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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

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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

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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

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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

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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

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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.”

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“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

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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

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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

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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”—

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“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

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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.

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