THE mum imM&Y. ^ 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 '3 'Jl. ClS'l U I'Y . ' '/^ // ./Af /i^n. .SVvy-93«'?-*<2/. fZe/f/ytft/ai^^ JVi-driv. l-'u-st laaow lliaL ti\-pniicij)les are just anOMjienTip thou mflexible ro the- path of' them. .■ V I, () X 1 ) () X 26. TATERITOSTET). ^iO'^^'; DECISION. CHAPTER I. JVIoRE than half a century has now elapsed, since a party assembled round the tea-table of Mrs. Falconer, were busy in commenting on the conduct, and lamenting the ruin of one of their acquaintance, once a wealthy manu- facturer in the neighbouring town of B . The topic was discussed, (as such things usually are) with different views of the case, according to the original characters, or the relative situations of the speakers, nearly all of whom had in their own persons, or their connections, some sympathies with the party, except the lady of the house, whose attention was at this moment given rather to the hos- pitable attentions due to her guests, than the subject of their discussion ; but her little daughter, a child of about eleven years old, who was generally too much of a romp to B 629361 2 DECISION. confine herself in the drawing room, yet too intelHgent to suffer any thing interesting to escape her when there, was observed to glance her bright eye from one speaker to another, and shake back the profusion of long ringlets which covered her neck, with an eagerness to catch every sound, that indicated how much her mind was employed on the subject. " Mr. Williams was imprudent, he trusted the house of Burns and Son too far, lost a great deal, and could never recover it," said one. " How should he ?" said another, " since the expenses of his family were not lessened, and they were just at that period, when young people arc inevitably expensive. " Yes, indeed — they kept much company, dressed well, and were seen every where," observed a third — " Had Mrs. Williams been prudent, I think something might have been done to save them from this total overthrow." " Poor woman !" exclaimed a Mrs. Brice, who was herself the mother of a large family, " what could .s72 36 DECISIOX. by the air — the books slie had lately read were all of his reconuncnding, the letter she had been writing to F'^ilen was tilled with anecdotes wliieli he had related, or traits of virtue and sensibility, whieh he had exhibited. It appeared evident to the awakened mind of her old friend, that Maria had decidedly im- bibed that passion whieh wo\iid give colour to her future existence, but he knew not w heiher the total indifference evinced on the subject by her parents, arose from a concurrence with the wishes of the young people, caused by their evidently deep regard for young Ingal- ton, or from the pressure of more affecting, though suppressed objects of anxiety, acting upon their spirits and preventing due atten- tion to one of so much moment. The pale, interesting countenance of Frank, and his pensive modesty of manners still con- tinuing, were an assurance at length to Mr. BIdcrton " tli.it he had never toUl his lv)vc," for there would have been moments when even the most anxious son, the most prudent tradesman must have betrayed that trium- phant sense of happiness, the possession of such a heart as Maria's would inevitably be- stow, especially on one whose sensibility was DECISION. 37 evidently acute, — ■" perhaps," he would say, " after all, there is nothing in this intercourse beyond that of an attached sisterly regard on Maria's part, felt for one who acts as a bro- ther to her, and a son to her parents ; and the young man's mind may have been so wedded to his books, that even the charms and ac- complishments of Maria failed to affect him when he was a stranger, and she is now be- come familiar to him as a friend, if so, they will be saved from a foolish n)atch, and I have nothing to tremble for in the future fate of my pretty favourite." Yet he soon did tremble ; for Ellen returned, and she too was improved in person and man- ners, though in his eyes every way inferior to Maria, who hailed her appearance with all the fondness of infancy, and that soft, languid tenderness of joy, which was indicative of a heart oppressed by the fulness of its own un- analyzed feelings, and which gave to friend- ship which it was proud to express, the character of that passion it was as yet un- authorised to reveal, — this was followed bv evident anxiet3% by coldness, and alternate kindness, towards him who caused the strug- gle, and occasionally by a kind of stern self 38 DECISION. command, which triumphed over all inquie- tude, and suggested to her observing friend, the hope that she had discovered the state of her own heart, and would conquer a passion felt for one who did not return it without suf- fering its effects to appear — without gaining from pity that which love had not accorded — a state which he well knew the pride and delicacy of her nature would render insup- portable. In all this, Frank's conduct was not only blameless but entitled to the highest praise ; his constant attention to business, his affectionate attentions to his slowly declining parent, the variety of his knowledge, and his unassuming display of those talents which render domestic society captivating as well as endearing, were such as to quicken the benevolent attentions of Mr. Elderton to his feelings and manners, from a sincere desire to add to the future hapj)iness of Maria. He was so situated in life, that he could without injury to otiiers have ofl'ercd in a share of his own extensive business the means of competcnc(;, whenever the final downfal of the house (in which the fortunes of the young people were alike cen- tered) should render his friendship necessary DECISION. 39 to that end. But if Frank did not love Ma- ria as she merited to be loved, it was by no means his wish to tempt him to marry her by the offer of fortune. He believed that there existed not a man on earth who deserved her, and least of all was he inclined to accord that praise to one who, however meritorious in other respects, could daily witness the grace- ful energy, the glowing affection, the varied talent she displayed, within the narrow circle which circumstances now seldom extended beyond her own family, without according her equal love and admiration. Such were the thoughts passing in Mr. Elderton's mind, when Ellen, evidently with great pain, obeyed the summons of Lady Trevannion, who had with extraordinary kind- ness waited for her so long, that to have trespassed farther on her forbearance, would have caused a breach of friendship between the families. As her present home was at the distance of four or five miles, though Maria had it in her power to ride over every day, yet it was evidently Ellen's duty to remain much at home, and Mr. Elderton rejoiced for her own sake in the circumstance. His eye was upon all the circle, and his heart ached for 40 DECISION. all, under the impression that evil was im- pending; uj)on them, both from threatened misfortunes wiihout, and unsusj)ectcd enemies within. 41 CHAP. IV. UuRiNG the ])enod of which we have been speaking, every thing in the affairs of Mr. Falconer had been gradually growing worse, and the conduct of that partner who was resident abroad, gave too much reason to be- Heve that he was either, as an extravagant man, drawing from the mother country the sources of improper expenditure, or amas- sing wealth by which to secure himself in possession of certain property, when the affairs of the house should come to a termination by the approaching dissolution of partnership, which would take place at the time when miss Falconer came of age, a circumstance which it had been vmderstood had some con- nection with her father's property now in business. This eventful period was looked to with much anxiety by all the parties concerned, as they had found it impossible to bring Mayton to his duty, but by no person so 42 DECISION. much as Mrs. Falconer, whose solicitude on licr daughter's account liad naturally been quickened from observing her artless predi- lection for a young man, for whom she felt Jjcrself the most decided preference. The dreams of ambition she might have had for such a daughter were nearly obliterated by anxiety, and self-reproach which though not ventine; itself in tears or lamentations liad long sat heavy on lier heart — the sad secret which preyed there, and was slowly, but cer- tainly, wearing away health and life, was suddenly developed. One day Mr. Elderton entered at an hour very unusual with him, and wearing a very disturbed countenance ; the mother and daugh- ter, were both at the moment engaged in making up some cheap clothing for one of their poor neighbours, but so much were they alike struck by the hurry and perplexity of his countenance, that with one voice they enquired, " what was the matter?" " The liouse of Krentzers have failed in Dantzic, by which I shall lose a large sum of money, and I am obliged to set out without an liour's delay. So I ran forward to bid you good bye." DECISION. 45 " Krentzers !" exclaimed Mrs. Falconer, " surely Frank spoke of them as being people with whom Mr. Mayton ought to lodge money." " Very likel}' — we all think of ourselves first — but I certainly ought to have told you what I learnt as 1 came hither, that poor Ingalton died about an hour ago in Frank's arms, whilst Falconer was (according to his daily custom) reading him the letters," — " perhaps — I really fear — it looks as if this bad news had somethinQ; to do with it." " Poor Frank !" exclaimed Maria, bursting into tears. Mrs. Falconer neither spoke, nor wept, but she looked on the point of fainting, and yet exerted herself to ring the bell and order the carriage to be got read}' imme- diately. " You are going to poor Mrs. Ingalton, mamma, I will go with you," said Maria. " No my love you must not, I must see your father, 1 must enquire into all these distressing circumstances." Maria was on the point of saying " Mr. Elderton will go with you," for she did not like her mother to depart evidently ill alone, when undergoing much internal agitation. 44 DEC1?!10N. but she saw tliat she preferred being alone at this uioinent, and was Mell aware that ahhougli a very friendly man in the main, he was by no means a gentle binder of bleeding wounds ; Mrs. Faleoner, therefore, departed, without taking Mr. E, although his hat was in his hand to set out for B also. " Surely," said Maria, reverting to this bad news, " you will not lose much, my dear sir ?" " I shall not be ruined by it, ]\Iaria, cer- tainU', but I shall lose atone stroke the profits of many years' labour, which is provoking enough ; ;«' impoiic, I am a bachelor, and my habits are not expensive." " That is a great comfort at a time like this," said Maria, following the glance of his eye around the elegantly furnished room in which she sat — " 1 confess I should be more distressed for Mrs. Ingalton than you, were she, in addition to her widowhood, to lose her property too, what would become of her and the girl's ?" " Think for yourself — your mother, Maria — she has a brother, a son, and the circum- stance of her widowhood will raise her friends — hni i/ou, 1 tremble for you, I confess I do." DECISION. 4,5 " You are very good, but I think there is no comparison in the case, if my father were even ruined in his business, which God forbid should be the case, my mother's property un- doubtedly" " Has your mother property ? are you sure of that ?" " I am sure of nothing, but I understood our estates in Wales were hers, and I always concluded" " Pshaw ! — you concluded — you ought to have kuotvii, you had an undoubted right to know — you who have a better head for busi- ness than one man in a thousand — who were born heiress to two old estates in two dif- ferent countries — I have no patience with any of ye — and so at this time of day when you must be a long way past eighteen, you don't know whether your mother really has property left, or whether your father has made ducks and drakes of it, in the same manner as he did with his own ?" Maria drew up her head haughtily, as if to say " beware how you speak of my parents." " Nay, nay, Maria, look not thus on me. I honour your feelings, but there are points in life where all feeling whether of delicacy, 46 DECISION. tenderness, or even what you erroneously deeni duty, should be compelled to give way before the more imperious dictates of that positive ditti/, common honesty, and common sense. It is said in the town, that your mother un- happily holding her own settlement, has been induced from time to time to give up property over which it gave her power — in fact, I Icnow that about two years since she did so to a great amount, and I fear she has little, very little left." " It is so ! — it must be so !" said Maria, in a voice scarcely articulate with the a;h he did not like his wife to be with- out the carriage, yet he believed it would be as well to part with it, especially as it was seldom used of late." Mrs. Falconer instantly renounced all desire for it ; and Maria saw that which she had always apprehended was indeed the case, that her mother could at all times renounce every luxury without a sigh, if it would add to her father's ease, and doubted not but that his regard for her, had prevented him from doing on the other hand that which his circum- stances required. Her heart bled to think that two persons so amiable, so attached, should vet have placed themselves in a situation where even their affection would add to the difliculties by which they were surrounded. 59 CHAP. V. 1 IME passed — letters were received from Frank, but no remittances, nor did it appear probable that any property would be obtained from his journey, as he found that the late Mr. Mayton had indeed placed so large a sum there, as to include all that could be conceived due to the house. This money had previously been in a bank at Stockholm, where it had been placed not in the name of the firm but the individual, and there was great reason to suspect that Mayton's designs were altogether sinister and nefarious, since he had completely drained his partners of their resources, and was known to have con- tracted a partnership with a Russia house, for which it appeared too probable that he had thus accumulated funds, actually belonging to his English connections. Mr. Falconer was now (partly from feeling it his duty to be more open with his family than formerly, and partly from his double loss 60 DECISION. of the Ingalions) in the habit of speaipears to me that a husband is the most wicked, because he is the most powerful, he can withhold all good, bestow every degree of pain and grief — he can threaten or cajole his victim, render his tenderness or his tyranny equally efficacious for his purpose, and" — " Hear mc, Maria, you are justly wounded, and it is oidy a proper punishment for me, perhaps, that I should listen to words which are indeed daggers to my heart — but yet' — " Daggers ! oh God! is it by me you are wounded? but I cannot hel]) it — if I feel, it DECISION. 07 is for you — you know, or you will know some day, that it is for you only that I am thus moved." " I do know you, Maria, I have no doubt of your duty, your disinterested affection — and I have but little doubt that in that alone, I shall find all the future good life has in store ; but I conjure you by that sense of justice which I know to be the i-uling movement of your breast, hear me plead for your father." jNIaria threw herself on her knees before her mother, and laying her face on her lap, that she might hide the expression of her countenance, compelled herself to be silent. " Your father has been ever a kind, at- tentive, and faithful husband — pleasure has never seduced him from my side, perplexity and distress have never soured his temper, abated his indulgence, or cooled his affection forme. If he has concealed misfortune at some limes, it has been to save me from suffering, if he has engaged in new schemes, it has been for the purpose of retrieving losses from old ones — when circumstance at length drew him to England, and obliged him to lay his affairs before me, I offered to throw mv settlement instantly into the fire, with all the warmth f2 C)8 DECISION. incident to the heart of a young, fond wife, uhose child was too vount; to excite fears for its future fate ; but this sacrifice he strenu- ously refused, and merely accepted a loan, which he employed in business as an aid to us all." " You did right, and he did not do wrong," said Maria, down whose cheeks the tears now began to trickle freely. " Unhappily a breach once made was fre- quently renewed — business grew unproduc- tive, our expenses were trebled in this country, and your father was averse to diminishing our establishment lest it should injure his credit, nor could he bear to see my situation stripped of its comforts, and" " Nonsense ! it was his duty and yours — there is nothing imperative but duty — but go on." He had first only five thousand pounds — then I sold a farm — when Ellen's father died, we disposed of the mine, and now" " Nov*' ! what have you left?" " The manor house, and some land, for which 1 have received a very liberal oiler." " W hich offer you shall not accept," said Maria, starting on her feet " no, no, that DECISION. 