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The state of my feelings may be easily conceived to consist
of mixed, but on the whole, of agreeable sensations.
The death of Hadwin and his elder daughter could not be
thought upon without keen regrets. These it were useless
to indulge, and were outweighed by reflections on the personal
security in which the survivor was now placed. It was
hurtful to expend my unprofitable cares upon the dead,
while there existed one to whom they could be of essential
benefit, and in whose happiness they would find an ample
compensation.

This happiness, however, was still incomplete. It was
still exposed to hazard, and much remained to be done before
adequate provision was made against the worst of evils, poverty.
I now found that Eliza, being only fifteen years old,
stood in need of a guardian, and that the forms of law required
that some one should make himself her father's administrator.
Mr. Curling being tolerably conversant with these subjects,
pointed out the mode to be pursued, and engaged to act on
this occasion as Eliza's friend.

There was another topic on which my happiness, as well
as that of my friend, required us to form some decision. I
formerly mentioned, that during my abode at Malverton, I
had not been insensible to the attractions of this girl. An
affection had stolen upon me, for which, it was easily discovered,
that I should not have been denied a suitable
return. My reasons for stifling these emotions, at that time,
have been mentioned. It may now be asked, what effect
subsequent events had produced on my feelings, and how far
partaking and relieving her distresses, had revived a passion
which may readily be supposed to have been, at no time,
entirely extinguished.

The impediments which then existed, were removed. Our
union would no longer risk the resentment or sorrow of her
excellent parent. She had no longer a sister to divide with
her the property of the farm, and make what was sufficient
for both, when living together, too little for either separately.
Her youth and simplicity required, beyond most others, a

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legal protector, and her happiness was involved in the success
of those hopes which she took no pains to conceal.

As to me, it seemed at first view, as if every incident conspired
to determine my choice. Omitting all regard to the
happiness of others, my own interest could not fail to recommend
a scheme by which the precious benefits of competence
and independence might be honestly obtained. The
excursions of my fancy had sometimes carried me beyond
the bounds prescribed by my situation, but they were, nevertheless,
limited to that field to which I had once some prospect
of acquiring a title. All I wanted for the basis of my
gaudiest and most dazzling structures, was an hundred acres
of plough land and meadow. Here my spirit of improvement,
my zeal to invent and apply new maxims of household
luxury and convenience, new modes and instruments of tillage,
new arts connected with orchard, garden and cornfield,
were supplied with abundant scope. Though the want of
these would not benumb my activity, or take away content,
the possession would confer exquisite and permanent enjoyments.

My thoughts have ever hovered over the images of wife
and children with more delight than over any other images.
My fancy was always active on this theme, and its reveries
sufficiently ecstatic and glowing; but since my intercourse
with this girl, my scattered visions were collected and concentrated.
I had now a form and features before me, a sweet
and melodious voice vibrated in my ear, my soul was filled,
as it were, with her lineaments and gestures, actions and
looks. All ideas, possessing any relation to beauty or sex,
appeared to assume this shape. They kept an immoveable
place in my mind, they diffused around them an ineffable
complacency. Love is merely of value as a prelude to a
more tender, intimate and sacred union. Was I not in love,
and did I not pant after the irrevocable bonds, the boundless
privileges of wedlock?

The question which others might ask, I have asked myself.
Was I not in love? I am really at a loss for an answer.
There seemed to be irresistible weight in the reasons why I
should refuse to marry, and even forbear to foster love in
my friend. I considered my youth, my defective education
and my limited views. I had passed from my cottage into

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the world. I had acquired even in my transient sojourn
among the busy haunts of men, more knowledge than the
lucubrations and employments of all my previous years had
conferred. Hence I might infer the childlike immaturity of
my understanding, and the rapid progress I was still capable
of making. Was this an age to form an irrevocable contract;
to choose the companion of my future life, the associate of
my schemes of intellectual and benevolent activity?

I had reason to contemn my own acquisitions; but were
not those of Eliza still more slender? Could I rely upon the
permanence of her equanimity and her docility to my instructions?
What qualities might not time unfold, and how little
was I qualified to estimate the character of one, whom no
vicissitude or hardship had approached before the death of
her father? Whose ignorance was, indeed, great, when it
could justly be said even to exceed my own.

Should I mix with the world, enrol myself in different
classes of society; be a witness to new scenes; might not
my modes of judging undergo essential variations? Might
I not gain the knowledge of beings whose virtue was the gift
of experience and the growth of knowledge? Who joined
to the modesty and charms of woman, the benefits of education,
the maturity and steadfastness of age, and with whose
character and sentiments my own would be much more
congenial than they could possibly be with the extreme
youth, rustic simplicity and mental imperfections of Eliza
Hadwin?

To say truth, I was now conscious of a revolution in my
mind. I can scarcely assign its true cause. No tokens of
it appeared during my late retreat to Malverton. Subsequent
incidents, perhaps, joined with the influence of meditation,
had generated new views. On my first visit to the
city, I had met with nothing but scenes of folly, depravity
and cunning. No wonder that the images connected with
the city, were disastrous and gloomy; but my second visit
produced somewhat different impressions. Maravegli, Estwick,
Medlicote and you, were beings who inspired veneration
and love. Your residence appeared to beautify and
consecrate this spot, and gave birth to an opinion that if cities
are the chosen seats of misery and vice, they are likewise

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the soil of all the laudable and strenuous productions of
mind.

