The lady of the manor (Volume 5)

THIRD CONVERSATION ON THE LORD'S PRAYER--"BUT DELIVER US FROM EVIL."

"I am prepared with a curious little narrative, my beloved young friends, which I hope will at once please and profit you," said the lady of the manor, when she found herself again surrounded by her young people.

Its title is 'The Garden of Roses,' and it refers expressly to that clause in the Lord's Prayer, by which we are taught to seek deliverance from all evil. It is curious, because it presents a view of that kind of life never, as I can recollect, before described by any English writer; and is the more valuable, as it is, I have every reason to think, a very faithful picture."

The lady of the manor then read as follows.

THE GARDEN OF ROSES.

It is now between sixty and seventy years since my father and uncle went out to India, the one in a civil and the other in a medical capacity. When they left England, my uncle was married; and as his wife's sister accompanied them on the passage, my father made so good a use of the opportunities afforded him during the voyage, that he had scarcely arrived in Calcutta, before the young single lady consented to become his wife, and was united to him before any of the party left the presidency.

''The state of the English possessions in India, was very different at that period to what it now is; and our territories, which are now bounded by the towering summits of the Himalaya, at that time extended little further than the Rajemahal hills. The natives of Hindoostaun were then also in a much more barbarous state than they now are, and the few English families who resided in the country, infinitely more ignorant, tyrannical, and greedy of gain, than at the present time.

I was born at a station lying near the river, between Berhampore and Rajemahal, and recollect, very little of my parents. I was not their eldest child, though the only one who survived its infancy. The few and faint impressions I have of my mother are, however, very precious; and I have some convictions in my mind that she was a pious woman, though perhaps I should have some difficulty in explaining my reasons for this persuasion. She was certainly, however, a tender and careful parent; and I suffered a severe bereavement, when in my sixth year I was deprived of her by death.

"I remember little of the circumstances of her funeral: perhaps I might have been removed from the house at the time. But I well recollect being left afterwards under the charge of a Portuguese ayah, who treated me with kindness in some respects, but allowed me to acquire such knowledge of evil as I never could forget through all the subsequent years of my childhood or youth, and which probably laid the foundation of most of my miseries in after life.

"And here, surely, it cannot be out of place to give some cautions to parents respecting those persons to whom they confide their infant children.

"It has been frequently remarked, that there are few denominations of domestics in England more universally corrupt, than those who are employed about infants. If we enquire what young women in any town are counted to be the most depraved, it will generally be answered, the nursery-maids, and the reason for this is evident. The business of a nursery-maid is at the same time laborious and favourable for gossiping and unsettled habits. When a mother takes charge of her own infant, she finds an occupation for her heart and for every thought as well as for her hands. But this is what cannot be generally expected from her who performs these duties merely from interested motives. Neither can the divine blessing be expected upon that parent who neglects her own duties through indolence, pride, or the love of pleasure and wholly resigns the endearing caresses of her infant to one who regards them less than the coin with which she is paid for her hireling services.

"Notwithstanding this general assertion, we however believe that there are many young women in England who perform the duties of the nursery-maid with tenderness and fidelity. But we fear that in India, and other heathen countries, although there may be some instances of warm affection between the infant and its nurse, yet that there are few, very few, children reamed by heathens or papists, who have not reason to lament through life the deep pollutions acquired in the nursery. Many dreadful instances of this kind have fallen under my observation, and I take this occasion earnestly to supplicate all parents now residing abroad, to look anxiously at their nurseries, to watch with unremitting care, to investigate every doubtful word and action, and to leave their infants as little as possible under the charge of those persons who have had any communication with idolaters; for after all that has been said by moralists, travellers, philosophers, and even missionaries, I believe that the world in general is only half awakened to the abominations of idolatrous countries.

"I return to my own little history, and I might reflect bitterly upon the guides of my childhood, for their deeply wicked lessons long remained imprinted on my heart, yet I have few recollections of the scenes which passed before my eyes, or the places in which I spent my time. I remember, indeed, many tawny faces which continually surrounded me in my early life. I also remember a hearse-like coach drawn by bullocks, in which I sat between the knees of may ayah, and in which I often went out to take the air. I remember a wild region through which I often used to pass on these occasions, where the road on each side was bordered with clusters and groves of luxuriant vegetation; and where, amidst many swampy marshes, I saw vultures and other wild birds. I remember also a bazar where we used often to stop to buy sweetmeats and cakes, and to purchase bangles; and where I saw many fierce human beings and savage looking little children. And I also remember my own apartments, which were wide and empty, and had many doors, the chief of which opened into a verandah, where I frequently sat with my attendants after sunset, enjoying the breezes which blew over a garden of roses, in which my mother had taken great delight.

"Among my father's servants was a Persian moonshee, a man of some learning, and as he had a fine voice for singing, he used sometimes to be admitted to my apartments in an evening, particularly when my father was absent. He brought with him an instrument, which was neither a guitar nor a violin, but something like both, and used it to accompany his own voice in some of the old Persian and Hindoo airs, which were extremely pleasing and pathetic. After he had thus regaled us, he used to tell us many stories, in which truth and falsehood, the marvellous and the beautiful, were strangely blended, and in a manner which made a strong impression upon my young mind.

"One of these stories, which was probably suggested to his mind by the fragrance of the roses in the garden which spread itself under the verandah, took strong hold of my mind, and I remembered it accurately, and have thought much of it in after life.

'There are some roses,' said the moonshee, 'which have no thorns, but these are not the fairest or most fragrant of these lovely flowers. There was once a princess of Shiraaz who resolved that she would have such a garden of roses as had never before been seen in that delightful climate. Accordingly, she ordered a suitable spot of ground on the declivity of one of tile mountains in the neighbourhood of the royal city to be prepared for her garden, into which two streams of pure water from the hills were conducted, and which was sheltered from the keen winds of the north by a grove of cedars which one alight suppose, from their majestic appearance and extensive shades, to have been coeval with time hills themselves.

"'Into these gardens she directed that every variety of rose-tree should be introduced, from the variegated flower of Damascus, to the little crimson rose-bush of Cathai. And now when the cold season had passed away and the warmer period of spring had restored each plant to its bloom, and had invited the song of the nightingale, she took occasion to visit her garden, and to enjoy the pleasure of its many odours, as she was seated in a marble pavilion which had been erected in the centre of it.

"'And now when the Shjrazadee first beheld her garden, she was filled with satisfaction, and extolled the gardeners and other workmen, who had so soon converted this comparatively barren spot into a blooming paradise. She listened with delight to the rushing of the waters, and the warbling of the birds; to the hum of bees, and gentle murmurs of the breezes; and sat awhile enrapt in enjoyment. But inasmuch as royal eyes and ears are not used to be long satisfied with the same thing, she presently must needs leave the pavilion, and busy herself, with her own hands, in plucking some of those flowers whose fragrance and beauty charmed her senses; and in her haste she thrust her hand into a bush, and drew it forth bleeding and pierced with many thorns.

Not yielding to the control of reason, when site felt the wounds she became enraged, and commanded that every rose-tree which bore a thorn should instantly be plucked up. The princess was obeyed, and the garden despoiled of its fairest beauties; and when the Shirazadee again walked in her pleasure-ground, she had to lament her impetuosity, and would willingly have restored the charms of her garden.'

"This was the story often repeated by the Persian, and the moral he drew from it was this: that there was no enjoyment on earth without its imperfection, no rose of beauty and fragrance without its thorns; and that the wisdom of mankind consisted, not in avoiding evil, but in distinguishing between lesser and imaginary inconveniences and those which are more real and important. He then expatiated (in a manner which I have since wondered at, considering that he was merely a mussulmaun, and was not acquainted with the purifying doctrines of our holy religion) upon the nature of evil, which he maintained to consist in moral depravity, declaring that no human being could be counted truly miserable who supported an upright and virtuous conduct. I have read that this sentiment has been maintained by many of the ancient heathen philosophers. Be thus as it may, it was a remarkable one from a person in such circumstances. And this I believe was the only occasion, on which, during my residence in India, I ever heard a single moral sentiment from any of the natives of the East.

I remained in my father's house in India till I had entered my tenth year; and as I saw very little of my only remaining parent, and was actually a stranger to the English language, it may be conceived that I was no better than a heathen, when, during this year, I was sent down to Calcutta, and put on board ship with my ayah, that I might proceed immediately to England.

"Our voyage was long, and the time I spent on board as little profitable as that which had passed in the place of my birth.

When arrived in London, I was received by the mistress of a large seminary, in a fashionable square, and my ayah having been dismissed and sent back to her own country, no time was lost in modelling my dress more to the prevailing ideas of decorum and fashion, than that which it presented when I first appeared in my paunjammahs, shawl, cap, and labardour, and ringlets well saturated with cocoa-nut oil.

"I cannot describe to you what I felt when my ayah took her leave, and how heartily I hated my governess and all persons in authority under her; and how my Indian blood boiled when I was first subjected to the hands of a dancing-master, and to the discipline of stocks and dumb bells.

"When I found myself condemned to so severe a reform in my personal appearance, I certainly was not without some apprehensions, lest a close inspection of my actions and principles aught ensue. But I was soon relieved from these fears, and had not been in England six months before I discovered that if I attended to certain external regulations; if I applied with some attention to my English, French, writing, music, and drawing; if I courtseyed in coming in and out of the presence-chamber, as we called the apartment where my governess generally sat; and if I were careful of my dress and appearance at church and in the dancing-room; I should have nothing whatever to fear from the penetration of any of my teachers, and should be left at perfect liberty to follow all the wayward fancies of my corrupt nature.

"I shall not dwell long on the eight years which I spent at school: they passed much in the way in which young people commonly spend their time in those seminaries, where all sorts of children are collected and little attention is paid to their private habits. Suffice it to say, that at the end of my school career I was almost, if not altogether, as complete a heathen as when I left India. My external appearance was, however, no doubt, greatly improved. I could dress well, I could dance well, draw a little, play a little, write a common-place letter in a tolerable hand, could speak good English, and embroider muslin; and I could hide my faults where I thought it necessary, and appear as amiable as most other young ladies, whenever it served my purpose to do so.

"It had been long determined that in my eighteenth year I was to leave school and return to my father in India: but as there was the interval of several months between the time appointed for my leaving London and my actual embarkation, it was agreed by my father's agent in Town, that I should spend that time with a lady in the country. That I may explain my connexion with this lady, I shall proceed to give some account of the relations whom I had left in India.

"Since my mother's death my father had remained a widower. He had frequently been removed from place to place, and had settled at Monghyr, a most beautiful station in Bengal, inclosed on one side by the Rajemahal hills, and on the other by the Ganges. There he had prepared a house for my reception, and I had frequently anticipated a residence there in all the pride and pomp of Oriental magnificence.

" My uncle, in the mean time, was living at Bauglepore, a smaller station than Monghyr, and a little lower down, on the banks of the river.

"I should have informed my reader, that his wife, who was my mother's sister, had died some years before my birth, leaving an only child, who was as much as seven years older than myself. This daughter, by name Euphemia, had been sent to England immediately on her mother's death, and placed under the care of a distant relation in Worcestershire, by whom she had been bought up. Nor had her education been conducted in the careless and superficial manner in which mine had unfortunately been: but such attention had been paid to her, and so greatly had the divine blessing attended the labours of her instructors, that when she returned to India she was an honour to her sex and a blessing to all such of her near connexions as were not actually resolved not to be benefited by her. Poor Euphemia had not, however, such a home to return to as a correct and elegant young woman could be supposed to enjoy and therefore she was probably the more rejoiced at an early deliverance from this unhappy home, by a marriage with the son of the lady by whom she had been educated, and who, probably with the sole view of following his cousin, had interested his friends to procure him a cadetship in the civil service, and was now actually residing, with his wife and child, in a small house not very distant from his father-in-law. Euphemia was, then, at the time of my leaving school, a married woman and the mother of children, and it was to her instructress and friend in England, that I was to go during the interval between my leaving school and returning to India.

"And now, it may be seasonable to explain the reasons why Euphemia, in returning to her father's house, found it so wretched. I do not, however, profess at this time to enter into many particulars, as I shall find occasion shortly to give my reader a very exact account of my uncle's ill-regulated household; but would remark only, that when my uncle had lost his European wife and parted from his child, finding his situation as a widower somewhat irksome, he formed a sort of contract of marriage with a native woman, a mussulmaunee, with whom he had resided from that period, and by whom he had a large family of sons and daughters, some older and some younger than myself, but all partaking in their manners and appearance more of the Asiatic mother than of the European father. The history of my uncle's family had been given me more than once by persons who had visited me from India, and I had frequently diverted myself and my companions at the expence of my Asiatic cousins and my uncle's extraordinary household; for I had neither feeling nor principle sufficient to weigh, in a serious manner, the evil effects to the old gentleman himself, from this association, not only with one of another complexion, but of a religion so wholly adverse to the truth.

"But, for the present, having already said all that is needful on this subject, I shall return to my own particular history: before I proceed, however, I must call myself to account for a strange negligence, of which my young readers are undoubtedly aware, namely, that I have omitted to tell them my name and that of my parents, particulars which are generally of more than minor importance to young persons while they study the narrative of any individual. Be it then known, that the name of my father's family is Richardson, and that of my mother Fairlie, and that the name which was given me by my parents is Olivia.

And now, having given my reader all necessary satisfaction on this subject, I proceed.

I do not recollect that I felt much on leaving the seminary where I had spent the most important years of my childhood and youth: for I had found little in that place either to gain my affections or claim my esteem; and I therefore scarcely shed a tear when I parted from my teachers and companions, to enter on my journey into Worcestershire, where my relation Mrs. Fairlie lived, but I was eager to receive pleasure from every change of scene or company which might present itself.

"My journey was made in a stage-coach, with a servant of Mrs. Fairlie's; and I have no doubt that I afforded no small amusement to two gentlemen who were also in the coach, by my inexperienced remarks on all I saw and heard.

Having passed through tile city of Worcester, and left our fellow-travellers, I, with the servant, hired a post-chaise, and proceeded to Mrs. Fairlie's house, which was situated about fourteen miles distant from the county town, in time direction of Wales, and in that part of Worcestershire which at once partakes of the wild beauties of Wales and tile rich fertility of England.

Mrs. Fairlie was a widow, and possessed a property sufficient to afford her all the comforts and even some of the elegancies of life. She resided on a small estate, situated on one of the declivities of a long range of hills, which, although not very high, were so finely formed, so clothed with groves of trees, so varied with valleys, so richly furnished with brooks and waterfalls, and every variety of dale and dingle, rock and coppice, that I scarcely believe the world can elsewhere supply a more lovely region.

Mrs. Fairlie's house was built of white stone, taken from a neighbouring quarry. In its front was a lawn sloping towards the east, and to the right and left the windows of the house commanded views of the valley of the Teme, terminated at one end by the Malvern and Glocestershire hills, and on the other by the Clee hills, and to the back of the house, glove rose above grove, and height above height, till the summits of the highest trees seemed, as it were, to pierce the very clouds.

In this most lovely abode, I found Mrs. Fairlie living in a holy, peaceful, and blessed retirement, being entirely devoted to her God and her domestic duties; for, independent of her eldest son, now in India, she had several other children, all younger, and some even in infancy.

It was from what I saw in this house that I was first led to believe that elegance might exist wholly distinct from fashion, and that it was possible to be happy without splendour and parade.

I was received with much cordiality by Mrs. Fairlie, and with many innocent smiles by her children. I have often thought since, that had she known me then as I know myself, she would have shuddered to have introduced such a serpent into her earthly paradise; for my sentiments and thoughts were unholy, and it was a painful restraint to me to affect those feelings of virtue in the presence of Mrs. Fairlie which were quite the reverse to all I really experienced.

I did not, however, perceive that I was suspected as being different from what I appeared to be, and I did not observe that there was any watch upon me when left with the young people.

It was the beginning of the Midsummer holidays when I arrived in Worcestershire, and the widow's family were then all united under one roof, with the exception of the first-born, who was in India, and whom the excellent mother daily recollected in her prayers, besides the frequent mention which was made of him in an incidental manner.

I was considerably fatigued when I arrived at the Fall, which was the name of my relation's place,--a name which had been given it from time immemorial by the country people, on account of two waterfalls in its immediate neighbourhood, and saw little more of the family that evening than their smiling faces round the supper-table. In the morning, however, we all met together in a large, old-fashioned parlour, which had formerly been a hall, and which now supplied the place of breakfast-room, work-room, and school-room.

Here all my young relations were assembled, and, after the morning devotions and the breakfast, they all sat down to their different employments. The boys were busy with their holiday tasks, and the daughters with their books and needles; while the mother went from one to another, encouraging, directing, and approving.

"In the mean time, we were delighted with the sound of rushing waters, murmuring bees, and rustling leaves while the fragrance of many sweet flowers, and the song of many birds, with the distant lowing of the cattle in the vale below, contributed to charm the senses. In imitation of my cousins, I had provided myself with some employment: but while my hands were occupied, my mind was busy on other matters; and I was comparing the past, the present, and what I expected to be my future mode of life, forming visions of happiness, in which all that was agreeable in each was blended together, and from which all I could conceive disagreeable was excluded.

Thus, white I sat deeply occupied in meditation on my expected garden of roses, which was to be without a single thorn, the morning wore away, and we were called to an early dinner; after which, it was proposed that we should proceed to a cottage at some distance, where we were to drink tea.

This was a new species of enjoyment to me, and I partook of it with no small enthusiasm: yet I should have been much better pleased if Mrs. Fairlie herself had not joined the party, as I could not divest myself of the idea, that if I could but meet with my young cousins in the absence of their mother, I should find, in some of them at least, more congeniality with my own temper than I had hitherto discovered. But Mrs. Fairlie had resolved to accompany us, and I was not a little surprised at the joy which her children expressed on her mentioning this resolution. We accordingly set out, being provided with such refreshments as we meant to take at the end of our walk.

"Mrs. Fairlie had four daughters, and as many sons. The eldest daughter was considerably older than the other children; and between her and the next in age, there was one of those long intervals which indicate the frequent ravages of death among the youngest and the fairest of the human race. Miss Fairlie was, therefore, older than myself, and, as I judged, not a subject for my attempts at intimacy; but the two next daughters, the elder of whom was not more than thirteen, were not unlike two great playful kittens; and I had little doubt but that they would be quite ready to meet my advances, and to hear and admire all the histories I might choose to relate to them respecting my tricks at school, and our various modes of cheating our governesses, retarding our own improvement, and bringing discredit on our protectors. Accordingly, when we commenced our walk, I endeavoured to withdraw Sarah and Mary from the rest of the party; and, after having administered to each of them some of those little flatteries which so easily find their way to the inexperienced heart, I ventured to open my purposes a little further to them, and asked them if they were not tired of being always so much with grown-up people.