69 little spot of your own laud, in your own country, you shall retain if I have power or right either from affection or law to compel it — and such I think must be the case : 'tis enough to make my two grandfathers start from their graves, to think that a descendant so little removed as I am, should be left pen- nyless, landless— I will not allow it" " Then poor Ellen." " Ellen ! what has Ellen to do with it ?" " Her father bequeathed her to the care of 3'ours, and with her about eight hundred pounds, which, in the warmth of his kind heart he promised to make a thousand — strictly speaking, perhaps, even that sum has been expended on the dear girl, but I catmot bear so to consider the case. Yet as, since our losses, I cannot ensure to you any thing more than the three thousand pounds now offered me for the farm in question, if you in sist upon it, I will not sell it, Maria ?" Maria was silent. " I must not, however, conceal from you, tliat I am certain it will be the death of your father." After a long pause, the daughter replied. 70 DECISION*. " It shall be sold, Ellen shall not be wronged, there are also two small annuitants who must be secured — my father has been a man of strict honour to all but his own family, and I believe with you it would kill him not to do his utmost, and you love him so much, that ii would kill you also," " You too love him, Maria, fondly love him ; when he lay so lately stretched on the bed of sickness, what sacrifice would you have thought too great to give for him ?" " Question me not, mother — my heart is still too full of varied but terrible emotions, promise me only that you will struggle to re- cover your health, that you will assure your- self of my perfect forgiveness, and accord me your confidence — but I have nothing now to learn, degradation and poverty are before us — -a long, long life, of altered circumstances — of pity mingled with scorn, of privation em- bittered by memory." Mrs. Falconer wept in very agony again. " Mother, dear mother, pardon me — take comfort, for I will be to you a husband, a fond, toiling, careful husband — I can at least provide manna in the wilderness where we DECISION. ' 71 shall all be cast, and I pledge myself to do it — may God so bless me, as 1 shall fulfil the vow which binds me to you." With these words, Maria flew to her own chamber, from whence she returned not for the remainder of the day, and where she passed the night in deep but unavailing sor- row, her mind tossed as with ceaseless tem- pest, one moment trembling for the present health of her mother, the next, viewing with horror the miseries that threatened her future life — sometimes glowing with rage for the folly and mismanagement of her father, then melting into sorrow, as in imagination she saw his bending form shrink under the pressure of poverty, and his grey hairs descend with sor- row to the grave. 7'2 CHAP. VI. iVl ARIA took a little refreshment in her room, but tile per/urbed state of her feelings ren- dered the idea of going to bed disagreeable, aiid she continued to walk slowly the length of her chamber and dressing room, until she was completely exhausted, when she flung her- self on her couch and sunk into that profound sleep, which frequently succeeds extreme agi- tation. On awaking, Maria was sensible of head ache and extreme thirst, and she instantly rose to procure water; the sun shone beam- ingly into the room, and she drew the curtain aside to view the refreshing green which in April spreads over the face of renovated na- ture the promise of future good — her eye was struck with the appearance of a post chaise at the garden gate, into which her father was ."issisting her mother, whose maid followed, and they instantly drove off in the direction for their intended western journey. DECISION. 73 " They are gone," said Maria, " and I must, I will go also, but whither? what is there that I can do to avert the evils around us ? — upon us ! — the sure ruin which is accelerated by every turn of the wheels which convey them hence." She dressed and descended, and was inform- ed that as* Mrs. Falconer seemed a little bet- ter than usual, it was thought advisable to set off that morning, and on finding that she was very fast asleep, both parents had given her a farewel kiss without disturbing her, but had left a message intreating her to go to Sir James Trevannion's, and either remain there during their absence, or procure the company of Miss Powis. Maria heard this message in silence, but a bitter and scornful smile rose to her lip, and when the servant had closed the door, she exclaimed, " No, no, — company — indulgence of every kind must be given up, I must commune with my own heart, must resolve from the dictates of my own mind. I must try to help those who cannot help themselves — ah ! Frank, dear Frank, how young we both are, how much are we both strangers to that world, through 74 DECISION. which we arc alike fated to wing our way like the stork, carrying our parents." Yet there was something consolatory in the thought of resembling Frank in his virtues, in his sorrows — in thinking the same thoughts, encountering the same difficulties, and being luiitcd in a bond of similar suffering, which somewhat relieved the deep dejection, and awoke the dormant energy she desired, but almost despaired of exciting in her own over- charged spirit. Maria's smile subsided, she began to weep and to bless her parents. After some time, being roused by a question from the servant respecting dinner, she an- swered sharply, " I am going to Sir James Trcvannion's immediately. 1 shall walk — I want no attendance" — " It is a long walk, ma'am, and" — Maria waived her hand as much as to say, " leave me alone," and the deep sorrow seated on her countenance shewed that intrusion must be indeed painful. In a few minutes she had tied on a large bonnet, and enveloped in a shawl, set out on a solitary path which led circuitously to the place which she now sought with hasty, anxious steps, but in a short time almost resolved to avoid — often ilECISION. 75 she returned for a short space, and then again she retraced her steps — at length worn out with fatigue and uneasiness, she entered the mansion by tlie housekeeper's room in the dusk, whilst the family were at dinner; struck with her wild, and ghastly looks, the negli- gence of her dress, and the manner in which she came, the mistress of the apartment who had known her from childood, accosted her with alarm, not less than kindness, when she enquired what was the matter? what she could do for her ? " Take me direct to Miss Powis's bed-room — do not tell any one I am here but her — and get me some tea, for I can take nothing else, my mouth is parched, I have over done mvself, that is all." The housekeeper complied with these re- quisitions ; and the beloved Ellen alone glided round the bed and whispered tender enquiries respecting her health and peace — she received little reply, beyond a few terrible and astound- ing words, which announced the prediction uppermost on her mind, of the approaching ruin of her parents, who were scarcely less dear to Ellen than herself, and over whose misfortunes she wept bitterly, but when she 76 DECISION. would have enquired further, she was desired in a tone cold and authoritative to ask no questions, " she had heard all that sufhced to account for the appearance and the misery of her visitant." There was something so unlike her former self, in Maria's manners, and the whiteness of her lips, the circumscribed glowing spot upon her cheek, indicated so much fever, that as the idea of disease had been given to Ellen by the housekeeper, she really apprehended that her young friend was suflering under delirium, and knew not how far it was lier duty to infringe upon her request (strenuously as it had now been urged) and inl'orm the family. jMaria, however, laid still, but was not asleep, and her lips frequently moved as if she were engaged in soliloquy or computa- tion, but Ellen trusted she was not worse at least, and concluded, therefore, to wait till morning, sitting by the side of the bed watch- ing her with unceasing solicitude and fotid afl'eciion the whole night. The sounds of those domestic movements which announce the return of day, roused Maria from her deep contemplation ; she sat 11]) in bed. took her purse which was under DECISION. 77 her pillow, and emptying it before her, count- ed the contents carefully. " Here are eleven guineas," said she, " and seventeen shillings, have you any money, dear Ellen ? " I have about six pounds, I believe." " You will lend it to me I am certain — but you would rather give it to me — well, I will accept it, thankfully, and with this money I will immediately begin business, and who knows how well I may do in the world ? Pray for me, dear Ellen, that God may prosper my endeavour to assist my parents I trust he has inspired me with the resolution I now feel, and even the plan I have adopted." Maria's voice was a little tremulous, but she spoke distinctly, and her face though very pale, was so composed in its expression, that the late fears of Ellen gave way to the con- viction, that extreme distress, and the brood- ings of a harrassed mind over some new and difficult undertaking, had alone produced the alarming appearances which had excited her past fears, she eagerly opened her work box and instantly mingled her little store with that of Maria, who now had risen, and though evidently very poorly, was dressing herself 78 DECISION. wiih as much ra{)i(lity as her health per inittcd. " I have already told you, Ellen," said she, " that my parents are gone to receive the last money in my poor mother's power, it will be necessarily soon paid away — in October all their affairs will be settled, and it must inevi- tably be found with the late losses in Ger- many, that there will not be sufficient to pay the creditors, all will be broken up and sold, and there will be no residue. IVIy father will seek for a situation as a clerk, but he is too much a gentleman, too little a tradesman to find one — his late illness has robbed him of the strength necessary for other labour, and" Ellen, utterly imable to endure such a pic- ture of the man to whom from her cradle she had looked to as a master, and long loved as a father, broke into hysterical weeping, and Maria was couipelled literally to " com- fort her comforter." " Nay, dear Ellen, do not weep thus, I only wanted to prove to vou the necessitv there is that I should guard against evils so inevitable ■ — that like the new comedy I should " Stoop DECISION. 79 to Conquer," and in order to spare myself the further exercise of feeling which I now find will really unfit me for the altered situation to which I must submit ; I have at length de- termined to commence immediately. Struggle with your feelings, that you may strengthen mine. I must not allow myself to cry any more. I must act, not weep." " What will you do, Maria." " I will sell iron — sell it by retail in small quantities, to little manufacturers." Ellen suddenly removed her handkerchief, and strained her tearful eyes to gaze again on Maria, to see if she were, or were not, in her senses — she dared not to speak lest she should irritate the malady she dreaded, and Maria continued, " I have been for many weeks an attentive listener to every conversation which has pass- ed on subjects connected with business, and I find that all the poorer masters in our great manufacturing town, labour under great dis- advantages for want of a medium betwixt them and the iron masters, and I have heard it repeatedly observed, ' that if any decent workman would have the resolution to save bis wages till he had obtained thirty or forty so Decision. poiaids, he iiiigliL begin the trade with a cer- tainty of thriving, provided he gave no credit, and was content with a moderate, constant profit.'" " But, my dear Maria, that which a labour- ing man might ii-ideed do well, and profitably, cannot be done by a young, delicate, pretty woman — a lady too, wiiose birth, education, and habits, render her utterly unfit for such cn)ployment — one too, who possesses talents which she can consistently employ to advan- tage in the occupations becoming a gentle- woman." " 1 know all you would urge, dear Ellen, for I really believe, that whilst I laid upon that bed 1 have had more subjects of thought, more recollections, cogitations, and deduc- tions, than the whole lives of many women present — my conclusions have not been made in consequence of sudden impulse, but deep examination. In the first place I thought of obtaininii a situation rcsemblinir yours, but that 1 instantly rejected, since it would only enable me to provide lor myself — besides, let me confess, my pride, the long indulgence accorded to an only child, and still more the independence of my nature, renders me unfit DECISION. 81 for servitude, even in its most ameliorated shape." " But you might teach without entering a famil}'." " Not to any sufficient purpose — music lessons are novv^ confined to the harpsichord, and on that you know I do not excel, having in despite of fashion ever adopted my own native Irish harp ; and for the reason I gave you before, you will perceive that it would be easier for me to live amongst the poor, than receive from the rich, and especially the low and purse-proud, that remuneration they M^ould feel pain to give, and I should feel more pain to receive." " But 3'our exquisite voice, your elegant person, Maria ! I cannot bear to think you should be wasted, lost to society." " Yet even you, Ellen, would not like to see me on the stage ; though, had I been brought up to it, in a pecuniary point of view it might have answered — never let my mother know that it even passed our minds. I have, in short, determined to try iron, and nothing else. It has been the ruin of my family, and ought to make amends — it has swallowed house and land, and should therefore find G S2 DECISION. bread and lodging, which is all 1 now pre- sume to hope for, " Mr. Falconer will never endure to see you so degraded — it will break his heart." " It will, 1 fear, render his temper irritable, which is indeed a great afHietion to me, but yet 1 trust the sweetness of my mother's [jleadings will soften him, and in a short time, poor man, his own alfairs will engross him whollv, and make him forget me and my paltry concerns, until that time when he will Hnd that 1 have laboured for his sake — dis- obeyed and disgraced him, (as he will term it) that 1 mi<>ht find a shelter for his latter davs, on which pride may glance with scorn, but shall never enter with insult." " Ah ! dear Maria, you think you have made up your mind to encounter dillieulties, but indeed you have no idea of the extent or the nature of what you brave — the poor in these manufacturing towns are very distinct from the simple, warm-hearted creatures who used to adore his " honour and idolize his honour's child," whom you considered under your protection, and loved because you bene- fitted — vulgarity will disgust you — mean arts be practised upon you ten times a day." DECISION. 83 " Unquestionably, but I must learn to en- dure them." " Besides, your feelings will be so wrought upon, that you never will be able to save that which you may get — never yet have you resisted the pleadings of the poor, what will become of you when you are thrown into the midst of them ? when sights of sorrow are daily before you, when complaints are the only language that meets your ear." " Ellen, my plan will enable me most essen- tially to benefit my fellow creatures, and ex- tend to them an actual good, far more effici- ent than any partial help such as I was wont to give, or my heart may still yearn to bestow — with this knowledge I must learn to be content, I may sometimes meet rudeness that may vex me, and I shall doubtless find in- gratitude, for every body says that it abounds in the poor — but yet, I shall also undoubtedly find some honest attachment, I shall see some who thrive under my auspices, and then I shall rejoice and be encouraged. I am so young, have so long a journey before me, that it will be stran2;e indeed if there are no green spots, no little flowery resting-places in the whole of my thorny path." 84 DECISION. Ellen still shook her head, still Avept over her friend as if she considered her a victim, yet one on Avhoin her highest admiration rested — her mind, less gifted and less excited, did not in fact grasp, in its circle of difficul- ties, half so many as had already presented themselves in formidable array, or galling vexatiousness, to the imagination of her who had resolved to encounter them, had ex- amined, weighed, and decided upon them, and who, now aware that her friend's absence would excite enquiry, prepared to leave her after taking a very slight refreshment. " You shall not go till I have given 3'ou all I have," said Ellen — " you mean to make up the sum of which you spoke, doubtless, by disposing of your ornaments, and I too have a few, they were principally given by you, and therefore very dear to me, but" Maria, with a kind smile followed by a sigh, received the trinkets, saying, " give them to ine, Ellen, now, and when 1 am rich you shall have much better," and added — " now good bye, you have done me a great deal of good, and given me wealth — do not hang upon me, dear Ellen, do not awaken emotions which destroy me — there — you shan't kiss me again. DECISION. 