My curiosity and thirst of knowledge had likewise received
a new direction. Books and inanimate nature were cold
and lifeless instructers. Men, and the works of men, were
the objects of rational study, and our own eyes only could
communicate just conceptions of human performances. The
influence of manners, professions, and social institutions, could
be thoroughly known only by direct inspection.

Competence, fixed property and a settled abode, rural
occupations and conjugal pleasures, were justly to be prized;
but their value could be known, and their benefits fully enjoyed
only by those who have tried all scenes; who have
mixed with all classes and ranks; who have partaken of all
conditions; and who have visited different hemispheres, and
climates, and nations. The next five or eight years of my
life, should be devoted to activity and change; it should be
a period of hardship, danger and privation; it should be
my apprenticeship to fortitude and wisdom, and be employed
to fit me for the tranquil pleasures and steadfast exertions
of the remainder of my life.

In consequence of these reflections, I determined to
suppress that tenderness which the company of Miss Hadwin
produced, to remove any mistakes into which she had
fallen, and to put it out of my power to claim from her more
than the dues of friendship. All ambiguities, in a case like
this, and all delays were hurtful. She was not exempt
from passion, but this passion I thought was young, and easily
extinguished.

In a short time her health was restored, and her grief
melted down into a tender melancholy. I chose a suitable
moment, when not embarrassed by the presence of others, to
reveal my thoughts. My disclosure was ingenuous and
perfect. I laid before her the whole train of my thoughts,
nearly in the order, though in different and more copious
terms than those in which I have just explained them to you.
I concealed nothing. The impression which her artless loveliness
had made upon me at Malverton; my motives for
estranging myself from her society; the nature of my present
feelings with regard to her, and my belief of the state of her
heart; the reasonings into which I had entered; the

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advantages of wedlock and its inconveniences; and, finally,
the resolution I had formed of seeking the city, and perhaps,
of crossing the ocean, were minutely detailed.

She interrupted me not, but changing looks, blushes, flutterings
and sighs, shewed her to be deeply and variously affected
by my discourse. I paused for some observation or
comment. She seemed conscious of my expectation, but
had no power to speak, Overpowered, at length, by her
emotions, she burst into tears.

I was at a loss in what manner to construe these symptoms.
I waited till her vehemence was somewhat subsided,
and then said—what think you of my schemes? Your
approbation is of some moment; do you approve of them or
not?

This question excited some little resentment, and she
answered—you have left me nothing to say. Go and be
happy; no matter what becomes of me. I hope I shall be
able to take care of myself.

The tone in which this was said, had something in it of
upbraiding. Your happiness, said I, is too dear to me to
leave it in danger. In this house you will not need my protection,
but I shall never be so far from you, as to be disabled
from hearing how you fared, by letter, and of being active
for your good. You have some money which you
must husband well. Any rent from your farm cannot be
soon expected; but what you have got, if you remain with
Mr. Curling, will pay your board and all other expenses for
two years; but you must be a good economist. I shall expect,
continued I, with a serious smile, a punctual account
of all your sayings and doings. I must know how every
minute is employed, and every penny is expended, and if I
find you erring, I must tell you so in good round terms.

These words did not dissipate the sullenness which her
looks had betrayed. She still forebore to look at me, and said—
I do not know how I should tell you every thing. You
care so little about me that—I should only be troublesome.
I am old enough to think and act for myself, and shall advise
with nobody but myself.

That is true, said I. I shall rejoice to see you independent
and free. Consult your own understanding, and act according
to its dictates. Nothing more is wanting to make

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you useful and happy. I am anxious to return to the city,
but, if you will allow me, will go first to Malverton, see
that things are in due order, and that old Caleb is well.
From thence, if you please, I will call at your uncle's, and
tell him what has happened. He may, otherwise, entertain
pretensions and form views, erroneous in themselves
and injurious to you. He may think himself entitled to
manage your estate. He may either suppose a will to have
been made, or may actually have heard from your father,
or from others, of that which you burnt, and in which he
was named executor. His boisterous and sordid temper
may prompt him to seize your house and goods, unless
seasonably apprized of the truth; and, when he knows the
truth, he may start into rage, which I shall be more fitted
to encounter than you. I am told that anger transforms
him into a ferocious madman. Shall I call upon him?

She shuddered at the picture which I had drawn of her
uncle's character; but this emotion quickly gave place to
self-upbraiding, for the manner in which she had repelled
my proffers of service. She melted once more into tears,
and exclaimed:

I am not worthy of the pains you take for me. I am
unfeeling and ungrateful. Why should I think ill of you
for despising me, when I despise myself?

You do yourself injustice, my friend. I think I see your
most secret thoughts; and these, instead of exciting anger
or contempt, only awaken compassion and tenderness.
You love; and must, therefore, conceive my conduct to be
perverse and cruel. I counted on your harboring such
thoughts. Time only and reflection will enable you to see
my motives in their true light. Hereafter you will recollect
my words, and find them sufficient to justify my conduct.
You will acknowledge the propriety of my engaging in the
cares of the world, before I sit down in retirement and ease.

Ah! how much you mistake me! I admire and approve
of your schemes. What angers and distresses me is, that
you think me unworthy to partake of your cares and labors;
that you regard my company as an obstacle and incumbrance;
that assistance and counsel must all proceed from
you; and that no scene is fit for me, but what you regard
as slothful and inglorious.

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