f 

 
 THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 LOS ANGELES 
 
 Ex Libris 
 
 SIR MICHAEL SADLER 
 
 ACQUIRED 1948 
 
 WITH THE HELP OF ALUMNI OF THE 
 
 SCHOOL OF EDUCATION
 
 
 ■ '/lii. iii/.i fl ,1,1 11/, II fi/il /li/ //l, ///■/,/ / It ll/ll,/l 
 
 • ' S' II' • i fl lf/f// II f'/lffll ll/f /'I //ll If. >,!/>. ■/ .l/l'll/.'- 
 
 /l III/ 1/ f l-/f.l
 
 ;[ ( D y 
 
 f / '/ j 
 
 / 
 
 
 ,•{.<////,///, /., //.--' 
 
 7 
 
 letyour moderation bo known unto all men 
 
 S' PA.TJI 
 
 a ifiiw EDjrjo: 
 
 ?l\miViO 
 
 - ' | ^ T uj. & po
 
 
 MODERATION. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 WHEN the Rector of Ravenhill arose 
 from his breakfast table one spring morning 
 in 18 — and retired to his study, notwith- 
 standing his three daughters were present, 
 perfect silence reigned in the room until they 
 were sensible that his library door was closed;, 
 and his steps directed to a certain bay win- 
 dow, which possessed the double advantage 
 of seclusion from domestic sounds, and of 
 a widely extended prospect over a beautiful 
 country. 
 
 This silence did not proceed from awe, for 
 to confess the truth, that was a quality the 
 Rector was rather deemed deficient in his 
 power of inspiring, being a man more gene- 
 rally loved than feared, both in the house and 
 the parish ; — but surprise, which is sorae- 
 
 B
 
 2 MODERATION 
 
 what related to that emotion, he had undoubt- 
 edly awakened, as his eldest daughter, Har- 
 riet, indignantly announced by the observa- 
 tion which followed upon his removal. 
 
 " I cannot imagine how my father can 
 think of such a thing as laying down the 
 carriage — it strikes me as preposterous to the 
 greatest degree — how can any body live in 
 the country without a carriage ? especially 
 a person who has three daughters situated as 
 we are." 
 
 Miss Carysford did not explain what she 
 meant by the word situated, and it appeared 
 that her sister Emma did not read it as mean- 
 ing " young women seeking for establish- 
 ments," for she observed in a soothing man- 
 ner : 
 
 " It is because we are so situated, that my 
 father deems it advisable to lessen his ex- 
 penses, and secure us a continuance of our 
 solid comforts. I thought his reasons wry 
 sufficient ones : every body knows that as 
 Charles is of age, more than half his income 
 is transferred to him from his taking posses- 
 sion of our dear mother's jointure ; and we 
 are ourselves well aware that from the style 
 she always supported, it was impossible for
 
 MODERATION. 3 
 
 him to save any thing hitherto to speak of ; 
 it is therefore a good time to begin, when 
 the occasion is so evident as to proclaim its 
 oropriety." 
 
 " I don't think it right at all," said the 
 eldest sister. " The action is right, but the 
 intention grounded upon it is wrong," ob- 
 served Sophia, the youngest. 
 
 " That I must deny," returned Harriet, 
 " the action is decidedly ill-judged, because 
 my father ought to maintain the respecta- 
 bility of his family, and his own rank in life ; 
 but the intention is, like every thing he does, 
 kind and disinterested, considerate and affec- 
 tionate." 
 
 " Poor man ! his worldly cares are indeed 
 abundant for his children, but how much 
 better would it be if he directed them to 
 those beyond the grave ; had he proposed to 
 lay down the carriage, and appropriate the 
 income thereby saved to the London Mis- 
 sionary Society, then indeed he would have 
 acted worthy of the name he bears as a mi- 
 nister of Christ ; but to do it, that he may 
 add ' house to house, and field to field,' that 
 he may ' increase the mammon of unright- 
 eousness,' in my opinion is quite dreadful." 
 
 b 2
 
 4 MODERATION. 
 
 " Ridiculous ! you are Missionary mad — ■ 
 if the coach is to be given up, I would ad- 
 vise that the pannels should make you a cell, 
 and the linings a strait waistcoat — that would 
 be a family benefit." 
 
 " Better it were I should be so situated, than 
 enter with you, Miss Carysford, into that 
 place ' where the worm dieth not, and the 
 fire is not quenched,' — that place, where 
 there shall be ' instead of a girdle, a rent ; 
 instead of well set hair, baldness ; and burn- 
 ing instead of beauty." 
 
 With these words, slowly and emphatically 
 pronounced, with the air of a maledictory 
 prophecy, Sophia, taking up a number of 
 pamphlets which she had been reading, left 
 the room. As Miss Carysford was an ac- 
 knowledged beauty, and gave to her person 
 all the cares and the advantages which belong 
 to ladies holding that rank in creation, every 
 syllabic had its immediate reference, and ex- 
 cited such violent anger as to give her line 
 but infuriated countenance the character of 
 a ' burning beauty,' even now. She pro- 
 tested (with a good deal of truth undoubt- 
 edly) that " Sophia was the most provoking 
 creature that ever existed, a disgrace to the
 
 MODERATION 
 
 family, a pest in the village, a canker that 
 was eating out the very heart of her father, 
 and a person in short who ought to be turned 
 out of the house, as unworthy its countenance 
 and protection." 
 
 Having so spoken during a rapid promenade 
 round the breakfast parlour, Harriet threw 
 herself on a sofa, wiped the few tears which 
 scalded her cheeks, and looked earnestly to- 
 wards Emma as if for answer or observation ; 
 but since neither occurred, she added, " can 
 you say a word in her behalf? a single word?" 
 
 "She is very sincere, very conscientious, if 
 we do not approve her zeal, nor partake her 
 feelings, we must do justice to her principles, 
 my dear Harriet." 
 
 " Umph ! her sincerity consists in abusing 
 every body under the precious pretext of 
 caring for their souls, her zeal, in passing 
 sentence of condemnation on every human 
 being out of the pale of those vulgar wretches 
 with whom she has associated herself — her 
 principles instigate her, most blasphemously 
 (as I call it) to quote the scriptures on the 
 most trifling and irrelevant occasions ; to 
 mix the most sacred and profane things irre- 
 verently — to drain the pence from starving
 
 O MODERATION. 
 
 cottagers, in furtherance of some chimerical 
 scheme one day, and the next to strip her- 
 self for some worthless object of charity, as 
 to be left in a poverty disgraceful to us all. 
 Does she not class my father himself with the 
 ignorant, the bigoted? is he not 'a proud 
 priest,' 'an idle watchman,' 'a blind guide', 
 and give him a thousand other such appella- 
 tions ? — and is this to be borne from a girl of 
 nineteen ? No ! my father ought not to suffer 
 it, we are all wrong to submit to her insults, 
 her cold-hearted, unfeeling, intolerant." — 
 Perhaps it was the want of another epithet 
 which checked this effusion of wrath ; it was 
 at least evident to Emma, that her sister did 
 not cease to think because she ceased to 
 complain and resent ; for she was still agi- 
 tated — but, as her passions were generally 
 short-lived, advancing rapidly to maturity, 
 and being subject to sudden death, Emma 
 waited for that important moment before she 
 ventured to say a word for the party ar- 
 raigned, when she observed : 
 
 " If my father, as the head of his house, 
 and the pastor of a flock, can put up with the 
 peculiarities of poor Sophia, in consideration 
 of her pure good meaning, and her many
 
 MODERATION. 7 
 
 good qualities, to say nothing of those ties 
 which bind us all to each other indissoluble, 
 surelv we are bound to endure them, sister 9 
 to use her own language, she is frequently 'a 
 cross to us,' but we can have no doubt that 
 it is our duty to bear it." 
 
 " It is very well for you, who are a kind 
 of half methodist, half philosopher, to reason 
 in that way, but I have not been accustomed 
 to vulgar associations, or inured to low no- 
 tions. I can neither forget whose daughter 
 I am, nor what society I have mixed with, 
 though you may do it, having undoubtedly 
 something wherewith to comfort you to which 
 your elder sister cannot pretend." 
 
 " That difference is very trifling, Harriet." 
 
 " It is however sufficient were it properly ap- 
 plied, to prevent us from the mortification my 
 father contemplates, and which will vex 
 Charles excessively, and be a cruel reflec- 
 tion on him, in my opinion, not that I ex- 
 pect any sacrifice from you — calm, moderate, 
 calculating, people of your description seldom 
 do wrong it is true, but we must not expect 
 such still waters to rise above their own level, 
 to overflow' generously." 
 
 Emma did not replv, but she arose a few
 
 8 MODERATION* 
 
 minutes afterwards, and announced an inten- 
 tion of calling on a friend in the village, who 
 was unwell and in trouble, enquiring if Har- 
 riet would accompany her. 
 
 " No, I cannot go, but I am glad you 
 are going, for you will do them all good, poor 
 things." 
 
 And when Emma had closed the door, and 
 departed on her errand of kindness, Harriet 
 wondered how it had been possible to use one 
 word of reproach, one tone of ill humour, 
 towards a sister so gentle, yet so active, and 
 whose heart she well knew to be as ardent in 
 affection, as generous in action, as that of 
 any human being, notwithstanding the asser- 
 tion she had so lately made. 
 
 Whilst Emma proceeds to Thorpedale, we 
 will give such a review of the history of the 
 Carysford family, as may in some measure 
 account for the difference of character ob- 
 servable in the female branches, desirino: our 
 readers to recolleet, that notwithstanding the 
 disputed points it was our misfortune to de- 
 pict in the first instance, the persons in ques- 
 tion were in high esteem among their neigh- 
 bours and connections. They were all so 
 handsome, that the hacknied epithet of "the
 
 MODERATION. 9 
 
 graces," was applied with more propriety than 
 usual to them among their visitants, and 
 their humbler acquaintance usually designated 
 them " as good as they were handsome." A 
 pious and tender father, an elegant, high- 
 born, and accomplished mother, had super- 
 intended their education, and it is certain, 
 that their minds were cultivated, and their 
 manners suasive in general ; but in all houses 
 there are rehearsals behind the scenes, in 
 which the general give way to the individual 
 traits of character, and the honest chronicler 
 of human nature must give shadows as well 
 as lights, in order to produce the portrait 
 which truth will own, or that which it will 
 be useful for us to contemplate.
 
 10 
 
 CHAP. II. 
 
 1 he Rev. Charles Carysford was the son of 
 a merchant who was a rare example of wis- 
 dom and moderation, for he retired into the 
 country as soon as he had acquired such a 
 fortune as to ensure the comforts of compe- 
 tency, at a period of life when he was still 
 capable of enjoyment, instead of seeking 
 wealth to the very verge of existence, losing 
 at once the pleasures of this world, and the 
 provision for the next. 
 
 One motive for this early retirement arose 
 from the extremely delicate health of his 
 eldest child, a very sweet girl ; and some 
 fear that her brother on leaving his school in 
 the country might partake the same evil. 
 Happily Charles grew up in every respect ac- 
 cording to their wishes, he was tall, graceful, 
 and although of delicate complexion, yet re- 
 markable for his manly beauty and personal 
 activity. Untinctured by the vices- and un-
 
 MODERATION. 11 
 
 fettered by the artificial forms, of life in cities, 
 he united with singular, yet not inelegant, 
 simplicity of manners, a passionate attach- 
 ment to literature, and with this direction of 
 mind, aided by humanity and great sweetness 
 of temper, his father was led to think him 
 peculiarly qualified to make an exemplary 
 and happy country clergyman. 
 
 To this purpose his studies were directed, 
 and advancing time proved the choice to 
 have been wise. Emma, the daughter, did not 
 partake her brother's bodily strength, but she 
 shared his mental energies and his fine taste. 
 Their parents did not live long after the time 
 when they had purchased the advowson of 
 the Rectory of Ravenhill for their son, whi- 
 ther they had removed with him ; and the 
 brother and sister lived after their death in 
 such strict amity, that for several years it 
 was believed that the handsome Rector (as 
 he was universally stiled) would never marry. 
 
 Such was not however the opinion of Lady 
 Lyster, who with her husband Sir Marma- 
 duke, resided (as their fathers had done some 
 centuries before them) at Ravenhill Park, a 
 place their hospitality kept pretty generally 
 full of company, amongst which Mr. and
 
 12 MODERATION. 
 
 Miss Carysford were introduced as dear and 
 respectable friends. Like many c»ld families 
 who reside constantly in the country, the 
 Lysters had a good deal of that pardonable 
 attachment to ancestry from which few per- 
 sons are exempt who have any pretensions 
 to it; but with this they inherited, and 
 adopted also, that deep veneration for the 
 sacred profession, persons of more modernized 
 manners dispense with. Let the Rector of 
 Ravenhill have been what he might as to 
 person and manners, so long as he performed 
 his duties as a minister and a man con- 
 scientiously, he would have been received as 
 a friend, and held as a gentleman ; it was 
 therefore natural that they should hold the 
 present incumbent in more than ordinary re 
 gard, and conceive themselves happy in pre- 
 senting him to their more fashionable guests, 
 as a gem not often found in rural societv. 
 
 To this disposition for exhibiting her Rec- 
 tor it must be added, that lady Lyster (a 
 good-natured, kind-hearted creature, child- 
 less, but full of maternal feelings) was a 
 little given to match-making. Happy as a 
 wife herself, she conceived (perhaps very 
 erroneously) that to be happy, every body
 
 MODERATION. 13 
 
 must be married ; for two or three years she 
 made numerous efforts for disposing of Miss 
 Carysford in this way, notwithstanding the 
 apparent hopelessness of persuading a wo- 
 man whose mind was as powerful as her 
 person was weak, to commit what would be 
 in her case an evident act of folly. After 
 that time, she gave her thoughts and wishes 
 to a generous solicitude on the subject for 
 her brother. 
 
 Sir Marmaduke did not impede the schemes 
 of his lady, but he could not do much to for- 
 ward them, because there were few points of 
 similarity in their taste, and neither were 
 sufficiently men of the world to adopt traits 
 of character foreign to their respective habits ; 
 so that, with much esteem and ever warm af- 
 fection for each other, neither was quite de- 
 void of contempt for the other's judgment in 
 certain points. They seldom disagreed on 
 any subject, but unluckily they had no sub- 
 jects in common. The Rector lived on lite- 
 rature — a new book, or even a new edition, 
 gifts from the world of letters, and more 
 especially that of poetry, were to him the 
 milk and honey of life. A huge package of 
 quartos was never too much for him to carry
 
 14 MODERATION. 
 
 home from the nearest market town, albeit 
 distant more than five miles, if it had so 
 happened he had walked thither ; and his 
 servant was always weleome to his favourite 
 steed to fetch thence even the most trilling pe- 
 riodical. 'Tis true, to his taste for reading he 
 added that of drawing, in which art his sis- 
 ter excelled ; nor was he ignorant of music 
 and botany, the latter of which added plea- 
 sure to those walks and rides over an exten- 
 sive parish to which his duties called him ; 
 and the whole of those accomplishments and 
 predilections, in the opinion of the Baronet, 
 •rendered him a very unsocial companion. 
 
 " AYould you believe it? that fine looking 
 fellow Carysford never rode out of a snail's 
 pace in his life, — can't hunt at all, Sir, and 
 has no more eve for a shot than a mole. Jn 
 fact, he can't draw a trigger, he has'nt the 
 hear' to do it, 1 really believe ; yet the man 
 is no milksop, he has ventured both through 
 fire and water to aid the parishioners. Then 
 he can't carve even a turkey : never knows 
 what vintage he is drinking, plays whist so 
 abominably we are obliged to have a quad- 
 rille table on purpose for him ; and, 'tis a 
 fact, that the greatest fool in the village can
 
 MODERATION. Id 
 
 cheat him out of five shillings in ten — not 
 that they do, no ! not a hair of his head 
 shall be hurt, while I have a rood, or a 
 guinea." 
 
 Now as Lady Lyster believed that, notwith- 
 standing these deficiencies, Mr. Carysford 
 would make an excellent and a happy hus- 
 band, the more charges were brought against 
 him, the more industriously did she repel 
 them ; and it so happened, that she was lis- 
 tened to with more than ordinary compla- 
 cency by two sisters who arrived on the first 
 of September, and probably found themselves 
 a little incommoded by the boisterous man- 
 ners of certain country 'squires, or disgusted 
 by the frivolity of dandy sportsmen imported 
 from the county town. 
 
 These ladies, Alathea and Harriet Tintagell. 
 were Honourables, being daughters to the 
 late, and aunts to the present, Lord Alfreton, 
 an infant. They were highly accomplished 
 women, the eldest was esteemed very hand- 
 some, and very witty ; the youngest very 
 pretty, and very amiable ; but her figure was 
 diminutive, and appeared at a first glance 
 more so than it really was, from being con- 
 trasted with so fine a form as that of her
 
 lG MODERATION. 
 
 sister. They shared alike the personal pro- 
 perty of the late lord, amounting to some- 
 thing more than twenty thousand pounds, 
 but the elder sister's fortune had been nearly 
 doubled by the bequest of her godmother, 
 a lady of high rank. 
 
 AVhether the satirical vein of this lady had 
 frightened all the men in that distinguished 
 cirele where she shone a star (literally) of 
 magnitude and brilliance ; or whether she 
 was sincere in her assertion, " that she would 
 lead a single life," we know not ; but it is 
 certain that she had now entered her twenty- 
 seventh summer in that state, and what was 
 more extraordinary, still gave daily proof, 
 
 " that she could hear 
 
 A sister's praises with unwounded car," 
 
 for she never appeared more happy than when 
 the fair and elegant Harriet attracted the ad- 
 miration so justly her due. They were in- 
 deed attached to each other beyond the ties 
 of blood; they had lost their parents early 
 in life, their brother had married unworthily 
 and died prematurely, leaving his only child 
 to the sole care of a mother with whom they 
 could hold no intercourse ; each was therefore
 
 MODERATION. 17 
 
 all to the other. Each had her full share of 
 family pride, but it was controlled by the 
 higher pride of intellect in Alathea, and by 
 gentle and truly delicate perception of pro- 
 priety in Harriet, but this being well known 
 to Lady Lyster, and greatly approved by her 
 as a principle, it certainly never entered 
 her mind to provide the Rector with a wife, 
 in a quarter where the case forbade all hope 
 of success. 
 
 This might be the reason perhaps, that the 
 poor man fell insensibly into that state of 
 anxiety, showed those occasional gleams of 
 delight, and thence sunk into that despond- 
 ency which betrayed the feelings never 
 awakened before, in a heart so warm in its 
 attachments, so full of the milk of human 
 kindness, through every gradation of philan- 
 thropy, as to lead common observers to form 
 a very different expectation. The moment 
 Mr. Carysford perceived his own state, he 
 resolutely avoided visiting at the Park, and 
 the ladies determined to return to town be- 
 fore the time originally intended. 
 
 It was evident, that Harriet loved at least 
 as fondly as she was loved ; that family pride, 
 and maiden coyness, alike yielded before that 
 
 c
 
 18 MODERATION. 
 
 deep and ardent passion, which she bad un- 
 consciously imbibed, in those solitudes where 
 every circumstance had favoured the en- 
 croachment of a sentiment, aided by volun- 
 tary admiration and perfect esteem for the 
 character of the beloved. Sir Marmaduke 
 was at this period perpetually employed in 
 the sports of the field, Lady Lyster engaged 
 with hospitalities in her house, charities in her 
 village, and some family solicitudes of great 
 importance, including the marriage of her only 
 brother. — " Where could the sisters spend their 
 mornings so pleasantly as with the sensible 
 invalid at the rectory ? how could they be 
 so safely escorted to all the beauties of the 
 neighbourhood, as by her excellent brother?" 
 The Baronet said, "it was a foolish affair, 
 and bad for the parish," and wished the 
 women in the red sea; Lady Lyster cried, and 
 declared trulv, " that she had had no hand 
 in it," — to the utter astonishment of all who 
 had ever known her; JSiiss Tintagell, after 
 shutting herself up twenty-four hours in her 
 apartment, and emerging thence pale and 
 haggard, as if from suffering acutely, declared 
 it as her decided opinion "that Harriet 
 would act wisely and well, in accepting Mr.
 
 MODERATION. 19 
 
 Carysford ; she loved him, she was independent, 
 and had her sister's sanction for her conduct." 
 The rest will be readily supplied by the 
 imagination of our young readers ; but one 
 particular attendant on this union must be 
 revealed, for it will not be conceived. This 
 was the constant gratitude expressed and 
 acted upon by the husband towards his wife 
 and sister-in-law, during the whole course of 
 his married life. As a most amiable and 
 unique trait of character, it well deserves to 
 be recorded, but the consequences were no 
 altogether such as we can retrace with plea- 
 sure. Mrs. Carysford became the mother of 
 a numerous family, (four of which survived 
 her,) and though tenderly attached to them 
 all, she could not prevail upon herself to 
 abandon, for their sakes, that stile of living to 
 which her birth and fortune entitled her, in 
 order to secure the provision necessary for 
 children so born and educated as hers. Her 
 own fortune was settled on herself, and in 
 case of her demise on her eldest son, on whom 
 the father also intended to bestow the living 
 he held, so that there was but too much 
 reason to fear, that these lovely young 
 women, after enjoying all the elegant com- 
 
 c 2
 
 20 MODERATION. 
 
 forts which appertain to an extensive estab- 
 lishment and easy income, would be either 
 compelled to marry for convenience, or 
 condemned to the privations and obscurity 
 attendant on narrow means, during that por- 
 tion of existence when the goods of fortune 
 are most valuable, because most consolatory.
 
 21 
 
 CHAP. III. 
 
 Although Miss Tintagell gave thus ge- 
 nerously consent to the marriage of her 
 sister, yet it was five years before she came 
 to visit the Rectory for any length of time, 
 notwithstanding the undiminished attachment 
 she still showed to her sister. During that 
 period she had certainly refused several ex- 
 cellent offers, and her gaiety of dress, the 
 attractions of her person, and the brilliance 
 of her conversation were undiminished. From 
 this period, she attached herself much to the 
 eldest girl, became sponsor to the boy, and 
 took as much interest in the family, as a per- 
 son could do who dreaded the approach of a 
 rude touch upon an unspotted muslin, and 
 delighted in that "keen encounter of wits," 
 forbidden by nursery details. After some 
 time her visits became much more frequent, 
 and Harriet generally, but not constantly, 
 returned with her to town, where she enjoyed
 
 22 MODERATION. 
 
 those advantages of education ii was not 
 possible to obtain in the country. Here how- 
 ever their excellent father left little to regret 
 on this account. On the marriage of her 
 brother, Miss Carysford removed to a cot- 
 tage within a little distance, which she fitted 
 up with great taste and com fort, and where 
 she generally had one of her brother's children 
 with her. This child after a time became 
 Emma exclusively, for Harriet was almost 
 stationary in London at that period when 
 she was sufficiently grown to be a companion 
 to Miss Tintagell. Charles was too much 
 engaged with his studies to leave his father, 
 and the younger branches too troublesome for 
 one whose protracted existence was still that 
 of a valetudinarian, willing but unable to 
 endure exertion of any kind. 
 
 Perhaps few marriages have been equally 
 happy with that of Mr. Carvsford, for all 
 that was excellent in his character at the time 
 when it took place, improved with his more 
 extended duties, and matured by time into 
 the ripeness of solid virtue. " He was in- 
 dulgent to a fault," Lady Lyster acknow- 
 ledged; but she maintained also "that he was 
 without a fault," and this all the poor in the
 
 MODERATION. C3 
 
 district re-echoed, maintaining, "his Worship 
 was all goodness, and Madam very little be- 
 hind him." His sister alone knew where his 
 failings lay, and where his troubles were felt ; 
 for to her both were laid open as they had 
 been from infancy, with all the candour and 
 contrition, with which a heart (so pure and 
 humble a christian heart) laments error or 
 bewails suffering. 
 
 No circumstance could have induced Mr. 
 Carysford to live beyond his income, because 
 that he would have deemed a failure of actual 
 integrity ; nor could the extraordinary ex- 
 penses of any } T ear ever induce him to en- 
 croach on that sum which, from the day he 
 took possession of the living, he appropriated 
 to charities connected with it — but the con- 
 tinual solicitude he felt to do more, and the 
 incapability of effecting his wishes, fre- 
 quently harassed his spirits, and deeply af- 
 fected those of his excellent sister. It was 
 from her conversations, her lessons, and her 
 example, that Emma imbibed all that was 
 most solid and estimable in her character — 
 that she substituted the meekness of religious 
 obedience for the mere external gentleness of 
 manners j tempered the fire of youth and the
 
 24 MODERATION. 
 
 acutcncss of sensibility with sober reflection 
 and calm resolution ; subduing a vivid ima- 
 gination and the generous enthusiasm of a 
 noble spirit, and a refined taste, a devout, 
 pious, and charitable heart, to the dictates of 
 m deration. 
 
 When Emma was in her eighteenth year, 
 the long fragile tenement in which that pure 
 soul was enshrined, which even on the couch 
 of sickness and under the pressure of pain 
 had for years been a blessing to many, 
 gave indications of dissolution that could not 
 be mistaken. Mrs. Carysford therefore sum- 
 moned her eldest daughter home, that she 
 might partake the cares of the family ; at 
 the same time placing her third daughter at 
 school from an equally kind motive, that of 
 leaving herself at liberty to attend to the in- 
 valid and her husband, and enabling Sophia 
 to pursue the finishing studies necessary for 
 completing her education. 
 
 But the last sigh had escaped the patient 
 sufferer before Harriet's return, who therefore, 
 finding herself of no use and little import- 
 ance, sincerely regretted her recall, though 
 she had too much affection and proper feel- 
 ins to bctrav the ennui under which she la-
 
 MODERATION. 25 
 
 boured at the Rectory, in consequence of 
 leaving town in the season of gaiety, and 
 visiting the country in the season of afflic- 
 tion. This affliction was indeed not poignant, 
 a long expected event had occurred, a chris- 
 tian fitted for the change was removed ; and 
 selfish, sorrow was controlled by the full 
 belief that the evils of life were exchanged 
 " for an exceeding weight of glory," but there 
 was a religious pensiveness, a tender melan- 
 choly, an anxiety of affection towards one 
 another in the members of the family, which, 
 whilst it drew the chords which bound them 
 to each other more strongly where it was 
 felt, acted painfully where it was not expe- 
 rienced. 
 
 At this time they had a little girl, Alathea, 
 who was younger by seven years than the 
 child who had preceded her, and she was 
 doated upon by the parents with that peculiar 
 fondness generally accorded to the last prat- 
 tler, the last plaything of a large family, who 
 never fails to combine all that has charmed 
 the mother's eye, and won the father's heart 
 before, with innumerable graces and witch- 
 eries of its own. This child, in the course of 
 a month or two after the death of its aunt,
 
 G6 MODERATION. 
 
 was seized with the measles, which left be- 
 hind a train of disorders that proved fatal the 
 ensuing autumn. On this distressing event 
 taking place, Miss Tintagell flew to console 
 her sister, and with equal surprise and grief 
 perceived that which had alike escaped her- 
 self and her family, that the afflicted mother 
 was far gone in decline, probably brought on 
 by her indefatigable attention to the little 
 sufferer. 
 
 From the hour that this discovery was made, 
 the heart of the husband seemed rent in 
 twain; he was a man of calm but exalted 
 piety, of firm faith and of unfeigned sub- 
 mission to the God and Father whom he 
 worshipped, not less in word than deed, but 
 his very nature was so much that of domestic 
 love, and his habits so entirely those of 
 connubial friendship, that this third rapidly 
 succeeding trial seemed to ask for more 
 fortitude than he could find. He murmured 
 not, but he be ,t beneath the stroke, and that 
 manly beauty hitherto so remarkable, and 
 which his active, temperate, and happy life 
 had hitherto preserved, faded as rapidly as 
 that of the beloved countenance which in 
 every languid smile betraved decay and death.
 
 MODERATION. 27 
 
 Thus in fifteen months, three losses were 
 experienced in this lately flourishing family, 
 of the most touching and harrowing descrip- 
 tion. The loss of her mother occasioned 
 Sophia to be sent for home, and all idea of 
 her return relinquished, as Mr. Carysford na- 
 turally desired to see his children around him ; 
 and as she was much the most like her mother, 
 (being of an exquisitely fair complexion, with 
 blue eyes and luxuriant flaxen tresses,) it waf 
 hoped that she would afford painful yet : o- 
 lacing interest to her widowed father. 
 
 Sophia was the only daughter, as we have 
 already seen, who had been sent from home 
 for education, even for a short period — she 
 was in her sixteenth year when she went to 
 school, had somewhat outgrown her strength, 
 and was a girl of such vivid feelings, that 
 her parents rather sent her out of the way of 
 sufferins:, than considered the circumstance of 
 improvement, her acquirements being already 
 satisfactory. Mr. Carysford had heard the 
 lady at the head of that establishment they 
 thought most convenient for the purpose ex- 
 tolled for her piety, and Mrs. Carysford had 
 assured herself as to the merits of the at- 
 tendant masters, and with this they unfor-
 
 28 MODERATION. 
 
 tunately were satisfied. — The first vacation 
 which brought home tliis daughter, found 
 them attending the sick bed of Alathea, 
 
 and too much engaged to remark ;uiv thing 
 in Sophia, l)csides her good looks and her 
 continual conversation on death, from which 
 they concluded that her health might sutler 
 from witnessing the scenes of sickness and 
 sorrow now pressing on the family ; and 
 therefore to save her as much as possible, 
 she was not called to share them further. 
 
 But it now became evident, that a new, 
 and, in her aunt's opinio a an alarming bias 
 had been given to the mind of this vounir 
 creature during her absence, which was na- 
 turally aided by the awful events in her 
 family. Going far beyond the religious pre- 
 cepts inculcated by her father, and acted 
 upon in her family, outstripping every pre- 
 cept divulged by her departed aunt, and trea- 
 sured in the memory of her deeply reflective 
 sister; Sophia stepped forward as the apostle 
 who should convert her family, reform the 
 neighbourhood, or failing that, become a 
 victim to their cruelty, a proof of their un- 
 righteousness, and a martyr to their persecu- 
 tion.
 
 MODERATION. '29 
 
 So naturally does every human being, more 
 especially those of habitually well-directed 
 views, look to God in the hour of affliction, 
 and search for the promises of the gospel, 
 that the words of Sophia, though remarkable, 
 were not considered by her family as arising 
 from any other cause than that which strongly 
 affected their own feelings ; and she was the 
 less liable to remark, because Miss Tintagell 
 and Harriet were much together in the dress- 
 ing-room of the former; Charles was sent to 
 Cambridge; and Emma, as one habituated to 
 the tender offices of a nurse, applied herself 
 to amusing her father : when therefore it was 
 announced to the family by Sir Marmaduke, 
 "that Miss Sophy had been converted or per- 
 verted at school, had attached herself to what 
 was termed the ' dissenting interest,' in the 
 village, who had of late brought in some new- 
 fangled kind of preaching at the tailor's, 
 and that she was doing her best to raise sub- 
 scriptions for a chapel, being herself a kind 
 of public prayer and teacher," nothing could 
 exceed the alarm and sorrow, the anger and 
 contempt, expressed by the different branches 
 of the family. 
 
 They all knew Sophia was much out of
 
 30 MODERATION. 
 
 the house, they bad witnessed her zealous re- 
 monstrances, remarked her charity, which was 
 carried to excess ; but a conduct so contrary 
 to all they conceived decorous or dutiful, had 
 not entered their minds. Mr. Carysford gen- 
 tly reasoned with her, but to little purpose; 
 but all that was blameable was soon greatly 
 increased by the unwise conduct of her aunt 
 and her eldest sister, whose violence of in- 
 vective and scornful treatment, by conveying 
 the idea that they despised religion itself, led 
 her to conclude, " that she must be right, be- 
 cause they were wrong," and she deemed 
 herself a persecuted saint, a glorious martyr. 
 She threw herself and her cause into the arms 
 of the enthusiastic and discontented ; and by 
 rousing their passions in her behalf, rendered 
 that a serious schism in the congregation, 
 which had been merely the idle vagary of a 
 few wandering lovers of any change. 
 
 Never did minister love his people more 
 entirelv than the Kector of Ravenhill. and 
 whilst his general liberality rendered him kind 
 to all parties, and conciliating in all cedeable 
 points, he yet suffered severely from the be- 
 lief that any for whom he laboured in spirit, 
 and loved in sincerity, would forsake him.
 
 MODERATION. 31 
 
 He bore the trouble meekly and manfully, 
 but he suffered not the less severely. Emma 
 was his sole support, and in her self-govern- 
 ment, young- as she was, and acutely as she 
 deplored the circumstance, he found the sym- 
 pathy he required, and at times, even the 
 counsel, which was always that of dignified 
 endurance of injury from others, and mild 
 expostulation, but not restraint, towards his 
 daughter. Sophia became in the mean time 
 a positive idol with her party, and was ex- 
 alted in the Meeting in proportion as she was 
 persecuted at home ; whilst Emma, without 
 the solace of such pity or admiration, became 
 really a kind of victim to both parties, and 
 received the arrows of each with uncomplain- 
 ing patience, and even reviving cheerfulness, 
 when she considered herself the shield that 
 received them for her father's safety. He 
 was in all things her paramount object ; but 
 she was also tenderly attached to both her 
 sisters, and held her brother as especially 
 dear, as only brothers generally are. As 
 Sophia had no direct friend in the house, 
 Emma constantly apologized for her, in con- 
 sequence of which, Miss Tintagell maintain- 
 ed, " either, that she must be such a fool as
 
 3'Z MODERATION. 
 
 to believe the jnrl right, or defend her from a 
 spirit of pure contradiction," whilst Sophia 
 and her village friends observed, with not less 
 acrimony, " that, as a person not devoid of 
 religious light, her conduct in not entirely 
 espousing the cause of her heavenly-minded 
 sister, and imitating her conduct, bespoke 
 a base and cowardly spirit, and the epithets 
 of • worldly minded,' * self seeking,' 8bc. were 
 applied to her continually." Even her friends 
 at the Park called Emma a Trimmer ; but 
 as the heads of the house differed themselves 
 on the point at issue, they occasionally lis- 
 tened to her reasons for looking fairly on both 
 sides of the question ; and, in this reasoning, 
 both were so far interested as never to push 
 the other to extremities, a good effect of no 
 small moment in the present excited state of 
 feeling which had unhappily arisen in this 
 community. 
 
 Considering the altered state of his house- 
 hold, Mr. Carysford enjoyed more peace than 
 could have been expected ; for he was so 
 entirely beloved, that neither servant nor 
 visitor would mention any occurrence likely 
 to grieve him, and even those of his people 
 who most strenuously insisted on their right
 
 MODERATION. S3 
 
 to worship God their own way, observed also, 
 that " considering he was a merely moral 
 man, and a church parson, there was not 
 much harm in him," and that now and then 
 " he preached the gospel," but then, " he 
 read his sermon, he read printed prayers, and 
 of course it all sounded as a dead letter." 
 
 The "new lisrhts " were after all but a 
 sickly band ; and if Sophia, in all the radi- 
 ance of her youth and beauty, the grace of 
 her refined manners, and the redundancy of 
 language easily attained amongst inferiors, 
 had not strengthened their numbers and con- 
 firmed their hopes, the young preachers sent 
 from a distant academy would hardly have 
 condescended to mount the tailor's great 
 chair, and preach in his workroom. The 
 grocer, the exciseman, the shopkeeper, all 
 men qualified to harangue in the churchyard, 
 not only held their usual council there, and 
 obtained their usual auditors ; but the farmers, 
 the blacksmith, the retired London tradesman, 
 and the sunday-school teachers, were all warm- 
 ed with zeal against the encroaches ; and soli- 
 citous to show his Worship every possible 
 mark of their good will, well aware that the 
 Baronet would wink at a breach of the peace 
 
 D
 
 34 MODERATION. 
 
 on such an occasion, various plans had been 
 laid for putting the preacher of the day in 
 the stocks, or attempting a gentle ducking 
 to his more open followers: but these mal- 
 practices were so well known to be as contrary 
 to the spirit as to the instructions of their 
 pastor, that, for his sake, those they deemed 
 his enemies were suffered to escape, and even 
 to endeavour increasing their numbers and 
 assuming a character of defiance. 
 
 The love manifested, whether wisely or 
 zealously, by his people, gave Mr. Carysford 
 the comfort his long harassed spirit required, 
 but it likewise subjected him to feeling too 
 much. In every house, however poor the 
 inhabitants, where he was recognized with 
 affection, and where the memory of her so 
 long and so fondly loved was held in honour, 
 his heart had its resting-place as to its affec- 
 tions, but the acuteness of his feelings forbade 
 repose. In lamenting over his loss, in pro- 
 testing their love, in railing against all who 
 wished for change, in recalling the days of 
 sorrow and the seasons of want, in which he 
 had soothed their affliction and relieved their 
 necessity, these simple souls necessarily 
 awoke the chords of that sensibility which
 
 MODERATION. 35 
 
 was already touched too freely, and in the 
 very prime of life, he withered like the sensi- 
 tive plant beneath the approach of tender- 
 ness itself. 
 
 It had been constantly the practice of Mr. 
 Carysford to catechise the children of his 
 village, and to this good old custom it might 
 chiefly be attributed that the encroachers upon 
 his pastoral duties had been later in their 
 advances to his parish than those in his 
 neighbourhood, and that when arrived, their 
 success was dubious. The young men and 
 maidens (notwithstanding the love of change 
 is natural to youth)were universally his friends, 
 and from that period when they first deemed 
 him insulted by the actual establishment of 
 preaching during church hours, they were 
 wont respectfully to edge nearer and nearer 
 to him, till they became a kind of body- 
 guard as he went from his own house to the 
 church. The manner in which the silent 
 sympathy and respect thus evinced, affected 
 their minister, cannot be described, but will 
 be conceived by those who have hearts and 
 imaginations, and are accustomed to combine 
 the purest emotions they originate, with those 
 
 higher and sweeter sources of feeling, which 
 
 d 2
 
 3G MODK RATION. 
 
 spring from devotion. Every broad honest 
 face, that looked on him with reverent sym- 
 pathy, was associated with the remembrance 
 of his own children, their own fathers ; his 
 pastoral duties, or his paternal cares. He 
 knew that in days past he had for them 
 "sighed and wept, watched and prayed," and 
 the belief that according to their more bound- 
 ed perceptions, they now returned his love, 
 delighted, but yet affected him, beyond the 
 power of his enfeebled frame to sustain. 
 
 Emma sought to restrain this effect, and by 
 recurring to common subjects, dull common 
 places, or cheering trifles, to wean him from 
 that consolation, which, whilst it sweetened, 
 yet wasted the cup of life. She endeavoured 
 to give him peculiar interest in the progn ss 
 made by Charles, at college ; awaken him to 
 the politics of the day, and more especially 
 its poetry; she sought to engage him in writing 
 /or Sophia's benefit, even with little hopes 
 that in her present inflated state 1 of mind, she 
 would condescend to read his documents, and 
 by every means affection could suggest, or vi- 
 gilance exact, prevented his mind from prey- 
 ing on itself, or yielding up its energies to ami- 
 able but useless paroxysms of excited feeling.
 
