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A few days after the arrival of the Moseleys
at the lodge, John drove his sisters to the
little village of L—, which at that time was
thronged with an unusual number of visiters.
It had among other of its fashionable arrangements
for the accommodation of its guests,
one of those circulaters of good and evil, a
public library. Books are, in a great measure,
the instruments of controlling the opinions
of a nation like ours. They are an engine,
alike powerful to save as to destroy.
It cannot be denied, that our libraries contain
as many volumes of the latter, as the former
description; for we rank amongst the latter,
that long catalogue of idle productions, which,
if they produce no other evil, lead to the misspending
of time, our own perhaps included.
But we cannot refrain expressing our regret,
that such formidable weapons in the cause of
morality, should be suffered to be wielded by
any indifferent or mercenary dealer, who undoubtedly
will consult rather the public tastes
than their private good; the evil may be remediless,
yet we love to express our sentiments,
though we should suggest nothing new
or even profitable. Into one of these haunts
of the idle then, John Moseley entered with a
lovely sister leaning on either arm. Books
were the entertainers of Jane, and instructors

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of Emily. Sir Edward was fond of reading
of a certain sort—that which required no
great depth of thought, or labour of research;
and like most others who are averse to contention,
and disposed to be easily satisfied,
the baronet sometimes found he had harboured
opinions on things not exactly reconcilable
with the truth, or even with each
other. It is quite as dangerous to give up
your faculties to the guidance of the author
you are perusing, as it is unprofitable to be
captiously scrutinizing every syllable he may
happen to advance; and Sir Edward was, if
any thing, a little inclined to the dangerous
propensity. Unpleasant, Sir Edward Moseley
never was. Lady Moseley very seldom
took a book in her hand: her opinions were
established to her own satisfaction on all important
points, and on the minor ones, she
made it a rule to coincide with the popular
feeling. Jane had a mind more active than
her father, and more brilliant than her mother;
and if she had not imbibed injurious
impressions from the unlicensed and indiscriminate
reading she practised, it was more owing
to the fortunate circumstance, that the
baronet's library contained nothing extremely
offensive to a pure taste, or dangerous to good
morals, than to any precaution of her parents
against the deadly, the irretrievable injury,
to be sustained from ungoverned liberty
in this respect to a female mind. On the
other hand, Mrs. Wilson had inculcated the

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necessity of restraint, in selecting the books
for her perusal, so strenuously on her niece,
that what at first had been the effects of obedience
and submission, had now settled into
taste and habit; and Emily seldom opened a
book, unless in search of information; or if
it were the indulgence of a less commendable
spirit, it was an indulgence chastened by a
taste and judgment that lessened the danger,
if it did not entirely remove it.

The room was filled with gentlemen and
ladies; and while John was exchanging his
greetings with several of the neighbouring
gentry of his acquaintance, his sisters were
running hastily over a catalogue of the books
kept for circulation, as an elderly lady, of foreign
accent and dress, entered, and depositing
a couple of religious works on the counter,
inquired for the remainder of the set. The
peculiarity of her idiom, and nearness to the
sisters, caused them both to look up at the
moment, and to the surprise of Jane, her sister
uttered a slight exclamation of pleasure.
The foreigner was attracted by the sound,
and after a moment's hesitation, respectfully
curtsied. Emily advancing, kindly offered
her hand, and the usual inquiries after each
other's welfare succeeded. To the questions
asked after the friend of the matron, Emily
learnt with some surprise, and no less satisfaction,
that she resided in a retired cottage,
about five miles from L—, where they had
been for the last six months, and where they

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expected to remain for some time, “until she
could prevail on Mrs. Fitzgerald to return to
Spain, a thing, now there was peace, she did
not despair of.” After asking leave to call
on them in their retreat, and exchanging good
wishes, the Spanish lady withdrew; and as
Jane had made her selection, was followed
immediately by John Moseley and his sisters.
Emily, in their walk home, acquainted her
brother, that the companion of their Bath incognita
had been at the library, and that for
the first time she had learnt their young acquaintance
was, or had been, married, and her
name. John listened to his sister with the interest
which the beautiful Spaniard had excited
at the time they first met; and laughingly
told her, he could not believe their unknow
friend had ever been a wife; to satisfy
this doubt, and to gratify a wish they both
had to renew their acquaintance with the foreigner,
they agreed to drive to the cottage
the following morning, accompanied by Mrs.
Wilson, and Jane, if she would go; but the
next day was the one appointed by Egerton
for his arrival at L—, and Jane, under a
pretence of writing letters, declined the ride.
She had carefully examined the papers since
his departure; had seen his name included
in the arrivals at London, and at a later day
had read an account of the review by the
commander in chief of the regiment to which
he belonged. He had never written to any
of her friends of his movements, but judging

