession of another residence, in an adjoining
county, which, I believe, he retains in his own
hands.”

“Are you acquainted with Miss Harris?”
continued the lady, addressing herself to
Clara; and without waiting for an answer,
added, “She is a great belle—all the gentlemen
are dying for her.”

“Or her fortune,” said her sister, with a
contemptuous toss of the head; “for my part,
I never could see any thing so captivating in
her, although so much is said about her at
Bath and Brighton.”

“You know her then,” mildly observed
Clara.

“Why, I cannot say—we are exactly acquainted,”
hesitatingly answered the young
lady, and colouring violently as she spoke.

“What do you mean, by exactly acquainted,
Sally?” cried her father with a laugh;
“did you ever speak to, or were you ever in
a room with her in your life, unless it might
be at a concert or a ball?”

The mortification of Miss Sarah was too
evident for concealment, and was happily relieved
by a summons to dinner.

“Never, my dear child,” said Mrs. Wilson
to Emily, the aunt being fond of introducing
a moral, from the occasional incidents
of every-day life, “never subject
yourself to a similar mortification, by commenting
on the character of those you don't
know: your ignorance makes you liable to

[figure description] Page 034.[end figure description]

great errors; and if they should happen to
be above you in life, it will only excite their
contempt, should it reach their ears; while
those to whom your remarks are made, will
think it envy.”

“Truth is sometimes blundered on,” cried
John, who held his sister's arm, waiting for
his aunt to precede them to the dining room.

The merchant paid too great a compliment
to the rector's dinner to think of renewing the
disagreeable conversation, and as John Moseley
and the young clergyman were seated
next the two ladies, they soon forgot what,
among themselves, they would call their father's
rudeness, in receiving the attentions of
a couple of remarkably agreeable young men.

“Pray, Mr. Francis, when do you preach
for us?” asked Mr. Haughton; “I'm very
anxious to hear you hold forth from the pulpit,
where I have so often heard your father
with pleasure: I doubt not you will prove
orthodox, or you will be the only man, I believe,
in the congregation, the rector has left
in ignorance, of the theory of our religion, at
least.”

The doctor bowed to the compliment, as
he replied to the question for his son; that
on the next Sunday, they were to have the
pleasure of hearing Frank, who had promised
to assist him on that day.

“Any prospects of a living soon?” continued
Mr. Haughton, helping himself bountifully
to a piece of plumb pudding as he spoke.

[figure description] Page 035.[end figure description]

John Moseley laughed aloud, and Clara
blushed to the eyes, while the doctor, turning
to Sir Edward, observed with an air of interest,
“Sir Edward, the living of Bolton is
vacant, and I should like exceedingly to obtain
it for my son. The advowson belongs
to the Earl, who will dispose of it only to
great interest, I am afraid.”

Clara was certainly too busily occupied in
picking raisins from her pudding, to hear this
remark, but accidentally stole, from under
her long eye-lashes, a timid glance at her father,
as he replied:

“I am sorry, my friend, I have not sufficient
interest with his lordship to apply on
my own account; but he is so seldom here,
we are barely acquainted;” and the good baronet
looked really concerned.

“Clara,” said Francis Ives in a low and
affectionate tone, “have you read the books
I sent you?” Clara answered him with a
smile in the negative, but promised amendment
as soon as she had leisure.

“Do you ride much on horseback, Mr.
Moseley?” abruptly asked Miss Sarah, turning
her back on the young divine, and facing
the gentleman she addressed. John, who
was now hemmed in between the sisters, replied
with a rueful expression, that brought
a smile into the face of Emily, who was
placed opposite to him—

“Yes, ma'am, and sometimes I am ridden.”

“Ridden, sir, what do you mean by that?”

[figure description] Page 036.[end figure description]

“Oh! only my aunt there (he whispered)
gives me a lecture now and then.”

“Oh ho!” said the lady in the same tone,
with a knowing leer, and pointing slily with
her finger at her own father.

“Does it feel good?” said John in the
same manner, and with a look of great sympathy:
but the lady, who now felt awkwardly,
without knowing exactly why, shook her
head in silence as she forced a faint laugh.

“Who have we here?” cried Captain
Jarvis, as he looked through a window which
commanded a view of the approach to the
house—“the apothecary and his attendant,
judging from their equipage.”

The rector threw an inquiring look on a
servant, who told his master they were strangers
to him.

“Have them shown up, doctor,” cried the
benevolent baronet, who loved to see every
one as happy as himself, “and give them
some of your excellent pasty, for the credit of
your cook, I beg of you;” and as this request
was politely seconded by others of the party,
the rector bid them show the strangers in.

On opening the parlour door, a gentleman,
apparently sixty years of age, appeared, leaning
on the arm of a youth of five-and-twenty.
There was sufficient resemblance between
the two, for the most indifferent observer to
pronounce them father and son; but the
helpless debility and emaciated figure of the
former, was finely contrasted by the

[figure description] Page 037.[end figure description]

vigorous health and manly beauty of the latter,
who supported his venerable parent into the
room, with a grace and tenderness, that struck
most of the beholders with an indescribable
sensation of pleasure. The doctor and Mrs.
Ives rose from their seats involuntarily, and
stood each for a moment as if lost in an astonishment
that was mingled with grief. Recollecting
himself, the rector grasped the extended
hand of the senior in both his own,
and endeavoured to utter something, but in
vain; the tears followed each other down his
cheeks, as he looked on the faded and careworn
figure which stood before him; while
his wife, unable to control her feelings, sunk
back into a chair and wept aloud.

Throwing open the door of an adjoining
room, and retaining the hand of the invalid,
the doctor gently led the way, followed by
his wife and son; the former having recovered
from the first burst of her sorrow, and
who now, regardless of every thing else,
anxiously watched the enfeebled step of the
stranger. On reaching the door, they both
turned and bowed to the company in a manner
of much dignity, mingled with sweetness,
that all, not excepting Mr. Benfield, rose from
their seats to return the salutation. On passing
from the dining parlour, the door was
closed, leaving the company standing round
the table, in mute astonishment and commiseration,
at the scene they had just witnessed.
Not a word had been spoken, and

[figure description] Page 038.[end figure description]

the rector's family had left them without apology
or explanation. Francis, however, soon
returned, and was followed in a few minutes
by his mother, who, slightly apologising for
her absence, turned the discourse on the approaching
Sunday, and the intention of Francis
to preach on that day. The Moseleys
were too well bred to make any inquiries, and
the Deanery family appeared afraid. Sir Edward
retired at a very early hour, and was
followed by the remainder of the party.

“Well,” cried Mrs. Jarvis, as they drove
from the door, “this may be good breeding,
but for my part, I think both the doctor and
Mrs. Ives behaved very rude, with their crying
and sobbing.”

“They are nobody of much consequence,”
cried her eldest daughter, casting a contemptuous
glance on a plain travelling chaise
which stood before the rector's stables.

“'T was sickening,” said Miss Sarah, with
a shrug; while her father, turning his eyes
on each speaker in succession, very deliberately
helped himself to a pinch of snuff, his
ordinary recourse against a family quarrel.
The curiosity of the ladies was, however,
more lively than they chose to avow; and
Mrs. Jarvis bade her maid go over to the Rectory
that evening, with her compliments to
Mrs. Ives; she had lost a lace veil, which
her maid knew, and thought she might have
left it at the Rectory.

[figure description] Page 039.[end figure description]

“And Jones, when you are there, you can
inquire of the servants; mind, of the servants—
I would not distress Mrs. Ives for the
world; how Mr.—Mr.—what's his name—
Lud—I have forgotten his name; just bring
me his name too, Jones; and it may make
some difference in our party, so just find out
how long they stay; and—and—any other
little thing Jones, which can be of use, you
know.” Off went Jones, and within an hour
returned again. With an important look,
she commenced her narrative, the daughters
being accidentally present.

“Why ma'am, I went across the fields, and
William was good enough to go with me; so
when we got there, I rung, and they showed
us into the servants' room, and I gave my
message, and the veil was not there. Lord,
ma'am, there's the veil now, on the back o'
that chair.”—“Very well, very well, Jones,
never mind the veil,” cried her impatient mistress.

“So, madam, while they were looking for
the veil. I just asked one of the maids, what
company had arrived, but”—(here Jones looked
very suspiciously, and shook her head significantly:)
“would you think it, ma'am, not
a soul of them knew. But, ma'am, there was
the doctor and his son, praying and reading
with the old gentleman the whole time—
and”—

“And what, Jones?”

“Why, ma'am, I expect he has been a great

[figure description] Page 040.[end figure description]

sinner, or he would'nt want so much praying
just as he is about to die.”

“Die!” cried all three at once, “will he
die?”

“O yes,” continued Jones, “they all
agree he must die; but this praying so much,
is just like the criminals; I'm sure no honest
person needs so much praying ma'am.”

“No, indeed,” said the mother: “no, indeed,”
responded the daughters, as they retired
to their several rooms for the night.

CHAPTER V.

[figure description] Page 041.[end figure description]

There is something in the season of
Spring which peculiarly excites the feelings
of devotion. The dreariness of winter has
passed, and with it, the deadened affections of
our nature. New life, new vigour, arises
within us, as we walk abroad and feel the
genial gales of April breathe upon us; and
our hopes—our wishes, awaken with the revival
of the vegetable world. It is then that
the heart, which has been impressed with the
goodness of the Creator, feels that goodness
brought, as it were, in very contact with our
senses. The eye loves to wander over the
bountiful provisions nature is throwing forth
in every direction for our comfort; and fixing
its gaze on the clouds, which having lost
the chilling thinness of winter, roll in rich
volumes, amidst the clear and softened fields
of azure so peculiar to the season, and leads
the mind insensibly to dwell on the things of
another and a better world. It was on such
a day, the inhabitants of B— thronged toward
the village church, for the double purpose
of pouring out their thanksgivings, and
of hearing the first efforts of their rector's
child, in the duties of his sacred calling.

Amongst the crowd, whom curiosity or a
better feeling had drawn forth, were to be
seen the modern equipages of the Jarvises,

[figure description] Page 042.[end figure description]

and the handsome carriages of Sir Edward
Moseley and his sister. All the members of
this latter family felt a lively anxiety for the
success of the young divine. But knowing,
as they well did, the strength of his native talents,
the excellency of his education, and the
fervour of his piety, it was an anxiety that
partook more of hope than of fear. There
was one heart, however, amongst them, that
palpitated with an emotion that hardly admitted
of control, as they approached the sacred
edifice, and which had identified itself
with the welfare of the rector's son. There
never was a softer, truer heart, than that
which now almost audibly beat within the
bosom of Clara Moseley; and she had given
it to the young divine with all its purity and
truth.