 MODERATION. 37 
 
 This was but a task the more necessary, 
 because Harriet, when not engaged with hei 
 aunt in company, found it obligatory in he 
 to devote herself almost exclusively to he; 
 comfort in private. Miss Tintagell was a 
 woman of great talents, of noble and gene- 
 rous nature, but of violent passions, and 
 when grief or anger was uppermost, their 
 operation was of so terrible a nature as to 
 be alike injurious to herself, and harassing to 
 those around her. She was offended with 
 Sophia beyond measure, and much hurt with 
 what she considered the mistaken lenity of 
 her father, in reasoning when he should 
 have commanded, and in permitting when 
 she thought he should have denied; yet she 
 could not bring herself to utter one reproach 
 to a being so evidently suffering. Accus- 
 tomed to shine in every circle where she 
 appeared, if she accepted an invitation, the 
 cares given alike to her person and her man- 
 ners, rendered her for a few hours the com- 
 manding or the fascinating woman of fa- 
 shion, who could charm the elegant, and 
 astonish the country circle around her; but 
 when the spur of habit and the action of 
 vanity ceased to operate, she would sit down
 
 3S MODERATION. 
 
 and bewail the loss of her sister as the one 
 jewel that had shone on her path, with all the 
 eloquence of grief, and even the simplicity 
 of childlike fondness. 
 
 Some months had passed in this manner, 
 when it was proposed to Miss Tintagell, 
 " that she should join a worthy couple to 
 whom she was much attached in a visit to 
 Paris," to which she consented with an avi- 
 dity distressing to her eldest niece, who had 
 begun to hope either that they should return 
 to town together, or go to some watering 
 place. The invitation could not be extend- 
 ed to her without an entire derangement in 
 the mode of conveyance ; in consequence of 
 which, the elder lady did not choose to see 
 the discontent evinced by the younger, and 
 therefore poor Harriet, with all the dispo- 
 sition in the world to exhibit her fine person 
 in those circles from which she had been 
 taken by distressing events, was condemned 
 to accept the society which Ravenhill and 
 its environs presented ; and console herself 
 by becoming the mistress of the Rectory, 
 though she was only partially the directress 
 of its inhabitants.
 
 f J 
 
 CHAP. IV. 
 
 Circumstances occurred soon after the 
 departure of Miss Tintagell, which were of 
 benefit to Mr. Carysford, by drawing him 
 perforce to the common cares of life; they 
 arose from the executorship of his sister's 
 will, and the possession given to his son of 
 the fortune of his mother, as already men- 
 tioned. 
 
 Miss Carysford had received five thousand 
 pounds from her father, and a thousand 
 more as the bequest of a relation. During 
 the time she resided with her brother, their 
 income was spent as a joint stock ; and when 
 they parted, his sole care had been to deter 
 her from injustice to herself, in which care 
 his lady cordially united. The invalid found 
 her income equal to her wants ; but as much 
 medical aid was required by her health, and 
 much charity craved by her heart, and as 
 living was expensive even in the country, she
 
 40 MODERATION. 
 
 had nothing to spare. When however three 
 
 or four years were passed, and each brought 
 a new claimant on the beloved brother's purse 
 ■ — when the boy was born who was to take 
 so large a portion of the family property, or 
 perhaps the whole of it; and when the mo- 
 ther of this family had experienced such at 
 tacks as to create alarm for her life, Miss 
 Carysford began to consider seriously the 
 future situation of her nieces. 
 
 " It is probable," said she, " that I shall 
 die whilst these children are young, therefore 
 that which / can give them will be of more 
 importance than the ampler provision of their 
 richer aunt ; whose situation and habits I 
 well know preclude her from saving any 
 thing at present. Let me consider how I 
 can do my share toward providing lor the 
 future." 
 
 The plan was laid and acted upon, al- 
 though several of the intended legat< es were 
 otherways provided for; but in consequence, 
 M iss Carysford had the satisfaction of leaving 
 each of her nieces fifteen hundred pounds, 
 (there being four at the time of her death,) 
 an extra thousand to Emma as her erod-daugb- 
 ter, and provision to the old servant and her
 
 MODERATION. 41 
 
 daughter, who had been her faithful attendants 
 ever since she left the Rectory, not forgetting 
 a bequest to her nephew, as an aid to his col- 
 lege expenses, on which he had just entered 
 at the time when her weary pilgrimage closed. 
 
 The share of Alathea being divided amongst 
 the three sisters, they each had an income of 
 one hundred per annum, the principal being- 
 paid to each on her becoming of age; and 
 Harriet therefore now received her portion, 
 Emma was joined in the trust, and appointed 
 residuary legatee, an honour which gained 
 her no good will from Harriet, who without 
 caring for money was envious of importance; 
 and who finding even the additional income 
 of which she had taken possession insufficient 
 for her wants, would have been glad to know 
 that Emma had it in her power to assist her. 
 
 Trusting that the reader is now acquainted 
 with the family of the Rector, that they can 
 even pourtray his tall, slender, and slightly 
 bending form, as he listens to that aged 
 woman, who brings him new-laid eggs, un- 
 der the full persuasion that no others in the 
 parish can be found so good for him, and 
 whose very heart would be broken if she were 
 paid for them, we will return to our narra-
 
 42 MODERATION. 
 
 tivc. It will be remembered that Sophia, was 
 set out on one of her errands of charity and 
 instruction, and her father's steps, though 
 differently directed, had probably the same 
 end in view. Harriet was too much busied 
 with counteracting schemes, to the announced 
 desire of her father respecting the carriage, 
 to enter either upon a drive or a walk, and 
 Emma has set out to call on the family 
 of the Wilmington's. 
 
 Many persons might pass Emma, dressed 
 as she still was in slight mourning, without re- 
 marking any thing beyond that of a lady- 
 like young woman somewhat above the com- 
 mon height, or should they see her face be- 
 neath the large bonnet, say more than that 
 " she appealed pretty and modest." She could 
 neither boast the air of fashion which dis- 
 tinguished Harriet, who was called the beauty 
 of the family par excellence, nor had she that 
 dazzling fairness and aerial slightness of form, 
 which gave Sophia, in the eyes of many, still 
 higher pretensions ; but her features were 
 beautifully regular, and more especially her 
 month possessed a character of sweetness 
 and placidity, which displayed the charm of 
 a smile without its character. Iler prcten-
 
 MODERATION. 43 
 
 sions to beauty were forgotten in the ex- 
 pression of goodness, written in every linea- 
 ment of her countenance, and although it was 
 also full of intellectual expression, the sense 
 of its intelligence was lost in that of its be- 
 nignity. 
 
 No wonder, then, that both Mr. and Mrs. 
 Wilmington met her as she entered the 
 garden which led to their abode with warm 
 greetings, which dispelled for a time the 
 furrows which past sorrows and present soli- 
 citude had planted on their own faces — mis- 
 taking, because hoping that there was some 
 further cause for the pleasure they evinced, 
 she cast her eye around the room, and per- 
 ceiving that no person was present, enquired 
 " if they had received any letter, or were by 
 any circumstance relieved from the trouble 
 they revealed to her the preceding Monday." 
 
 " Oh! no, my dear," replied Mr. Wilming- 
 ton with a deep sigh, " we are only that much 
 nearer to the evil which we daily apprehend — 
 money is at this period so exceedingly scarce 
 we cannot obtain it, so the little estate which 
 is our dear Frank's all at present, must go to 
 pay that debt which he contracted to aid his 
 distressed parents — in these terrible times,
 
 44 MODERATION. 
 
 with a forced sale, it will probably not fetch 
 a thousand pounds beyond the twelve hundred 
 for which it is mortgaged, though worth twice 
 as much." 
 
 " 1 would not mind that," added the wife, 
 " for his commission is equal to his support, 
 but I well know my brother will never for- 
 give the transaction ; and when he comes 
 from India, although he has permitted us to 
 consider Frank his heir, he will abandon him 
 altogether — could we conceal it — and to no 
 human being save you have we spoken of it." 
 
 " 'Tis that unhappy necessity of secrecy," 
 interrupted the husband, " which constitutes 
 much of the misfortune, — but we cannot 
 mention it ; if Maria, who is returned to us a 
 widow with a babe, were to know it, she 
 would either leave us, or remaining, would 
 break her heart ; and Letitia, who is so deli- 
 cate, poor thing, would be overwhelmed with 
 it ; and Harry, who is struiriilinLr so hard to 
 get forward at college, (though he little 
 dreams how much difficulty we have to sup- 
 port him there, poor fellow,) if he knew of it, 
 would never be able to pursue his studies, so 
 thai tin affair must take its course — the law- 
 yer must foreclose."
 
 MODERATION. 45 
 
 " I don't know what that is," said Emma, 
 " but as I shall be able to lend you twelve 
 hundred pounds in three months and a fort- 
 night, I find, and I have some property even 
 now in my hands, surely it might be con- 
 trived, — if I were to give my word to the 
 lawyer, would he not wait awhile?" 
 
 " Unquestionably !" said Mr. Wilmington, 
 with eagerness, " but have you spoken to 
 your father, my dear ?" 
 
 " How could I when you so charged me 
 not to do it ? besides, he has so much to think 
 of, and would suffer so much from sympathy, 
 at a time when he is dreadfully unnerved, 
 that I had rather not trouble him ; but if I 
 can write, or speak, so as to satisfy Mr. 
 Parkinson, and afterwards produce the money, 
 (which I find will be the case,) all will, 1 
 trust, come round." 
 
 Mrs. Wilmington burst into tears of joy- 
 ful gratitude, and flung herself into Emma's 
 arms. 
 
 " But my dear Emma, I cannot accept this 
 kind offer without desiring that you should 
 make one confidant in your family ; Miss 
 Carysford is three years older than you, she 
 was always attached to Maria, and will feel
 
 4fi MODERATION* 
 
 for us all, so much as to preserve silence on 
 the subject ; at the same time she will assist 
 you in the affair as one of business, your bro- 
 ther is at a distance, and is too vouncr a man 
 to know much about the matter — however, 
 consult which you please," said the husband. 
 
 "I have considered the matter thoroughly, 
 and determined how to act; but I will cer- 
 tainly fulfil your wishes, and pray put me in 
 the way now for relieving your spirits, surely 
 I can write immediately." 
 
 But Mr. Wilmington was a man of delicacy 
 and honour, and though conscious that the 
 loan so advantageous to him, or rather his son, 
 could not be injurious to the lender, he re- 
 fused accepting from her any written promise, 
 until the communication spoken of was made 
 to her sister, and Emma departed with the 
 satisfaction of having communicated hope 
 and comfort to those she loved, but in great 
 fear (without precisely knowing why) of op- 
 position from Harriet, whom she yet knew 
 to be of a generous nature, and warmly at- 
 tached to the family in question. 
 
 Mr. Wilmington was (or rather had been) a 
 country gentleman of handsome property and 
 ancient family, whose estate lying in Staf-
 
 MODERATION. 47 
 
 fordshire, where that country is most com- 
 mercial, had been tempted to embark a sum 
 of money in an extensive manufactory, as the 
 means of providing better for his younger 
 children, a speculation which he had seen 
 successfully adopted by other persons simi- 
 larly situated. This was the more excusable 
 in him perhaps, from the sudden increase of 
 wealth in the district he inhabited, from his 
 warm and tender attachment to a most ami- 
 able wife, and a numerous family, whom he 
 naturally desired to see in possession of those 
 comforts, and holding that rank in society 
 long filled by his progenitors, and now en- 
 croached upon by a new and purse-proud 
 race. 
 
 The consequence will be easily forestalled 
 bv those who have seen the distress, to 
 which the want of a mere trifle subjected 
 him in his present state. The house he had 
 joined failed, and his estate was forfeited for 
 debts of which he was ignorant, and the join 
 ture of his wife was all that remained at a 
 period when the wants of his family were 
 most felt. His eldest daughter was also new- 
 ly married to one of the sons of the prin- 
 cipal partner, who being totally ignorant of
 
 48 MODERATION. 
 
 die real stale of his father's affairs, and as- 
 tounded by the universal ruin, lost reason and 
 life in the shock, leaving his widow and or- 
 phan to increase the burden of that ruined 
 home to which she returned. 
 
 Mrs. Wilmington had brought her husband 
 a small fortune, to which he had considerably 
 added in her settlement, but it yet produced 
 a very inadequate maintenance for a large 
 family, and he therefore wisely sought to im- 
 prove it by applying the knowledge of agri- 
 culture he had attained as an amusement, 
 to purposes of gain. Tor this end he took a 
 farm in the neighbourhood of Ravenhill, 
 which he was enabled to stock from the 
 circumstance of his eldest son becoming the 
 possessor of a little estate, bequeathed dur- 
 ing his infancy by his maternal uncle, the 
 proceeds of which had during his minority 
 accumulated to a sum, which at the same time 
 purchased him a commission, with the addi- 
 tion of the loan in question. 
 
 Mrs. Wilmington had another brother who 
 had been many years resident in the East 
 Indies, accumulated a large fortune there, 
 and considering her as well married, con- 
 stantly treated her with kindness and consi-
 
 MODERATION. 49 
 
 deration, until the period of her misfortunes; 
 after which his letters or rather lectures were 
 longer, but his presents smaller, and he ap- 
 peared to forget all his little nephews and 
 nieces, save the one who held the house where 
 he was born, and to which he attached there- 
 fore a sense of consequence, and probably of 
 affection. She had therefore every reason to 
 believe that the loss of it would be ruin to 
 the hopes of the family in that quarter, and far 
 removed from all their former friends, intimate 
 only with the Rector in their present abode, 
 since they could not consistently cultivate 
 an acquaintance at the Park, the distress of 
 their situation became extreme. Either they 
 must irreparably injure the amiable son who 
 had befriended them, or by a hasty and inju- 
 rious sale of their own property, throw them 
 selves and all their family without a home, 
 and in so doing equally offend the Eastern 
 despot whose return they now looked for, and 
 who had so regularly insisted upon it as his 
 principle, "not to help those who did not 
 help themselves," that they were certain if 
 he found them in poverty, he would abandon 
 them wholly. 
 
 On this their sad story, the fears and hopes 
 
 E
 
 50 MODERATION. 
 
 it presented, and the distress she had herself 
 witnessed, Emma dilated on her return, adding 
 her intention of applying the first money 
 she was mistress of to their relief, and in- 
 directly enquiring if Harriet could not enable 
 her to do it now. 
 
 " You will lose it every shilling," was the 
 abrupt answer given to the announced in- 
 tention. 
 
 " Why do you think so, my dear? — they 
 are very honourable people — people of un- 
 blemished integrity." 
 
 " But they are very unlucky people — very 
 foolish people, or they would not have been 
 ruined at first ; besides, we all know misfor- 
 tunes follow each other, and it would be very 
 foolish in you to attempt checking them, 
 especially at the very time when, from my 
 father's account of things, charity should 
 begin at home." 
 
 " I am perfectly willing to appropriate all 
 the fortune I shall enjoy to my dear father's 
 use. Suppose, dear Harriet, you and I should 
 offer to keep the carriage : it will enable him 
 to lay by the sum on which he has fixed, and 
 prevent us from exciting comments orexpe-
 
 MODERATION. 51 
 
 riencing inconvenience. Of course Sophia 
 in due time will contribute her share." 
 
 " No, she will give all she has, or ever will 
 have, to chapel building ; I know she stands 
 engaged by promises. — That a girl of her 
 description should do so might be expected, 
 but that you should throw away your pro- 
 perty in such a manner, is absolutely asto- 
 nishing." 
 
 " I have thrown away nothing ; I have 
 merely promised to lend money at legal in- 
 terest — at the worst I can only lose a trifle, 
 to which the family at the Grange are hear- 
 tily welcome ; if I could afford it, I would 
 give, not lend, them the whole, but that is out 
 of the question." 
 
 " Well, well, do as you please — I have 
 warned you ; the money will do them no 
 good, and T consider it as gone for ever if 
 you place it there. I think too, there is a 
 gross indelicacy in your stepping forward to 
 assist a young officer, for what else can you 
 call the matter? It is suing for attention 
 from Frank Wilmington ; had vou done anv 
 thing for the widow, it had been one thing, 
 but the young man is another." 
 
 e 2
 
 52 MODERATION. 
 
 " I never saw young Wilmington but 
 once," replied Emma, blushing. 
 
 " So much the worse, since it is evident he 
 made a great impression. I believe girls in 
 the country are very subject to these things, 
 much given to falling in love." 
 
 The ruddy hues of anger at this moment 
 displaced the more gentle confusion that suf- 
 fused the cheek of Emma, but she did not 
 answer. Retiring to her own chamber, she 
 endeavoured to reconsider the whole affair. 
 The great esteem in which she knew her 
 parents had long held the Wilmingtons, the 
 remembrance of all the kindness she had ex- 
 perienced from them during the long sick- 
 nesses which had afflicted their house, and 
 the conscionsneiA that probably, even at this 
 moment, her father was chatting with them, 
 losing the sense of his own cares, and kept 
 (from the purest motives) in happy igno- 
 rance of theirs, determined her to persist in 
 her intentions, and preserve them from the 
 pain of knowing her sister's sentiments. She 
 felt that this was one of those important hours 
 in life, when the power of doing a great good, 
 or what she deemed paying a debt of grati- 
 tude, was presented, which, as a friend and
 
 MODERATION. 53 
 
 a christian, ought to be embraced ; and, 
 since she felt within herself the power to en- 
 dure the loss uncomplainingly, should it 
 prove one, and even in silence obviate its ap- 
 pearance to every person, save Harriet, the 
 matter was decided, and her offers renewed 
 by letter in the most unequivocal manner. 
 
 When this was done, Emma enquired of 
 her own heart, " if it were possible, that upon 
 so slight an acquaintance, she had really felt 
 that predilection for Lieutenant Wilmington 
 which Harriet asserted." She remarked him 
 as a tall, graceful young man, three years 
 before, of lively manners, but it was certain 
 that if she liked him, it was through the 
 letters she had heard read from him by his 
 mother, and the fond descriptions given of 
 his amiable qualities by his father and sisters 
 " No," said she, at length, " I am not the 
 foolish, romantic creature Harriet thinks 
 me ; nor have I any interest in the welfare of 
 the family but that of the esteem and affec- 
 tion they so justly merit from us all." 
 
 Yet notwithstanding this silent assertion, 
 when, through her solicitation and eventual 
 assistance, the family were restored evidently 
 to that happiness which had been from some
 
 54 MODERATION. 
 
 unknown cause disturbed — when the fund 
 mother poured her feelings and those of her 
 relieved son into her ear, vaticinating future 
 prosperity and felicity as the gift of their 
 young friend ; the ear of Emma lingered, and 
 her colour rose at the mention of a name 
 associated in her mind with those virtues 
 most dear to her heart. In the power of me- 
 ditation on any prevalent idea given by the 
 retirement of the country, especially when a 
 pensive disposition and contemplative turn 
 has been given to a young imaginative per- 
 son, such a predilection will often give colour 
 to their future life. Emma's disposition from 
 nature laid her peculiarly open to the plea- 
 sures and pains connected with high-raised 
 expectations, sanguine hopes, and that beau- 
 ideal of existence which, while it strews the 
 opening path of life with roses, so often pre- 
 pares thorns for its advancing years. She 
 had the credulity which is inseparable from 
 guilelessness, and that trust in others which 
 is natural to integrity ; and with these qua- 
 lities as a ground-work for favourable opi- 
 nion, it cannot therefore be surprising if the 
 busy fancy stole forth from its long de- 
 pression to diversify life by decorating with
 
 MODERATION. 55 
 
 every virtue and every acquirement, one ne- 
 cessarily so often present to memory. 
 
 It was perhaps happy for Emma, though 
 by no means agreeable, that Harriet, by her 
 inuendos from time to time, alarmed her with 
 expressions calculated to excite watchfulness 
 over her own inclinations, and that the obser- 
 vations of Sophia on the doctrine of original 
 sin, drew back her mind to that necessity for 
 moderating our wishes and opinions, as well 
 as our passions, which had so often formed 
 the lessons of her early life. She determined 
 on guarding herself from thinking too much, 
 seeing that one subject was generally upper- 
 most in her thoughts, and to give more of her 
 time to the pursuits of her sisters, or corres- 
 pondence with her brother. 
 
 The leisure of late afforded to Emma 
 during the summer months now passing, had 
 arisen from the improvement visible in her 
 father's health and spirits, which appeared to 
 those around him the natural effect of time, 
 and the attainment of resignation by an in- 
 creased exercise of faith, as evinced by renew- 
 ed zeal and activity in his ministerial duties. 
 That such causes produced a most beneficial 
 effect upon him cannot be in the least doubt-
 
 56 MODERATION. 
 
 cd, but the season of the year had also a great 
 share in the apparent ehange, it being not too 
 hot for him to be almost constantly out of doors, 
 either meditating on the beauties of nature 
 and the goodness of God, in those bounteous 
 gifts so conspicuous in all around him, or else 
 talking with his parishioners in the hay-fields 
 and gardens, visiting the ailing, and aiding 
 his curate by instructing the young. Whilst 
 thus employed he appeared almost well, and 
 almost happy ; but even now the return from 
 his long ramble never failed to be painful, 
 and thence it was delayed. He would not 
 unfrequently yield to the intreaties of the 
 Baronet to dine with them, or sit down, still 
 more frequently, to the frugal but inviting 
 board of Airs. \\ ilmington, that he might 
 escape the hour when he was wont to be 
 met in the walnut-tree walk, by the wife who 
 never ceased to gaze on him with delight, 
 and the lovely infant whose arms were wont 
 to twine around his knees. That here he 
 was still constantly met, still fondly welcomed, 
 his heart was thankful to heaven, but the 
 possession of the blessing left, reminded him 
 of the blessing taken ; reminded him too that 
 the daughter, whose face could almost have
 
 MODERATION. 57 
 
 cheated him into foro;etfulness of her mother's 
 loss, was estranged from him, and held him 
 as an "unbelieving parent." 
 
 It had been the pleasure of Harriet during 
 this time, to exhibit her fine figure on horse- 
 back daily, which she had done with great 
 effect upon a beautiful mare, the gift of her 
 brother, who, with all the generosity to be 
 expected, repelled the idea of any change 
 taking place in his father's expenses, in 
 consequence of what he called " a nominal 
 acquisition," though it was also evident, that 
 his expenses personally were commensurate 
 with his fortune. During the vacation be 
 had been sometimes at home, at others paid 
 flying visits to the nearest sea-bathing towns, 
 but in August he became suddenly rooted to 
 the Rectory, and declared " that he would 
 not leave it till the last day of the vacation." 
 
 This sage resolution, albeit ascribed to the 
 necessity of studying the mathematics, had 
 its origin in the arrival of Lady Lyster's or- 
 phan niece, the only child of that brother 
 whose marriage and departure for India we 
 formerly noticed. She had been educated in 
 England, and seen as a child by the Carys- 
 ford family, but having returned to India,
 
 58 MODERATION. 
 
 t where she did not find either parent alive to 
 receive her,) she now came to the Park as her 
 future home, from that distant bourne, under 
 •ill the interesting circumstances belonging to 
 her as an orphan, a traveller, and an heiress, 
 the admired Eulalie Mortimer. 
 
 Charles thought her the most lovely crea- 
 ture he had ever beheld, though it is certain 
 she did not possess as much beauty as any one 
 of his own sisters ; but he was right in consi- 
 dering her charming. Eulalie was the daugh- 
 ter of a Spanish lady, and inherited from 
 her the liquid lustre which gives the dark eyes 
 of the olive beauty that mingled charm of 
 softness and sprightliness, peculiarly capti- 
 vating; her figure, though petite, was elegant, 
 her motion graceful yet lively, for she had 
 resided too little in the land of her birth to 
 suffer from the climate, or imbibe the habits 
 of indolence ascribed to its influence. Warm, 
 enthusiastic, generous, and inconsiderate, she 
 was the most delightful of all creatures in her 
 uncle s house, which beneath her influence 
 re-awoke to that gaiety, impaired of course by 
 the hand of time, and the sober influence of 
 that mild autumn into which the Baronet and 
 his Lady had entered, and the whole neigh-
 
 MODERATION. 59 
 
 bourhood soon re-echoed her praise, and 
 pressed forward to partake her society. 
 
 All our readers acquainted with country 
 society are well aware of the importance of 
 such a stranger, when launched on a surface 
 capable of expanding the circle of its plea- 
 sures. In a very short time, the calls and in- 
 vitations to the Park from families hitherto ap- 
 parently shut out by distance, or by less agree- 
 able causes, were innumerable, and these en- 
 gagements generally began or ended with 
 the Rectory also, for as it was the business of 
 Harriet's life to mingle in all parties which 
 she thought worthy her presence, and offer 
 unbounded hospitality to all who chose to 
 partake it, and as Charles lived more at the 
 Park than at home, the two families were 
 seldom disunited in the plans laid for their 
 amusement. It did not follow in the opinion 
 of the neighbouring gentry, that a matrimo- 
 nial union between them would arise from the 
 intercourse they witnessed ; for it was well 
 known that the children at the Rectory had 
 always been held very dear at the Park, and 
 that their society could not fail to be especi- 
 ally pleasant to the fair stranger; of course
 
 60 MODERATION. 
 
 the field was open to other aspirants besides 
 our young collegian. 
 
 In tins time of general bustle and gaiety, 
 the Wilmington family obtained consider- 
 able attention, to the great satisfaction of the 
 Rector, who had often lamented that ele- 
 gant young women, born to such different 
 prospects, and for a certain period devoted to 
 elegant accomplishments, should be doomed 
 to an obscurity which forbade the hope of 
 their emerging beyond it. Miss Mortimer 
 was well acquainted with Mr. Thurlestonc, 
 the brother of Mrs Wilmington, in India, he 
 having something to do in the settlement of 
 her father's affairs, and she brought letters 
 from him to the family, which announced, 
 as before, an intention of returning soon, and 
 a strong desire to see his nephew. In conse- 
 quence, invitations were given this family to 
 the Park, which were wisely and sparingly 
 accepted, as were those to the Rectory also, 
 now it became the resort of large parties — 
 but these, together with the fair Eulalie's 
 reports of their uncle's wealth, raised them 
 into speedy consideration in the neighbour- 
 hood.
 
 MODERATION. Gl 
 
 Hitherto Miss Carysford had reigned the 
 sole queen of beauty and fashion in her na- 
 tive land, at those periods when circum- 
 stances had allowed her to adorn a private 
 party, or a public assembly ; but although 
 confessed to be handsomer than ever, and 
 arrayed in that style of peculiar elegance her 
 present correspondence with her aunt in 
 Paris enabled her to adopt, such is the love 
 for novelty, or the respect for wealth, that 
 the stranger every where met with more at- 
 tention. Not brooking neglect, or aiming 
 at triumph, Harriet left no medium untried 
 to carry the palm in one shape or other ; her 
 dress rivalled the splendour of Eulalie's east- 
 ern habiliments, and her table vied with that 
 of the Baronet in the rarity, if not the mul- 
 titude, of its dishes ; and the knowledge ac- 
 quired in London of those elegances peculiar 
 to the accomplished gourmand, and that dis- 
 play of ornament adopted by the fashionable, 
 was exhibited by her with much more libera- 
 lity than good sense. 
 
 Mr. Carysford by tacit consent and fre- 
 quent absence, left every thing to the ma- 
 nagement of his children ; proud of his son, 
 and pleased with the company that son had
 
 02 MODERATION. 
 
 brought to his house, conscious that a long 
 blight had been cast over the young people, 
 and fully persuaded that as his son had (what 
 he deemed) a noble income, he doubted not 
 but it would supply all those expenses which 
 he considered as adopted for his sake tempo- 
 rarily, and therefore all things went on 
 smoothly, so far as regarded him. Emma 
 could not be thus tranquil, yet she would 
 neither agitate him by her fears, nor awaken 
 the anger of Harriet by her remonstrances, 
 but every day by every mode of vigilance 
 she could adopt, and by gentle persuasion to 
 both brother and sister, she stemmed the 
 current of extravagance into which ambition 
 and thoughtlessness had plunged them. 
 
 In this effort she was assisted by the steady- 
 conduct of the Wilmingtons, who made no 
 change in the quiet tenor or active industry 
 of their lives, until the somewhat unexpected 
 arrival of their eldest son in consequence of 
 his promotion. Emma felt her bosom palpitate 
 when his arrival was announced by Charles, 
 and on his proposing to her to walk over with 
 him and call on the family by way of welcome 
 to the stranger, and invitation to all, she de- 
 clined it for the express purpose of schooling
 
 MODERATION. 6i 
 
 her heart, and examining its movements more 
 closely. 
 
 " I will ride with you," said Harriet, " for I 
 want to see our pretty widow. I feel assured 
 she has made a conquest of Major Cleve- 
 land, and I mean to rally her upon it. I 
 think your College friend Johnson too was 
 much struck with Letitia." 
 
 " Not half so much," returned Charles, 
 " as Le Clair was with Emma, he has indeed 
 left us quite in despair on her account, — 
 how could you, Emma, by the way, be so 
 cruelly cold to a man of his pretensions ? he 
 is the heir to a Baronetcy, and the possessor 
 of a thousand good qualities." 
 
 " I have no pretensions to half so many 
 good things," said Emma with a gentle smile. 
 
 " Her time is not yet come for imbibing 
 the influenza so prevalent in our circle. 
 Falling in love is a disorder remarkably 
 infectious among us at present, ever since 
 you set the example, Charles, and in my 
 opinion Emma shows great prudence in keep- 
 ing out of temptation. Whether she will 
 continue to do it will be seen." 
 
 This was the last insinuation of this nature 
 Emma was teazed with ; on the contrary,
 
 6-4 MODERATION. 
 
 Harriet appeared kind and considerate, in the 
 arrangements she had made on her return; 
 and when Captain Wilmington visited at the 
 Rectory, he was received by Emma, without 
 the confusion she had dreaded in herself. 
 She found the power of self-government in 
 this respect as well as others, and earnestly 
 endeavoured to preserve it. 
 
 Yet in every succeeding interview, she saw 
 something in her eyes more agreeable in 
 Captain Wilmington than any other gentle- 
 man in the party ; something that, combined 
 with the constant disinterestedness he had 
 evinced towards his family, and the kindness 
 of his manners, would have justified her to 
 herself, if her partiality had hern warranted 
 by any indications of love on his part. 
 Knowing his situation, she coidd not help 
 feeling anxiety for him, lest in the circle he 
 now joined, his expenses should be increased 
 beyond his powers, or that his hopes from his 
 uncle should be more sanguine, than so 
 singular and illiberal a character as that per- 
 son bore, would justify ; and often did she for 
 his sake wish that Charles was again in 
 Cambridge, that Eulalie and Harriet would 
 cease to be rival queens, and that in more
 
 MODERATION. 65 
 
 sober scenes, she might be enabled to read 
 calmly the principles and the attainments of 
 one, in whom she certainly was deeply in- 
 terested, as a friend at least. 
 
 The consciousness she had of having be- 
 friended him, rendered it impossible for a 
 person, so delicate as Emma, to say one of the 
 many things which often rose to her mind, 
 when parties of pleasure were formed or pur- 
 chases proposed, which she considered likely 
 to implicate him in expense on the one hand, 
 or mortify him on the other ; and her dread 
 of having her solicitude misconstrued by 
 Harriet, prevented her from making observa- 
 tion or remonstrance to her on such subjects. 
 Yet there were moments when she was nearly 
 doinsr so, for it was certain that Frank Wil- 
 mington always approached her with the 
 same brotherly ease, and perfect reliance on 
 her judgment, the same sense of her kindness, 
 and lively gratitude for it, which so evidently 
 affected his sisters ; and Harriet was herself 
 so pleasant with him, so affable and un- 
 assuming in her conversation, that although 
 she would not listen to remonstrance on her 
 own plans, perhaps she would consider the 
 expenses of others. 
 
 F
 
 G(j MODERATION. 
 
 Once, and only once, had Captain AVil- 
 mington in her presence referred to his 
 uncle's partiality for the place of his birth, 
 and hinted the irreparable breach that part- 
 ing with it would have made between them. 
 Emma coloured deeply, and w r ould have said, 
 " she was glad there had been no necessity 
 for doing so," but Harriet relieved her by 
 adroitly changing the subject to that of So- 
 phia's peculiarities, which had lately added 
 to singular manners the adoption of a dress 
 so nearly resembling the Quakers, that Cap- 
 tain Wilmington believed she had united 
 herself to that body. 
 
 " No, no," cried Harriet, " Sophia has not 
 half the respectability attached in my opi- 
 nion to the ' yea and nay' body of friends. 
 She is a kind of nondescript, lor she pro- 
 claims herself a sound church-woman, but 
 herds only with the dissenters, and affects 
 airs of patience when I call her a Methodist, 
 though she is so recognized every where of 
 course. Charles calls her ' Evangelical,' and 
 he says, that at Cambridge, young ladies of 
 her persuasion are notorious for fastening 
 like leeches on their pre}', and drawing it 
 into matrimony ; so pray have a due care of
 
 MODEEATION. 67 
 
 Saint Sophy, for in despite of her quaint cap 
 and handkerchief, she is certainly the prettiest 
 girl in the neighbourhood." 
 
 The Captain was too gallant not to set 
 aside the last assertion in favour of the 
 speaker, whilst he lamented in much stronger 
 terms than the case called for, in Emma's 
 opinion, the superstition and enthusiasm of 
 Sophia, which he said, " would be the ruin 
 of her, poor thing." 
 
 " So far as Sophia's affections have been 
 weaned from her family, in consequence of 
 believing even her father to be deficient in 
 his duties, and wrong in his views — so far 
 as she has divided a house, and assisted to 
 divide a parish against itself, her conduct has 
 been reprehensible, and much to be lamented ; 
 but she is very sincere and very affectionate. 
 The bias given to her mind is too strong, and 
 acts at present not less upon her vanity than 
 her conscience, but in time she will see her 
 errors and abandon them, without, I trust, 
 losing her sense of the importance of religion 
 as a motive of action, the great guide and 
 comfort of existence." 
 
 To this softening speech from Emma there 
 was little reply made ; but there was a look 
 
 f2
 
 C8 MODERATION. 
 
 indicative of carelessness in him, and a flip- 
 pancy in handling the most serious of all 
 subjects, which was very painful to her. She 
 often felt as if she were allied in mind to no 
 one around her, much as she loved them all, 
 except her father, and perhaps it was that 
 sensation, more than any other, which had 
 given her a kind of imaginary tie to Captain 
 Wilmington. She thought now, that even 
 this was, or ought to be, dissolved ; she 
 thought also that considering how very high 
 Harriet had always held herself, how much 
 she had lately increased her expenses and her 
 connections, that it was extraordinary that 
 she gave so much time and attention to a 
 person in this gentleman's situation, and that, 
 in speaking of Sophia, certain looks between 
 them proved that they were perfectly alike in 
 their opinions.
 
 09 
 
 CHAP. V. 
 
 Although Emma's character was distinct 
 from that of all the young people by whom 
 she was surrounded, yet her gentle manners, 
 her kindness, and the discovery, which, from 
 time to time, each made of the soundness of 
 her understanding, induced them all to seek 
 in her a consoling friend, or an able adviser — 
 they loved her for being the first, and (gene- 
 rally speaking) quarrelled with her for being 
 the last. Charles had made her the confi- 
 dante of his passion for Eulalie, but he had 
 not taken her advice against premature de- 
 claration, although the modesty of his nature 
 and the timidity inseparable from a passion 
 that exalts its object so highly, had delayed 
 it; when however he was about to leave her, 
 all scruples vanished, and she was informed 
 of that which herself and every other person 
 had known for the last three months, quite as 
 well as the speaker.
 
 70 MODERATION. 
 
 Eulalie, in the course of all that time, 
 though she had ran about the country in all 
 directions, figured as a blazing comet, at 
 race balls, a passing meteor in sea-coast pro- 
 menades, and a fixed star at the county town 
 assemblies, had not seen one man, strictly 
 speaking, so handsome as Charles Carysford, 
 who inherited a fine person as a birth-right; 
 he was evidently good tempered, what she 
 called " very generous, and very genteel ;" 
 rode well, shot well, and what was more, 
 talked well, and listened well ; for his mind 
 was cultivated and his manners suasive — -but 
 then he had one great drawback — " he was 
 not a soldier." 
 
 With this unhappy deficiency before her 
 eyes, Eulalie, though she looked tenderl v, 
 durst not trust her tongue with expressing 
 her sentiments, which were indeed somewhat 
 inexplicable to herself. She retired hastily, 
 yet not angrily, from the gaze of the idolizing 
 youth, who could only conclude from her 
 manners that she was well inclined towards 
 him, but really feared to encourage him, lest 
 she should meet the displeasure of her friends. 
 As this denouement took place in the gardens 
 of the Park, after a short reverie he determined
 
 MODERATION. 71 
 
 not to re-enter a house which of course he 
 deemed the abode of his cruel enemies, but 
 by a little circuit regain his horse from the 
 stable, return, and lay the case before Emma. 
 
 " 'Tis true, she will not be so angry as I 
 am sure Harriet would be, for she always 
 maintains that our family on one side at 
 least is superior to Sir Marmaduke's — if my 
 grandfather Carysford ivas a merchant, so was 
 Eulalie's grandfather, old Don something, I 
 remember." 
 
 Charles's meditations were most happily 
 broken upon at this moment (though not so 
 in his opinion) by meeting Sophia, who was 
 going to instruct a little band of children, 
 whom she termed, " her own lambs," to dis- 
 tinguish them from the more extensive flock 
 patronized by Lady Lyster and her sisters, 
 over whom Emma cast a kind and scruti- 
 nizing eve. Though Charles laughed at So- 
 ohia sometimes, and scolded her at others, 
 he yet loved her very much at the bottom, 
 and, by way of saying something, he en- 
 quired " if she had left her sisters at home?" 
 
 " I have ; — Harriet has got a new im- 
 portation from Vanity Fair, in the modern 
 Babel."
 
 7 { Z MODERATION. 
 
 "" Then she has got letters from my aunt. 
 [ wish, with all my heart, the Honourable 
 Alathea Tintagell was here." 
 
 Charles articulated every syllabic in refer- 
 ence to his own feelings, which at this moment 
 sought for all possible aids in conquering tin 
 difficulties before him, but as Sophia under- 
 stood him literally, and was sorry to hear him 
 lay stress on a vain earthly distinction, she 
 replied solemnly, 
 
 " Yes, she has heard from our aunt, who 
 has been induced to renew, or I ought to say 
 commence, an acquaintance with her nephew, 
 who is now at Nice for his health — doubtless 
 he has been brought to the brink of the crrave 
 Dv dissolute courses, and ouirht to be a warn- 
 rag to us all." 
 
 Charles nodded his thanks, pricked his 
 steed, and was at home in a few minutes; 
 but his motions had not been so rapid as those 
 fEulalie who was at this time closetted with 
 Emma, to whom she had flown on leaving 
 Charles, and as the ride was more than double 
 the length of the walk, between the Rectory 
 trad the Park, her priority of confidence was 
 easily accounted for. 
 
 "Nothing can be more distressing than
 
 MODERATION. 73 
 
 my situation," said Eulalie, after relating 
 Charles's declaration, " I have long foreseen 
 this, yet it overwhelms me like unexpected 
 trouble." 
 
 " From all I have observed, my dear Miss 
 Mortimer, I cannot believe you dislike my 
 brother." 
 
 " Oh ! no, no, no, who could dislike so 
 handsome, so amiable, so excellent" — Eulalie 
 wept, or sobbed at least. 
 
 " Then you apprehend opposition from the 
 Baronet, and "— " Opposition !" cried the fair 
 mourner, suddenly relinquishing her handker- 
 chief, springing on her feet, and rising to 
 (he utmost height her bounded measurement 
 allowed. "Who shall dare to oppose me? 
 No, thank heaven, I am free, nor shall any 
 sordid motive ever influence me to yield my 
 risfht of choice to another — never, never." 
 