85 you have nothing more to say, my love, have you ?" " Y — es," said Ellen, turning away her head, " I have something to say, something I wished to tell you, but in a time of such distress I could not mention it — yet, alas ! my secret is in some measure connected with the sad cir- cumstances belonging to you and yours — we are closely united in our anxieties." " For heaven's sake tell me this secret — but, perhaps I know to what you allude .'" " I dare say you do, Maria — Mr. Francis Ingalton has" " Frank Ingalton has — what has he done ? — speak." " No harm, dear Maria ; your spirits are in such a flutter, your imagination takes the alarm at every thing ; but I know you have a sister's regard for him, and more than a sister's for me, and it is only right you should know, that on the night he set out he galloped over here, just to bid me farewel — Maria, I am sure you are ill" " Quite well," gasped Maria, " go on, El- len." " And he confessed — indeed it was a trying scene to us both — he spoke of his poverty, 86 DECISIO. his melancholy prospects, his widowed mo- ther, helpless sister, and his long cherished love." " His love ? — love, go on Ellen" " Y es, his love, and do not blame me, Ma- ria, but I certainly felt it mutual and said so." " Love ! it was \o\c for you, he confessed !" Such were the words that died on Maria's tongue as she sunk fainting on the floor, and remained in a death-like swoon. Ellen, in great terror, and full of self-re- proach for not having foreseen such an efljfct, as the consequence of previous agitation, in- stantly alarmed the house, and Lady Trevan- nion with great surprise and some sense of displeasure, first learnt the arrival of one who liad long been particularly dear to her, and over whose pale form she hung with deep solicitude — in time ]\Liria sighed, opened her eyes, and by slow degrees regained her senses. The first person she saw was Ellen — a slight shudder followed, and she again closed her eyes, but the voice of Lady Trevannion and her snielling-botlle recalled her, and laying her head on her bosom, she faintly whis])ered " that she was much better," after DECISION. 87 which, she earnestly requested to be left alone upon the sofa. No objection was made to this, for Lady Trevannion was anxious to enquire from El- len what was amiss. The answer she re- ceived only confirmed those flying reports which had already reached Sir James, and awOke the sincere sympathy of both. Ellen did not betray the schemes of Maria to them, for she felt assured that they could not be put in practice, and they still appeared to her so inconsistent with all that belonged to the past life of Maria, to the elegance and fas- tidiousness of her cultivated mind, and lofty, though gentle bearing, that the idea of fever and delirium again presented itself. Lady Trevannion, sincerely sorry for Maria, pressed her to remain with them at least, till her mo- ther's return, but after the restoration of an hour's solitude and a cup of chocolate, she earnestly desired to go home, and at length Lady Trevannion ordered her coach and set out thither with her. The ride, the pure air, the effort she made to shake off the remembrance of that last overwhehning pang, which had produced an effect altogether new in her little history, so 88 DECISION. far restored her that Ludy Trevannion felt satisfied to leave her, but she went into the Iiouse with her to give directions to the ser- vants, and inform them in what manner their young lady liad been affected. In the breakfast parlour stood her harp, at that time an instrument comparatively seldom seen, but which Lady Trevaimion admiied nmch, especially as an accompaniment to her own excellent performance — " how I wish you had been well enough, my love, to play me that air I gave you last week," said she. Maria drew her hand across the chords, but she found it impossible to play. " I cannot play the air, but 1 can give you the instrument, dear Lady Trevannion — put it into the coach with you, there is room for it." " My dear girl, I would nut rob you of it for the world — in truth, you were made for each other, in my opinion 'twould be parting a wedded pair, and little short of sacrilege." Maria again looked very pale, but she tried to smile, and said, " but it is my fate to live single." " That may be, Maria, for I have certainly never yet seen the man I thought meet to marry you, but should it be so, your instru- DECISION. 89 ment will be doubly valuable ; it will stand you instead of matrimonial music, supply the tedium of solitary hours, and the charming varieties produced by lecturing husbands, squalling children, and unmanageable ser- vants." " I cannot jest to-day, but you will really oblige me by taking it away for the present — divorce me from it for seven years, at the end of that time, if I have merited it, I will re- claim it ; during that time, at least, books and music must be renounced by rae." " For heaven's sake, Maria, what are you about ?" " To renounce your acquaintance, dear Lady Trevannion, not your esteem, no ! you will accord me that — I am unequal to ex- plaining what I mean, and you are quite un- equal to approving my decision, or changing it. I shall do nothing which as a woman or a Christian will not challenge your approbation ; but as a person moving in your sphere of life, I much question that you could be so un- prejudiced as to deem me eligible to the place I wish to fill — I must be the builder of my own fortune, and am the contriver of my own 90 DECISION. sclic'inc — I iiilicrit a love for speculating, you know." As Lady Trevanuion could not argue against that plan to which she was a stranger, and perceived that there was in her young friend a firmness of character which was the result Df deep thought, and a high sense of duty and affection, she departed, taking with her the harp, some favourite music, and a few choice books. Maria felt herself a little easier when they were out of sight ; she called them " tempters, which it were well to remove," and she felt that there was a double call for their absence, since every song, and every page was full of those mementos which brought back the image, the words, the ideas of Frank, interwoven so Ions: with all the actions of her life, the imaginings of her heart. ^^ hen left to herself, long and bitterly did she weep, yet often did she reproach her- self for the weakness thus betrayed, and felt astonished how a person, so resolved as she l)ad been but a few hours before to resign every thing, even the love of this very man, (when she trusted it was hers) could yet be over- powered so completely when the pain of DECISION. 91 separation was spared her — she knew not till now, that love feels, not reasons, and became most sensible how blindly, how entirely she had ventured to love, when assured that the object of her affections was in every possible way removed from her hopes for ever. 92 CHAP. Vll. Oeverely as Maria suffered at this time, it is yet certain that the resolution she had form- ed, and the man)' plans and expectations which arose out of it, greatly aided in re- lieving her spirits from that intolerable sense of anguish, disaj)])ointincnt, and mortification, to which Ellen's discovery would inevitably have subjected her, had she been enabled to indulge in solitude the heart-rending thoughts that incessantly sprung to her mind. Often did she repine that the happy insensibility into which she had sunk, was exchanged for the turmoil of contending passions, and deep- seated grief, which now assailed her, and more than once she bent her knees to pray, " that her heavenly Father would remove her from a world to her so full of suffering." At these moments the recollection of what her mother's sorrow and situation would be in conse- quence of such an event, arrested her words, and pierced her heart with remorse ; she ceased DECISION. 93 to pray that the " cup of sorrow might be re- moved," and endeavoured to say " not my will, but thine be done." Happy indeed was it for Maria, that with a clear view of what wisdom and virtue pre- scribed, she partook also that pure faith which taught submission and promised reward. She felt a comfort in religious reliance on the God of Providence, those only can conceive, who, in the hour of distress have been thus supported, and becoming aware more and more that the indulgence of sorrow M'ould render her utterly unfit for all that she medi- tated, again she recurred to the resolutions poor Ellen had so unintentionally interrupted, and determined that ver}' night to sleep in B , if possible, and begin the business she meditated in the morning. A few of her plainest clothes were soon packed in a small portmanteau, and dis- patched to the house of a workman whom she had long known for a quiet, civil man, living in the very heart of the town, in the midst or smoke and dust, but possessing a kind of large lumber-room contiguous to his dwelling, which he had once let as a coach-ofiice, now to his great trouble removed-^ — his wife was a 94 DECISION. decent woman, she believed, and she knew they had only one child, to whom she had been kind ; so that many circumstances combined to render this poor couple and their spare premises eligible for her plan ; and none more so, than the circumstance that the man him- self would be out of employment, whenever the business of her father's house came to an end, and there was at this period so little done that he could hardly fail to bo thankful for any assistance she could give him. Many times Maria endeavoured to write to her mother, but as often did she find the thing impossible, and therefore at length gave it up in despair ; considering also, that a few days might safely elapse, and that Mrs. Ingalton would be a good and faithful informer and mediator between them — she was persuaded that no time could be more proper for her trial than the present, since the spirits of her parents would be somewhat lightened by the possession of ready money, and the consoling sense of doing justice to the amiable orphan who held a dear place in their hearts — that their journey would be beneficial to her mo- ther's health, and enable her the better to sustain /ler absence, anrl supply to her father DECISION. 95 the companion and the amusement he had been wont to find in his daughter. Having said all this over and over to her own heart, which, in despite of all that reason could urge and resolution demand, was still a icomans heart, and quailed before the " dread un- known" to which it was impelled, she once more addressed herself to her purpose. " I am soinc: to B — " said she to the foot- man, "and shall not return — 1 mean for some days." "Do youride, ma'am, or shall I attend you ?" " Neither — and, William, call the dogs away, they must not follow me." "Not Mayflower, ma'am? Mrs. Ingalton is very fond of jSIayflower, she won't think it any trouble to have him for a day or two — and the creature do so mourn after you, there's no livin"- for him." Maria durst not trust herself to speak, but she shook her head in token of negative — there was another person far worse to leave than Mayflower— her old Irish nurse, who remained a nondescript servant, and occa- sional mistress, whom it was always neces- sary to elude when a private stroll was intended, for Kathleen had such an idea of OG DECISION. the importance of her ladies that if she could have ruled, a troop of horse should have attended them. Never till the precedino; day had Maria left her home for a night without bidding lier farewel, and nothing less than her return in Lady Trevannion's carriage as an invalid could have reconciled her to the event; but in accounting for it, Maria had ])repared her for the return of the evil, and even for the approach of greater — she was now weeping in a remote apartment : to encounter her affectionate lamentations, mins;- led as they were with recapitulations of the glory and honour of the Falconers, the gran- deur and antiquity of Sharon-Lacey, was altogether impossible. Terrible as these parting pangs were, and determined as Maria thought herself to avoid them, yet when she heard the well- known winnow of her beautiful little mare, which happened to espy her as she hastened through the paddock that was lier nearest road to the town, she could not forbear to turn and pat the sleek neck of the favourite, which continued to follow her to the stile, as if wooing her to resume their usual airings. DECISION. 57 " So, so, Fanny — poor Fanny, what will become of you now ? — Pshaw ! — what will become of me if I suffer such things to move me?" Yet in despite of self-reproach, for a mo- ment Maria's head rested on Fanny's neck, and her tears fell on it — the loud howl of her favourite greyhound roused her — she looked round, and though glad that the even- ing was closing, and that she should enter the town unseen, she yet also partook a little that sensation of fear, to which her sex and her habits subjected her ; she hesitated whe- ther to pursue her intention, or step back into the house and take AA illiam with her across the fields. " Yet in that case," said she, " there will be perhaps Kathleen and Mary — no, no, I must go alone, I must suffer alone — perhaps too I may conquer alone; ah Frank! even now, weak and weary as I am, ignorant as I feel myself of that which I am about ta learn, and to endure, yet I am sensible that t have courage, and energy enough, to bear all, sustain all that is before me, if you" — Again she felt as if she should faint, so thickly did her breath heave and so chilly H 98 DECISION. were the sensations which crept over lier trembling limbs, but she was alone, and a sense of terror lest she should fall in such a j)lace sustained her, and after a short rest she obtained the power of proceeuing. That part of the town to which she now bent lier steps was so little known to her, that she procured a child as a guide, whose steps she followed with great diflicultv, throuti;h inanv a long dirty lane, crowded with dingy inhabitants, who stared at the lady as a no- velty in their purlieus seldom seen, although she had wisely dressed herself in a dark habit and stripped her beaver of its plume. She arrived at the house of ^^'illiam AJitchell just at the time when its master had concluded his daily labours, and his wife was making up a cheerful fire— that comfort which the inhabitants of a coal district generally in- dulge in, whether required by the weather or not. William was spelling out her name on the portmanteau which had been left an hour before, as she entered, and his astonishment at her appearance and her enquiries were soon superseded by his Joy at disposing of liis warehouse, and learning that she was DECISION. "^ 99 engaging in an undertaking which ensured him employment — the expectation she ex- pressed that he would also accommodate her with board and lods^ing, was of a more start- ling nature to both him and his helpmate. ^* I shall live with you, and promise to give you very little trouble," said Maria. " To be sure we have a bed, such as it is, and in a day or two we might get a few things." " But I can't say as I am any thing of a cook," said the wife. " I require no cooking," cried Maria in great anxiety, and the bargain was soon con- cluded ; she took a seat near the fire, and whilst the wife departed to prepare her bed, began eagerly to arrange all her future plans with the husband, whom she soon accom- panied into the place destined to be the scene of her gains and her labours, and which she found calculated for its purpose beyond her hopes. When this was over, she returned into the house, and found upon the uncovered table, a substantial loaf and apiece of pale, unpro- misins: cheese. Maria recollected at this appearance that she had taken no tea, and u2 100 DECISION. slie wished for a cup exceedingly, but fearful of giving extraordinary trouble on her first entrance, and resolved to embrace in its fullest extent the change she had imposed on herself, she sat down and cut herself a piece of bread, but was beginning to find that she could not persuade, nor command it down her throat, when Sally Mitchell placed a foaming pint of beer on the table, to which she invited her with all the good will of a kind heart offering a valuable gift. " I never drink malt liquor," said Maria, " but 1 will take a little" — " Wine and water" was on tlie point of following, but she checked herself, and said " spring water." " As you please. Miss," said Sally, " we have a very good pump, but to see how pale you look, and how different you be fra when I seed ye about half a year back a riding with poor Mr. Frank Ingalton, as be now beyond seas, I can't help thinking as a drop of ale be ralely needful for ye — surtainly I'd re- commend it, after tlie walk you've had, and the trouble you're come to go through." " Its very good advice," said William, " because if you goes for to do business, DECISION. 101 ma'am, and to live by labour, and with poor folks, you'll find it quite needful to take sup- port same as they." Maria felt her heart grateful for the in- terest evinced in this recommendation, and determined to find no obstacles to her estab- lishment, she took the jug and drank hear- tily. The sense of present refreshment, she experienced, was succeeded b}' heaviness, and as she had never clos'd her eyes the night before that, even on the hard truckle-bed of Sally Mitchell, she enjoyed a long, salutary sleep, in which her worn-out frame and spirits regained the strength so greatly needed. 