Lady Mary was not an early ri&longs;er; Rebecca
had been accu&longs;tomed from earlie&longs;t infancy to
leave her bed at fix o'clock; &longs;he had therefore aro&longs;e at
her u&longs;ual hour, and finding her&longs;elf likely to be alone
till ten o'clock, went into the library, and &longs;elected
from among the many books there, Sir Charles Grandison
for her morning amu&longs;ement; the intere&longs;ting pen
of Richard&longs;on had &longs;o entirely charmed her attention,
that &longs;he thought not of time till Lady Mary made her
appearance.

“You have been reading, my love,” &longs;aid &longs;he; “are
you fond of Novels?”

“I like the&longs;e entertaining Hi&longs;tories, madam; they
always command my attention, and awaken my sensibility.”

“It is dangerous, Rebecca, to indulge that sensibility
too much; be&longs;ides, my dear, you mu&longs;t not give

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way to an exce&longs;s of feeling, when the tale you read is
only a fiction.”

“A fiction! madam; you &longs;urpri&longs;e me. I thought
they had been the Hi&longs;tories of per&longs;ons who had really
exi&longs;ted.”

“Far from it, child; human nature can never ari&longs;e
to &longs;uch a pitch of excellence as this Sir Charles Grandison
is repre&longs;ented to be; nor will you among your
own &longs;ex, be able to find a woman like Mi&longs;s Byron:
be&longs;ides, if you accu&longs;tom your&longs;elf to think the&longs;e high
wrote &longs;cenes real, you will find the actual occurrences
of human life &longs;o flat and in&longs;ipid, that the very disappointment
will render you di&longs;gu&longs;ted with the world.”

Rebecca li&longs;tened with attention, but &longs;till in her
heart &longs;he thought, &longs;urely, the&longs;e amiable characters,
the&longs;e intere&longs;ting &longs;cenes, are not all fiction. I &longs;hall certainly
at &longs;ome future period, meet with men and women
as amiable as the&longs;e are repre&longs;ented. She nourished
this idea in &longs;ilence, and dwelt on the delightful vision,
till at la&longs;t too fatally convinced, that to be perfect
was not compatible with mortality. She wept over
the errors of her fellow creatures, and lamented that
rea&longs;onable beings placed in a world abounding with
every comfort, &longs;hould ungratefully da&longs;h the cup of felicity
from their lips, and eagerly drink of that which
was &longs;trongly tinctured with gall. It is ea&longs;ily in our
own power to be happy, &longs;aid &longs;he; but to render ourselves
really mi&longs;erable, requires much art, contrivance
and &longs;olicitude; for, before we can be completely unhappy,
we mu&longs;t for&longs;ake the commandments of our all-wife
Creator; we mu&longs;t di&longs;tru&longs;t his merciful Providence,
and render our&longs;elves totally unworthy his heavenly protection.

But I am &longs;peaking of her maturer reflexions, and
forgetting that &longs;he is but ju&longs;t entered on the grand
theatre of life.—And to return:

The time was now nearly elap&longs;ed which Lady Mary
u&longs;ually &longs;pent in Lincoln&longs;hire, which was two months
before and one after Chri&longs;tmas, at which period &longs;he
enlivened the hearts of all Sir George's tenants, and

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made the &longs;mile of tranquillity &longs;it on the countenances
of age, and &longs;oftened the couch of pain and &longs;ickne&longs;s.

And is not this the real incen&longs;e to be offered at &longs;o
glorious a &longs;ea&longs;on? Will it not go up as a &longs;weet smellling
&longs;acrifice before the Mo&longs;t High? Oh! &longs;urely it is
the benevolent heart will ever be acceptable to him
who&longs;e heavenly benevolence led him to &longs;uffer an ignominious
death, that we might live for ever in glory unfading,
in bli&longs;s unchangeable.

It was with infinite pain that Rebecca parted from
her father; nor did he experience le&longs;s angui&longs;h. “God
pre&longs;erve you my child,” &longs;aid he embracing her, “remember
the happine&longs;s of your poor father depends on
your well doing.”

“Good bye, Rebecca,” &longs;aid the mother; “God
ble&longs;s you, child, be careful, circum&longs;pect, and wary;
&longs;u&longs;pect every one of a de&longs;ign on you till you are convinced
of the contrary. You mu&longs;t think all men knaves,
and all women treacherous, and then you will avoid
many troubles. Tru&longs;t no one; keep your thoughts
to your&longs;elf if you are unhappy, bear your &longs;orrows in
&longs;ilence, for no one will pity you if you tell them; the
happy will only laugh at you, and the mi&longs;erable have
enough to do to feel for their own afflictions. If you
are happy, be &longs;ilent al&longs;o; for if you boa&longs;t of your felicity,
&longs;ome will ridicule the &longs;ource from whence it follows,
and others will, from envy, endeavour to interrupt
that happine&longs;s they cannot them&longs;elves enjoy.
Keep your thoughts to your&longs;elf; have few acquaintances,
fewer intimates, and no bo&longs;om friends. Friendship
is a pretty word, but there is no &longs;uch thing as a
true friend exi&longs;ting in the world. Remember what I
&longs;ay; the world is full of deceit, and &longs;ilence and suspicion
are the only things to &longs;ecure you from its effects.”

“But &longs;u&longs;picion is incompatible with Chri&longs;tianity,”
&longs;aid Rebecca; “we are taught to `judge not that we
be not judged.”

Mrs. Littleton looked at her daughter with an air of
&longs;urpri&longs;e, but remained &longs;ilent. Lady Mary pre&longs;&longs;ed her
hand, and led her to the chai&longs;e. Rebecca bowed to
her parents, and before &longs;he was from di&longs;tance deprived

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of the plea&longs;ure of beholding them, the tears had effectually
ob&longs;cured them from her view.

Their journey was plea&longs;ant, and the novelty of the
objects &longs;he encountered, in a &longs;hort time diverted her
ideas, and before &longs;he arrived at Twickenham &longs;he was
quite tranquil and happy; nay, &longs;he was even more
cheerful than Lady Mary had ever &longs;een her before.

It was late when they alighted; but the elegance of
the hou&longs;e, the extent of the gardens, and the ta&longs;te in
which they were laid out, was full and plea&longs;urable
amu&longs;ement to Rebecca the next morning. Her own
apartment commanded a view of the Thames and its
delightful banks; &longs;he thought &longs;he &longs;hould never be weary
of &longs;tanding at the window. “I will write my father
an ample account of this charming place,” &longs;aid &longs;he;
but when &longs;he had rambled over all the plea&longs;ure grounds,
alas! thought &longs;he, it will be impo&longs;&longs;ible to give him an
adequate idea of its beauties. I mu&longs;t even reque&longs;t him
to come next &longs;ummer, and judge of it him&longs;elf.

For eight months, happine&longs;s, pure, unallayed happiness,
took up her abode in the bo&longs;om of Rebecca.
She read, &longs;he worked, walked, or played on her lute
alternately, as inclination led, and during that time &longs;he
had been confined to her apartment but twice, once
when Lady O&longs;&longs;iter vi&longs;ited her mother, and once when
Sir George was expected to dinner.