 " Certainly the reasons our friends may 
 offer, should be considered in a matter of 
 so much importance; we ought to weigh 
 every point, to" — 
 
 " I desire to do so — I come to you, to assist 
 my reasoning faculties, to examine my pre- 
 possessions — but I fear it will be all in vain ; 
 the ideas nourished so long will not give
 
 », MODEUATION. 
 
 way, and then poor Charles will be lost, 
 ruined, undone lor ever, and I shall be the 
 cause of all." 
 
 " Dear Eulalie, what can you mean ?" 
 
 " Emma, ever since I can remember any 
 thing, fame and glory have been the great 
 objects of* my desire. I believe reading 
 Joan d'Arc inspired the notion — when other 
 girls talked of shepherds or beaux', 1 talked 
 of soldiers and heroes. I am myself cou 
 rageous, and therefore courage in others is 
 the quality most valued by me, and I well 
 remember preferring the boatswain in the 
 ship which first brought me over, to every 
 person on board, because he had been fre- 
 quently in battle — since then 1 have wit- 
 nessed danger, and the glorious enthusiasm 
 with which some spirits meet it, and 1 feel 
 that such a spirit alone, can I honour and 
 obey." — 
 
 " Then you confess the possibility of loving , 
 I may conclude that by implication." 
 
 " You may — but then every body says, 
 one ought to esteem those whom they love; 
 and how could I, in my sense of the word, 
 esteem a man who was neither sailor nor 
 soldier, a man who could not even fight &
 
 MODERATION. 75 
 
 duel? I know no situation so much on earth 
 to be envied, as the widowhood of one whose 
 husband perished in the field of battle — ah ! 
 what emotions, Emma, must fill her heart, as 
 she gazes on the monument which his 
 country has erected to his honour, when she 
 reflects that a being so great, so glorious, 
 was once devoted to her. Now were I to 
 marry dear Charles, this happy, this envied 
 lot could never be mine — the idea of marry- 
 ing a clergyman is insupportable to me." 
 
 " What a misfortune it is that you were 
 not born a few years sooner ; but as peace 
 appears now established on a firm basis, 
 either you must resign this object of desire, 
 or determine to lead a single life, for you have 
 little chance of being the widow of a military 
 hero for many years, in this country at 
 least." 
 
 " Do you then think that Charles does 
 not love me well enough to resign his inten- 
 tion of going into the church?" 
 
 "Indeed I fear that he does, but such a 
 determination would exceedingly grieve my 
 father, who has educated him from childhood 
 with this view, and also, I apprehend, be 
 deemed one of great imprudence by all your
 
 76 MODERATION. 
 
 friends on both sides, since it would render 
 him much less eligible to the honour of your 
 hand." 
 
 " Oh ! I care not for money matters, I 
 don't indeed." 
 
 " Yet yon love to spend it — you have in 
 fact never known the want of it, and there- 
 fore cannot judge; and for your consolation 
 I can assure you that Charles has given prool 
 of great personal courage in Cambridge se- 
 veral times, that my father was once so nearly 
 falling a victim to his courage by facing a 
 mob, my mother had every chance for a very 
 long widowhood, so that, even as a clergy- 
 man's wife, there is no saying but you may 
 enjoy that satisfaction." 
 
 " Satisfaction it could not be, but in such 
 a case it would surely be the purest con- 
 solation — you must think so yourself, 
 
 inina. 
 
 " To reflect upon the virtues of one's hus- 
 band, however exerted, must be a great con- 
 solation, but I am not so aspiring as you. 
 [ could be not only content, but most thank- 
 ful, to believe the partner 1 had lost had been 
 a blessing to his fellow-creatures any w;iv, 
 but more especially that he had held the high
 
 MODERATION. 77 
 
 honour of being * an ambassador from Christ 
 to them' — besides, I do really think, that no 
 men living have so much need of courage in 
 its highest sense as the clergy, especially 
 whilst they are young." 
 
 " I can't see that at all — to be sure they 
 have a good many examinations and non- 
 sense to go through, and at the first they look 
 foolish and feel awkward on reading in pub- 
 lic, but that soon goes off." 
 
 " They have to encounter pretty universal 
 prejudice, and to meet it with weapons so 
 little in use, that the wounds they may re- 
 ceive, or the ability with which they parry, 
 are alike misunderstood. They have not only 
 to engage with enemies, but friends, to reli- 
 gion, with seducers who would rejoice to lead 
 them into error, and inquisitors who would 
 pounce on them in the commission of it. 
 From habit and social taste they mingle in 
 the world, yet are decidedly called to hold 
 themselves distinct from it ; every eye is on 
 them to mark what is done amiss, prudence in 
 their case is called covetousness, liberality is 
 branded as profusion ; if grave, they are 
 scorned as hypocrites; if gay, pointed at as
 
 78 MODERATION. 
 
 unworthy members of a sacred profession. 
 Oh ! they have much to contend with !" 
 
 " Poor Charles ! I pity him sincerely ; but 
 I hope, I believe, he will acquit himself like 
 a man, Emma, a good man." 
 
 " I have no doubt of it — he has to be sure 
 been rather gay this summer, but you know 
 he has been under particular circumstances — 
 now we are speaking confidentially on a mat- 
 ter of so much moment, I ought to tell you 
 that his uncle, Lord Alfreton, is very ill ; 
 should Charles become his heir, perhaps he 
 would not enter the church." 
 
 " Oh ! that would be base, unworthy — I 
 should think that very wrong indeed. No, 
 let him meet the evils, of which you speak, 
 boldh/ ; let him stand erect amidst the shafts 
 of calumny and the frowns of vice, a spec- 
 tacle on which angels may smile and men 
 gaze with reverence and admiration. Emma, 
 you have given me a view of the case I 
 never had before ; nothing can be more su- 
 blime and interesting." 
 
 " Then you will not leave him to endure 
 the hardships of life ' ud pitied and alone;' 
 but I will not plead a cause of so much im-
 
 MODERATION. 79 
 
 portance, I am naturally too partial to be a 
 fair judge, and although I firmly believe that 
 my dear mother was the happiest of married 
 women, for so she has often assured me, yet 
 I can see clearly that every year increases the 
 difficulties of which I have spoken : as a 
 friend, I would advise you to examine them 
 thoroughly before you consent to favour his 
 hopes." 
 
 Eulalie promised she would consider, but 
 she blushed deeply, and the tears were in her 
 beautiful eyes as she spoke, for she knew in 
 her heart that she had decided. The idea of 
 contending with difficulty, however presented 
 to her mind, accorded with the ardour and 
 enthusiasm of her spirit, whilst that of 
 Charles, in a state of suffering, awoke all the 
 tenderness she had long: cherished towards 
 him. Emma accompanied her towards the 
 walnut-trees on her way homewards, when 
 perceiving Charles was sate under one of 
 them, looking anxiously towards the house, 
 she beckoned him, and recounnended him to 
 be Miss Mortimer's escort, but not till she 
 had again entreated Eulalie not to mention 
 her wish that he should relinquish his pro-
 
 80 MODERATION. 
 
 fcssion, which she candidly owned lay (as 
 she believed) in Eulalie's power of guidance. 
 
 " I have no longer such a wish," said the 
 heiress, as she accepted the arm of her lover 
 and departed. 
 
 On the day following Charles departed 
 also, for he had already encroached much on 
 October, and for the following week there 
 was a wonderful stillness in the house, which 
 was rendered more striking by the severity of 
 the weather, which confined Mr. Carysford 
 altogether to home, as he laboured under a 
 severe cold caught by leaving his bed at an 
 unusual hour in the morning, to baptize a sick 
 child at some distance. 
 
 In point of fact, he had been for a long 
 time in a delicate state of health, and the 
 very relief he had experienced during the 
 summer months, in the open air, only proved 
 that some disorganization of the system called 
 for extraordinary assistance. On the present 
 occasion confinement and abstinence were re- 
 commended as positively necessary, and there- 
 fore submitted to, but the former was very 
 unpalatable, and the latter it was difficult 
 to act upon, for he was at all times so tern-
 
 MODERATION. 81 
 
 perate, that an increase of self-denial nearly 
 amounted to starvation. 
 
 Harriet, being now in possession of 
 Charles's secret, and not a little elated with 
 the prospect of her brother's succession to 
 Lord Alfreton's estate, a circumstance on 
 which she dilated beyond her right of doing, 
 in order (as she said) " to make all smooth 
 with Lady Lyster," spent little time at home ; 
 but Emma never left it when her father's 
 comforts could be aided by her attention, or 
 his pleasures increased by her society. At 
 this period, it being 18 16, the general state 
 of the country called for the attention of 
 every person who could assist the poor, on 
 whom in many districts the winter opened 
 with an accumulation of hardships. Mr. 
 Carysford knew personally the state of every 
 humble family, not only in his own, but the 
 neighbouring parishes, he foresaw clearly 
 how far they would be affected ; to whom as- 
 sistance would be most valuable, and where 
 distress would be most severely felt ; and he 
 determined durins; his confinement to consi- 
 der how best he might contribute to its relief. 
 Proverbially open to imposition, and natu- 
 rally averse to business, nothing less than a 
 
 G
 
 S2 MODEKATION. 
 
 positive sense of duty would have led him to 
 impose this task upon himself ; for it consish d 
 in his opinion in collecting and paying all his 
 own hills, and then giving away all he could 
 spare, a simple and excellent plan for a poo* 
 arithmetician. 
 
 But alas ! in this pursuit, lie found that 
 Alps on Alps arose, and not even the anxious 
 ingenuity of Emma, who naturally dreaded the 
 result of all investigation on a point which 
 had excited her anxiety long ago, could suffice 
 to prevent him from experiencing alarm, as- 
 tonishment, and that solicitude to know the 
 extent of the evil, which was natural to him 
 as a man of scrupulous integrity, general 
 though not trifling regularity, and great igno- 
 rance of the subject as to its individualities. 
 From finding his expenses (as a matter of 
 course) exceedingly increased the year he 
 married, he had habituated himself to consider 
 that a wife was inevitably and properly a very 
 expensive article in every establishment — on 
 the year when he lost her for whom he thought 
 no price too high, he concluded that all was 
 right in affairs conducted by her sister, who 
 was necessarily expensive, butiiow when there 
 were only the children, those dear beings for
 
 MODERATION. 83 
 
 whose sakes he was anxious to save and to 
 spare, and that Charles had generously in- 
 sisted on all things going on as they used to 
 do, " surely his long treasured wishes would 
 be fulfilled — he should begin to make a depo- 
 sit in the funds for his daughter." 
 
 Seeing from the progress of these silent 
 evidences of the lavish expenditure of his 
 household, and the encroachments of Harriet, 
 far beyond her own income, for gay apparel, 
 that there would be a positive necessity for 
 Charles to come forward with a considerable 
 sum of money, he wrote to him to state his 
 difficulties. In reply, his son inclosed the 
 enormous bills presented to himself on his re- 
 turn, and with deep sorrow stated the ne- 
 cessity he was under of selling out stock, in 
 order to liquidate these bills ; and at the same 
 time saying that these monies must be re- 
 placed, previous to his marriage, as Sir Mar- 
 maduke Lyster had given him to understand 
 " that he should expect the fortune of his 
 late mother to be produced at that time in 
 an unencumbered state," to which observa- 
 tion he had replied by an offer to settle it 
 on Eulalie. 
 
 If any thing had been wanting to over- 
 
 g 2
 
 84 MODERATION, 
 
 v. helm and harass the already oppressed 
 spirits of Mr, Carysford, this letter would 
 have supplied it. The affection and peni- 
 tence it breathed, rendered him unable to 
 feel anger against the beloved writer, the in- 
 closures it produced were alike appalling and 
 surprising, and the information it gave puz- 
 zled and alarmed him. He observed, over 
 and over again, that " his poor boy must be 
 helped, the money in the funds must not be 
 touched, but in what manner it could be done, 
 was utterly beyond his powers of calculation." 
 
 When all this trouble was revealed to Har- 
 riet, nothing could exceed the alarm and as- 
 tonishment visible in her looks, but eager to 
 forget her own share in the mischief, she ad- 
 verted to Charles's bills as the greater evil, 
 insisting. " that some serious mistake had 
 been made, and that explanation would set 
 all to rights, how could a man spend treble 
 the sum his second year he had done the 
 first ?" 
 
 " You forget that Charles had my aunt's 
 legacy to assist his first year's expenses, — 
 besides his situation became entirely altered 
 after my dear mother's death, and every per- 
 son around acted upon the conelusion that
 
 MODERATION. 85 
 
 he had a fortune to spend, which was pro- 
 bably much exaggerated by report," said 
 Emma. 
 
 "But Charles ought to have known," said 
 Harriet, " that he had nothing wherewith to 
 help us, because he was spending it himself." 
 
 "That he did not know, because he did not 
 think, is very evident, — my aunt used to say 
 that thinking was the province of the woman 
 in every family, so ice must begin to think 
 for him." 
 
 " I have been much to blame — very much." 
 — " Indeed you have not, dear papa," cried 
 Emma, eagerly, " when in April you proposed 
 laying down the carnage, you thought wisely 
 and kindly for us all ; we overruled it, and in 
 doing this, laid the foundation of all these ex- 
 penses, for had that taken place, it would not 
 have been possible for us to have kept the 
 company and engaged in the pleasures to 
 which our income was inadequate — we should 
 have been people on a less and more consist- 
 ent scale, as we ought to have been." 
 
 Although Emma kindly used the term we, 
 yet Harriet so well knew that she had per- 
 sonally constantly stemmed the tide, that she
 
 86 MODERATION'. 
 
 could not fail to feel herself reproached, 
 and therefore eagerly cried out, 
 
 " But then would Charles have been able 
 to secure the hand of Miss Mortimer? would 
 he have held the place in society which be- 
 comes the son of a Tintagcll ?" 
 
 " Certainly, not the less because he lived 
 within his means, since it is evident that Sir 
 Marmaduke apprehended he had gone be- 
 yond them, and Lady Lyster has repeatedly 
 advised me against a system which was never 
 adopted by my mother, even in her gayest 
 days. You must be well aware that Charles 
 is loved at the Park for his own sake, and 
 that, when that worthy family consented to 
 his marriage with Eulalie, they were full) 
 aware of the inequality of their fortunes — 
 aware also, that with all her good qualities 
 their niece ought to have a prudent husband, 
 one who will guard his wife's property." 
 
 " You are right, Emma — as much has 
 been said to me; but yet I know that 
 Charles's prospects have an influence in the 
 a flair." 
 
 " Of course — but Harriet, you and I must, 
 in the first place, supply the money required —
 
 MODERATION. 87 
 
 it is a great happiness that we can do it. I 
 propose giving that sum which was my deat 
 aunt's extra legacy, and then we will alikt 
 lend that which — 
 
 "I cannot, will not allow that," cried Mr 
 Carysford. 
 
 "And I — that is, I fear," said Harriet in 
 great confusion, " we will talk of it by and 
 by." 
 
 " That will be much better, for I cannot 
 bear to see my father harassed by it whilst 
 he has this terrible cold upon him — we have 
 happily time enough for every thing. Come, 
 my dear Sir, let us change these papers for 
 the chess-board ; you must try again to give 
 me one of your clever check-mates.
 
 88 
 
 CHAP. VI. 
 
 When Emma had succeeded in somewhat 
 allaying the nervous agitation, and soothing 
 the solicitude of her father, by diverting his 
 mind in a slight degree from this distressing 
 subject ; when she had seen him in bed, and 
 administered the gruel which contained his 
 anodyne, she repaired to Harriet, who was 
 walking with perturbed steps in the usual sit- 
 ting-room below. 
 
 " I thought you would never come, Emma; 
 I have been almost distracted lest you should 
 make some further offer to my father. 1 
 could not make you understand me by signs." 
 
 " 1 did not understand you farther, than 
 that you did not choose to advance him any 
 money, certainlv." 
 
 " I cannot, situated as I am with — other- 
 wise I should be most happy to do it, but 
 you sec he lias so little himself, and there
 
 MODERATION". 89 
 
 is interest to pay, so that altogether we shall 
 have nothing else to live upon." 
 
 " What can you mean, Harriet ? who are 
 you speaking of?" 
 
 " Frank Wilmington — we are engaged — 
 I have wished to inform you for some time, 
 but I have had no opportunity." 
 
 Emma sat down in the nearest chair — she 
 made no reply, and for a few moments a 
 ghastly paleness overspread her countenance, 
 but Harriet did not look towards her, she con- 
 tinned to traverse the room with hurried steps, 
 and her information was given less like the 
 confession of a lover, than a criminal. 
 
 " I believe Frank — Captain Wilmington 
 was struck with me from the day we first met 
 — at least he tells me so — in fact, he mis- 
 took me for you, that is, for the Miss Carys- 
 ford who lent his father the money, which 
 gave him perhaps a prepossession in favour 
 of all the family, you know." 
 
 Emma immediately recollected the time 
 when he had mentioned it to her, with the air, 
 as she now conceived, of a person but slightly 
 connected with it; and she felt as if she were 
 literally choused out of a certain prospect of 
 happiness, which would at this moment have
 
 [)0 MODERATION. 
 
 been inconceivably dear — she felt that eacli 
 had entertained a prepossession in favour of 
 the other, that ought to have had certain re- 
 sults, and she forgot, in the biting vexation of 
 the moment, that opinions less favourable to 
 Captain Wilmington had lately arisen in 
 her mind, and that either from anxiety or 
 other topics, or that self-conquest on which 
 she had resolved, and for which she had sin- 
 cerely prayed, he had been very little in her 
 thoughts. She now could only remember, 
 how frequently and how kindly her mind 
 had been occupied by him, and how possible 
 it was that similar feelings had possessed his 
 mind for her — that both had been injured and 
 betrayed — though how far, and under what 
 circumstances, did not appear as yet. 
 
 " You do not speak, Emma — you think of 
 course, that a person who has often ridiculed 
 love in others, should not have so entangled 
 themselves — I am aware of all that you say, 
 but surely some consideration should be given 
 to a man so amiable; a man whose unme- 
 rited misfortunes have rendered him so in- 
 teresting, so — " 
 
 Emma burst into tears. 
 
 " I fear you think that 1 have been too hasty ?"
 
 MODERATION. 91 
 
 " I think nothing about you, nothing at all, 
 Harriet, but I must leave you, I must consi- 
 der my own means of relieving my father 
 from the embarrassments he is unequal to 
 contending with." 
 
 " But you will not call in that money. 
 Emma ; you will not distress poor Frank 
 again so soon." 
 
 " If I understood you right, Captain Wil- 
 mington believes himself your debtor, not 
 mine ; if you choose to become so, I shall be 
 very glad, as the money will be most accept- 
 able to me, you are well aware." 
 
 " Oh ! he understands all now — it was 
 only in the beginning of our acquaintance 
 that he deceived himself ; you could not sup- 
 pose me capable of deceiving him : 'tis true, 
 he believes me instrumental in persuading 
 you to relieve the distress under which his 
 parents then laboured — you know it was 
 mentioned to me." 
 
 " It was, and you told me that I should 
 lose the money." 
 
 " I remember I talked very like a fool — I 
 had never seen Wilmington then, you know." 
 
 " But I had," said Emma internally, and 
 she hurried out of the room, too much agi-
 
 92 MODERATION. 
 
 tatcd to remember that Harriet's question 
 was still unanswered; nor did reflection on 
 this point cause her to return, for although 
 she was glad that a sister whom she tenderly 
 loved, and whom she desired to esteem, had 
 not in this transaction stooped to direct false- 
 hood, yet she was still aware that false im- 
 pressions had been given, and she was by no 
 means certain that much had not been im- 
 puted to her sister's interference, which af- 
 fected the mind of Captain Wilmington with 
 gratitude and love, as its consequences. 
 
 But when Emma was alone, when she re- 
 flected on the whole transaction, she saw the 
 affair in a different point of view. " If," 
 said she, " a woman of Harriet's description, 
 showy, expensive, witty, but haughty, con- 
 scious of her beauty, and constantly exacting 
 homage, can command the affections of 
 Frank Wilmington, it is certain that he would 
 not have chosen me from anv motive save 
 that prepossession, which was probably fos- 
 tered by his mother: it is very possible that 
 this predilection might have led to something 
 between us, which the beauty and accom- 
 plishments of Harriet might have induced him 
 finally to repent of, and I should have had
 
 MODERATION. 93 
 
 the mortification either of experiencing re- 
 jection in the first instance, or neglect in the 
 second. In the present state of things my 
 delicacy is spared — Harriet has not even 
 dared to pity me — all is well." 
 
 Our feelings will not on all occasions in 
 life keep pace with our reason, nor will they 
 listen to the consolation it offers; but it is 
 always the part of wisdom to moderate their 
 suggestions by those arguments reason may 
 offer, or that obedience to circumstances 
 which religion exacts. In all those evils 
 which arise from misfortunes in the course of 
 Providence, every well instructed christian 
 knows where he alone must look for support 
 under his affliction ; and such had hitherto 
 been the habitual source of comfort to 
 Emma, but she was now surrounded by diffi- 
 culties, and pressed by sorrows, ipimediately 
 inflicted by her fellow-creatures, and those 
 closely connected with her. She was ha- 
 rassed by angry emotions towards her sister, 
 a sense of disgrace arising from her father's 
 debts, and of confusion and distress on the 
 subject of their liquidation — her fears were 
 excited for the health and the honour of her 
 father and her brother, both of whom were at
 
 94 MODERATION. 
 
 this moment more dear to her than they had 
 ever been, and none of these sources of grief 
 and perplexity were, as she thought, of sueli 
 a nature as that she could ease her overbur- 
 dened heart by making them the subject of 
 prayer. She could not " rush into the pre- 
 sence of God as the horse rusheth into the 
 battle," in confusion and indignation, with 
 unsubdued pride and worldly cares struggling 
 at her heart. 
 
 But meditation and reflection, the remem- 
 brance of keener sorrows which had been 
 healed, of many blessings which yet re- 
 mained, of many faults of heart and conduct 
 (for who has not such) that were yet unpu- 
 nished, in due time subdued these warring 
 sensations, and enabled her to say, " to whom 
 should I go but unto Thee," with this afflic- 
 tion also. 
 
 It may seem strange to many, that Emma 
 could not in her present troubles open her 
 heart to Sophia, as one equally interested in 
 the affairs of the family, and a sister so near 
 her own age, as to be likely to enter into her 
 feelings on other points. Alas ! this was im- 
 possible ; with poor Sophy whatever was not 
 according to her own views positively right,
 
 MODERATION. 93 
 
 she concluded to be positively wrong ; and 
 therefore every person in her family was 
 under distinct but absolute interdict from her 
 good opinion, and when her natural affections 
 stirred her up to kindness and consideration 
 towards them, she took her heart to task for 
 its weakness, as loving those who were 
 " aliens to the faith," or " lovers of pleasure 
 more than lovers of God." Blending truth 
 with falsehood, adopting the most cruel and 
 contracted of all creeds, mistaking quiet ob- 
 stinacy for scriptural meekness, and continu- 
 ally opposing all that was really good in her 
 own disposition, from a belief that nothing 
 could be good which was naturally suggested, 
 and that only some far-fetched idea or sud- 
 denly-inspired impulse ought to be acted 
 upon; it might be truly said that her hand 
 was " against every one," and that she moved 
 " every one's hand to be against her," at least 
 within her own family. 
 
 With this unhappy and mistaken view of 
 things, taken by a young and beautiful wo- 
 man, well educated, and accustomed to supe- 
 rior society, there could not fail to be great 
 inconsistency of conduct; and the many lu- 
 dicrous situations in which she placed herself
 
 9(j MODERATION* 
 
 by exciting discussion or provoking laughter 
 from Charles and Harriet, gentle remon- 
 strance from her father, or kind persuasion 
 from Emma, only confirmed her in equal op- 
 position to them all. Yet she could not deny 
 herself the pleasure of rejoicing in the good 
 prospects of her only brother at some times, 
 and at others feeling grateful for the gifts 
 which Harriet, with more profusion than pru- 
 dence, accorded to the objects of her charity. 
 There were moments when she would allow 
 that her father " was almost a christian," and 
 that Emma was not " utterly a castaway;" 
 but as she held it a positive duty to look on 
 the dark side of all things and persons, be- 
 yond these concessions she dared not venture. 
 It will therefore be evident, Sophia was not 
 a person to yield consolation, and being still 
 under age she could not give pecuniary as- 
 sistance, and she was herself in her own way 
 as expensive as Harriet. " Wresting the 
 scriptures to her own destruction" by insist- 
 ing that the " mammon of unrighteousness" 
 ought not to remain in her hands, she not 
 only kept herself without money, but became 
 the regular pest of the neighbourhood as a 
 self-licensed, authorized beggar, for alms of
 
 MODERATION. 97 
 
 every description, being alike a canvasser 
 into the will and power of all her father's 
 parishioners, from the broom-maker's penny 
 a-week, for blackamoor preachers, to the 
 Baronet's contribution for the widows of 
 Waterloo. In point of fact, the whole fa- 
 mily of the Carysfords were naturally gene- 
 rous, and it was necessary for them to mode- 
 rate this propensity ; but Sophia, not giving 
 her nature credit for this amiable disposition, 
 classed it as the " grace of charity," and 
 gave herself up to an unlimited indulgence 
 of it in cases where good sense and duty 
 were alike violated, and of course the pre- 
 cepts of Christianity perverted. 
 
 On the day following the discussion of 
 which we have spoken, Mr. Carysford was so 
 extremely unwell as to be advised to keep his 
 chamber, and Emma insisted on sending for 
 a physician. This gentleman arrived at the 
 very time when Charles, who had been 
 wretched ever since he had sent those letters 
 which were so likely to create distress at 
 home, came in from Cambridge ; and Harriet 
 believed that this unexpected circumstance, 
 by agitating her father, made him appear 
 much worse in the eyes of the medical gen- 
 ii
 
 98 MODERATION. 
 
 tleman than he really was. Whether this 
 were the case or not is immaterial, it being 
 suflieient to say, that Doctor Sneyd earnestly 
 recommended them to procure advice from 
 the celebrated Doctor Baillie, as pulmonary 
 complaints of an alarming tendency were 
 exhibited. 
 
 " I will go with my father to London im- 
 mediately," said Charles. 
 
 " I would advise you to do so — but you 
 must hold yourself in readiness for a much 
 longer journey — I think the Doctor wil.' 
 hardly fail to send you to Nice, or Lisbon." 
 
 The countenance of Charles fell, and he 
 sighed deeply. 
 
 " My dear Sir, the disorder must be taken 
 in time, I know you all consider the life of 
 your father invaluable." 
 
 " But, Doctor Sneyd," said Emma, blush- 
 ing, yet with deep solicitude pictured on her 
 alarmed countenance, " have you not allowed 
 that I am an excellent nurse?" 
 
 " You are, my dear, the very best for so 
 young a woman I have ever met with." 
 
 " Then / will go — if Charles be taken from 
 his studies my father will be more grieved by 
 that circumstance, than assisted by his society."
 
 MODERATION. 99 
 
 "True — I suspect that his mind even now 
 has a good deal to do with the feverish 
 symptoms that trouble him. But perhaps 
 Miss Carysford — " 
 
 Harriet with a look of great alarm said 
 " she fervently hoped that at this time the 
 voyage would not be found necessary." 
 
 " My sister, dear Sir," said Emma, " has not 
 been accustomed to a sick chamber as I have, 
 she would betray her feelings too much." 
 
 " She would ruin us, I perceive— you must 
 go, Miss Emma, and may, I trust, go with the 
 hope of success; but lose no time, sharp frosts 
 may set in suddenly, our climate can never be 
 trusted at this season." 
 
 The doctor departed, and the young people 
 crowding together for some time, looked at 
 each other with that sorrow and dismay, 
 which clearly proved that every source of 
 uneasiness except the last, was for the mo- 
 ment forgotten. The bell of the invalid 
 roused them from this painful silence. 
 
 " Dear Charles, pray command your feel- 
 ings," said Emma, " my father will do very 
 well if he is kept calm." 
 
 " But how can I, Emma? — have I not 
 brought on all this sorrow and — 
 
 h 2
 
 100 MODERATION. 
 
 " No, dear Charles, you have only — " 
 
 Emma's reply was cut short by the entrance 
 of Mr. Carysford, who reading the sensations 
 of his son, from learning that he was still 
 with his sisters, yearned over him with all a 
 lather's feelings, and came down impatiently 
 to clasp him to his heart. 
 
 The scene that followed was indeed far 
 too moving for the welfare of the invalid, 
 but it was happily interrupted, as Emma then 
 thought, by the entrance of Mr. Evans, the 
 Ions: esteemed curate of her father. He 
 came (such is the mixture of good and evil 
 taking place in all societies) to announce the 
 circumstance of his appointment to a distant 
 living. 
 
 If ever human being could be said to live 
 in the good or evil of others, Mr. Carysford 
 was that man; he could indeed "rejoice 
 with those that rejoiced, and weep with those 
 who wept," and the solid joy he felt in see- 
 ing his worthy friend, who was married and 
 iiad a family so provided for, carried him for 
 the present from himself and his cares; a 
 pleasure which necessarily increased upon 
 him, when he learnt that his own recommen- 
 dation had been the cause of the gift.
 
 MODERATION. 101 
 
 Emma sincerely rejoiced also, yet sir.? 
 could not fail to see that the difficulties of 
 her present situation were accumulated by the 
 circumstance, since Mr. Evans's place must 
 be supplied immediately. The sense of how 
 much she had undertaken to do, and how 
 much she had lately felt, and must still feel, 
 for a few moments overcame her — she cast 
 her eyes upon Harriet, and saw that she was 
 still weeping, regardless of the presence or 
 the information of Mr. Evans — she looked at 
 Charles, he was pale, but his looks were those 
 of thoughtful self-command. 
 
 " Poor Harriet ! she is ever thus, there is 
 no medium in her joy or sorrow, I can ex- 
 pect no help from her — but Charles's pain- 
 ful lesson may have affected him happily, 
 he must assist me." 
 
 Having engaged Mr. Evans to spend the 
 day with them, Emma drew Charles into the 
 study, and entered at once into the discussion 
 of those affairs, which there was now so much 
 more occasion to despatch than before. By 
 displaying their own household expenses, she 
 somewhat meliorated the acute self-reproach 
 under which he laboured, and thereby ren- 
 dered him equal to the task he dreaded, by
 
 10<2 MODERATION. 
 
 informing him of the situation of Harriet with 
 young Wilmington, aa a portion of their ge- 
 neral business, she was saved from revealing 
 
 it with those symptoms of confusion and dis- 
 tress, which might have betrayed that interest 
 she had once taken in the gentleman. 
 
 " It will be a very poor match for Harriet, 
 for some years;" said Charles, "with her 
 habits, I cannot see how they can live at all." 
 
 "They must be determined to be mod< rate, 
 thf.y must accept of each other in lieu of the 
 luxuries of life ; they must contend with their 
 own desires: hold warfare with their own 
 wishes, as Eulalie would say." 
 
 " Eulalie — dear, generous, noble Eulalie- 
 how is she ?" 
 
 " She was quite well on Sunday — I give 
 you great credit for not asking sooner, for of 
 course you knew she was in health — now 
 Charles, let us consider what can be done .' 
 Harriet can do nothing. 1 have two thousand 
 pounds; and am willing to apply it in the 
 way it is wanted." 
 
 " But I cannot possibly allow you to do so." 
 
 "Why not, dear Charles, you will have the 
 means of repaying me some time; next, in point 
 of error, to the folly of getting ourselves into
 
 MODERATION. 103 
 
 difficulties, is the weakness of resigning our- 
 selves to indolence and sorrow, in consequence 
 of them." 
 
 " But it cannot be right to extricate one's 
 self by injuring another, and that other a 
 sister like you, Emma; how often have you 
 cautioned me, how often — " 
 
 " Jf you are now convinced that I was 
 then right, be convinced that I am so now — ■ 
 accept the aid I offer you, and return it in 
 such portions as will have the advantage 
 of binding you down to those restrictions 
 which will give habits of economy, enable 
 you to fulfil Sir Marmadu Ice's requisition, and 
 enter on future life with the freedom of a 
 gentleman, and the sober independence be- 
 coming a clergyman." 
 
 " But, dear Emma, you may marry." 
 
 " It will be a long time first, Charles — think 
 of our dear father's situation, and you will 
 see to what and to whom I am married." 
 
 Charles with a deep sigh allowed that many 
 painful engagements were at present pressing, 
 he examined her papers and her plans, ac- 
 ceded to her wishes, promised that if she were 
 obliged to leave the country, he would observe 
 all her directions, and accepted the charge
 
 104 MODERATION. 
 
 of those papers she held for her loan to Cap- 
 tain Wilmington, and her directions respect- 
 ing them . The perfect confidence reposed 
 in him by Emma, at a period when he feared 
 that a person so calm and prudent would be 
 incapable of pitying his distress, or of even 
 conceiving the nature of his embarrassments, 
 endowed him with self-confidence and self-re- 
 spect, and showed him the folly of pursu- 
 ing those trifling pleasures and that ephemeral 
 notoriety he had so dearly purchased. Jt was 
 evident that not only did her affection seek 
 to sustain him in his trouble, but that her 
 judgment gave him credit for a manliness or 
 mind, an uprightness of intention, and a re- 
 ligious firmness in the discharge of his future 
 duties, and he trusted, though he did not 
 say so, that he should not deceive her. 
 
 When the brother and sister had arranged 
 these tremendous concerns, Charles set out 
 to the Park to announce the painful com- 
 munications of Doctor Snevd, who it ap- 
 peared had been there before him, and so 
 alarmed the worthy family for their old and 
 much loved friend, that they were proceed- 
 ing in a bodv to call upon him, and request 
 him instantly to «et out without making
 
 MODERATION. 105 
 
 an useless journey to the metropolis ; and as 
 Charles was aware that they could not find 
 him more equal to talking on the subject at 
 any period than the present, he entered the 
 carriage with them and returned immediately 
 to the Rectory, occupying the same seat 
 with Eulalie, whose eyes gave proof how 
 much she sympathized in his sorrow for his 
 father, to whom she was much attached. 
 
 When the Baronet and his Lady had taken 
 their seats in the study, Eulalie stole away 
 with Emma, whose fears were more excited 
 than they had hitherto been from what she 
 now heard, but she compelled herself to seize 
 the period when the young beauty's better 
 feelings were so strongly excited, to paint the 
 conduct of Charles in the most amiable point 
 of view, and show Eulalie how much his fu- 
 ture happiness and honour depended upon 
 herself; how necessary, though difficult, i 
 might be for her to strengthen him in every 
 virtuous resolution, and thus, early in life, 
 exhibit the heroism of affection. 
 
 "But how am I to do it, dear Emma?" 
 " By inducing him to pursue his studies 
 unceasingly, and refusing to marry him tili 
 he has taken his degree — by renouncing, my
 
 10G MODERATION. 
 
 dear girl, so far as you can, the ' pomps and 
 vanities of this wicked world,' and pre- 
 paring yourself to be a country clergyman's 
 wife. 1 prescribe you no light tasks, Eulalie, 
 but 1 am much mistaken if your mind is not 
 equal to them — at least it is my consolation 
 to think so." 
 
 It rarely happened that Emma Carysford 
 said so much as her surrounding friends, but 
 in the present hurry on her spirits, and in the 
 dread she felt of leaving any thing undone 
 within lur power, she entered into a kind 
 of new character as mistress of the house 
 which it would have been happy if she had 
 adopted sooner; whilst giving the direction; 
 she considered necessary for a journey to 
 London on the morrow, the Baronet and his 
 Lady in the anxiety of their hearts were 
 urging Mr. Carysford to embrace the pre- 
 scribed voyage immediately. 
 
 The warmth of feeling shown in this in- 
 terview, the recollections it naturally em- 
 braced of all the years that were gone by, 
 and more especially of that beloved wife and 
 friend who, in being transplanted from one 
 family to the other, bound each more firmly 
 to the other, together with the new, and still
 
 MODERATION. 107 
 
 stronger tie now contemplated, rendered it of 
 great importance to Mr. Carysford, who with 
 one proviso acceded to the wishes of his 
 friends. Charles interfered, to say that he 
 pledged himself (and could safely do so) for 
 the exact settlement of all his affairs, and the 
 Baronet immediately added, " and I pledge 
 myself to be his friend, his father, if he needs 
 one." 
 
 " I must see my people — I must preach to 
 them before I 2:0 — Mr. Evans and I must 
 once more do duty together, and then I will 
 set out as soon as Emmy is ready, and leave 
 all things to your kind management." 
 
 This proposal appeared so perfectly reason- 
 able, so agreeable to their own wishes and 
 feelings — it was evidently so necessary that 
 a few days must elapse for the settlement of 
 such material concerns as the removal of a 
 whole family, and so natural that he who had 
 been the minister of a populous and exten- 
 sive parish for more than thirty years, and 
 was under the necessity of subjecting them 
 to a kind of twofold change, that it was per- 
 fectly approved by all, save Emma. She 
 saw that her father's mind was even now in a
 
 108 MODERATION. 
 
 state of excitement for which he would after- 
 wards suffer, and knew that although he was 
 a man who might be said to live upon his 
 affections, and iind in the love and good-w ill 
 of those around him the solace of his sorrows, 
 yet that the too great exercise of his sensibi- 
 lity at this period was sure to be extremely 
 injurious. She also knew, that as he had 
 a higher motive for his care of the congre- 
 gation than their love offered him, so he 
 could not be devoid of consolatory remem- 
 brances, even if he were for the present de- 
 prived of that too affecting meeting he now- 
 requested. 
 
 As poor Emma had only a single voice, it 
 was soon overruled, and it was her next care 
 to issue requests on every side to those whom 
 she knew to be more particularly attached to 
 him, from benefits received, or griefs partici- 
 pated, entreating them to forbear bidding him 
 personally farewell. Some few had the good 
 sense to see the necessity of this; but the 
 generality concluded, that if his worship had 
 strength enough to preach, he had certainly 
 strength enough to shake hands with an old 
 parishioner ; and several observed " that they
 
 MODERATION. 10[) 
 
 were sure he would do well, for though he 
 was rather thin, his eves looked bright and 
 clear, and now and then he had a colour like 
 a rose — he would live to be a fine old man, 
 there could be no doubt of it."
 
 J 10 
 
 chap. vii. 
 
 1 he intervening days somewhat restored 
 Harriet to that power of thinking which grief 
 and anxiety had deprived her of; and in the 
 society of him she loved, she found that con- 
 solation every young woman so situated has 
 a right to expect. Emma had the satisfac- 
 tion to see Charles earnestly engage, with the 
 aid of Mr. Evans, in searching for some gen- 
 tleman of superior character and suitable at- 
 tainments to supply the double chasm in their 
 church, and wished, if possible, that a mar- 
 ried person could be found who would come 
 into the house. As this was hardly to be 
 hoped for, it was agreed that for ihe present 
 Harriet should take up her abode at the Park, 
 and Sophia at the house of Mr. Wilmington, 
 two of whose daughters were on the point of 
 marriage, which therefore enabled them to 
 offer her this accommodation. 
 
 It was however purely from love to Emma
 
 MODERATION. 11] 
 
 that Mrs. Wilmington consented so to bur- 
 den herself, for she had absolutely a dread of 
 receiving a person so likely to be either too 
 repulsive, or too persuasive, to young persons 
 of her own age. During the short visit 
 which Emma was able to make to these wor- 
 thy people, no reference was made till the 
 last moment to Harriet's situation with Cap- 
 tain Wilmington, and then the mother shook 
 her head and wept bitterly. 
 