102 CHAP. Vlll. IVIaria had retired to her humble eabin at an hour so unusually earl}', that the long refreshing sleep she had enjoyed, left her with the dawn of day, which flung its beams through the uncurtained windows, and aroused her to resume those energies, and prove the stability of those resolutions, so lately but so decidedly adopted. Yet it was some time before she could con- quer the sense of surprise and dismay which seized on her senses, and confused her facul- ties. ^A'^here could she be? how deplorable was the place ! how coarse the sheets ! what noise and confusion were around her ! " By degrees she remembered her situation, remembered that this day she was to embark on a new state of existence in every respect — that humility, labour, zeal, integrity, and constancy in well-doing, were the virtues to which, in the act of thus embarking on a new, untried, and tempestuous ocean, she DECISION. 103 had fully pledged herself. That hencefor- ward she must deem herself tied to the oar, not less by duty than choice, and since the renunciation of all the pleasures of her past life was required from her, must endeavour to find pleasure in the exercise of powers, the anticipation of rewards, hitherto unknown and unsought for. Retiring to the corner of her chamber, she knelt down, and long and fervently be- sought her heavenly father to strengthen her weakness, confirm her resolution, guide her ignorance, and enable her so to place the future welfare of her parents before her eyes, that her motive for self-devotion might ever operate on her mind, and bestow the activity and patience she required — for them too she prayed — but then her heart melted, her eyes overflowed, yet she arose calm and com- forted. Mitchell was down stairs, awaiting her commands, and a single hour sufficed for their preparations ; a fire was made in the warehouse, a quantity of dry straw laid on one side of it — a waggon-load of iron bars soon afterwards were there deposited, an old desk and a stool, left by the last occupants. 104 DECISION. were at present sullieient for the now one, but a pair of magnificent scales were pur- chased by Miteliell in the neighbourhood, and suspended by him from the ceiling, as such things had formerly been. When this was arranged, Maria knew that she could breakfast — on going into the house to request a cup of tea, she found preparation made to that effect, whilst large basins of boiled milk, stuffed with bread, formed the more substantial beverage of her companions. Sensible that such food would be more likely to suit the hunger she really felt, and that she might hereafter feel, she determined on adopting it, and told Mrs. Mitchell she would henceforward drink tea only in the evening, when they would take it together — informa- tion received with great pleasure, as until now this luxury had seldom been seen in the establishment of poor Sally, save on Sundays. Advertisements were not the fashion of that day, nor were they wanted ; a sheet of paper written in a large hand, stuck in the house window, announced the welcome fact, that artizans in steel might have their material supplied in small quantities, of the best qua- lity, at the market price, and the news ran DECISION. lOo from mouth to mouth through garrets and smithies, workshops and dwelHng houses, with equal rapidity — every where it was re- ceived with joy, as containing the promise of good ; the discontented workman saw in it the power of emancipating himself from real or supposed tyranny ; the humble manu- facturer felt that it would relieve him from the actual despotism of those great iron- masters, who had long held him in bondage, and in a very short time, more respectable customers appeared than even the sanguine prognostications of Mitchell had ever cal- culated upon. The appearance of Maria in a pair of thick leather gloves, a French night-cap, surmounted by her beaver hat, and a brown holland apron tied over her habit, surprized all who came ; and when from her name, and a glance at her nearly concealed face, they were led to be- lieve that the person before them, could be no other " than beautiful Miss Falconer of Grove Place," surprize, astonishment, and pity, involved them all in silence. The time had not yet arrived, when the lower classes were infected with those half-digested ideas of liberty and equality which taught them 106 DECISION. to rejoice in the sufferings of their suj)criors, and teni{)ted them to aim at pulling down the high, and trampling on the fallen. They all knew that misfortune and death had visited the mercantile house to which she belonged, but they had always understood that 'Squire Falconer and his Lady were more nobly de- scended, more substantially provided, than any other, even of the rich people of the town ; that they were of a class distinct and above those to whom they were accustomed to look up, and such a change, such a fall as this was petrifying. Maria weijjlied her iron bars with as little awkwardness, and as much precision as could be expected, firmh' declining, as far as pos- sible, even jMitchell's assistance, and after serving three persons at a time, she then walked to her rough desk, to calculate the amount of each parcel, and receive the money — for that j)urpose she took off the thick brown leather gloves with which her hands were guarded. " The Lord ha mercy on us wliat hands !" Such was the first exclamation that broke on Maria's ear — it proceeded involuntarily from the lips of a begrimed, thick set son of DECISION. 107 Vulcan, with shirt sleeves rolled up to his shoulders ; the rest of liis squat form was en- veloped in that useful garment, a leathern dick or apron, and a beard of some standing formed a contrast to a clean striped cap, which had been put on to give respectability to his appearance as a customer. Maria half started at his voice, and still more on finding him so near her, as he tendered a crown and some sixpences which he was going to count into her hand. The start did not offend John Bilson, who felt that he had perhaps unwillingly given pain, and he began to frame an apology. " I doant mean to say nout ageeanst yer hands. Miss, Madom — nobbut they're varry white, and varry little, more fitter for playin at the top of yer musicals, and sewing at embroideries than handling iron — that's all." " They are hands that have fed the hungry, and cloathed the iieaked, as I've hard say," observed one of his neighbours, " so 'tis not right to make no observations upon things as is past and gone." "Zounds, mon, don't preach," cried John, " I've noa doubt on't, and wi God's blessing they'll doo't again — Madam, I'm the first 108 DECISION. j)arson as have given ye money, shake hands \vi me for hick, I mean no oft'ence whatever." AJaria laid her liand freely in the broad black palm of her first customer, and as she did so, looked in his face, and saw that his eyes were full of tears — fearful of shewing his emotion, he hastily turned away, shoul- dered his purchase, and withdrew. No other person attempted the like liberty ; Maria was not called upon to repel impertinence, or to silence loquacity, all seemed aware that there was " a great gulf between them," and since there could be no higgling on the subject of price, no choice in the quality, or appearance of the article ; since the buyers, contrary to all similar situations in which such persons stand, were the obliged parties — the day, though one of great fatigue, yet served to shew Maria that it was possible for her to endure that which she had adopted, and even to be thankful that she found it no worse. It is true that she could not eat the coarse half-cooked meat which furnished Sallv Mitchell's provision for dinner, and she dreaded lying down again on the hard pallet, conseious that it would not afford a second night of undisturbed repose ; but the remem- DECISION. 109 brance of the kind, though rough faces she had seen around her, soothed her spirits more, the more she reflected upon them, and if any one had been near her, to whom she could have spoken, she would have been eloquent in her praise of that genuine sensibility, which can inform the humblest children of liuma- nity with all the refinements of delicate atten- tion — lively, yet deep respect. She rejoiced that by frequent intercourse with poverty, as a benefactress, her ear had become accus- tomed to phraseology that would have been otherwise, perhaps, uncouth and disgusting, and that her dealings were with the decidedly low, in preference to the vulgar, who ape gentility, and are disgusting alike from ig- norance and affectation. Could she have sat down with Frank, at the end of her day's labour, to describe the characters, or laugh at the adventures and embarrassments it had ojffered — could she meet her mother's gentle smile, listen to her father's prospects of success, this life might surely be borne. Alas ! she felt that she must support it without any such h' Ips ; in lowliness of heart, in unshared conflict of no DECISION. mind, or coiiiinunication of intellect, slie must persevere in her rugged path. A very few days sufficed to shew Maria that it is not always, " le premier pas qui coule" — all her first customers had recovered from their taciturnity, the moment they left her presence, and related to every one they saw, the wonderful scene in which they had borne a part — the fact, " that INJiss Falconer was lodging at the house of her father's ware- houseman, and selling iron," ran from the manufactory to the counting-house, from the kitchen to the drawing-room, all through the extensive population of B— , and even to its surrounding villages. \\ hen combined with the absence of her father, it placed the aflairs of that house he now solely represented in a more threatening point of view than they had hitherto assumed, and it is certain that his creditors in some places held consulta- tions upon it, and looked as if they knew not how to proceed. Their wives and daughters, and those of many others in the higher circle of the society of B — , were apparently better (lualificd tojudge; for,however they might dif- fer as to the moving principle or person, they DECISION. Ill alike condemned the action exhibited. Some young ladies abused Mr. Falconer as the most barbarous father who ever had existed, and imputed much of his cruelty to the land of his birth, maintaining that he alone must have caused his daughter to enter on a situa- tion so repugnant to her habits ; and there were not wanting some, who described the terrible scene which took place between them on the occasion. Others avowed " that Maria had a penchant for young Ingaltcn, which being discovered by her proud parents, she had been driven from their house, and compelled to adopt a trade, which, requiring no knowledge, and belonging in some mea- sure to the connection of her future husband, she held only till he should return, when they would marry, and play at " love in a cottage " for the rest of their lives ; a declara- tion which called a tender sigh of sympathy from some lips, and made others curl with disdain. The elder ladies pretty generally inveighed against Maria's conduct, on the score of in- delicacy, presumption, and independence — the vehement protested against young women, who could think of such a thing as leaving 112 DECISION. their father's house to herd with low people — if the girl really knew she was ruined, and must earn her bread, why not go out as a lady's maid — or why not learn millinery ? or, as she was a mighty bookish Miss, try to keep a circulating library ? — the mild, thought it was always wrong for woman to intrude on the province of man — it was perverting the order of things, and could never prosper. All agreed, that although Miss Falconer was very handsome, very clever and accom[)lished, very fond of her parents, good to the poor, and so forth, yet " there was something odd about her." Each could recollect a little eccentricity or peculiarity ; one observed, " that she was fond of conversing with men, arguing points, and asking questions, as if her mind were like theirs" — another, " that she had an Irish kind of partiality to animals, which proved that she had originally been brought up with them, poor creature, and therefore returned, perhaps not unwillingly, to the abodes of filthy j)eople" — a third re- mcjnbered, " that she had quite a passion for poetry, and though it was not generally known, yet in fact she wrote verses herself, which was a sure proof of a romantic turn. DECISION 113 and had probably led to this strange resolu- tion." It was observed on all sides that it would not last long, but that it could not fail to cast a lasting stigma on the poor creature who had so insanely adopted it. All these opinions, and judgments, with every shade and variation they could receive, necessarily fell on the ear of poor Mrs. In- galton, who loved Maria fondly, because she knew her well, and greatly were her own trou- bles increased (great as they were) by infor- mation so astonishing, in the first instance, and condemnation so excessive, in the second. She endeavoured to convince her informers that the whole story was false, that there was some imposition in it ; but when driven from that by those who protested they had actually visited the horrid place where she lived, and even so far peeped in as to see a queer-look- ing, muffled-up woman, with half a dozen forgemen about her, the crime was proved, and the state of the culprit could not be denied. Mrs. Ingalton and her eldest daughter pro- ceeded to the place in the dusk of the evening, and found Maria still at the receipt of custom, and so busy, that she was some time before I 114 DECISION. she perceived thcui ; as thelast customer took up his iron, she advanced towards them, rais- ing her hat from her brow, and displaying to them an open, friendly countenance. *' Maria ! is it indeed you that I find thus employed ? — I heard, but could not believe it — for heaven's sake what is the meaning of all tl HS 7" " I mean, dear Mrs. Ingalton, in the first {)lace, to earn my own bread, which I pro- mise you shall be for some time coarse in qua- lity, and not su])erabundant in quantity, that I may the sooner provide it for my parents also. I hope Emily also will, in some way more agreeable to her own notions, follow my exaiiij)le." *' Have you then had any private commu- nication from my son? do you consider us as ruined ? " 1 have not — I know nothing new, no- thing at least respecting business from Mr. Francis Ingalton, but 1 do know that what- ever may be your future lot, our doom is sealed — and I will not stand bv and see my mother rendered houseless, without making an cflort to provide her a roof of some kind. I know the whole of our acquaintance are DECISION. 11 r condemning me, I know that from Mitcbel], but I can bear it." " No one can blame you for seeking to help your parents, if there should prove occa- sion for your exertion ; but on such a subject you should have thought much, have taken advice — your father could never, surely, dic- tate this ?" " My father ! you know well, Mrs. In- galton, that my father has never seen a cloud in the sky, nor will do it, till the storm bursts, which will overwhelm him — I have thought much, and reasoned long, ere I formed either my plan, or adopted my resolution. My opinions on the nature of that business in which I have engaged, arose from what the first men in the place have frequently ad- vanced — little money, little knowledge, but great industry, and great firmness, are called for — you know how well the first apply lo me — it remains for me to prove the last." " It will break your mother's heart to see you thus — it will indeed, Maria." " Oh no ! it will save that heart from breaking, for it is an honest heart, and is now relieved from a secret much heavier than my rods of iron — besides, dear Mrs. Ingalton, I 2 il6 DECISION. you will zncntiuu it to her with tenderness, I know' you will — to-morrow evening go to them, break it to them, and soften it as well as you are able." " I5at may 1 promise vou will renounce it." " Certainly not. My resolution to perse- vere is inevitable; I have forbidden Mitchell ever again to tell me one single report or sur- mise on my conduct. 1 will go on in despite of the world, for 1 know not only my motives to be good, but my prospects, and J will not suffer my mind to be weighed down by the calumny of others, or the feelings of 1113' own heart — I will be as hard as the article I deal in. Who will suffer in the affair as I have suDered and must suffer? who can know the pangs" — Mrs. Irigalton wept bitterly, but Maria slowly paced the floor, and removed the straw which obtruded beyond its bounds, as if even here she wished to observe her accustomed neatness. " Will you not go home with us, Maria?" resumed Mrs. Ingalton, when she was able to speak. " No, thank ye-^I must not render my hard fare more unpalatable by mixing it with DECISION. 