"'What grown-up people?' asked Sarah.

"'O, those who have the care of you,' I replied. 'There was nothing we hated so much at school as being with our governess: we never had any fun when our governess was by.'

"'Fun!' repeated Mary: 'what do you mean by fun, Miss Olivia?'

"'O, play,' I said, 'pleasure, amusement. Don't you know what fun is?'

"'Yes, to be sure I know the meaning of the word,' she answered; 'but it is an odd word, too. I thought that very poor people only used it.'

"'You mean to say,' I replied, 'that you think it a vulgar word?'

"'I did not say so,' she answered; ' but, if you do not mean any thing rude, why could not you have enjoyed it when your governess was present?'

"Our conversation was broken off in this place by one of the little boys, who came darting upon us from an ambush, in which he had lain in wait for us, in the corner of the coppice; and as I was a little disheartened in my first attempt to draw my young cousins into my confidence, I thought it better to add no more to what I had already said; and being called upon by Mrs. Fairlie to survey the lovely scenes which opened before me, I was compelled for the present wholly to relinquish my purpose.

"And now, Mrs. Fairlie having taken my arm, led me slowly on, pointing out to me all she thought most interesting in the scenery, and imperceptibly conducting me from the contemplation of these wonders of creation, to some reflections on the Creator himself.

"I know not what I said on this subject, but something, I suppose, which evinced my ignorance; for, in reply, she lamented that I should have been thus far educated without the right knowledge of God, earnestly impressing upon me the duty of seeking Him to whom I had hitherto been so great a stranger. 'My dear Olivia,' she said, 'you spoke this morning of the happiness you expected to enjoy in India, when restored to your father: but, my dear child, permit a friend advanced in age, and one who has experienced many reverses in life, to assure you, that there is no such thing as peace of mind or true happiness ever felt, unless the heart is right towards God. When we really love God, when we trust in him, when we confide in him for our acceptance and sanctification, the petty troubles of life may afflict us for a moment, and cause some tears to fall; yet there is an abiding peace in the soul which the world cannot disturb: but when the heart is alienated from its Maker, there is no condition of life, no arrangement of outward circumstances, which can insure felicity. And I will venture to foretel, that if you go to India, and remain there estranged from God, as you now are, you will find sorrow instead of joy, and mortification instead of pleasure.'

"'Mortification!' I replied: 'O, Mrs. Fairlie, I shall be so happy! I am told that papa's house at Monghyr is one of the finest in the station, and commands such a view of the hills as no other house possesses in all the vast plain of the Ganges. I have heard all about it; and he says himself, in his last letter, that he has provided an elephant for me, besides various carriages, and shawls, and jewels, and other ornaments; and I am sure I shall be happy.'

"'Shawls and jewels,' replied Mrs. Fairlie, 'are pretty things; but I doubt their power of making any one happy.'

"'But papa will be so fond of me,' I added.

"'No doubt of it,' she replied: 'yet are there not troubles in life which neither fathers nor mothers can avert from their children! Look at those brambles in that winding wood-walk to our left, where my little boys are looking for vetches; can I prevent those brambles from growing, or prevent them from piercing their tender limbs? I might indeed restrain my children from going unto those sequestered paths; but I doubt whether I should add to their pleasure by abridging their innocent liberty: for in so doing I should only make a choice of inconveniences, and perhaps prefer the greater to the less. Thus, my dear young friend, is the path of life strewed with inconveniences, neither is it possible for the most prudent person, through life, to do more than make a choice of troubles. Under these circumstances, he is happy who wisely distinguishes between those evils which are real and those which are imaginary.'

"'You think then, Mrs. Fairlie,' I replied, 'that I shall find some thorns in the garden of roses which is prepared for me in India?'

"Sine smiled, and surprised me by asking if I had been a student of Persian poetry.

"'What makes you suppose it?' I enquired.

"'Your figurative mode of speaking,' she replied, 'and your reference to the favourite flower of Oriental song.'

"In answer to this, I repeated the story which I had learned from the Persian moonshee, and which I had never forgotten.

"'Your Persian,' she replied, 'was a mussulmaun, and therefore could not have been expected to have drawn a better moral from his tale than that which he actually derived from it. But permit me to say, that this fable (for such I presume it is) is capable of a much higher signification than that which has been given to it already. In the fair mistress of your garden of roses you may behold the picture of one who possesses all this world can give; but, trusting in such a portion, she cannot endure the little difficulties and inconveniences ever attendant on so imperfect and transitory a state of things as the present, and hence, under the influence of impatience, tears up and destroys her own advantages. How many thousand unsanctified mortals act upon this principle! and how differently would they judge, did they know that there is no evil which ought to be anxiously avoided but sin--no other evil which we ought to pray to be delivered from--no other thing which can really render life miserable, death hopeless, and eternity terrible!'

What more was added in this conversation I do not well recollect, nor probably should I have remembered so much, had not what Mrs. Fairlie said been so fixed on my mind by the ingenious manner in which she improved the story related to me by the Persian. I can, however, though indistinctly, recollect some mention which she made of the nature of salvation by Christ, and the hopelessness of man's state without the Redeemer: certain, however, it is, that her observations on these subjects made little impression on my mind at the time, though I often recollected them afterwards.

Our walk was at length concluded by our entering into a narrow valley, encompassed on each side by sloping banks sprinkled with fruit trees; the eastern extremity of the valley being terminated by a rock, in which an ancient hermitage was scooped, and on the summit of which was a cottage in a garden. There a clear stream of very cold water dashing over the rock, and winding through the bottom of the valley, was presently lost to the view among groups of lowly alders, and other such trees as delight to bathe their roots in running waters.

"As we descended into the valley, and again ascended round the rock, Mrs. Fairlie gave me the history of the inhabitants of the cottage. 'It is occupied,' said she, by a very old woman, her daughter, who is a widow, and a grandson, a simple, pleasant little boy, who has been taught to study his Bible from his very infancy. These good women,' said she, 'once knew what are called better days; and I remember the elder the wife of a respectable farmer, and the mother of several noble-looking sons. But the old man and his sons are no more; many losses have reduced the little remnant of the family to a cottage; and the old lady is now sinking under the pressure of various infirmities into the grave: and yet, my clear Olivia, if I were required to direct you to a happy family, I should say you may find one in that thatched dwelling on the rock.'

"'Happy!' I repeated: 'O! Mrs. Fairlie!'

"'Yes,' returned she, 'happy; and I will point out to you their many sources of comfort. And first, I would ask, What is this life?'

"I made no answer; and she, replying to herself, said, 'This life is a journey to another world, infinitely more important and lasting than the present. The trials we meet with here arise necessarily from the present state of sin and imperfection, but, under the divine control and blessing, they often prove our choicest mercies; so David expresses himself--Before I was afflicted I went astray; but now have I kept thy word. [Psalm cxix. 67.]

"'And this being remembered,' continued Mrs. Fairlie, 'you may, my dear Olivia, comprehend the nature of the poor widow's happiness, of her joy and her thankfulness; for she is now nearly at her journey's end, waiting for her departure, and looking back on a long life, in which she has been the constant subject of unmerited favours. Her departed children are now, we trust, all in glory, having before death given satisfactory evidence of a renewed nature. Her husband she believes to be equally blessed. Those of her descendants who are left to her are pious and humble. She trusts that her own sins are pardoned; and whether looking backwards or forwards, she finds innumerable occasions and motives of gratitude to that Saviour who makes his disciples more than conquerors, and effects their deliverance from every real evil.'

I know not how it happened that I should have remembered so much of Mrs. Fairlie's conversation at this time, unpractised as I then was in spiritual things, unless I may suppose that my memory was assisted in a supernatural way. Nevertheless, I believe that there is scarcely an individual, however thoughtless, who cannot recollect having been impressed on some occasion or other in early life by some remark or sentiment of a serious nature, uttered in common conversation. And hence the importance of expressing correct and proper sentiments in the ears of youth; for, as the wise man saith, a word fitly spoken is like apples of gold in network of silver. [Prov. xxv. 11.]

"I was still listening attentively to Mrs. Fairlie's discourse, when, having half encompassed the rock, as we ascended, we came into a little farmyard, inclosed with a hedge, and paved with round smooth pebbles. On one side of this yard was a cowhouse, before the door of which were two cows waiting to be milked; on the other, a little orchard; and in front, the low porch of the cottage, flanked on each side by narrow latticed windows. It now appeared that the hill or rock, on a shelf of which stood the dwelling-house, arose considerably above it in the direction opposite to the front of the little tenement; and its highest parts being in some places bare, and in others richly covered with vegetation, presented a varied and pleasing prospect. The cascade mentioned before, gushing from the highest point of the rock, and becoming visible here and there amid the surrounding verdure, took a circle round the boundaries of the yard, and from thence passed into the valley below.

"Mrs. Fairlie and I had preceded the rest of the party, and entered the yard some time before them; and approaching silently, we stopped for a moment to contemplate the beauties which presented themselves in this sequestered spot, before we disturbed the inhabitants of the cottage; and during that short interval my mind received its first impressions of the charms of deep retirement, and of the happiness enjoyed in many a humble dwelling through our favoured island, a happiness arising principally from those views of divine love that are frequently possessed by obscure Christians, and which the mere worldling can never know. O how often in after life, when exposed to the burning rays of the southern sun, when tossed on the mighty ocean, or parched with the blasts of the deserts, have my recollections returned to this scene of repose, and how ardently have I longed for such cooling gales as blew upon me in this shadowy spot!

"Mrs. Fairlie left me for a few moments to the quiet contemplation of the beauties above described; and then, directing my attention towards the cottage, bade me step softly, and behold the scene within.

"I obeyed; and, looking in at the half-open door, saw a neat little kitchen, where a kettle was boiling over a fire of sticks, as if in preparation for tea; the venerable mother was seated at her wheel in the chimney-corner, her daughter being occupied by her side, and her blooming little grandson engaged in reading his Bible aloud.--'What do you think, Olivia?' said Mrs. Fairlie: 'is there any appearance of unhappiness here? Has not the blessed root of piety produced its fruits of peace, think you, in this little family?'

"I was about to reply, when the quick eye of the old lady espied the visitors, and she came forward to receive us with all the simplicity of the cottager and the true dignity of a Christian. 'Come inn, dear Madam,' she said, as she recognized Mrs. Fairlie; and as she directed every chair and three-legged stool in the house to be collected, she expressed her sincere delight at the honour done her.

"I might fill many a page with an account of the tea-table preparations, and with praises of the white loaves, and thick cream, and wood-strawberries, which were set before us, and with the expressions of joy with which my cousins addressed their humble friends. But such scenes have often been described, and I would only desire my reader to suppose us all seated at our simple repast, where, vitiated as my taste was, I should not have failed to have enjoyed myself considerably, had it not been for my two young cousins, Sarah and Mary, who, in a manner which I at first thought spiteful, (to use a word to which I had been much familiarized at school,) but which I afterwards found to be wholly without design, repeated to the whole company all that I had said to them during my walk, on the subject of its being impossible for young people to enjoy fun in the presence of their elders.

"The story had come out so abruptly, and Mrs. Fairlie was so little aware of what was coming, that she had not had time to spare me the mortification such disgraceful communications could not but inflict. I saw, however, that she blushed deeply for me; and, checking her daughters, she kindly extended her hand to me, and said, 'My dear Olivia, I am sorry that you entertain such an opinion of your elders, as to suppose that they would deprive you of any innocent pleasure. It must be my endeavour to give you a different view of these things. There are times, indeed, when the harmless mirth of children and young people may make old heads ache; but that must be an unfeeling mother who does not rejoice in every occasion of innocent delight to her young people.'

"Had Mrs Fairlie spoken harshly to me on this occasion, my spirit would have risen, and I should have burned with anger against her and her children; but her kindness quite subdued me, and I burst into tears. On which, my two young cousins sprang up from their seats, and kissed me affectionately; and the old lady of the cottage made this suitable observation' Poor Miss,' she said, 'is probably an orphan; she has perhaps been brought up by those who never won her confidence; she is to be pitied then more than to be blamed. But, dear lady,' she added, addressing me, 'remember that the orphan has a Father and a Friend above, who is ever ready to hold out his protecting hand. Endeavour to please this Friend, and then there will be no question, but that all that you do, whether in your more serious or more playful hours, will please all those among your elders who are really interested in your welfare.'

I looked up, amazed to hear such language from a cottager, not being then aware of the purifying, exalting, and ennobling influence of true religion on the human mind. I, however, could make no answer; for I was ashamed, and for the first time in my life felt sensibly that I had done wrong.

"When we had finished our repast, all but myself joined in singing a hymn; and the visit being thus concluded, we prepared to leave the Cottage of the Rock, (for so I have been in the habit of calling this delightful abode,) and to return to Mrs. Fairlie's house.

"It was the beginning of the Midsummer holidays when I came into Worcestershire; and as I was not to sail for India till the next March, I remained for the greater part of that interval under Mrs. Fairlie's roof, and during that period might have enjoyed all the innocent pleasures of domestic life, had I possessed a taste less depraved, and a mind less eagerly bent on those amusements which bring strong excitements with them.

"Two circumstances, however, are worthy of remark that although, at the time, I did not seem to profit in any degree by the excellent admonitions and examples I then received and witnessed, yet they were not without their effect in after life;--and that the openness and unreservedness of my young cousins towards their mother, of which I have given one example, proved such a defence to them, that I never on any subsequent occasion dared to insinuate a single sentiment in their presence which I did not wish her to hear.

"I shall not enter into any further detail of my life in Worcestershire, nor attempt to describe the tender adieus of Mrs. Fairlie and her lovely family, but shall entreat my reader to accompany me on board the Bengal Castle, and to imagine me seated in a convenient cabin on the deck of the vessel, richly provided with every species of ornament and article of dress, and placed under the superintendance of a lady who was returning to India and to her husband, after the absence of three years. With this lady's cabin, which was one half of the roundhouse, mine had connexion; and the greater part of my mornings were spent with her, who had taken upon her the character of my protectress.

"It is impracticable to give the inexperienced reader any accurate idea of the mode of life commonly pursued in an East Indiaman, where a number of persons of all ages and classes are confined together in one place, with little to do, and few occasions of acquiring a single new idea. Suffice it to say, that, with respect to myself, I spent my mornings with my friend Mrs. Burleigh, in looking over and arranging my dresses, packing, unpacking, and cleaning my trinkets, and in receiving from her such accounts of the magnificence and dissipation of oriental life as filled my heart with the most eager desires to be at the end of my voyage. At three o'clock every day, all the passengers dined together, and I was solicited to drink wine with nearly all the gentlemen at the table; and as Mrs. Burleigh informed me that I should offend if I refused any of these solicitations, I some-times certainly took much more than was good for me, and if I did not always walk out from the dining-room very steadily, I trusted that my unsteadiness was attributed to the motion of the vessel. After dinner, we retired for a short time to our cabin, where we received visits from some of the ladies of the other cabins. At tea-time, we went out and sat on deck, or concluded the evening with a dance when the weather would permit.

"In this manner was our time occupied; and as we were all thoughtless, and many of the party decidedly profligate, it will be readily believed that very little occurred of an improving nature among us. And this was indeed the case without one single exception till we arrived at the Cape, into the harbour of which we were obliged to enter on account of some affairs of the captain. There we took in several passengers; among whom was an elderly gentleman, a chaplain in the Company's service, who had been some years established in Calcutta, and had come to the Cape to recruit his health. He was a man of gentlemanly appearance, but of grave and retired habits, and one who did not seem hasty to form acquaintance, though remarkably pleasing when once engaged in conversation.

It was on the Saturday afternoon that we sailed out of the harbour of the Cape, and we were not aware that Mr Arnot (for such is the name by which I would designate this good man) had any influence in the ship, till we were called to morning worship about an hour before dinner the next day.

"'In the afternoon, it being fine, all the passengers were on deck, and among the rest I had taken a seat, and was engaged in conversation with some lively young man, whose very name I now forget. This gentleman, having exhausted many frivolous topics, produced from his pocket some light volume of a novel or play, I forget which, and said that he had purchased it during his stay in London. I received it eagerly, and, as he sauntered from me, I began to turn over the leaves of this book.

"While thus engaged, Mr. Arnot approached me, addressed me for the first time, and took the vacant seat next to me. I was surprised, and at a loss what to say; and as persons in these cases generally hit upon the precise thing which they ought not to do, I made the very remark which would have been best let alone, and asked him whether he did not agree with me in thinking the Sunday on board ship the most wearisome day in the week.

"'By no means, my dear young lady,' he replied; 'and for this reason--that the work we have to do on the Sunday is a kind of business which may be pursued every where; whereas, to our weekly religious duties there are so many hindrances in this situation, that I do not understand how many of them at least can be performed at all.'

"'Business, Sir! business on a Sunday!' I repeated, with a smile.

"'Yes, my dear young lady,' he replied, 'business, and the most important business we have on earth.' He then, without further prelude, began to reason with me on the value of the soul, of the need of continual watchfulness, and of the means appointed for man's salvation; at the same time hinting, that he was sorry to see me engaged with a book so trifling as that which I held in my hand on the day appointed for a rest from vanity.

"I have before said, that I possessed in very early youth that pliability of character and insight into the feelings of others which enabled me often to accommodate so well to those with whom I conversed, as to appear what I was not, at least to superficial observers; neither had I been so inattentive to Mrs. Fairlie's sentiments, as not to be able to obtain credit in this discourse with Mr. Arnot: and if I did myself no other service by this artful conduct, I at least procured to myself the advantage of hearing more of what Mr. Arnot had to say; for he frequently joined me when I was on deck, gave his opinions to me without reserve, and stored my head with knowledge, though my heart still remained unaffected.

"When we were within three weeks' sail of Bengal, I was seized with a slow fever, which confined me to my bed, and condemned me to many hours of painful solitude--painful, not only from the depression which always attends fever, but from a certain conflict in my own mind between the love of the world and my persuasion of the importance of religion.