 Emma was herself much affected — she had 
 long loved Mrs. Wilmington dearly, and sht 
 hoped that her tears were shed in conse- 
 quence of parting with her, at least she felt 
 at this moment certain, that her love for the 
 mother had been a very principal cause of 
 that decree of attraction there had been for 
 her in the son, and her ideas on this point re- 
 ceived a happy confirmation to herself from 
 the ease with which she bade him farewell, 
 though he went away with Harriet on his 
 arm. 
 
 The following day was Sunday — Mr. Ca- 
 rysford admitted, on rising, that he had had a 
 bad night, that he found it necessary to keep 
 quiet during the morning, but had no doubt 
 he should be equal to the afternoon duty ;
 
 112 MODERATION. 
 
 the day was fine, the congregation numerous, 
 and the looks of anxiety directed towards his 
 pew bespoke the solicitude and disappoint- 
 ment of the people, and rendered Emma 
 only the more desirous of saving the invalid 
 from that which she felt unequal to encoun- 
 tering herself. 
 
 When the afternoon service commenced, 
 the morning conu;re2;ation returned with such 
 increased numbers, that it was evident curio- 
 sity and anxiety had drawn the whole popu- 
 lation of the neighbourhood, and that every 
 seceder was present, either from those return- 
 ing emotions of reverence and affection likely 
 to be re-awakened from their long slumber in 
 this day of trial, or from that spirit of male- 
 volent investigation by which prejudice seeks 
 to strengthen its dominion, and confirm its 
 power to cavil. 
 
 Mr. Carysford possessed an extraordinary 
 facility of vision, which neither time nor sor- 
 row had as yet impaired, and as his eye 
 glanced over the crowded aisles and pews, 
 he recognized these strangers mimrled with 
 friends, and his heart expanded to receive 
 them as children returning to their allegiance 
 — as those who, in the pride of their hearts
 
 .MODERATION. 113 
 
 or the weakness of their judgments, had been 
 withdrawn for a short time, but might now 
 return for ever ; and he was almost ready to 
 resign all thoughts of a journey, which 
 might be productive of again scattering 
 these sheep. A few moments' reflection told 
 him that they were not his, but yet he could 
 not consider them as the old clerk did, " spies 
 in the land," " enemies in the camp," for 
 with how many even of these had he not 
 been associated, in all the most tender and 
 awful hours of existence, and from which of 
 them had he merited desertion ? 
 
 He cast his eyes on Sophia, his youngest, 
 perhaps his best beloved child, the imags 
 of the mother whose presence in that seat had 
 so often filled his heart with gratitude to hea- 
 ven. It was very grateful to him to behold 
 her there ; but she was bathed in tears, and 
 though he trusted they were salutary, yet he 
 could not behold them unmoved, and he left 
 his pew for the pulpit under great internal 
 agitation. 
 
 Mr. Carysford had prepared a short, plain, 
 but deeply impressive discourse, and he Mas 
 enabled to deliver it with more composure 
 than his people could hear it. When, towards 
 
 i
 
 114 MODERATION. 
 
 the close, he adverted to that schism which, 
 although in its infancy, had been to him " a 
 rending of the heart-strings;" an universal 
 motion, an increased half-murmuring breath- 
 ing of many sighs was heard, and faint 
 sounds of suppressed anger broke from warm 
 hearts unawares : but when, advancing in his 
 discourse, he spoke of the abundant conso- 
 lation administered to him in the hour of dis- 
 tress by the love of his people, not only did 
 his voice falter, but it was overpowered for a 
 short time by the audible sobs, the universal 
 movement that pervaded all hearts. Most of 
 all the young men near the pulpit, who held 
 themselves as his especial band, and the nu- 
 merous mothers in the congregation, whose 
 children he had baptized, instructed, perhaps 
 buried, (for these had with scarcely an ex- 
 ception remained unshaken,) exhibited the 
 grief and love which penetrated their hearts : 
 but every where it was felt. Lady Lyster, 
 agitated almost to fainting, was obliged to 
 withdraw, and Eulalie sobbed aloud. 
 
 The concluding words of exhortation were 
 perhaps heard by lew, but they will probablv 
 never be forgotten ; for under the strong per- 
 sonal affection excited at the moment, that
 
 MODERATION. ] 15 
 
 which was uttered " in much weakness," be- 
 came a powerful and impressive lesson, bet- 
 ter remembered than many more excellent, 
 which had preceded it. 
 
 When Mr. Carysford descended the pul- 
 pit stairs, he was evidently completely over- 
 come, and the croud that pressed around 
 him threw Emma into despair, but she went 
 with Charles to his assistance, and as the 
 Baronet also followed, room was made for 
 them. At this moment the good pastor 
 might indeed have adopted the words of the 
 apostle, and said, " why will ye thus weep 
 and break my heart," for every eye was 
 strained to look upon him, every half-suffo- 
 cated voice prayed God to bless him, and 
 many wondered why they had sought with 
 so much avidity for more moving teachers, 
 finding all around them so deeply and 
 strangely affected. 
 
 Happy was Emma when this affecting and 
 awful farewell was over, and when she had 
 once more seen the beloved invalid on his 
 own sofa, she flattered herself that the fe- 
 verish excitement of these interesting cir- 
 cumstances would sink into that calm re- 
 
 i 2
 
 llG MODEBATION. 
 
 pose and devout resignation, so necessary fur 
 his comfort, at a period calling for new ex- 
 ertion on the morrow. Alas ! before he could 
 recover the late trial, a new one still more 
 affecting, broke upon him, from the entrance 
 of Sophia, who in agonizing sorrow knelt by 
 his couch, addressed him as "a dying father, 
 and besought him to have compassion upon a 
 child, who had offended him, wounded and 
 injured him irreparably, yet had done all 
 for conscience' sake." 
 
 It will be readily conceived how fully and. 
 kindly she was forgiven, how fondly she was 
 folded to a heart, which had constantly con- 
 
 * mi 
 
 sidcred her " with sorrow more than anger," 
 and with what extreme solicitude, as a father 
 and a minister, he endeavoured to prove (as 
 he had often done before) wherein her judg- 
 ment had erred. Forgetful of himself till 
 compelled by positive weakness to cease 
 speaking, he had continued during half the 
 night to combat the opinions or soothe the 
 sorrows of Sophia, during which Emma had 
 vainly endeavoured to allay the acuteness of 
 those feelings in both parties, which, however 
 naturally excited or amiably exercised, could
 
 MODERATION . 1 I 7 
 
 not be endured with impunity by one party, 
 nor recollected in future by the other, with- 
 out self-reproach alike bitter and unavailing. 
 
 Emma, anxious to save all unnecessary ex- 
 pense, was accompanied only by a man ser- 
 vant, who had lived many years in the fa- 
 mily, understood his master's habits, and made 
 up, in his steadiness and affection, for defici- 
 ency in activity and knowledge. Most un- 
 fortunately a severe frost took place during 
 their journey, and added its bad effects to 
 those produced by previous irritation of the 
 system; and Mr. Carysford, persuaded that he 
 should be better at sea, decided on proceeding 
 for Lisbon in preference to Nice. 
 
 Emma had never yet been upon the water, 
 and her suffering from sea-sickness was very 
 great ; but when she was capable of taking 
 comfort in any thing, she had the very sen- 
 sible one of seeing her father recover not 
 only composure of spirits, but increase of 
 appetite. To her he constantly paid the 
 kindest attention as well as his poor ser- 
 vant, who was also a great sufferer, and he 
 would frequently joke them on their situation, 
 chat pleasantly with the captain of the 
 packet, and prove that interest in the navi-
 
 118 MODERATION'. 
 
 gation of the vessel, which bespoke to 
 Emma's great satisfaction a mind at case, 
 and, as she trusted, a constitution recovering 
 the shock it had laboured under. 
 
 The voyage was long and tedious, and 
 without being positively dangerous, yet ex- 
 hibited such specimens of the mighty ocean 
 in its wrath, as to keep so new a voyager 
 as Emma in frequent apprehension, and 
 she was truly rejoiced when they entered 
 the Tagus, and saw much to admire even 
 in the dreary season of their arrival. The 
 weather was mild, there was a promise of 
 early spring, and winter with its train of 
 threatened evils was at least left far to the 
 northward. A noble city was before them, 
 on the history of which her father dilated 
 with pleasure, recalling from the extensive 
 and highly cultivated stores of his elegant 
 mind, every circumstance and anecdote, 
 which could amuse or interest her, anil she 
 looked forward now with more sanguine 
 hopes than she had yet entertained, to a 
 short and pleasant residence, a speedy and 
 happy return.
 
 119 
 
 CHAP. VIII. 
 
 Under the guidance of their captain, who 
 was a plain good-humoured man, they estab- 
 lished themselves in an Hotel which had 
 within a few years been inhabited by numbers 
 of English officers, and was therefore consi- 
 dered the most likely to accommodate Eng- 
 lish travellers. 
 
 Whilst we continue moving, every one, 
 whether amazed or annoyed, remembers that 
 he is a traveller, that his journey is intended 
 to conduct him to a certain end, and will 
 continue only for a given time; but when he 
 is arrived at the place of destination, his mind 
 demands a home in his resting place — this 
 sensation operates of course the most de- 
 cidedly, in those persons who have rarely left 
 their own, and therefore our present party 
 felt the difference very painfully. Mr. Carys- 
 ford was in this respect better than his 
 daughter, for he was exceedingly interested
 
 ICO MODERATION. 
 
 in every thing passing in a catholic country, 
 is such ; his knowledge of that splendid 
 Hierarchy which has for so many centuries 
 enslaved the minds and ruled over the sub- 
 jects of so many countries, which has bound 
 kings and lawgivers to its footstool, and ren- 
 dered genius, science, and talent subservient 
 to its power, gave an attraction or roused a 
 curiosity in his mind respecting every object 
 he beheld ; and the first grey friar he saw 
 wading through the filthy streets appeared to 
 him in the light of a dramatic performer 
 about to introduce other personages, and 
 enact some singular spectacle for his amuse- 
 ment. 
 
 The mild weather, and the apparent amend- 
 ment of Mr. Carysford, rendered Emma able 
 consistently to go with her father from church 
 to church, examine the architecture of one, the 
 paintings of another; listen with profound 
 delight to those magnificent orchestras where 
 religion, invoking the aid of the senses, takes 
 the soul captive by that music which seems 
 indeed worthy of the Creator whose name it 
 exalts, yet is here blended with puerilities un- 
 worthy the creatures who perform them. Mr. 
 Carysford, as a man of most liberal mind, as
 
 MODERATION. 121 
 
 an antiquary, and a philanthropist in the 
 most extensive sense of the word, held him- 
 self willing to worship with the old church, 
 though by no means a lukewarm son of the 
 new. He believed that in her imposing ce- 
 remonies and magnificent institutions, he 
 could accept the aids so offered to the imagi- 
 nation, without adverting to the abuses with 
 which they are mingled. He soon found 
 however that neither that extensive charity 
 with which nature and cultivation had em- 
 bued his mind, nor that fine poetic enthusi- 
 asm so likely to be awakened in a heart or 
 such vivid conception and exquisite sensibi- 
 lity, would permit this partial and agreeable 
 blindness to hide the errors he deplored. He 
 was compelled to witness idolatry which was 
 alike reprehensible and despicable, to learn 
 the existence of ignorance and bigotry 
 equally incredible and deplorable. 
 
 When not traversing " the long-drawn 
 aisle," the different monasteries were objects 
 of curiosity, and as several possessed noble 
 though neglected libraries, which were open 
 to him as an Englishman, (in consequence o 
 the late obligations of Portugal to Great Bri- 
 tain,) they offered considerable attraction.
 
 122 MODERATION. 
 
 These treasures proved very unfortunate ac- 
 quisitions, for being frequently placed in cold 
 uninhabited rooms, when some curious manu- 
 script or scarce book was seized upon, Mr. 
 Carysford forgot his own ailments, and his 
 anxious daughter's cautions, in the avidity 
 and solicitude with which he eagerly perused 
 or slowly deciphered it. In a short time 
 Emma perceived that, notwithstanding the 
 mildness of the air and the advantages of that 
 strict regimen which he observed, that ever) 
 bad symptom had returned with increased 
 fever, and she was compelled to interdict 
 those visits which produced such effects. 
 
 At this period they received letters from 
 home, which although thev afforded some 
 things consolatory, and many things of a na- 
 ture to occupy the mind, presented others as 
 subjects of reflection ill calculated for an in- 
 valid deprived of the only sense of amuse- 
 ment which could win him from regret of his 
 home and his country, and lull that sense of 
 languor and disease which now made itself 
 continually felt. It appeared that Charles 
 had hitherto strictly adopted Emma's advice, 
 that he was acting with prudence and wisdom, 
 but he was also suffering, and in his mortifi-
 
 MODERATION. 123 
 
 cations and labours the fond father and the 
 anxious sister fully partook. Harriet on the 
 other hand appeared to have recovered her 
 spirits, which she imputed to the favourable 
 accounts received from them ; but she ad- 
 mitted that her marriage would probably 
 have taken place before that letter was re- 
 ceived, in consequence of the necessity Cap- 
 tain Wilmington was under to join his re- 
 giment, which was still in Ireland ; and she 
 rilled up her paper with accounts of winter 
 fashions, and the marriage of Mr. Wilming- 
 ton's eldest daughter, which appeared rather 
 to excite envy than joyfulness in her mind. 
 Sophia's letter was addressed to her father, 
 and was full of affectionate expressions, not 
 unmixed with exhortations against popery, 
 which awoke a smile ; but one part of the 
 letter was highly satisfactory : she assured 
 him, " that Mr. Bennison, his most excellent 
 new Curate, gave the greatest satisfaction in 
 his situation ; that he was a serious young 
 man, and one whom she could hear with sa- 
 tisfaction ; moreover, that he was of good 
 family, tall, well made, and with very fine 
 eyes, and was thought by many to have in 
 him " the savour of life," for he was attended
 
 124 MODERATION. 
 
 not only by the "sons of Belial," but the 
 "chosen people." 
 
 "May God bless and prosper this gentle- 
 man's labours in my vineyard," said the 
 affectionate minister as he handed the letter 
 to Emma, " but I must own, it would have 
 been quite as satisfactory if my little theo- 
 logical daughter had found his doctrines less 
 to her liking." 
 
 " My dear Sir, you may be easy on that 
 point, Sophia seems to have found his person 
 and eyes to her liking, and therefore recon- 
 ciles herself to his doctrine ; Charles says 
 that she is amazingly improved, but that 
 she actually fretted herself ill, after you 
 were gone, which indeed I expected — all 
 will be well in time, and when this cough 
 is gone, and the fever subsided — " 
 
 " 1 shall then be able to return — I had 
 hoped to give away my first-born at the altar 
 myself, 1 am surprised and somewhat dis- 
 pleased with Harriet's precipitate marriage — 
 1 do not object to the man, but to the mea- 
 sure ; Frank Wilmington has been a good 
 son. and will be a good husband. Harriet 
 will one (lav have a handsome fortune from 
 my sister Tintagell, and so probably will he
 
 MODERATION. 125 
 
 from his uncle, both these persons should 
 have been informed of this affair — I am by 
 no means satisfied." 
 
 " Charles acts wisely, nobly, — but his 
 trouble with money matters must be very 
 great, it will ruin him for reading, it will be 
 impossible for him to take his degree ; it 
 is very, very hard upon him." 
 
 " My dear Sir, be easy on that head : Charles 
 has the means of paying all his own creditors 
 and yours also, and although he has nothing 
 to spare, yet he will have money by the time 
 he needs it, he is stepping from a young man 
 of no thought, to a man of much thought, 
 a hard reader, a steady preparer for those 
 duties as a clergyman and a husband, which 
 are the objects of his hope; in a very short 
 time he will be easier than ever he has been." 
 
 " Poor fellow, I wonder where he got the 
 money ; but any body would help Charles — 
 you blush, Emma, I see how it is, you have 
 lent him that sum which your aunt's resi- 
 duary legacy left at liberty, and to that I 
 could not object, though I would on no ac- 
 count have permitted you to disturb that 
 which was funded. But that I apprehend was 
 insufficient, reach me the pen and ink, my dear."
 
 126 MODERATION. 
 
 " Not for the world, dear father ; of all 
 other evils you well know none are so great 
 to you as those abominations yclept figures; 
 make as many cabalistic lines as you please 
 on the paper, calling them Greek, Hebrew, 
 or Syriac, but no sixes and sevens, or my 
 jrood nursing will soon be reduced to a 
 cypher." 
 
 Poor Mr. Carysford so well knew his owi 
 insufficiency on this subject; he was gene 
 rally so willing to aid a jest, cither on Ins 
 arithmetic, or his carving, that when his pe- 
 cuniary concerns were not immediately con- 
 nected with his sense of justice, his affec- 
 tionate care of his children, or his anxiety to 
 perform some work of charity, he was seldom 
 pertinacious in pursuing an object so disagree- 
 able. In early life his sister had relieved 
 him from cares of this nature, in married life 
 his wife took the expenditure and regulation 
 of money matters upon herself, and although 
 from time to time he spoke with great 
 anxiety on the subject of saving, and some- 
 times in such strong terms that a stranger 
 might have thought ruin was at the door; 
 yet when she had convinced him by very 
 plain reasons and evident documents, that
 
 MODERATION. 127 
 
 all was safe, that his income was not exceed- 
 ed, and put in his hands some cash for the 
 widow he sought to relieve, or the book he 
 wished to purchase, his cares for the future 
 regularly subsided. He then remembered " that 
 his family was large and expensive, that his 
 excellent wife was brought up to higher ex- 
 pectations and indulgences than she required, 
 that it would be the right time to save money 
 when their children's expenses were lessened, 
 and, in short, that they were excellent mana- 
 gers as well as very happy people." 
 
 The disposition of the father was well 
 known to both his daughters, indeed it might 
 be said to be known to every person, almost 
 every child, in his parish, for if he had tried 
 he would not have had the faculty of con- 
 cealing his joys, sorrows, perplexities, or re- 
 liefs. There was a sunshine of countenance 
 in his general aspect, an overflowing of 
 connubial love in his common mode of speech, 
 when he answered the most homely enquirer 
 about Madam, which told his general felicity, 
 and by the same rule, if sickness visited 
 his little ones, if the beloved mother was 
 in a state of suffering, or himself in one of
 
 1CS MODERATION. 
 
 apprehension on her account, there was a 
 shade on his brow, a character of despond- 
 ency on his expressive features, that could 
 not be mistaken, " he walked softly as one 
 that niourneth for his mother," and there were 
 times also, when a threadbare coat, an anxious 
 attention to some petty saving, and a mag- 
 nanimous resolution not to look at a print or 
 a catalogue, took place. These the Baronet 
 called " the Rector's silver threepenny days," 
 and observed truly, " that they were points 
 soon played with him." 
 
 To Harriet, whose residence with her aunt 
 had nurtured pride and the love of show, this 
 disposition presented temptation to encroach 
 upon her father; to Emma, whose mind had 
 been better informed, it offered a sense oi 
 increased duty, a species of guardianship, 
 which, without impairing reverence, actually 
 increased her love for her father. Such was 
 the nature of this affection, that if her mind 
 had not been from principle, as well as habit 
 and good humour, gentle and moderate, she 
 must have spent her life in perpetual bicker- 
 ings with her sisters, for she regarded Har- 
 riet's impositions on her father's yielding
 
 MODERATION. 129 
 
 temper as almost cruel and wicked ; and the 
 opposition of Sophia to so liberal and conci- 
 liating a spirit as ridiculous and rebellious. 
 
 But moderating her resentments, her desires, 
 her sorrows, and her affections, Emma from 
 day to day sought to render her father happy, 
 and every branch of her family amiable and 
 respectable, to become resigned to the past 
 and prepared for the future ; without affect- 
 ing either extraordinary knowledge, wisdom, 
 or pietj-, she yet endeavoured constantly tc 
 cultivate her mind, regulate her conduct by 
 good sense, and find, in the exercise of 
 christian duties, consolation and delight. 
 In consequence, Harriet and Sophia were, 
 each in their own circle, much more talked 
 of and thought of than Emma, but she was 
 more approved of than either, and therefore 
 had a quiet influence for good in the hearts 
 of all who knew her. This influence had per- 
 haps been less felt by her father previous to 
 his voyage than might have been expected; 
 for though he loved Emma as a dear and 
 most unoffending child, he was not conscious 
 how much her constant but unobtrusive cares 
 had soothed his corrosive grief, diverted his 
 melancholy, and led him to the due con- 
 
 K.
 
 130 MODERATION. 
 
 tcmplation of his duty to God and man. He 
 now found that the relief which he had im- 
 puted to all his children by a sweeping con- 
 clusion, belonged to Emma, for she supplied 
 all to him; and he therefore willingly agreed 
 to her suggestion and admitted of her man- 
 agement, gladly listened to her excuses for 
 one child, her comforts in another, and in 
 doing so, gave himself the best chance for 
 recovery, and his daughter the greatest satis- 
 faction his state admitted. 
 
 But the "still small shaft" of death was 
 sped — the quiet, insinuating disease, which 
 baffles skill whilst it nurses hope, was calmly 
 feeding on the springs of life, and at the 
 very time when Emma trusted that every 
 breeze " brought healing on its wings," 
 slowly but surely was confirmed consump- 
 tion securing its unresisting victim.
 
 131 
 
 CHAP. IX. 
 
 After witnessing the processions and va- 
 rious ceremonies exhibited during Passion 
 and Easter weeks, as the vegetation was lux- 
 uriant, and the weather warm, Emma thought 
 that excursions into the country could not 
 fail to be useful ; and as Mr. Carysford had 
 little love for crowded cities at any time, 
 he gladly proposed to remove to Cintra. 
 
 To this beautiful and romantic spot they 
 accordingly set out, and were gratified to the 
 highest degree by the various views presented, 
 in the course of their journey, of Lisbon, the 
 Tagus, the Cork convent, the shipping, the 
 beauty and variety of objects entirely new to 
 them in the vegetable world, particularly the 
 arbutus and the different aloes. Cintra, so 
 lately the scene of British triumph, with its 
 fantastic rocks, high towering pines, simple 
 cottages, and universal novelty of character, 
 bad also many charms for them ; but a very 
 
 k2
 
 152 MODERATION. 
 
 short time served to prove that it would be 
 impossible tor the invalid to remain there. 
 The total want of cleanliness, the utter im- 
 possibility of* obtaining any food, or vessels in 
 which to prepare food, which were not satu- 
 rated with garlie, to which our patient had an 
 unconquerable aversion, proved that no beau- 
 ties of nature can compensate to a sick man 
 for the want of those home comforts which 
 arc to him the necessaries of life. Emma 
 was indefatigable, as a nurse, a friend, a me- 
 nial, but no diligence could guard him from 
 the ills which produced sleepless nights and 
 days of loathing, even in a place that might 
 have been made an earthly paradise, and 
 served strongly to remind them of that be- 
 loved home for which each sighed in secret. 
 
 When they returned to Lisbon, Emma de- 
 termined to seek for lodgings within a short 
 distance of the city ; and she probably might 
 soon have succeeded, but for the perpetual 
 alarm excited in the mind of James, their 
 servant, who conceived that every native in 
 the vicinity of Lisbon was an assassin, and 
 the inhabitants only so far better as the resi- 
 dence of a few English soldiers still remain- 
 ing compelled them to be. Never did poor
 
 MODERATION. ] 33 
 
 James return from an enforced excursion 
 without encountering some real or imaginary 
 evil, and his stories and comments greatly 
 added to the difficulties which at this period 
 harassed the mind of his vouns; mistress, for 
 whom, it is certain, the honest man would 
 have shed his blood, though he could not 
 restrain his tongue. She every day dreaded 
 that her father would suddenly resolve to re- 
 turn, as the increasing heat annoyed him 
 excessively, and until she received remit- 
 tances from England, it was not possible for 
 her to do so without forming acquaintance in 
 the city amongst their countrymen, which 
 neither party were well qualified to do, espe- 
 cially for such a purpose. 
 
 Tis true, letters had reached them from 
 Eulalie giving an account of the marriage of 
 Harriet, and her departure for Buxton, (which 
 she took in her route to Liverpool,) from 
 whence she intended to write to her father; but 
 this letter threw no light on the want of that 
 supply from Charles, which, important as the 
 marriage of her sister might be, was a cir- 
 cumstance more immediately pressing, for 
 think what we may, the troubles of sentiment 
 are less grievous than those of poverty, and
 
 134 MODERATION. 
 
 in some situations want of cash is actual po- 
 verty. Besides, Emma had looked at her 
 sister's marriage so dctcrminately, and con- 
 templated it so long, that she had become 
 familiarized with it, and ceased to regard it 
 as an affliction. She now simply wished her 
 sister happy, acquitted her of all intentional 
 un kindness, though she could not of blame- 
 able thoughtlessness, towards her, and this she 
 feared was again in some way operating to 
 her disadvantage, at the present time. 
 
 One day as she sat anxiously gazing on her 
 father, who lay on the sofa in the half slum- 
 bering state by which an invalid escapes 
 from that enquiring eye he cannot satisfac- 
 torily answer, tracing with sinking heart the 
 wasting power of disease on those beloved 
 features, she was startled by sounds from be- 
 low, which approached every moment nearer, 
 and were likely to disturb the sleeper. She 
 stepped hastily to the door of the apartment, 
 and beheld, with surprise and terror, poor 
 James covered with dust and blood, supported 
 between two strangers, and followed by two 
 English sailors, who loudly vociferated 
 against those who had perpetrated the injury 
 he had received.
 
 MODERATION. 135 
 
 " What is the matter? oh ! heavens, is it 
 James?" cried Emma, tremblingly. 
 
 " Ah Miss, I always said as how the pa- 
 pishes would do for me — and so for certain 
 they would if this here gentleman had'nt 
 helped me; not but I'm as good as dead 
 now, I'm a murdered man — I am, I am." 
 
 " Pshaw, pshaw, my good fellow," said the 
 person on whom he rested, " you are worth 
 many a dead man yet ; don't alarm the lady, 
 nor disgrace your country." 
 
 By this time, to the great distress of Emma. 
 Mr. Carysford had risen from the sofa, and 
 with his usual affection and sympathy ap- 
 proached his servant, who was more over- 
 powered by his master's condolences than by 
 his previous injuries. One of the persons as- 
 sisting James was the surgeon of an English 
 vessel in the Tagus, and having taken the 
 poor man to his own room, he examined his 
 wounds, which were a stab in the back and a 
 violent bruise on the leg, neither of which 
 were dangerous, though both were likely to 
 prove of long continuance in the confinement 
 they might inflict. After the lapse of an 
 hour, which was one of great anxiety to 
 Emma, not only a:i account of James, but
 
 13G MODERATION. 
 
 her father, Mr. C.irysford returned to the 
 room he had quitted to attend the examina- 
 tion of his servant's injuries, leaning upon the 
 gentleman who had been his defender, and 
 whom he announced to Emma " as her coun- 
 tryman, and one to whom they owed the 
 highest obligations for his courage and hu 
 inanity." 
 
 " My name is Charles Melville — Lieute- 
 nant Melville of the Marines, in war time, 
 was my designation." 
 
 Emma's looks and movement showed that 
 the stranger had her heartfelt thanks, but her 
 first words were those of enquiry as to James's 
 state. 
 
 " He is in very good hands, and will do 
 very well ; but will 1 fear be confined some 
 weeks." 
 
 " Who could have used him so barbarous- 
 ly ? he is one of the best tempered men, the 
 most attached servant — " 
 
 Emma could not finish her eulogium, for 
 the tears that would perforce rise at this 
 moment prevented her} but as the stranger 
 perceived that she struggled to hide her emo- 
 tion, he kindly relieved .her by taking up the 
 conversation.
 
 MODERATION. 137 
 
 " Unluckily, Ma'am, a man may have a 
 thousand good qualities with a bad taste ; 
 and some bad and even diabolical ones with 
 a good one. It is a well known fact, that 
 during those horrible scenes in the French 
 revolution, (when human blood was shed 
 uith a ferocious avidity the heart sickens to 
 remember,) some victims, who to avoid the 
 musquetry sheltered themselves behind the 
 statues in the gardens of the Tuilleries, were 
 in some instances consigned to the bayonet 
 instead of the bullet, lest the sculpture should 
 be injured — James, it appears, had a very 
 different propensity ; he was much more at- 
 tached to men than statues." 
 
 " Surely he has not been doing mischief," 
 said his master. 
 
 " Not exactly, but he aided and abetted 
 those who did ; and they happening to be 
 sailors, who are persons the inhabitants do 
 not care to meddle with, they wreaked their 
 vengeance on poor James, and would have 
 done it — " 
 
 " More effectually but for you, my dear 
 Sir — in fact, they intended to murder him ; I 
 fear indeed he has some personal enemies 
 in the place," said Mr. Carysford.
 
 138 MODERATION. 
 
 " Only one, I take it — himself. Tis true, 
 he told me that he had never struck oil" even 
 a single finger of a virgin, for his master's 
 sake, who had he knew a sort of natural 
 liking to those kind of dumb creatures ; hut 
 he admitted playing a few tricks upon the 
 monks, which were any thing but courteous." 
 
 The last fervent wish of Emma's heart, 
 when this distressing accident interrupted the 
 current of her thoughts, had been that she 
 were on her way to England ; but although 
 the circumstance rendered such an event 
 more than ever desirable, the evening closed, 
 and the stranger departed without its recur- 
 rence. Her father was evidently so pleased 
 and amused by his new acquaintance, that 
 (since his fears for James had subsided) he 
 had not passed the same length of time for 
 many days with so much apparent ease, and 
 those evening hours, which she had so often 
 found melancholy from their loneliness, and 
 painful from the useless sympathy thev 
 awakened, were gone she knew not how. 
 
 The stranger had indeed not only entitled 
 himself to be considered their friend, by the 
 prompt assistance and the continued kindness 
 he had extended to James, in procuring hiiu
 
 MODERATION. 139 
 
 the best surgical aid and witnessing its ap- 
 plication, but be claimed a species of old 
 acquaintance with them from having once 
 been at the house of Miss Tintagell, where 
 he saw Miss Carysford, and thought her the 
 most beautiful creature he had then ever 
 seen, but he added, in mentioning the cir- 
 cumstance, " she will have forgotten me. 
 Young ladies in the full bloom of eighteen, 
 consider young men of that age as mere 
 boys, and I recollect that we were men- 
 tioned as being exactly of the same age — 
 since then I have been in various climates, 
 and seen some service." 
 
 Emma saw the truth of this assertion, in 
 the deep brown which gave a veteran air to 
 the lower part of his face, but in the white- 
 ness and smoothness of his forehead, it was 
 evident that he could not be more than 
 twenty-five — the circumstance reminded her 
 however of a fact, which accounted for a 
 good deal of that which appeared hasty in 
 Harriet's decision and marriage, for if she 
 were an admired belle seven years ago, with 
 her love of admiration it was natural that she 
 should seek to attract in a new character. 
 She mentioned her sister as married, which
 
 140 MODERATION. 
 
 Mr. Melville considered as a tiling of course : 
 be informed them, with marks of great sensi- 
 bility in his manner of unfolding the cir- 
 cumstances, that he was now at Lisbon, as 
 joint attendant, with an uncle who had been 
 to him a parent, upon a dear and very amia- 
 ble cousin, who was an only child, and in 
 whose welfare that of the parent was na- 
 turally involved. 
 
 There was in this gentleman a singular 
 and happy intermixture of that frankness 
 which distinguishes sea-faring men, that 
 elegance we expect in an officer, and the 
 fine taste which belongs to the scholar 
 and the man of research. In consequence 
 of this characteristic, he found himself most 
 happy in the society of Mr. Carysford, 
 whose refined taste and abundant informa- 
 tion, promised to supply the many wants of 
 an ardent mind, prevented by duties and 
 circumstances from supplying its own de- 
 mands for knowledge. But with this desire 
 of profiting from the fountain before him, 
 there was blended such an intimate knowledge 
 of the weakness of the speaker, such a 
 tender and almost feminine care of the inva- 
 lid, as to touch the heart of Emma with the
 
 MODERATION. 141 
 
 most lively gratitude. It soon indeed became 
 evident to them both, that Mr. Melville had 
 trained himself to be the companion of a 
 sick man's hours, that he spoke more at some 
 times than was customary or agreeable to 
 him, in order to obviate the pain of si- 
 lence, or the necessity of breaking it to 
 the sufferer, and that at others he could, with- 
 out ennui or awkwardness, observe for a long 
 period the most perfect stillness. The milder 
 and the stronger elements were indeed so 
 combined in him as to " give the world as- 
 surance of a man," formed by nature and 
 education in the happiest temperament. 
 
 It may be supposed that he came again, 
 and again, under the present circumstances 
 of the family ; more especially as he for some 
 time sought to bring those offenders to justice, 
 whose mal-treatment of James so well me- 
 rited cognizance. 
 
 In this pursuit he did not proceed, for 
 finding that either no punishment would be 
 exacted, or one which included death by 
 torture, the bare idea of which was alike 
 abhorrent to the sufferer, and his champion, 
 all prosecution was dropped. 
 
 In the course of the discussions which
 
 142 MODERATION. 
 
 arose out of this subject, Mr. Melville 
 discovered not only the kind intentions 
 which spring from an amiable, considerate 
 disposition, but the principles which arise 
 from a firm conviction in the truths of 
 Christianity, a sincere love for its laws, as 
 divulged in the religion of his country, 
 and that unshrinking profession of it, which 
 was the result of a manly spirit and a well 
 informed mind. Yet whilst reasoning or 
 enquiring from his revered friend on sub- 
 jects where he was necessarily still a pupil, 
 nothing could exceed the teachableness of 
 mind he evinced, or the pleasure with which 
 he hailed the knowledge which cleared a 
 dubious point, and braced the sinews of 
 feeble conviction ; and often would he leave 
 them with that grateful sparkling of the eve, 
 that cordial yet lingering grasp of the hand, 
 which at once denoted how hard it was to 
 qnit them, yet how sensible he was, that he 
 departed mentally enriched and refreshed. 
 
 The wound in James's back, which had been 
 the principal cause of alarm, healed sooner 
 than could have been expected, but that in 
 his leg threatened incurable lameness, and 
 the poor man suffered much in his general
 
 MODERATION. 143 
 
 health, from the grief of knowing himself a 
 burden to that beloved master and idolized 
 mistress, who now so much needed his ser- 
 vices. Every time that master visited his 
 couch, the ravages of disease were more per- 
 ceptible, and often would the eyes of James 
 fill with tears as Emma approached to en- 
 quire "how he had rested," from his know- 
 ledge of the excessive fatigue she was en- 
 during, and which no person but himself 
 could partake with her. The great heats, 
 which now became general, prevented Mr. 
 Melville from giving them much time, as 
 they understood him that his cousin was 
 rendered worse by them, and that his uncle 
 Sir Grindley Melville, from anxiety and the 
 languor consequent on the climate, was also 
 very unwell. This great source of amusement 
 and consolation failing them, again Emma's 
 powers were taxed to the utmost, at a time 
 when the daily uneasiness she experienced 
 on pecuniary matters was greatly augmented 
 from increased delay, added to which her 
 expenses were doubled by the illness of 
 James. 
 
 Yet there was a certain consolation in the 
 belief, that if only for a few minutes, yet
 
 144 MODERATION. 
 
 the evening would not pass without seeing 
 their friend; and that although his intelligent 
 countenance might tell them on his entrance 
 how much he was suffering from sorrow and 
 apprehension, yet in their society he too 
 would taste of that solace he bestowed, and 
 in the intercourse of friendship find the re- 
 ward of kindness. Mr. Carysford was now 
 evidently growing every day so weak that to 
 all save Emma he appeared on the very verge 
 of existence ; but she still felt as all others 
 do, who watch the progress of that insidious 
 and llattering disease — she could not believe 
 that a beinu; in which the fire of intellect 
 still burned so brightly, in whom devotion 
 was so ardent, affection to every human 
 connection so active, could be on the brink of 
 dissolution; she saw all his weakness, she was 
 aware of all his symptoms, nor was it the 
 first time in which she had tended the bed of 
 slow disease and eventual death, but the 
 young heart refuses to admit the reality of 
 that which it dreads. A thousand visionary 
 hopes, and miraculous interpositions, float in 
 the fancy to cheat us from that contemplation 
 of sorrow which would unfit us for the duty 
 to which we devote ourselves under such cir-
 
 MODEKATION. 145 
 
 cumstances, and doubtless it is a merciful 
 disposition in our nature, that woman, a 
 creature equally tender and imaginative, yet 
 constantly called to witness the most painful 
 scenes, and encounter the severest trials, 
 should find " her strength made perfect in her 
 weakness," and her power of cheering and 
 sustaining man, arise from her blindness to 
 the future, her power of nursing hope in de- 
 spite of probability, and assuming smiles 
 when her heart is wrung by sorrows. 
 
 Yet there were times when Emma could 
 not deceive herself, when she felt that she 
 must be soon an orphan, was conscious also 
 that she should be left in a strange land, 
 without friends or money ; but this was of less 
 consideration than another point continually 
 pressing on her mind; "should her father die 
 without making due provision on that point, 
 his valuable living would be lost to Charles, 
 and in all probability be the means of en- 
 tirely overturning his prospects of future 
 life." She was the more anxious on this 
 point, because as they had received no let- 
 ters from her eldest sister since her marriage, 
 which argued most blameable neglect, her 
 mind was led to consider her future hap- 
 
 L
 
 14G MODERATION. 
 
 piness as immediately linked with a brother, 
 always especially clear, but of late more so 
 than ever, on account of his penitence, affec- 
 tion, and good conduct. With all her lather's 
 excellent qualities he was not a man of busi- 
 ness, though a man of the most strict inte- 
 grity and upright intention. Every day, every 
 hour, so far as his weak state admitted, it 
 might be said that he was preparing for his 
 great change, yet so unequal did he evident- 
 ly feel to parting with his children, that very 
 seldom could he trust himself to advert to it. 
 " Could she, his child, dare to infringe on the 
 sacred silence it was his wish to preserve ? 
 could she by any act or word tear away the 
 veil in which the pious aspirations or the pro- 
 found sensibility of his nature was now en- 
 shrouded ?" 
 
 Again the packet arrived, but it contained 
 only a letter from Sophia, in which was an 
 enclosure of fifty pounds ; considered as a re- 
 mittance, such a trifle was rather a mockery 
 than a relief: but it appeared in a very 
 different point of view, as Emma proceeded 
 with the letter, for it proved to be simply a 
 present, made by one sister to another, in 
 consideration of her increased expenses,
 
 MODERATION. 147 
 
 thereby denoting that, for the first time, So- 
 phia had given due consideration to worldly 
 affairs and to family affection. On proceed- 
 ing, she learnt with great surprise that her 
 brother had received such pressing letters 
 from Miss Tintagell, to join her at Nice, and 
 proceed with her and Lord Alfreton to Italy, 
 that he had set out for that purpose ; which he 
 was the more inclined to do both because Sir 
 Marmaduke Lyster advised it, and that it 
 would be in his power to join them at Lisbon, 
 as he trusted, before winter, for " to tell you 
 the truth," she added, " he never has ceased 
 to lament the circumstance which prevented 
 his accompanying you." 
 