The entrance of a congregation into the
sanctuary will at all times furnish, to an attentive
observer, food for much useful speculation,
if it he chastened with a proper charity
for the weaknesses of others; and most
people are ignorant of the insight they are
giving into their characters and dispositions,
by such an apparently trivial circumstance
as their weekly approach to the tabernacles
of the Lord. Christianity, while it chasteneth
and amends the heart, leaves the natural
powers unaltered; and it cannot be doubted,
that its operation is, or ought to be, proportionate
to the abilities and opportunities of
the subject of its holy impression—“unto

[figure description] Page 043.[end figure description]

whomsoever much is given, much will be required.”
And at the same time we acknowledge,
that the thoughts might be better employed
in preparing for those humiliations of
the spirit and thanksgiving of the heart,
which are required of all, and are so necessary
to all; we must be indulged in a hasty
view of some of the personages of our history,
as they entered the church of B—. On
the countenance of the baronet, was the dignity
and composure of a mind at peace with
itself and mankind. His step was rather
more deliberate than common; his eye rested
on the pavement, and on turning into his
pew, as he prepared to kneel, in the first humble
petition of our beautiful service, he raised
it towards the altar, with an expression of
benevolence and reverence, that spoke contentment,
not unmixed with faith.

In the demeanour of Lady Moseley, all
was graceful and decent, although nothing
could be said to be studied. She followed
her husband with a step of equal deliberation,
that was slightly varied by an observance
of a manner which appeared natural to
herself, but might have been artificial to another:
her cambric handkerchief concealed
her face as she sunk composedly by the side
of Sir Edward, in a style which showed, that
while she remembered her Maker, she had
not entirely forgotten herself.

The walk of Mrs. Wilson was quicker
than that of her sister. Her eye directed

[figure description] Page 044.[end figure description]

before her, fixed, as if in settled gaze, on that
eternity to which she was approaching. The
lines of her contemplative face were unaltered,
unless there might be traced a deeper
shade of humility than was ordinarily seen
on her pale, but expressive countenance: her
petition was long; and on rising from her
humble posture, the person was indeed to
be seen, but the soul appeared absorbed in
contemplations far beyond the limits of this
sphere.

There was a restlessness and varying of
colour, in the ordinarily placid Clara, which
prevented a display of her usual manner;
while Jane walked gracefully, and with a
tincture of her mother's form, by her side.
She stole one hastily withdrawn glance to
the deanery pew ere she kneeled, and then,
on rising, handed her smelling bottle affectionately
to her elder sister.

Emily glided behind her companions with
a face beaming with a look of innocence and
love. As she sunk in the act of supplication,
the rich glow of her healthful cheek lost some
of its brilliancy; but, on rising, it beamed
with a renewed lustre, that plainly indicated
a heart sensibly touched with the sanctity of
its situation.

In the composed and sedate manner of Mr.
Jarvis, as he steadily pursued his way to the
pew of Sir William Harris, you might have
been justified in expecting the entrance of another
Sir Edward Moseley in substance, if

[figure description] Page 045.[end figure description]

not in externals; but his deliberate separation
of the flaps of his coat, as he comfortably
seated himself, when you thought him
about to kneel, and followed by a pinch of
snuff, as he threw his eye around in examination
of the building, led you at once to
conjecture, that what at first you had mistaken
for reverence, was the abstraction of
some earthly calculation; and that his attendance
was in compliance with custom, and
not a little depended upon the thickness of
his cushions, and the room he found for the
disposition of his unwieldy legs.

The ladies of the family followed, in garments
carefully selected for the advantageous
display of their persons. As they sailed into
their seats, where it would seem the improvidence
of Sir William's steward had neglected
some important accommodation, (for some
time was spent in preparation to be seated,)
the old lady, whose size and flesh really put
kneeling out of the question, bent forward
for a moment at an angle of eighty with the
horizon, while her daughters prettily bowed
their heads, with all proper precaution for the
safety of their superb millinery.

At length the rector, accompanied by his
son, appeared from the vestry. There was
a dignity and solemnity in the manner in
which this pious divine entered on the duties
of his profession, which struck forcibly on
the imaginations of those who witnessed it,
and disposed the heart to listen, with

[figure description] Page 046.[end figure description]

reverence and humility, to precepts that flowed
from so impressive an exterior. The stillness
of expectation pervaded the church; when
the pew opener led the way to the same interesting
father and son, whose entrance had
interrupted the guests the preceding day at
the rectory. Every eye was turned on the
emaciated parent, bending into the grave,
and, as it were, kept from it by the supporting
tenderness of his child. Hastily throwing
open the door of her pew, Mrs. Ives buried
her face in her handkerchief; and her husband
had proceeded far in the morning service,
before she raised it again to the view of
the congregation. In the voice of the rector,
there was an unusual softness and tremor, that
his people attributed to the feelings of a father,
about to witness the first efforts of an
only child in his arduous duties, but which in
reality were owing to another and a deeper
cause.

Prayers were ended, and the younger Ives
ascended the pulpit; for a moment he paused—
and casting one anxious glance to the pew
of the baronet, he commenced his sermon.
He had chosen for his discourse the necessity
of placing our dependence on divine grace
for happiness here or hereafter. After having
learnedly, but in the most unaffected manner,
displayed the necessity of this dependence, as
affording security against the evils of this life,
he proceeded to paint the hope, the resignation,
the felicity of a christian's death-bed.

[figure description] Page 047.[end figure description]

Warmed by the subject, his animation had
given a heightened interest to his language;
and at a moment, when all around him were
entranced by the eloquence of the youthful
divine, a sudden and deep-drawn sigh drew
every eye to the rector's pew. The younger
stranger sat motionless as a statue, holding in
his arms the lifeless body of his parent, who
had fallen that moment a corpse by his side.
All was now confusion: the almost insensible
young man was relieved from his burthen;
and, led by the rector, they left the church.
The congregation dispersed in silence, or assembled
in little groups, to converse on the
awful event they had witnessed. None knew
the deceased; he was the rector's friend, and
to his residence the body had been removed.
The young man was evidently his child; but
here all information ended. They had arrived
in a private chaise, but with post horses,
and without attendants. Their arrival
at the parsonage was detailed, with a few
exaggerations, by the Jarvis ladies, that gave
additional interest to the whole event; and
which, by creating an impression with those,
gentler feelings would not have restrained,
there was something of mystery about them;
prevented many distressing questions to the
Ives', that the baronet's family forbore putting
on the score of delicacy. The body left
B— at the close of the week, accompanied
by Francis Ives and the unwearied attentions
of the interesting son. The doctor and

[figure description] Page 048.[end figure description]

his wife went into deep mourning, and Clara
received a short note from her lover, on the
morning of their departure, acquainting her
with his intended absence for a month, but
throwing no light upon the affair. The
London papers, however, contained the following
obituary notice, and which, as it
could refer to no other, was universally supposed
to allude to the rector's friend.

“Died, suddenly, at B—, on the 20th
instant, George Denbigh, Esq. aged 63.”

CHAPTER VI.

[figure description] Page 049.[end figure description]

During the week, the intercourse between
Moseley-Hall and the Rectory had been
confined to messages and notes of inquiry
after each other's welfare; but the
visit of the Moseleys to the Deanery had
been returned; and the day after the appearance
of the obituary paragraph, they dined
by invitation at the Hall. Colonel Egerton
had recovered the use of his leg, and was included
in the party. Between this gentleman
and Mr. Benfield, there appeared from
the first moment of their introduction, a repugnance,
which was rather increased by
time, and which the old gentleman manifested
by a demeanour, loaded with the overstrained
ceremony of his day; and in the
colonel, only showed itself by avoiding, when
possible, all intercourse with the object of his
aversion. Both Sir Edward and Lady Moseley,
on the contrary, were not slow in manifesting
their favourable impressions in behalf
of this gentleman; the latter, in particular,
having ascertained to her satisfaction, that he
was the undoubted heir to the title, and most
probably to the estates of his uncle, Sir Edgar
Egerton, felt herself strongly disposed to
encourage an acquaintance she found so
agreeable, and to which she could see no
reasonable objection. Captain Jarvis, who

[figure description] Page 050.[end figure description]

was extremely offensive to her, from his vulgar
familiarity, she barely tolerated on account
of the necessity of being civil, and
keeping up sociability in the neighbourhood.
It is true, she could not help being surprised,
that a gentleman, as polished as the colonel,
could find any pleasure in an associate like
his friend, or even in the hardly more softened
females of his family; then again, the
flattering suggestion would present itself,
that possibly he might have seen Emily at
Bath, or Jane elsewhere, and have availed
himself of the acquaintance of young Jarvis
to place himself in their neighbourhood.
Lady Moseley had never been vain, or much
interested about the disposal of her own person,
previously to her attachment to her husband;
but her daughters called forth not a
little of her natural pride—we had almost said
selfishness.

The attentions of the colonel were of the
most polished and insinuating kind; and
Mrs. Wilson several times turned away in
displeasure at herself, for listening with too
much satisfaction to nothings, uttered in an
agreeable manner, or what was worse, false
sentiments supported with the gloss of language
and fascinating deportment. The
anxiety of this lady on behalf of Emily, kept
her ever on the alert, when chance, or any
chain of circumstances, threw her in the way
of forming new connexions of any kind;
and of late, as her charge approached the

[figure description] Page 051.[end figure description]

period of life, her sex were apt to make that
choice from which there is no retreat, her
solicitude to examine the characters of the
men who approached her, was really painful.
In Lady Moseley, her wishes disposed
her to be easily satisfied, and her mind naturally
shrunk from an investigation she felt
herself unequal to; while in Mrs. Wilson,
it was the conviction of a sound discretion,
matured by long and deep reasoning, acting
upon a temper at all times ardent, and a
watchfulness eminently calculated to endure
to the end.

“Pray, my lady,” cried Mrs. Jarvis, with
a look of something like importance, “have
you made any discovery about this Mr. Denbigh,
who died in the church lately?”

“I did not know, madam,” replied Lady
Moseley, “there was any discovery to be
made.”

“You know, Lady Moseley,” said Colonel
Egerton, “that in town, all the little accompaniments
of such a melancholy death, would
have found their way into the prints; and I
suppose it is to that Mrs. Jarvis alludes.”

“O yes,” cried Mrs. Jarvis, “the colonel
is right;” and the colonel was always right
with that lady. Lady Moseley bowed her
head with dignity, and the colonel had too
much tact to pursue the conversation; but
the captain, whom nothing had ever yet
abashed, exclaimed, “these Denbigh's could

[figure description] Page 052.[end figure description]

not be people of much importance—I have
never heard the name before.”

“It is the family name of the Duke of
Derwent, I believe,” dryly remarked Sir
Edward.

“Oh, I am sure neither the old man or his
son looked much like a duke, or so much as
an officer either,” cried Mrs. Jarvis, who
thought the last the next dignity in degree
below nobility.