117 better ; it will be some months before I shall venture upon any indulgences of that kind, — this is my resolution. All I will at this time accept from you, is a little bed-linen — in a short time I shall be rich enough to buy myself many little comforts." As Maria spoke, she exhibited a large canvas purse, very full of silver, and another, in which were a few half-guineas, and as she did so, there was a little of that laughing archness in her eye, and dimpled smile in her expressive mouth, which, in better days, had been the subject of Mrs. Ingalton's admira- tion, and which she believed at this very moment held the heart of her beloved Frank in bondage. She was compelled to take her leave, and she went home to her house, op- pressed with sorrow, and trembling for the denouement of the morrow. Yet when Mrs. Tngalton revolved the matter in her mind dispassionately, she could not fail to see that in all her conclusions- Maria was unquestionably right, and that her conduct was dictated by the purest motives, and even the wisest principles. She looked earnestly on her own situation, rallied her own powers, computed those of her 118 DECISION. daughters, nor did she lay her head on her pillow, till she had fairly calculated iheir chance of succeeding in a Boarding-school, and concluded to seek advice on the subject from Maria herself. CHAP. IX. In the new view of affairs which Mrs. Tn- galton's mind had adopted, it will be properly concluded that she represented the resolution taken by Maria, and the situation she had chosen, in the most favourable light that it could be placed, and in every respect endea- voured to conciliate her parents, or rather her father ; for however Mrs. Falconer might lament the loss of her society, and the degra- dation to which she had submitted, it was impossible for her not to honour the principle, and feel even grateful for the love which dictated such a sacrifice. Mr. Falconer's perception of the matter was unhappily com- pletelv the reverse ; his pride and his povertv equally took the alarm, and whilst the first urged him to denounce his daughter as acting in a manner totally unworthy of her ances- tors and her education, undutifully towards her parents, and unbecomingly as to all her con- nections, the latter led him to apprehend 1'30 DECISION. tliat all his creditors would, from such an exposure of the situation of his wife's finan- ces, be induced to press him for that day of settlement he dreaded to name. That such an elfect, to a certain degree, did follow, must be admitted ; it had been amongst those effects on wliich AJaria had calculated, and she had Joined with this knowledge the consolatory remembrance, that those poor tradesmen, to whom small sums were of great importance, would at the pre- sent time find her father able to discharge them, in doing whieh his credit would be strengthened. She knew perfectly well, that although an imprudent, adventurous, and spe- culative man, her father was intentionally honest, in the strictest sense of the word, honourable and liberal in all his transactions, and that inability to discharge such obliy:a- tions would entail upt)n him regret, which, in iiis present reduced state, he was ill able to endure, lier conjectures proved right — he l>aid them, eased his own heart of the oppres- sion, and blamed his daughter, as if she liad committed a positive robbery on his purse, and indulged against her a strain of invec- tive proportioned to tlw fund regard and DECISION. 121 idolizing admiration with which he was woni to contemplate her. To such a degree did this temper proceed, that the poor mother could at length bear it no longer ; she wrote in the most moving terms to Maria, beseeching her " to abandon a scheme which it would be cruel, almost impious, to pursue further ; since it had un- happily sown the first seeds of dissension between her parents, and produced an effect on her father's temper, which neither the mis- fortunes of time past, nor the apprehension of time to come, had ever awakened ; she ])raised her warmly, thanked her tenderly, for the efforts she had made, but solemnly pro- tested against the continuance of them, declaring that she was ready to endure evil in any other shape, but this she could not meet, since it separated her from all that hitherto consoled and sustained her anxious, unhappy life." Over this meek, but affecting statement of her mother's feelings, the still fond, tender, though resolute daughter wept, and almost shuddered — she felt that she was indeed a very young woman to act so determinate a part, that the purest intention would not 122 DECISION. justify erroneous action, nor even success warrant disobedience. Decided as she had been, and even thus far justified in her ex- pectation of deriving good (even far beyond her most sanguine hopes) still it was possible that the evil she incurred might not be ob- viated by the good she meditated — perhaps she was destroying, not only the peace, but the health of her mother; it might be that her obstinate adherence to her system would bring back that terrible complaint on her father, which had left behind it ravages she dreaded to think of. Yet on the other hand, October was draw- ing nigh, Frank Ingalton was returning (she dreaded to remember that) with little money, and all that she had foreseen was necessarily advancing, and her father at forty-three, with a wife scarcely thirty-seven, must be cast on the mercy of a world, for which the very dispositions they now evinced evidently rendered them peculiarly unfit. How was a man so proud, so sensitive, to endure servi- tude which would inevitably be his portion ? since it was certain he had always been too much a gentleman, to be highly talented as a tradesman ; with much activity, he had little DECISION. 123 method, with good theory on his tongue, httle practice of head or hand — Hable to imposition, even from a child in cunning ; generous to profusion, and utterly devoid of all that wisdom conveyed in the advice, " take care of pence — pounds take care of them- selves." Moreover, she had now established a new and very thriving concern, which if she laid down for but a week would be eagerly adopt- ed by people with capital, who, seeing its success, had already regretted their own want of foresight in suffering such a mine to re- main so long unwrought, yet would not at present oppose so young and poor an adven- turer, in her humble, and as they now all began to feel, her laudable attempt. If she dropped it, then it was gone for ever, and whatever might be the trials it imposed, the toils it occasioned, yet she felt that to her spirit there was less of humiliation in it than any she could hope to adopt. Never had she been degraded by the " proud ones' con- tumely," irritated by condescending patron- age, the pity which insults, the assistance which degrades. It is true that low rogues had sought to 1Q4 DECISION. cheat her, that the deceitful had in a few instances cajoled her ; hut these attempts to impose on her credulity, and excite her cha- rity, had been efiectually useful — they had led her to explore the cell of poverty where it really existed, and enabled her to soothe the hour of want, and the bed of sickness, by a portion of her hard-earned gains, a partici- pation of her scanty comforts — she had attained a power of encouraging the indus- trious, of controlling the idle, of benefiting many, and the certain prospect of extending this power beyond calculation — it was then her duty to preserve it. Doubtless, in these hopes and expectations of good, there was the form of one whose name was not uttered, that claimed a large share of consideration, and romantic visions floated in the perspective which rational hope spread out. Alas ! she who could even yet have bestowed worlds upon him, hoped not to share them with him, but a fond and generous heart took refuge now from the oppression inflicted by disappointment, in the dreams of iViendship ; and although it is probable that the fevered spirit felt as if the good it intended must operate " like coals of fire" on his heart. DECISION. 125 it yet could not cease to meditate some assist- ance, or even aggrandizement for one so long and tenderly beloved. After all these reviews of the subject, Maria at length considered it her duty to visit her parents, and lay before them a full statement of her feelings, her views, her pro- fits, and her prospects, yet without pledging herself to abandon that which every exami- nation rendered more valuable in her sight. How she had longed to see them, how ardently she desired to receive their approbation and their blessing, may be conceived, even from her absence, since, strong-minded and deci- sive as her conduct had already bespoke her, she had not dared to meet countenances which would melt the sinews of her resolve, and which even in their kindness would so agitate, and as it were, unman her, as to unfit her for the stern duties of her laborious and ceaseless round of occupation. The following Sunday, under the escort of Mitchell, and by a circuitous path, about the close of day, Maria once more presented her- self before her parents — the very action was an assurance to Mrs. Falconer that her letter had produced all the effect she desired, and 12G DECISION. she fell on her neck and welcomed her with thankfulness, not less than love; it was in vain too that her father endeavoured to as- sume the anger he had so often fulminated in her absence — his lip trembled, the first touch of her hand disarmed him, and in another moment she was locked in his arms. Terrible indeed was this reception to the heart of Maria, she could have argued point by point, have produced facts, pleaded ne- cessities, but how could she resist the tender- ness, the confidence in her submission thus displayed ? — how could she look on the whitening locks of her father, and maintain her own superior wisdom ? how dash frou) the placid countenance of her mother that glowing happiness now painted upon it, in an expression more bright than it had worn for years ? " We have just received letters from our dear Francis liigalton," said Mrs. Falconer, " he will be here next week, most probably." Mr. Falconer gave a profound sigh, and immediately the smile which had illuminated his lady's countenance was dispersed. " Do not sigh, father," said Maria, " some- thing will be done, depend upon it." DECISION. 127 " Something has been done, most blame- ably done, but 1 will not reproach you for the past, Maria." " Nor, I trust, for the future, since it is cer- tain that all I have done and mean to do, is i^ov you." " Ridiculous ! what can the earnings of a few paltry shillings drawn from the black- paws of the lowest rabble do ? — will your profits find strings to your harp. Miss Fal- coner?" " Allow me to shew you, dear father — to explain to you the advantage — the necessity —the" •' Heavens ! would you make me a party to your disgrace? — do you ask me to approve your folly and madness ? to take part in your beggarly plans — your dirty savings" " Not now — I do not ask you now to share my board, or even to visit my dwelling, but as I fear the time may come, when both may be necessary, I will not say tbat I am sorry for providing them, at any rate I may be allowed to provide for myself — your creditors shall not reproach me for having robbed them. It is my duty to keep myself, since 128 DECISIOX. I know that vour late inisfi)rtuues and other things" " Maria, Maria, do not reproach us!" cried the mother in a voice of agony. " Go away, girl — is it not enougli that you have disgraced us — injured us — must you insult us also ?" As Mr. Falconer spake, he caught his wife in his arms, and with an angry motion, such as he had never used to her even in the days of childhood, pointed to the door. " I go," said Maria, haughtily, for anger at that moment flushed her cheek, and dried the tears that had lingered in her eyes — " I go, but my mother may recall me — and re- member I have used no word of reproach — I have not deserved — but I will say nothing — you have preserved me, and 1 ought to thank you for confirming me in my deci- sion." 1^9 CHAP. X. jVIaria left the room, and was hastening out of the house, but her steps were arrested by those four-footed friends we have already alluded to, and the sound of their congratu- lations brought Kathleen also, who hung around her darling with all the doating fond- ness and obstreperous sorrow, peculiar to her country. Maria took her by the hand, and resolutely approaching the door, the old woman flung her apron over her head, and conceiving that she was going to hear some secret, suddenly became quiet and walked out with her. They entered the paddock, and there Maria calmed the beatings of a heart (whose pulsa- tion had been quickened by various emotions) in the enquiries she s copped to make on every particular of the health of both her parents. The answers were on the whole very satisfac- tory, nor could she be son-y to find also that two servants had been provided with places K 130 DECISION. in the neighbourhood ; but a sigh certainly rose, when Kathleen added, " It was all the better for sartin that George should go, seeing as he had no work at all, when the mare was sould away to young Birchett" — " The mare ? — my pretty Fanny" — • " Oh yes ! sure ; and you did'nt know then ? and is it me that has tould you the news ? ill luck to the tongue that did it, for 1 know it will grieve you." " No, no, it is all right — she has got a good manger, and a kind master — I am con- tent." " Nay, nay, as to content, blessins on the swate voice of ye, there's no content in the case at all, but only ye see it jusl broke the hearts of them^ — of your parents I mane, to set eyes on her, and the cratur was of no use, seeing Master was too heavy for her; so when the youth, who is quite a bit stripling, said how he'd do by her, and ofl'ered a mighty high price into the bargain, !Madam said as how it was their duty to let it go — but her eyes w^ere as red after it, as if the blood had come from her heart to bathe them, so they were." " But, good Kathleen, you must turn back, DECISION. 131 you see I have Mitchell following, he will take care of me — but vou will be alone." " But why cannot I go wi ye altogidder, Miss ? surely I'll work my fingers to the bone for ye ; — sleep on straw, and eat pratees the rest of my days — if you are poor (as they tell me you are) is it not proper I should be poorer still, being your sarvant? now pray answer me that — do answer it." " You are older than me, my good Kath- leen." " And no mighty matter o' that rather, some forty years is the outside on't, an thot my lady has made me asy in my please, there's oood work in me vet for manv's the day to come." " I know it, my good Kathleen, and depend upon it, you shall work for me by and bye — only don't cry, and you shall do any thing." " But how can I help it? — am I not de- lighted to labour, and to starve, and to sup sorrow by spoonfuls ? and deuce a drop can I get of it — ye take it all on yourself — 3'e do, ye do. Miss Falconer, an it is'nt handsome of ye." • The reiterated assurances that in a very short time she should share in all her trou- k2 132 DECISION. bles, at length induced Kathleen to return, and her young idolized lady pursued her melancholy walk with pensive steps, and a sense of deep depression on her spirits, which she felt utterly incapable of shaking off. Sincerely did she now repent that she had suffered her original plan to be so far infringed upon, as to have subjected herself to vexation which had answered no good end, and awakened in her niemorv those thousand pangs of recollected pleasures, hopes, and even sorrows, which it was necessary to blunt and destroy, or at least supplant by less endearing, but more appropriate ideas. The morning was long in its approach to her now sleepless eyes, but when it came again, the press of business, the sense of use- fulness, and even the perpetual necessity of self-control roused her from that enfeeblinG: dejection which threatened more to subdue the energy and sap the vigour of her mind, than violent emotion. Again she counted her profits, calculated the amount of that which she required, or which she liad a pro- bability of ensuring, and for that time at least, might be said to " go on her way re- joicing." But when the remembrance of DECISION 133 Trunk's near approach struck on her heart, at such moments it inflicted intolerable an- guish, and put to flight all sober calculation, all promise of that calmness necessary for her pursuits, of that happiness which ought to be their reward. ^'ct when Frank actually arrived, and called upon her with his mother, she had the satisfaction of seeing him with more self-pos- session than her fluttering bosom had pre- viously promised. She thought him much altered, much improved in fact, both as to the manliness of his person, and the ease, steadiness, and quiet importance of his man- ners, which argued that self-reliance, and conscious assumption of necessary knowledge so desirable in every man. He was however all the less, that pale student, that interesting young man, whose virtuous struggles, warm aflcctions, and soaring mind, had charmed lier imagination, and stolen unwittingly into her heart — it was, however, certain that he became more like himself everv moment, and JSlaria, for the first time in her life, heard him depart with a sensation of relief. Trunk did not visit lier again, though he failed in no other mode of attention which l^-i DECISION. he I'ound would be acceptable; but that busi- ness which slie had strongly urged upon hiui in liiis interview, and whieli her example still more strongly inculcated, rccjuired every mo- ment of his lime, and scarcely allowed iiim to give to the real object of his love that attention his heart accorded, but which every circumstance in his unfortunate situation forbade him to indulire. O One Sunday morning, just after returning from that which had now become lier parish rivate hap- piness. Several years now passed, in which the many difhculties of those engaged in com- mercial pursuits were such as would unfjues- tionably have deterred Maria from embarking in them ; but as her property was necessarily scattered abroad, she could not in many in- stances forbear to continue her connections without abandoning her past gains altogether. This she was the less willing to do, because every 3'ear of this distressing period showed her some new means by which she could benefit those around her, nor could she be insensible to the pleasure of guiding by pru- dence and vigilance her steady bark thro' the ocean in which so many were wrecked. Cir- DECISION. 