 A postscript mentioned the having just 
 received a letter from Emma, in which she 
 complained of Charles. " You will of 
 course," added Sophia, " have received the 
 letters of credit that my sister Wilmington 
 had for you, before this time, and what I 
 have told you accounts for the rest." 
 
 This letter was put into Emma's hands by 
 Mr. Melville, who, knowing her extreme anx- 
 iety to hear from England, had procured the 
 letters from the pacquet ; perceiving the air 
 of deep disappointment and alarm with 
 
 l 2
 
 148 MODERATION. 
 
 which she regarded the inclosed check, he 
 instantly conceived that want of money was 
 amongst the evils pressing upon her mind, 
 and began anxiously to cast about in his 
 own the possibility of relieving it. 
 
 " I hope all your friends are well, Miss 
 Carysford, my old acquaintance amongst the 
 rest ? " 
 
 " She is so, I hope ; but I have no letters 
 from her, and have a right to complain of 
 negligence cither from her or her husband." 
 
 A slight blush rose on Emma's cheek as 
 she pronounced the last words, which Mel- 
 ville placed to the account of anger, and so 
 fully was he persuaded that Captain Wil- 
 mington had done exceedingly wrong, before 
 he could have awakened such an indication 
 of offence from a mind so gentle and regu- 
 lated as hers, that his own warm though ex- 
 cellent temper became indignant, and he 
 exclaimed, 
 
 " Neglect you ! if he neglects you, he has 
 not merited the honour of marrying your 
 sister — it is well for both him and me that 
 the sea is between us." 
 
 " Perhaps I am wrong, but — I have suf- 
 fered so much of late in various ways, that
 
 MODERATION. 149 
 
 perhaps I do not judge fairly — you shall 
 fight no battles for me, Mr. Melville." 
 
 " Your father calls me Charles, and he 
 says it is pleasant to him when you do so." 
 
 " Well then, Charles," said Emma, offering 
 her hand, as if to soothe the momentary 
 petulance of a heart she had known long 
 enough to understand and honour, almost to 
 love. 
 
 Melville seized on that fair hand with the 
 same fond avidity with which he often gazed 
 on her countenance, and listened to her 
 words ; he even half raised it to his lips, but 
 as suddenly relinquished it, and Emma felt at 
 that moment as if all the kindly emotions of 
 her nature were relinquished also; it was 
 with the utmost difficulty that she concealed 
 the sense of desolation and renunciation 
 which seemed suddenly to seize upon her. 
 
 Both were for a short time silent, but Mel- 
 ville, as by a violent effort, compelled himself 
 to speak, and the tones of his voice, the deep 
 interest it was evident he still took in her, 
 the touching respect and even tender affec- 
 tion of his looks, restored her mind to the 
 calm, though pensive tone he had disturbed 
 — he spoke with great perturbation, and with
 
 150 MODERATION. 
 
 his eyes bent towards the door by which it 
 was probable Mr. Carysf'ord would soon 
 enter. 
 
 " If, then, I am Charles— if I am honoured 
 with being as much a brother to you as a son 
 to your revered father, (who may indeed 
 claim me for one in the Itigliest, in the scrip- 
 tural, sense of the word,) surely there is not 
 any thing in my power to do for you, Emma, 
 that you will deny me — can I not supply the 
 neglect to which you allude ? are vou sure 
 that I cannot be of use to you in some way 
 of business ?" 
 
 " You are very kind, but I have so main* 
 things—" 
 
 As Emma spoke, the tears long gathering 
 fell from her eyes freely — could she have 
 looked up, she would have seen that those 
 eyes so fondly bent upon her were also full 
 of tears. 
 
 " 1 know all vou arc feeling and fearinG" 
 from that one great cause which I can sympa- 
 thize in: but have vou anv lesser anxiety? 
 your father's affairs are all settled?" 
 
 " I know not, I fear that his living — Oh! 
 I know not what I would say — surely I shall 
 take him back."
 
 MODERATION. 151 
 
 " My dear Miss Carysford, why did you 
 not speak to me sooner ? I could have told 
 you, for I knew two months since, that every 
 thing necessary for your brother's safety was 
 settled through the medium of a Mr. Evans, 
 but bevond this I know nothing. This is 
 not a time for unnecessary delicacies." 
 
 " Oh, thank you, thank you ! that is all 
 I wanted to know, all I desired on such 
 points ; I ought not to have doubled my fa- 
 ther ; I ought not to sink in this way." 
 
 " But this is not all ; you must want mo- 
 ney, for you have never sent me to the bank- 
 er's ; and I will not wrong your confidence in 
 me so far as to believe you would employ 
 another — there is a coincidence in our situ- 
 ation and our feelings, that should compel 
 you to make a friend of me, a brother." 
 
 Emma wiped her eyes, and ventured to 
 gaze for a moment on that open, honest 
 countenance, which although at this time 
 fraught with anxiety amounting to impa- 
 tience, and with agitation not devoid of re- 
 proach, yet to her mind's eye exhibited all 
 things most kind, and delicate, and honour- 
 able, and she hastily answered, 
 
 " You are right — I have no money left. I
 
 152 MODERATION. 
 
 am quite certain it is not Charles's fault. I 
 fear that my letters are lost, or that my sister 
 has forgotten me, and — " 
 
 " And — so often as we have been together, 
 you could not give me a line or a word ; oh ! 
 fie, fie, I have not merited this, Miss Carys- 
 ford, for I trust that though I have much of 
 the frankness of a seaman about me, I am 
 not therefore deficient in respect, in — " 
 
 " To me you have been all goodness, but 1 
 dreaded betraying this to my father, who, 
 poor man, knows not how soon money goes ; 
 he is already hurt at the silence of Harriet 
 — but I hear him coinins;." 
 
 " Tis all well," said Melville, his counte- 
 nance brightening as he spoke, " but we 
 have only just escaped a most dreadful mis- 
 fortune, for I am come to announce — " 
 
 At this moment Mr. Carysford entered 
 from the chamber adjoining, where his pri- 
 vate devotions had held him during the only 
 time when by day and night his daughter was 
 not near him. He now stooped over the 
 staff on which he leaned, like a very aged 
 man, his hair had changed from the be- 
 sprinkled grey to glossy white, and his con- 
 tracted chest and hollow cheeks bespoke that
 
 MODERATION. 153 
 
 shrinking of the muscles, that withering of 
 the flesh, in which the beauty and the 
 strength of man show like a fading flower. 
 But a stream of glory seemed to irradiate 
 his eyes as he gazed delightedly on the 
 young pair before him, whose earnest con- 
 versation and confused countenances (a con- 
 fusion naturally arising from the subject) 
 undoubtedly conveyed to him a very differ- 
 ent idea, for before he essayed to offer the 
 gladdened welcome which always sprung to 
 his lips on sight of Melville, he silently, 
 but with uplifted hands, invoked a benedic- 
 tion on them both, from that God with 
 whom he had probably been already in- 
 terceding on their behalf. 
 
 After the usual enquiries had taken place, 
 and the state of the barometer had been dis- 
 cussed, Mr. Melville proceeded to say that 
 a removal Ions; talked of was now determined 
 upon on his uncle's part, and since the dear 
 invalid no longer objected, he believed they 
 should set sail for Madeira in a few days. 
 
 " Most sincerely do I hope the voyage may 
 prove advantageous. I once thought I should 
 have liked to go thither myself, but that is 
 out of the question now — I am unequal to
 
 15 r MODERATION. 
 
 all exertion. Your cousin is young, and 
 though weak may be restored, but I — " 
 
 Mr. Carysford cast his eves on Emma* 
 and ceased to speak — his young auditor, in 
 evident perturbation, answered — 
 
 "Alas! Sir, ours is a much less hopeful 
 case than yours ; there are some complaints 
 in which youth puts the seal on disease — 
 1 confess I have no hopes, no expecta- 
 tions — " 
 
 -Mr. Melville rose from his scat overpowered 
 by affecting recollections, and more acutely 
 awakened fears for the life of one to whom 
 it was evident he was bound by ties more 
 strong than those of blood — that his friend- 
 ship was of the most ardent kind, that it 
 began in the dawn of life, had been strength- 
 ened by similarity of character, and recipro- 
 city of affection, they could have no doubt, 
 since the few observations he ever allowed 
 himself to make uniformly proved it. Per- 
 haps the excess of his attachment and his 
 sympathy was also the more evident to his 
 present auditors, from his generally saying 
 very little on this subject. They had each 
 n marked that whilst he spoke much of his 
 uncle, and deeply sympathized with his griefs,
 
 MODERATION. 155 
 
 yet he seldom actually named his cousin — ■ 
 this might be equally accounted for by the 
 delicate attention due to Mr. Carysford, as an 
 invalid unequal to hearing his own complaints 
 descanted upon, and the incapacity the re- 
 later felt to touch upon the situation of one 
 held in such especial love and esteem. 
 
 Yet whatever might be the friendship felt 
 for his cousin, the paternal veneration in 
 which his uncle was held, it was evident the 
 bond which drew Mr. Melville's affections to 
 our father and daughter, was likewise insu- 
 perably strong — his shortest visit still beheld 
 him remain beyond his first intention, and the 
 pleasure which danced in his eyes even when 
 sympathetic drops lingered on the lids, at 
 those times when he could sit a few hours 
 with them, bespoke a divided interest, a 
 heart wedded to the new friends not less than 
 the old ones. That he never lost sight of 
 them for an hour, was evinced in the books, 
 the music, or the news by which he sought 
 to besmile their tedious hours, the fruit and 
 the confectionary he so constantly brought, 
 the extraordinary pains he took for the re- 
 covery of their servant, and the search he 
 made for others who might supply his ser-
 
 15G MODERATION". 
 
 vices. In all this, Mr. Carysford read very 
 naturally not only pity and general benevo- 
 lence of character operating with regard to 
 himself, but the excitement given by a more 
 warm and tender sentiment for his daughter — 
 a sentiment every way likely to be awakened 
 for one so young, so lovely, and singularly at- 
 tractive by her situation and the many virtues 
 she displayed in it. 
 
 it would be folly to deny, that Emma her- 
 self (modest and unassuming as she always 
 was, and even distrustful of her own powers 
 of attraction as she had lately become) had 
 an intuitive sense that the preference and 
 admiration she could not withhold from one 
 so valuable and amiable, was returned. For 
 some time she had a kind of confidence in his 
 friendship, a sense of repose on his guardian- 
 ship, which did not go beyond ameliorating 
 her solitude, and imparting the sensations na- 
 tural to a sister, or, as she considered them, of 
 an Englishwoman in a foreign land. When 
 the entire love and esteem of her father for 
 his young countryman quickened her percep- 
 tion of his good qualities, and the many con- 
 versations which developed his principles, 
 his disposition, and his information — then
 
 MODERATION. 157 
 
 Emma found herself in Desdemona's situa- 
 tion, she wished " that heaven had made her 
 such a man." It was also evident at some 
 times that her father so wished, and in the 
 extreme guilelessness of his nature his thoughts 
 were generally so apparent, that Emma at 
 some moments feared they might be read by 
 Mr. Melville, at others she was led to con- 
 clude that certain conversations had already 
 passed between them, which were only kept 
 secret from her on account of the distressing 
 situation in which they were all placed — a 
 situation in which it was evident there must 
 be no " marrying, nor giving in marriage." 
 
 That Mr. Melville was sometimes under a 
 pressure of painful solicitude, distinct from 
 his grief for his cousin's illness, and his 
 sympathy for his uncle, she could not doubt 
 from the vague answers she would sometimes 
 receive from him; but she was also sensible 
 that from the relief to sad thoughts he evi- 
 dently gained in their society, it could 
 not be of a verxj distressing nature. Some- 
 times she fancied he might be, like herself, 
 under pecuniary embarrassment; but this idea 
 had ground but a short time. The projected 
 voyage to Madeira began next to be talked
 
 158 MODERATION, 
 
 of, and from her own feelings she judged 
 that it was a very painful subject of thought ; 
 and such was the flutter of spirits it awakened, 
 that for some days she avoided as much as 
 possible remaining in the room during the 
 time of those visits now doublv dear and 
 important. 
 
 It was not difficult to effect this even by 
 the visitant's desire — he knew that her couch 
 was now in the same apartment with her 
 father's, who complained how much he dis- 
 turbed her, and would say, " now our dear 
 Charles is come, try to get a little sleep, 
 Emma," a request constantly seconded by 
 him who had already perhaps scanned her 
 with an alarmed or pitying eye. Ah! how 
 often has she retired speedily, to hide the 
 swellings of a heart ready to break! — how 
 often has she thrown herself on the couch, 
 not to sleep, but to weep! 
 
 W hen circumstances forbade Mr. Melville 
 to remain more than a single hour, and the 
 attentions of Emma were also more demand- 
 ed, still would the considerate father seek to 
 render her a partaker in those benefits be- 
 stowed by his presence. " My poor Emma 
 languishes for want of air," he would say,
 
 MODERATION. 169 
 
 " take her, dear Charles, if but for ten mi- 
 nutes, into the lemon tree-avenue." 
 
 There were many times when Emma de- 
 clined this, from a dread that her father's 
 words should be misinterpreted ; a fear that 
 explanation might take place, which was 
 yet not always perhaps unmingled with a 
 hope that the certain something, which every 
 day increased, would so far reveal itself as to 
 become a thing intelligible, however distant. 
 These walks, though taken under those cir- 
 cumstances most likely to bring such an 
 event to pass, always left Emma more in the 
 dark than ever. There was a garden behind 
 the hotel, in which a fine fountain threw up 
 ten thousand sparkling drops, which cooled 
 all the atmosphere around it ; an atmosphere 
 impregnated by the odours of a thousand 
 fragrant plants, and the road to which was 
 bordered by lemon trees now full of fruit. 
 The evening breeze, an hour after sunset, 
 played sweetly in this lovely spot, which was 
 secluded from all observation, though so near 
 the house as to admit of a summons to Emma 
 from the balcony of her father's chamber — it 
 was evident that tender things might be 
 heard and answered, tears might flow and
 
 lGO MODERATION. 
 
 blushes arise, unseen and unreproved ; and 
 hearts burthened by many sources of uneasi- 
 ness might here give and receive the conso- 
 lation of confidence and mutual support. 
 
 But rarely, from the moment on which 
 Emma had thrown her veil around her, did 
 that voice, which was music to her ear and 
 solace to her soul, continue its power to 
 soothe her, much less seek from her that sa- 
 tisfaction it was surely possible she might 
 give ! No ! that kind voice which had been 
 so long employed in reading, or speaking to 
 the invalid, was suddenly mute, that store of 
 information, that ready communication of 
 circumstance or sentiment, was checked ; yet 
 it was evident that the fountain was not dry, 
 nor the will to be kind exhausted — evident 
 also, that consolation was required, that he 
 who had exerted himself for others was ear- 
 nestly desiring pity, yet could not ask for it. 
 
 True, there were moments when the sweets 
 of external nature seemed suddenly to infuse 
 themselves into the very spirits of two young 
 persons so calculated to feel, in their utmosc 
 extent, whatever could affect their sensibility, 
 and pour into their hearts that comfort for 
 which both looked on high. Moments in
 
 MODERATION. l6l 
 
 which silence was not restraint, and sighs 
 breathed more of gratitude for the temporary 
 blessing experienced, than grief for the con- 
 stant affliction under which they laboured. 
 They tasted at once of happiness in that 
 deep, but silent certainty of loving, which 
 creates a quiet repose in the heart predisposed 
 by sorrow to feel its own necessity for such 
 support, more sweet and pure than those 
 under circumstances of felicity, perhaps, 
 have ever tasted. Sometimes Melville would 
 stop a moment and look earnestly at Emma, 
 and she would half throw back her veil, cast 
 her eyes timidly down, and seem willing to 
 listen, and able to listen calmly ; but he 
 spoke not, or only adverted to the poetical 
 beauty of all around them, the glorious arch 
 of heaven above them, and thence to the dis- 
 tant tinklings of the convent bell, the vesper 
 hymn floating on the perfumed breeze ; and 
 then bade her suddenly good night. 
 
 M
 
 a 64 
 
 CHAP. X. 
 
 After the conversation we have related, it 
 may be concluded that Emma was speedily 
 relieved from that perpetually harassing cir- 
 cumstance which had so long distressed her ; 
 and, with his usual delicacy, Mr. Melville 
 made his uncle the medium of her conveni- 
 ence, in consequence of which, several letters 
 passed between her and that gentleman; but 
 as his residence was two miles distant, and 
 his health much affected bv his uneasiness, 
 she had not any personal interview. 
 
 At this time, Mr. Carysford frequently la- 
 mented that they had not any other acquaint- 
 ance who might, in a slight degree, repair 
 the loss they must so soon encounter, in the 
 removal of the only English family the^y 
 knew, even by name ; but Emma always 
 entreated him with so much earnestness not 
 to lament it on her account, that he began to 
 trust she was not less capable of that firmness
 
 MODERATION. lfo 
 
 and fortitude her situation called for, than that 
 unbounded activity of kindness and consi- 
 deration she had so lono; evinced. 
 
 It had been for some time the custom of 
 Emma to read those Prayers for the Sick, 
 with her father in the evenings, which he 
 had formerly so often read with other suf- 
 ferers, and to which he could always listen 
 with a spirit of devotion, not the less fervent 
 because those beautiful forms of prayer were 
 familiar to him, and of late James was enabled 
 also to creep into his beloved master's cham- 
 ber on these occasions. Melville was not 
 only privileged to share their devotions, but 
 if present he frequently took the office of 
 reader with the same holy vigilance that he 
 shared that of nurse, and seldom perhaps have 
 " two or three been gathered together," so 
 distinct in age, character, and situation, 
 whose prayers ascended with more fervor, or 
 whose faith was more pure and stedfast — all 
 felt that the sacred compact which bound 
 them together was on the point of dissolution 
 in one sense, but that it was eternal in 
 another, and they embraced the power of 
 once more worshipping together, less as a 
 
 M 2
 
 104 MODERATION. 
 
 duty than a privilege — a blessing to be 
 seized with sacred ardour, fur who durst 
 say it might be enjoyed again. 
 
 if such had been the sentiments affecting 
 the party, how much stronger did they be- 
 come at this period, when he who was the 
 one strong, the one powerful to act, to think, 
 to sustain the rest — the one, apparently sent, 
 und certainly received, as a gift from God 
 himself, was called to fulfil more immediate 
 obligations, and resumed when he was most 
 effectually become a " ministering angel" to 
 their various necessities. He was taken as 
 it were when he was most needed, and when 
 perhaps a very little time longer might suffice 
 for his cares — all this James in his sorrow 
 said, or wept very audibly ; and scarcely could 
 Ehud. a prevail on herself to remonstrate with 
 the poor fellow, on the expression of praise 
 or sorrow which had an echo in her own heart, 
 and which he had certainly a stronger right 
 to express than his master or herself in one 
 sense. lie had however lived too long with 
 that beloved master, not to repress though 
 he could not conquer the sorrow this an- 
 nounced removal occasioned, and ashamed of
 
 MODERATION. J 65 
 
 betraying grief for his own expected loss 
 in Melville, he endeavoured to account for it 
 by a better cause than that of selfishness. 
 
 " Whenever the Captain goes, it will be all 
 over with my poor master, that's all I think 
 about — it is'nt that the sight on him does 
 my heart good, coming so free and kind- 
 hearted to an old servant, nor it is'nt his 
 driving off the rapskallions that murdered me, 
 like a brave soldier as I shall always call 
 him — no, no, what I fret about is altogether 
 for his worship." 
 
 Happily this trial, his last, and in the pre- 
 sent state of his attenuated frame and weak- 
 ened mind, one of no little import, was met 
 by the dying christian, with that meek acqui- 
 escence, that unruffled harmony of patience 
 and temper, which well became the disciple 
 of a crucified Lord. Subduing every disposi- 
 tion to complain of untoward circumstances, 
 to express a single wish to retain him, though 
 a sigh would arise when he had observed the 
 wind was favourable for their voyage, it was 
 never followed by one half-murmured com- 
 plaint. With a heart naturally so warmly 
 attached and now closely tied to few objects 
 only, with sensibility so acute, and rendered
 
 lGG MODERATION. 
 
 now more exquisitely so from the powers 
 of the mind becoming enfeebled, no conduct 
 could mure fully evince the grateful hu- 
 mility, the complete self-control, and the en- 
 tire annihilation of selfish feelings. Ah! how 
 much more of the " spirit of Christ" might 
 be read in the hastily wiped tear, in the 
 cheering tone of Mr. Carysford, than in the 
 boastings of many who would stigmatize him 
 as a stranger to its divine influence. 
 
 One morning, when alter many farewells 
 which had yet not proved the last, and had 
 therefore tended to convey the idea that " after 
 all perhaps the Melvilles would not go," Emma 
 in reply to his enquiries said, "the wind was 
 favourable so far as there was any, but the 
 weather was dreadfully sultry." 
 
 "Then they will go this morning, I hope — 
 the poor young man will be better at sea — " 
 
 " He will," said Emma, but she could say 
 no more, the "hope" would not be uttered; it 
 stuck, like the " amen" of the murderous 
 Macbeth, in her throat, but with far different 
 sensations in its company. 
 
 " Well, well," said the good father, after 
 a long pause, " his trill be done. 1 may Bay, 
 Emma, with the Psalmist, ' very pleasant hast
 
 MODERATION. 167 
 
 thou been unto me,' my son Charles Melville 
 — in truth, ' goodness and mercy' were sin- 
 gularly manifested in lending us such a com- 
 forter : if God resume his gifts, we must re- 
 member it is our duty 
 
 ' To praise him for all that is past, 
 
 ' And trust hiiii for all that's to come.' " 
 
 " I wish," said Emma, with difficulty, 
 " poor James may be able to do so ; he really 
 idolizes the Captain, (as he will call him,) and 
 has borrowed a pair of crutches, I find, and 
 set out an hour ago to take one more look of 
 his deliverer — he is the most affectionate, 
 the most attached creature — there never was 
 such a man, I am very certain." 
 
 Perhaps we have no right to look too 
 closely into the recesses of that sweet mai- 
 den's heart, as she thus used James in lawful 
 service, nor to inquire too curiously whether 
 her last exclamation of praise, and the gush- 
 ing tears which accompanied it, were ap- 
 plicable to the man of whom she sj?oke, or 
 the man of whom she thought — it is enough 
 to say, that, although by no means pleased 
 with the conduct of the wind that morning, 
 and willing also to hide tears which were
 
 168 MODERATION. 
 
 mingled with blushes, she turned towards the 
 window from whence she had already seen 
 distant streamers often consulted of late ; at 
 the same moment, a well known tap was 
 heard at the door, and, in another moment, 
 Melville once more entered. 
 
 Mr. Carysford was laid upon a sofa near 
 the balcony, with his back to the door, and 
 did not hear the low tremulous tap, now 
 more faint than ever, for it resembled the feel- 
 ings of the visitant. He caught the tear- 
 covered visage of Emma, when he ventured 
 to step forward, and exclaimed, 
 
 " In tears, my dear Miss Carysford?" 
 
 " We thought you were gone." 
 
 This might be an exclamation already on 
 the lips of Emma, occasioned by seeing him 
 — it might be an answer, and the quick blush, 
 the quicker drops that fell glistening down 
 her cheeks, proved that, whether it were or 
 not, his supposed absence had occasioned 
 the present emotion. For a moment a look 
 of joy, of gratitude, too great for utterance, 
 rose on his animated countenance ; he took 
 her hand, and seemed about to thank her for 
 this indication of an interest so dear, so i/tcs- 
 iimable, as he evidently felt it: but it ap-
 
 MODERATION. l69 
 
 peared that it was only to lead her towards 
 the couch, that she might announce him, as 
 she was wont to do, — his conduct was inex- 
 plicable, she thought it almost cruel, but she 
 recovered herself instantly by a strong effort. 
 
 " My dear Sir, your friend is come once 
 more to see you." 
 
 " Ah ! Charles again ! my son ! at least 
 my son's best substitute, I had not hoped for 
 this pleasure." 
 
 As Mr. Carysford spoke, tears of delight 
 swam in his too brilliant eyes; he raised him- 
 self eagerly, but, notwithstanding the ex- 
 citement he experienced, fell back upon his 
 pillow, and it was evident to Mr. Melville, 
 not only that his exhaustion was extreme, 
 but that the thin, trembling hands with which 
 he sought to press those of his beloved visit- 
 ant, were more feverish than he had ever 
 known them. He turned his eyes to commu- 
 nicate the apprehensions he felt to Emma, 
 but her looks were averted, nor could he 
 desire they should be otherways, and he 
 therefore began to speak in that hasty man- 
 ner which was meant at once to hide his 
 emotions, and, if possible, subdue them. 
 
 " We have, you see, the wind in our fa-
 
 170 MODERATION. 
 
 vour, all our packages arc on board ; but the 
 day is so dreadfully sultry, some hours must 
 pass before — before my cousin can be re- 
 moved ; when the sun declines, we shall ven- 
 ture. I have got all things in readiness, and 
 as James has, 1 find, played the truant so far 
 as to come down to us, and Sir Grindly Mel- 
 ville is delighted with him, he desired leave 
 to keep him till we had set sail." 
 
 " By all means ; Emma, my love, you can 
 spare him, indeed the poor man can do no- 
 thing for us you know?" 
 
 " Nothing," said Emma. 
 
 " My dear Sir, in making this request, I 
 merely acquitted myself of a promise ; you 
 are very unwell to-day, James ought to be 
 with you, I had much rather he were : are 
 you certain I can be of no further use to 
 you?" 
 
 " Oh no, you have sent me stores for a 
 magazine of invalids ; you can do nothing 
 for me save sitting down beside Emmy and 
 allowing me to look at you a little longer." 
 
 The thick and altered voice of the invalid 
 thrilled the heart of Melville, but it was evi- 
 dent that Emma did not perceive it — evident 
 that she felt to a certain degree surprised
 
 MODERATION, 171 
 
 and offended, yet not resentful, that the re- 
 membrance that this was their last meeting, 
 quenched the fire of anger though it could 
 not allay its pain. To say how severe the 
 pangs of his heart were for having raised such 
 discordant feelings in that kind and gentle 
 bosom is impossible, and if Emma had cast 
 her eyes upon him, his ingenuous counte- 
 nance would (in despite of even the efforts of 
 his manly mind) have shown her how terrible 
 a struggle was passing there. As it was, the 
 daughter sat near him and saw him not, the 
 father never ceased to gaze upon him, thereby 
 increasing his distress, yet somewhat chang- 
 ing its object. 
 
 The entrance of a servant with the patient's 
 broth, broke up the mournful and silent com- 
 pany. Melville once more pressed the hand 
 which would never more return that pressure, 
 and the drops which fell on it so far softened 
 Emma's heart, that hers too was yielded once 
 more to the farewell kiss. — 
 
 All was still silent — Melville was now 
 gone — the hoofs of his mule's last pattering 
 had ceased, and Emma enquired "why she 
 had been deceived in the first place, or angry 
 in the second, — why she had been so agitated
 
 1 72 M D E R A T 1 O N . 
 
 at all," — she was ashamed, angry with herself, 
 hut her tears again ilowcd. 
 
 " Emma, I cannot take this hroth to day — 
 remove it." Emma obeyed, and on casting 
 her eyes over that emaciated form, wondered 
 how she could for a moment think on any 
 other subject, she hastily wiped her eyes, 
 and blamed herself "for being childish and 
 nervous." 
 
 " You are neither, dear Emma, for you have 
 that quiet fortitude, and general equality of 
 temper, which becomes you as a woman, and 
 is honourable to you as a christian — but it is 
 natural that vou should lament a loss of so 
 much importance to us both — would that 
 your brother were here, my love ; I should be 
 glad to see Charles, very, very glad, and my 
 sister Tintagell too — poor Alathea! I love 
 Alathea, she is a noble minded creature." 
 
 " And Harriet and Sophia, father? you wish 
 for them too, dear Sir?" 
 
 " I do — yet were they here I should soon 
 send all away but you, Emma — they would 
 talk too much or too little ; do too much or 
 too little ; but you my child, arc always right, 
 you understand me, Emma. I can be weak 
 or strong with you, as the feeling of the mo-
 
 MODERATION. 173 
 
 ment prompts — never man was so supported, 
 so blest as I have been in you and Charles." 
 
 Emma enquired not " which Charles ?" 
 thought not which Charles, for the altered 
 voice now struck her as it had struck Mel- 
 ville, and her heart sunk within her, and she 
 sat in silence, waiting for she knew not what 
 of new trial. 
 
 After a considerable period, she perceived 
 that her father had fallen asleep, and even 
 when she drew near and wiped his forehead 
 he did not awake, it was a more composing 
 and general rest, than he had lately experi- 
 enced, and the more desirable on account 
 of the extraordinary heat of the day, which 
 was such as to excite some alarming obser- 
 vations from the servants of the house, as if 
 it were the forerunner of earthquake. 
 
 As she sat watching the sleeper, she recol- 
 lected them, in such a way as if this were 
 the first moment in which she had had time 
 to think on earthquakes ; to remember that 
 she was on the spot where that most tre- 
 mendous and appalling of all heaven's minis- 
 ters of wrath had been exhibited in its most 
 destructive form, and that she might shortly 
 become its victim.
 
 174 MODERATION. 
 
 " I must conquer this fear before it has 
 time to fasten on my mind," said Emma, 
 " 1 must pray against it, read against it, 
 I must caution the servants not to speak 
 in my father's presence." 
 
 She left the room on tiptoe for that pur- 
 pose, and as she was universally beloved as 
 the best of daughters, and the most amiable 
 of heretics, easily obtained a promise " that 
 the sick gentleman should not be disturbed 
 by any painful surmises," which promise in- 
 cluded equal caution as to James, who was 
 well known to have no secrets with his 
 master. On returning, she had still the satis- 
 faction to find her father continued to sleep, 
 and she even took her soup and omelette with- 
 out disturbing him. it was evident that he 
 had less fever than he had had for some 
 months, nor could she recollect the dav when 
 he had coughed so little, and slept so sweetly. 
 " Was it possible that some internal change 
 had taken place on which hope might build? 
 had the thickness of his voice, the increased 
 weakness of the morning, been occasioned by 
 some breaking of an inward ulcer, some of 
 those changes of which she had heard and 
 read?"
 
 MODERATION. 175 
 
 Full of solicitude, eager to ascertain a 
 fact which the buoyancy of youthful expecta- 
 tion made half a certainty, even in despite of 
 the sad spectacle presented to her eyes, she 
 knelt down by the sofa, and with clasped hands 
 and streaming eyes endeavoured to form a 
 prayer for his restoration — but hope, and 
 self-deception, struggled in vain against the 
 sad conviction before her; and not words, but 
 deep sighs burst from her lips, and whilst she 
 tried to utter, "not my will but thine be 
 done," sleep fled, and her father's eyes were 
 upon her. 
 
 "My Harriet! my beloved wife!" said 
 Mr. Carysford, in a pleasant clear voice. 
 
 Was this the wandering of delirium? or the 
 lingering dream of the long and salutary sleep 
 he had enjoyed? and which could not fail to 
 have been restorative from the effect it had 
 had upon his voice — the heart of Emma 
 throbbed violently with newly awakened 
 hope ; how willingly could she again watch 
 for months, and even years, over the couch 
 of sickness, if at last her father would re- 
 cover — " and who could sav he should not? 
 circumstances as extraordinary had hap- 
 pened "
 
 176 MODERATION. 
 
 " Dear Sir, you have had a long com- 
 fortable sleep, and are better for it I trust — 
 it is Emma, father, that speaks to you, your 
 daughter." 
 
 " Yes ! Emma, my good little girl — I 
 thought she had received 'me in Heaven 
 when my two sons, the dark and the fair 
 Charles, bore me thither — I fancy it was all 
 a dream, I have been very fast asleep." 
 
 As Mr. Carysford spoke, he passed his 
 hand over his forehead and became very 
 pale, and Emma saw his mind was slightly 
 wandering, but she thought that was not sur- 
 prising, for he had been many hours w.ih- 
 out food or medicine. The latter as a resto- 
 rative, she instantly gave him, and in a short 
 time she had the satisfaction to see him take 
 the former with more zest than he had done 
 some time; he said, "he was certainly 
 better, but sensible of great cold, and when 
 Emma had laid a shawl over his feet, he 
 begged her to draw a seat close to him, and 
 chafe his hands between hers." 
 
 Emma sat down on a low seat, surprised 
 how such a sensation could possibly affect 
 any person that day, but she fondly held 
 those dear wasted hands to her checks and
 
 MODERATION. 177 
 
 her lips, and thought she should soon warm 
 them. 
 
 " Where is James ? call him, mv love." 
 
 " He is not yet returned from the Mel- 
 villes." 
 
 " I remember now, they were to depart at 
 sunset ; I should like to be moved nearer to 
 that side, and look at the setting sun myself, 
 it is a glorious sight." 
 
 Emma wheeled the sofa into the proper 
 place. 
 
 " My love, you had better call old Barba, 
 or Diego, I am very, very chill. God sup- 
 port thee, my child : he will sustain thee as 
 thou hast sustained me." 
 
 Emma dropped almost unconsciously upon 
 her knees ; she still held her father's hands, 
 and was held bv them ; therefore she could 
 not move without inflicting disturbance at a 
 moment so awful, so alarming — she could 
 not reply save by caresses, and her heart as- 
 cended in earnest prayer for him to heaven. 
 
 " Tell my children — tell Charles, for them 
 I have no new commandment — you all know 
 how I have loved you — say to our dear 
 neighbours, to my beloved people, ' stand fast 
 
 in the faith,' ' be not carried away ' 
 
 N
 
 178 MODERATION. 
 
 Poor James ! — my child! Emma! id y poor 
 girl ! " 
 
 " Father, dear father, think not of me : 
 your God will have mercy on me, as on you." 
 
 As she spoke these words, she rose, and 
 with a convulsive motion threw her arms 
 round her father, and drew him towards her: 
 she saw his features, his mouth indicated his 
 wonted smile, and the words, " Glory be to 
 his name," seemed partly to meet her ear ; 
 but the last vestige of life had left the body 
 she grasped, and in another moment, the seal 
 uf death was on the face also. 
 
 " All, all is over ! " 
 
 As these words issued from Emma's lips, 
 she sank down by the couch with her head 
 on the breast of the corpse, but she did not 
 faint, though a sense of severe disappoint- 
 ment and awe, of surprise and grief, not un- 
 mingled with gratitude to heaven, altogether 
 overcame her with feelings, which, in their 
 excess, produced apparent stupor. The en- 
 trance of Barba, at the accustomed hour with 
 coffee, spread the news of Mr. Carysford's 
 death (and her consequent distress) through 
 the house, and one of the servants lost not 
 a moment in setting out to seek James,
 
 MODERATION. 179 
 
 The voice of kindness, however, and by 
 whomsoever uttered, in such a moment as this, 
 is valuable, whether its dictates are obeyed or 
 not. Emma did not refuse the advice of old 
 Barba; she retired to her own room, she sought 
 " to commune with her own heart and be still," 
 but the perturbation would not cease, the 
 effects of her past shock, and even the al- 
 most supernatural effort she had made to meet 
 it at the moment, would not subside; and it 
 will be naturally supposed that her sense of 
 bereavement was increased bv the utter loneli- 
 ness of her situation; the want of even one 
 human being who could understand her lamen- 
 tations. 
 
 Hour after hour passed, and Emma con- 
 tinued with slowly falling foot to traverse her 
 chamber; the day was long closed, and she 
 heard nothing of James, whom she now de- 
 sired vet dreaded to see. Conscious that she 
 ought to exert herself, and feeling that strange 
 impatience to return to her father, which 
 manv of us have felt also, and can be fullv 
 understood by all who have waited long at 
 the sick couch of a beloved relative, she 
 rang the bell to enquire. Barba answered it, 
 said " the messenger had seen James, and 
 
 n 2
 
 M) MODERATION. 
 
 that he raved like a distracted man, abusing 
 himself by all sorts of names for leaving his 
 master, but yet he had not returned with him." 
 
 As the old woman spoke, she held her lamp 
 as if to light Emma to her father's bed-room ; 
 she followed her to the door, then took the 
 lamp and entered alone. 
 
 The corpse was laid on the bed he had so 
 long occupied, the eyes were closed, the jaws 
 were bound, yet so mild, so sleeplike, it was 
 scarcely possible to think the last great, change 
 had passed over it. Emma kissed the fore- 
 head, and her tears fell on the marble face — 
 she wiped them away, and was led by that 
 action to remark the total want of that nicety 
 of arrangement in all things around, by which 
 in her own country even poverty beautifies 
 death by the cares of affection. 
 
 Habitually neat to delicacy, and active in 
 all the offices of love, she could not forbear 
 to supply these deficiencies, and on recollecting 
 that it was probable they had been neglected 
 under the idea that as the corpse of an here- 
 tical priest, the precious dust before her was 
 unworthy " due observances," her oppressed 
 spirit rose to the affecting task, and she deter- 
 mined not to quit her father's corpse till she
 
 MODERATION". 181 
 
 had laid it in the last receptacle, paid it the 
 last honours. 
 
 It is the happy condition of our nature, that 
 all personal exertion lessens mental grief, and 
 subdues the turmoil of passion — Emma was 
 faint and weak, lowly and sorrowful, yet she 
 found a power of arranging this bed of death 
 like that of her mother (as far as she was able) 
 to a certain degree recall her scattered spirits, 
 and lead her to see how much the hand of 
 mercy had attempered this awful consumma- 
 tion to both him who departed and her who 
 was left. 
 
 It was now midnight, all without was silent 
 as that breathless form before her — no longer 
 the short cough, the whispered request broke 
 on her ear; the kind words, the thankful smile 
 no longer soothed whilst they wrung her heart; 
 her "occupation" was indeed gone, and all 
 around her was cold, cheerless, isolated, and 
 friendless : the one countenance she could 
 have gazed at with pleasure, the one voice she 
 could have listened to with comfort, was 
 taken from her as effectually, " perhaps as 
 eternally as her father — but we shall meet in 
 heaven, why did I say eternally?" thought 
 Emma.
 
 182 MODERATION. 
 
 At this moment she became aware that steps 
 were near the door, whisperings were heard, 
 and deep sighs ; soon afterwards, a loud bur>t 
 of irrepressible sorrow announced the return 
 of poor James, and at the same time it was 
 plain that his steps turned from the door as if 
 he were unable to meet her. 
 
 Emma instantly conceived, and pitied the 
 sorrow, and the self-reproach, this honest af- 
 fectionate servant could not fail to endure 
 from the peculiar circumstances in which he 
 stood. She rose from her own little couch, 
 and opening the door, cast her eyes down tin 
 gallery, which was only lighted by the ray 
 from that lamp within her chamber — a ma:\ 
 was standing very near. 
 
 "James," said Emma in a mournful but kind 
 tone, "James, are you come?" 
 
 " It is not James," replied a voice which 
 thrilled to her heart though it answered in a 
 low inarticulate manner. 
 
 Emma started back into the chamber half 
 terrified, but she was followed by Melville, who 
 eagerly told her "that James, on hearing of 
 his master's death, and having the vessel still 
 before his eyes into which they had removed 
 but half an hour before, had procured a boat,
 
 MODERATION. 183 
 
 followed them, and caused him to return — lie 
 thought," added he, " poor fellow, that I 
 should be a " 
 
 Most probably Melville meant to say, " a 
 comfort," but his eyes at this moment turned 
 upon the bed, where lay the pale remains of 
 him whom he had so long loved as a friend, 
 and revered as a saint, to whom he had (as an 
 orphan from infancy) wished to believe that 
 he could indulge the feelings which belonged 
 to the tenderness due to a mother, and the 
 honour claimed by a father — the lips were 
 now sealed for ever in the coldness of death, 
 which, that very morning, had so warmly 
 blessed him ; never more would the instruc- 
 tion which had assisted, the information 
 which had delighted him, proceed from them 
 again. 
 