“There sat, in the parliament of this realm,
when I was a member, a General Denbigh,”
said Mr. Benfield with great deliberation;
“he was always on the same side with Lord
Gosford and myself. He and his friend, Sir
Peter Howell, who was the admiral that
took the French squadron, in the glorious
administration of Billy Pitt, and afterwards
took an island with this same General Denbigh:
ay, the old admiral was a hearty old
blade, a good deal such a looking man as my
Hector would make.” Hector was his bull
dog.

“Mercy,” whispered John to Clara,
“that's your grandfather that is to be, uncle
Benfield speaks of.”

Clara smiled, as she ventured to say, “Sir
Peter was Mrs. Ives' father, sir.”

“Indeed!” said the old gentleman with a
look of surprise, “I never knew that before;
I cannot say they resemble each other much.”

“Pray, uncle, does Frank look much like

[figure description] Page 053.[end figure description]

the family?” cried John, with an air of unconquerable
gravity.

“But, sir,” said Emily with quickness,
“were General Denbigh and Admiral Howell
related?”

“Not that I ever knew, Emmy dear,” he
replied. “Sir Frederic Denbigh did not
look much like the admiral; he rather resembled
(gathering himself up into an air of
stiff formality, and bowing to Colonel Egerton)
this gentleman here.”

“I have not the honour of the connexion,”
observed the colonel, as he withdrew behind
the chair of Jane.

Mrs. Wilson changed the conversation to
a more general one; but the little that had
fallen from Mr. Benfield gave reason for believing
a connexion, in some way they were
ignorant of, existed between the descendants
of the veterans, and which explained the interest
they felt in each other.

During dinner, Colonel Egerton placed
himself next to Emily; and Miss Jarvis took
the chair on his other side. He spoke of the
gay world, of watering places, novels, plays—
and still finding his companion reserved, and
either unwilling or unable to talk freely, he
tried his favourite sentiments; he had read
poetry, and a remark of his had lighted up a
spark of intelligence in the beautiful face of
his companion, that for a moment deceived
him; but as he went on, to point out his favourite
beauties, it gave place to that settled

[figure description] Page 054.[end figure description]

composure, which at last led him to imagine,
the casket contained no gem equal to the
promise of its brilliant exterior. After resting
from one of his most laboured displays of
feeling and imagery, he accidentally caught
the eyes of Jane fastened on him, with an
expression of no dubious import, and the
soldier changed his battery. In Jane, he
found a more willing auditor; poetry was
the food she lived upon, and in works of the
imagination, she found her greatest delight.
An animated discussion of the merits of their
favourite authors now took place; to renew
which, the colonel early left the dining room
for the society of the ladies; John, who disliked
drinking excessively, was happy of an
excuse to attend him.

The younger ladies had clustered together
round a window; and even Emily in her
heart rejoiced that the gentlemen had come
to relieve herself and sisters from the arduous
task of entertaining women, who appeared
not to possess a single taste or opinion
in common with themselves.

“You were saying, Miss Moseley,” cried
the colonel in his most agreeable manner, as
he approached them, “you thought Campbell
the most musical poet we have; I hope
you will unite with me in excepting Moore.”

Jane coloured, as with some awkwardness
she replied, “Moore was certainly very poetical.”

[figure description] Page 055.[end figure description]

“Has Moore written much?” innocently
asked Emily.

“Not half as much as he ought,” cried
Miss Jarvis. “Oh! I could live on his
beautiful lines.” Jane turned away in disgust;
and that evening, while alone with
Clara, she took a volume of Moore's songs,
and very coolly consigned them to the flames.
Her sister naturally asked an explanation of
such vengeance.

“Oh!” cried Jane, “I can't abide the
book, since that vulgar Miss Jarvis speaks of
it with so much interest. I really believe
aunt Wilson is right, in not suffering Emily
to read such things;” and Jane, who had
often devoured the treacherous lines with
ardour, shrunk with fastidious delicacy from
the indulgence of a perverted taste, when
exposed to her view, coupled with the vulgarity
of unblushing audacity.

Colonel Egerton immediately changed the
subject to one less objectionable, and spoke
of a campaign he had made in Spain. He
possessed the happy faculty of giving an interest
to all he advanced, whether true or
not; and as he never contradicted or even
opposed, unless to yield gracefully when a
lady was his opponent, his conversation insensibly
attracted, by putting others in good
humour with themselves. Such a man, aided
by the powerful assistants of person and
manners, and no inconsiderable colloquial
talents, Mrs. Wilson knew to be extremely

[figure description] Page 056.[end figure description]

dangerous as a companion to a youthful female
heart; and as his visit was to extend to
a couple of months, she resolved to reconnoitre
the state of her pupil's opinion in relation
to their military beaux. She had taken
too much pains in forming the mind of Emily,
to apprehend she would fall a victim to
the eye; but she also knew, that personal
grace sweetened a, benevolent expression, or
added force even to the oracles of wisdom.
She laboured a little herself, under the disadvantage
of what John called a didactic
manner; and which, although she had not
the ability, or rather taste, to amend, she had
yet the sense to discern. It was the great
error of Mrs. Wilson, to attempt to convince,
where she might have influenced; but her
ardour of temperament, and great love of
truth, kept her, as it were, tilting with the
vices of mankind, and consequently sometimes
in unprofitable combat. With her
charge, however, this could never be said to
be the case. Emily knew her heart, felt
her love, and revered her principles too deeply,
to throw away an admonition, or disregard
a precept, that fell from lips she
knew never spoke idly, or without consideration.

John had felt tempted to push the conversation
with Miss Jarvis, and he was about
to utter something rapturous respecting the
melodious poison of Little's poems, as the
blue eye of Emily rested on him in the

[figure description] Page 057.[end figure description]

fulness of sisterly affection, and checking his
love of the ridiculous, he quietly yielded to
his respect for the innocence of his sisters;
and as if eager to draw the attention of all
from the hateful subject, put question after
question to Egerton concerning the Spaniards
and their customs.

“Did you ever meet Lord Pendennyss in
Spain, Colonel Egerton?” inquired Mrs.
Wilson with interest.

“Never, madam,” replied he. “I have
much reason to regret, that our service laid
in different parts of the country; his lordship
was much with the duke, and I made the
campaign under Marshal Beresford.”

Emily left the group at the window, and
taking a seat on the sofa, by the side of her
aunt, insensibly led her to forget the gloomy
thoughts which had began to steal over her;
as the colonel, approaching where they sat,
continued by asking—

“Are you acquainted with the earl, madam?”

“Not in person, but by character,” said
Mrs. Wilson, in a melancholy manner.

“His character as a soldier was very high.
He had no superior of his years in Spain, I am
told.”

No reply was made to this remark, and
Emily endeavoured anxiously to draw the
mind of her aunt to reflections of a more
agreeable nature. The colonel, whose

[figure description] Page 058.[end figure description]

vigilance to please was ever on the alert, kindly
aided her, and they soon succeeded.

The merchant withdrew with his family
and guest in proper season; and Mrs. Wilson,
heedful of her duty, took the opportunity of
a quarter of an hour's privacy in her own
dressing room in the evening, to touch gently
on the subject of the gentlemen they had seen
that day.

“How are you pleased, Emily, with your
new acquaintances?” commenced Mrs. Wilson,
with a smile.

“Oh! aunt, don't ask me,” said her niece,
laughingly, “as John says, they are new
indeed.”

“I am not sorry,” continued the aunt,
“to have you observe more closely than you
have been used to, the manner of such
women as the Jarvis's; they are too abrupt
and unpleasant to create a dread of any imitation;
but the gentlemen are heroes in very
different style.”

“Different from each other, indeed,” cried
Emily.

“Which do you give the preference to,
my dear?”

“Preference, aunt!” said her niece, with
a look of astonishment; “preference is a
strong word for either; but I rather think the
captain the most eligible companion of the
two. I do believe you see the worst of him;
and although I acknowledge it to be bad
enough, he might amend; but the colonel”—

[figure description] Page 059.[end figure description]

“Go on,” said Mrs. Wilson.

“Why, every thing about the colonel
seems so seated, so ingrafted in his nature, so—
so very self-satisfied, that I am afraid it
would be a difficult task to take the first step
in amendment—to convince him of his being
in the wrong.”

“And is he in the wrong?”

Emily looked up from arranging some laces,
with an expression of surprise, as she replied,
“did you not hear him talk of those
poems, and attempt to point out the beauties
of several works? I thought every thing he
uttered was referred to taste, and that not a
very natural one; at least,” she added with a
laugh, “it differed greatly from mine. He
seemed to forget there was such a thing as
principle: and then he spoke of some woman
to Jane, who left her father for her lover,
with so much admiration of her feelings, to
take up with poverty and love, in place of
condemning her want of filial piety; I am
sure, aunt, if you had heard that, you would
not admire him so much.”

“I do not admire him, child; I only want
to know your sentiments, and I am happy to
find them so correct. It is as you think;
Colonel Egerton appears to refer nothing to
principle: even the generous feelings of our
nature, I am afraid, are corrupted in him,
from too much intercourse with the surface
of society. There is by far too much pliability
about him for principle of any kind,
unless indeed it be a principle to please, no

[figure description] Page 060.[end figure description]

matter how. No one, who has deeply seated
opinions of right and wrong, will ever
abandon them, even in the courtesies of polite
intercourse; they may be silent, but never
acquiescent; in short, my dear, the dread of
offending our Maker, ought to be so superior
to that of offending our fellow creatures,
that we should endeavour, I believe, to be
more unbending to the follies of the world
than we are.”

“And yet the colonel is what they call a
good companion—I mean a pleasant one.”

“In the ordinary meaning of the words,
he is certainly, my dear; yet you soon tire of
sentiments which will not stand the test of
examination, and of a manner you cannot
but see is artificial. He may do very well
for a companion, but very ill for a friend; in
short, Colonel Egerton has neither been satisfied
to yield to his natural impressions, or
to obtain new ones from a proper source; he
has copied from bad models, and his work
must necessarily be imperfect”—and kissing
her niece, she retired into her own room,
with the happy assurance, that she had not
laboured in vain; but that, with divine aid,
she had implanted a guide in the bosom of
her charge, that could not fail, with ordinary
care, to lead her strait through the devious
paths of female duties.

CHAPTER VII.

[figure description] Page 061.[end figure description]

A month now passed in the ordinary avocations
and amusements of a country life,
and during which, both Lady Moseley and
Jane manifested a desire to keep up the
Deanery acquaintance, that surprised Emily
a little, who had ever seen her mother shrink
from communications with those whose breeding
subjected her own delicacy, to the little
shocks she could but ill conceal. And in
Jane it was yet more inexplicable; for Jane
had, in a decided way very common to her,
avowed her disgust of the manners of these
new associates on their first acquaintance;
and yet Jane would now even quit her own
society for that of Miss Jarvis, especially—if
Colonel Egerton were of the party. The innocence
of Emily prevented her scanning the
motives which could induce such a change
in the conduct of her sister; and she set seriously
about an examination into her own
deportment to find the latent cause, and
wherever opportunity offered, to evince the
tenderness of her own affections.