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from her own feelings, she did not in the least
doubt he would be as punctual as love could
make him. Mrs. Wilson listened to her niece's
account of the unexpected interview in the library
with pleasure, and cheerfully promised
to accompany them in their morning's excursion,
as she had both a wish to alleviate sorrow,
and a desire to better understand the
character of this accidental acquaintance of
Emily's.

Mr. Benfield and the baronet had a long
conversation in relation to Denbigh's fortune
the morning after their arrival; and the old
man was loud in his expression of dissatisfaction
at the youngster's pride. As the baronet,
however, in the fulness of his affection
and simplicity, betrayed to his uncle his expectation
of an union between Denbigh and
his daughter, Mr. Benfield became contented
with this reward; one fit, he thought, for
any services;—on the whole, “it was best, as
he was to marry Emmy, he should sell out of
the army, and as there would be an election
soon, he would bring him into parliament—
yes—yes—it did a man so much good to sit
one term in the parliament of this realm—to
study human nature; all his own knowledge
in that way, was raised on the foundations
laid in the house.” To this, Sir Edward cordially
assented, and the old gentleman separated,
happy in their arrangements to advance
the welfare of two beings they so sincerely
loved.

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Although the care and wisdom of Mrs.
Wilson had prohibited the admission of any
romantic or enthusiastic expectations of happiness
into the day-dreams of her charge;
yet the buoyancy of health, of hope, of youth,
of innocence, had elevated Emily to a height
of enjoyment, hitherto unknown to her usually
placid and disciplined pleasures. Denbigh
certainly mingled in most of her thoughts,
both of the past and the future, and she had
strode on the threshold of that fantastic edifice,
in which Jane ordinarily resided. Emily
was in that situation, perhaps the most dangerous
to a young female christian: her
heart, her affections, were given to a man, to
appearance, every way worthy of possessing
them, it is true; but she had admitted a rival
in her love to her Maker; and to keep
those feelings distinct, to bend the passions in
due submission to the more powerful considerations
of endless duty, of unbounded gratitude,
is one of the most trying struggles of
christian fortitude. We are much more apt
to forget our God in prosperity, than adversity;—
the weakness of human nature drives us
to such assistance in distress, but vanity and
worldly mindedness, often induce us to imagine
we control the happiness we only enjoy.

Sir Edward and Lady Moseley could see
nothing in the prospect of the future but lives
of peace and contentment for their children.
Clara was happily settled, and her sisters

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were on the eve of making connexions with
men of family, condition and certain character;
what more could be done for them? they
must, like other people, take their chances in
the lottery of life; they could only hope and
pray for their prosperity, and this they did
with great sincerity. Not so Mrs. Wilson; she
had guarded the invaluable charge entrusted
to her keeping with too much assiduity, too
keen an interest, too just a sense of the awful
responsibility she had undertaken, to desert
her post at the moment her watchfulness was
most required. By a temperate, but firm and
well-chosen conversation, she kept alive the
sense of her real condition in her niece, and
laboured hard to prevent the blandishments of
life, supplanting the lively hope of enjoying
another existence; she endeavoured, by her
pious example, her prayers, and her judicious
allusions, to keep the passion of love in the
breast of Emily, secondary to the more important
object of her creation, and by the aid
of kind and Almighty Providence, her labours,
though arduous, were crowned with
success.

As the family were seated round the table
after dinner, on the day of their walk to the
library, John Moseley, awaking from a reverie,
exclaimed suddenly to his sister—

“Which do you think the handsomest,
Emily, Grace Chatterton or Mrs. Fitzgerald?”

Emily laughed aloud as she answered,

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“Grace, certainly; do you not think so, brother?”

“Why, sometimes; don't you think Grace
looks like her mother at times?”

“Oh no, she is the image of Chatterton.”

“She is very like yourself, Emmy dear,”
said Mr. Benfield, who was listening to their
conversation.

“Me, dear uncle; I have never heard it remarked
before.”