"The period which I spent under this slow, consuming malady, I can never forget. I was in a small cabin taken off the cuddy or dining-room; my window opened towards the sea. We were within the tropics, and during my illness actually crossed the line. I had many comforts; but the water in the ship was become very foul, and was in that tepid state which always disappoints the parched lips. Though not quite delirious, my head was in that confused state in which the images of fancy blend themselves so strongly with realities that it is difficult to separate them, and I never can forget the vivid manner in which at that time the cool solitudes of Worcestershire presented themselves to my fancy, especially the scene on the rock which I had visited with Mrs. Fairlie, a scene which ever mingled itself in my imagination with ideas of perfect peace. O, what would I then have given for one draught, only one draught, of that sparkling fountain which poured from the green heights above the cottage!

"There was, indeed, no piety in these feelings: and yet I have ever thought that these my ardent aspirations after rest and peace, and burning desires for one drop of cool water, partook in some degree of that experience which the thirsty soul is the subject of when longing for the river of living water, and panting for the regions of everlasting rest; or at least that it then pleased the Almighty to make me thus familiar with the emblems of superior joys, that I might in due time be made the more easily to comprehend those hidden glories of which they are the lively type.

"It is natural for man to aspire after happiness, and these aspirations are always the deepest when he is in affliction. When the heart is fixed on heavenly joys, that heart has found its proper object, and hope sheds its beam of glory over every changing scene. Hence the peace of the children of God. But while the unregenerate heart perversely adopts the words of the Persian poet, 'Bring me the wine that remains, for thou wilt not find in Paradise the sweet banks of our Rocknabad, or the rosy bowers of our Mosellâ,' it must ever be subject to disappointment, and ever condemned to the fever of desire and the thirst which never can be quenched.

"An earthly Paradise, a garden of roses, of roses without thorns, was the subject of my constant reveries, and when weary of sighing for the cool shades from which I was separated by thousands of leagues of sea--when impressed with the idea that I should never behold them again--when aware that we were approaching the shores of India, I tried to fancy that I should there find the thornless regions of ever varying joys, without which I felt that I could by no means be content.

"My fever remained with little abatement till we passed the Island of Saugor; but whether owing to this near view of land or to some fresh water which was at this time received into the ship, I suddenly became better, and when we at length came to anchor in Diamond Harbour, at the mouth of the Hoogley, I was enabled, though weak, to come out and sit on deck.

"I was much amused with the bustle which then took place, and extremely impatient to hear news from Calcutta. My father had engaged to send for me from Diamond Harbour, or if possible to meet me there: I accordingly waited, with great impatience, for the summons; and Mrs. Burleigh, who had promised not to leave me till I was with my friends, was equally impatient. I had seen Mr. Arnot and several more of the party take their departure, and was leaning over the gangway, when I observed a pinnace approaching the ship from Calcutta, and, as it drew near, a gentleman on the deck hailed us and mentioned my name.

"My feelings were such as those only can have known who have been in similar circumstances. I turned suddenly from the gangway and sunk almost fainting on a gun-carriage. The pinnace approached, I heard the steps of persons ascending the ladder on the side of the ship, and a moment afterwards my uncle stood before me. My father was a very tall man, whereas my uncle was of the ordinary stature, and I cannot say that I should have remembered either, though I perfectly knew that the person I saw was not my father.

"Having been pointed out to him, he came up to me and embraced me, though I thought in a solemn manner. He said he was glad to see me, and led me into the cuddy, where he seated me. 'Do you know me, Olivia?' he said, 'I am your uncle, and henceforward you must look on me as a parent.'

"He then informed me that my father was no more, that he had been dead more than half-a-year, and that he had left me under his protection. He took occasion at the same time to tell me that my father had not died so rich as had been expected, but that he himself had prepared every thing comfortable for me in his own house, where, he added, I should have very pleasant companions of my own age.

"My father dead! and my home to be in my uncle's house! and my companions to be my country bred, and country born cousins, whom I had heartily despised ever since I knew any thing about them!--O, where now were my bright prospects of happiness in India! My feelings on this occasion were thoroughly selfish; but I believe that my grief was interpreted differently, and therefore excited pity. However, as all was ready for our departure, we left the ship, accompanied by Mrs. Burleigh, and as I could not endure fatigue, so soon as we entered the pinnace Mrs. Burleigh made me lie down on the bed in the inner room of the vessel, where I yielded without restraint to my sorrows. My uncle had invited one or two young gentlemen, fellow-passengers with me in the East Indiaman, to accompany him up to Calcutta, and as there was only a slight partition between me and the outer apartment of the vessel, I could not avoid hearing all that passed there.

"I have not yet described my uncle, though I have said he was not a tall man. He was at that time between fifty and sixty years of age. His hair was white as snow and adorned gracefully his forehead; his features had been remarkably handsome, and his complexion was still fresh; he was neat in his person, but his manners were no longer European; he spoke loudly, contradicted bluntly, swore frequently, called names when he disliked any one, and fell into the most violent passions on the most unimportant occasions, seldom refraining from striking any of the natives who chanced to cross him when he was in these paroxysms; and, indeed, though I believe that he was an upright man with respect to pecuniary concerns, yet such were the provocations he gave that I cannot to this day understand how he could have attained to nearly threescore years of age without having had his head broken.

"Such was my uncle; and as I lay meditating on my future plans, and lamenting my hopes destroyed, may uneasiness was not a little increased by the bursts of violence with which he continually regaled his guests, regardless of the presence of Mrs. Burleigh.

"In the mean time we were advancing rapidly with the tide, in two of which we expected to reach Calcutta. It was about six in the evening when the tide failed us, and I was then persuaded to come out of my room to partake of the dinner which was prepared, to which we all, with the exception of my uncle, sat down with little appetite, being more or less affected with the change of Climate.

My uncle, at dinner, took notice of my melancholy, and tried to give me comfort by describing the happy life I should lead under his roof, but a servant, in the midst of these efforts at condolence, having unfortunately thrown down a goblet and poured its contents on his coat, he dropped all other considerations to give way to a burst of passion, and, knocking off the offender's turban, sent it through the open windows into the river. This little circumstance renewed my affliction, by giving me some insight into the character of my new guardian, and I could scarcely feel myself secure from the violence of one who, on so slight an occasion, could treat a poor servant with so much roughness. My apprehensions, however, proved only my ignorance of my uncle's modes of acting and thinking; for, although blustering as a master, he was by no means harsh as a parent, but, on the contrary, allowed rather too much liberty to his children, and though imperious toward the natives, not in the main cruel or unkind to them.

"We proceeded to Calcutta, after waiting some hours for another tide, and, as I was still in a languid and depressed state, my uncle thought it best for me, after I had taken leave of Mrs. Burleigh, and we had changed our boats, that I should proceed immediately up with him to his station, which was situated on the banks of the river some hundred miles above Calcutta.

"I was so unwell during the former part of my voyage up the country, that I remember little of the first impressions made on my mind by Indian scenery. In proportion, however, as we approached Bauglepore I revived considerably, and when our boats rested in the evening, I was enabled to take several walks with my uncle, and to enjoy some of the finest prospects I had ever seen, for we were now approaching the mountains which, in this part of the country, run down to the very brink of the river. We passed beneath the walls of the ancient palace of the Sultan Sujah, at Rajemahal, and obtained from the top of the pass of Teriagully, to which we ascended, a glorious view of the mighty Gunga, winding through rich and fertile regions till at length she was lost to us by the distance. We had opportunity of visiting many woods in the vicinity of the river, where a variety of beautiful birds and tropical trees reminded me continually of the change of climate I had lately experienced. The mode of life I enjoyed in the boat, and the kind attentions of my uncle, with the advance of the cooler season, now evidently operated to restore my health, and with my health my spirits returned; so that before I reached the place of my destination I was again elated with hope, and had almost ceased to think of the loss I had sustained.

"At length, after a considerable effort at rowing, my uncle pointed out to me the station of Bauglepore, which consisted of a number of houses belonging to European gentlemen, scattered over a park-like region which rose above the river to a considerable height.

"The sun was sinking beneath the boundaries of the western horizon at the moment my uncle came in from the deck of the vessel to announce the termination of our journey, and bidding me look up at the same time, I saw that we were under a very high and precipitous bank, or conka rock, over which the verandah of a bungalow hung like a balcony, being supported only by frame-work underneath. 'Welcome to Bauglepore, my good niece,' said my uncle, as he handed me out from the boat, 'one more effort and your journey is at an end,' and so saying he led me up certain rugged steps by which we were presently conducted to the summit of the bank and found ourselves at the entrance of the verandah.

"My uncle's house was a bungalow, or thatched dwelling, consisting of one very large hall encircled by eight smaller rooms, the whole being encompassed by a wide verandah. To the left of this bungalow was a large court, which conducted to a second dwelling of the same kind and form but of smaller dimensions, and encompassed with high walls, which, with the many trees that grew without, rendered it a place of perfect retirement. There were no inclosures round the larger bungalow; it stood on an open lawn, over which were scattered many groves and topes of trees, and from the back part of the edifice there was a fine view into the interior of the country, the foreground resembling an ornamental pleasure-ground without fences, and the background presenting a view of the mountains, in some places covered with woods, in others bare and rugged, and in others intersected with deep ravines and shadowy recesses.

"The loud shouts, or rather howlings, of the watermen, had forewarned the family of our approach, and we had scarcely entered the verandah before we were accosted by such a mob of khaunsaumans, kitmutghaurs, bearers, chockedaus, circars, chapurausses, &c. &c. as it might be thought would have been counted sufficient to form the suwarree of a Nawaub of Bengal. All these stood bowing and paying their compliments till we had passed and my uncle had led me through an antechamber into the hall, where a table was set out for dinner, which seemed to groan beneath the weight of silver plate. 'Where are my sons and daughters?' was my uncle's first enquiry; and on being told they were not come in from their airing, he called for an ayah, who it seems had been prepared for me, and who directed me into a small room at the corner of the house, which, together with a bathing and dressing-room within, were to be my apartments. The small room, like every other part of the house, was only white-washed, having neither hangings nor other ornaments on the wall, with a mat only on the floor, and a small bed furnished with gauze hangings in the very centre of the room, so as to leave a free passage round it on all sides.

"When turned into this almost empty space, I stood for a moment considering what was next to be done; when the ayah commenced a long speech, which I presume was of a congratulatory or complimentary nature by the various grimaces and salams of which she made use during her oration; but as I did not understand one word which she said, I could do nothing else but stand still and admire her figure and physiognomy, both of which are now as present with me as if I had seen her but yesterday. She was a tall gaunt person, extremely wrinkled, though perhaps not very old. Her skin was of a tawny copper colour, and she wore trowsers, or paunjammahs, as we should call them, of striped Benares silk, a white banyan, or loose jacket, a variety of silver rings on her arms and ankles, no shoes or stockings, her hair divided and combed off her forehead, and hanging in many plaits to her waist, and a thin veil of muslin thrown over her head and shoulders. Such was the figure which addressed me, and had I been in a more merry mood, I should certainly have laughed at her ineffectual efforts to make me understand, for I had so completely forgotten my Hindoostaunee that I could scarcely manage to call for a glass of water although water had been the first thing I wished to call for.

"The good woman having, however, at length discovered the reason wherefore all her eloquence was thus thrown away, suddenly left the loom, and returned in a few minutes with all my female cousins but one, to the number of four; and most assuredly I was less prepossessed with their appearance than I had been with that of their waiting-maid. That they were excessively dark, and altogether Indians in their persons, was not indeed their fault, and had they been presented to me as the daughters of a Hindoo Rajah, I, perhaps, might have thought them sufficiently well looking, for the Hindoos are not an ugly race, but there was such an extraordinary mixture in their manners and appearance of the European and Asiatic, and what they had acquired of European manners and address, in such a school as Calcutta could furnish thirty years ago, seemed to me so singular, that I was compelled to put my politeness to the test before I could return their embraces with any thing like the cordiality necessary from one relation to another. However, I did my best, and I trust my backwardness was not observed, for my young relations appeared to be satisfied with me, and, after a few polite speeches on both sides, I was conducted into the hall, where my uncle and his sons were waiting for us to sit down to a dinner, which, from its amazing abundance, might have supplied a Roman cohort after the fatigues of a battle. But before I was allowed to take my place, it was necessary that I should receive the congratulations of my male cousins, four dark young men, extremely slender in their persons, sprucely dressed in white nankeen, their hair thickly powdered, as was the fashion then, and their manners forming a curious medley between the Asiatic and the most finished European beau. The proper compliments on all sides having taken place, we sat down to dinner, and, while the rest of the party satisfied their appetites, I had leisure fully to consider the strange and new scene into which I had entered; and on this occasion I was not less surprised by the appearance of the company which sat round the table, than by that of a number of kitmutghaurs by which the whole circle was flanked: a set of whimsical-looking tawny young men, dressed in white muslin with turbans of various colours and descriptions, bustling to and fro, and twenty of them effecting less than two good waiters in a London tavern would have accomplished with half the bustle. I was also aware that without the door of the antechamber there were as many more persons, all occupied in some way or other in supplying us with what we called for, or in securing such remnants as were left on the plates and dishes. An army of crows and jackdaws were also stationed in the rear of these, as I could discern through the open doors, and, no doubt, by the agitation which at times appeared among them, were not waiting there without the prospect of some remuneration for their trouble.

"Having taken a cursory view of these more indifferent matters, my attention was again drawn towards my cousins, in whom I was particularly interested, as I considered that they were to be the companions of my future life, and my eager and penetrating glances moved from one countenance to another while I was anxious to find out one among all these whom I might choose for a confidant, for I had no higher idea of friendship at that time, than that of a free and reciprocal avowal of all the silly thoughts which might pass through my mind.

"Every one who has the least quickness of observation must infallibly, after a time, become something of a physiognomist, and I had been a great observer of countenances in England and on my voyage; but when arrived in India, I was wholly baffled and thrown out by the entire new character of every face. My uncle's old English physiognomy was indeed legible enough, but I could make nothing of his children's faces, for they were all as perversely unlike their European parent as they possibly could be; and although the features of some were tolerably regular, and the eyes of most of them very fine, I could not fix on any one in which I did not fancy that I saw something which repelled more than it attracted. As to my male cousins, viz. Stephen, Josiah, Samuel, and Jonathan, I did not bestow upon them a second regard, for I had conceived such an utter contempt for their dark complexions, effeminate manners, and finical dresses, that I do not think that they would have been able to have redeemed my good opinion had they evinced the strength of intellect of Sir Isaac Newton. There was, however, no such redeeming power in their conversation; they talked indeed, but in such a hissing or lisping accent, and on such uninteresting topics, that I could scarcely give them the attention which common politeness required. My female cousins, indeed, detained my attention much longer. Julia, the eldest, was undoubtedly the most regularly handsome, and her complexion, though dark, was delicate, and she was dressed, not perhaps in the last European fashion, but with an attention to nicety which an English lady would hardly find time to adopt. I could have wished, however, that she had not fancied pea-green ribands, being very unsuitable to her complexion, nor covered herself so profusely with soam pebbles and other heavy ornaments. However, when we are contemplating a friend, and have leisure to meditate on the colour of her ribands and choice of her ornaments, it cannot be supposed that there is much in her appearance calculated to excite our affectionate regard. Celia, Lucretia, and Lizzy, next drew my attention: they were all nearly of an age, but I felt nothing but estrangement at the very peculiar turn of their countenances. The two elder were tall, inclined to en bon point, had large eyes of an oblong form, and so situated in the head that the outer corners were considerably raised above the inner. Their eyes were dark, and at times had a peculiar fierceness of expression. The last of the three had much of the negro in her appearance. The fifth daughter, whom I had not seen till I sat down to dinner, was the youngest of the brood, and seemed a kind of pet of her father's, and as she had never been in a Calcutta school, she was still less of a European than the rest of the family. She wore a short frock over long paunjammahs, had bangles on her arms, wore coloured shoes and no stockings, had large ear-rings, and her hair plaited up with abundance of cocoa nut oil. She used very few English words, but appeared oratorical in her mother tongue, using much action when she spoke, and apparently not being very select in the choice of her words, as, during this first meal, she was called to order once or twice by her eldest sister for some improprieties of language to me inexplicable. The name of this little girl was Gertrude, though she was called Gatty Baba by the whole family; and surely there never was a more troublesome, boisterous, ungovernable, and, in some respects, corrupt child, in any family in the world the father of which called himself Christian, than little Miss Gatty, though I afterwards found that this child was by no means the least amiable of the family. However, as this was an after discovery, I shall content myself at present with describing Miss Gatty as she appeared when I first saw her. While engaged with her food she was tolerably quiet, and I was not a little surprised at the amazing quantity of pish pash and kedjerie which she contrived to swallow, using a spoon indeed for the former, but casting away that unnecessary aid when attacking the latter, which she jerked into her mouth out of her hand with her thumb, with a dexterity which an English child would have imitated in vain; and instead of being seated on her chair with her legs duly hanging to the floor, she was altogether perched on the seat, her lower limbs being neatly folded under her, and though she once altered this position, owing to an admonition from her sisters enforced by the father, she speedily returned to the one most agreeable to herself, and was allowed to retain it without further admonition, and in this position she finished her meal; but that being ended, she commenced some of those practical jokes by which she not unfrequently relieved the weariness of life, and tumbling out of her chair with something like the activity of a monkey, ran out at the nearest door and presently appeared again, stealing in with gentle steps and bare feet, (for she had disencumbered herself of her shoes,) with a small dead mouse in her hand, which she very dexterously contrived to fasten to her eldest brother's hair, which was tied in a queue; and this being effected she retired again to an open door, where she stood a moment, uttering some loud and vehement exclamation of which I only understood a few words, to wit, her brother's name, and a request that we would all look at him.

"The trick was now immediately discovered, on which the brother rose in anger amidst the laughter of the whole party. The father knocked furiously on the table, a motion by which he was often accustomed to indicate his displeasure, and Gatty Baba made her escape, probably to her mother's apartment, where she was sure of finding a place of refuge.

"We had sat some minutes after this manoeuvre of the spoiled child's, when my female cousins proposed a removal, and led me to the verandah at the back of the house, where we were presently supplied with chairs and moras by as many bearers, and here we seated ourselves, enjoying the prospect of as fine a country as I had ever seen.

"The objects composing the views before us appeared to me more grand than the scenery of England. The valleys were wider; the hills seen in the background of greater magnitude though of no extraordinary height; the sky, of a deeper blue, was not broken and shaded with cloud or vapour as in countries in the higher latitudes; the very trees and vegetables seemed of a larger growth, and the foliage more luxuriant.