For a short time, the colonel had seemed
at a loss where to make his choice; but a few
days determined him, and Jane was now
evidently the favourite. It is true, that in the
presence of the Jarvis ladies, he was more
guarded and general in his attentions; but

[figure description] Page 062.[end figure description]

as John, from a motive of charity, had taken
the direction of the captain's sports into his
own hands; and as they were in the frequent
habit of meeting at the Hall, preparatory to
their morning excursions, the colonel suddenly
became a sportsman. The ladies would
often accompany them in their morning
rides; and as John would certainly be a baronet,
and the colonel might not if his uncle
married, he had the comfort of being sometimes
ridden, as well as of riding.

One morning, having all prepared for an
excursion on horseback, as they stood at the
door ready to mount, Francis Ives drove up
in his father's gig, and for a moment arrested
their progress. Francis was a favourite with
the whole Moseley family, and their greetings
were warm and sincere. He found they
meant to take the Rectory in their ride, and
insisted that they should proceed. “Clara
would take a seat with him;” as he
spoke, the cast of his countenance brought
the colour into the cheeks of his intended,
who suffered herself to be handed into the
vacant seat of the gig, and they moved on.
John, who was at the bottom good-natured,
and loved both Francis and Clara very sincerely,
soon set Captain Jarvis and his sister
what he called “scrub racing,” and necessity,
in some measure, compelled the
equestrians to ride fast to keep up with the
sports. “That will do, that will do,” cried
John, casting his eye back, and perceiving

[figure description] Page 063.[end figure description]

they had lost sight of the gig, and almost of
Colonel Egerton and Jane, “why you ride
like a jockey, captain; better than any amateur
I have ever seen, unless indeed it be
your sister;” and the lady, encouraged by
his commendations, whipped on, followed by
her brother and sister at half speed.

“There, Emily,” said John, as he quietly
dropped by her side, “I see no reason you
and I should break our necks, to show the
blood of our horses. Now do you know, I
think we are going to have a wedding in the
family soon?” Emily looked at him in
amazement, as he went on:

“Frank has got a living; I saw it the moment
he drove up. He came in like somebody.
Yes, I dare say he has calculated the
tythes a dozen times already.”

And John was right. The Earl of Bolton
had, unsolicited, given him the desired living
of his own parish; and Francis was at the
moment pressing the blushing Clara to fix
the day that was to put a period to his long
probation in love. Clara, who had no spice
of coquetry, promised to be his as soon as he
was inducted, which was to take place the
following week; and then followed those delightful
little arrangements and plans, with
which youthful hope is so fond of filling up
the voids in future life.

“Doctor,” said John, as he came out of
the rectory to assist Clara from the gig,
“the parson here is a careful driver; see, he

[figure description] Page 064.[end figure description]

has not turn'd a hair.” He kissed the burning
cheek of his sister as she touched the
ground, and whispered significantly, “you
need tell me nothing, my dear—I know all—
I consent.”

Mrs. Ives folded her future daughter to
her bosom, as she crossed the threshold; and
the benevolent smile of the good rector,
together with the kind and affectionate
manner of her sisters, assured Clara the
approaching nuptials were anticipated as a
matter of course. Colonel Egerton offered
his compliments to Francis, on his preferment
to the living, with the polish of high
breeding, and not without the appearance of
interest in what he said; and Emily thought
him at that moment, for the first time, as
handsome as he was reputed generally. The
ladies undertook to say something civil in
their turn, and John put the captain, by a
hint, on the same track.

“You are quite lucky, sir,” said the captain,
“in getting so good a living with so
little trouble; and I wish you joy of it with
all my heart: Mr. Moseley tells me it is a
capital good thing.”

Francis thanked him for his good wishes,
and Egerton paid a handsome compliment to
the liberality of the earl; “he doubted not he
found that gratification which always attends
a disinterested act;” and Jane applauded
the sentiment with a smile.

The baronet, when on their return he was

[figure description] Page 065.[end figure description]

made acquainted with the situation of affairs,
promised Francis that no unnecessary delay
should intervene, and the marriage was happily
arranged for the following week. Lady
Moseley, when she retired to the drawing
room after dinner with her sister and daughters,
commenced a recital of the ceremony
and company to be invited on the occasion.
Etiquette and the decencies of life were not
only the forte, but the fault of this lady; and
she had gone on to the enumeration of about
the fortieth personage in the ceremonials,
before Clara found courage to say, “that
Mr. Ives and myself both wished to be married
at the altar, and to proceed to Bolton
Rectory immediately after the ceremony.”
To this her mother warmly objected; and
argument and respectful remonstrance had
followed each other for some time, before
Clara submitted in silence, but with difficulty
restrained her tears. This appeal to the best
feelings of the mother triumphed; and she
yielded her love of splendour, to her love for
her offspring. Clara, with a lightened heart,
kissed and thanked her, and accompanied by
Emily, left the room. Jane had risen to follow
them, but catching a glimpse of the tilbury
of Colonel Egerton, re-seated herself,
calmly awaiting his entrance: “he had merely
driven over at the earnest entreaties of the
ladies, to beg Miss Jane would accept a seat
back with him; they had some little project on
foot, and could not proceed without her

[figure description] Page 066.[end figure description]

assistance.” Mrs. Wilson looked gravely at
her sister, as she smiled acquiescence to his
wishes; and the daughter, who but the
minute before had forgotten there was any
other person in the world but Clara, flew for
her hat and shawl, in order, as she said to
herself, the politeness of Colonel Egerton
might not keep him in waiting for her. Lady
Moseley resumed her seat by the side of
her sister with an air of great complacency,
as having seen her daughter happily off, she
returned from the window. For some time,
each was occupied quietly with her needle,
for neither neglected their more useful employments
in that way, in compliance with
the fashions of the day, when Mrs. Wilson
suddenly broke the silence with saying,

“Who is Colonel Egerton?”

Lady Moseley looked up for a moment in
amazement, but recollecting herself, answered,
“nephew and heir of Sir Edgar Egerton,
sister.” This was spoken in a rather
positive way, as if it were to be unanswerable;
yet as there was nothing harsh in the
reply, Mrs. Wilson continued,

“Do you not think him attentive to Jane?”
Pleasure sparkled in the yet brilliant eyes of
Lady Moseley, as she exclaimed—

“Do you think so?”

“I do; and you will pardon me if I say,
improperly so. I think you were wrong in
suffering Jane to go with him this afternoon.”

[figure description] Page 067.[end figure description]

“Why improperly so, Charlotte; and if
Colonel Egerton is polite enough to show
Jane such attentions, should I not be wrong
in rudely rejecting them?”

“The rudeness of refusing a request improper
to be granted, is a very venial offence,
I believe,” replied Mrs. Wilson, with a smile;
“and I confess I think it improper to allow
any attentions to be forced on us, that may
subject us to disagreeable consequences in any
way; but the attentions of Colonel Egerton
are becoming marked, Anne.”

“Do you for a moment doubt their being
honourable, or that he dares to trifle with a
daughter of Sir Edward Moseley?” said the
mother with a shade of indignation.

“I should hope not, certainly,” replied her
aunt, “although it may be well to guard
against such misfortunes too; but I am of
opinion it is quite as important, to know
whether he is worthy to be her husband, as
it is that he be serious in his intentions of
becoming so.”

“On what points, Charlotte, would you
wish to be more assured? You know his
birth and probable fortune—you see his manners
and disposition; but these latter, are
things for Jane to decide upon; she is to live
with him, and it is proper she should be suited
in these respects.”

“I do not deny his fortune or his disposition,
but I complain that we give him credit
for the last and more important requisites,

[figure description] Page 068.[end figure description]

without evidence of his possessing them.
His principles, his habits, his very character,
what do we know of it? I say we, for you
know, Anne, that your children are as dear
to me as my own would have been.”

“I believe you sincerely,” said Lady
Mosley; “but these things you mention are
points for Jane to decide on; if she be pleased,
I have no right to complain. I am determined
never to controul the affections of my
children.”

“Had you said, never to force the affections
of your children, you would have said
enough, Anne; but, to controul, or rather
guide the affections of a child, especially a
daughter, is a duty in some cases, as imperious
as it would be to avert any other impending
calamity. Surely the time to do
this, is before the affections of the child are
likely to endanger her peace of mind.”

“I have seldom seen much good result
from this interference of the parents,” said
Lady Moseley, adhering to her opinions.

“True; for to be of use, it should not be
seen, unless in extraordinary cases. You
will pardon me, Anne, but I have often
thought parents are generally in extremes;
either determined to make the election for
their children, or leaving them entirely to
their own flattered vanity and inexperience,
to govern not only their own lives, but I
may say, leave an impression on future generations.
And after all, what is this love?

[figure description] Page 069.[end figure description]

nineteen cases in twenty of what we call
affairs of the heart would be better termed
affairs of the imagination.”

“And, is there not a great deal of imagination
in all love?” inquired Lady Moseley,
with a smile.

“Undoubtedly there is some; but there is
one difference, which I take to be this: in
affairs of the imagination, the admired object
is gifted with all those qualities we esteem,
as a matter of course, and there is a certain
set of females who are ever ready to bestow
this admiration on any applicant for their favours,
who may not be strikingly objectionable;
the necessity of being courted, makes our
sex rather too much disposed to admire improper
suitors.”

“But how do you distinguish affairs of the
heart, Charlotte?”

“Those in which the heart takes the lead—
these generally follow from long intercourse,
or the opportunity of judging the real character—
and are the only ones that are likely
to stand the test of worldly trials.”

“Suppose Emily to be the object of Colonel
Egerton's pursuit, then, sister, in what
manner would you proceed to destroy the
influence I acknowledge he is gaining over
Jane?”

“I cannot suppose such a case,” said Mrs.
Wilson, gravely, and then observing her sister
to look, as if requiring an explanation, she
continued—

[figure description] Page 070.[end figure description]

“My attention has been directed to the
forming of such principles, and such a taste,
if I may use the expression, under these principles,
that I feel no apprehension that Emily
will ever allow her affections to be ensnared
by a man of the evident opinions and views
of Colonel Egerton. I am impressed with a
two fold duty in watching the feelings of my
charge; she has so much singleness of heart,
such real strength of pure native feeling, that
should an improper man gain possession of
her affections, the struggle between her duty
and her love would be weighty indeed, but
should it have proceeded so far as to make it
her duty to love an unworthy object, I am
sure she would sink under it; but Jane would
only awake from a dream, and, for a while,
be wretched.”

“I thought you entertained a better opinion
of Jane, sister,” said Lady Moseley,
reproachfully.