 Melville gazed and wept, and for some 
 moments the evident agony of his heart shook 
 his manly frame with convulsive agitation ; 
 but the sigh of Emma caught his ear, the 
 sigh of her who had suffered so long, whose 
 loss, and, consequently, whose affliction, 
 was so much greater than his own could pos- 
 sibly be. 
 
 " Pardon me," he stammered out at length,
 
 184 MODERATION. 
 
 " I would not — God knows I would not add 
 to your troubles — but he was so kind to me ! 
 so dear to me ! so — " 
 
 " You were indeed much beloved by him, 
 he spoke of you almost the last thing — called 
 you his son." 
 
 " And you were alone they say, Emma 
 with him at that moment? Charles had de- 
 serted you ; he did not merit to be so remem- 
 bered." 
 
 " You could not help it ; your duties 
 called you from us : you have done all you 
 could, Melville." 
 
 " Ah ! Emma, dear, dear Emma, how truly 
 do you say I have done all I could. Alas ! 
 that all was of a nature I cannot now explain. 
 But I can do no more. I cannot see you 
 thus, a sufferer in a strange country, alone, 
 
 pale, sick, perhaps dying also 1 cannot 
 
 see this without devoting myself to you 
 wholly, without offering you the most ardent 
 affection, admiration, that heart can feel, 
 that and yet, what can I do ? other suf- 
 ferers claim me, I am loved so tenderly — 
 leaned upon so helplessly — I am to the dying 
 what you have been to the dead ; think for 
 me, Emma, speak for me, what must I do ?"
 
 MODERATION. 185 
 
 This was declaration ; it was acknowledged 
 love ; and though offered in a season when 
 happy love would have been profanation to 
 the sacred claims of sorrow, it could not be 
 refused on that account, for it was offered 
 with the tone and gesture of a heart torn 
 with anguish and alarm — offered — ah, no ! 
 that could not be called an offer which was 
 instantly retracted ; which was rather thrown 
 before her in the confusion of weakness, as 
 that which ought to be refused, than pre- 
 sented, in the confidence of honour and affec- 
 tion, claiming acceptance and reciprocal at- 
 tachment. 
 
 Yet under any possible circumstances it is 
 certain the assurance of being beloved by one 
 so dear, so justly and entirely esteemed, was 
 sweetly consolatory to the heart of Emma — 
 hers was a gentle, modest, self-subdued, yet 
 generous and lofty spirit ; she sought to con- 
 trol, and she did control and moderate, every 
 violent desire and wayward inclination ; but 
 yet she was a young, tender-hearted woman, 
 bowed down by the most natural grief, and 
 touched with the most lively admiration, the 
 most ardent friendship. It was dear and 
 grateful to her heart to see the veil stripped,
 
 18G MODERATION. 
 
 though but for a moment, which revealed to 
 her how deeply seated, how vividly displayed, 
 was that passion which till now was never 
 permitted to own its existence. The sense of 
 comfort, of peace, which was thus given to 
 her mind, enabled her, notwithstanding the 
 profound sympathy which the complicated 
 sorrows of Melville inspired, to soothe the 
 agonies of his mind, and confirm him in the 
 path of duty, and, judging of his feelings by 
 her own, she did this most effectually by as- 
 suring him, " that, though weak with sorrow 
 and fatigue, yet she was not otherwise ill — 
 that her awful, but most endeared task being 
 over, she should return to her country with 
 the mournful satisfaction of knowing that she- 
 had done her best to smooth the pillow of 
 suffering, and that she had enjoyed in him a 
 friend, a brother, a something more than 
 either — " 
 
 " You will not say lover, Emma — 'tis well, 
 for I cannot ask you ; but surely at this aw- 
 ful moment, heart speaks to heart, and the 
 blessed spirit which has so lately forsaken 
 that venerated clay registers the communion 
 — you will not deny me the consolation of 
 believing this ? "
 
 MODERATION. 187 
 
 " No, dear Charles, I will not." 
 
 " Ten thousand blessings be on )uu for 
 those words, they will give me the power to do 
 my duty, my duty! can it be right to leave 
 you ? — impossible." 
 
 " Unquestionably it is, have you not told us 
 that your uncle was your parent ? is not your 
 cousin, brother, sister, sole relative and 
 friend to you? you must go, you must ful- 
 fil all your own sense of love and obliga' 
 tion." 
 
 " Then it must be this moment, if I listen 
 to you, if I look at you again, Emma, I am 
 lost — I have a thousand things to say, tc 
 confess ; but this is not the time, there never 
 has been a time." 
 
 The heavy steps and crutch of poor James 
 was heard in the gallery. 
 
 " My time is gone, but the boat shall wait, 
 we shall but lose one tide, and I must provide 
 you a friend — that at least is in my power." 
 
 For a moment Melville caught her in his 
 arms, each threw their eyes on the corpse, for 
 they could not look on each other, thick suf- 
 focating sobs rose from either breast, and tears 
 streamed from their eyes — .'twas but till 
 James tapped at the door, and then Emma
 
 188 MODERATION. 
 
 found herself dismissed with a heavy groan 
 from the arms which had enfolded her, she 
 was seated on a chair, the door was closed. 
 the feet departed with rapidly-descending 
 
 steps, and all was again silent and deserted; 
 it was a^ain the chamber of death. 
 
 The people of the house, considering thaV 
 the stranger might have certain rites to per- 
 form agreeable to her own religion, or be- 
 lieving her perhaps too devoid of any to be an 
 object of interest, suffered her to remain un- 
 disturbed ; and as James had again departed, 
 being advised, almost commanded, "not vet 
 to intrude upon her," she remained alone the 
 rest of the night — sometimes in tears, some- 
 times in prayer, endeavouring to subdue her 
 emotions, and tranquillize the strange confu- 
 sion of her thoughts, which on reflection 
 seemed to forbid her to repose on the love of 
 one whose words were mysterious, though his 
 countenance was open and his nature frank. 
 
 At length, nature exhausted by long suffer 
 ing sunk unexpectedly into that uneasy slum- 
 ber, which a frame unequal to further en- 
 durance found even on that scat which was 
 close by the bed of her father.
 
 189 
 
 CHAP. XI. 
 
 Uay was risen, and the world was abroad, 
 before poor Emma's head was so far raised 
 from the wall against which she leaned, as to 
 be sensible of her situation. When she did 
 look up, James stood before her, and old 
 Barba was near him, but as she cast her 
 eyes towards the bed and recollected all that 
 had occurred, she became fearful that she 
 had not fulfilled her watch, and eagerly rose 
 to see that the treasure was safe. 
 
 Her own cambric handkerchief was on the 
 face, for James had thrown it there; as she 
 removed it she trembled violently, for the first 
 time an undefined, but secret fear pervaded 
 her heart. 
 
 The altered hue told her that her fears, 
 her sensations had cause ; and the earnest en- 
 treaty of James that she would leave the 
 chamber was faintly parried, until it appeared 
 evident that the poor man conceived himself
 
 J90 MODERATION. 
 
 to be under her displeasure ; she could not 
 remove this weight upon his mind without 
 acceding to his wish, and she was too ge- 
 nerous to continue it; she also felt that she 
 had duties to perform, that she was called 
 to think and act, and that therefore she must 
 take refreshment, and see her fellow-creatures 
 on business of the most urgent nature. 
 
 But when Emma held herself prepared for 
 this, she was informed, "that all was kindlv 
 arranged, that the funeral which could not be 
 delayed beyond evening, was already in prepa- 
 ration, that the banker of Mr. Melville had 
 taken charge of every thing, and would engage 
 two English gentlemen to attend their country- 
 man's funeral, cither as mourners or supporters 
 \o her if she wished to attend." 
 
 " I will see him laid in the dust," said 
 Emma, "it is the last duty I can show my 
 father." 
 
 " Yet you can surely trust me, Miss Emma? 
 it will be too much for you — it will indeed." 
 
 Emma shook her head in unbelief. " I shall 
 be sustained through it, I trust — I have borne 
 much more." 
 
 In the hour of evening, about the same 
 period when his pure spirit departed to hie
 
 MODERATION. 191 
 
 God, the necessary attendants arrived, and 
 they proceeded to the English burying- 
 ground. It is well known as a spot singu- 
 larly adapted for the purpose, being shaded 
 by dark cypress trees, which cast their long 
 mournful shadows over the graves of many 
 young, beautiful, and wealthy from our na- 
 tive shores ; and such was its affecting influ- 
 ence on the mind of Emma, that she never 
 visited it but once, when she had accompa- 
 nied Melville thither, whilst her father sat by 
 the sick bed of James. The funeral was per- 
 formed by a young clergyman apparently in 
 delicate health himself; and that sublime 
 and affecting service which she had so often 
 heard read by the deceased, under such cir- 
 cumstances, was almost overwhelming. She 
 clung to the arm of her unknown and unseen 
 countryman, for her veil was closely wrapt 
 around her, and for a short time feared that 
 she should faint. 
 
 This stranger was evidently a man of 
 much sympathy, his own sighs responded to 
 hers, and his aspirations were fervent — she 
 was persuaded he was the father of a family ; 
 probably had himself laid a blooming daugh- 
 ter or a promising son in that cemetery ; but
 
 192 MODERATION. 
 
 of him, or for him, Emma could not think at 
 such a time, further than to be grateful for 
 his tender attention and paternal care. 
 
 The last look was taken, the crumbling 
 mould fell hard and dry on the coffin, and 
 scarcely could the shaking limbs of Emma 
 support her through the avenue which led to 
 the carriage. Another gentleman now took 
 her hand, placed his arm round her, and sup- 
 ported her, and when she entered the coach, 
 followed her into it ; but the person on whom 
 she had hitherto leaned stepped into another 
 carriage, and drove away in a manner which 
 betokened great haste. Surely the vessel 
 which she knew had been hired by Sir Geof- 
 frey was still in the river detained for this 
 purpose — the farewell pressure of that 
 friendly hand, told her that it was, it could 
 be no other than Melville, who had shared 
 her awful situation. * 
 
 The gentleman now in the carriage after 
 some pause addressed her with much cour- 
 tesy, and pressed upon her an invitation to 
 the Banker's house, from whom she had re- 
 ceived so many marks of valuable attention ; 
 and being persuaded that her privacy would 
 be for the present sacred, and that it was a
 
 MODERATION. ]t)3 
 
 most respectable home, she thankfully ac- 
 cepted the offer, sensible of the goodness of 
 Providence in so tempering her sorrow, and 
 securing assistance in the very hour when 
 she seemed bereft of all. She was sensible of 
 great personal weakness, and remembering 
 how much she had suffered during her first 
 voyage, thought that if even it had been 
 possible for her to embark immediately, she 
 ought not to venture — besides, " there was in 
 her own country, at this time, no one person 
 so attractive as even the grave of her father 
 appeared in her eyes. She had no home : 
 no brother to receive and supply to her a 
 father's protection ; no aunt to give her a 
 mother's countenance. Her eldest sister's 
 marriage had taken her in a twofold sense 
 from her family, as her silence implied, and 
 Sophia — " 
 
 Emma stayed the sad current of her medi- 
 tations as her younger sister passed in re- 
 view before her. She recollected the un- 
 feigned sorrow that sister had manifested to- 
 wards her father, the kindness and modesty 
 of her late letters, as contrasted with her 
 former spiritual pride and assumption — her 
 
 extreme youth and the influence which had 
 
 o
 
 194 MODERATION'. 
 
 wrought upon her that partial alienation from 
 her family which was respectable even in its 
 error, in so far as it was sincere, and awakened 
 by the most awful subject of anxiety which 
 can affect the mind. She felt that Sophia had 
 a claim upon her tenderness, her counsel, her 
 forbearance for the future, her forgetfulness of 
 the past; she hoped that the time might yet 
 come when they should " take sweet counsel 
 together, and walk in the house of God," 
 and in the world also, "as friends" and sisters. 
 As it was but too probable that the death of 
 her father might cause Sophia to revert more 
 decidedly than ever to her former associates in 
 the enthusiasm that affecting event would 
 stimulate, Emma determined only with the 
 more affectionate moderation to guide her 
 by degrees into a safer and wiser path — to 
 use the increased light she had herself gained 
 in this eventful period from her father's con- 
 versations ; for the purpose of strengthening 
 the understanding and tranquillizing the con- 
 science of that beloved child, whom she well 
 knew "lay heavy at his heart," almost till 
 its last pulsation. 
 
 The family of Don Chicolo di Albareda, 
 omitted no act of true politeness, and svm-
 
 MODERATION. ] Q5 
 
 pathy towards their guest whom they con 
 sidered the relation of the Melvilles. Emma 
 had been there only three days, when from 
 the arrival of various mails she became all 
 at once as much incommoded with an abund- 
 ance of letters, as she had of late felt herself 
 neglected by their absence. That of Harriet 
 claimed her first attention, because she hoped 
 to find in it reason for long silence, and also 
 inclosures which would be far more welcome 
 than further trespass on her friends. 
 
 Considering Harriet as so newly married, 
 Emma was struck by the multitude of her 
 complaints, but she soon found that her trouble 
 in going to Ireland, her hatred of that place 
 on her arrival, her difficulty in effecting a re- 
 turn, and finally, her dislike and dread of her 
 £reat Indian uncle, who arrived by the spring 
 ships, were all intended as apologies for silence, 
 which she knew to be inexcusable, and for 
 conduct she felt to be so unjust, that every 
 possible palliative had need to be pressed 
 into her service. The letter contained the sum 
 of one out of two hundred pounds, which 
 Charles had commissioned her to send four 
 months before, and which from his own letter 
 it appeared he expected would accompany 
 
 o 2
 
 l[)G .MODERATION. 
 
 a third, which was then due from her husband 
 to Emma for interest. 
 
 "1 know," said Harriet, "you are so very 
 prudent, my dear Emma, and things (1 have 
 understood.) are so very cheap at Lisbon, 
 that I hope the little delay, or the circum- 
 stance of my borrowing a hundred pounds, 
 will not signify; you must be aware how 
 dreadfully L have been troubled for want of 
 money for our double journies, and the 
 necessity 1 was under of appearing like a 
 bride, when we joined Wilmington's regi- 
 ment in Dublin, where the women are, ge- 
 nerally speaking, very handsome, and dress 
 elegantly, and where I was expected to be 
 fashionable. 
 
 " Apropos, pray where have you left those 
 papers. 1 mean the title-deeds of those lew 
 miserable acres which old Fountain digni- 
 fied with the title of " a paternal estate," and 
 which he talks of beautifying, building upon, 
 and what not. Frank says that his mother 
 believes he will purchase the estate, and 
 should he find out the circumstance of the 
 mortgage, he will be enrage with ail the heat 
 of Calcutta, so pray tell me where 1 can get 
 the papers. It strikes me that you left them
 
 MODERATION. ]g7 
 
 with Charles, and that he gave them with 
 other matters of the same description to 
 Sophia, but the little demure minx will not 
 confess, nor allow me to look into the strong- 
 box — never surely was there such a piece of 
 pertinacity; in other respects she is better, for 
 during her illness the new curate attended her, 
 and I apprehend reconverted her; I have a 
 great notion there is something more than 
 meets the eye between them. I hope you 
 will be at home soon, and set all of us to 
 rights ; my father ought to interfere as Sophia 
 is under age." 
 
 " What would have become of me at this 
 moment," said Emma to herself, " if we had 
 not met with Melville? ah! how cruelly sel- 
 fish does extravagance make us, whilst Har- 
 riet could literally rob both Charles and me, 
 at a time when the comforts, the very life of a 
 sick father were affected by the circumstance, 
 in order to deck her own person, to cut a 
 figure among people for whom she could have 
 no regard — fie on it. Sophia, dear Sophia, 
 there is little comparison between your faults 
 and those of your elder sister. Harriet will 
 ruin her husband." 
 
 In a long letter from Mrs. Wilmington,
 
 \[)S MODERATION. 
 
 all her fears on this head were confirmed. 
 She learnt also that Mr. Fountain was angry 
 with his nephew for marrying a woman with 
 so small a fortune as Miss Carysford, he 
 having set his heart it appeared on uniting 
 him to Miss Mortimer, whose early predilec- 
 tion for the army he was well acquainted with, 
 and whose residence in the same village with 
 his friends would have given him a decided 
 advantage: "not," added the writer, "but my 
 brother is reasonable, and was glad to find 
 your sister was Miss Tintagell's favourite ; but 
 since then we have learnt that her rich aunt 
 is as little pleased with the match as toy 
 brother, so you see, my dear Miss Emma, we 
 are all in the wrong, and sincerely do I wish 
 that you and our dear revered friend were here, 
 for you only have influence over my son and 
 daughter." 
 
 In the evident anxiety of this excellenJ 
 mother, she had reserved to a postscript the 
 extraordinary information, that the inhabitants 
 of the Park were all gone to the continent; 
 but the letters of Charles (two of which though 
 written at different periods were now delivered 
 together) gave her the further information as 
 to their route and present situation, likely to
 
 MODERATION. 199 
 
 interest her. She found that Lord Alfre ton's 
 loss of health arose from a wound received in 
 a duel, which had entailed not less weakness 
 of bod\', than remorse of mind, which his aunt 
 kindly sought to ameliorate by introducing to 
 him a relation whose education fitted him to 
 offer that consolation which could alone be 
 considered adequate to the end : " Alas ! " said 
 Charles, " I am very young, Emma, and very 
 unequal to the task. What would I give that 
 my dear father had come to Italy, instead of 
 going to Lisbon, that I might receive from 
 his lips the instructions I desire to convey, 
 that I might exemplify in his character the 
 excellence of those doctrines I wish to incul- 
 cate — every day I desire to set out to you, 
 but this I cannot now do, for my aunt is so 
 fully persuaded that you will leave Lisbon 
 in consequence of the heats of June, that she 
 is arranging her own departure in the hope 
 of finding you at home. God grant she may." 
 Those only who have been similarly situat- 
 ed can conceive what those harrowing sensa- 
 tions were, which such sentences as referred 
 to her father as living, awoke in the breast 
 of his daughter. All spoke of him with that 
 moving tenderness which extended its thril-
 
 COO MODERATION. 
 
 ling influence to her own heart, and the re 
 inembrance that she was called upon to < s- 
 tinguish their hopes, to awaken their sorrows, 
 to live attain through scenes she trembled to 
 recall, or, by using the hand of another, add 
 anxiety on her own account, to grief lor the 
 loss of her father, for some time appalled her 
 with new distress. It led her notwithstanding 
 to remember with gratitude from how much 
 alllietion of a similar nature she had been 
 spared — that source of sweetly treasured satis- 
 faction, which arose from the love of Melville, 
 soothed and to a certain decree invigorated 
 her spirits for the terrible task which still re- 
 mained to her, of announcing the death of 
 one who must be lamented, as he had been 
 beloved. 
 
 We cannot pursue the detail of those feel- 
 ings with which this sad duty was fulfilled, 
 but we may assert that they were struggled 
 with, that Emma did not indulge that sensi- 
 bility which, while it injured her health, would 
 have- delayed her return, and thrown her a pain* 
 ful burden upon the time' and atte-ntion of com- 
 miserating strangers. Nor was it till she had 
 recovered her strength, and by faith and hope 
 attained resignation and equanimity, that she
 
 MODERATION. 201 
 
 fulfilled the foud but melancholy desire she 
 had long felt of visiting her father's grave, and 
 the room in which he died — none of our 
 younger readers will suppose that she omitted 
 to retread the walk which lead to the foun- 
 tain, that she sought to inhale the soft per- 
 fume from the lemon trees, but all should 
 know that although she entered it, yet she 
 wisely and resolutely abandoned her design, 
 sensible that she had already endured an ex- 
 citement to which she was unequal. 
 
 This was the last day of her stay in Lisbon, 
 and at an early hour she was summoned to the 
 vessel, which conveyed her to the packet. 
 She left friends in all who had witnessed her 
 ceaseless vigilance of affection, her tender 
 submission in affliction, the uprightness and 
 punctuality with which she discharged her 
 obligations of business, and the active good- 
 ness and charitable attention she evinced to- 
 wards all her fellow-creatures. Parting is 
 rarely unaccompanied by sorrow, and the 
 kindness of those around her, the memory of 
 that precious dust she left with them, rendered 
 her last adieus necessarily affecting ; bat 
 Emma was surprised to see this emotion par- 
 taken by James also, who continued to wave
 
 202 MODERATION. 
 
 his hat with a sorrowful oft reiterated fare- 
 well, so long as the servants of Don Chicolo 
 and Diego, from the hotel, were visible on the 
 quay. 
 
 When they were safely on board, Emma 
 fearful of sickness remained some time on 
 deck, and the beauty and magnificence of 
 all around her allayed the sad remembrances 
 which necessarily crowded on her mind, and 
 dill'used over it that solace which a widely 
 extended view of nature, in that still hour of 
 morning when creation itself seems reposing, 
 is calculated to produce. So long as she 
 could, she continued to gaze on that spot 
 most endeared to her as the grave of her 
 father; but she soon lost sight of it, and by 
 degrees the magnificent looking city, with its 
 tall white buildings, which had lately risen 
 proudly from the river side as a vast cres- 
 cent, adorned by churches, convents, and 
 palaces, bordered by a noble river, on the broad 
 bosom of which were seen vessels of every 
 nation, now grew less and less, as the Btream 
 widened, and the shore receded, and at length 
 its white walls ceased to sparkle in the sun- 
 beams — the day advanced, but the city was 
 lost.
 
 MODERATION. 203 
 
 " Poor old Lisbon, I shall see thee no 
 more," said James, with a deep sigh. 
 
 The words were uttered in soliloquy, but 
 me sigh that followed them was so profound, 
 (meant probably to be the parting groan of 
 regret,) that Emma could not forbear to no- 
 tice it. 
 
 " I am surprised you are so sorry, James, 
 to leave Lisbon." 
 
 " Why I'm not right sorry, Miss Emma, 
 but only it makes one feel sorrowful somehow 
 to see the last of an old enemy, and remem- 
 ber all that I remember. Lisbon has made 
 me a cripple, it has drawn more blood than I 
 had to spare, and it has taken that which I 
 loved better than my own flesh and blood — 
 but he said we must all forget and for- 
 give ; so I say, God bless Lisbon after all ; 
 there are many good folks in it, and many 
 more out of it." 
 
 The thoughts of those " out of it," to whom 
 James unquestionably alluded, rushed with 
 all their claims to kind and grateful remem- 
 brance on Emma's mind — she was now borne 
 on the wave where, " within a little month," 
 he also had sailed with a heart swelling with 
 her sorrows, an eye that swam in tears as it
 
 204 MODERATION'. 
 
 gazed through the space hers now tried to 
 penetrate. In a short time, alas ! she should 
 be separated from him still farther than now, 
 and when she should again hear from him or 
 behold him, she knew not. As these thoughts 
 passed her mind, several times she was on 
 the point of speaking to James on the sub- 
 ject of the embarkation of the Melville fa- 
 mily, in which he had assisted, purely for 
 the pleasure (we may suppose) of hearing 
 that dear name mentioned which was music 
 to her ear, and which was dwelt upon by her 
 honest old servant with all that zealous 
 praise, awakened equally by personal grati- 
 tude and warm admiration — but with this 
 desire was blended that trembling reserve pe- 
 culiar to timid passion, and in another mo- 
 ment Emma almost felt afraid that James 
 should mention the subject, lest even he 
 should read what was passing in her heart. 
 
 " 1 hope you are not beginning to be ill, 
 Ma'am 1 " 
 
 " 1 am not, thank you, James." 
 
 "God forbid! I'm sure you have not 
 strength to bear it, though they say it does 
 one good — I hope that poor young lady, the 
 Captain's cousin, escaped it when they — "
 
 MODERATION. 205 
 
 " Young lady!" exclaimed Emma, in a 
 voice which, though low and impeded, re- 
 sembled a shriek. 
 
 " Yes, the sick young lady, I mean, as be 
 gone to the Madeiras — poor creature, she 
 seemed to me more like a bundle of clothes 
 than a woman, as the Captain carried 
 her ; and the poor old gentleman was helping, 
 thof she was as light as a feather, I take it — 
 I just saw her face peep out of the military 
 cloak she was wrapped in, and a very pretty 
 face it was, with fine black eyes like her 
 cousin's, only she's not dark like him, but 
 very white indeed — I beg pardon for talking, 
 Ma'am, you are ill." 
 
 Emma tacitly confessed she was, by in- 
 stantly retreating to the only place of retire- 
 ment circumstances allowed ; on her bed she 
 could weep unseen, she could combat best the 
 astonishment, grief, and indignation which, 
 in the moment of this overwhelming surprise, 
 made her desire not merely to hide her scald- 
 ing tears, but to fly for ever from a world 
 which was hateful to her. 
 
 " Am I again deceived? again disappoint- 
 ed ? why do I say again ? never before did I 
 know what it was so to prefer, to admire, to
 
 200 MODERATION. 
 
 love any human being. Why was I so cru- 
 elly, so perfidiously betrayed i I who would 
 not so injure any human being — by Mel- 
 ville too, the most open, frank, artless of all 
 creatures, whom my poor father so often 
 used to charge with being less worldly-wise 
 than himself." 
 
 By degrees recollections arose which told 
 Emma that it was possible James might be 
 mistaken ; he had, it appeared, seen an inva- 
 lid wasted it might be to more than feminine 
 delicacy — " but, no ! all that was mysterious 
 in the conduct of Melville was thus, and 
 could only be thus accounted for : he had in 
 every conversation dwelt much on the sor- 
 rows of his uncle, but spoken little of the 
 peculiar ailment of the invalid ; he had men- 
 tioned no name save that of his relationship, 
 or the terms, " an only child," " the dear pa- 
 tient," " our beloved sufferer," See. His 
 every word in their last meeting was now 
 fully explained, as indicating a tic to his 
 fellow travellers beyond what appeared ; and 
 she could not doubt that if Melville's cousin 
 was a woman, to that woman he was bound 
 in claims beyond those of friendship or con- 
 sanguinity.
 
 MODERATION. 207 
 
 But had he therefore deceived her ? was 
 he, on whose integrity she could have relied 
 so implicitly, a vain, a fickle, a designing 
 man ? every reflection on his character, his 
 manners, and his conduct, alike answered de- 
 terminately "No!" Had he then read the 
 tender secret of her heart, and was he led 
 from pity to profess that attachment which 
 might soothe the severity of her present 
 troubles ? The deep agitation of his own 
 awakened feelings, the profound delicacy and 
 respect with which he had uniformly treated 
 her, forbade her to entertain a fear so wound- 
 ing to virgin delicacy : how often had he 
 been on the point of declaring that love 
 which was read in his looks, his manners, 
 and, above all, in his solicitude, and which 
 was unquestionably suspected, or rather, 
 confided in by her father himself? How se- 
 vere his struggles had been to conquer this 
 passion, might be inferred from his altered 
 looks, which she had imputed to the sleepless 
 nights she supposed he passed with his cou- 
 sin — " well might he suffer, when he consi- 
 dered that he was deceiving an artless, affec- 
 tionate stranger on the one hand, perhaps a 
 long affianced bride on the other, whose pre-
 
 COS Mi) DURATION. 
 
 lent deplorable situation rendered her only 
 the more irresistible in her claims upon his 
 tenderness and honour." 
 
 A generous, disinterested mind has, in a 
 trial like this, (which is doubtless one of the 
 severest to which our nature is subject,) great 
 advantage over a narrow and selfish spirit. 
 Whatever might be the sufferings of JNlr. 
 Melville, however pitiable his situation might 
 be, and blameless his original intention, still 
 he had been guilty of a species of deception. 
 Emma could neither, by any possible view of 
 the case, acquit him of this fact, nor cease to 
 feel that he had rendered her a sufferer from 
 it; but as with this knowledge was united 
 an assurance that he was severely afilicted 
 for this fault, and had in other respects great 
 merit, she desired if possible to pardon it, and 
 dismiss it from her memory. Thousands of 
 women would have bemoaned their hard fate, 
 as victims of deception ; and yet, with all 
 their anger at the aggressor, their self-pity, 
 and the remembrance of their wrongs, have 
 cither cherished his memory in their hearts, 
 though it was as a viper's sting to their 
 peace, or, from a species of revenge and 
 scorn, by no means incompatible with exist-
 
 MODERATION. 209 
 
 ing love, resolved to marry the first man who 
 should afterwards address them. Such are 
 the common operations of pride upon the 
 hearts of those who are unaccustomed to 
 self-examination, and unconscious of the in- 
 fluence of christian humility, which can alone 
 rebuke the winds and waves of this or any 
 other passion, and say, " peace, be still." 
 The heart constantly exercised in kindly 
 feelings, less troubled with its own wishes 
 and desires than in considering the wants or 
 comforts of beloved relatives, esteemed 
 friends, and the wide circle of those who 
 claim the charities of life, in going out of 
 itself to inhabit the breast of another, will 
 find so much there, in which to sympathize, 
 as to lose half its own load upon the thresh- 
 old. 
 
 Deep was the pity which moved the heart 
 of Emma for Melville, and it will be readily 
 supposed, that the fault of loving her too well 
 was one which she could readily forgive, for 
 we affect not to paint her as a perfect cha- 
 racter. She was one of " like passions with 
 others," but she had even at this period of 
 life manifested a power of successfully, be- 
 cause firmly and meekly, repelling the ascen- 
 
 p
 
 210 MODERATION. 
 
 dancy of vanity, ambition, anger, and inordi- 
 nate grief — could she now apply the same 
 principles to that which appears the most 
 amiable, and is therefore the most insidious 
 of all mental disorders? could she arrest that 
 passion which, resting in the most secret re- 
 cesses of the heart, is nurtured by imagina- 
 tion and memory, and in her case was held 
 sacred by gratitude, which self-deception 
 loves to embalm under the name of friend- 
 ship, and which every human being in early 
 life feels privileged to indulge in, as the com- 
 mon though latent weakness of their age, 
 and entwined with their very being '.' 
 
 That Emma did not for some time see her 
 duty in this respect, and therefore did not 
 call up her reason or religion to oppose it, is 
 certain ; but she did in the first place ear- 
 nestly endeavour to obtain that equanimity 
 of mind without which she knew it was im- 
 possible for her judgment to act. When she 
 found that by placing herself in this situation 
 she was only led to pity and love Melville 
 the more, she resolved to contemplate the 
 situation of Miss Melville, her weak state, 
 her affection, perhaps nurtured from child- 
 hood, the quickness of perception her own
 
 MODERATION. 211 
 
 love might have given her, the bitter pangs 
 which might arise from a sense of coldness, 
 or neglect, of suspicion that he in whom she 
 had so long " garnered up her heart," could 
 suffer his eye to wander because her form was 
 fading. She felt ready to expostulate with 
 him on the weakness, the cruelty, the un- 
 manly indecision of such a dereliction from 
 love and honour, which was the more unwor- 
 thy of him because his judgment was sound, 
 his principles good, his sentiments noble, his 
 disposition excellent. 
 
 " Ah ! what must be the power of that 
 passion which could so far warp a nature so 
 ingenuous, a spirit so lofty ? which could 
 teach even the most trivial shadow disguise 
 can frame to one abhorrent of baseness, and 
 seduce a heart so full of kindness to every 
 human being into an act of cruelty to one 
 beloved so fondlv ? I never, never can cease 
 to lament him, to thank him, to — yes, to 
 love, but not so to love him as I have done." 
 
 Day after day passed, the wind fell, the 
 vessel slumbered on the waters which lay be- 
 neath her like a mirror of molten gold ; com- 
 plaints were heard on all sides, and Emma 
 reflected with surprise on the many days in 
 
 p 2
 
 212 modi: r a t i N . 
 
 which her mind, occupied with one subject, 
 had wandered in a labvrintli of distracting 
 thoughts, without making any progress to- 
 wards that freedom and tranquillity it was 
 her duty to obtain. 
 
 During this period, every book on board 
 had been exchanged amongst the passengers, 
 to beguile the wearisome time, and divert the 
 uneasiness experienced by several whose 
 prognostications diffused general apprehen- 
 sion. One gentleman had offered a poem to 
 Emma, of which he spoke very highly, bur 
 as the book was a quarto, and the sickly 
 frame of mind into which she had unhappily 
 fallen by supplying eternal food for conjec- 
 ture and recollection, chilled alike the power 
 of exertion and the excitement of curiosity, 
 she had hitherto never looked beyond the 
 title-page, where " Armageddon," and a 
 Greek motto, seemed to offer subjects be- 
 yond her present powers of attention. 
 
 But she now determined to task those pow- 
 ers, to compel that attention ; she lifted up 
 her heart as well as she was able to Him who 
 " seeth the secrets of all hearts," and then 
 began seriously to enter on that (which 
 would in days past have been seized with
 
 MODERATION. 213 
 
 avidity) beautiful poem, as an exercise for 
 her faculties, necessary, but not palatable. 
 For some time she pursued the soaring flights 
 of our living Milton with weak, abstracted 
 gaze ; but she soon became sufficiently aware 
 of the poetic beauties to know that the fault 
 was wholly in herself if she were neither 
 charmed by the delightful flow of its melli- 
 fluous lines, nor wrapped in the sublime con- 
 ceptions of the mighty theme. She saw that 
 of all other books, which under any possible 
 circumstances might have been laid before 
 b.er at this time, not one could have been 
 equally calculated for her benefit, since no 
 enervating or love-indulging sentiment could 
 be found there from the very nature of the 
 subject ; yet were the powers of imagination 
 excited and gratified, the most commanding 
 and magnificent objects, the most beautiful 
 pictures presented, and all combined with 
 the great, endearing, and consolatory truths 
 of Christianity. 
 
 By degrees the wandering, bewildered mind 
 of Emma regained the power of attention, 
 a sense and relish for passages of extraordi- 
 nary interest, and solicitude in the pursuit ; 
 the book, though frequently laid down, was
 
 214 MODLItATIO.N. 
 
 as frequently recurred to, and that which 
 was at first as fatiguing and difficult as the 
 study of mathematics might have been, be- 
 came a constant and dear resource, in which 
 she found at once the action her faculties 
 required, and the serenity she sought. 
 Whilst she was thus beneficially employed in 
 moderating the all-enin-ossinir and " inordi- 
 nate affection" which had from so many 
 causes become the master spring of her spi- 
 rit, a favourable breeze sprung up, and in 
 another week they arrived in the Channel. 
 
 But, alas ! Emma was not able to welcome 
 the shores of her native land — whether it 
 were the extraordinary fatigues she had en- 
 countered in attending upon her father during 
 the intolerable heats, the bad provisions to 
 which the unexpected length of their voyage 
 had subjected the passengers, the severe men- 
 tal struggle she had undergone, or all these 
 causes combined, we know not; but for the 
 last three days she had experienced extreme 
 languor, the restlessness of fever, and much 
 acute pain in her head and her side. The 
 excellence of her constitution had hitherto 
 been remarkable, although her frame was 
 delicate; and her exquisite sensibility sub-
 
 MODERATION. 215 
 
 jected her to those partial inequalities of 
 health, inseparable from a reflective and 
 strongly attached mind. In consequence of 
 having never suffered in any comparative de- 
 gree before, she was led to believe, at an early 
 stage of the disease, that she was in consi- 
 derable danger, and of course felt much soli- 
 citude to be on shore, and to secure that 
 female attendance so necessary to her com- 
 fort in every respect. 
 
 They landed at Falmouth, and in her de- 
 sire to save Sophia from alarm, rather than 
 from any hope that she should be able to 
 travel to her native village, Emma proceeded 
 about sixty miles, when she became too ill to 
 give any further directions, much less proceed, 
 and the landlady of the Inn took charge of 
 her, and engaged such help as the small town 
 afforded, whilst poor James, almost broken 
 hearted, proceeded to that place where he had 
 now neither master, nor mistress, nor home, 
 where every object awoke new sorrows from 
 old and dear memorials of departed happi- 
 ness, to procure assistance. 
 
 At those periods when acute pain did not 
 give a kind of new and artificial vigour to her 
 faculties, Emma lay in a state of apparent
 
 2lG MODERATION. 
 
 stupor, which was expected by those around 
 her to be the prelude to delirium, but was in 
 fact the consequence of that exhaustion occa- 
 sioned by past suffering. Her mind never 
 lost the power of recollection, and her situa- 
 tion in all its bearings was constantly present. 
 She felt that her situation was forlorn and de- 
 solate, as contrasted with those whose bed of 
 death is soothed by tender relations, and sur- 
 rounded by those aids and comforts home 
 only can bestow — her eyes earnestly looked 
 out for familiar faces, her ears desired to drink 
 the sweet sounds of friendly voices, and there 
 was one that would have been most dear on 
 which her heart desired to dwell, lint this 
 dear, this dangerous subject, she dismissed 
 with an earnest prayer l'or blessings on his 
 head, as one on which she ought not to think. 
 "It is too agitating for me now, it will de- 
 stroy the little chance I may have for life, and 
 that would be wrong, and it will unfit me for 
 that resignation with which I desire to depart, 
 if such be the will of my heavenly Father." 
 
 \\ hen the recollection of her late loss 
 arose to her mind with all the circumstances 
 attending it, she sincerely thanked God that 
 she had been enabled to supply to him those
 
 MODERATION. 21? 
 
 tender attentions and that support which her 
 own wants taught her to feel the value of. 
 She felt it a trial to be cutoff " in the morning 
 of her days, " and subjected to those frequently 
 recurring pains which visited her with a se- 
 verity beyond what she had ever witnessed, 
 but she considered that as she had been spared 
 to a good end, so she might be removed in 
 much mercy ; that her present sufferings 
 might work out for her " a more exceeding 
 weight of glory," for though she could not 
 pretend to boast of the faith, or the hope, of 
 which Sophia used to speak in her visits to 
 the dying, yet she did feel assured that God 
 would not forsake her " in the valley of the 
 shadow of death," through which she war 
 passing. 
 
 " How r thankful ought I to be," said she, 
 " that I am in my own country, with those 
 who speak my language and understand my 
 wants — that I have fulfilled my task and 
 closed my beloved father's eyes, that I have 
 arranged all my affairs with my brother, and 
 been the means of assisting him — that I did 
 not warp the virtue, nor bring self-reproach 
 on the conscience, of that beloved being, 
 whose sorrows miarht have been increased a
 
 218 MODERATION. 
 
 thousand fold — oh! I have.' much to be rc- 
 membered with gratitude, let me then drink 
 the cup now prepared, though bitter, with 
 humility and patience — it is the Lord, let 
 him do what scemeth him good." 
 
 The nurse who attended Emma, pronounced 
 sentence of death very positively, " because 
 the patient was such a sweet, quiet young 
 creature, she was too good for this world;" 
 her medical attendant thought it possible, that 
 she might get through, " from the firm, calm 
 equanimity of her mind, and her patient en- 
 durance of pain." After many ballled at- 
 tempts he at length succeeded in obtaining 
 sleep, and producing from sudorifics a relief 
 to the tortures she had so long experienced. 
 Sophia and Mrs. "Wilmington arrived when 
 she was in this state of repose, and great 
 care was kindly taken to save her on awaking 
 from the bad effects even pleasure might 
 have occasioned to one so weak. 
 