249 cumstances of course extended her connec- tions and she found several persons whom she esteemed and pitied, and to whom she became so eminently useful that many, now rich and important, may be said to owe all they possess to that considerate generosity in her, which preserved their parents from utter ruin, and enabled them to educate and even- tually fix their children respectably in life. It was not alone in the abode of poverty that the bounty of Maria flowed, where a trifling relief eflfected a great assistance, (although such objects were never neglected by her) but the noble benevolence of her heart and the comprehensiveness of her views went far beyond petty charities. Was a worthy ma- nufacturer unable to live any longer by a business which, having its regular market closed, called upon him to pay large wages and lay the goods for which he so paid upon shelves already groaning with the accumula- tion — " I must share this trouble," said Maria, " I must purchase from him and enable him to go on, otherwise he will be ruined, his family driven to the lowest ranks in so- ciety, and his workmen thrown upon the parish to increase the already overburthened 0.50 DECISION. rates, which in their turn will pull down more housekeepers ; t/iis must not be." Every such resolve in her case was followed by secret, but prompt assistance ; and if the evil was found greater than she had appre- hended, it was only met with fuller conside- ration and more ample help. It would some- times happen to involve her j)rcsent means so far as to render her literally poor, in which case she always quietly endured the incon- venience to which it subjected her, rather than incur personal obligation or alter the routine of her affairs. " I have had my treat," she would say to her mother, " and must wait till I can have another; I should be an unworthy pupil ot my early school if I had not learnt like St. Paul, * how to want and how to abound.'" It has more than once occurred at such periods that Maria was applied to on behalf of souie public charity, in which case she always quietly, but, if teazed, peremptorily, refused to give. This was considered some- times to arise from caprice, at other times from avarice, which was deemed particularly inexcusable in one who was known to have escaped all great losses better than her neigh- DECISION. 251 hours, and whose steady gains and moderate expenses must before this time have made actually rich. Remonstrance and intreaty were however alike unavailing, for as she al- ways gave freely when she could do so with propriety, so she always refused firmly when she could not; yet would she never condes- cend to plead poverty, much less hint at the medium which made her poor. When the storm had blown past through her means, sometimes (despite of her intreaty) gratitude whispered the name of the pilot thro' whom it had been weathered, and it has been known that on the very morning when she stoutly refused a guinea subscription, she had paid a debt of a hundred pounds to save the father of a family from arrest. How often has she placed a widow in a little shop, put out sons apprentices, made dausfhters into useful assistants, decent in- structors, or superior servants, by bestowing on them the profits of some one branch of her commercial dealings, which, when so dedicated, she would hold religiously as their's for the time to which it was thus ap- propriated, and how often would she relieve humbler objects by the direct sacrifice of 252 DECISION. some personal liixmy to which her taste in- clined, and her fortune warranted. But never did these denials for one moment ex- lend to the elegant comforts which surround- ed lier mother, towards whom her afi'ections seemed drawn more fondly the more they were concentrated. The carriage, the house, tlie very dress of Mrs. Falconer, were models for all who had good taste to copy, and Maria, who, in her own person, seemed to forget the very existence of great personal beauty, paid it homage in the person of her mother. It is true that as time advanced, and she felt it no longer necessary to look older than she was, she dressed much better — fashions in female apparel hapj)ily became sim- ple and convenient, at the time when it suited her to adopt them, and a plain cloth pelisse and leghorn bonnet supplied the place of the ancient habit, and formed a costume equaliy useful and infinitely more becoming. The activity of her habits preserved her fine form, her light step, and the quickness of her eye, and altho' the rapidity of her ideas, the strictness of her methodical arrangements, and the determinate character of her mind. DECISION. 255 rendered her occasionally subject to a quick mode of speech, and an unbending gait, there was an openness of countenance, an assurance of protection, a full, frank kindness of reception about her, which enabled every honest child of sorrow to lay his wants before her with ease — the mean and the wicked shrunk before her eye. Such was she in her thirty-sixth year, when a foreign lady, young, fair, and evi- dently oppressed with sorrow, appeared un- expectedly before her, and signified in very broken English a desire to speak to her in private. That desire was instantly complied with, and the stranger with a trembling hand pre- sented a billet which had been long written, but was yet legible, and had been traced by a hand never to be forgotten. "Maria, I write to you from a prison in France, where the fate of war has thrown me. Receive, I beseech you, my wife and child. You are my only hope and consolation. Henriette will tell you how we have suffered. Cherish her, I beseech you — she is worthy of your love — commend her to your mother, to mine, for as such I must ever hold her. Nei- 254 DECISION. tber my time nor my feelings allow me to say more — your brother, F. II ." These lines liad been traced with a trem- bling hand, and they were read by a heart so agitated, as to render words impossible — an instantaneous and affectionate embrace as- sured the unhappy wanderer that her beloved lord, her long-sulfering captive, had not been wrong in thus venturing to throw her on the mercy of that woman whom he could never cease to remember as the most perfect of her sex, in his estimation. It is unnecessary to trace the sad steps which had tended to place the Count in his present situation, and induce him to write to his wife, earnestly intrcating her to abandon the home which was now in the power of the French, and, by a circuitous route, reach England. He had been too good a general to have any hope of speedy release, and he had sufi'ered so severely from his wounds that he thought it only too probable that he might die in prison — to procure an asylum for his young and lovely wife and the child he idolized, was not only the first wish of his heart, but the only circumstance, which, by DECISION. 255 soothing his affliction, would give him a chance for existence. When the child of her once-loved Frederic, bearing his softened resemblance in every feature, was presented to Maria, her heart throbbed audibly in her bosom — when she learned that its name was Maria, tears that dissolved, as it were, her very frame, rushed impetuously down her cheeks. The little innocent was sorry for the lady, and rushed to her arms as she had often done in the hour of sorrow to those of her mother, calling on her in her own language " not to cry, for papa would soon come to her again." To this child Maria became attached as much as she had ever been to Frank, and had more satisfaction in her second acqui- sition than she could have in the first ; for although she continued to love the boy, who was a very clever and amiable youth, yet that necessity for keeping him at school, and, to a certain degree, estranging him from the indulgence of her mother, did not exist in the present case, and little Maria soon was the darling of all the family. Mrs. Falconer re- ceived the unhappy lady with all the gen- tleness, tenderness, and affectionate courtesy. 256 DECISION. due to her sorrows, and with a vivid interest in the fate of her husband. Here the young Countess might have been happy if friend- ship eould have made her so, but the more easy external circumstances were rendered to her, the more it will be conceived was she uneasy respecting the fate of him from whom she had now no possibility of hearing, and she was frequently ready to lament that in obeying his mandate she had placed herself out of all power to administer to his comforts, or even learn his fate. Whilst her older friends endeavoured to console her, and her lovely child sought to amuse her, Maria constantly endeavoured to gain the earliest political intelligence, and by every source of correspondence which re- mained to her, sought to convey and receive information ; but the Countess had remained nearly eighteen months in England, without being able to satisfy herself of more than the actual existence of her husband. At that period, the prospect of peace awoke at once hopes and fears which afiectcd her so severe- ly that health and life itself seemed to fade away before them. Maria saw the state to which she was reduced, and was aware action DECISION. 257 alone could save her; she had herself found its value, and fearful that if much longer delayed, it would be useless, she suddenly proposed to set out with her to Germany. The offer was received with transport by the Countess, but alarm by Mrs. Falconer, " Dear Maria" said she in a whisper, " have you considered this step ?" " I have, dear mother, and take with me an excellent escort in Mr. B — whom yet I can- not send alone with our dear Henriette. If 1 find the Count at liberty, I will return im- mediately without proceeding into the coun- try, but if this poor creature is condemned to widowhood — we part no more in this life." Their voyage, being taken so late in the year, was very bad and tedious, and on arriv- ing at their destination the same circum- stances of delay in the arrangements of a treaty which afterwards proved of so short duration, occasioned many days of uneasi- ness, alleviated, however, by an assurance that the Count lived, and was even then at liberty. To this information succeeded great fear that he would set out innnediately for England, but at length they found the 25S DECISION. means of informing him, through a courier, of the present situation of liis lady. What liours those were when he was known to be on the road, how slowly they passed, and how often the rooms were paced through, and the flight of time consulted, we attempt not to describe. Tlie last two hours were tile worst of all. At length however Hen- riette embraced her husband, her pale, thin, altered husband, over whom she sorrowed al- most as much as she rejoiced, before the tu- mult of her feelings permitted her to seek, the present guest, the inestimable benefactress, whom the Count wished yet dreaded to see, and v.'hose name and praises even now shook him more than the memory of all his past sufferings, and the losses and desolation which encompassed him. But INIaria was gone. A few hurried but aft'ectionate lines, and a considerable sum of money, alone remained as her memorial — she adopted the care of the child till they could together reclaim it, urged them to prosecute their endeavours to recover the property which had been desolated by the war, and that fortune of the Countess's DECISION. 259 which the confusion of the times and the absence of her husband during the war had still withheld from them, and she promised them money wherewith to contest the point. The appearance of Maria on her return was not only welcomed by her mother but a family of strangers, w^ho had arrived during her absence, and w'ho were waiting her return with impatience. This was, as our readers will suppose, the Ingaltons', which now con- sisted of the w^orthy couple and two addition- al children. Several had been born and died in India, but Mrs. Ingalton had never en- joyed her health there, and was evidently at this time gradually sinking to the tomb. The love this amiable woman had ever entertained for Maria appeared even to have increased during her long absence, and from the moment of her appearance she flung her- self upon her care with all the helplessness of sickness and the fond confidence of early life, so that scarcely was the burden of one anxiety removed when another was imposed on her friendship. If care and attention, if the watchful love of a husband, the tender assiduities of a sister, could have restored her, Ellen would not have died — but the case s2 GOO DECISION. was a lost one, and a very few weeks released them from all earthly cares for one whose life had been singularly happy, making up in ease what it wanted in duration. Mr. Ingalton was deeply affected but not inconsolable, for he had long expected this change ; and his restoration to a mother and sisters he most fondly loved, and to a son of whom he was proud, and in whom he met all his heart could wish, were necessarily cir- cumstances of the most soothing and solac- ing description. He had been so far success- ful in following the course his brother had commenced, as to have realized a very hand- some fortune, and to have secured for his younger son an honourable and lucrative situation — he had happily preserved his own health which was not aifected by the climate, and which his regularity and temperance con- tributed to save, and, contrary to the general appearance of oriental residents, he looked younger than lie really was. When he be- came settled, it may be readily supposed what a great addition he aftorded to the ])leasure of our little circle, supplying the loss of the interesting Countess by a new and endearing claimant to their sympathy. DECISION. 261 From this lady they now heard constantly, but found that a succession of troubles sur- rounded and harrassed the Count, who, during the short peace, was engaged in legal warfare, useless remonstrances on the loss of his property, and incessant toil in trying to restore what was lost or injured. Maria as- sisted him in various ways, by money, ad- vice, and raising up friends amongst her mercantile connexions. With the return of war, at which period the Countess had become the mother of a son, his plans were again broken into, and for a considerable time his claims disallowed, and the returnin<>; confu- sion of the continent again admitted only partial and contradictory accounts to reach his anxious friends in England, who were extremely desirous that his lady and child should again find a shelter from the storm in their friendship. At this period Mr. Ingalton was thrown much on the society of Maria ; for as his mother now lived with him, yet could not pass a day without seeing the friend with wliom she had resided so long, the families were necessarily much together. However strange it may appear, it is certain that the 2()'2 DECISION. charms her person could still boast, and those which were pcrhaj)s more attractive in her manners, when in familiar conversation, than ever, made that imjMxssion on his bosom now which they had tailed to do in youth. Poor Mr. Elderton had been lont; declinin": and they had frequently visited him together, had each received friendly legacies from him, and indeed in various ways been associated in such a manner that when the family inter- course also was considered, it could scarcely be surprizing that one party at least should be led to consider it desirable to cement, by an union for life, that tie which esteem and friendship already rendered so dear and valuable. A little fearful of endangering the happy terms on whicli they stood, Mr. Ingalton first mentioned his wishes to his friend the mother of Maria, who promised to speak of it to her daughter. She heard her with evident pain, and at length interrupted her to lament " that when they were all so comfortably settled, Frank should be such a fool as to disturb their equanimity." " My dear, you forget that poor Ellen has been dead moro than two vears — that Mr. DECISION. 