“I think her admirably calculated by nature
to make an invaluable wife and mother;
but she is so much under the influence of her
fancy, that it is seldom she gives her heart an
opportunity of displaying its excellencies;
and again, she dwells so much upon imaginary
perfections, that adulation has become
necessary to her. The man who flatters her
delicately, will be sure to win her esteem; and
every woman might then love the being possessed
of the qualities she will not fail to
endow him with.”

[figure description] Page 071.[end figure description]

“I do not know, that I rightly understand
how you would avert all these sad consequences
of improvident affections?” said
Lady Moseley.

“Prevention is better than cure—I would
first implant such opinions as would lessen
the danger of intercourse; and as for particular
attentions from improper objects, it
should be my care to prevent them, by prohibiting,
or rather impeding, the intimacy
which might give rise to them. And, least
of all,” said Mrs. Wilson, with a friendly
smile, as she rose to leave the room, “would
I suffer a fear of being impolite to endanger
the happiness of a young woman entrusted
to my care.”

CHAPTER VIII.

[figure description] Page 072.[end figure description]

Francis, who laboured with the ardour of a
lover, under the influence of newly awakened
stimulus, soon completed the necessary arrangements
and alterations in his new parsonage.
The living was a good one, and as
the rector was enabled to make a very considerable
annual allowance from the private
fortune his wife had brought him, and as Sir
Edward had twenty thousand pounds in the
funds for each of his daughters, her portion of
which was immediately settled on Clara,
the youthful couple had not only a sufficient,
but an abundant provision for their station in
life; and they entered on their matrimonial
duties, with as great a prospect of happiness
as the ills of this world can give to health,
affection, and competency. Their union had
been deferred by Dr. Ives until his son was
established, with a view to keeping him under
his own direction during the critical period
of his first impressions in the priesthood;
and, as no objection now remained, or rather,
the only one he ever felt, was removed by
the proximity of Bolton to his own parish,
he united the lovers at the altar of the village
church, in the presence of his wife and Clara's
immediate relatives. On leaving the church,
Francis handed his bride into his own carriage,
which conveyed them to their new

[figure description] Page 073.[end figure description]

residence, amidst the good wishes of his parishioners,
and the prayers of their relatives for
their happiness. Dr. and Mrs. Ives retired
to the rectory, to the sober enjoyment of the
felicity of their only child; while the baronet
and his lady felt a gloom, that belied all the
wishes of the latter for the establishment of
their daughters. Jane and Emily had acted
as bridesmaids to their sister, and as both the
former and her mother had insisted there
should be two groomsmen as a counterpoise,
John was empowered with a carte-blanche
to make a provision accordingly; he at first
intimated his intention of calling on Mr.
Benfield in that capacity, but finally settled
down, to the no small mortification of the
before-mentioned ladies, into writing a note
to his kinsman, Lord Chatterton, whose residence
was then in London, and who, in reply,
after expressing his sincere regret that an
accident would prevent his having the pleasure,
stated the intention of his mother and
two sisters to pay them an early visit of congratulation,
as soon as his own health would
allow of his attending them. This answer
arrived only the day preceding that fixed for
the wedding, and at the very moment they
were expecting his lordship in his proper
person.

“There,” cried Jane, in a kind of triumph,
“I told you, you were silly in sending so far
on so sudden an occasion; now, after all,
what is to be done---it will be so awkward

[figure description] Page 074.[end figure description]

when Clara's friends call to see her—Oh!
John, John, you are a Mar-plot.”

“Jenny, Jenny, you are a make-plot,” said
John, as he coolly took up his hat to leave the
room.

“Which way, my son?” said the baronet,
as he met him on his own entrance.

“To the deanery, sir, to try to get Captain
Jarvis to act as brides-maid—I beg his pardon,
grooms-man, to-morrow—Chatterton has
been thrown from a horse, and can't come.”

“John!”

“Jenny!”

“I am sure,” said Jane, indignation glowing
in her countenance, “that if Captain
Jarvis is to be an attendant, Clara must excuse
my acting. I do not choose to be associated
with Captain Jarvis.”

“John,” said his mother, with dignity,
“your trifling is unseasonable; certainly
Colonel Egerton is a more fitting person on
every account, and I desire, under present
circumstances, you ask the colonel.”

“Your ladyship's wishes are orders to
me,” said John, gayly kissing his hand as he
left the room.

As the colonel was but too happy in having
it in his power to be of service in any manner,
to a gentleman he respected as much as
Mr. Francis Ives, he was the only person
present at the ceremony, who did not stand
within the bonds of consanguinity to either
of the parties—He was invited by the baronet

[figure description] Page 075.[end figure description]

to dine at the hall, and notwithstanding the
repeated injunctions of Mrs. Jarvis and her
daughters, to return to them immediately
with an account of the dress of the bride, and
other important items of a similar nature,
the colonel accepted the invitation. On
reaching the hall, Emily retired to her own
room, and on her entrance at dinner, the
paleness of her cheeks and redness of her
eyes, afforded sufficient proof, that the translation
of a companion from her own to another
family, was an event, however happy in itself,
not unmingled with grief, to those who were
losers by the change. The day, however,
passed off tolerably well for those who are
expected to be happy, when in their hearts
they are really more disposed to weep than
to laugh. Jane and the colonel had most of
the conversation to themselves during dinner;
even the joyous and thoughtless John, wore
his gayety in a less graceful manner than usual,
and was observed by his aunt, to look with
moistened eyes at the vacant chair a servant
had, from habit, placed where Clara had been
accustomed to sit.

“This beef is not done, Saunders,” said
the baronet to his butler, “or my appetite is
not as good as usual to-day—Colonel Egerton,
will you allow me the pleasure of a glass of
sherry with you?”

The wine was drank, and the beef succeeded
by game; but still Sir Edward could
not eat.

[figure description] Page 076.[end figure description]

“How glad Clara will be to see us all the
day after to-morrow,” said Mrs. Wilson;
“your new house-keepers delight so in their
first efforts in entertaining their friends.”

Lady Moseley smiled through her tears,
and turning to her husband, said, “we will
go early, my dear, that we may see the improvements
Francis has been making before
we dine;” the baronet nodded assent, but his
heart was too full to speak; and apologising
to the colonel for his absence, on the plea of
some business with his people, left the
room.

The attentions of Colonel Egerton to both
mother and daughter were of the most delicate
kind; he spoke of Clara, as if his situation
as grooms-man to her husband, entitled
him to an interest in her welfare—with John
he was kind and sociable, and even Mrs. Wilson
acknowledged, after he took his leave,
that he possessed a wonderful faculty of
making himself agreeable, and began to
think that, under all circumstances, he might
possibly prove as advantageous a connexion
as Jane could expect to form. Had any one
have proposed him as a husband for Emily,
her affection would have quickened her
judgment to a decision, true to the best, the
only interest of her charge—the rejection
of a man whose principles offered no security
for his conduct.

Soon after the baronet left the room, a
travelling carriage, with suitable attendants,

[figure description] Page 077.[end figure description]

drove to the door; the sound of the wheels
drew most of the company to a window—
“a baron's coronet,” cried Jane, catching a
glimpse of the ornaments of the harness.

“The Chattertons,” echoed her brother,
as he left the room to meet them—The
mother of Sir Edward was a daughter of this
family, and sister to the grandfather of the
present lord. The connexion had always
been kept up with the show of cordiality between
Sir Edward and his cousin, although
their manner of living and habits in common
were very different. The baron was a
courtier and a place-man; his estates, which
he could not alienate, produced about ten
thousand a year, but the income he could
and did spend; and the high perquisites of
his situation under government, amounting to
as much more, were melted away, year after
year, without making the provision for his
daughters, both his duty, and the observance
of his promise to his wife's father, required
at his hands. He had been dead a couple of
years, and his son found himself saddled with
the support of an unjointured mother and unportioned
sisters. Money was not the idol
worshipped by the young lord, nor even pleasure;
he was affectionate to his surviving parent,
and his first act was to settle during his
own life, two thousand pounds a year upon
her, while he commenced setting aside as
much more for each of his sisters annually;
this abridged him greatly in his own

[figure description] Page 078.[end figure description]

expenditures, yet as they made but one family, and
the dowager was really a managing woman
in more senses than one, they made a very
tolerable figure. The son was anxious to
follow the example of Sir Edward Moseley,
and give up his town house, for at least a
time, but his mother exclaimed with something
like horror at the proposal.

“Why Chatterton, would you give it up
at the moment it can be of the most use to
us?” and she threw a glance at her daughters,
that would have discovered her policy to
Mrs. Wilson, but was lost on his lordship; he,
poor soul, thinking she meant it as convenient
to support the interest he had been making
for the place held by his father; one of more
emolument than service or even honour. The
contending parties were so equally matched,
that the situation was kept as it were in
abeyance, waiting the arrival of some newcomer
to the strength of one or other of the
claimants—the interest of the peer had began
to lose ground at the period we speak of, and
his careful mother saw new motives for her
activity in providing for her children in the
lottery of life. Mrs. Wilson herself could not
be more vigilant in examining the candidates
for her daughter's favours, than was the dowager
Lady Chatterton—it is true, the task of
the former lady was by far the most arduous,
as it involved a study of character and development
of principle, while that of the latter

[figure description] Page 079.[end figure description]

would have been finished by the development
of a rent-roll—provided it contained five
figures in the sum total of its amount. Sir
Edward's was known to contain that number,
and two of them were not cyphers. Mr.
Benfield was rich, and John Moseley a very
agreeable young man; weddings are the season
of love, thought the prudent dowager,
and Grace is extremely pretty. Chatterton,
who never refused his mother any thing in his
power to grant, and who was particularly dutiful,
when a visit to Moseley Hall was in the
question, suffered himself to be persuaded his
shoulder was well, and they left town the day
before the wedding, thinking to be in time
for all the gayeties, if not for the ceremony
itself.

There existed but little similarity between
the persons and manners of this young
nobleman and the baronet's heir. The beauty
of Chatterton was almost feminine; his
skin, his colour, his eyes, his teeth, were
such as many a belle had sighed after; and
his manners were bashful and retiring---yet
an intimacy had commenced between the
boys at school, which ripened into a friendship
between the young men at college, and
had been maintained ever since, by a perfect
regard for each others dispositions, and respect
for each others characters. With the
baron, John was more sedate than ordinary—
with John, Chatterton found unusual

[figure description] Page 080.[end figure description]

animation. But a secret charm, which John
held over the young peer, was his profound
respect and unvarying affection for his
youngest sister Emily; this was common
ground—and no dreams of future happiness,
no visions of dawning wealth, crossed the
imagination of Chatterton, in which Emily
was not the Fairy to give birth to the one,
or the benevolent disponser of the hoards of
the other.

The arrival of this family, was a happy
relief from the oppression which hung on the
spirits of the Moseleys, and their reception,
marked with the mild benevolence which belonged
to the nature of the baronet, and that
empressement of good breeding, which so
eminently distinguished the manners of his
wife.