"It being immediately after the rainy season, the fields were covered with a rank verdure, and a dead stillness reigned in the air, seldom disturbed by any sound but by the cawings of the many crows which inhabit those places, the occasional shriek of the cheel or Indian kite, and the softer murmurings of the dove.

"Not to acknowledge the superior beauties of these scenes was impossible; not to feel impressed by the towering palm and Brahminee fig tree was utterly impracticable; and yet I felt, as I looked around me, such a deep and sudden depression of spirits as I had never before experienced. This country is charming, indeed, I thought; the air is embalmed with the scent of roses, the hills are crowned with forests, and the valleys abundant with riches, and yet these beauties do not please me. I am not happy. Had my father been alive it might have been different.

"While these reflections possessed my mind, my cousins were preparing to address me, and after an apparent effort, for it seems that they had as great an objection to me as I had to them, Julia asked me how I liked Bauglepore, and after she had received my answer, which was of course a favourable one, she began to talk of their own family; to ask me if I were not surprised to see so many of them at home, adding, that she regretted very much that her father should keep all her brothers with him idling and spending their money.

"'Idling!' I said, 'what, have they nothing to do?'

"'Little or nothing,' she answered. 'My father has indeed some indigo-works, and a farm in the hills; but my brothers do little else than ride, snoot, and sometimes hunt tigers.'

"'Why does he not send them to Europe, or to Calcutta,' I asked, 'and put them in some way of business?'

"'It might be further enquired,' she answered, 'why he did not give them a better education; but it is too late now. He must make the best of it, however.'

"'Have they had no education?' I asked in amazement.

"'Very little,' she replied: 'they were taught to read and write by an invalid sergeant of a European corps, and, to do them justice, they write beautifully. They were at school at Chandenagore a few years, and learned a little French; and Stephen and Josiah were in a merchant's counting-house a short time in Calcutta, but they had no application for business, and here they are again; and the end, I suppose, will be, that they will turn Indigo planters in the jungles.'

"'And marry black women,' I hastily added, not recollecting the situation of the person to whom I was speaking; I discovered my blunder, however, before I had concluded; but my cousin replied with perfect coolness, 'Nothing is more probable,' and then changed the discourse to question me about the latest modes of dress in London.

"We were now got upon a topic of general interest, and my cousins promised themselves a great treat the next morning, in seeing my clothes unpacked, when I suddenly recollected that the next day was Sunday, and I observed that we would defer opening my boxes till the following day. 'And wherefore?' they asked.

"'Because of going to church,' I answered.

"'Church!' they replied; 'where are we to find a church here?'

"'But you have some place of worship?' I answered, 'or perhaps you have service at home?'

"My cousins all smiled at this question, and fairly confessed that they never worshipped at all.

"Had I not resided some months at Mrs. Fairlie's, I perhaps should have wondered the less at this avowal; but I contented myself with uttering an exclamation indicative of my surprise, of which my cousins took no notice, for at that moment our ears were saluted with the screams of Gatty, who it seems had been walking out with two ayahs and a chapraussee, and now she appeared at some distance on the lawn, struggling so violently with her attendants that all three were unable to hold her.

"What she said, or what they said, I know not; not because I did not hear it, but that I did not comprehend it. Her sisters, however, who better understood the subject of dispute, called to the restive child, but called in vain; and, on my enquiry, they informed me that Gatty Baba was insisting on sucking a sour lime, although she had made herself very ill only a few days before by a similar imprudence. In the mean time, little Miss kicked, struggled, and scolded; and at length very dexterously pulling off her shoe, she applied it with such' force to the ear of her chapraussee, that she sent his turban rolling down the green slope near to the edge of which the party were standing.

On this, the three elder sisters thought it right to interfere by such arguments as the little Miss did not choose to withstand; and proceeding to the place of action, they dragged her into the verandah, where she stood a while, pouting, with her finger in her mouth and a tear in her eye; thus furnishing a new subject of complaint to the eldest sister, who declared that if Gatty Baba was not presently sent to school, she would prove a greater plague than Stephen, Josiah, Samuel, and Jonathan, all united.

"This was an unfortunate remark, for it was uttered within the hearing of the very persons in question: for she had scarcely ceased to speak before they all appeared in the verandah, and asked her wherefore she was using their names. 'Are you trying to set our cousin Olivia against us, Miss Julia?' said one of these amiable brothers. 'But I hope she will not believe a word you say, but will judge for herself.'

'Are you sure,' replied Julia, 'that you would come off the better for her using her own judgment respecting you? Is it likely that a young lady, just come from Europe, should think highly of such persons as you are?'

'And why not?' said Stephen.

'Why not?' returned the sister, with a sneer: 'don't ask why not?'

"'And pray,' said Stephen, sitting down by her, 'are we not as good as you, Miss Julia, though you have been educated in Tank Square, and have a fortune of your own? Are we not of the same flesh and blood as you, Miss?'

"'Don't expose yourself, Stephen,' said Miss Julia.

"Here the altercation between this amiable brother and sister was interrupted by the sound of a carriage; and Miss Julia had scarcely found time to compose her agitated features, before a handsome phaeton drove up in front of us, from whence alighted my eldest cousin, the daughter of my mother's sister, and daughter-in-law of my much respected friend in England, Mrs. Fairlie. With her was her husband, Frederick Fairlie, of whom I had heard so much while in Worcestershire, and a beautiful boy of about four years of age, the son of these interesting parents.

"The moment I saw Euphemia, (for such was my cousin's name,) I felt my heart drawn towards her, although there was a feeling of awe which mingled with the love which her pleasing countenance inspired. She had every fine feature of her father, softened and refined; her complexion was delicate in an extreme, her dress was simple, and her manners engaging, being wholly free from every species of affectation: neither was I less pleased with her husband, who instantly entered into conversation with me respecting all I had seen in Worcestershire.

"This young couple, as I afterwards found, lived only at a short distance from my uncle, Mr. Fairlie being in the civil service; and I had afterwards many opportunities of witnessing the comfort and peace in which their days passed; although they were not without their trials, for of several lovely infants with whom the Almighty had blessed them, one only, namely, the little Frederick, had as yet survived its first year.

"While occupied in answering all the enquiries of Mr. Frederick Fairlie respecting his friends in England, I observed Miss Gatty, who had made her escape from behind her sister's chair, using various devices to attract little Frederick from his mother's side, where he had stood ever since their arrival, but hitherto it appeared with little success. But on her producing some attraction in the shape of a toy, the little boy glided from his mother's knee, and Gatty was heading him off in triumph, when the mother called him back, and at the same time holding forth her hand to her little sister, encouraged her to come to her, and immediately rising, led her out upon the lawn. At the same time my uncle called his son-in-law; and my cousin Stephen remarked, 'There, now Euphemia is giving Gatty a lecture: but it's of no use--nothing will benefit her while my father and mother have the management of her.'

"The brothers and sisters then unitedly opened their mouths against the little favourite; and I discovered that she was as much hated by the younger part of the family as caressed by the elder. At length, however, on my speaking something in favour of little Frederick Fairlie, the tide instantly turned; and it was observed, that he was no better than Gatty, though his mother made such a stir about him, and would not leave him a moment with a native. 'No, nor will she leave him,' added Stephen, 'even with Gatty; and I assure you we think that this is shewing a contempt of us, which we do not approve.'

"'But did you not a moment since allow that your little sister is a very naughty child?' I replied.

'Naughty!' repeated Stephen; 'I did not use any such expression, Miss Olivia. I said she was as wicked a little creature as ever breathed on the face of the earth; and it would be strange if she were not. But are not all children wicked? The servants take care enough of that, and I will be bound for it that Master Frederick, with his milk-and-water face, will be quite as wicked as Gatty before he is her age; and I don't see why he is to be taught to despise his own relations because, forsooth, their complexions are a shade darker than his own.'

'Despise!' I answered, 'why should he despise any one on such an account as that?'

'Because,' returned he, 'he will be taught to do it. Don't I know that all you Europeans despise us Asiatics so completely that we are not deemed fit to wipe the dust from your feet?'

'It may be so,' I said, 'but I was not aware of it.'

"'Were not you?' he replied, with a sneering smile, 'then you have a lesson to learn; and Euphemia will take care that you shall begin your lesson before you are twenty-four hours older. Mind my words: if she does not ask you to spend to-morrow with her, my name is not Stephen de Sylva Richardson.'

"'But if she does ask me,' I replied, 'are you sure that it will be with the view you mention?'

"'Not ostensibly,' said Stephen. 'Certainly she will not give this reason for her invitation; but we know her too well to doubt her intentions. I know she hates us all in a mass, and not the less because we have the same right as herself to the contents of our father's sundook.'

"'Sundook!' I repeated. 'What do you mean?'

"'O, you don't understand,' replied Mr. Stephen. 'You will know by and by, but don't repeat what I say to Euphemia. Remember that we are related as nearly to you as she is.'

"'By the father's side,' said Julia emphatically.

"'True,' returned Stephen,' I had forgotten that.'

"The return towards the verandah of Mrs. Frederick Fairlie with Gatty in one hand and her son in the other, put an end to this conversation; and, notwithstanding what I had just heard of her strong prejudices against her father's children, I could not help at that moment thinking that there was something wonderfully sweet and attractive in the expression of her countenance. I was surprised also to see that her eyes were glistening with tears, and that the boisterous Gatty was actually sobbing, in consequence of something which her sister had been saying to her. 'And so,' said Stephen, as soon as his sister stepped into the verandah, 'you have been preaching to Gatty, Euphemia. Well, I hope it may not be lost labour.'

"'I hope not,' replied she, seriously but modestly.

"'Gatty has a susceptible heart, and an affectionate admonition is never wholly lost upon her.'

"'Indeed!' he said. 'You really think she has a heart?'

"'I do,' she replied. 'And why not?'

"'O, I did not know that such an idea was agreeable with your theory.'

"'My theory!' she repeated, and then turning the subject off with a smile, she suddenly addressed herself to me, and asked me if I would spend the next day at her cottage, and bring Gatty with me.

"I was startled to hear the prediction of Stephen thus fulfilled, and answered with coldness, that as I was an inmate in my uncle's house I should make no engagements without consulting my cousins.

"She blushed slightly on hearing this remark, and turning to Julia, said, 'Can you spare Olivia to-morrow?'

"'Olivia is certainly at liberty to do as she pleases.'

"'Then,' said I, 'I will, if you please, defer this visit, and Gatty and I will come some other day.'

"This determination of mine seemed pleasing to my cousins in general, though Euphemia looked grave. Stephen, however, seemed to be particularly elated, for he immediately began to play tricks with Gatty, who was standing quietly and thoughtfully by her elder sister, and tickling the back of her neck with the end of a flower which he snatched from one of his sisters, presently roused her into a state of violent excitement, by which she disturbed every one in company, jumped on her brother's back, tumbled head over heels in the verandah, and jabbered Hindoostaunee with a rapidity which certainly astonished me, although it might not perhaps have had so great an effect on those who had heard her before. From the expression of my cousin Euphemia's countenance while these things were proceeding, and from certain looks of enquiry which were cast upon me by the other sisters, together with the frequent exclamations which were uttered by the whole company at different times, I was led to judge that I did not lose much satisfaction by not understanding what was passing between Gatty and her brother. This disagreeable scene was soon, however, put an end to by the appearance of my uncle, soon after which, Euphemia and her husband departed; and coffee for the ladies, with wine and brandy and water for the gentlemen, having been handed round as we sat in the verandah, we presently afterwards retired to our apartments for the night.

"As it cannot be expected that many of my readers will have an opportunity of personally visiting such a house as my uncle's; although in the jungles and wilds, the remote and even the public stations of the British possessions in India, there are many habitations whose inmates are as curiously assorted and as ill conducted as those beneath the roof of my uncle, I will not suppose that they can have so little pleasure in the contemplation of this scene as to think me tedious if I give as accurate an account of the second day which I spent with my newly known relations, as I have done of the first few hours after my arrival at Bauglepore. And first I shall describe my feelings when I opened my chamber-door, and pushing aside the check or hanging-screen of painted grass which hung before it, stepped forward into the apartment. As I before said, there was little other furniture in this room but a bed, which being hung with curtains of China gauze, was placed in the centre of the room. To this was now added a low teapoy of sessoo wood, on which a lamp was burning, which increased rather than diminished the gloom of the chamber. By this chiragh, or lamp, sat my ayah and a sweeper, both squatted on the floor, the latter being engaged in chewing paun, and the former occupied with some kind of needlework, which she held with her feet, as a substitute for the vice or lead pincushion to which our European sempstresses sometimes find it convenient to attach one end of the garment with which they are employed. It seems that these women were silent, or conversing only in whispers, for I heard not their voices till I saw them; but the louder voices of the bearers and other servants in the verandah without were so distinct, that had I understood their language I might have derived all the benefit from their conversation which it was capable of affording.

"The women arose and paid their respects by low salams as soon as I entered the room, and accompanying me to my dressing room, I certainly was surprised at the dexterity with which they performed the offices of waiting-maids, leaving me nothing to do but to sit still and be served.

"At length I had taken refuge from the musquetos behind the silken curtains of my bed, and my women had stretched themselves on their rosaies, or cotton quilts in the inner apartment. All other voices in and about the bungalow also were hushed, and I was wholly left to my reflections, which were by no means of the most pleasant kind, having no other disturbance but a kind of whizzing or spinning sound, which is often heard in hot climates, and which proceeds from the amazing multitudes of those creatures so aptly described in Scripture, as fowls that creep, going on all fours, which swarm in every possible situation where heat and damp are found united; now and then also a mournful shout, cry, or song, reached me from a distance, either from some devotee performing his laborious devotions in some solitary place, or from some one or other of the dandies, or watermen, whose thatched boats were attached to the shore immediately beneath the conka rock on which my uncle's house was situated. To give you an adequate idea of the deeply melancholy tone in which these cries or songs were uttered would be impossible; for I know not of any sound that is similar, or of any musical instrument that can express it.

"These sounds added not a little to the sadness of my reflections; for since I had arrived in India, and especially since my introduction to my uncle's family, there had been such a decided overthrow of my blooming hopes of earthly happiness, that I found it utterly impossible to rally my spirits, neither did I enjoy the forgetfulness of sleep during that night till I had wearied myself with weeping.

"My repose, was, however, refreshing, for to one who has been long tossed about on the water the comfort of a stationary bed on solid ground is inexpressible; and this pleasure I now enjoyed, and it added much to the restoring effect of sleep, so that I not only rested till broad daylight, but for some time afterwards; and when I awoke I found my two women ready to administer to my wants as on the night before.

"When my toilet was completed, I left my room, expecting to find the family at breakfast; but although on my stepping into the hall into which my chamber-door opened, I saw a long table set out with all the appendages of fine linen, china, and silver, I saw no other symptoms of breakfast: for I as yet did not understand the custom of the family, which was to rise almost before the dawn, and take the air in carriages, on horseback, or on the elephant, and to return as soon as the sun should appear, and go to bed again to enjoy the refreshment of two additional hours of sleep, which with another hour devoted to the bath and toilet brought the moment of assembling at breakfast to nine o'clock.

"It was scarcely eight when I made my first appearance: I had therefore one hour upon my hands; and I sauntered into the verandah, where I stood for a while, leaning over the parapet, and looking on the scene which presented itself. Immediately beneath me was a branch of the Ganges, called the Bauglepore Nulla, and the bosom of the Nulla being covered with the little boats of the natives, some lying at anchor, and some moving in different directions, together presented a busy scene. On certain shelving points of the rock immediately beneath me, I saw companies of dandies cooking their first meal in kedjerie--pots over a little fire made with sticks, and regaling themselves, while they awaited the result of their preparations, with that never-failing feast supplied by the hookah. Immediately beyond the Nulla was a reach of sand, but lately redeemed from the bed of the river; yet, from being liable to frequent floods, incapable of cultivation. Along this reach I saw no living creatures but a few crows and Pariah dogs, seeking that dreadful sustenance which is too often thrown up from the stream of Gunga. At no great distance beyond this region of sand, rolled the main stream of the river, which might be traced for some distance, even when itself out of sight, by the masts of the vessels which were passing and repassing. Still further beyond the Ganges, a fine and fertile region, thickly set with topes of mangoes, parm and Indian fig trees, and covered with a fine verdure, was visible to the eye; and far beyond, though mingled with the clouds, was a range of snowy peaks, which formed a part of the remote regions of Thibet.

"The morning, though it was the early part of the cold season, was hot, and the glare from the sandy region which first met the eye was quite oppressive. A feverish stillness seemed to abide in the air, and no cheerful sound of Sabbath-bell had ever reached these miserable regions. I turned from the scene, and thought of Worcestershire. A chair had been placed for me in a shady part of the verandah, and I tried to ease my painful feelings by looking on the nearer objects which presented themselves. There were many servants in the verandah; some lounging in perfect idleness and inaction, and others indolently engaged in their different employments. There was, however, sufficient novelty in all this to amuse me for some time; when at length a new object suddenly attracted my attention, and gave my thoughts a turn. This was no other than a young European gentleman, who suddenly appeared in that part of the verandah most remote from me. It seems that he had come through the bungalow, and was accompanied by Josiah and Gatty.

"I had conceived an unwarrantable contempt for all my male cousins, and had confounded them all in one general dislike, not condescending to suppose that there could possibly be any shades of character, or superior good or bad qualities, in one more than in another; though if there was one more hateful to me than another, it was Stephen, and that because he spoke oftener and attempted more to bring himself into notice. It may be certain then that I did not bestow a second look on Josiah, when I saw him thus accompanied, but set myself to investigate the appearance of his companion, whom I afterwards knew by the name of William Fitzhenry, and found that he was the younger son of a noble family in England.

"Had I not seen Mr. Fitzhenry in company with Josiah, I have no doubt that I should have been much struck with his appearance. He was undoubtedly remarkably handsome, his person was uncommonly elegant, though not effeminate, and his features particularly regular; though all these together were not what arrested me so much as the expression of his countenance, the vivacity of his eyes, and the benignity of his smile. At the moment when I first saw him he was engaged in what I must call a game of romps with Miss Gatty; though I would serve myself with a more elegant expression for this kind of inelegant play, if I could at this moment think of another more to my purpose. Yet, I observed, that notwithstanding the forwardness of the little Indian, the young stranger never forgot the gentleman in his behaviour to her, even in the highest exuberance of his gaiety.