 "My sister!" said Emma, and tears of 
 delight sprung to her eyes, but she obeyed 
 the injunction of her adviser, she checked 
 her emotion, and whilst she silently thanked 
 God for the gift, she restrained the pleasure 
 with which she received it.
 
 MODERATION. 219 
 
 So weak and shadowy, so extremely pale, 
 and painfully interesting, was poor Emma in 
 the eyes of Mrs. Wilmington, that it was 
 with the utmost difficulty that she could ap- 
 ply the benefit of her skill (as the experienced 
 mother of a large family) to her assistance, 
 without betraying the most affecting agita- 
 tion; and so warmly rekindled were the affec- 
 tions of Sophia, who had not received the 
 news of her father's death more than a month, 
 that, going from one extreme to another, she 
 lavished upon her all the treasured tenderness 
 and gratitude which circumstances had in- 
 duced her to nourish ; and but for her own con- 
 tinued moderation in gently eluding that ex- 
 ercise of sensibility, urged by their mistaken 
 love, it is certain she must have been now 
 killed with kindness.
 
 230 
 
 CHAP. XII. 
 
 VV hen at length Emma regain d the pow< r 
 of venturing into the air, her recovery was 
 rapid, and she experienced renovated health 
 with every breeze which fanned her shrunken 
 form. She therefore proposed setting out by 
 easy journies for her native village, as the 
 most likely place to perfect her recovery, and 
 where Mrs. Wilmington earnestly pressed her 
 to go. 
 
 It was also evident, that Sophia was soli- 
 citous to return thither for the sake of intro- 
 ducing her to the young clergyman, who, 
 she blushingly confessed, " was a person for 
 whom she had a great esteem," and who, to- 
 gether with her present sense of her dear 
 lather's excellence as a christian minister, had 
 greatly changed her sentiments. " Nor do I 
 stand alone in this change, I assure you, 
 Emma," added Sophia, " lor from the very 
 Sunday when my father preached his last
 
 MODERATION. 221 
 
 sermon, every body has gone to church ; so 
 when the winter set in we ceased to have a 
 preacher come over at all, and Mr. Bennison 
 has the satisfaction of knowing there is but one 
 flock and one shepherd, in the whole parish — 
 every body now is ready to say there never 
 was such a pastor as Mr. Carysford, and when 
 Mr. Evans came over to preach his funeral 
 sermon, the very people who had left him — 
 but why do I talk of them ? i" left him — I, 
 a mere child, his own child, the pet lamb. 
 / ' had lift up my voice against him' — / had 
 been wise in my own conceit, and barbed the 
 shaft which wounded — oh ! I cannot, cannot 
 bear it — " 
 
 Sophia wept aloud in very agony, and it 
 was some time before Mrs. Wilmington could 
 so far calm her, as to make her listen to the 
 assurance, that she was injuring Emma ex- 
 ceedingly by this effusion of sorrow, since it 
 could not fail to remind her of circumstances 
 too moving for her weak state, and would 
 render her incapable of pursuing her journey. 
 
 " Then I will not indulge even godly 
 sorrow," said Sophia, " for it is to Emma 
 alone I owe every thing; her moderation in 
 bearing with my reproaches, in defending my
 
 2C'2 MODERATION. 
 
 sincerity, in discriminating between my errors 
 and my intentions, have shown me on reflec- 
 tion what true religion is, have saved idl- 
 perhaps from flying from one extreme to 
 another far worse; what would have become 
 of me if, under the agitation in which part- 
 ing with my father had left me, I had given 
 myself up to the guidance of Harriet?" 
 
 To the great surprise of the party, Sophia 
 was interrupted by the announcement of 
 Harriet herself, who, together with her hus- 
 band and Miss Tintagell, made their ap- 
 pearance in time to put a stop to their jourm v. 
 In noticing their arrival, we have named the 
 mover of the journey, and by far the most 
 important personage in it last, as the others 
 travelled in her carriage and came at her 
 request. 
 
 We do not however mean to say that Mrs. 
 Francis Wilmington did not greatly desire to 
 see her sister, for she certainly did, from mo- 
 tives of affection and interest also ; but it 
 is only justice to say that the latter was for- 
 gotten when she beheld her attenuated form 
 and pallid face, and saw the poor place where 
 she had been lying sick, and where her 
 conscience told her she might, have besn as
 
 MODERATION. 223 
 
 devoid of money as of friends. Harriet, as 
 we may have said before, was a woman of 
 quick feelings, but they were neither go- 
 verned by principle, nor lasting in effect, and 
 her education under the paternal roof had 
 been forgotten in the gay world with which 
 she had afterwards mixed. At this moment, 
 her heart was touched with lively remem- 
 brance of her father, sorrow for her sister's 
 evident sufferings, and shame for the share it 
 was too probable she had had in them. In 
 consequence of this sensation, she began to 
 weep and to accuse herself in such a manner 
 as to bring all her pecuniary transactions be- 
 fore her aunt ; to the evident distress and 
 confusion of her husband, and the utter dis- 
 may of her mother-in-law, who, knowing the 
 predicament in which her son at this moment 
 stood with his uncle, dreaded any breach with 
 Miss Tintagell, whose influence in his favour 
 might have been very great if she would con- 
 descend to use it. 
 
 In the midst of Harriet's self-upbraidings, 
 the remembrance of her present wants struck 
 more strongly than ever upon her mind, in 
 consequence of the vivid picture she had 
 drawn of those temptations which induced
 
 224 MODERATION. 
 
 hrr to gratify her own wishes at the expense 
 of her sister's necessities, and she suddenly 
 stopped short in her declamation to exclaim, 
 
 " But where arc those tormenting papers, 
 Emma ? surely Charles has not got them on 
 the Continent?" 
 
 " All the papers my brother gave me to 
 keep for Emma are in my writing-desk," said 
 Sophia, leaving the room to fetch them, in 
 answer to a look from that sister. 
 
 The anger this confession elicited, lighted 
 up the cheek and dried the tears of Harriet. 
 
 " I thought, I hoped Sophia had been im- 
 proved, but cant and hypocrisy debase the 
 very soul — I always suspected she had these 
 papers — I always said so, did'nt I, my d< ar ' 
 and yet she never would confess, although 
 she knew I was in the greatest distress lo 
 them." 
 
 At this moment, Sophia returned with 
 parcel directed by her brother to his sister Em- 
 ma, or, in case she did not return, to his aunt. 
 
 " There, there" cried Harriet, in a fury, 
 " you'll see they will be found in that very 
 parcel." 
 
 " I know nothing of the contents," said 
 Sophia.
 
 MODERATION. 225 
 
 " No, Miss, but you know that you could 
 have given the parcel to me, and I could have 
 looked for the papers I wanted, I should have 
 taken out none but what I wanted." 
 
 Emma at this moment fixed her eyes on 
 Harriet, and those eyes, calm as their ex- 
 pression was, said so plainly, " that is not 
 certain" that the blush of anger subsided as 
 quickly as it had risen, and that of shame 
 replaced it. At this moment Miss Tintagell 
 arose, her tall, majestic form apparently di- 
 lating by the style in which she proceeded 
 to the table, and the difficulty with which she 
 had hitherto suppressed her indignation at 
 the past and present conduct of her once 
 darling niece. 
 
 " Have I your permission, Miss Gary s ford, 
 to open this ? " 
 
 " Certainly, my dear aunt, I am unequal 
 to business." 
 
 " So I perceive, child — well, here are the 
 papers : the marriage settlement of Charles 
 Carysford and Harriet; (Miss Tintagell 
 trembled, and her tears for a moment ob- 
 structed her vision ;) then here is a bond ; 
 and poor Miss Carysford's will ; (excellent, 
 good Miss Carysford ;) and here are Charles's 
 
 Q
 
 226 MODERATION. 
 
 accounts, poor fellow ; and now — aye — this 
 is the title-deed — Captain Wilmington, 
 these are the papers in question — there they 
 lie." 
 
 " Why don't you take them, Captain Wil- 
 mington?" cried his lady, "I'm sure you 
 have teazed me very sufficiently on the sub- 
 ject." 
 
 " I cannot take them, they are your sister's 
 security for the money she lent to my father, 
 for me; I always told you so." 
 
 " The money which saved us all from de- 
 struction," said Mrs. Wilmington, sobbing. 
 — Miss Tintas-ell resumed : 
 
 O 
 
 " Captain Wilmington, I thank you for 
 relieving me from part of the horror and dis- 
 gust with which the conduct of your wife 
 has inspired me. I hope you will in time 
 teach her better principles, and make her 
 sensible that if she has neither the affections 
 of a daughter or sister, her family may yet 
 hope for a portion of common honesty in 
 the daughter of such parents as hers were. 
 For you, Sir, [ have all possible consi- 
 deration, and — hold, what is this paper ap- 
 pended to the deeds? it is your writing, 
 
 iiima :
 
 MODERATION. £27 
 
 " In case of my death, I desire 
 that these deeds may be restored immediately 
 to Captain Wilmington, on condition of his 
 payment of one half of that which he is in- 
 debted to my sister Sophia. The rest of my 
 property I leave in my brother's hands, to be 
 divided equally between my sisters after a 
 period of five years, during which time he 
 shall not be asked for it. This is my will in 
 the event of death ; if I live to return, it is 
 my intention equally to devote this sum to 
 my sisters, when I become repossessed of that 
 which I have lent to Charles, till then, it is 
 evident that I cannot spare it, as the interest 
 will be my only income. 
 
 Emma Carysford." 
 
 " Wise as generous ! well, then, I now say, 
 Sir, Emma presents you with one half of 
 your debt, and / give you the other — and 
 to you, Sophia, the same Emma will give 
 the same sum, when Mr. Bennison can afford 
 to take you, child. It will furnish a house, 
 and keep your own little dower in safety." 
 
 " Dear Emma, how shall I thank you? 
 but is it right to take your money ?" 
 
 " I thought it right to take your fifty 
 
 Q 2
 
 228 MODERATION. 
 
 pounds, dear Sophia, and found such comfort 
 in it — it was indeed the happy cause of my 
 procuring essential aid at a time when my 
 distress was very, very great." 
 
 These words escaped Emma in her conso- 
 lations to Sophia, and were evidently not 
 meant for Harriet's car, but they met those 
 of Mrs. Wilmington, who could not forbear 
 to lament bitterly that any person in her fa- 
 mily could have so rewarded Emma's good- 
 ness to them. Miss Tintagell cauirht eagerly 
 those words which spoke of Sophia's kind- 
 ness, and, on learning what she had done, for 
 the first time she kissed her, folded her i n her 
 arms, and called her " the picture of her 
 mother;" she then observed, in a kind and 
 consolatory manner, 
 
 " You have been a self-willed, and in some 
 respects a mistaken child ; but you never 
 had either cant or hypocrisy — your conduct 
 has excited mortification and anger to your 
 friends, and bitter grief, I fear, at times, in 
 one who undoubtedly prayed for you and 
 forgave you ; and therefore it would ill be- 
 come me not to endeavour to do the same — 
 y<m are a very decisive proof that the faults 
 of those who have, in the common accepta-
 
 MODERATION. 2GQ 
 
 tion of the phrase, " too much religion," are 
 of "a much less injurious nature than those 
 produced by having too little. It was im- 
 possible that one who was so sincere, and 
 thought so much, should not think right 
 sometimes ; but the selfishness of extrava- 
 gance, the forgetfulness of all affection, and 
 even of the claims of honesty, the total want 
 of consideration, notwithstanding the known 
 misfortunes of Mr. Wilmington's family, the 
 late distress and present troubles of her only 
 brother, the dying state of her father, and the 
 afflicting situation of her sister, evinced in 
 Mrs. Francis — " 
 
 " Spare my wife, spare her, I beseech you, 
 Miss Tintagell, she is afflicted, overwhelmed 
 with sorrow; it is certain we were both to 
 blame — I had known much more of diffi- 
 culty than she had, and it was my duty to 
 have restrained her expenses." 
 
 " Very true, and I sincerely hope you will 
 henceforward adopt this system of restraint — 
 I know from experience it will not be a light 
 duty ; for the present I shall only add, that 
 as in days past I should have punished the 
 child who stole sugar-plums, bv forbidding 
 her my presence for some days, so do I
 
 CSO MODERATION. 
 
 punish the woman who has forfeited my 
 esteem by refusing to hold any communica- 
 tion with her for some years. That this cir- 
 cuinstance may not be injurious to you be- 
 yond what is intended, and because Harriet 
 was perhaps somewhat injured by an early 
 indulgence in pleasures beyond her sisters, 
 I beg your acceptance of two hundred per 
 annum, which shall be regularly paid by- 
 quarterly instalments during my life." 
 
 As Miss Tintagell spoke, she handed the 
 Captain a fifty pound bill, and in a few mo- 
 ments, the mortified wife, and consoled hus- 
 band, took their leave, and poor Mrs. Wil- 
 mington recollecting that Miss Tintagell's 
 carriage would only contain three, and also 
 believing that her presence would be useful, 
 accompanied them. 
 
 At the moment when the Captain inter- 
 fered to soften the anger of Miss Tintagell, 
 and villi/ at that moment, did Emma cease 
 to feel surprised that he had ever been an 
 object of admiration to her : when she re- 
 flected upon many points in his conduct, 
 she could not help considering him blameable, 
 and his total want of consideration, to say 
 nothing of gratitude, proved to her that a
 
 MODERATION. 231 
 
 man may be good tempered and amiable, 
 without that solidity of character necessary 
 to our happiness in those with whom we are 
 closely connected. It was impossible for her 
 not to reflect with tender thankfulness on that 
 unceasing watchfulness of friendship in Mel- 
 ville, towards her father's comfort, and of 
 course her own, which had not only belonged 
 to his character as a lover, but a man, since 
 James also had abundantly partaken of it — 
 for this poor fellow, she now became a peti- 
 tioner to her aunt. 
 
 " I will buy him an annuity, and he shall 
 live in his own countiy, where he can talk to 
 those who will understand him, about the 
 master he has lost." 
 
 "You are very kind, my dear madam, I 
 meant that we should all join to do that very 
 thing — but then I am most anxious at pre- 
 sent to pay that money to Mr. Melville's 
 banker, with which he assisted me so op- 
 portunely." 
 
 " Oh ! that was the family which helped 
 you — I shall see to that immediately, there is 
 money now in your attorney's hands, I 
 know — did you know Miss Melville at 
 Lisbon ?"
 
 232 MODERATION. 
 
 " No, 1 never left my father an hour after 
 the period when we became known to diem." 
 
 " For which," said Miss Tintagell, solemnly 
 folding her hands on her bosom, " 1 will 
 never leave you, Emma, or cease to love you, 
 to help you, to be both father and mother to 
 vou, so far as I am able." 
 
 " You say," she added after a long pause, 
 "that you do not know Marianne Melville, 
 'tis a pity, for you would have loved each 
 other exceedingly. She is a girl of great 
 talents, a noble, generous, fine-spirited crea- 
 ture — but you are exhausted child, we have 
 overdone you with talking." 
 
 "Oh no! pray go on, I wished to know 
 something of Miss Melville." 
 
 " She is a poor, delicate, deformed creature, 
 but with a pretty and singularly intelligent 
 face, in some respects she resembles your 
 good aunt Carysford; life has been little less 
 than a struggle, ever since she was ten years 
 old, when her person (till then very fine) took 
 this unfortunate turn. They fancy her in a 
 consumption, but I don't think she has any 
 complaint save what belongs to general de- 
 licacy of constitution — did you sec Charles 
 Melville, her cousin? "
 
 MODERATION. 233 
 
 " I saw only him," said Emma, her pallid 
 face tinged with so deep a bloom as to speak 
 volumes to the eyes of her aunt, who instantly 
 changed the conversation. 
 
 The two sisters accompanied Miss Carys- 
 ford to her house in London, where the best 
 medical advice was obtained for Emma, 
 and where such ceaseless kindness and atten- 
 tion was paid to her, and she was surrounded 
 by so many elegancies, and treated with so 
 many sources of rational amusement, that she 
 found it necessary to guard herself from 
 falling into that supine neglect of duty, which 
 excessive indulgence in external circum- 
 stances is so apt to inspire, and she was more 
 than ever subject to "remembering that some 
 things were, which were most dear to her." 
 She sought anxiously to preserve in Sophia 
 a deep sense of religious obligation, and a 
 determination to study the duties she one 
 day hoped to perform, as the wife of a 
 country clergyman. Both these young people 
 found that a state of mental ease and per- 
 sonal luxury is difficult to combat with, when 
 it follows a season of affliction and anxiety, 
 but as they had been accustomed to " walk 
 in the ordinances" of the church from their
 
 23-i MODERATION. 
 
 earliest recollection, so they strictly persevered 
 in it, and found in the composing and re- 
 freshing exercises of devotion, an antidote 
 to the confusing, dissipating sensations, which 
 they eonsidcred inevitable to a London resi- 
 dence. 
 
 In the beginning of winter, Emma had the 
 satisfaction of receiving her brother, and of 
 witnessing the great improvement which 
 time and consideration and sorrow had ef- 
 fected in him ; there was a manliness of 
 character, a sobriety of demeanor happily 
 grafted on the frankness and buoyancy of 
 spirits, which had formerly distinguished 
 him, and he appeared (notwithstanding his 
 youth) likely to slide gracefully into the dig- 
 nity of married life, and the duties attached 
 to it. 
 
 This temper of mind was the more desit 
 able, as he was now the possessor of Lord 
 Alfrcton's estates, who had a few weeks be- 
 fore died in his arms at Naples. The per- 
 sonal property of that nobleman (which a 
 long minority had rendered very great, and 
 which a long illness had probably prevented 
 from being dissipated) was bequeathed to his 
 aunt. The meeting of Emma and Charles
 
 MODERATION*. 235 
 
 was naturally very affecting to both, but as 
 she now for the first time entered on a parti- 
 cular account of their beloved father's last 
 hours, it was observed by them all, that 
 Miss Tintagell was agitated to a greater 
 degree than any person, and the subject was 
 dropped in pity to her who felt it so acutely, 
 and whom they well knew to be a person 
 whose attachments were few, but singularly 
 strong. 
 
 " You are certain, Emma, that your father 
 so mentioned me in his last moments?" said 
 Miss Tintagell, when they were alone together 
 some time afterwards. 
 
 "Oh! yes, every syllable is impressed on 
 my heart, my very ear I may say, loo mi- 
 nutely for mistake." 
 
 " Well, it is dear to my heart to be so re- 
 membered, even now — Emma, I will tell you 
 the history of that heart. — I am naturally 
 of a proud and independent spirit, such a 
 spirit as rarely suits the situation, or can be 
 rendered compatible with the happiness of 
 woman. Having no one to guide me, I should 
 have been worse than I was, if I had not been 
 rendered by circumstances the natural guardian 
 of your mother, on whom all the warmth and
 
 <236 MODERATION. 
 
 fondness of my heart expended itself. I set 
 out with a profession that I would live single, 
 and though fond of general admiration and 
 laving myself out for general homage, was 
 never guilty of coquetry — nor did 1 in- fact 
 ever see a man that shook my resolution by 
 inspiring even the most trivial liking, till 1 
 knew your father. 
 
 " i will not say what my sense of his person, 
 his virtues, his manners was. J only tell you 
 that happily I soon discovered which way his 
 affections veered — discovered too that your 
 mother fondly loved him. It was believed 
 that my family pride would oppose their 
 wishes — that pride had got other work to do, 
 and together with that tender and unbounded 
 love I had for my sister, it enabled me to act 
 as I did — yes, I made two people as happy 
 as marriage ever made any two on earth, I 
 really believe." 
 
 " They were indeed singularly happy," said 
 Emma. 
 
 " Well, my dear, it so happened that after 
 this I had two offers, either of which would 
 have given me rank which at that time it is 
 certain I envied, and wealth which is always 
 valuable to those who love to spend and to
 
 MODERATION. 237 
 
 give, which it is certain I do, and my own 
 fortune, though more than twice as large as 
 your mother's, was very unequal to my wants, 
 and the circle in which I moved. But in the 
 mean time I had nursed my former objections 
 to marriage, became more of a wit and less 
 of a beauty, and whilst I affected to ridicule 
 all love, nourished in my heart the silly be- 
 lief that a woman can love but once, and in 
 consequence I refused them both." 
 
 "And do you now regret that you did?" 
 " I do not, for I firmly believe that women 
 of my description are better single. I had 
 established in my heart a certain model to 
 which no man would have been a parallel ; 
 1 should have been haughty, self-willed, and 
 unconciliating, capable of great sacrifices, but 
 not of the petty obediences which are the 
 sweetest emollients to the unbending nature 
 of lordly man. Besides, the smallness of my 
 fortune, compared to that of the noblemen 
 to whom I allude, would have been galling to 
 me. I should have been taken from my 
 sister and her family, who have found me 
 useful, and have been to me invaluable ; and as 
 I can now unblamed love, and weep as I 
 will, I by no means regret that I am single."
 
 C'38 MODERATION. 
 
 " I am fully convinced you are much more 
 happy; at least, I would hope so, my dear, dear 
 aunt," said Emma, embracing her with a 
 daughter's fondness. 
 
 " Yes, I am, but that is owing to my pe- 
 culiarities, or my faults rather — you, Emma, 
 are of a precisely different character." 
 
 " I have been very differently situated ; as one 
 of a large family, with neither the honours of 
 the eldest, nor the privileges of the youngest, 
 I was happily saved from improper indul- 
 gences, and taught to consider, to submit — I 
 was habituated to make my taste bend to 
 my circumstances, and led both by precept 
 and example to hold consideration as a re- 
 ligious duty, which therefore carried its own 
 reward with it. I should be very inexcusable 
 indeed were I not disciplined to moderation.'* 
 
 " Being so, you must marry, Emma, — don' 
 shake your head with that sceptical air; you 
 do not suppose that I would thus have tern 
 open old wounds, and exposed past weak- 
 nesses, and lingering though hidden sorrows 
 but for some end — I know your secret with- 
 out confession, you have loved Charles INJ «.l- 
 ville, and most probably he has loved you; 
 but he is bound bv Gratitude to his uncle.
 
 MODEKATION. 239 
 
 and pity for his cousin, in another direction. 
 I have heard that the voyage to Madeira 
 has done wonders for her, and that in May 
 they will return : if this is true, perhaps they 
 will marry." 
 
 " Probably," said Emma, with a blanched 
 and somewhat quivering lip, but her eye did 
 not elude the <raze of her aunt. 
 
 " Now as you have struggled with your 
 feelings, and are almost a conqueror, can you 
 not be wholly so ? — can you not listen to the 
 suit of a virtuous, amiable man, who is more- 
 over a nobleman, one whose parents love you, 
 and will receive you with honour and affec- 
 tion. I mean — you know who I mean, you 
 must have been sensible of his admiration?" 
 
 " It is Lord Hatchlands — I am very sorry 
 for it, for I like him exceedingly; I know no 
 one wnom 1 esteem so highly amongst our 
 acquaintance." 
 
 " The very best principle on which to 
 found affection, Emma, such an affection as, 
 producing all the dearest ties of life and 
 its most extensive usefulness, you arc calcu- 
 lated to inspire and enjoy. Besides, all your 
 family are married or marrying, of course all 
 are to a certain degree resigning you. At three
 
 ^40 MODERATION. 
 
 and twenty you do not feel this, but at three 
 and thirty you will be sensible of it — depend 
 upon it sueh an oiler as this, or I ought to say, 
 such a predilection as this, ought to be re- 
 ceived as the promise of no light blessing — 
 it may be admitted slowly, canvassed closely, 
 considered long: all this 1 allow you; but 
 do not dare to reject it, if you value your 
 own happiness, the general advantage of 
 your family, and my regard." 
 
 " That I think as highly of these motives 
 as most people, I surely need not say at this 
 time, but 1 am sure you will concede, that 
 on such a point as this 1 ought to consider 
 myself in the first place." 
 
 " Unquestionably, child — I know that 1 
 may rely upon your judgment if you will only 
 think calmly over this matter."
 
 9A1 
 
 CHAP. XIII. 
 
 JljMMA observed the injunction; she did think — 
 and she so endeavoured constantly to consider 
 Melville as the property of another, as the 
 friend to whom her eternal gratitude was due, 
 but with whom she must never more hold 
 communion, that at length she began to 
 allow, " it was possible she might be tolerably 
 happy with another man," on the same prin- 
 ciple that she trusted he would be happy 
 with one whom he had so long held dear as a 
 friend, and admired as a companion. 
 
 But the man who could be his successor 
 it was certain she had never seen; many good 
 and agreeable men, to whom she could not 
 in reason reject, undoubtedly existed; but she 
 had not met with them, though her aunt might, 
 and she therefore ventured so far to satisfy 
 Miss Tintagell's anxiety on the subject, as to 
 say, " that after another year was past she 
 would thankfully attend to her recommen- 
 
 R
 
 242 MODERATION. 
 
 dation, but till then she claimed as necessary 
 to her happiness an exemption from all allu- 
 sion to the subject." 
 
 "Would you give that year to thinking 
 on the past, Emma?" 
 
 " Certainly not — I will give it, dear aunt, to 
 preparing for the future, and as you know 
 all that I require, and those qualities, with- 
 out which I will not, and dare not, enter on 
 vows which I will with equal conscience 
 keep; I think I may promise that your next 
 recommendation will be met more cordially 
 than the last; I cannot say more at present." 
 
 " Nor can I promise you another nobleman, 
 ihough you are much handsomer than you 
 were, child." 
 
 " Pray don't seek one, for I greatly prefer 
 a private gentleman, or a professional one. 
 I have no ambition, and rank would increase 
 my duties, and not repay my sacrifices. 
 
 "Perhaps you would prefer a poor one? 
 you would play love in a cottage, Miss 
 Carysford." 
 
 " I think few persons would manage better 
 in a cottage with love, than I could do, but 
 since my days of love and romance are over, 
 I answer, "that I would wish to marry a
 
 MODERATION 243 
 
 man in easy circumstances, but by no means 
 one so wealthy as to throw my means of 
 helping our establishment at a distance. I 
 would rather be held as an equal through life, 
 than be treated as an idol now and an in- 
 ferior by and by. All my demands would be 
 humble, my desires moderate, but such as 
 they are must be constantly attended to. I 
 am content to share all the vicissitudes of 
 life, but I do not think I could bear those 
 changes in kindness too common in the ma- 
 trimonial barometer." 
 
 " Yes you could, from glowing love down 
 to indifference — neglect — coldness — to the last 
 freezing point." 
 
 Though Miss Tintagell said this with a 
 gay air, she inwardly resolved to be very 
 careful how she exposed her gentle niece to 
 such evils ; and she gave up her mind for the 
 present to preparations for the weddings of 
 Charles and Sophia. Eulalie had changed 
 from a charming, romantic little girl, to an 
 elegant, sensible young woman, willing to 
 laugh at her former taste for the heroic, but 
 capable of exerting her former energies on all 
 proper occasions. Before his marriage, 
 Charles presented Mr. Bennison with the 
 
 R2
 
 244 MODERATION. 
 
 living at Ravenhill, and generously settled a 
 property equivalent to it on each of his other 
 sisters, considering this as a marriage portion 
 to Sophia. That which he gave to Mrs. 
 Francis Wilmington was secured to her, with 
 the approbation of Mr. Fountain, who had 
 behaved very handsomely to his nephew, 
 but earnestly desired to keep the young 
 couple at a distance from London, as a scene 
 of temptation they were not equal to engage 
 with, a request none of the family thought 
 unreasonable. 
 
 Sir Marmaduke and Lady Lyster were de- 
 lighted with the marriage, and readily united 
 with Miss Tintagell in making splendid pre- 
 parations, regretting that modern custom 
 rendered the day itself one of privacy ra- 
 ther than show, and often recalling the mc 
 mory of flower-strewing and processions. 
 
 lirides so rich and gay as the fair Lulalie 
 have no lack of friends on these occasions ; 
 and though Emma was not only the best be- 
 loved, but the one to whom she often said 
 that she owed her present happiness, yet she 
 spared her to Sophia, who was married at the 
 same time with her brother, and immediately 
 departed for that beloved home where she
 
 MODERATION. 245 
 
 was born, and to which she had long desired 
 to return. 
 
 The other bridal party soon afterwards set 
 out for the Park, which had now been long 
 forsaken, but where only the owner declared 
 it was possible for him to feel perfectly 
 happy as an Englishman. Here, however, 
 Miss Tintagell appeared to be restless and 
 often melancholy, and in a short time she 
 returned home, but gave Emma leave to re- 
 main, saying, " My dear girl, you must feel 
 much, as well as me ; but you will not there- 
 fore mar the happiness of those around you ; 
 I will try to take a lesson from your philo- 
 sophy, and then come back and fetch you." 
 
 " My philosophy is all found in one book 
 dear aunt ; and that is not only the best, but 
 the most amusing." 
 
 " I will read it diligently, child — if it is 
 valuable at your age, well may it be at mine." 
 
 Sophia was a little hurt that her aunt did 
 not come to the Rectory; but when she saw 
 how much the sight of that dear home, the 
 garden, the library, affected Emma, she 
 thought it was better that she had not thus 
 awakened sorrow which she knew would in- 
 jure her health, which of late was far from
 
 24(3 MODERATION. 
 
 good. The first day at church, the first 
 meeting with the clerk and sexton, and the 
 many, ///am/ dear old faces which crowded 
 around her, were indeed trials to Emma be- 
 yond what she had even anticipated. The 
 congregation were of course excited to cu- 
 riosity by " the grand bride and her train of 
 fine London folks, the good old Baronet and 
 his lady come safe from forrin parts, his 
 Reverence's own bride, pretty Miss Sophia 
 that was, and the young 'Squire, the proper- 
 est man of them all." But the eyes that had 
 gazed on novelty with astonishment, and 
 finery with admiration, as the parties mingled 
 in the churchyard, and courteously received 
 many a bobbing curtsey and many a loudly 
 uttered good wish, turned, with a softened 
 salutation and a moistened lid, to Emma — 
 many a whispered " God bless her sweet face 
 she has had sorrow enough since we saw her,' 
 was followed by eulogiums " on hi in that 
 was dead and gone, whose like would never 
 come again, no disparagement to any body." 
 How many tender words found their wav 
 perforce to her ear, consolatory in fact, yet 
 touching every nerve of sensibility — where 
 could her eye glance, but some object re-
 
 MODERATION. 247 
 
 called her father ? Here were the couple he 
 last married — there crept the old pensioner 
 for whom he had so long provided — there 
 ran the children he catechized. 
 
 And were not all the lessons which she had 
 so incessantly taught her heart on another 
 subject void also? the memory of Melville 
 necessarily revived with that of her father, 
 and the stillness of the country, the season, 
 which was September, that month of cloud- 
 less skies and golden sunsets, when every 
 grove breathes poetic morality, and every 
 flower inspires tender thoughts and parting 
 memorials, were all against her. " What 
 can I do?" said Emma, "curiosity will be 
 busy about the present, and memory is con- 
 tinually reviving the past. I have no chance 
 of curing this but by mental labour, I will 
 begin to learn Latin immediately." 
 
 Mr. Bennison gladly undertook to teach 
 his gentle sister, and for a short time they 
 went on extremely well ; but, alas ! James, 
 who resided with his relations within a few 
 miles, delighted to see his young mistresses, 
 and tell wonders in that kitchen where all the 
 prime of his days were passed, proved a sad 
 enemy to the classics by his frequent visits to
 
 248 MODEKATION. 
 
 the Rectory ; and Emma began seriously to 
 desire that summons from her aunt, which 
 she had formerly dreaded would arrive too 
 soon. 
 
 " There is a sweetness in all around me in 
 the country, a melancholy seduction, to which 
 1 must not submit — how little do they know 
 me who talk of my equanimity, my modera- 
 tion ! — but I will not despair." 
 
 When Emma uttered these words, she was 
 seated under the shade of those walnut-trees 
 where she was wont to meet her father as 
 he returned from his village walks, and hav- 
 ing her back to the house, knew not that any 
 one was near her, when James approached to 
 say, with a very important air, '* Madam Tin- 
 tau;ell had arrived at the Rectory." 
 
 Emma rose and turned towards the house 
 from whence her aunt and sister were issuing, 
 attended by Mr. Bennison and another gen- 
 tleman. 
 
 " Who is this strange gentleman, James, 
 do you know ?" 
 
 " Yes, ma'am, I know him, for a good gen- 
 tleman, he is no small favourite, I take it, of 
 her honour's, but 1 say nothing." 
 
 " Can my aunt think of this gentleman as
 
 MODERATION. 249 
 
 a suitor? " thought Emma, " he is certainly a 
 fine old man." 
 
 "Don't be flustrated, ma'am," said James, 
 in a tone which induced Emma to look at 
 him, and read in his broad brown face, a 
 look of such joy, she believed only one possi- 
 ble circumstance could have induced it; but 
 before she had time to comment, or to say, 
 " be calm," to her throbbing heart, she felt 
 the pressure of her aunt's hand, who announced 
 the stranger as Sir Geoffrey Melville, at the 
 same time placing her niece's hand in his. 
 
 The old gentleman was in deep mourning, 
 and as he received that hand and pressed it, 
 the tears were in his eyes. 
 
 " We are not strangers, my dear young lady, 
 we have been loner fellow sufferers." 
 
 " Not strangers certainly, for you, Sir, were 
 my friend when I greatly needed one." 
 
 " Our obligations are mutual — your virtues, 
 the instruction derived from conversation with 
 you and your excellent father, as given to us, 
 have shortened many a wearisome hour, and 
 given light and hope to the most awful period 
 — but I shall leave it to Charles to tell the sad 
 story of our wanderings ; yet there is one 
 message I promised to deliver myself."
 
 250 MODERATION. 
 
 As the Baronet had continued to walk 
 slowly up the avenue, Miss Tintagell and 
 Mr. Bennison returned to the house, and when 
 he perceived that they were gone, he took 
 from his pocket a little casket of jewels, 
 which he placed in Emma's hand, saying, 
 " my daughter — my Marianne sent you this, 
 'tis the gift — the legacy of an angel." 
 
 The old man wept, and Emma, as she re- 
 spectfully pressed the gift to her lips, wept 
 also. 
 
 " Nature will claim this tribute at times, 
 but I trust I am now resigned, and may here- 
 after be contented — it is now many months 
 since I lost her, since she exchanged a life 
 of pain and hopeless weakness for an immor 
 tality full of hope. Charles has wandere 1 
 with me from place to place, borne with 
 my querulous lamentations, and soothed me 
 into serenity — he tells me that he has done 
 wrong by you, that he has perhaps offended 
 you by not openly divulging his situation 
 with us. My dear young lady, suffer me to 
 plead for him, for I only was to blame — 
 1 was a weak old man — " 
 
 There was another step heard — another 
 voice.
 
 MODERATION. 251 
 
 " Miss Carvsford — Emma — do you not re- 
 member that morning when your father blessed 
 us together?" 
 
 " Yes, Melville, I remember all." 
 " That blessing I had not the courage to 
 forego, it confirmed what till then I only sur- 
 mised, that you were both strangers to Mari- 
 anne's name, and the reports in circulation 
 respecting our union. Reports which arose 
 from no profession on my part since I held 
 that dear and excellent creature as a sister, 
 from my earliest remembrance. 'Tis true that 
 about that period my uncle had expressed a 
 desire to see us united in case of (that very 
 improbable event) her recovery ; and from the 
 feelings of her own tender heart, the dying 
 girl so read what was passing in mine re- 
 specting you, that all her feelings were de- 
 veloped; and my sympathy, my gratitude were 
 so claimed, that I became tacitly devoted to 
 her, even when my heart was given to you 
 with the fond hope that it was an accepted 
 gift — yet it was but a hope — I had no right 
 to presume. I had deprived myself of the 
 power to entreat your kindness — I could not 
 expose the weakness of that dear girl, and the 
 awful circumstances under which we both
 
 252 MODERATION. 
 
 stood as guardians to beings so fragile, forbade 
 the power and almost the necessity for ex- 
 planation — I can trace, day by day, our sad 
 history to you, and prove that my error, for 
 such 1 hold it — ah! that casket in your hand, 
 Emma." 
 
 " / have given it to Miss Carysford, and in 
 it will be found a little note written by a weak 
 hand, but one that will prove powerful in 
 pleading your cause, Charles — you have, I 
 fear, been the cause of wounding that tender 
 heart, for whose welfare you could have suf- 
 fered martyrdom, but yet — 
 
 " I will not deny that I did suffer," said 
 Emma, " but since then 1 have endeavoured — 
 1 have struggled and — " 
 
 " Oh ! say not, dear Emma, you have 
 conquered ! " 
 
 " I have not tried to eradicate my gratitude 
 for all your boundless kindness, my respect 
 for your sound principles, your many virtues — 
 nor could I erase those sad memorials of your 
 fond preference which awoke my own, but 
 still—" 
 
 "But still you loved me — oh! suffer me 
 thus to interpret that soft hesitation, that 
 tearful smile — in this sweet walk, so many
 
 MODERATION. 253 
 
 years the sacred scene of that connubial love 
 to which he so often referred — in this place 
 which to you must feel a spot sacred to 
 your father's memory, let me receive the 
 blessing he would have bestowed." 
 
 " Then will }'ou not give me also a father? 
 your uncle is leaving us." 
 
 But in another moment she was folded in 
 the arms of one who accepted her as the boon 
 of heaven, which thus restored a daughter, 
 and gave him the power of bestowing a 
 father's blessing — from his hands Melville 
 received her as the gift his heart had so many 
 years yearned to bestow. The rapturous de- 
 light, the fond gratitude, the sense of full con- 
 solation for all his past sufferings, evinced by 
 Melville at this happy moment, inspired the 
 heart of Emma with the most pure and tender 
 pleasure she had ever tasted ; but it was so 
 combined with affecting recollections of the 
 past, with devout aspirations for the future, 
 and a sense of the errors and the sorrows to 
 which human nature is subject, even under 
 its most favourable aspect and circumstances, 
 as to gently attemper her joy, and to pre- 
 serve her Moderation. 
 
 finis.
 
 THE * 
 
 HOFLAND LIBRARY: 
 
 FOR THE 
 
 INSTRUCTION AND AMUSEMENT OF YOUTH. 
 
 ULUyJiTHmTI© W0TK1 IPLATIS. 
 
 EACH VOLUME HANDSOMELY BOUND IN EMBOSSED 
 SCARLET CLOTH, WITH GILT EDGES, &c. 
 
 First Class, in 12mo. Price 2s. Gd. 
 
 1. ALFRED CAMPBELL; or, 
 
 Travels of a Young Pilgrim. 
 
 2. DECISION; a Tale. 
 
 3. ENERGY. 
 
 4. FAREWELL TALES. 
 
 5. FORTITUDE. 
 
 8. MODERATION. 
 
 9. PATIENCE. 
 
 10. REFLECTION. 
 
 11. SELF-DENIAL. 
 
 12. YOUNG CADET, or, Travels 
 
 in Hisdostan. 
 
 6. HUMILITY. 
 
 7. INTEGRITY. 
 
 13. YOUNG PILGRIM; or, Al- 
 fred Campbell's Return. 
 
 Second Class, in ISnio. Price Is. Gd. 
 
 1. ADELAIDE; or, Massacre of 
 St. Bartholomew. 
 
 10. GOOD GRANDMOTHER 
 AND HER OFFSPRING. 
 
 2. AFFECTIONATE BRO- 
 THERS. 
 
 11. MERCHANT'S WIDOW and 
 her YOUNG FAMILY. 
 
 3. ALICE AND HER AUNT; 
 
 or, Think before you Speak. 
 