The honourable Miss Chattertons were
both handsome; but the younger was, if possible,
a softened picture of her brother—there
was the same retiring bashfulness, and the
same sweetness of temper as distinguished
the baron, and Grace was the peculiar favourite
of Emily Moseley—Nothing of the
strained or sentimental nature, which so often
characterise what is called female friendship,
had crept into the communications between
these young women. Emily loved her
sisters too well, to go out of her own family
for a repository of her griefs or a partaker in
her joys; had her life been checquered with

[figure description] Page 081.[end figure description]

such passions, her own sisters were too near
her own age, to suffer her to think of a confidence,
to which the holy ties of natural affection
did not give a claim to a participation in.
Mrs. Wilson had found it necessary, to give
her charge very differing views on many subjects,
from what Jane and Clara had been suffered
to imbibe of themselves, but in no degree
had she impaired the obligations of filial
piety or family concord. Emily was, if any
thing, more respectful to her parents, more
affectionate to her friends, than any of her
connexions; for in her the warmth of natural
feelings was heightened by an unvarying
sense of duty.

In Grace Chatterton she found, in many
respects, a temper and taste resembling her
own; she therefore loved her better than
others who had equal claims upon her partiality
from ordinary associations, and as
such, she now received her with kindness and
affection.

In Catherine, Jane, who had not felt satisfied
with the ordering of providence for the
disposal of her sympathies, and had felt a
restlessness that prompted her to look abroad
for a confiding spirit to communicate her—
secrets she had none her delicacy would suffer
her to reveal—but to communicate the
crude opinions and reflections of her ill-regulated
mind to. Catherine, however, had
not stood the test of trial. For a short time,

[figure description] Page 082.[end figure description]

the love of heraldry had kept them together,
but Jane finding her companion's gusto limited
to the charms of the coronet and supporters
chiefly, abandoned the attempt in despair,
and was actually on the look-out for a new
candidate for the vacant station, as Colonel
Egerton came into the neighbourhood—a
really delicate female mind, shrinks from the
exposure of its love to the other sex, and
Jane began to be less uneasy, to form a connexion,
which would either violate the sensibility
of her nature, or lead to treachery to her
friend.

“I regret extremely, my lady,” said the
dowager, as they entered the drawing room,
“the accident which befel Chatterton, should
have kept us until too late for the ceremony;
but we made it a point to hasten with our
congratulations, as soon as Astley Cooper
thought it safe for him to travel.”

“I feel indebted for your ladyship's kindness,”
replied her smiling hostess; “we are
always happy to have our friends around us,
and none more than yourself and family. We
were fortunate, however, in finding a friend
to supply your son's place, that the young
people might go to the altar in a proper manner—
Lady Chatterton, allow me to present
our friend, Colonel Egerton”—and speaking
in a low tone, and with a manner of a little
consequence—“ heir to Sir Edgar.”

The colonel had bowed gracefully, and the
dowager dropped a hasty curtsey at the

[figure description] Page 083.[end figure description]

commencement of the speech; but a lower bend
followed the closing remark, and a glance of
the eye was thrown in quest of her daughters,
as if insensibly wishing to bring them
to their proper places.

CHAPTER IX.

[figure description] Page 084.[end figure description]

The following morning, Emily and Grace
declining the invitation to join the colonel
and John in their usual rides, walked to the
rectory, accompanied by Mrs. Wilson and
Chatterton. The ladies felt an irresistible
desire to mingle their anticipation of future
happiness to the new married couple, with
those most interested in them; and Francis
had promised his father to ride over in the
course of the day. Emily longed to inquire
after Clara, from whom she appeared already
to have been separated a month. Her impatience,
as they approached the house, hurried
her on ahead of her companions, who
waited the more sober gait of her aunt. She
entered the parlour at the rectory without
meeting any one; glowing with the unusual
exercise of her speed, and her hair falling
over her shoulder, released from the confinement
of the hat she had, oppressed with the
heat, thrown down hastily as she gained the
door. In the room there stood a gentleman
in deep black, with his back toward the entrance,
intent on a book he held in his hand,
and she concluded at once it was Francis.

“Where is dear Clara, Frank?” cried the
beautiful girl, laying her hand affectionately
on his shoulder; the gentleman turned suddenly,
and presented to her astonished gaze,

[figure description] Page 085.[end figure description]

the well-remembered countenance of the
young man whose parent's death would never
be forgotten at B—.

“I thought—I thought, sir,” said Emily,
almost sinking with confusion, “Mr. Francis
Ives—”

“Your brother has not yet arrived, Miss
Moseley,” replied the stranger, in a voice of
peculiar tones, and the manner of a perfect
gentleman—“I will acquaint Mrs. Ives with
your visit;” and bowing, he delicately left
the room.

Emily, who felt insensibly relieved by his
manner, and the nice allusion to her connexion
with Francis, as explaining her familiarity—
immediately restored her hair to its
proper bounds, and had recovered her composure
by the time her aunt and friends
joined her—she hastily mentioned the incident,
laughing at her own precipitation, when
Mrs. Ives came into the room.

Chatterton and his sister were both known
to her, and both favourites; she was pleased
to see them, and after reproaching the brother
with compelling her son to ask a favour of a
comparative stranger, she smilingly turned to
Emily, and said—

“You found the parlour occupied, I believe?”

“Yes,” said Emily, laughing and blushing,
“I suppose Mr. Denbigh told you of my
heedlessness.”

“He told me of your attention in calling

[figure description] Page 086.[end figure description]

so soon to inquire after Clara, but said nothing
more”-and a servant telling her Francis wished
to see her, she excused herself and withdrew.
In the door she met Mr. Denbigh, who made
way for her, saying, “your son has arrived,
madam,” and in an easy, but respectful manner,
took his place with the guests, no introduction
passed, and none seemed necessary;
his misfortunes appeared to have made him
acquainted with Mrs. Wilson, and his strikingly
ingenuous manner, won insensibly on the
confidence of those who heard him. Every
thing was natural, yet every thing was
softened by education; and the little party in
the rector's parlour, in fifteen minutes, felt as
if they had known him for years. The doctor
and his son now joined them—Clara was
looking forward in delightful expectation of
to-morrow, and wished greatly for Emily as
a guest at her new abode. This pleasure
Mrs. Wilson promised she should have as
soon as they had got over the hurry of their
visit. “our friends,” she added, turning to
Grace, “will overlook the nicer punctilios
of ceremony, where sisterly regard calls
for the discharge of more important duties.
Clara needs the society of Emily just
now.”

“Certainly,” said Grace, mildly, “I hope no
useless ceremony on the part of Emily would
prevent her manifesting her natural attachment
to her sister—I should feel hurt at her

[figure description] Page 087.[end figure description]

not entertaining a better opinion of us than to
suppose so for a moment.”

“This, young ladies, is the real feeling to
keep alive esteem,” cried the doctor, gayly;
“go on, and say and do nothing that either
can disapprove of, when tested by the standard
of duty, and you need never be afraid of
losing a friend that is worth the keeping.”

“The removal of a young woman from
her own home to that of her husband, must
give birth to many melancholy reflections,”
observed Denbigh to Francis, with a smile,
and the subject was dropped.

It was three o'clock before the carriage of
Mrs. Wilson, which had been directed to
come for them, arrived at the rectory; and
the time had stolen away insensibly in free
and friendly communications between the
doctor's guests and his wife, for he himself
had returned with his son to dine at Bolton
some time previously. Denbigh had joined
modestly, and with the degree of interest a
stranger could be supposed to feel, in the occurrences
of a circle he was nearly a stranger
to; there was at times a slight display of
awkwardness, both about himself and Mrs.
Ives, for which Mrs. Wilson easily accounted
by the recollections of his recent loss, and the
scene that very room had witnessed; but
which escaped the notice of the rest of the
party. On the arrival of the carriage, Mrs.
Wilson took her leave.

“I like this Mr. Denbigh greatly,” said

[figure description] Page 088.[end figure description]

Lord Chatterton, as they drove from the
door, “there is something strikingly pleasing
in his manner.”

“Ay, my lord, and in his matter too, judging
of the little we have seen of him,” replied
Mrs. Wilson.

“Who is he, madam?”

“Why, I rather suspect he is some way
related to Mrs. Ives; her staying from Bolton
to-day, must be owing to Mr. Denbigh, and
as the doctor has gone, he must be just near
enough to them, neither to be wholly neglected,
or a tax upon their politeness; I rather
wonder he did not go with them.”

“I heard him tell Francis,” said Emily,
“he would not think of intruding, and he insisted
on Mrs. Ives going, but she had employment
to keep her at home.”

The carriage soon reached an angle in the
road where the highways between Bolton
Castle and Moseley Hall intersected each
other, and on the estate of the former. Mrs.
Wilson stopped a moment to inquire after an
aged pensioner of her's, who had lately met
with a loss in his business, she was fearful
must have distressed him greatly. In crossing
a ford in the little river between his cottage
and the market-town, the stream, which
had been unexpectedly higher than usual by
heavy rains above, had swept away his horse
and cart, loaded with the entire produce of
his small field---with much difficulty he had
saved his own life. Mrs. Wilson had it not

[figure description] Page 089.[end figure description]

until now in her power to inquire particularly
into the affair, and offer that relief she felt
ever ready to bestow on proper objects. Contrary
to her expectations, she found Humphreys
in high spirits, showing his delighted
grand-children a new cart and horse which
stood at his door, as he pointed out the excellent
qualities of both. He ceased on the
approach of his benefactress on so many
former occasions, and, at her request, gave a
particular account of the affair.

“And where did you get the new cart and
horse, Humphreys?” inquired Mrs. Wilson,
when he had ended.

“Oh, madam, I went up to the castle to
see the steward, and Mr. Martin just mentioned
my loss to Lord Pendennyss, ma'am,
and my lord ordered me this cart, madam,
and this noble horse, and twenty golden guineas
into the bargain, to put me upon my legs
again---God bless him for it for ever.”

“It was very kind of his lordship, indeed,”
said Mrs. Wilson, thoughtfully, “I did
not know he was at the castle.”

“He's gone, madam; the servants told me,
he called to see the earl, on his way to Lonnon,
but finding he'd went a few days agone
to Ireland, my lord went for Lonnon, without
stopping the night even. Ah! madam,”
continued the old man, as he stood leaning on
his stick, with his hat in his hand, “he's a
great blessing to the poor; his servants say
he gives thousands every year to the poor

[figure description] Page 090.[end figure description]

who are in want---he is main rich, too, some
people say, much richer and more great like
than the earl himself. I'm sure I have need
to bless him every day of my life.”

Mrs. Wilson smiled mournfully, as she
wished Humphreys good day, and put up
her purse, on finding the old man so well
provided for; a display, or competition in
charity, never entering into her system of benevolence.