263 Ingalton is a man so fond of society in do- mestic life, it is no wonder that he should seek to renew his happiness — and you must allow he is a man few women would refuse." " It is all very true, mother, so let him look round if he pleases and marry some agreeable woman whom we can all like — I wish he would, but it is equally certain I cannot oblige him with becoming- that woman mv- self." " But, dear Maria, hear what he has to say." " Indeed, dear mother, I will not — the idea of Frank and me playing Romeo and Juliet at this time of day is so ridiculous that if I were inclined to ratify the treaty you are employ- ed to negociate, I would certainly do it with my own hand given under mj^ own seal, all in a regular way of contract — but depend upon it, I am as much married as ever I shall be." " Yet surely there was a time, Maria, when"— '• True, dear mother, there was a time when 3-our Maria (then very young) felt perhaps more and suffered more for this worthy man than she now wishes to recollect — since then she has loved another with that entire pre- 264 DECISION. ference and constancy which render it impos- sible tliat .slit; should either return to her early predilictions or form new ones — and to be serious, I can now sincerely rejoice that no marriage ties have ever interfered with that devotedness to you to which 1 pledged my- self and which 1 have preserved." " Vou have undoubtedly been enabled to do much more good, my love — and you have escaped many misfortunes, but yet with your wisdom and energy you would have endured them, and been rewarded for every privation by constituting the happiness of such a hus- band as the Count." " And what would have become of you, mother ?" " I had forgotten myself, Maria." " True — but not for a day, an hour, sliould I have forgotten to tremble for you, to lament over you — it is not in my nature to dismiss those whom I love from my mind a moment so long as I can benefit them — the sorrows of Frank Ingalton first led me to love him; the greater misfortunes of my beloved parents, and his subsequent marriage alike tended to obliterate the excess of this feeling, and leave only in its place those friendly regards which DECISION. 260 I now hold towards him. The more pro- found, and tender affection, which bound my very soul to Frederic Hernhausen was pur posely conquered as a duty I owed to you and myself, by engaging anew in the active scenes of life, until the appearance of his wife renewed in some measure the fervour of my feelings. I became so fond of Henriette, and so attached to her child, that I now know not which of the family I love best ; they furnish me all that my heart requires, and I supply to them the friend their md situation requires. All the cares, and the pleasures of a mother have been long mine, for both Frank and Maria love me with the purest affection. Oh! it is well that I was never married, for although I can submit to any privation, encounter any toil for the ob- ject of my regard, yet I much question whether I could bear even a small trial from such object. It is now too late to try." " Unquestionably we are all more con- formable in early life, and you have been so long in the exercise of power it would be difficult for you to brook controul, but if you were married to a man of as good a temper, and as kind a heart as your own, you might Q.6G DECISION. secure a friend for the decline of life, for that period when I must be removed, \vlio might be very vahiable — but I will not urge vou. Mari.i did not reply ; for a recurrence to that awful, and, as she trusted, far distant hour, overcame her, and the subject was never mentioned again. Mr. Ingalton removed for a period to London, and busied himself with tlie education of his children. Year after year passed on — the beauty and accom])lish- ments of jNlaria, as she rose to womanhood, blending the gentle suavity of her mother with the virtues implanted most assiduously by her pnjtectress, attracted the lieart of young Trevannion, and our excellent friend had begun to feel extreme solicitude on this subject, when the long-protracted miseries of war were suddenly brought to an end, and the possibility of personal intercourse with the jjarents of her beloved AJaria relieved hei mind from much of its burden on this most momentous point. 2fi7 CHAP. XV. 1 WELVE years had passed since Mrs. Maria Falconer had restored the Countess to the arms of her husband in Germany, since which time she had become the mother of five children, had been driven to various residences, experienced great difficulties, but never been wholly lost sight of by her ge- nerous friend, who had continued to en- counter the perplexities and toils of com- merce for the express purpose of dedicating its profits to her use. It will be therefore readily conceived that when the possibility of a visit to England, under the protection of her husband, once more occurred, not only the feelings of the mother but the gratitude of the friend alike urged her once more to set out for England, and circumstances hap- pening to favour the design, they arrived un- expectedly at B — before the letters intended to announce them. We shall not attempt to describe the meet- 268 DECISION. ing of friends so closely united in heart, so long divided in person. — Tiie Count was but a ruin of his former self, being robbed of his " fair proportions" by the loss of his left arm, and halting from a wound in his knee — his face was wrinkled and care-worn, but there was the same expression of countenance, the same mild blue eye, and kind intonation of voice, which had never failed to render liim endearing to all around him. He beheld with surprize the slight alteration time had made in his eldest friend, but it was evident in Maria, although much less so than in his own person or that of his lady, who was con- siderably his junior. " But the child, the plaything, who first taught his heart to throb with the feelings of a father, where was she?" Maria had been walking with Frank In- galton, the friend and brother of her youth — to him she had been opening her heart, and the blushes were still mantling on her cheeks from the remembrance of her temerity, when she entered the room and encountered the gaze of strangers, who could with dilli- culty be made to comprehend that the beau- tiful, tall, elegant, creature before them was DECISION. 269 indeed their own lovely, affectionate child, whose heart had cherished them only the more fondly for the absence she had so long lamented. This happy visit continued several months, nor ended until the Count was summoned to receive his property and re-enter on the com- forts of that home from which he had been long exiled ; his last duty in England was that of giving away his Maria at the altar, thereby insuring her abode in the country of her more than mother — that mother who suffered him not to depart, without witnessing the obliteration of all proofs of pecuniary obligation on his part, and an assurance of future aid to his offspring. When this family had set out, and the pain of bidding adieu had subsided, the first cares of our worthv friend were s;iven to the final closing of her accounts and the establishment of two worthy men as her successors, not as purchasers but acceptors of a well-merited reward from a generous mistress. Not one person who had shewn her kindness in the day of her own wants, excited approbation by his industry, or pity from his misfortunes, was forgotten by her at this time, if they had C70 DECISION. not been previously provided for. Mr. and Mrs. Mitchell had long been easy in their circnni- stanees, and old John Bilson, retired from labour to dwell with a son who was well situated as a clerk, " for which he had been educated by madam," now hobbled up to the counting house to make a nominal purchase and confer what he called " luck on the be- ginners," and tell for the thousandth time the history of that morning, " when he was the first customer of that beautiful lady, who had been the making of him and his." We hope that although the history of our heroine is brought down to that period when woman ceases to charm, if not to interest, yet that some of our readers, aware of her inestimable worth and that mental energy and acute, but well-regulated, sensibility which preserves the mind and the heart un- dccayed by time, unwiihered by age, are de- sirous to know, " if Maria is yet alive."* To such we answer, she yet lives, in the best sense of the word, enjoying health, prac- tising every active virtue, and receiving from a wide circle daily proofs of honour, grati- tude, and all'ection ; and at sixty enjoys the * This Tale is foimdctl on lacts. DECISION. 271 rare comfort " of rocking the cradle of de- clining age" to that beloved parent who is still likely to enjoy life a few years longer. They are surrounded by the young who love them, the old who respect them, the poor who bless them. INIrs. Maria, released from the trammels of business, enjoys her leisure with a zest those who have never known the restraints of employment cannot well ima gine, and frequently surprizes her friends (who know how^ much her time is occupied by her mother and the various classes who seek her advice or assistance) by the works she has lately read, the lessons she has be- stowed on little Frank Ingallon, or the daughter of Mrs. Trevannion, whom she looks upon as her grandchildren. With these lessons, which are only the out- ward adornments of the structure, it will be readily believed that such a woman never fails to inculcate the pure precepts of religious morality, the true heroism of self-renuncia- tion — the wisdom of integrity, the dignity of self-controul, and the necessity many situa- tions in life present for acting with firmness, resolution, and perseverance. Her mind stored by observation, and mellowed by time. 272 DECISION. she yet seldom touches on this subject with- out earnestly intrcating her hearers to guard themselves from mistakiiiir obsiinacv of tern- per for firmness of mind — to remember, that in early life submission and obedience are virtues more generally demanded than those of a sterner character, and that woman throusrh life is generally called upon to practise them. " Yet," she will add, " woman, as an intel- lectual and accountable being, gifted with reason and capable of exertion, the first guide of man's infancy, the general influencer of his youth, and the companion of his man- hood, ought to be no stranger to the impor- tance nor the practice of any virtue demand- ed by our common nature ; and, whether re- latively or individually considered, cannot fail to find that her virtue and her happiness must depend on her JJecision." FINIS LOBDON : K. CLAT, I'KINTER, BRK.VD STRF.ST HILL. <§) ' — ■ ~ . ._e % &iihU[]\n INSTRUCTIVE AND AMUSING WOEKS FOE THE YOUNG. INCLUDING THOSE FORMERLY PUBLISHED BY CLARKE & CO. (LATE DARTON & HARVEY.) LONDON ; @- ARTHUR HALL, VIRTUE, & CO. 25, PATERNOSTER ROW. Menzies, Edinburgh.} [McGIashan, Dublin. No. 6. 1.1.59. .'J -@ Thli Day, Cheap Edition, price 2t. A BOY'S ADVENTURES IN THE WILDS OF AUSTRALIA; By WILLIAM HOWITT. WITH ILLO8TBATI0N8 BY HARVEY. A Fine Paper Edition, price it. cloth, gilt. -® -@ WORKS FOR THE YOUNG. ACKWORTH VOCABULARY, or English Spelling Book ; with the Meaning attached to each Word. CompUed for the use of Aekworth School. New Edition , ISmo. cloth lettered. Price Is. 6d. ART OF CHESS-PLAY.— A NEW TREATISE ov THE GAME OF CHESS. By George Walker, Esq. Ninth Edition, 12mo. cloth lettered, reduced to 2s. 6d. BARBAULD'S (Mrs.) LECONS POUR DES ENFANS, depuisl'age de Deux Ans jusqu'a Cinq. Avec une Interpretation Anglaise. New Edition. 18mo. cloth lettered. Price 2s. BIRDS AND ANIMALS. The Conversations of Little Henry and his Mother, &c. By E. E. WiLLEMEST. With Cuts. Fcap. cloth, 2s. BOY (the) and the BIRDS. By Emily Taylor.' With Sixteen fine "Woodcuts, from Land- seer's Designs. IGmo. gilt edges. Price 25. 6d. *' A delishlful book for children. The birds tell of their habits to & little in- quirins boy, « ho coes peeping into their nests and watching their doings, and a very pleasant way ihey 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. By Mrs. Traill, (late Catharine Parr Strickland,) Authoress of "The Backwoods of Canada," &c. In foolscap, with numerous Engravings. New and Cheaper Edition. [In preparation. Edked by Agnes Strickland. Illustrated by Harvey. *'This is aq extremely pleasing and not very improbable fiction. The object of the writer has been to inculcate the virtues of energy &nd self-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." — Tail's Magazine, Sept. 1852. " A very delightful book for young readers. The interest is deep and w ell 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 excelleut woodcuts, and the book is altogether a pretty and in- teresting one."— Guardion. @- Akthur Hail, Virtue, & Co. 25, PATr,itJ!fOsrKE Row. © INSTRUCTIVE AND AMUSING CHEMISTRY NO MYSTERY ; luing the Subject Matter of a Course of Lectures by Dr.ScofTem. illustrated with Diagrams and Woodcuts. Second Edition, revised and corrected, with Index, price 3*. 6d. cloth lettered. •* A very agreeable account of some of the leadinz facts and principles of Chemistry, not only made plain to the meanist capacity, but atttactive, we should imncini', to the most idle youth, and amu^in^ lo aI\,"— Spectator. ** I'liis nork coutnins quite as nuich information as is requisite for any peri^on >vho does not intend to make Chemistry a pr(irt'9!«i<^tnal or hubby-tiorsical pursuit. The various information is conveyed in a clear and distinct manner, so that the dullf,-.t child can hardly fall lo understand what it means. We recommend evtry futher to purchase this work for his children, unless thry happen lo be particularly stupid. It dues much credit to Mr. ScufTcrn, the author : it is very well printed and neatly ho\xnd.**—P' of a Genius. A Tale for Boys. By the Author of *'How to Win Love." With Four Illustrations by Franklin. In foolscap Svo. cloth. Price 3s. 6d, •' No one possessing common sensibility can read this book without a thought- ful brow and a Klisteninjt eye," — Chamhett* Edinburgh Journal. ** An exceedingly well-told tale, n hich will interest boys of all ages. • • • As a holiday companion, few books would be more popular." — En.;Uth CUurchman. *' A lively narrative of school-boy adventures." •' A very charniing and admirably-written volume. • • • It is adapted to make buys bitter." " A simple and pleasing story of 8Chooluung ladies. The moral of the book «irns on benevolence."— CAruddn Timet. ** This Story of a Child's Life is so full of beauty and meekness, that we can hardly express our sense of its worth in the words of common praise." — Son- cor\formttt. ** This will be a choice present for the young."— Br ilith Quirterli/ Tierirtr. •' The whole story is told with a most touchiug grace, and a golden glow of poetry per%ades it. The flne designs of Harvey whicli illustrate the book, add greatly to its attractiveness, and we cannot entertain a doubt of its becoming one of the most popular volumes in the 'Children's Library.'"— K/i'ra Cook* s Journal. EARTH (the) and ITS INHABITANTS. By Margaret E. Darton. Crown Svo. cloth, with coloured Frontisiiiece. Price 5*. Abthur Haxl, Virtue, & Co. 25, Pater«ost£R Eow. -@ @- -@ WORKS FOR THE YOUNG. EDGEWORTH'S EARLY LESSORS. New and cheaper Edition, fcap. cloth, 3s. 6d. or in Four Pocket Volumes, price 10*. ENGLISH STORIES of the OLDEN TIME. B5' I\Iaria Harvey. Hack. A New Edition. With Vignettes by [In preparation. " A popular History of England, from Alfred to Elizabeth, adapted to the capacities of young persons. The matter is uneiceptionable, 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 by Harvet. Fcap. 8vo. Price 3s. 6d. cloth. LOVE, A REALITY, NOT ROMANCE. In fcap. Cuts by Gilbert. Price Is. 6d. cloth; or 2s. Gd. handsomely bound, with gilt edges. ** Few writers are more indefatigable in their offices of benevolence than the authoress of this elegant little volume, who has once more done herself infinite credit by a transcript of the realities of life, so fairly and truly made, as to go home to the heart of every one who follows the tale to the conclusion. It ts a high gift to be able to write well ; but it is a far higherand nobler privilege to be known to write usefully, and to the best of purposes ; and this Mrs. Geldart has nevermore efleetually done than in 'Love, a Reality, not a Romance.'" — Bell's Messenger. MAY DUNDAS. Fcap. cloth. Price 2*. Gd. EMILIE, THE PEACE-MAKER. Fcap. cloth. Fnce2s.Gd. STORIES OF SCOTLAND. Fcap. cloth. Price 2s. Gd. THOUGHTS OF HOME. Fcap. cloth. Price 2s. Gd. TRUTH IS EVERYTHING. Third Edition. ISmo. cloth. Price \s. Gd, (§)- GRECIAN STORIES. By Maria Hack. With Thirty-eig:ht fine Illustrations by Gilbert, engraved by "Wright and Folkard. New Edition. [In preparation, '* These historical narratives are composed on the popular plan of the entor- taiDiojLT and instniclive stnries of the authoress, relating to Ensjland. They will be valuable, especially to the non-classical, as an accurate picture of Oreece, its annals, and its great men.