"Still, however, amidst all that was so favourable in the appearance and manner of Mr. Fitzhenry, there was a something in him, which if it did not actually displease me, yet made me pause before I could quite yield to him the approbation which I had given to the husband of my cousin Euphemia at first sight, but what this something was I knew not precisely, and I am not sure whether this kind of doubt which he inspired did not rather tend to make me look upon him with more interest. I would request my reader to recollect that at this time I was entirely destitute of religion, or I should not have indulged in such sentiments and feelings.

"Mr. Fitzhenry had not been long in the verandah before Gatty pointed me out to him, and as she led the stranger towards me, she no doubt contrived to give him a good deal of information respecting me, for she jabbered so loudly and so fast that her companion more than once endeavoured to silence her.

"My introduction to the young stranger had scarcely taken place before we were called to breakfast, on which he took my hand and led me to the hall, where we found the whole family assembled, my female cousins being dressed with a degree of nicety which accounted very well for the time usually spent by them under the hands of their ayahs. Besides Mr. Fitzhenry, there were other strangers, two of whom were elderly Europeans, who I found were Indigo planters among the hills, and another a taza wilaut, that is, a young Englishman who had not been many months in the country.

"I have given an account of an Indian dinner, and I now found that an Indian breakfast was an equally elaborate concern; not that any one ate much, excepting the taza wilaut, who paid his compliments to the salted humps and guava jelly, in a style which proved that he had not yet lost his English appetite, but the ladies I observed scarcely ate a mouthful, and the older Indians seemed almost wholly devoted to their hookahs.

"Our conversation was upon the nature of tiger-traps, with tales of inroads made among the villages of the hill-men by these terrible creatures, and of various exploits and escapes which had taken place at tiger-hunts; and I had on this occasion an opportunity of observing a new quality in my cousins, and one in which my uncle was by no means destitute: viz, the art of embellishing and magnifying; which they did, on this occasion, respecting the multitude of tigers in the neighbourhood, with such effect, that I certainly should have been afraid to have gone to sleep in my apartment, had I not seen a certain expression on the upper lip of my new acquaintance Mr. Fitzhenry, which induced me to think that there was not all the reason for dread of wild beasts which my good relations would have induced me to suppose.

"These various adventures engaged our attention during the greater part of breakfast-time. When this matter was concluded, we lounged another half-hour, and then, the gentlemen taking their leave, my cousins followed me into my dressing-room, where they insisted on seeing my clothes unpacked, in order that they might inspect the last Europe fashions; and in order to tempt me to this acquiescence, they caused several chests and boxes to be brought me, in which were shawls and other articles, left for me by my father. It was right that these tokens of affection from a father, now no more, should painfully affect my feelings; and, to do myself justice, I must observe that I did shed a few tears while the boxes were being opened, but when I saw the multitude of shawls, cornelians, pebbles, agates, jaspers, &c. &c. with the Benares silks and gauzes, the jindellies, and velvets, with which these boxes were filled, together with the pearls, and even diamonds, which I unexpectedly possessed, I must confess that my heart was elated, and I entered into the spirit of the thing quite as much as my cousins, with this difference only, that they were more eager for Europe goods, while I was attracted by those that were Indian; and while I despised the former so much, my cousins were much pleased by several presents which I made to them from my English stock. Thus passed the greater part of the day till it was near tiffing-time, and we were just locking up the valuables in the boxes, when Gatty, whom I had missed ever since I had seen her in the verandah before breakfast, burst into the room followed by a Muglanee ayah, who might have passed for a second edition of my own waiting-maid, had not her nostrils been graced with an immense nose-jewel, which hung pendant over her mouth. I was in the act of putting a superb piece of kin quab into one of the trunks, when the child sprang forwards, held back the lid of the box with one hand, and grasping the corner of the silk by the other, began to address me with a vehemence which perfectly amazed me, though I could not comprehend one word she said. The child had almost succeeded in dragging the splendid piece from the box, when I seized the other end, and began to expostulate with her; on which the sisters interfered, and, as I understood, bade the child let the silk alone. But Miss Gatty was not to be so quieted: the more the sisters reasoned with her, the more violent she became, and at length, partly by signs and partly with a few words of broken English, which she contrived to muster in the height of her agitation, she made me understand that I was to give that piece of silk to her mother.

"I could not but smile as soon as I understood the child, and yielded up the contested article. I begged that it might be delivered with such a message from me as should be judged proper; and the lady with the nose-jewel was requested to carry the message, which she was most willing to undertake, being won over by the gift of a rupee and a pair of European scissars.

"These matters being duly arranged, my cousins and I entered into discourse, during which I endeavoured to obtain some knowledge of Mr. Fitzhenry; and was told that he was a young civilian, living at the station, and was reckoned a gentleman of the first fashion in the place. I would have known more, but finding my cousins somewhat backward on the subject, the affair was relinquished, and we returned to the favourite topic, which I found to be that of dress.

"Thus wore away our Sunday morning, till two o'clock, which was the usual hour of tiffing, or afternoon luncheon, to which meal we were about to repair, when we saw a person with a well-powdered head peeping through the check by which my dressing-room was screened from the verandah, and the voice of Stephen was heard, asking his sisters, if they had had time enough to learn the last London fashions.

"'Keep your distance, Stephen,' said Miss Julia; 'what have you to do in ladies' rooms?'

"In reply to this, the young man marched right in, saying, 'Did you call me, Julia? I thought my cousin Olivia could not do long without me.'

"'You are much mistaken then,' I replied, with no small scorn; 'I never even saw you till yesterday.'

"'And,' said he, retorting upon me, 'you would not care if you were never to see me again. Was that what you were going to say, my fair cousin?'

"'You have spoken for me,' I answered; 'and now please to walk out.'

"He paid no attention to this, but coming into the middle of the room sat down on one of the boxes, which induced me to retire, resolving, in future, to keep every door of my apartment locked. But before I was very distant I heard some very curious language passing between the young man and his eldest sister; but as I had no disposition to linger and listen to what they said, I only caught one expression of his,--'It is all for what you can get, Miss Julia, and you know it is.'

"I found my uncle waiting at the tiffing-table, with his younger sons and Miss Gatty; and the old gentleman was indulging his passion because the rest of the family had not come at the first call, driving the servants about, swearing, and calling them opprobrious names, half in English and half in Hindoostaunee; and striking the table, till he made every thing upon it jingle and dance.

"On the arrival of the rest of the party this storm was, however, hushed, and we were amused, till the repast was over, by sundry sparrings between Julia and Stephen, and with the exploits of Miss Gatty, who, not being very hungry, was amusing herself, in her usual manner, with certain practical jests, similar to those described on a former occasion, and which at last became so troublesome that her father, who was never, I found, in his best mood on a Sunday, ordered her out of the room, and as he reiterated his commands with a tone of voice which was known by experience to denote that he would be obeyed, the young lady was seized and carried out, though she kicked with such violence that she broke a serai of water, and deluged entirely one corner of the room.

"We did not sit long at this afternoon meal, though the company contrived, during the short interval, to swallow the contents of nearly a dozen bottles of beer, which being very strong, no doubt disposed them for sleep; for, a few minutes after I had returned to my room, the hall was empty, and a perfect silence reigned through the house. I had not been accustomed to sleep at this hour; but understanding that it was the custom of the country, and feeling weak and languid, I lay down on a couch in my dressing-room. Having taken up a book, which had been given me by Mrs. Fairlie before I left Worcestershire, and which I had never yet opened, as it had been placed in the bottom of one of those trunks which I had unpacked during the morning, and having opened it and read a few pages, I was insensibly overcome with sleep, and was occupied in my dreams with the same train of thoughts which had been suggested by the contents of the volume.

"Thirty or forty years ago there did not exist the variety of books for young people which are now to be so frequently met with, in which the truths of religion are conveyed to the young mind through the medium of easy, elegant, and affecting narratives; Mrs. Fairlie, therefore, had not much choice among works of this kind, but she was probably too well acquainted with me to suppose that I should be induced to read any thing which might appear abstruse and dull; she therefore selected for me such productions on the subject of religion as she thought to be most attractive; and the volume which I had met with on this occasion, among several others, was a selection from the works of that excellent woman, Mrs. Rowe; and it was a letter of hers in which the joys of a future state, and the happiness of a heart devoted to the Saviour, and released from the love of the world, which occupied my attention at the moment when sleep overpowered me; and my dreams, though confused, had a certain something in them, which impressed me even when I awoke, and made me feel the unhappiness of being in such a family as my uncle's even more than I had done before.

"Many persons can point out the moment of their conversion, and can attribute it, with some precision, to such a conversation, such a sermon, and the perusal of such a book; but if I am a converted person, I may say that my religious impressions were by no means sudden--by no means to be attributed to any one circumstance or event of my life--that I never was suddenly or strongly impressed in any such remarkable way as to be enabled to say, that on such a particular occasion I began to discern the beauties of Christianity for the first time. But I may observe, that from the time of my visit in Worcestershire I was disposed to receive impressions of good, though those impressions had a very short and momentary influence; but happily, at length, they formed an aggregate of religious feeling which prevented me from being an actual disbeliever even in my worst condition. But leaving the unnecessary point as to time, I would remember the importance and the glory of the change as described by the Saviour--Marvel not that I said unto thee, Ye must be born again. The wind bloweth where it listeth, and thou hearest the sound thereof, but canst not tell whence it cometh, and whither it goeth: so is every one that is born of the Spirit. [John iii. 7, 8.] I will now proceed with the account of the first Sunday spent in my uncle's family.

"Being somewhat refreshed by my short sleep, I arose and was dressed for the evening: after which I sauntered into that verandah which looked over the river, and there sat down to enjoy my own thoughts amid the silence which reigned around; for the very servants were stretched in sleep, and scarcely a bird or beast was seen.

"The different position of the sun had given another aspect to the landscape. I could now distinguish more accurately the distant groves of trees on the other side of the river, and the outline of the mountains. There were fewer boats on the river, and no sound disturbed the ear but the occasional cry of the cheel, or Brahminee kite, soaring in the air.

"I had my book in my hand, which I opened, and read a few more passages, and was led, by the contemplation of the feelings of Mrs. Rowe, to compare the state of England--England with all its faults and follies--with the awful heathenism of my uncle's family, and that I fear even now of many families in India whose master is a European. Again my mind wandered into Worcestershire; and I calculated that the hour was precisely the one in which the village-bells were calling the people to the morning worship. The beauty and simplicity distinguishing the forms of prayer in England affected me; the freshness of the climate, the cold clearness of the springs of water, the fragrant verdure of the thymy uplands, and the greenness of the valleys in that favoured island, were again revived in my remembrance, and produced what was indescribable in my feelings, but of a nature so overpowering, that I could scarcely refrain from yielding again to tears. But hearing a noise without the verandah, on the western side of the house, I moved towards the quarter whence the sound proceeded, and leaning over the parapet, I saw, a little beneath me on the lawn, two of my cousins, viz. Jonathan and Samuel, and several of the servants, amusing themselves with a monkey and a goat, which had been brought to the house by one of those miserably depraved men who make it their business to lead these poor creatures about, and make them perform various antics for the amusement of the natives, and the more silly portion of the sons and daughters of the Europeans. Jonathan was without his coat, and in slippers, having probably sallied out of his room on hearing the voice of his old friend the monkey-man, and Samuel was scarcely better dressed; and these two youths were engaged in fencing with the monkey, and highly entertained with the various grins and grimaces of the enraged animal. Several of the servants of the family were collected to see this spectacle, encouraging the young gentlemen to proceed with their sport with such peals of laughter as would astonish those who have not witnessed the merriment of heathens. While gazing for a moment on this scene, I was accosted by a miserably cadaverous-looking woman, who seemed to be the companion of the monkey-man, and, as I supposed, for I knew not one word she said, who wished me to bestow my charity. I threw her a trifle, and turned away with disgust at the whole scene; yet I scarcely knew which way to turn, that I might not meet with those objects which were calculated to excite the same feeling.

"Again I returned to my chair, and looked again at my book; and thus wore away another hour of this miserable Sabbath, when I was joined by my female cousins, who came all out together from the verandah, dressed, at least, if not with greater taste, with much more show, and in far more gaudy colours, than in the morning, which led me to conjecture that we were to have a party to dinner.

'We are come,' said the eldest, 'to invite you to see our mother; she wishes to thank you in person for your handsome present.'

"I certainly was not without a wish to see this lady of whom I had heard so much, having been told that she had been in high life, was a Cashmerienne, and had been a beauty. And as she was called the Begum by all persons in India who spoke of her, I was certainly prepared to behold a person of a higher order than I should otherwise have expected from the mother of four such youths as Stephen, Josiah, Jonathan, and Samuel. I accepted the invitation with perfect readiness, and followed my cousins into that part of the bungalow on the side of the Begum's habitation. We first proceeded through a suite of rooms, which I should have known to have been my cousins', from the numbers of ladies' articles scattered over them, and the multitude of ayahs and sweepers, whose low sa/ems I thought it necessary to return. Through these rooms and a verandah on the outside of them, we passed into a square court, the opposite side of which was formed by a bungalow of the same construction, but much smaller than that in which my uncle and the rest of the family resided, the two sides being occupied by ranges of small rooms which were allotted to the female servants. The court was of clay, but swept very clean, and sprinkled with water.

'You must speak for me to the Begum,' I said, to my cousins, as we walked through the court; 'I shall not understand a word which may be said to me by her.'

"My cousins promised that they would act as interpreters, and we went on. We first came to the verandah of the second bungalow, in which I saw nothing but a mat, a tum-tum, and some brass hookahs--I like to be particular--and were then ushered into an antechamber which was as bare as the verandah; and having passed through this, we entered the hall, or presence-chamber. It was the centre apartment of the house, a large whitewashed room with many doors: it was covered with matting, but in the centre was a square carpet, over which was extended a piece of silk of equal size with the carpet, from which hung curtains of gauze, these at that time being knotted up in the centre. On this carpet was spread a smaller, of fine texture, and a variety of large cushions of brocaded silk, forming as it were the back and sides of a sofa. In the centre of these cushions, and scarcely appearing to have more life or animation than the cushions themselves, sat the Begurn, a little corpulent old woman, who looked vastly older than my uncle himself, and fitter to be the grandmother than the mother of Gatty; but as I knew that the East Indian women age so much faster than the European, I was not so much surprised at this. She was dressed in paunjammahs of Benares silk, a short loose jacket of very thin muslin trimmed with silk, and over her head and shoulders a superb Cashmere shawl, which, however, rather added to the strangeness of her figure than deducted from it. Whether she had been handsome or not I could not conjecture: but had I not previously known I was to see a female, I should have been at a loss when I first saw this lady to know whether I beheld an old man or an old woman, although the mustachoes were undoubtedly wanting; but her cheeks and neck were so large from her habits of extreme indolence, that her whole face was disfigured. Behind her stood a splendid hookah with a mouth-piece of agate, and a very superb gold paun-box lay on one side. She had a variety of bracelets on her arms and ankles. She scarcely moved when we appeared, but bowed when we drew nearer, and motioned to us to sit down, chairs being offered by the servants; for I should have told you that there were a number of women ranged on each side of the place where the old lady sat, though without the cushions; but such a group I had seldom seen.

"When we were seated, the old lady addressed something to me, which being interpreted, I found was, that she was glad to see me, and that she thanked me for the very handsome present which I had sent her; and these compliments having passed, a silence followed, which was beginning to be awkward, at least to me, though it did not seem to be felt so by any one else then present, when I was suddenly relieved by the voice of Gatty.

"It is certain, that conversation must be at a low ebb, when the presence of a troublesome child proves a relief; and yet I believe the person must have been particularly fortunate in his society through life who has not been obliged by a relief of this kind. I was not sorry, on the occasion, to see Miss Gatty bounce into the room followed by her Muglanee ayah, and not a little amused to see her come tumbling over the cushions and nestle herself into a corner by her mother, while not a single muscle in the old lady's face varied in the smallest perceptible degree, though Gatty was the favourite child of both parents.

"But though the Begum herself did not reprove Gatty for her want of ceremony, Miss Julia, who had her private reasons for hating this favourite child, did not fail to say something which provoked her; for she began to jabber in reply with so much loudness and vehemence, and using at the same time such menacing attitudes, that the Muglanee ventured to put in a word in a kind of whining, wheedling tone, which was probably meant to conciliate both sisters; but if meant to produce this effect, it certainly failed of its end, for the enraged child, turning all her fury against her ayah, took one of the silk pillows and aimed it with all her force at her: the pillow, however, being heavy, fell at the woman's feet, who, taking it up and shaking it, placed it quietly in its usual position, and then withdrew into the back-ground of the scene.

"Our visit was not continued long after this exploit of Miss Gatty's, and we all returned to the great bungalow, where we found, among several other persons, my new acquaintance Mr. Fitzhenry, and a lady who appeared to me scarcely less remarkable than the Begum herself. This lady, though a European, had been so long in India, and so much separated from her countrywomen, that she was become more than half Indian, had acquired a haughty indifference of manner, was devoted to finery, drank a great quantity of beer, was excessively stout, and smoked her hookah in public. She was the wife of the surgeon of the station, and kept an excellent table, and therefore was popular; but I disliked her at the first glance, and took no means of conciliating her favour. However, as this lady, whom I shall call Ellison, demanded much of the attention of my cousin Julia, I was more at liberty to do and say what I pleased, for I considered my younger female cousins as mere ciphers.

"I was handed to dinner by Mr. Fitzhenry, and our dinner was a splendid one.

"During the bustle which the servants made, and amid the clatter of knives and forks, my companion contrived to whisper some agreeable flattery in my ear, which had the power of thoroughly restoring my spirits, which I describe as having been much depressed during the greater part of the day. But of these agreeable things I could remember very little when I rose from table, but certain unconnected expressions relative to an English complexion, coral lips, bright eyes, and blue skins; which latter term I did not then understand.

"After dinner, the ladies withdrew to my cousin's chamber, where Mrs. Ellison was favoured with a sight of the last Europe fashions, and had the pleasure of trying several of my best lace caps upon her own head before a looking-glass, a circumstance which I did not altogether enjoy, as I did not think that my peach-blossom and sky-blue satin lining would be greatly benefited by the near approach of the lady's hair, which had much the appearance of being well saturated with cocoa-nut oil: neither could I ever afterwards fancy my pea-green silk mantle, after it had been brought into contact with her olive-green neck. But enough of this. The exhibition of fashions being concluded, we went out in to the verandah, where tea and coffee being served, we were presently joined by the gentlemen, and soon after by Miss Gatty, who soon contrived to excite such a tumult, that I could hardly hear a word which was said by Mr. Fitzhenry, who had contrived to place his chair close to mine.