“His lordship is munificent in his bounty,”
said Emily, as they drove from the door.

“Does it not savour of thoughtlessness, to
bestow so much where he can know so little?”
Lord Chatterton ventured to inquire.

“He is,” replied Mrs. Wilson, “as old
Humphrey says, main rich; but the son of
the old man, and father of these children, is
a soldier in the —th dragoons, of which
the earl is colonel, and that accounts to me
for the liberality of the donation,” recollecting,
with a sigh, the feelings which had
drawn herself out of the usual circles of her
charities, in the case of the same man.

“Did you ever see the earl, aunt?” inquired
Emily, gently.

“Never, my dear; he has been much
abroad, but my letters were filled with his
praises, and I confess my disappointment is
great in not seeing him in this visit to Lord
Bolton, who is his relation; but,” fixing her
eyes thoughtfully on her niece, “we shall
meet in London this winter, I trust.” As

[figure description] Page 091.[end figure description]

she spoke, a cloud passed over her features,
and she continued much absorbed in
thought, for the remainder of their ride.

General Wilson had been a cavalry officer,
and commanded the same regiment now held
by Lord Pendennyss; in an excursion near
the British camp, he had been rescued from
captivity, if not from death, by a gallant and
timely interference of this young nobleman,
then in command of a troop in the same
corps. He had mentioned the occurrence
to his wife in his letters, and from that day,
his correspondence was filled with his praises—
his bravery—his goodness to the soldiery—
and when he fell, he had been supported from
the field, and died in the arms of his youthful
friend. A letter announcing his death, had
been received by his widow from the earl,
and the tenderness and affectionate manner
of speaking of her husband, had taken a
deep hold on her affections—All the circumstances
together, had thrown an interest
around him that had made Mrs. Wilson almost
entertain the romantic wish he might
be found worthy of, and disposed to solicit
the hand of her Emily. Her inquiries into his
character had been attended with such answers
as flattered her wishes; but the service
of the earl, or his private affairs, had never
allowed a meeting; and she was now compelled
to look forward to what John, laughingly
termed, their winter campaign, as the
only probable place where she could be

[figure description] Page 092.[end figure description]

gratified with the sight of a young man to
whom she owed so much, and whose image
was connected with some of the most tender,
although most melancholy recollections
of her life.

Colonel Egerton, who now appeared almost
domesticated in the family, was again
of the party at dinner, to the no small satisfaction
of the dowager, who, from proper inquiries
in the course of the day, had learnt
that Sir Edgar's heir was likely to have the
necessary number of figures in the sum total
of his revenue. While sitting in the drawing-room
that afternoon, she made an attempt to
bring her eldest daughter and the elegant soldier
together over a chess-board; a game,
the young lady had been required to learn,
because it was one at which a gentleman could
be kept longer than any other without having
his attention drawn away by any of those
straggling charms, which might be travelling
a drawing-room, “seeking whom they may
devour.” It was also a game admirably suited
to the display of a beautiful hand and arm;
but the abilities of the mother had for a long
time been staggered with discovering a way
of bringing in the foot also. In vain her
daughter hinted at dancing, an amusement
she was passionately fond of, as the proper
theatre for this exhibition. The wary mother
knew too well the effects of concentrated
force to leave it out of the combat. After a
great deal of experimentizing in her own

[figure description] Page 093.[end figure description]

person, she endeavoured to correct Catherine
for her manner of sitting, and by dint of
twisting and turning, she contrived that her
pretty foot and ancle should be thrown forward
in such a way, that the eye dropping
from the move, should rest on this beauteous
object; thus giving, as it were, a Scylla and
Charybdis to her daughter's charms.

John Moseley was the first person she undertook
to try the effect of her invention
upon a few months before; and after comfortably
seating the parties, she withdrew to
a little distance, to watch the effect.

“Check to your king, Miss Chatterton,”
cried John, early in the game—and the young
lady thrust out her foot—“check to your
king, Mr. Moseley,” echoed the damsel, in
triumph, and John's eyes wandered from
hand to foot, and foot to hand. “Check
king and queen, sir,”—“Check mate,”—
“did you speak?” said John, and looking up
he caught the eye of the dowager fixed on
him in triumph—“Oh ho,” said the young
man, internally, “mother Chatterton, are you
there,” and coolly taking up his hat he
walked off, nor could they ever get him
seated again.

“You beat me too easily, Miss Chatterton,”
he would say, when pressed to play,
“before I have time to look up, it's checkmate—
excuse me”—and the dowager settled
down into a more covert attack, through
Grace—but here she had two to contend

[figure description] Page 094.[end figure description]

with—her own forces rebelled; and the war
had been protracted to the present hour,
with varied success, and no material captures,
at least on one side.

Colonel Egerton entered on the duties of
his dangerous undertaking, with all the indifference
of fool-hardiness; and the game
was played with tolerable ability by either
party; but no emotions, no absence of mind
could be discovered on the part of the
gentleman—feet and hands were in motion,
still the colonel played as well as usual—
he had answers for all Jane's questions,
and smiles for his partner; but no checkmate
could she obtain, until wilfully throwing
away an advantage, he suffered the lady
to win the game—and the dowager was
satisfied nothing could be done with the
colonel.

CHAPTER X.

[figure description] Page 095.[end figure description]

The first carriages that rolled over the
lawn to Bolton parsonage, on the succeeding
day, were those of the baronet and
his sister—the latter in advance.

“There, Francis,” cried Emily, as she impatiently
waited his removing some slight
obstruction to her alighting, “thank you,
thank you, that will do,” and in the next
moment she was in the extended arms of
Clara; after pressing each other to their bosoms
for a few moments in silence, Emily
looked up, with a tear glistening in her eye,
and first noticed the form of Denbigh, modestly
withdrawing, as if unwilling to intrude
on such pure and domestic feelings as the
sisters exposed, unconscious of a witness—
her aunt and Jane, followed by Miss Chatterton,
now entered, and cordial salutes and
greetings flowed upon Clara from her various
friends.

The baronet's coach had reached the door;
in it were himself and wife, Mr. Benfield, and
Lady Chatterton—Clara stood on the portico
of the building ready to receive them, her
face all smiles, and tears, and blushes, and her
arm locked in that of Emily.

“I wish you joy of your new abode, Mrs.
Francis”---Lady Mosely forgot her form, and

[figure description] Page 096.[end figure description]

bursting into tears, pressed her with ardour to
her bosom.

“Clara, my love,” said the baronet, hastily
wiping his eyes, and succeeding his wife in
the embrace of their child—he kissed her and
pressing Francis by the hand, walked into
the house in silence.

“Well—well,” cried the dowager, as she
saluted her cousin, “all looks comfortable
and genteel here, upon my word Mrs. Ives;
grapery—hot-houses—every thing in good
order too, and Sir Edward tells me the living
is worth a good five hundred a-year.”

“So, girl, I suppose you expect a kiss,”
said Mr. Benfield, as he ascended the steps
slowly, to the entrance—“kissing has gone
much out of fashion lately; I remember, on
the marriage of my friend, Lord Gosford, in
the year fifty-eight, that all the maids and
attendants were properly saluted in order.
The lady Juliana was quite young then, not
more than fifteen, it was there I got my first
salute from her—but so—kiss me,” and he
continued as they went into the house,
“marrying in that day was a serious business;
you might visit a lady a dozen times,
before you could get a sight of her naked
hand—who's that?” stopping short, and looking
earnestly at Denbigh, who now approached
them.

“Mr. Denbigh, sir,” said Clara, and

[figure description] Page 097.[end figure description]

turning, she observed to Denbigh, “my uncle,
Mr. Benfield.”

“Did you ever know, sir, a gentleman of
your name, who sat in the parliament of this
realm in the year sixty?” said Mr. Benfield;
and then, turning an inquiring look on the
figure of the young man, he added, “you
don't look much like him.”

“That is rather before my day, sir,” said
Denbigh, with a smile, and respectfully offering
to relieve Clara, who supported him on
one side, while Emily held his arm on the
other. The old gentleman was particularly
averse to strangers, and Emily was in terror,
lest he should say something rude—but after
examining Denbigh again, from head to foot,
he took the offered arm, and replied by
saying—

“True, true, that was sixty years ago;
you can hardly recollect so long—ah! Mr.
Denbigh, times are sadly altered since my
youth: people who were then glad to ride on
a pillion, now drive their coaches; men who
thought ale a luxury, now drink their port;
aye! and those who went bare-foot, must
have their shoes and stockings too. Luxury,
sir, and the love of ease, will ruin this mighty
empire; corruption has taken hold of every
thing; the ministry buy the members, the
members buy the ministry---every thing is
bought and sold; now, sir, in the parliament
I had a seat, there was a knot of us, as upright
as posts, sir; my Lord Gosford was one,

[figure description] Page 098.[end figure description]

and General Denbigh was another, although
I can't say I always liked his ways; how
was he related to you, sir?”

“He was my grandfather,” replied Denbigh,
with a benevolent smile, and looking at
Emily. Had the old man continued his
speech an hour longer, Denbigh would not
have complained; he had stopped while talking,
and thus confronted him with the beautiful
figure that supported his left arm. Denbigh
had contemplated in admiration, the
varying countenance, which now blushed
with apprehension, and now smiled in affection,
or with an archer expression, as her
uncle proceeded in his harangue on the
times; but all felicity in this world has an
end as well as misery; Denbigh retained
the recollection of that speech, long after
Mr. Benfield was comfortably seated in the
parlour, though for his life he could not recollect
a word he had said.

The Haughtons, the Jarvises, and a few
others of their intimate acquaintances, now
arrived, and the parsonage had the air of a
busy scene; but John, who had undertaken
to drive Grace Chatterton in his own phaeton,
was yet absent; some little anxiety had
begun to be manifested; when he appeared,
dashing through the gates at a great rate, and
with the skill of a member of the four-inhand.

Lady Chatterton had begun to be seriously
uneasy, and was about to speak to her son to

[figure description] Page 099.[end figure description]

go in quest of them, as they came in sight;
but now her fears vanished, and she could
only suppose, that a desire to have Grace
alone, could keep him so late, whose horses
were so evidently fleet; accordingly she met
them in great spirits, with—

“Upon my word, Mr. Moseley, I began
to think you had taken the road to Scotland
with my daughter, you staid so long.”

“Your daughter, my Lady Chatterton,”
said John, cooly, “would neither go to Scotland
with me, or any other man, or I am deceived
in her character—Clara, my sister,
how do you do,” and he saluted the bride
with great warmth.

“But what detained you, Moseley?” inquired
his mother.

“One of the horses was restive, and broke
the harness, and I stopped in the village
while it was mended.”

“And how did Grace behave?” asked
Emily, laughing.