 12. RICH BOYS AND POOR 
 BOYS, and other Tales. 
 
 4. BARBADOS GIRL. 
 
 13. THE SISTERS; a Domestic 
 
 5. BLIND FARMER AND HIS 
 CHILDREN. 
 
 Tale. 
 14. STOLEN BOY; an Indian 
 
 6. CLERGYMAN'S WIDOW and 
 her YOUNG FAMILY. 
 
 Tale. 
 15. WILLIAMANDHISUNCLE 
 
 7. DAUGHTER-IN LAW, HER 
 
 FATHER AND FAMILY. 
 
 8. ELIZABETH AND HER 
 
 THREE BEGGAR BOYS. 
 
 9. GODMOTHER'S TALES. 
 
 BEN. 
 10. YOUNG N.ORTHERN 
 TRAVELLER. 
 
 17. YOUNG CRUSOE; oi, Ship- 
 wrecked Boy. 
 
 LONDON : 
 
 PUBLISHED (BY ASSIGNMENT OF A. K. NEWMAN AND CO.) BY 
 
 ARTHUR HALL, VIRTUE & CO. 25, PATERNOSTER ROW.
 
 NEW ILLUSTRATED WORKS FOR THE YOUNG. 
 Uniformly printed ill square lGmo. 
 
 In a neat cloth binding, with Illustrations, price 2s. C,<1. 
 
 STRATAGEMS. 
 
 A S T 11 Y FOR YOUNG PEOPLE. 
 BY MRS. NEWTON" CROSLAND, 
 
 (LATE CAMILLA TOULMIN.) 
 
 " A sweet tale, penned in a fair mood, and such as will make a rare gift 
 for a child." — Sun. 
 
 Uniform with the above, 
 
 "THE ADVENTURES OF A DANCING DOG;" 
 
 PIPPIE'S WARNING; 
 
 OR, MIND YOUR TEMPER 
 
 By CATHERINE CROWE, Author of "Susan Hopley," etc. 
 
 " A capita] story." — AthencBum. 
 
 " This is a capital child's book." — Scotsman. 
 
 Third Edition, with gilt edges, 
 
 STORIES FROM THE GOSPELS, 
 
 A GIFT FOl! CHILDREN. 
 By MRS. HENRY LYNCH, Author OP " Maude Effingham," etc 
 
 With Plates on Steel, price 3s. 
 
 HOW TO WIN LOVE; 
 
 OK, RHODA'S LESSON. 
 
 BY THE AUTHOR. OF " MirilAKL THE miner," etc. 
 
 " A very captivating story." — Morning Post. 
 
 " Truthful!. c?, descriptive talent, and pure morality in every line." — 
 Literary Gazelle. 
 
 " Just what a story for children ought to be." — Douglas Jerrold's News- 
 P"l er. 
 
 ART1IIR HALL, VIRTUE & Co. 25, Paternoster Row.
 
 <Sr 
 
 -8 
 
 % Catalogue 
 
 OF 
 
 INSTRUCTIVE AND AMUSING 
 
 WORKS FOR THE YOUNG. 
 
 INCLUDING THOSE 
 
 FORMERLY PUBLISHED BY CLARKE & CO. 
 
 (LATE DARTON & HARVEY.) 
 
 LONDON : 
 ARTHUR HALL, VIRTUE & CO. 
 
 25, PATERNOSTER ROW. 
 J. ilenzies, Edinburgh.] [J. McGlashan, Dublin, 
 
 & ' ' © 
 
 No. 6. 1.1. 5G.
 
 Q S 
 
 Nen and cheaper Edition, price 4s. cloth ;;ilt, 
 
 A BOY'S ADVENTURES IN THE WILDS 
 OF AUSTRALIA. 
 
 By WILLIAM HO WITT. 
 
 Thi> day is published, price 3s. G</., or 5*. gilt edges, 
 
 LADY MARY AND HER NURSE; 
 
 cilt. 
 
 A PEEP INTO THE CANADIAN FOREST. 
 By MBS. TRAILL, 
 
 AUTHOR OF " CANADIAN HUSOES." 
 
 ml) Jlltistrations. 
 
 B
 
 ft- 
 
 ^Mttnttite Kith J nut sing 
 WORKS FOR THE YOUNG. 
 
 ACKWORTH VOCABULARY, 
 
 or English Spelling Book ; with the Meaning attached to each. 
 Word. Compiled for the use of Ackworth School. New Edition , 
 ISmo. cloth lettered. Price Is. 6d. 
 
 ART of CHESS-PLAY.— A NEW TREATISE 
 
 ox the GAME of CHESS. By George AValker, Esq. 
 Ninth Edition, 12mo. cloth lettered, reduced to 2s. del. 
 
 BARBAULD'S (Mrs.) LEMONS POUR DES 
 
 l.XFAXS, depuisl'age de Deux Ans jusqu'a Cinq. Avec une 
 Interpretation Anglaise. New Edition. ISmo. cloth lettered. 
 Price 2s. , 
 
 BOY (the) AND THE BIRDS. 
 
 By Emily Taylor. With Sixteen fine Woodcuts, from Land- 
 seer's Designs. 16mo. gilt edges. Price 25. 6(-'. 
 
 " A delightful book for children. The birds tell of their habits to a little in- 
 quiring boy, who goes peeping into their nests and watching their doings, and a 
 very pleasant way they have of talking, sure to engage the young reader's atten- 
 tion. The designs are pretty, and nicely cut on wood."— Spectator. 
 
 CANADIAN CRUSOES ; 
 
 a Tale of the Rice Lake Plains. Bv Mrs. Traill, (late 
 Catharine Parr Strickland,) Authoress of "The Backwoods of 
 Canada," &c. In foolscap, with numerous Engravings. Price 6s. 
 cloth gilt. 
 
 Edited hy Agnes Strickland. Illustrated by Harvey. 
 
 " This is an extremely pleasing and not very improbable action. The object 
 of the writer has been to inculcate the virtues of energ-v and sell- reliance under 
 circumstances of difficulty and danger. The book is exceedingly well calculated 
 for children, to whom its interesting contents, its handsome appearance and 
 beautiful illustrations will render it an acceptable present."— Tait't Magazine, 
 Sept. 1852. -s . 
 
 " A very delightful book for young readers. The interest is deep and well 
 sustained, the style uniformly agreeable and lively, and the knowledge of the 
 writer, who has lived for some time on the Rice Lake Plains, the scene of the 
 story, adds a value to the book for readers of all ages. Mr. Harvey has con- 
 tributed some excellent woodcuts, and the book is altogether a pretty and in- 
 teresting one."— Guardian. 
 
 Q- 
 
 Arthur Haxl, Viktue, cc Co. 25, Paternoster Jlow. 
 
 A 2
 
 INSTRUCTIVE AND AMUSING 
 
 CHEMISTRY NO MYSTERY ; 
 
 being the Subject Matter of a Course of Lectures by Dr. Scoffern. 
 Illustrated with Diagrams and Woodcuts. Second Edition, 
 revised and corrected, with Index, price 3j. 6d. cloth lettered. 
 
 11 A very agreeable account of sonic of the leading facts and principles of 
 Chemistry, not only made plain to the meanest capacity, but attractive, WC thou Id 
 
 mi ■iL-iiii', tu the moat Idle youth, and imuslng to ail," — 8ptctalor, 
 
 " This work contains quite as much information as is requisite for any person 
 who <\»v* not intend to make Chemistry a professional or ho'iby-horsical pursuit. 
 The various information is conveyed in a clear and distinct manner, so that the 
 dullest child can hardly fail to understand what it means. We reOOmmend ev.-i v 
 father to purchase this work for till children, unless they happen to he particularly 
 stupid. It does much credit to Mr. Scoffem, the author ; il is very well printed 
 and ncutl) hound."— Polytechnic Journal. 
 
 COLA MONTI; 
 
 or, the Story of a Genius. A Tale for Boys. By the Author of 
 " How to Will Love." With Tour Illustrations by Franklin. 
 In foolscap 8vo. cloth. Price 3s. 6rf. 
 
 11 No one possessing common sensibility can read this hook without a thought- 
 ful brow and a glistening eye." — Chambers* Edinburgh Journal. 
 
 '* An exceedingly well-told tale, which "ill Interest boys of ail age*. » * * 
 As a h« did ay companion, few book* would he more popular." — English Churchman. 
 
 ** A lively narrative of school DOT adventures." 
 
 •' A very charming and admirabiy-writtcn volume. * « * It is adapted to 
 make boys better." 
 
 ** A simple and pleasing story of school-boy life.**— John Bull. 
 
 DECOY (the); 
 
 (ir, an Agreeable Method of Teaching Children the elenien 
 Parts of English Grammar. Price If. sewed. 
 
 DOCTOR'S LITTLE DAUGHTER. 
 
 The Story of a Child's Life amidst the Woods and Hills. By 
 Kli/.y Mi;t]:yaiu>. In foolscap 8vo. price is. 6d, elegantly 
 
 bound and -ill, with numerous Illustrations by II.vhveT. 
 
 " This is a very delightful book, especially calculated fur the amusement and 
 instruction of our young friends; and i> evident!} the production "i a right- 
 thinking and accomplished tnipd."— i 'hit ft h t f t-.u^ltih! lit rn-ir. 
 
 " Anvlegant, Interesting, and unobjectionable presenl tor young Ladle*. The 
 
 moral of the honk turn* on henevnlenee." t ''hnst tan Time*. 
 
 " This story of a Child's Life la io full ol beauty and meekness, that we can 
 hardly express our sense of its worth In the word* of common praise."— iVon* 
 nut. 
 
 ** This "ill be D Choice present for the young."— Rriiith Quarterly !'> view. 
 
 '• The whole story i-» told with a most touching grace, an i a golden kIow of 
 poetry pervades it. The fine dealgns "i Harvey which Illustrate the boi 
 
 iT' .itu to its attraetlvenei -. and we cat I entertain ■ doubt i f Its becoming on* 
 
 "i the most popular volumes In the 'Children's Library.*" — Bluta Cook't J out no/. 
 
 EAETH (the) AND ITS 1 XII MUTANTS. 
 
 By Hakoabxt E. Darton. Crown Bvo. cloth, with coloured 
 Frontispiece. Price 5s. •"* 
 
 O g 
 
 IK 1! W.I., Yir.lTK, & CO. 25, l'\Tll;\OSTEK KOT.
 
 £> 
 
 WORKS FOR THE YOUNG. 
 
 EDGE WORTH'S EARLY LESSONS. 
 
 New and cheaper Edition, fcap cloth, 3*. (id. or in Four Pocket 
 Volumes, price 10s. 
 
 ENGLISH STORIES of the OLDEN TIME. 
 
 By Maria Hack. A New Edition. With Vignettes by 
 Harvey. {In preparation, 
 
 " A popular History oF England, from Alfred to Elizabeth, adapted to the 
 capacities of young persons. The matter is unexceptionable, and embodies a good 
 deal of information, valuable and interesting to juvenile readers, with a dispas- 
 sionate and just estimate of the characters of the persons, and the causes and 
 influence of events." — Spectator. 
 
 EVENINGS AT HOME; 
 
 or, the Juvenile Budget opened. By Dr. Aiken and Mrs. 
 Barbauld. Sixteenth Edition, revised and newly arranged by 
 Arthur Aiken, Esq. and Miss Aiken. With Engravings hy 
 Harvey. Fcap. Svo. Price 3*. (id. cloth. 
 
 (BJeHrart, (fHrs. ftfjomas.) SHorfes fig. 
 LOVE, A REALITY, NOT ROMANCE. 
 
 In fcap. Price 3*. (id. handsomely hound, with gilt edges. 
 Cuts by Gilbert. 
 
 " Few writers are more indefatigable in their offices of benevolence than the 
 authoress of this elegant little volume, who has once more clone herself infinite 
 credit by a transcript of the realities of life, so fairly and truly made, as to go home 
 to the heart of everyone who follows the tale to the conclusion. It is a high gift 
 to be able to write well ; but it is a farhigherand nubler privilege to be known to 
 write usefully, and to the best of purposes ; and this Mrs. Geldart has nevermore 
 effectually done than in 4 Love, a Reality, not a Romance. 1 " — Hell's Messenger, 
 
 NURSERY GUIDE. ISmo. cloth, Is. 6rf. 
 ELDER BROTHERS. 16mo. cloth. Price !)tf. 
 MAY DUNDAS. Fcap. cloth. Price 2s. 6d. 
 EMILIE, THE PEACE-MAKER. Fcap. cloth. Price 2s. 6,?. 
 STORIES OF SCOTLAND. Fcap. cloth. Price 2s. Crf. 
 THOUGHTS OF HOME. Fcap. cloth. Price 2s. Gd. 
 TRUTH IS EVERYTHING. Second Edition. Fcap. cloth. 
 Price 2s. 6d. 
 
 GRECIAN STORIES. 
 
 By Maria Hack. With Thirty-eight fine Illustrations by 
 Gilbert, engraved by Wright and Folkard. 12mo. clotb 
 lettered. Price 6s. 
 
 '* These historical narratives are composed on the popular plan of the enter- 
 taining and instructive stories of the authoress, relating to England. They 
 will be valuable, especially to the non-classical, as an accurate picture of 
 Greece, its annals, and its great men." — TaiVs Mag. 
 
 o 
 
 Arthur Hall, Virtue, & Co. 25, Paternoster Row.
 
 INSTRUCTIVE AND AMUSING 
 
 HEROINES OF THE MISSIONARY 
 
 IVIT.K 1'ltlSK; or. Sketches of Prominent Female Mission- 
 aries. Bj in. hi. C. Eddy. With Preface by the Rev. Johs 
 (i m«im., D.I). Third Edition, in fcap. 8vo. Price Is. 64. cloth. 
 
 " This is n book for the many, and cannot fail to lie a great favourite, especially 
 with the sex whose virtues ;.nd LabOtiri it records." — Urittth Itauwr. 
 
 HOWITT.— A BOY'S ADVENTURES IX THE 
 
 wilds OF AUSTRALIA; or, Herbert's Note Book. By 
 Willi \m Howitt. With Design* by Hahyky. New Edition, 
 price 4a cloth gilt. 
 
 " It is really the next thin? to a personal pllfriraftffl throufh UlC (.olden 
 Land, in vivid portraiture of tblncs u tb< % in, it for excels every publication 
 that has yel reached us from Australia " British Bofour, 
 
 •■Ail ihe boyi la England,, whether • old boys' or young ones, will rejoice in 
 this fascinating book, full of anecdote and wild adventure ; sober as we art- ami 
 Iven to roam, it has tnsplii <i ui with ■ strong deaf re to take • Journey in 
 the Bush, if we could see the end of it. The descriptions of the scenery, the 
 ire extremely spirited and graphic,— they have all the 
 appearance of being n rltten nn the v i">t, .ml are redolent of the fresh op- d 'ir. 
 \\ e have very seldom read a book of travels that has charmed us so much, and 
 we shall consldei that tin* young folks who Ond it hanging on Ihe bough of their 
 1 Christmas tree' are extremely fortunate." ^Alhtmtrum. 
 
 might be expected, they will find nut only interesting and unuslnej 
 Incidents and descriptions, but a good deal of useful informal <>n on the subject 
 if Australian life, among the natives as well as amort emigrants There are 
 several woodcuts Illustrating some or the moat striking scenes, and the book win 
 lake a high rank among Christmas and New Tear presents."— BngHJi • %*rchman, 
 
 "This is a capital bonk, and will commend itself alike ho you 
 ii is lull of humour, adventure, excitement, and those incidents of peril and 
 pleasure which seem Indigenous to Australia. The gold-diggings, inl- 
 and bush-fires— floods, rubbers, and bunting 'scapes — all contribute their quota 
 to this interesting book. It is emphatically « hoy's book, and «ili be a very 
 acceptable Christ mas- jtift."— Church atnl Stats Oosvffe. 
 
 " This book was written in the midst of the scenes it describes, and has the 
 reality and vividness of actual experience and adventure, in the form ol 
 jonrnal, it platans Australian scenes, an i records the [netdestta of travel in toe 
 i . i atural history ol the bush Is sery Instructive.) and amusingly woven 
 inr.. the story. .... Let us then oommend It, to boys espectall] , as decidedls iir-t- 
 rate— one of 'the best books everfurnished for theirgraiiilcation."— Xoncoi\'ormt>t. 
 
 HOW TO WIN LOVE ; 
 
 or, Rhoda's Lesson. A Story Hook for the Young. By the 
 Author of "Michael the Miner," "Cola Monti," 8tc. With 
 illustrations on Steel. Second Edition, in square l6mo. hand- 
 somely bound in cloth. Price 2*. Bd. with gin edges. 
 
 " \ very captivating ■lory.* -Marntnn Post. 
 
 •• Truthfulneu, descriptive talent, ami pore morality in every line."— Literary 
 
 'ir. 
 " Just what a itory for children ought to be." — llnu^lat Jtrn.ld't Xeu »/ >iper. 
 
 LADY MARY AND HER NURSE; or, a 
 
 PEEP INTO THE CANADIAN FOREST. Ity MrvTimu.. 
 Author of " Canadian Crusoes." Illustrated by linn i 
 h. 8». Go". 
 
 O CI 
 
 II m.i , Vn:; •!:, & Co. 25, '■' • I B Row,
 
 WORKS FOR THE YOUNG. 
 
 LAWRENCE'S (Miss) STORIES FROM THE 
 OLD AND NEW TESTAMENTS. 
 
 New Edition, with cuts. [In preparation. 
 
 firto srrrirs of Jllustratrti iBaituals. 
 MANUAL OF HERALDRY, 
 
 Being a conci.se Description of the several Terms used, and 
 containing a Dictionary of every Designation in the Science. 
 Illustrated by 400 Engravings on Wood. New Edition, in fcap. 
 8vo. Price Zs. in emblematic cover. 
 
 Uniform With i/ie aborc, price 3s. 
 
 MANUAL OF PERSPECTIVE. 
 
 Illustrated by numerous Engravings. By X. Whittock. 
 Just Published, also uniform, price 3s. 
 
 MANUAL OF GEOGRAPHY, 
 
 Physical and Political. For the use of Schools and Families, 
 with Questions for Examination. By Edward Farh, Author 
 of "History of England," &c. 
 
 " Thoush perfectly free from pretension, and proposed only as an assistant to 
 the mother or the teacher, this little hook is one of the best works on general 
 geography that have come under our notice for a long time. A careful reading 
 of the more recent works of statists and travellers is apparent in its pages. The 
 information is well put together, and the several subjects are profusely 
 illustrated." — AUierweunu 
 
 MIRACLES OF NATURE AND MARVELS 
 OF ART. 
 
 Numerous Cuts. Price Is. each. 
 
 LAND CREATION. 14 Engravings. 
 
 THE TROPICS AND THE POLES. 10 Engravings. 
 
 NATURE AND ART. IS Engravings. 
 
 MY OLD PUPILS. 
 
 With Four Illustrations on Wood. Square lCmo. Price 2s. 6d. 
 handsomely bound in cloth, with gilt edges. 
 
 3 —$ 
 
 Arthur Hall, Virtue, & Co. 25, Paternoster Row.
 
 INSTRUCTIVE AND AMUSING 
 
 MY YOUTHFUL COMPANIONS. 
 
 By the same Author. 12iiio. cloth. Price it, With Slecl 
 Frontispiece! 
 
 NAOMI ; 
 
 or. the Last Days of Jerusalem. By Mrs. J, B. Webb. With 
 View and Plan of Jerusalem. New Edition, with Designs bj 
 (iiliicrt. l'Y.ip. 8vo. cloth lettered. Price 7*. 6cf. 
 
 " Oneofthemon Interesting irork.we have read for tome time. Tim *mii- 
 menta ure appropriate, the style In graceful, and the tale is well conulvi I. 
 We :trr not. then, surprised at the popularity it has attained, i; 
 
 and we cordialK u 1^1 it farthei success." — Metropolitan, 
 
 PHILOSOPHICAL CONVERSATIONS ■ 
 
 In which are familiarly explained the causes of many daily 
 occurring Natural Phenomena. By PrbsbrickC. Bakevi 
 Third Edition, with Cuts. Pcap. cloth lettered. Trice 3*. \\d. 
 
 " We ran most confidently recommend the Philosophical Conversatli 
 heads of families, u a work at once highly amusing and instructive."— -Bit 
 ham Journal. 
 
 " We have seldom, if ever, met with so much instruction on curious and philo- 
 sophical subjects conveyed in a form so clear, so entertaining, and so \» I 
 free from the pedantry or affectation of learned technicalities. We ■hall be mi 
 prilled if this work does not ■peedily become the favourite rudimental manual ol 
 Natural Philosophy in public snuin. tries and in pri\ ate lull "n."— Hath Herald. 
 
 *' This is a vfrv pleasing and lucid work, well adapted to allure young people 
 
 to the study of Natural I'hiloMiphv ." -l.r<<h M,-ictu </. 
 
 ** We have perused this volume « ith much pleasure and Improve ment It i o 
 work w e ran confidently recommendi especlallj t<» tin- beads <>i Runlllei 
 tin- mi'., i, and the familiar itylc In which the] art- in-. tied, it caiinnl 
 
 fail of proving both Instructive an ( amusing." < hronicir. 
 
 PICTORIAL FRENCH & ENGLISH PRIMER. 
 
 With nearly One Hundred Engravings on Wood. Price <w/. 
 
 PICTORIAL SPELLING BOOK ; 
 
 or, Lessons on Facts and Objects. With 130 Graphic Illu I 
 lions. Fifth Edition. Price Is. in cloth. 
 
 PIPPIE'S WARNING ; 
 
 or, the Adventures ofa Dancing Dog, ByCATHARiw«CHOw», 
 
 Author of "Susan Ilonley," \c. With Cuts. Price L'.\. lit/. 
 gilt edges. 
 
 PLEASANT PASTIME; 
 
 or, Drawing-Room Dramas for Private Representation by the 
 Young, with Cuts. Price 2*. Bd. with gill edges. 
 
 5 © 
 
 Aktiivk IIm.l, ViKTDE, & Co. 25, r.\Tr.R\osTi:u How.
 
 ® 
 
 -SI 
 
 WORKS FOR THE YOUNG. 
 
 RAILWAY APPLIANCES, 
 
 in the Nineteenth Century - ; or, the Rail, Steam, and Electricity. 
 With Illustrative Anecdotes, Engravings, and Diagrams. Fcap. 
 Svo. cloth lettered. Price Is. 6rf. 
 
 RECOLLECTIONS OF MRS. ANDERSON'S 
 
 SCHOOL. A Book for Girls. By Jane Winnard Hooper. 
 Illustrated by Franklin. Fcap. Svo. Price 3s. 6d. cloth gilt. 
 
 " A pretty unpretentious volume, neatly embellished, and gay in its livery of 
 green and gold. Outside and in 'tis precisely the beau ideal of a present or a 
 prize-book for a young lady. More fresh and more delightful reading than this 
 book it has rarely been our fortune to meet."— Morning Advertiser. 
 
 " An amusing series of descriptions likely to interest the young folks for whom 
 they are intended." — Express. 
 
 " Although professedly a ' book for girls.' the volume is so interesting in itself 
 as to be calculated to give amusement to those who have attained a riper aire; 
 and, although there is nothing attempted beyond amusement, yet a high moral is 
 conveved in its pages. One word as to the 'getting up.' The t\pography is 
 faultless, and the binding and finish such as to fit it especially for the place which 
 we sincerely hope it will be found largely to occupy— the drawing-room table."— 
 Belfast Mercury. 
 
 " A young lady's experiences of a boarding school, which are related in a very 
 amusing and natural manner." — English Churchman. 
 
 " This little work is calculated to be exceedingly useful in forming the minds 
 of female children."— BeWs Messenger. 
 
 RODWELL'S CHILD'S FIRST STEP TO 
 
 ENGLISH HISTORY. With many Cuts. New Edition, 
 revised by Julia Corner. 16mo. cloth. 2s. 6d. 
 
 ROWROTHAM'S (J., f.r.s.a.) DERIVATIVE 
 
 SPELLING BOOK, in which the Origin of each Word is given 
 from the Greek, Latin, Saxon, German, Teutonic, Dutch, 
 French, Spanish, and other Languages ; with the Parts of 
 Speech, and Pronunciation accented. 12mo. cloth. Price Is. 6d, 
 
 ROWROTHAM'S GUIDE TO THE FRENCH 
 LANGUAGE AND CONVERSATION; 
 
 consisting of Modern French Dialogues, with the Pronunciation 
 of the most difficult Words ; for the use of Schools, Travellers, 
 and Private Students. A New Edition, by De La Voye. Demy 
 l&mo. Price 2s. Grf. handsomely bound in French morocco. 
 
 SCRIPTURE SITES AND SCENES, 
 
 from actual Survey, in Egypt, Arabia, and Palestine. Illus- 
 trated by Seventeen Steel Engravings, Three Maps, and Thirty- 
 seven Woodcuts. By W. H. Bartlett. Price 4s. post Svo. 
 cloth gilt edges. 
 
 Arthur Hall, Virtue, & Co. 25, Paternoster Bo-a\
 
 Q - Q 
 
 INSTRUCTIVE AND AMUSING 
 
 SELECT POETRY FOR CHILDREN; 
 
 With brief Explanatory NoteB, arranged for the use of Schools and 
 Families. Hv JFosj in Paths. Tenth Edition, corrected and 
 Enlarged. l8mo. Price %$% v>d. cloth, or 8*. giltedgee. 
 
 " A very Dice lltttfl volume, containing a charming collection ofpoetrv." — 
 Spectator, 
 
 " We do not know any ottter book that, in the sam<* compass, contains *urh a 
 rich selection ol pieces, that are at once sprightly and instructive, palhrtie and 
 devout.*' — < ntigtcnational Magazine, 
 
 •* A verj pleasing and suitable selection.**— Wertmtntter Urriftr. 
 
 " it i» really a treat to sea anj Uilng so simply good a> the little volume before 
 us." — Metropolitan Magazine. 
 
 STUDIES IN ENGLISH POETRY ; 
 
 wiiii short Biographical Bketches, and Notes explanatory and 
 ( ritical, intended as a Text-Book for the higher Classes in 
 
 BchooU, and as an Introduction to the Study of English Litera- 
 ture. By Joseph Payne. Tliird Edition. 12mo. Price 5f. in 
 cloth, red edges, 
 
 *' The plan and the execution are equally good; altogether it is an excellent 
 reading book of poetry, " — Watchman* 
 
 " The work is deserving of commendation, as comprehending much that in 
 excellent — til** vf-ry (lowers and grins of Knglish pnetn and notfilng exwption- 
 able." — TaiVt Magazine, 
 
 " We can honestll recommend the volume to the favour and confidence of our 
 readaj •>."--- EcM die Rtvitw, 
 
 " Mr. Payne is entitled to the highest praise for the care bestowrd on the 
 antiquated orthography of the earlier authors, and the ability and judgment dis- 
 played in the annexed notes throughout the volume." — The Student. 
 
 STRATAGEMS. 
 
 By Mrs, Nbwtoh Caosslans (late Camilla Ton-Mix). With 
 Cuts. Price 2a. (\d. pilt edges. 
 
 " \ iweel tale, penn< d In a fair mood, and such as will make a rare gift for a 
 
 child." — Sun. 
 
 TALES OF MANY LANDS. 
 
 By .Mi— M I-'raser Tytler, Author of "Tales of the Great 
 and Brave." Reap. 8vo. cloth lettered, With Engravings and 
 
 Wuoiicut illustrations. New Edition, [In preparation, 
 
 " Sketches of common life, and traits of chHdlsh character. Intermingled ikll- 
 fuli v with ptcturei "i foreign iceneryand national characteristics; and pathetic 
 . written with talent, and Ins maimer to Interest youthful readers, i ten 
 tale la illustrated by a clever n OOd engTSl Ing,** — Spectator 
 
 WAKEFIELD'S (Priscilla) FAMILY TOUR 
 THROUGH THE BRITISH EMPIRE, 
 
 A \ Edition, revised and corrected to the present tune. 
 With a Map. 12mo. cloth. Trice G*. 
 
 $ 
 
 mi i; Hail, Virtue, & Co. 2o, Patbrnostkb Row.
 
 o 
 
 
 WORKS FOR THE YOUNG. 
 
 WAKEFIELD'S (Priscilla) JUVENILE 
 
 TRAVELLERS ; a Tour throughout Europe. A New Edition, 
 corrected to the present time. With a Map. 12mo. cloth. 
 Price 6s. 
 
 WAKEFIELD'S (Priscilla) INSTINCT 
 
 DISPLAYED in the Animal Creation. A New and Revised 
 Edition, with many Additions to the original Work of Priscilla 
 Wakefield. Foolscap Svo. cloth lettered. New Edition. 
 
 [In preparation. 
 
 " A nice little work, in the shape of letters between two young ladies who are 
 induced to study natural history. The anecdotes are well selected, and told in a 
 simple and unaffected manner, which greatly enhances their value. The object 
 the authoress had in view is humane, and her book ought to be in the hands or 
 every child from eight to twelve years of age."— Bristol Mercury. 
 
 WATTS'S (Dr.) DIVINE and MORAL SONGS 
 
 FOR CHILDREN. With Anecdotes and Reflections, by the 
 Rev. Ingram Cobbin, MA. With Frontispiece and Fifty- 
 seven Woodcuts. New Edition. Price Is. in cloth, or Is. Crf. 
 with gilt edges. 
 
 WINTER EVENINGS ; 
 
 or, Tales of Travellers. By Maria Hack. A New and 
 Cheaper Edition, with Illustrations by Gilbert. Fcap. cloth. 
 Pnce 3s. (i</. 
 
 O. 
 
 Arthcr Hall, Virtue, & Co. 25, Paternoster Bow;
 
 o o 
 
 INSTRUCTIVE AND AMUSING 
 
 Dnrtmi & Bnrurifs ^nlilirntiniis. 
 
 Price Half-a-Crown. 
 
 ALFRED DUDLEY: or, Iho Australian Settlers. 
 
 Second Edition. With Nine Illustrations, ltimo. cloth lettered, 
 gilt edges. 
 
 ROY AND THE RIRDS. By Emily Tatloe. 
 
 With Sixteen Fine Woodcuts, from LaNDSEER'S Designs. lUmo 
 gilt edges. 
 
 CBARLIE'S DISCOVERIES; or, a Good Use for 
 
 Eyes and Ears. With many Cuts, by T. Williams. 16mo. 
 cloth, gilt edges. 
 
 CITY SCENES; or, a Peep into London. With 
 
 many Plates. 16mo. cloth lettered. 
 
 FIRESIDE STORIES; or, Recollections of my 
 
 Schoolfellows. Third Edition, with Thirteen Illustrations, 
 lfimo. cloth lettered, gilt edges. 
 
 FOOTSTEPS TO NV1TIIAL HISTORY. "With 
 
 Cuts. Square Kimo. gilt edges. 
 
 LITTLE BOOK OF KNOWLEDGE; containing 
 
 Useful Information on Common Things, for Young Children- 
 By ELISABXTB <!. NoVXRRE. With Might Elegant Illustra. 
 tions. Ifini'j. gilt edges. 
 
 a s 
 
 Artiii k HsXl, Vikti k, & Co. 25, Patbbbjostzr Row.
 
 WORKS FOR THE YOUNG. 
 
 DARTON AND HARVEY'S PUBLICATIONS. 
 
 Price Half-a-Crown— continued. 
 NEW GIFT BOOK FOR YOUTH, 26 Illustrations, 
 
 square fancy covers. 
 
 OLD OAK CHEST; or, a Book a Great Treasure. 
 
 By the Author of " Charlie'* Discoveries," &c. With Cuts. 
 16mo. cloth gilt. 
 
 PAUL PERCIVAL ; or, the Young Adventurer. 
 
 With Cuts. 16mo. cloth gilt. 
 
 RHYMES EOR THE NURSERY. By the Authors 
 
 of " Original Poems." Illustrated Edition, in Large Type. With 
 Sixteen fine Cuts, by Wright, from Designs by Gilbert. 
 lGmo. cloth, gilt edges. 
 
 MY BOY'S FIRST BOOK. By Miss M. Frazer 
 
 Tytler. With fine Cuts. lGmo. cloth. 
 
 " A pretty little one for very young children, consisting of a number of tales 
 
 full of interest, yet all tending to improve the morals of the youthful reader. 
 We recommend both these works as presents to all good children.*'— Metro- 
 politan Magazine. 
 
 MY BOY'S SECOND BOOK. By the same Author. 
 
 With fine Cuts. 16mo. cloth. 
 
 HYMNS AND SKETCHES IN VERSE. Bv 
 
 M. F. Tytler. With fine Cuts. 16mo. cloth gilt. 
 
 THE SQUIRRELS AND OTHER ANIMALS ; or, 
 
 Illustrations of the Habits and Instincts of many of the smaller 
 British Quadrupeds. By George Waring. With Cuts. 
 Square lGmo. 
 
 THE YOUNG NATURALIST'S BOOK of BIRDS. 
 
 By Percy B. St. John. A New Edition, with Sixteen Wood 
 Engravings, by Folkard and Whimper. Square 16mo. gilt. 
 
 3- ■ 8 
 
 Arthur Hall, Virtue. & Co. 25 Paternoster Row.
 
 INSTRUCTIVE AND AMUSING 
 
 DAUTON AND HAUYKY'S I't lil.KATIONS. 
 Price Two Shillings. 
 
 COTTAGE in the CHALK-PIT. By C. A. Mam. 
 CR ABBE'S TALES EOR CHILDREN. In a 
 
 Familial Style. 
 HACK'S STORIES OF ANIMALS. Iii Two Vols. 
 
 Adapted for Childreu from Three to Ten. 
 
 HACK'S HARRY BEAUEOY; or, the Pupil of 
 
 Nature. A New Edition, with Cuts by Lasdsekh. 
 
 HENDRY'S HISTORY OE GREECE. In Es 
 
 Lessons. Adapted to Children from Six to Ten years of Age. 
 
 HENDRY'S HISTORY OF ROME. In Easy Les- 
 
 sons. Adapted for Children from Six to Ten years of Age. 
 
 JUVENILE ANECDOTES; or, Stories of Children. 
 
 By P. WaMjfield. A New Edition. 
 
 LIMED TWIGS TO CATCH IOUNG BIRDS. 
 
 By the Authors of "Original Poems." 1 Smu. cloth lettered. 
 
 LITTLE BOOK OF OBJECTS. Many Cuts. Square 
 
 cloth. 
 
 OPEN AM) SEE; or, First Reading Lessons. By 
 the Author of "Aids to Development/' &c. Sec. With Tw< 
 lour Engravings on Wood. 
 
 ROBINSON CRUSOE. With Illustrations. 18mo. 
 
 cloth. 
 
 RURAL SCENES; or, a Peep into the Country. 
 
 A New and Revised Edition, with Eighty-eight Cuts. Cloth 
 red. 
 
 SANDFORD AND MERTON. With Cuts. 
 WILLIE PHASER; or, the Little Scotch Boy! and 
 
 other Tales. lly Mns. H. L.EE. With Eour Illustrations. 
 
 Arthur Hall, Virtue, >V Co. 23, PatKBXTOSTBB Row.
 
 e- 
 
 
 WCRKS FOR THE YOUNG. 
 
 DARTON AND HARVEY'S PUBLICATIONS. 
 Price Is. 6d. each. 
 
 ACKWORTH VOCABULARY, 
 
 or English Spelling Book; with the Meaning attached to each 
 Word. Compiled for the use of Ackworth School. New Edition. 
 18mo. cloth lettered. 
 
 EAST INDIANS AT SELWOOD ; or, the Orphan's 
 
 Home. With Illustrations. 
 
 ELEMENTARY INSTRUCTION FOR JUNIOR 
 
 STUDENTS. 
 
 GLEANINGS FROM MANY FIELDS. 
 
 LAPLAND AND ITS REINDEER. 
 
 NURSERY RHYMES. By the Authors of " Original 
 
 Poems." ISmo. cloth lettered. 
 
 ORIGINAL POEMS FOR INFANT MINDS. A 
 
 New and Revised Edition. In Two Vols. 
 
 ROAD TO LEARNING; or, Original Lessons in 
 
 Words of One and Two Syllables. 
 
 ROWBOTHAM'S (J., f.r.s.a.) DERIVATIVE 
 
 SPELLING BOOK, in which the origin of eacli word is given 
 from the Greek, Latin, Saxon, German, Teutonic, Dutch, 
 French, Spanish, and other Languages; with the parts of 
 Speech, and Pronunciation accented. 12mo. cloth 
 
 SIMPLE TALES, on E very-Day Subjects. 
 
 TALES OF DISTANT LANDS. 
 
 TEACHER'S TREASURE. By Mrs. Lamont. A 
 
 Reading-Book. On a Novel Plan. 
 
 Arthur Hall, Virtue & Co. 25, Paternoster Row.
 
 
 o 
 
 THE 
 
 HOFLAND LIBRARY; 
 
 FOR THK 
 
 INSTRUCTION AND AMUSEMENT OF YOUTH. 
 
 Illustrated with Elates, and handaomely Bound in Eml 
 Scarlet Cloth, with Gilt Edges, &c. 
 
 FIRST CLASS, in 12mo.— Price 2s. Grf. 
 
 1. Memoir of the Life and 
 
 Literary Remains of 
 Mrs. Hofland. By T. 
 Ramsay, Esq. With 
 Portrait, 
 
 2. Alfred Campbell; or, 
 
 Travels of a Young Pilgrim. 
 
 3. Decision ; a Tale. 
 
 4. Energy. 
 
 5. fortitude. 
 
 fi. Humility. 
 
 7. Integrity. 
 
 8. Moderation. 
 
 9. Patience. 
 lit. Reflection. 
 
 11. Self-Denial. 
 
 12. Young Cadet; or, Travels 
 
 in Hindostan. 
 
 13. Young Pilgrim; or, Alfred 
 
 Campbell's Return. 
 
 SECOND CLASS, in lSmo — Price \s. 6d. 
 
 1. Adelaide; or, Massacre of St. Bartholomew. 
 
 2. Affectionate Brothers. 
 
 3. Alicia and her Aunt; or, Think before you Speak. 
 
 4. Barbados Girl. 
 
 5. Blind Farmer and his Children. 
 
 0. Clergyman's Widow and her Young Family. 
 
 7. Daughter-in-law, her i'vrnr.it, and Family;. 
 
 8. Elizabeth and her three Beggar Boys. 
 
 9. Good Grandmotheh and her Offspring. 
 
 10. MERCHANT'S Widow and her young Family. 
 
 11. Run Hoys and Poob Boys, and other Tales. 
 
 12. The Sisters; a Domestic Tale. 
 
 13. Stolen Hoy; an Indian Tale. 
 II. William and his I'm li: BEH. 
 
 15. Young Crusoe; or, Shipwrecked Boy. 
 
 Published [by Assignment of A. K. N c\\ •••> ^ 8 Co.) by 
 ARTHUR HALL, VIRTUE, & CO. 2:., PATERNOSTEB BOW, 
 
 
 
 B. CLAY, PRINT '.:\ I1READ STREET HILL.
 
 This book is DUE on the last 
 date stamped below 
 
 wiDi: 
 
 
 
 u»r 
 
 mo 
 
 3m-8,'49(B5572)470 
 
 THE LIBRARY 
 UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 , ■ - ■ i «
 
 T,'ff!»W9 
 
 ui° ^THERN REGIOIMAL LIBRARY FACILITY 
 
 AA 060 370 384