"We had not sat long in this situation when an universal move took place, and the whole party adjourned into an inner room. I was ready to say, 'What is to be done now?' when Mr. Fitzhenry rose, and offering me his hand, muttered something like, 'Allow me the favour,' which, interpreting merely that he wished to hand me to an adjoining apartment, according to the custom of India, where a lady never walks alone if there is a gentleman to conduct her, I did not decline his proffered courtesy, but rose immediately, and giving him my hand, followed the rest of the party.

"We passed through the hall into the room beyond, where there was a piano-forte; and as I heard some one preluding on the instrument, I made no doubt but that we were about to be regaled with some of my cousin's music, or that perhaps we were to have a specimen of Mrs. Ellison's talents in that line, for I had heard that she both played and sung. For an entertainment of this kind I was therefore prepared, but for nothing further. What then was my astonishment when I entered the room, to see all my female cousins, with the exception of Gatty, standing up, each with her partner as for a country dance; the party being increased by three couple of gentlemen at the bottom, Jonathan, Samuel, and the taza wilaut, (spoken of as having made his appearance at breakfast,) having taken the ladies' side, where the two boys having stolen their sisters' fans, were aping the female, by courtseying, smirking, and fanning themselves.

"At one end of the room was the orchestra, occupied by Mrs. Ellison at the piano-forte, my cousin Stephen with his violin, my cousin Josiah with his flute, and a big hideous looking servant with a kind of tabor, drum, or tum-tum, for beating time. On another side of the room sat my uncle and one or two of the elder gentlemen who had dined with us. These were regaling themselves with their hookahs, and looked as unmoved as so many images of Juggernaut. Behind them, in the very back-ground of the piece, was Miss Gatty, playing monkey tricks, and shewing what liberties she dared to take with the wigs of her father's visiters for the amusement of a crowd of servants, who were gaping and staring at her. Mrs. Ellison and my cousins were just striking up, and the first couple were preparing to set and foot it to each other at the moment this scene burst on my view, when this mode of spending a Sunday evening struck me with an amazement I could not overcome.

I believe that I uttered something like a shriek as I snatched my hand from Mr. Fitzhenry's, and ran back into the deserted verandah, followed by my astonished companion, where many broken sentences in the form of dialogue passed between us, before we could at all understand each other.

'Are you well, Madam?' said he. 'I am afraid that you are taken suddenly ill.'

'Sunday evening!' I replied.

"'Sunday evening!' he repeated, and looked more surprised than ever.

"'Do you dance on Sundays in India?' I asked.

"'Not often,' he returned. 'The truth is, I seldom dance at all; but when such a partner offers--

'"Offers!' I repeated; 'who has offered to dance with you?'

"He looked smilingly, and as if he wished to be very insinuating, ' Ladies,' he said, 'don't offer, to be sure: but did you not accept my hand?'

"'Accept your hand? to be sure I did, but not as the partner in a dance.'

"'Then for what, my fair lady,' he replied, 'for what did you bestow that honour on me?'

"'I don't know,' I answered: 'I heard nothing about dancing; and really I could not have thought that you were all such complete heathens as to spend your Sunday evenings in dancing.'

"He started as one does who has been puzzled and suddenly finds himself extricated from his perplexities: but nothing like shame or self-conviction seemed to affect him. He smiled again, and said, 'Your sentiments, my dear young lady, are, I perceive, as fresh and unhackneyed as your complexion. You remind me,' added he, 'of some sweet innocent sister's whom I left in Europe;' and I thought that he sighed as he spoke these last words: I thought so, but was not sure. 'Well then, if I must give up the pleasure of dancing with you,' he added, 'if I must bow to your honourable prejudices, I shall hope, on another occasion, to claim this fair hand in the dance:' and so saying, he sat down by me, and we entered into some easy conversation, which, after a while, again turning towards the employment of our friends in the next room, I ventured to say, though in a smiling manner, 'And do you really live here altogether without God in the world? pray how do you manage to die?'

"'Why,' said he, shrugging up his shoulder's, 'we never die when we can help it, and when the time comes we do as well as we can.'

"'I fear,' I said, looking in his face, 'I have made a very bad acquaintance in you.'

"'He shrugged up his shoulders again, attempted to laugh, but did not succeed; and then becoming more serious, 'The truth is, Miss Olivia,' he said, 'that a man in this world must do as well as he can. We have no teachers, no ministers, no house for worship, in this place, and where little is given, and so forth. We have reason to think, that if there is a God, he is as merciful as he is just; he will not judge harshly. Let us enjoy the good things of this world as they come, and leave all concern about the future.'

"'What!' said I, 'and have you really made up your minds to total infidelity?'

"A momentary expression of sadness flitted over his countenance, which was really a fine one; and he replied with a forced lightness, but it was evidently an effort, 'I sometimes almost wish it were otherwise; but when the eyes of the understanding are once opened to the unreasonableness of superstition, they cannot be closed again; and though the individual may lament the departure of past agreeable illusions, they can no more be restored than we can recover the bloom and vivacity of youth in decrepid age. But,'--and he suddenly stopped, and then added, 'the music ceases in the next room: they are probably going to begin a new set. May not I hope?'--and he held out his hand again to me, but I still withheld mine, and at that moment my cousin Julia appeared.

"The young lady might be supposed to have been heated by the exercise she had been taking. I therefore wondered not at the flush which had arisen in her cheeks, which were usually pale; but I could not so well account for the indignation which flashed from her eyes, as she asked me, if I did not choose to dance, and plainly told me that it would be remarked if I withdrew in this way from the rest of the company.

"'In what way, Miss Julia?' said Mr. Fitzhenry, saucily enough as I thought.

"She gave him a look of contempt, and then again addressing me, 'Will you please, Olivia, to favour us with your company in the next set?'

"'Miss Olivia has a pious objection on account of this day being Sunday,' returned the gentleman.

"Julia put up her lip in scorn, and then said, 'Well, do as you please, cousin; you are your own mistress, and must enjoy your own opinions, though I do not understand where the sin lies. But you had better join us.'

"Mr. Fitzhenry now united his entreaties, and I at length yielded, and concluded the evening as gaily as any of my companions.

"Refreshments were brought us at ten o'clock, and at eleven my partner took leave of me, and I retired to my apartment; and thus concluded my first Sunday in my uncle's family.

"Having given so particular an account of the few first hours which I spent at Bauglepore, I shall in future be less particular. From a Sunday so occupied, my reader may readily judge what must be the nature of employment on other days; which varied little, excepting in the practice of taking airings in the morning and the evening, and by receiving and paying visits. Mr. Fitzhenry was our constant visiter, and paid me very marked attention; and if I should say that his attentions were without their influence on my heart, I should be depriving my young readers of a lesson of some importance, which is not my design.

"In less than a week from my arrival at Banglepore, every secret thought of my heart was connected, in one way or other, with this young man; and again I began to fancy another garden of thornless roses, in which this my new acquaintance was to be my companion. I had almost, I might say at least for the moment, got a surfeit of shawls and jewels, numbers of servants and equipages: but the fresh illusion which had taken possession of my mind, was even more replete with evil than the former one; for I was now attaching myself to one who, though pleasing, was a decided infidel, and whose want of religion was likely to be rendered more fatal to me from the agreeableness which certainly did exist in his manners and appearance.

"Now, indeed, was the time for me to pray, 'Lord, deliver me from evil;' but I had no inclination to put up this prayer, as it referred either to Mr. Fitzhenry, or to any other circumstance which attended me, and which seemed to promise present pleasure.

"From the time of the Sunday-ball, it seems that I had lost ground with my female cousins, notwithstanding the handsome presents which I had bestowed upon them. But of the cause of this I was quite unsuspicious; and, really, I had conceived such unmingled contempt for all my uncle's family, with the exception of the old gentleman himself, and his daughter Euphemia, that I cared very little what any of them thought of me.

"Thus passed the week, and on Saturday night I received a note from my cousin Euphemia, excusing herself for having stayed away during the whole of the week; and requesting me to spend the next day with her, and bring her sister Gatty with me. She apologized for not asking any of her other sisters, as they had always declined visiting her on the Sunday. Having read this note, as we sat in the verandah, in the evening, I handed it to my uncle, who said, 'You can't do better than go, and Gatty shall go with you. Euphemia is fond of Gatty, and I don't care how much she is with her. The elephant shall be ready for you at six o'clock;' and the old gentleman went out of the verandah immediately.

"He was no sooner gone than Stephen began to speak sarcastically: 'And so, Miss Olivia, you are really going to spend the Sunday as it should be? Well, you will hear about us. Euphemia will give you a fine character of us. Shall I tell you beforehand what she will say?' and without waiting for my answer, he went on to this effect: 'She will tell you that she despises us all, but looks with most dislike on me and Julia: on me, because I am the eldest son, and won't hearken to her when she preaches; and on Miss Julia there, because she has an independent fortune left her by her old Armenian godmother, Mrs. Arabella Sophronisba Dorothea de Clessos, and that since Miss Julia has had this fortune, there has been no such thing as coming near her.'

"Miss Julia looked scornfully; and I repeating the word, godmother, with no small insolence, asked if any more of them had ever been christened besides Miss Julia.

"The whole family fired at this, and all declared that they had been duly baptized, excepting Samuel and Gatty; and that their father meant to have it done for them as soon as it was convenient.

"'O,' said I, laughing, 'I don't see but Gatty does quite as well without it.'

"They all retorted upon me for this, and Stephen insisted on knowing what I meant.

"'Meant!' I replied; 'I did not mean any thing; only that I like Gatty very much, just as she is; and I don't think you can mend her.'

'I believe,' said Stephen, 'that if you were to say all that is in your heart, Miss Olivia, respecting us, we should not have reason to be much obliged to you. But one good thing is, that,'--and he hesitated, and then added, 'that we are quite as easy about what you think of us, as you may be about what we think of you.'

"'And so far we are agreed, Mr. Stephen,' I replied; 'and now, if you please, I will go and answer my note,' and so saying, I hastened out of the verandah, looking at the same time towards him with an expression of as much contempt as I could throw into my countenance.

"At the dawn of day, Gatty, who had been apprized that she was to be the companion of my excursion, was rattling at my door. I did not understand one word in ten which she said, but she contrived to inform me that the hati was ready. I accordingly rose and dressed; and the morning had scarcely opened, when Gatty and I were in the howdah, and had begun our short excursion, followed by the Muglanee in a bullock-coach.

"I had never before been on an elephant, and was astonished at the view which this exalted station gave me of the country. When the elephant rose we were on a line with the lower parts of the choppah of the bungalow, and saw before us the whole vale of Bauglepore, bounded on one side by the high conka bank which incloses the Nulla, and on the other, though at a considerable distance, by a part of that long range of hills which adds so greatly to the beauty of this part of India. The valley itself at that time of the year, abundant with verdure, was scattered over with respectable houses, clusters of trees, and herds of buffaloes. The trees were for the most part of large growth, and their form and foliage indicated that they were not the production of a northern climate.

"Part of the valley, as we descended into it, was deep in shade, though a long stream of light darted directly across other parts of it from the horizon where the sun might be shortly expected to appear. A thick dew was on the grass, and the bed of the Nulla, though out of sight, might be traced by the fog which arose from it.

"Miss Gatty had been talking ever since we had mounted the elephant; but as she and I had little means of communication, after several ineffectual attempts to make me understand, she had ceased to address me, and was conversing with the mohaut and a bearer who sat behind the howdah. When arrived at the bottom of the valley, at a place where several roads crossed each other, Miss Gatty issued out some order which I did not quite comprehend; and enforcing it with a stamp and a threat, the head of the elephant was instantly turned, and we dashed into a deep road inclosed by trees, where we presently lost sight of every house or garden, or other scene, which might remind us of the European inhabitants of the country.

"Proceeding onward, I presently perceived, through the openings of the trees, that we were approaching one of those woody promontories, (if the expression may be allowed me,) or one of those points of the hills, shaded with trees, which extended into the valley, and which added so much to the beauty of the scenery beheld from the eminence on which my uncle's house was situated. At length a confused murmur of strange sounds reaching my ear, I was aware that we were approaching a bazar; and presently we entered a rural street, composed of huts, each having its bamboo porch, and many of them their little gardens, inclosed with a slight paling, and decorated with many gaudy flowers; among which, that flower called by us the cock'scomb, was the most predominant.

"It is said of the native villages in India, that there is no period in the twenty-four hours in which there is an interval of quiet; no shutting up of doors and windows, and going to rest at night. Even Paris is said to be comparatively quiet from twelve o'clock at midnight till three in the morning; but in these dark corners of the earth, these dwellings of cruelty, there is not even that short interval of rest which the most disorderly city in Christendom may boast. The interior of an Indian village is as busy at night as at mid-day, and probably more so; and, early as it was when we entered this bazar, all was noise, tumult, confusion, and horror.

"The streets were filled with Pariah dogs, miserable children, praying, or rather howling, devotees, scolding women, and quarrelling men, (creatures just rousing from drunken insensibility,) horns, tum-tums, and horrible trumpets, which last resembled in tone the penny-trumpets which children purchase at fairs, only infinitely louder; women with jingling bangles on their ankles, and other abominations, which I have no desire to describe, but all of which suddenly burst upon my view as the bazar became visible, and we advanced into the centre of the place. By the direction of Miss Gatty, the elephant was stopped at the door of a miserable hovel, from which issued an old woman, who, on seeing Gatty, used many expressions of recognition; among which, I observed one which brought before me many scenes of my younger days. This was a kind of motion with her arms, as if she would have embraced the child, and then an application of her hands to the sides of her own head, which made every knuckle crack, in a manner which I should almost despair of conveying any adequate idea of to a person who had never seen it. What the import of this motion is I know not, neither is it worth while to enquire. Gatty's business with the old woman was, to procure some of those pernicious compounds of gee and sugar, which are as much the delight of children in India as barley-sugar and lollypop are of those of our more favoured country; and when the young lady had got all she wanted of this kind, she issued her orders again: on which we proceeded to a wider part of the street, and coming to an opening, near the walls of an idol-temple, painted red, and ornamented with a horrible dancing-figure of some demon, we turned round, and made the best of our way back again.

"When we had left the bazar, we proceeded back to the place where the roads parted; and taking a new direction, presently found ourselves in as lovely a region as I had ever beheld, in a more open and cultivated part of the valley. To our right and left, though at a considerable distance one from the other, were the houses of European gentlemen, standing in walled compounds, so well shaded by trees, that the whole front of no one single dwelling was visible, but only here and there a verandah, a portico, or part of a roof. Before us rose the hills in frowning and terrific majesty; in some parts presenting masses of rock; in others green lawns and downs; in others natural clusters of immense trees; in others a range of jungle; in others a group of parm trees; and in others long sweeps of dark forests, extending in the back-ground beyond the reach of the eye. These mountains were the haunts of tigers, rhinoceroses, and wild hogs. To add to the imposing aspect of these scenes, a waterfall poured from the heights immediately within our view, which, dashing and foaming from rock to rock, took a sudden turn beneath the shade of trees and bushes, and thus passed away from our sight. While full of admiration at this sublime and beautiful scenery, we suddenly came to a halt at the gate of a compound, within which I understood was Mr. Fairlie's house.

"The gate was presently opened, and we entered a garden, in which was an infinitude of flowers whose fragrance filled the whole air. A few steps of the elephant brought us to the door of a small and elegant bungalow,--elegant from the extreme neatness and order observable in all that appeared within and without it.

In obedience to the word of command, the elephant was on his knees in a moment, and Gatty and I speedily alighting, stepped into the verandah, being somewhat surprised that no one had come to meet us. But my surprise was only momentary, for the noise which had been made by our servants had scarcely ceased, when the melodious tones of two or three voices, among which I distinguished a female one, were heard singing the following verses of the lovely hymn of Addison's, so well known by pious persons in India:

'In foreign realms, and lands remote,
Supported by thy care,
Through burning climes we pass unhurt,
And breathe in tainted air.

'In midst of dangers, fears, and death,
Thy goodness we'll adore:
We'll praise thee for thy mercies past,
And humbly hope for more.

'Our life, while thou preserv'st that life,
Thy sacrifice shall be;
And death, when death shall be our lot,
Shall join our souls to thee.'

"No sooner had the first notes of the tune reached the ear of Gatty, than the child placed her hand on my arm, and lifting up her fingers as if to command silence, she whispered several Hindoostaunee words in my ears; which not being understood by me, she tried to make me comprehend her meaning in English, and said, 'Pray God!--prayers make!'

"It was at that moment, as I looked down on this child, that I first observed the beauty of her eyes; for the truth was no other than this, that I had hitherto indulged such a feeling of contempt for the whole family, that I had a satisfaction in supposing that there could be no redeeming points in their characters or appearances. I was, therefore, the more surprised and touched at the expression of the child's countenance; and now, as I before said, I first observed the rich lustre of her dark hazel eyes, and the whole contour of her features, which was very agreeable.

"In obedience to the check which she had given me, I stood still, and the old Muglanee ayah remained behind us, Gatty having forbidden her to advance by a signal of the hand.

"Those persons must be insensible indeed to all religious feelings, who, after having lived for some time in ungodly society, are suddenly and unexpectedly saluted with the songs of praise, sweetly and pathetically uttered by those who truly love the Lord, without being deeply affected. The songs of Zion in a strange land, can surely never be heard without emotion. They were not, indeed, carelessly heard by me; for many, and very painful indeed, were the sensations which occupied my mind as I stood in the situation described.

"At length the hymn ceased; and Gatty taking my hand, led me forward into a hall, where an agreeable breakfast was prepared. We passed to the end of the hall, near the door of an inner room, where I observed a small party of persons engaged in prayer, Mr. Fairlie himself being the leader.