“Oh, a thousand times better than you
would, sister; and as she always does, like an
angel,” said John, with fervour.

The only point in dispute between Emily
and her brother, was her want of faith in
his driving; while poor Grace, naturally timid,
and unwilling to oppose, particularly the gentleman
who then held the reins, had governed
herself sufficiently to be silent and motionless;
indeed, she could hardly do otherwise
had she wished it; and John felt flattered to

[figure description] Page 100.[end figure description]

a degree, that, aided by the merit, the beauty,
and the delicacy of the young lady herself,
might have led to the very results her mother
so anxiously wished to produce. But managers
too often overdo their work. “Grace
is a good girl,” said her mother; “and you
found her very valiant, Mr. Moseley?” “Oh,
as brave as Cæsar,” answered John, carelessly,
and in a way that proved he was ironical.
Grace, whose burning cheeks showed
but too plainly, that praise from John Moseley
was an incense too powerful for her resistance,
now sunk back behind some of the
company, endeavouring to conceal the tears
that almost gushed from her eyes; as Denbigh,
who had been a silent spectator of the
whole scene, observed, that he had seen an
improvement which would obviate the difficulty
Mr. Moseley had experienced; John
turned to the speaker, and was about to reply,
for he had heard of his being at the rectory
the day before, as the tilbury of Colonel
Egerton drove to the door, containing himself
and his friend the captain.

The bride undoubtedly received congratulations
on that day, more sincere than what
were now offered, but none were delivered
in a more graceful and insinuating manner
than those from Colonel Egerton; he passed
round the room, speaking to his acquaintances,
until he arrived at the chair
of Jane, who was seated next her aunt;
here he stopped, and glancing his eye round,

[figure description] Page 101.[end figure description]

and saluting with bows and smiles the remainder
of the party, appeared fixed at the
centre of all attraction to him. “There is a
gentleman I have never seen before,” he observed
to Mrs. Wilson, casting his eyes on
Denbigh, whose back was towards him in
discourse with Mr. Benfield.

“Yes, it is Mr. Denbigh, of whom you
heard us speak,” replied Mrs. Wilson; and
while she spoke, Denbigh faced them—Egerton
started as he caught a view of his face,
and seemed to gaze on the countenance,
which was open to his inspection, with an
earnestness that showed an interest of some
kind, but such as was inexplicable to Mrs.
Wilson, the only observer of this singular recognition,
for such it evidently was; all was
natural in the colonel—for the moment, his
colour sensibly changed, and there was
a peculiar expression in his face; it might be
fear, it might be horror, it might be a strong
aversion---it clearly was not love; Emily sat
by her aunt, and Denbigh approached them,
making a cheerful remark; it was impossible
for the colonel and him to avoid each other,
had they wished it; and Mrs. Wilson thought
she would try the experiment of an introduction—
“Colonel Egerton—Mr. Denbigh;”
both gentlemen bowed, but nothing striking
was seen in the deportment of either, when
the colonel, who was not exactly at ease, said
hastily,

[figure description] Page 102.[end figure description]

“Mr. Denbigh is, or has been, in the army
too, I believe.”

Denbigh now started in his turn; he cast a
look on Egerton of fixed and settled meaning;
and said carelessly, but still as if requiring
an answer,

“I am, sir, yet; but do not recollect
having the pleasure of seeing Colonel Egerton
in the service.”

“Your countenance is familiar, sir,” replied
the colonel, carelessly, “but at this moment,
I cannot tax my memory with the
place of our meeting,” and he changed the
discourse. It was some time, however, before
either gentleman recovered his ease, and
many days elapsed ere any thing like intercourse
passed between them; the colonel
attached himself during this visit to Jane,
with occasional notices of the Miss Jarvises,
who began to manifest symptoms of uneasiness,
at the decided preference he showed to
a lady they now chose to look upon, in some
measure, as a rival.

Mrs. Wilson and her charge were, on the
other hand, entertained by the conversations
of Chatterton and Denbigh, with occasional
sallies from the lively John. There was
something in the person and manner of Denbigh,
that insensibly attracted towards him
those whom fortune threw in his way. His
face was not strikingly handsome, but it was
noble; and when he smiled, or was much animated
with any emotion, it did not fail

[figure description] Page 103.[end figure description]

invariably to communicate a spark of his own
enthusiasm to the beholder; his figure was
faultless—his air and manner, if less easy
than that of Colonel Egerton, was more sincere
and ingenuous, his breeding clearly
high, and his respect rather bordering on the
old school; but in his voice there existed a
charm, which would make him, when he
spoke of love that he felt, to a female ear,
almost resistless; it was soft, deep, melodious.

“Baronet,” said the rector, with a smile
on his son and daughter-in-law, “I love to
see my children happy, and Mrs. Ives
threatens a divorce, if I go on in the manner
I have commenced; she says I desert her for
Bolton.”

“Why, doctor, if our wives conspire against
us, and prevent our enjoying a comfortable
dish of tea with Clara, or a glass of wine
with Frank, we must call in the higher
authorities as umpires--what say you, sister;
is a parent to desert his child in any case?”

“My opinion is,” said Mrs. Wilson, with
a smile, yet speaking with emphasis, “that a
parent is not to desert a child, in any case,
or in any manner.”

“Do you hear that, my Lady Moseley,”
cried the baronet, good humouredly.

“Do you hear that, my Lady Chatterton,”
cried John, who had just taken a
seat by Grace, as her mother approached
them.

[figure description] Page 104.[end figure description]

“I hear it, but do not see the application,
Mr. Moseley.”

“No, my lady! why there is the honourable
Miss Chatterton, almost dying to play a
game of her favourite chess with Mr. Denbigh;
she has beat us all but him, you
know.”

And as Denbigh politely offered to meet
the challenge, the board was produced; and
the lady attended, with a view, however, to
prevent any of those consequences she was
generally fond of seeing result from this
amusement; every measure taken by this
prudent mother, being literally governed by
judicious calculation--“Well,” thought John,
as he viewed the players, while listening with
pleasure to the opinions of Grace, who had
recovered her composure and spirits; “Kate
has played one game without using her
feet.”

CHAPTER XI.

[figure description] Page 105.[end figure description]

Ten days or a fortnight now flew swiftly
by, during which, Mrs. Wilson suffered Emily
to give Clara a week, having first ascertained
that Denbigh was a settled resident
at the rectory, and thereby not likely to
be oftener at the house of Francis than at the
hall, where he was a frequent and welcome
guest, both on his own account, and as a
friend of Doctor Ives---Emily had returned,
and brought the bride and groom with her;
when, one evening as they were pleasantly
seated at their various amusements, with the
ease of old acquaintances, Mr. Haughton
entered, at an hour rather unusual for his
visits; throwing down his hat, after making
the usual inquiries, he began,

“I know, good people, you are all wondering
what has brought me out this time of
night, but the truth is, Lucy has coaxed her
mother to persuade me into a ball, in honour
of the times; so, my lady, I have consented,
and my wife and daughter have been buying
up all the finery in B—, by the way, I suppose,
of anticipating their friends. There is a
regiment of foot come into the barracks,
within fifteen miles of us, and to-morrow I
must beat up for recruits among the officers---
girls are never wanting on such occasions.”

[figure description] Page 106.[end figure description]

“Why,” cried the baronet, “you are growing
young again, my friend.”

“No, Sir Edward, but my daughter is
young, and life has so many cares, that I am
willing she should get rid of as many as she
can now, at my expense.”

“Surely, you would not wish her to
dance them away,” said Mrs. Wilson;
“such relief, I am afraid, will prove temporary.”

“Do you disapprove of dancing, ma'am?”
said Mr. Haughton, who held her opinions in
great respect, and some little dread.

“I neither approve or disapprove of it---
jumping up and down, is innocent enough in
itself, and if it must be done, it is well it
were done gracefully; as for the accompaniments
of dancing I say nothing---what do
you say, Doctor Ives?”

“To what, my dear madam?”

“To dancing.”

“Oh! let the girls dance, if they enjoy it.”

“I am glad you think so, doctor,” cried
Mr. Haughton; “I had thought I recollected
your advising your son, never to dance or
play at games of chance.”

“You thought right, my friend,” said the
doctor, laying down his newspaper; “I gave
that advice to Frank---I do not object to
dancing as innocent in itself, and as elegant
exercise, but it is like drinking, generally carried
to excess; and as a Christian, I am opposed
to all excesses; the music and company

[figure description] Page 107.[end figure description]

lead to intemperance in the recreation, and
it often induces neglect of duties---but so
may any thing else.”

“I like a game of whist, doctor, greatly,”
said Mr. Haughton, “but observing you
never play, and recollecting your advice to
Mr. Francis, I have forbidden cards when
you are my guest.”

“I thank you for the compliment, good
sir,” replied the doctor, with a smile; “but I
would much rather see you play cards, than
hear you talk scandal, as you sometimes
do.”

“Scandal,” echoed Mr. Haughton.

“Ay, scandal,” said the doctor, coolly,
“such as your own remark, the last time,
which was yesterday, I called to see you---
that Sir Edward was wrong in letting that
poacher off so easily as he did; the baronet,
you said, did not shoot himself, and did not
know how to prize game as he ought.”

“Scandal, doctor—do you call that scandal;
why, I told Sir Edward so himself, two
or three times.”

“I know you have, and that was rude.”

“Rude! I hope, sincerely, Sir Edward
has put no such construction on it;” and the
baronet smiled kindly, and shook his head.

“Because the baronet chooses to forgive
your offences, it does not alter their nature,”
said the doctor, gravely; “no, you must repent
and amend; you impeached his motives

[figure description] Page 108.[end figure description]

for doing a benevolent act, and that I call
scandal.”

“Why, doctor, I was angry the fellow
should be let loose; he is a pest to all the
game in the county, and every sportsman will
tell you so---here, Mr. Moseley, you know
Jackson, the poacher.”

“Oh! a poacher is an intolerable wretch,”
cried Captain Jarvis.

“Oh! a poacher,” cried John, with a droll
look at Emily, “hang all poachers.”

“Poacher, or no poacher, does not alter
the scandal,” said the doctor; “now let me
tell you, good sir, I would rather play at
fifty games of whist, than make one such
speech, unless, indeed, it interfered with
my duties---now, sir, with your leave,
I'll explain myself, as to my son---There is
an artificial levity about dancing, that adds to
the dignity of no man; from some it may
detract: a clergyman, for instance, is supposed
to have other things to do, and it would
hurt him in the opinions of those his influence
is necessary with, and impair his usefulness;
therefore clergymen should never
dance---In the same way with cards; they
are the common instruments of gambling,
and an odium attached to them, on that account;
women and clergymen must respect
the prejudices of mankind, in some cases, or
hurt their influence in society.”

“I did hope to have the pleasure of your
company, doctor,” said Mr. Haughton, hesitatingly.

[figure description] Page 109.[end figure description]