*' — TaiVt Magazine, Arthur Hall, Virtue, k Co. 25, Paternoster Row. -@ INSTRUCTIVE AND AMUSING HEROINES OF THE MISSIONARY ENTERPRISE; or, Sketches of Prominent Female Mission aries. Uy Daniel C. Eddy. With Preface by the Rev. John CuMMiNG, U.D. Third Edition, in fcaj). 8vo. Price li.6d. cloth, or '2s. 6d. };ilt edges. " This u a bonk Tur the many, and cannot fnll to he a srpat favourite, especlallj- with the sex whose virtues and labours it records."— UrKuA llanner. HOWITT.— A BOY'S ADVENTURES IN THE WILDS OF AUSTRALIA; or, Herbert's Note Book. By William Howitt. With Designs by Hauvey. New and Cheaper Edition, price 2s. bds. ; or -Is. cloth gilt. " It is really the next thing to a personal pili;riniaii> through the Gnlilen Land. In vivul portraiture of things as th>-y are. it far excels every publication that has )et reached us from Australia."— Bm'/i*^ Banner. "AH the bovs in Enaland, whether ' old boys' or young ones, will rejoice In this fascinatinil'book, full of anecdote and wild adventure ; sober as we are and little u'iven lo roam, it has inspired u- with a strong desire to lake a journey in the Bush, if we could sec the end of it. The descriptions of the scenery, the trees, and the animals are extremely spirited and sriphic,— they have all the appearance of bein(- written on the spot, and are redolent of the fresh op^n air. We have very seldom read a book of travels that has charmed us so much, and we shall consider that the young folks who find it hanninj; on the bough of their * Christmas tree' are extremely fortunate." -.Alhena-um. "As niiijht be expected, they will flnil not only interesting and amusinK incidents and descriptions, but a good deal of useful informaton on the subject of Australian life, among the natives as well as among emigrants There are several woodcuts illustrating some of the mo»t striking scenes, and the book will take a hi^li rank among Christmas and New Year presenls,"- E»g(i>A Churchman, •• This is a capital book, and will coinmeiid itself alike to younic and old. It is full of humour, adventure, excitement, and those incidents of peril and pleasure which seem indigenous to Australia. The golddiggings, bush-rangers and bush-lires— floods, robbers, and hunting "scapes— all contribute their quota to this interesting book. It is emphatically a boy's book, and will be a very acceptable Christinas-gift,"— C/iurcA and S(alr datflle. •' 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 of a boy'a journal, it pictures Australian scenes, and records the incidents of travel in the bush. The natural history of the bush is very instructively and amusingly w oven into the story Let us then commend it, to boys especially, as decidedly llrst- ratc— one of the best bookicverfurnishedfor Ihcirgratillcalion."— Aoiico»(/ormul. HOW TO WIN LOVE ; or, Rhoda's Lesson. A Story Book for the Young. By the Author of "Michael the Miner," "Cola Monti," &c. With Illustrations on Steel. Second Edition, in square IGmo. hand- somely bound in cloth. Price 2*. 6d. with gilt edges. " A »erv captivating story." — Morning Post. " Truthfulness, descriptive talent, and pure morality in every line."— /.i/erorv OoMtlle. . ,j, „ " Juil what a ilory for children ought to be."— Douglat Jtrrold i Newpaper. LADY MARY AND HER NURSE; or, a PEFP INTO THE CANADIAN FOREST. By Mrs. Traill, Author of " Cinadian Crusoes." Illustrated by H ahvey. Fcap. cloth, 2«. 6d. ; or ,!i. 6d. gilt edges. Arthur Hall, Virtue, & Co. 25, Paternoster Row. @ WORKS FOR THE YOUNG. LAWRENCE'S (Miss) STORIES FROM THE OLD AND NEW TESTAMENTS. New Edition, with Cuts. {In preparation. MANUAL OF HERALDRY, Being a concise Description of the several Terms used, and containing a Dictionary of even,' Designation in the Science. Illustrated by 400 Engravings on'Wood. New Edition, in fcap. Svo. Price 3^. in emblematic cover. MANUAL OF PERSPECTIVE. Illustrated by numerous Engravings. By N. Whittock. ' Price U. &d. MANUAL OF GEOGRAPHY, Physical and Political. For the use of Schools and Families, with Questions for Examination. By Edward Farr, Author of "History of England," &c. Price \s. Gd. " Thou-jh perfectly free from pretension, and proposeil only as an assistant to the mother or the teacher, this little book is one of the best works on general geography that have come under our notice for a long time. A careliil 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." — Athencewn. MY OLD PUPILS. With Four Illustrations on Wood. Square ICmo. Price Ij.bds. or is. tid. handsomely bound in cloth, with gilt edges. MY YOUTHFUL COMPANIONS. By the same Author. With Steel Frontispiece. I8mo. cloth. Price 6rf. NAOMI ; or, the Last Days of Jerusalem. By Mrs. J. B. Webb. New Edition, with Designs by Gilbert, aiid View and Plan of Jeru- salem. Fcap. Svo. cloth lettered. Price Is. 6d. " One of the most interesting works we have read for some time. The senti- ments are appropriate, the style is graceful, and the tale is well connived. » « « We are not, then, surprised at the popularity it has attained, it deserves it ; and «e cordially wish it further success."— .Ve(in;)o(i7an. " It is in truth an admirable little volume, and well worthy of a yet more ex- ten-ive patronage than it has already Tfcei\ed."— Maidstone Journal. " The plot is easy, natural, and well sustained. The narrative is gracefully written . . . Seldom have we re.ad a tale better adapted for its purpose, or more beautifully tu\(i."—MotUhlv Review. Arthuk Hall, Virtue, & Co. 25, Paternostf.f Row. ©- INSTBUCTIVE AND AMUSING NURSERY RHYMES. New and Improved Edition, with Frontispiece. I8mo. clotli, gilt, price 1(. 6d. ORIGINAL POEMS FOR INFANT MINDS. New and Improved Edition, \vitl> Frontispioce. In Two Vols. I8mo. cloth, gilt, price \s. 6d. each. PHILOSOPHICAL CONVERSATIONS: in wliich are familiarly explained tlie causes of many daily occurrinK Natural Phenomena. By FftKDKRirKC. Bakewell. Tliird Edition, with Cuts. Fcap. cloth lettered. Price 3s, Od. •• We can most confldently recommend the Philosophical Converiattont to hcadi of fnniilief, as a work at ouct; bighty amu&ing and instructive." — Binniitf^- ham Journal. '• We have seldom. If ever, met with so much Instruction on curious and philo- sophical subject! conveyed in a form i;(» clear, $o entertaining, and so pcrfecily free from the pcditntry or aiTect.ition of learned technicalities. We shall be sur- prised if tliis work (lues not speedily become the favourite rudimental manual of Natural rhiloKophy in public seminaries and in private tuition."— /^a/Zi Herald. ** This (s a ver>' pleaslntj and lucid work, well adapted to allure young people to the study of Natural Philosophy."— /.*frf« Mercury/. '* We have peruicd this volume with much pleasure and improvement. It iit a work wc can contldcntly recommend, especially to the heads of families, as from the fiubjectii selected, and the familiar style in which they are treated, it cannot full nf jiroving both instructive and amusing:." — Comlridge Chronicle. PICTORIAL FRENCH & ENGLISH PRIMER. Uith no.-irly One Ihuidrt-d Eii{,'raving3 on Wood. New Edition. [/?; prt'paratioii. PICTORIAL SPELLING BOOK; or, Lessons on Facts and Objects. With 130 Graphic Illustra- tions. Fifth Edition. Price \a. in cloth. PIPPIE'S WARNING ; or, the Adventures of a Dancinfj Dof. nyCATiiAniST. Chowe, Autlior of "Susan H'-4)ley," Jv:c. With Cuts, Price U. bds.; or 2s. firf. silt edges. PLEASANT PASTIME ; or, Drawinti-Konni Dramas for Private Tie] rcscnfntion hy the Younp. With Cuts. Price li. bds. ; or 'is. (id. witli ^i't edges. ®- Aktuuk Hkll, Viii.rujj,& Co. 25, Paternostek Row. WORKS FOR THE YOUNG. 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 trreen and gold. Outside and in 'tis precisely the beau ideal of a presenter 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 Adveriiser. '* An amusing series of descriptions likely to interest the young folks for whom they are intended." — Bxprets. " Although professedly a ' book for girls,' the volume is so interesting in itself as to be calculated to give amuaement to those who have attained a riper age; and, although there is nothing attempted beyond amusement, yet a high moral is conveyed in its pages. One word as to the 'getting up.* The typogr.iphy 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 drawi:ig-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. An old friend with a new face, and an open and a gay one too." — BelVi Messenger. RHYMES FOR THE NURSERY. Illustrated Edition, in large type, with Sixteen Fine Cuts by Gilbert. IGmo. cloth, gilt edges. Price 2s. 6d. " The open clear type invites the young reader to learn the story of the nice little pictures. These verses for children have never been surpassed— scarcely equalled indeed — for the happy union nf fancy and precept, the simplicity and intrlligibilily of the ideas anil words, and the fluency and conciseness of the rhymes. The Miss Taylors are the best nursery lyrisls aftvr all."— Specfa/or. RODWELL'S CHILD'S FIRST STEP TO ENGLISH HISTORY. AVith many Cuts. New Edition, revised by Julia Corner. IGmo. cloth. 2s. 6d. ROWBOTHAM'S (J., f.e.s.a.) DERIVATIVE SPELLING BOOK, in which the Origin of each Word is given from the Greek, Latin. Saxon, German, Teutonic, Dutcli, French, Spanish, and other Languages; with the Parts of Speech, and Pronunciation accented. 12mo. cloth. Price Is. 6d. ROWBOTHAM'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 ISmo. Price 2s. 6d. 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 is. post Svo. cloth, gilt edges. Arthur Hall, Virtue, & Co. 25, Paternoster Row. ® 9 @ INSTRUCTIVE AND AMUSING SELECT POETRY FOR CHILDREN ; With brief Explaiiator}' Notes, arranf^ed forthe use of Schools and Families. By Josi ph Payne. Tenth Edition, corrected and Enlarged. 18nio. Price 2s. 6d. cloth; or 3*. scarlet, gilt edges, ** A very nice liltle volume, conuining a chamiinf cuUrctioo of poetry.**— Spectator. " We do not know any other book that, in the sam'^ compass, contains siich a rich sel(>ction of piccrs, that are at once spri};hlly and instructive, paihetic auU devuut." — Con gte national Maf*aritie. *• A ver> pleasing and stiilable selection.'* — Jyeitminster Iteriew, " It \< really a tre:iC t) see anyUim^ so dimply guoU a:* the little volume before us." — MeUopolitan Magazine. STUDIES IN ENGLISH POETRY; witli short Bio^^raphical Sketchos, and Notes explanatory and Critical, intended as a Text-Book for the lii;;her Classes in Schools, and as an Introduction to the Study of Enfilish Litera- ture. By Joseph Payne. New and enlarged Edition. [In preparation, ** The iilan and the execution are equally good; altogether it is an excellent rcadin:; book of poetry," — fyatcfunnn, •* The work is descrvio'j of coiiiniendation, as comprehending much that is excellent— tlie very tlr>wers and gems of En){li>h poetry— and noliiiiig exception- able." — TVii/'i Mazarine. •' We can honestly recommend the volume to the favour and cunAdence of our readers,"— A'c/«fic iievietf. •' Mr. Payne is entitled to the hishe*tt praise for the care bestowed on the antiquated ortho^rraphy of the earlier authors, and the abilitv and judgment dis- played in the annexed notes throughout the volume.*' — The 6ludtmt. STRATAGEMS. By Mrs. NEWToy Crossland (lateCAMiLLATouLMiN)- With Cuts. Price 1». bds.; or 2j. Cd. gilt edges. ** A swppt tAle, ptnned In a fair mood, and such as will make a rare ipfcfor a child."— Sun. TALES OF MANY LANDS. By Miss M. Frazer Tytler, Author of "Tales of the Great and Brave." Fcap. 8vo. cloth lettered. With Enjjravinps and Woodcut Illustrations, New Edition. [fn preparation, ** Sketches of common life, and traits of childi!th character, inlfrnilneled skll- f»illy with pictures of foreign scenery and national characteristics; and pathetic stories. Mfitten with talent, and in a manner to interest youthful readera. Each tale is illustrated by a clever wood engraving." — Spectator. WAKEFIELD'S (Priscilla) FAMILY TOUR THROUGH THE BRITISH EMPIRE. A New Edition, revised and corrected to the present time. With a Map. 12ino. clotli. Price Gi. © Arthur Hall, Virtue, & Co. 25, Paternoster Row. @- © 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 orij^inal Work of Priscilla Wakefield. Foolscap 8vo. 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 ouyht to be in the hands of every child from eight to twelve years of age." — Brisfol Mercurij. WATTS'S (Dr.) DIVINE and MORAL SONGS FOR CHILDREN. With Anecdotes and Reflections, by the Rev. Ingram Cobbin, M.A. With Frontispiece and Fifty- seven Woodcuts. New Edition. Price Is. in cloth, or Is. Gd. with gilt edges. WINTER EVENINGS ; or, Tales of Travellers. By Maria Hack. A New and Cheaper Edition, with Illustrations by Gilbert. Fcap. cloth. Price 3.!. 6d. -^ Arthur Hall, Virtue, & Co. 25, Paternoster "Row. @ __ @ INSTRUCTIVE AND AMUSING Darlnii k 23nruri('3 ^.hiMirntiniis. Price Half-a-Crown. ALFRED DUDLEY; or, the Australian Settlers. Second Edition. With Nine Illustrations. ICmo. clotli lettered, gilt edges. BOY AND THE BIRDS. By Emily Taylor. With Sixteen Fine Woodcuts, from Lasdseer's Designs. 16nio. gilt edges. CHARLIE'S DISCOVERIES; or, a Good Use for Eyes and Ears. With many Cuts, by T. Williams. ICmo. cloth, gilt edges. CITY SCENES; or, a Recp into Loudon. With many Plates. 16mo. cloth lettered. FOOTSTEPS TO NATURAL HISTORY. Willi Cuts. Square IGmo. gilt edges. HYMNS AND SKETCHES IN VERSE. By M. r. TvTLKR. With fine Cuts. ICmo. cloth gilt. @ @ Aktuuk Uall, Virtue, & Co. 35, Paternoster Row. © © WORKS FOE THE YOUNG. BARTON AND HARVEY'S PUBLICATIONS. Price Rs.lf-a.-Cro'WJi—contimied. LITTLE BOOK OP KNOWLEDGE; contaiuiug Useful Information on Common Things, for Young Cliildren. By Elizabeth G. Noverre. Witli Eight elegant Illustra- tions. IGmo. gilt edges. NEW GIFT BOOK EOR YOUTH, 26 Illustrations, square fancy covers. OLD OAK CHEST ; or, a Book a Great Treasure. By the Author of " Charlie's Discoveries," &c. AVith Cuts. IGmo. cloth gilt edges. PAUL PERCIVAL ; or, the Young Adventurer. 16mo. cloth gilt. RHYMES POR THE NURSERY. By the Authors of " Original Poems." Illustrated Edition, in Large Type. With Sixteen fine Cuts, by Wright, from Designs by Gilbert. 16mo. cloth, gilt edges. MY BOY'S PIRST BOOK. By Miss M. Peazer Tytler. With fine Cuts. 16mo. 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. "^3/e/rtf- j>olitan Magazine. PICTORIAL MUSEUM. Thirty Illustrations. Square, fancy Covers. 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. Arthur Hall, Virtue, & Co. 25, Paternoster Row. p) INSTRUCTIVE AND AMUSING DARTON AND HARVEY'S PUBLICATIONS. Price Two Sbillings. COTTAGE in the CIIALK-PIT. By C. A. Mant. HACK'S STORIES OF ANlMi\XS. In Two Vols. Adapted for Children from Three to Ten. With Illustrations. HENDRY'S HISTORY OF GREECE. In Easy Lessons. Adapted to Children from Six to Ten years of Age. With Illustrations. HENDRY'S HISTORY OF ROME. In Easy Los- sons. Adapted for Children from Si.x to Ten years of Age. With Illustrations. LIMED TWIGS TO CATCH YOUNG BIRDS. By the Authors of " Original Poems." 18mo. cloth lettered. OPEN AND SEE; or, First, Reading Lessons. By the Author of "Aids to Development," &c. &c. With Twenty- four Engravings on Wood. ROBINSON CRUSOE. With Illustrations. 18mo. clotb. RURAL SCENES; or, a Peep into the Country. A New and Revised Edition, with Eighty-eight Cuts. Cloth lettered. SANDFORD AND MERTON. With Cuts. AjiTHUii Hall, Virtue, & Co. 25, Patehnoster Row. @ -@ WORKS FOR THE YOUNG. DARTON AND HARVEY'S PUBLICATIONS, @- Price One Shilling. In Plain Strong Bindings. HARRY BEAUFOY; or, tlie PupU of Nature. By Maria Hack. A New Edition, with Cuts by Landseer. JUVENILE ANECDOTES ; or, Stories of Children. By P. Wakefield. A New Edition. LITTLE BOOK OF KNOWLEDGE. Eight Cuts. LITTLE BOOK OF OBJECTS. Many Cuts. OLD OAK CHEST. Cuts. ROAD TO LEARNING; or, Original Lessons in Words of One and Two Syllables. WILLIE FRASER ; or, the Little Scotch Boy : and other Tales. By Mrs. R. Lee. With Four Illustrations. Aethur Hail, Virtue, & Co. 25, Pateenostek Row. foi -@ THE HOFLAND LIBRARY; FOR THE INSTRUCTION AND AMUSEMENT OF YOUTH. Illustnitcd witli Plates, and liaiulsoinoly IJoniid in Etubosscd Scarlet Cloth, with Gilt Edges, &c. FIRST CLASS, in 12mo.— i>rice 2j. 6rf. 1. Memoir of the Life and Literary Remains of Mrs. Hopland. By T. Ramsay, Esq. With Portrait. 2. Alfred CAMPBELt; or, Travels of a Young Pilgrim. C. Di.cision; a Tale. 4. Energy. 5. Humility. @- 6. Iktegrity. 7. Mom RATION. 8. Patience. 9. Reflection. 10. Self-Denial. 11. Young Cadet; or, Travel.i in Hindostau. 12. Young PiLGRi.M ; or, Alfred Campbell's Return. 1, 3, 4 5 C. 7. 8. 9 10, 11, 12 1.3 14, 15 SECOND CLASS, in ISmo.— Price U. 6J. Adelaide; or. Massacre of St. Bartholomew. Affectionate Brothers. Alicia and her Aunt; or, Think before you Speak. Barbados Girl. Blind Farmer and his Children. Clergyman's Widow and her Young Family. Daughter-in-law, her Father, and Family. Elizabeth and her three Beggar Boys. Good Grandmother and her Offspring. Merchant's Widow and her y'ouno Fabiily. Kick Boys and Poor Boys, and other Tales. The Sisters; a Domestic Talc. Stolen Boy; an Indian Tale. William and his Uncle Ben. Young Crusoe; or. Shipwrecked Boy. Arthur Hall, Virtue & Co. 25, Patehnoster Row. R. CLAY, PRINTER, BREAD STREET HILt. ■@ gi Ml!J.a«6i imA^ 3„_8;49(B5572)470 THE LIBRARY UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNU LOS ANGELES UC SOUTHERN REGIONAL LIBRARY FACILITY AA 000 370 379 l/"^ ^K THE BOFIAND IIBMRY.