"These excellent persons did not observe us, and we advanced nearer. Gatty, however, interfered when I would have gone in; and dropping suddenly down upon her knees, she directed me to do the same, just without the door-way. I followed the directions of the child, being at once pleased and amused by her. I was so situated, as I knelt, as to observe the congregation within: it consisted of Euphemia, whose little boy was kneeling by her; Mr. Fairlie, as I before said, was leading the prayer; while two invalid soldiers, from Monghyr; three old Christian natives; two grey-headed indigo planters, from the hills; a young civilian; and an officer, in uniform, belonging to the station; composed the rest of the party. These were indeed but a small remnant of the people of God, only the gleanings of the vineyard, or a few olives at the top of the branches: nevertheless, it was a sight which had power to affect even my cold heart; and although I heard not one word of the prayer, yet the season was, I believe, not without much profit to my soul.

"When Mr. Fairlie was come to the concluding words of his prayer, Gatty, whose motions were inconceivably rapid, placed her hand again on my arm, and was on her feet and embracing her sister almost before the elder individuals of the congregation were risen from their knees.

"The reception given me by Euphemia and her husband was of the most cordial kind. Mr. Fairlie led me to the breakfast-table, where we were joined by the indigo factors, the young civilian, and the officer above spoken of. Gatty and little Frederick were placed on each side of Euphemia; and I was perfectly amazed at the propriety with which Gatty conducted herself. There were no hookahs admitted at this meal; and I was much pleased and interested at the easy flow of the discourse, at the various anecdotes told by the old Indians of the hill-people, at the ready introduction of the most pious and humane sentiments, and even at the information, with respect to literature in general, incidentally evinced by all present.

"Soon after breakfast the parties separated, though not till it was understood that they all hoped to meet again at dinner; and I was led by Euphemia into her own apartments. They consisted of a suite of rooms occupying one side of a square court, in which were small apartments for her women-servants. The suite consisted of a bed-room and two lesser rooms, one of which was a dressing-chamber, and the other contained a work-table, a sofa, some cabinets, and a bookcase. Here she conducted me, and opening her bookcase, she said, 'I will not fatigue you, dear cousin, with my company during the whole morning. Here are books and a sofa, and I will return to you by and by;' and then smiling pleasantly, she retired, leading Gatty with one hand and her son with the other.

"I was always fond of reading, and, having risen early, was not sorry to be left alone. The sofa stood before a double door, which was open to the garden. Immediately before the door was a grass-plot, and beyond the grass-plot, many of those luxuriant shrubs and highly scented flowers so common in tropical climates. The wall of the garden was entirely concealed by these; but a projecting point of the mountains appearing above these trees, seemed to hang over them, though, in fact, it was at some distance. This point was covered with an exceeding fine verdure; and on the very crown, or highest visible summit, was a cluster of parm trees, underneath which was a small idol temple.

"There was something so deeply gloomy and solitary in this scene, that I was overpowered by it, and insensibly, as I lay contemplating it, I fell asleep.

"I enjoyed my repose for some time; and at length awaking, I rose to seek Euphemia, and was proceeding into the outer room, when my steps were arrested by a sound of voices, which seemed to issue through the shutters of a door at the further end of the room. I approached this door, and, as the jillmills were open, saw Euphemia sitting on the other side, deep in conversation with Gatty, her little son being on her lap.

"Euphemia had a lovely face, and never shall I forget the expression of her countenance as she looked down on her little sister, and seemed to plead with her in the deepest earnestness. I could only see the delicate shoulders and fine contour of the head of little Frederick, as he was placed with his back to me; but the countenance of Gatty, as she sat on a mora at her sister's feet, is indelibly fixed in my memory,--it seemed to have caught a glow, as it were, from the face of her instructress. Her dark eyes were raised with an expression of softness and tenderness which I could scarcely have thought it possible she should ever have felt; and never did the effect of piety and pious example strike me with such astonishment as at this moment. I did not wish it to be known that I had witnessed this scene; I therefore retired quietly from the door, and endeavoured to occupy my time with reading till I received a summons to tiffing.

"At this meal Mr. Fairlie and my cousin only were present. During the repast we had some chat respecting Worcestershire; and as soon as the meal was concluded, Euphemia and the children left the room, and I was preparing to follow them, when Mr. Fairlie requested that I would favour him with my company a few minutes.--'Mrs. Fairlie,' he said, 'knows that I have some information to give you which will be painful for her to hear, although I give it by her desire.'

"I immediately sat down again, and Mr. Fairlie then informed me that little Frederick was to go to England, to his mother's house in Worcestershire, in a few months; that they only awaited the departure of an excellent lady in Calcutta, who had promised to take charge of him; that this was indeed a trial to his wife, but that she was determined to acquiesce in what she considered so decidedly her duty. He added, that it was also their wish, as soon as Frederick was gone, to be permitted to take the charge of Gatty. He informed me that the proposal had been already made to his father-in-law; and that he hoped I would throw all my weight into their side of the scale. 'Poor little Gatty,' he added, 'might be benefited, if her father would but submit. But Dr. Richardson,' continued he, 'seems to look upon the state of his family with something like that desperate feeling with which the owner of a vessel at sea contemplates a shipwreck when all hope is past. It is not in our power to do much for our other sisters or brothers; but we have long seen that good impressions might be made on the little one, and we are most anxious to make the attempt.'

"I promised my utmost influence with Mr. Fairlie, but feared I could do but little. And thus our conversation ended.

"After this I had some discourse with Euphemia, in her own apartments; when she spoke affectionately of her father, and urged me, should I ever have an opportunity, to lead his mind to religious subjects.

"I did not answer, as I might have done, that she was employing the blind to lead the blind; but seeming to comply, she pressed me to spend my Sundays with her; and then spoke of her little infants, who were no more, with a feeling which, though very strong, was so tempered with pious hope, as to be evidently free from all repining. She said little of her brothers and sisters, and never once mentioned their mother. One thing, however, she said, which explained some things that had puzzled me in the behaviour of my cousins; and that was, that it was supposed Julia was engaged to marry Mr. Fitzhenry, or at least that there was some attachment between them, which she regretted, on account of the decidedly infidel principles of the gentleman.

"As to the supposed regard of Mr. Fitzhenry for Julia, I had no uneasy feelings; but I did not like this confirmation of my suspicion respecting his infidelity with regard to religion; and I received it with more pain on that day, in which I had witnessed, in such a variety of ways, the happy effects of religion, than I probably should have done at any other season.

"Euphemia and I conversed till it was time to dress; after which we walked in the garden, where Mr. Fairlie joined us. At six o'clock, which was the hour fixed for dinner, our party was augmented by the friends who had breakfasted with us; and we finished the evening with prayers, hymns, and a sermon.

"The moon had risen before we again mounted the elephant, and I had the pleasure of seeing the mountains, and the charming valley between them and the river, illuminated by this soft and silvery light. Not one cloud blotted the deep azure of the heavens, and a thousand stars spangled the regions of ether. I started once or twice at the distant sound of the deep-toned low of the buffalo; and as our elephant stepped onward, with gigantic strides, I was not sorry to see that the mountains retreated rapidly into the back-ground, and that we were becoming every moment more distant from the ranges of wild beasts.

"Gatty was silent during our return; and when I arrived at my uncle's house, I found the family sitting in the verandah. My uncle stepped out to receive me, and was pleased to hear that I had enjoyed a pleasant day, but he returned not into the verandah with me: I was therefore left with my cousins, who accosted me with evident ill-humour. Miss Julia asked me how I had enjoyed myself. Celia said that she was sure Gatty had been a great plague to me. And Josiah asked what sort of preacher Frederick Fairlie made. 'And pray,' said Stephen, 'what has Euphemia told you of us, Miss Olivia? I dare say she has given you a fine character of us all.'

"'Indeed she has not,' I said. 'She has said nothing about you.'

"'I thought so,' returned Stephen. 'I thought we should not be thought worthy to be mentioned by her.'

"'It is the kindest thing, Mr. Stephen, one can do by some persons,' I replied, 'not to speak of them at all.'

"'Very well, Miss Olivia,' rejoined the young man. 'I see that you have not been at Mr. Frederick Fairlie's for nothing. You were bad enough before you went, but you are ten times worse now.'

"But enough of these impertinences, which did not cease till we were all withdrawn to our separate apartments.

"I have been led on from one circumstance to another to be more particular than may be altogether agreeable to my readers. I must, therefore, compel myself to pass over some of the events of my life, perhaps equally worthy of description with those that have gone before, in a more succinct manner.

"During some weeks which followed my visit to Mr. and Mrs. Frederick Fairlie, my uncle and his sons were frequently absent for some days together, at an indigo-factory which they possessed among the hills; and during their absence we should have been occasionally very dull, (for my female cousins and I did not even amuse ourselves by disputing with each other,) if it had not been for visiters and visitings.

"At this period, however, I saw little of Euphemia, but much of Mr. Fitzhenry, though not always at my uncle's house. But as my uncle had provided me with bearers, and a ton-jon, or chair-palanquin, we always contrived to meet during my morning and evening airings. These opportunities evidently augmented our mutual attachment, for I believe that he really loved me as much as he was capable of loving any one; and though he never solicited my hand in so many words, yet I considered that he certainly intended so to do, but waited only till our acquaintance should be somewhat more matured.

"In the mean time, he had so accustomed me to bear his contemptuous expressions with regard to religion, and he had so much in his manner that rendered this poison palatable, that I, after a while, scarcely considered this defect in his character as an objection; for it must be remembered, that I was myself, at that time, in a state of unbelief, though I had had certain moments of compunction. In short, I became strongly attached to this young man; and once again my fancy began to be busy with its garden of roses, and paradise of earthly sweets.

"The Almighty had, however, resolved, in his infinite mercy, on my deliverance from evil, and it was to be effected according to his secret counsels; while my path through life was to be strewed with thorns, and my feet torn with the briars of the wilderness: yet my will continually rose in rebellion against his, and I would willingly have incurred all future penalties, rather than forego the present enjoyments which I was so passionately fond of.

"Towards the end of the time of which I am speaking, which might be about Christmas, our whole party were invited to a ball, at the house of the chief civilian of the station. It was the first dress-ball I had attended in India, and I was very anxious to make such an appearance as should do me credit, especially in the eyes of Mr. Fitzhenry. The house in which this entertainment was given was the largest in the station. It was a puckah building, standing on the same bank over the Nulla as my uncle's, and was approached from the valley by a flight of steps consisting of at least one hundred. It stood in a lawn enriched with groups of trees, and its wide porticoes, verandahs, and innumerable doors, prepared it for the admission of every breeze.

"I was conveyed to one of the doors of this handsome mansion in a palanquin, and found Mr. Fitzhenry ready to hand me out, and claim my hand in the dance. He led me through several antechambers into a spacious hall, illuminated by many lamps blazing in superb glass lustres, in which I witnessed such an assemblage, I will not say of grace and beauty, but of pearls, diamonds, ostrich feathers, and superb shawls, as I had never before seen. I was soon, however, aware that there was no freshness of complexion which could vie with mine, and I was not a little elated with this discovery.

"The dancing commenced immediately after my arrival: but I was not able to dance long with spirit, probably owing to the effect of climate, and was not sorry to sit down with my partner, when we had finished one set, in a wide portico at the bottom of the room, which almost hung over the river.

"It was on this occasion that Mr. Fitzhenry made his most explicit declaration of regard; and it was then that I allowed him to believe that he would not be rejected, should he seek my hand.

"Our conversation was at length interrupted by the lady of the house, who introduced a gentleman to me, requesting me to favour him with my hand in the next dance. This gentleman was no other than Mr. Milbourne, of whom I shall have occasion to speak much hereafter, and therefore shall say the less now; only remarking, that he appeared to be about forty years of age, and still handsome, for his features were perfectly regular, and his air decidedly gentlemanlike; but he seemed to me to want animation, and to have little to say.

"I was not sorry when my two dances with this gentleman were over, and when the rules of the assembly again permitted me to become the partner of Mr. Fitzhenry, with whom I finished the evening, being conducted by him to supper.

"It was day-break when we returned to my uncle's house; and during a few hours of feverish sleep which followed, I enjoyed such dreams of pleasure as never could, and never ought to be realized.

"O how little, how very little, do young persons know what is for their real good! Had I been punished with the grant of my wishes at that time, what would have been my situation now! I tremble to think of it! and what might have been my situation in a world to come! Could I, in that case, have adopted the language of praise, which is now in my mouth, and will be the subject of my song for ever and ever?--I will lift up mine eyes unto the hills, from whence cometh my help. My help cometh from the Lord, who made heaven and earth. The Lord shall preserve thee from all evil: he shall preserve thy soul. [Psalm cxxi. 1, 2, 7.]

"It was late when I awoke, and the family had breakfasted. I could not eat, but having drunk a dish of tea which had been brought into my dressing-room, I was summoned into the presence of my uncle, whom I found in a small room, occupied by him as a study. He caused me to be seated, and informed me, after some prelude, that Mr. Milbourne had been with him, and had requested his interest with me to procure my favour.

"I heard this with unfeigned astonishment; and at once declared, that my uncle could not oblige me more than by telling the gentleman that I would have nothing at all to say to him.

"On hearing this, my uncle's eyes, large and fierce at all times, suddenly became more prominent and glaring, and he wished to know if I were in my right senses; and, without awaiting my answer, or paying the slightest attention to my indignant looks, my tears, sobs, and exclamations, ceased not till he had set before me all the advantages of this offer, connected with information for which I was wholly unprepared. He pleaded Mr. Milbourne's rank in the service--his character as a moral man--his uprightness in all his dealings--his excellent situation--his good family--his large private fortune--with many et cætera; to which I paid no attention, being wholly confounded by the communication which followed, and which was no other than this, that my father had left me nothing but what was contained in the few chests which had been delivered to me. Here was a disappointment I little expected; and I was so wholly overcome by it, that my uncle was obliged to call his daughters to me, with hartshorn, &c. to prevent me from fainting.

"In the evening, being still unwell, I did not accompany the rest of the family in their airings. I, however, walked out upon the lawn, and there was soon followed by Mr. Fitzhenry, who seemed affected by seeing me so uneasy, and questioned me on what had happened with his usual warmth of manner.

"I was unable to disguise any thing from him, and told him of Mr. Milbourne's offer, and my resolution to refuse him. He seemed satisfied with this, and expressed his hope that he had no reason to fear any rival in my affections. 'But this,' he added, 'is not all;' and he pleaded so closely with me to tell him what was the real cause of my affliction, that I at length told him, that I had that morning learned, that when my father's affairs had been settled, it was discovered there was no property left for me.

"Never shall I forget the change that passed on his countenance when he heard this. He turned red, then pale, attempted to speak, but seemed unable to articulate; and was thrown into such confusion, that he hardly knew what he did. I looked enquiringly at him; but his eyes were directed to the ground, and he either could not or would not look me in the face. At length, making some sort of apology, he hastily kissed my hand, and uttering a deep sigh, suddenly withdrew, leaving me wholly overpowered by a variety of very painful feelings.

"It was with some difficulty that I got back to the bungalow, where I yielded to a violent fit of sobbing and crying, which gave my heart some relief; and I had scarcely recovered from this, when my cousin Euphemia was introduced into my apartment. I was at first so much occupied by my own uneasy feelings, that I did not observe that she was also uneasy; and she had such entire self-command, as not to unfold her own troubles to me till I had made known to her those with which I was exercised.

"She entered into all my difficulties with great tenderness, and then confirmed the hints I had before heard respecting Mr. Fitzhenry; informing me that he was too well known to be a dissipated and irreligious character, and assuring me, that I had nothing to look forward to but ruin, should I ever take him as a husband. She told me, she did not doubt he had a regard for me, yet that he was so circumstanced, as to be unable to marry without expecting money with his wife; and further added, that he had certainly been particular in his attentions to Julia before I arrived in India. She concluded by informing me, that they had that day received a summons from Calcutta to bring down little Frederick, that he might embark for Europe; and she requested me, on her return, to visit her, in order, as she kindly said, that we might comfort each other.

"I had found some consolation in the tenderness of Euphemia; notwithstanding which, when my uncle returned, I was so ill that he ordered me to bed, and I was glad of an excuse for not appearing before the family.

"During the first week of the absence of Euphemia, I kept my chamber, and heard no more either of Mr. Milbourne or of Mr. Fitzhenry. For the former I did not then care, but I still thought of the latter with a painful anxiety. Towards the end of this week, I was informed that the Begum, whom I had never seen, or scarcely heard of, since I had paid her my first and only visit, was very unwell. I was now enabled to talk a little to my ayah, and she gave me the news about the old lady. She described her as being in a fever; and said, that she was attended by a skilful person from the bazar, of whom she had a far better opinion than of our European doctors, not excepting my uncle; that she had caused many charms and incantations to be used, and was rubbed every day with oil, and mulled and kneaded according to the fashion of the country.

"'And does she get any better?' I asked.

"'No,' returned the ayah. 'She will not get well unless the Lord permits.'

"'True,' I said; 'but she ought to use the best means.'

"While the ayah entertained me with these communications, every thing seemed to go on as usual, as far as I could discover, with the rest of the family. I could hear, through the latticed doors of my apartments, my uncle storm, swear, and knock upon the table, as occasion served. I could hear Julia and Stephen disputing; and the whole party, on occasion, vociferating to Gatty. I could hear the guggling of my uncle's hookah, and the jabbering of the servants in the verandah. There was no diminution or augmentation of these sounds; and if the poor Begum was really so ill, as my ayah would have it she was, it seemed a matter of little concern to all. Indeed, I was probably the most concerned of any one in the family on the occasion, for I was suffering under the influence of fever myself, and my mind was in a state of deep depression.

"From the time of my first arrival in a hot climate, I had been subject to low and intermitting fevers; and those only who have felt the influence of these disorders, can have any idea of their horribly painful effect on the spirits. My uncle was very attentive to me, in his rough way, during my illness; but I was unhappy, and nothing seemed to relieve me. The cold weather was now passing away, and I looked forward with some apprehension to the influence of the heat; which, even towards the middle of February, was almost intolerable to me.

"In the mean time, the Begum continued to be ailing, as I heard from my ayah; and I saw nothing of Mr. Fitzhenry. Indeed I was led to think that he was not at the station.

"It was about the middle, or perhaps near the end, of the month of February, when my uncle was called down to Calcutta on business, purposing to return with Mr. and Mrs. Fairlie to Bauglepore. Julia and one of her sisters were paying a visit at Monghyr; and two more of the sisters, and the three younger brothers, were at the indigo-factory. I was, therefore, left in the bungalow with Stephen and Lizzy, the two persons in the family whom I despised the most; and being unwell, my mind was so thoroughly oppressed, that I was glad to plead my indisposition as an excuse that I might seldom leave my room. At this time I was one evening much startled by my ayah, who informed me that the Begum was so seriously ill, that she supposed she would not live till morning.