“Yes, yes, she is as much like you as she
can stare; I never saw as great a resemblance
excepting between you and Lady Juliana—
Lady Juliana, Emmy, was a beauty
in her day; very like her uncle, old Admiral
Griffin—you can't remember the admiral—
he lost an eye in a battle with the Dutch, and
part of his cheek in a frigate when a young
man fighting the Dons. Oh, he was a pleasant
old gentleman; many a guinea has he
given me when I was a boy at school.”

“And he looked like Grace Chatterton, uncle,
did he?” cried John with a smile.

“No, sir, he did not; who said he looked
like Grace Chatterton, jackanapes?”

“Why, I thought you made it out, sir; but
perhaps it was the description that deceived
me—his eye and cheek, uncle.”

“Did Lord Gosford leave children, uncle?”
inquired Emily, and throwing a look
of reproach at John.

“No, Emmy dear; his only child, a son,
died at school; I shall never forget the grief

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of poor Lady Juliana. She postponed a visit
to Bath three weeks on account of it. A
gentleman who was paying his addresses to
her at the time, offered then, and was refused—
indeed, her self-denial raised such an admiration
of her in the men, that immediately
after the death of young Lord Dayton, no
less than seven gentlemen offered and were
refused in one week. I heard Lady Juliana
say, that what between lawyers and suitors,
she had not a moment's peace,”

“Lawyers!” cried Sir Edward, “what
had she to do with lawyers?”

“Why, Sir Edward, six thousand a year
fell to her by the death of her nephew; and
there were trustees and deeds to be made out—
poor young woman, she was so affected,
Emmy, I don't think she went out for a week—
all the time at home reading papers, and
attending to her important concerns. Oh!
she was a woman of taste; her mourning, and
liveries, and new carriage, were more admired
than those of any one about the court. Yes,
yes, the title is extinct; I know of none of the
name now. The Earl did not survive his
loss but six years, and the countess died broken-hearted,
about a twelvemonth before
him.”

“And Lady Juliana, uncle,” inquired
John, “what became of her, did she marry?”

The old man helped himself to a glass of
wine, and looked over his shoulder to see if

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Peter was at hand. Peter, who had been
originally butler, had made it a condition of
his preferment, that whenever there was company,
he should be allowed to preside at the
sideboard, was now at his station. Mr. Benfield
seeing his old friend near him, ventured
to talk on a subject he seldom trusted himself
with in company.

“Why, yes—yes—she did marry, it's true,
although she did tell me she intended to
die a maid; but---hem---I suppose---hem---it
was compassion for the old viscount, who
often said he could not live without her; and
then it gave her the power of doing so much
good, a jointure of five thousand a year added
to her own income: yet---hem---I do
confess I did not think she would have chosen
such an old and infirm man---but---Peter
give me a glass of claret.” Peter handed
the claret, and the old man proceeded.—
“They say he was very cross to her, and
that, no doubt, must have made her unhappy,
she was so very tender-hearted.”

How much longer the old gentleman would
have continued in this strain, it is impossible
to say; but he was interrupted by the opening
of the parlour door, and the sudden appearance
on its threshold of Denbigh. Every
countenance glowed with pleasure at this
unexpected return to them of their favourite;
and but for the prudent caution in Mrs. Wilson,
of handing a glass of water to her niece,
the surprise might have proved too much for

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her. His salutations were returned by the
different members of the family, with a cordiality
that must have told him how much he
was valued by all its branches; and after
briefly informing them that his review was
over, and that he had thrown himself into a
chaise and travelled post until he had rejoined
them, he took his seat by Mr. Benfield,
who received him with a marked preference,
exceeding what he had shown to any man
who had ever entered his doors, Lord Gosford
himself not excepted. Peter removed
from his station behind his master's chair to
one where he could face the new comer; and
after wiping his eyes until they filled so rapidly
with water, that at last he was noticed
by the delighted John to put on the identical
goggles which his care had provided for Denbigh
in his illness. His laugh drew the attention
of the rest to the honest steward, and
when Denbigh was told this was Mr. Benfield's
ambassador to the Hall on his account,
he rose from his chair, and taking the old
man by the hand, kindly thanked him for his
thoughtful consideration for his weak eyes.

Peter took the offered hand in both his
own, and after making one or two unsuccessful
efforts to speak, he uttered, “thank
you, thank you, may Heaven bless you,” and
burst into tears. This stopt the laugh, and
John followed the steward from the room,
while his master exclaimed, wiping his eyes,
“kind and condescending; just such another
as my old friend, the Earl of Gosford.”

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