"The cool manner in which this information was given, shocked me even more than the news itself; and I could hardly help exclaiming, 'And is the mother of a family to perish in this way, utterly disregarded?' But I had no one to whom I could utter this sentiment with any chance of sympathy; and as I had but that moment left Stephen and Lizzy in the verandah, I ran out to them, to communicate what I had heard, and to request them to send to my uncle and the rest of the family. 'What for?' said Stephen. 'If my mother is so ill as that foolish ayah will have it, she will be dead long before my father can come.'

"'But at any rate,' I answered, 'he ought to be sent for; and your brothers and sisters are near at hand! Pray let little Gatty see her mother before she dies. Gatty loves her mother. She has a heart.'--

"Stephen had his mouth open to answer me, but was checked by Lizzy, who pinched his arm, yet not so dexterously as that I did not observe the motion; and such a tempest of indignation rose in my mind at the moment, that I turned away, hinting, that I doubted not but they would do what was right according to their judgment, though I was certainly of opinion, that every absent member of the family should be immediately sent for.

"I then returned to my chamber, but with such an impression of horror, that I would not be undressed, but lay down on my couch, having had it drawn near the door which opened to the outer verandah. My ayah and matrannee were seated on their goderies, talking to each other at another window.

"Hindoostaunee was my mother tongue; and though I had quite forgotten it while in England, I had renewed my acquaintance with it already, to such a degree, that I very well understood what my women were muttering to each other. They were speaking of charms and spells, and recommending them to be used for the sick person; telling of wonderful effects produced by knives placed under the pillow of a dying person; with other incredible things: and interspersing these anecdotes with various accounts of deaths and funerals, ghosts and spectres, ill omens, and fatal prognostics.

"While I lay hearkening to these horrors, all became silent round the bungalow. The long shadows of the trees, visible through the latticed door, shot across the lawn, interspersed with streaks of moonlight. There was not a breadth of air to be heard, and the low murmur of the mosquito only prevented the silence from being perfectly undisturbed.

"I had thrown a gauze veil over my face, to defend me from these minute tormentors, and after a while became overpowered with sleep. I lay in this state of insensibility for some hours, and it was still dark when I was awakened by some noise; and springing up from my couch, I hastily enquired what was the matter. My women, who had been roused at the same time as myself; were standing by me, lifting up their skinny hands, staring wildly, and using a name which we are forbidden to mention lightly on any occasion. 'Tell me,' I said, 'tell me what is the matter?' and at the same moment, I was sensible of the distant sound of shrieks and cries--hollow cries and frightful shrieks--which terminated in certain protracted tones, of which I can only give an idea by desiring my reader to imagine a tune entirely composed of the discords of a piano-forte. 'What does this signify?' I said to my women. 'Do explain it to me. What does it portend?'

"The Begum,' replied the ayah, drawing up her wrinkled features into a horrible grimace, with which she endeavoured to hide her absolute want of all feeling, 'the Begum is no more!' and she finished her speech with a groan, which was re-echoed by the matrannee in another key.

"'No more!' I said; 'and my uncle not here! and poor Gatty absent!' and immediately lighting a wax taper by the chiragh, I ran out into the hall. I found this room, and the rooms beyond, quite empty. I passed from them into my cousin Lizzy's sleeping-room, but I found no one there. The howling, however, in this room was dreadfully audible; and I attempted to pass on into the area of the second bungalow, but was baffled in my attempt, for every door was locked. I stood a while at a door, but could not make out any thing that was passing within; and then returned to my chamber, where I wept till sunrise, and then fell into a feverish sleep.

"In the morning my breakfast was brought to me, but I was decidedly ill, and unable to rise; and my cousin Lizzy had too many concerns of her own to think of me. How this day passed with her or her brother, or how things were managed, or who was sent for, I know not; but I was told, that the funeral was to take place at sunset, for it is impossible to keep the dead more than twelve or fourteen hours in India; and I heard with horror, that the Begum was to be buried in the Mussulmaun burying-ground, a gloomy field of tombs which I had seen not far from the foot of one of the mountains.

"It had never occurred to me to enquire whether my uncle had endeavoured to convert this poor woman to Christianity: nevertheless, it was a great shock to me, when I found that nothing of this kind had been done; and that this miserable woman, notwithstanding her connexion with Europeans, had died in heathen darkness, without one ray of light.

"It was impossible for me, with my English notions not to say my religious ones, to look on such an end of the mother of my uncle's children, without a horror which I cannot describe. My feelings were such, that I could not see my cousins during the day without anguish. I therefore kept my room, glad of the excuse which illness afforded me; and did not come out from thence till sunset, when I strolled out into the verandah, and there sitting down, had the opportunity, an opportunity which I at once desired and dreaded, of seeing the funeral-procession of the unhappy old lady.

"But though I saw this procession, I cannot describe it; my eyes were so dimmed with tears, that I could not precisely say whether the corpse was inclosed in a coffin, but I rather think that it was carried on a bedstead. The company which followed it was numerous, and they filled the air with mournful cries. I believe that there was not even a nominal Christian among them, unless Stephen was there; but I did not see him, and I never asked the question.

"As they passed the bungalow, I shrunk behind the pillars of the verandah; but as the procession proceeded I stepped forward, and stood looking on till I could see it no longer, and the last faint cry of the mourners died away. I then went back into the house, and, sitting down, laid my face, which was suffused with tears, upon my hands, as I rested my aching head on a table. How long I remained in this posture I know not; but I was at length roused by approaching steps, and looking up, saw Mr. Fitzhenry. 'Olivia,' he said, as I lifted up my sorrowful face, 'what! my Olivia! and in tears! Is your gentle nature affected by this scene?' And he came near to me, and would have taken my hand.

"I, however, drew it away, and looked at him with a mingled expression of reproach and affection; that is, if my eyes spoke the language of my heart, for I still loved him, and at the same time wanted consolation. I shall never forget his manner at that moment. 'O, Olivia!' he said, 'dear Olivia! but I am doomed to misery. Refuse me your hand; it is the only kindness you now can shew me. Say but that you really love me, and I am ruined! ruined for ever!'

"I felt my blood rising to my very forehead. 'Love you!' I said; 'say that I love you, and you are ruined for ever! No,' I added, in high disdain, 'I will not say so. No, I do not love you! I cannot love you! Base and perfidious as you are, you shall not owe your ruin to me;' and I turned from him, and rushed into my own room, and was even thankful for a few moments of forgetfulness which followed, and which were occasioned by a fainting-fit, from which I was left to recover without assistance.

"It was quite dusk when I regained my recollection; and I was some time before I remembered where I was, or what had happened. At length I gained strength to sit up on the couch, on which I had thrown myself, and was surprised to hear the sound of many voices without the door.

"I listened, and distinguished that of my uncle and Euphemia; and they seemed to be busy in comforting some one, whom, after a while, I found to be Gatty, who was sobbing, and even sometimes shrieking, in the violence of her grief, calling upon her mother, and insisting upon going to her wherever she might be.

"It seems that the party from Calcutta had arrived during my fainting, and also another party from the hills, for I recognised the voices of several of my female cousins.

"After a while, however, the violence of Gatty's grief had somewhat abated, for I heard my chamber door open, and Euphemia presently appeared. She came close up to me, embraced me, and, after we had spoken a little of the late catastrophe, informed me that she had procured permission to take Gatty home with her, pressing me, at the same time, to join the party.

"Any change at that time would have been welcome to me, and I felt the tender and soothing treatment of Euphemia particularly acceptable at that moment; and it was therefore agreed, that we should stay together during the night, and that we should all set out for her bungalow in the morning.

"She sat talking with me for some time, and then, dinner, or rather supper, being announced, she advised me to join the rest of the family, intimating that it would be less painful for me to see my uncle then than it would be some days afterwards.

"Being supported, therefore, by her, I went out, and found the whole family, with the exception of Julia, Celia, and Gatty, arranged round the table. There was a general gloom on every face, and a strong expression of anxiety on that of one or two in particular; and my uncle was smoking with great perseverance, only pausing, as I entered, to ask me how I did. The late affliction was, however, never once hinted at, but an excursion to Monghyr, which my uncle spoke of as to take place in a few days.

"When I returned to my room, Euphemia accompanied me, and assisted me in arranging the things which I was to take with me and to leave behind; after which she partook of my bed, and we spent some time in talking over the illness, death, and funeral of the poor Begum. We both wept ourselves to sleep, each having our private as well as reciprocal causes of sorrow.

"The elephant was ready at sunrise, and Euphemia and I were mounted on the howdah; while the Muglanee and Gatty followed us in a bullock-coach, the sorrow of Gatty having given way to sullenness.

"I was so ill when I arrived at Mr. Fairlie's bungalow, that I was glad to go to bed; and poor Gatty sat most of the day with her Muglanee, crying and fretting on the sitringe by my bedside. I, however, soon found the comfort of being left with a tender and pious relation rather than with an ayah; and was greatly consoled by her counsel and presence. Still, however, my short interview with Mr. Fitzhenry rested on my mind; but I was relieved when I had brought myself to tell Euphemia all that had passed between that young man and myself.

"It was impossible to do any thing with Gatty during this melancholy day; but the next day I had an opportunity of observing the various efforts of Euphemia to detach her from the native servants, to draw her to herself, and to engage her in better things. But, as I hope to have a better opportunity of shewing the fruits of the labours of this excellent young woman with her unfortunate little sister, I shall not enter into the particulars of them in this place. Suffice it to say, that, before a month was past, Euphemia had effectually won the confidence of Gatty, and the Muglanee was only allowed to attend her little mistress in the presence and under the eye of Mrs. Fairlie; a circumstance which so greatly offended the old woman, that she one day demanded her juwaub, and walked off to my uncle's, where, probably from some idea of remuneration, she was added to the number of waiting-women who crowded the apartments of my other female cousins.

"After a few days, through the effect of regular hours, perfect quiet, interesting conversation, and so much of the consolations of religion as I was capable of receiving, my health was becoming gradually better, when I was again thrown back by hearing from a visiter that Mr. Fitzhenry was married at Monghyr to my cousin Julia, tempted, as it seemed, by the large independent fortune which she possessed, and which had become necessary to him in order to restore his ruined finances.

"My first emotions on hearing this news were those of unmingled anger; but these feelings presently assumed a more tender character, and I could not help feeling sorrow for one who had thus, through his own folly, abandoned every pleasing prospect: for that he was attached to me I had no reason to doubt, neither could I doubt the corruptness of his motives in marrying my cousin.

"I remained with Euphemia till Mr. and Mrs. Fitzhenry returned to Bauglepore, and were settled in their own house.

"In the mean time, Jonathan and Josiah took up their residence on the hills, and Lizzy went to keep their house. Samuel was sent to Calcutta, to a merchant's counting-house, and Celia abode with her sister; and as Stephen and Lucretia were the only branches of the family left with their father, my uncle expressed a wish that I should return to him, and I thought it right to comply.

When I came back to my uncle's house, I found things much in the same state as they were before. I saw no difference whatever in my uncle: there was no appearance of any thing like grief for the loss of the Begum; no diminution of natural strength occasioned by sorrow--no fear of the future, or regret for the past. He was the same loud, boisterous, passionate character as ever, with certain short intervals of feeling and generosity which seemed to declare what he might have been in better society. I could never find out that he had any sensibility of religion, for he never spoke on the subject, and of morality his ideas were loose in the extreme; and although he never expressed himself in a decidedly profligate manner, or argued in favour of vice in the abstract, yet he had such a coarseness of expression, and confusion of ideas on all subjects of importance, that it was often very painful to hear him. Indeed, as time advanced, I fear he became more violent with his servants, more inflammable in his temper, and less attentive to truth, being led by passion to assert any thing which came uppermost against persons whom he disliked. He was always, however, kind to me, and lavish in the provision he made for me; for, although he would sometimes knock down a servant who had been detected in cheating him of a few pice, he was uncommonly careless in more extensive money-transactions.

I remained with my uncle, after my return to him, for about fourteen mouths; and when I had ceased to be uneasy about Mr. Fitzhenrv, I began to sink much into Indian apathy and indulgence. My religious feelings had been strengthened while I remained with Euphemia, but they became very weak and faint after I left her; and having no other object or affair on my hands in which my heart was interested, I began to love and study dress and ornament, and to seek general admiration, which is one degree worse than that of desiring the particular admiration of individuals.

"My reader will, perhaps, wish to know if I ever saw Mr. and Mrs. Fitzhenry during the period of which I am speaking. I did see them, and saw them often. My first meeting with Mr. Fitzhenry was painful in the extreme; but I was supported through it by pride, and I gloried in appealing totally regard1ess of him; while at the same moment my heart was ready to break to see him united to a woman whose cold, haughty, and selfish manner must have been utterly hateful to him.

"The indifference affected by me was returned by him; and we played our parts so well, that we probably, after a time, began to feel, in some degree, what we at first only assumed. I must, however, confess that I never was quite easy in his company.

"After his marriage with Julia, his appearance and manners began rapidly to lose their polish, his language became coarse, and his conversation less guarded; and as Julia also became slovenly in her dress, and inelegant in her person, I began to feel a disgust for her which precluded all possible ideas of envy, although she had won from me the only man in whose favour my affections had ever been engaged.

It was about twelve months after my return to my uncle's house, when I again saw Mr. Milbourne, of whom I had heard no more since the day which had succeeded the ball. He came to Bauglepore about this time, with a superb suwarree, and was much talked of for his riches and expensive way of living.

"On this occasion, he renewed his addresses, and I was by this time become so much of an Indian, as to think I should enjoy the style and magnificence in which he was able to keep me. I therefore accepted him without doing him the justice of appreciating his good qualities, of which he had many, or thinking it worth my while to enquire whether I could like him sufficiently to ensure him an affectionate wife.

"As I have been obliged to enlarge so much in many parts of my story, I shall say but little on the season of courtship previous to my settlement. It is sufficient to observe, that I married Mr. Milbourne without knowing much about him, and with no other views, than the enjoyment of splendour and independence. I was married within six weeks after I had accepted Mr. Milbourne's offer; and, having taken an affectionate leave of my uncle, and a formal one of my cousins, proceeded across the country with a splendid retinue to my husband's station, which was not very distant from Bauglepore, situated at the foot of the hills in one of the finest situations in Bengal.

"Picture to yourself a range of hills, covered with forests, inclining in a mighty sweep to the river Ganges; and a noble puckah house, flat roofed, and encircled by a colonnade of pillars, standing on a large and verdant lawn, on a gentle slope among these hills, yet so near the river, as to command a long extent of water; and the view of an ancient temple or pagoda, built on the opposite bank, amidst a cluster of the finest and most beautiful trees. Such was my husband's place of abode, and great indeed was the elevation of my mind when I first beheld this noble mansion and glorious domain; for glorious indeed it appeared to be, whether I looked up to the deep-blue azure of the sky, or the palm-crowned summits of the hills in the back-ground, or down on the shadowy ravines, the green and spacious lawns, or the wide and sparkling bosom of the far-famed Gunga. I was filled with pride, and really began now to expect that all my views of earthly happiness were beginning to be realized; for my heart had been closed to the expectations of high conjugal felicity, by the conduct of the only man who had ever engaged my romantic feelings of affection: and now my unsanctified desires shot forth in eager longings after earthly splendour, which I believed were about to be realized.

"It was sunset when we entered the gates of our domain, and I was not a little pleased, when, led by my husband through several antechambers, I at length found myself in a wide hall encircled by pillars which looked like marble, where a table of considerable length was set out with gold and silver vessels and a rich assortment of the finest cut glass and china. 'Your table,' I said, 'is set out as for a large company.' And I was impressed from the circumstance that I was likely to have much society in this place.

"'We have not one European lady here,' replied Mr. Milbourne, 'but a good society among the gentlemen; and I always have such a dinner as, if the whole station were to join us, would be quite sufficient. And, indeed, there are few days in which I have not several guests. And more than this,' he added, 'we have multitudes of visits from persons passing up and down the river from the higher provinces. Therefore, my dear Olivia, there is no danger of your finding the place solitary.'

"When people possess fine things, they like to have them seen: and I felt at that moment no other anxiety but that we might have an abundance of visiters to witness my magnificence.

"Through the ball, Mr. Milbourne led me into a beautiful range of apartments, which were appointed for myself. Here I had scarcely time to observe half the superb cabinets and other pieces of furniture which had been prepared for Mr. Milbourne's wife, probably long before he had thought of me. But my romantic feelings respecting love were over, and I was not very anxious to ascertain any further particulars respecting these matters. However, I was pleased to see several female servants of a more respectable appearance than those I had been accustomed to at my uncle's, waiting to receive my orders. Among these was an elderly woman, richly dressed in a Benares silk petticoat and many silver and even gold bangles, who seemed to have the command of the others.

I had scarcely time to change my dress before I was summoned to dinner, which was served up with every circumstance of oriental pomp; and I retired to rest at an early hour, to enjoy new dreams of an earthly paradise, gardens of roses, and years of uninterrupted pleasure.

"From that period, for many months, my life passed on in a way which has left few traces on my memory, but which had a powerful effect on my character; for I was gradually becoming, during this interval, a determinately selfish, haughty, imperious, and insolent fine lady, wholly devoted to self pleasing, and seldom indulging a warm or generous feeling; gradually sinking into the languor attendant on hot climates, and losing all vigour of feeling with the bloom and freshness I had brought from England.

"My days were spent with little variety. I generally rose before sunrise, and took the air on an elephant. When I returned, I went to bed again, and slept or dozed till eight o'clock. I then arose, and was dressed, for I never used the slightest exertion to dress myself. I then crept languidly out of my room to breakfast, which was with us a public meal. My husband was deeply engaged with his hookah, and I generally found some one or other among the young civilians who frequented our table with whom to converse, and before whom to shew off my fine-lady airs. We generally contrived to wear away our time till near ten o'clock with these visiters; after which, I returned to my own apartments, where I found employment in reading, for we had all the new publications of a lighter kind, together with assortments of fashionable dresses, twice every year from England, and in looking over and directing the exploits of four dirgees, who sat in a verandah adjoining my apartments. And thus, with the help of occasional visiters, and the calls of the medical man of the station, I contrived to wear away the time till tiffing. At tiffing, we had always some individuals calling, which prevented me suffering from the extreme taciturnity of Mr. Milbourne; and this meal being concluded, a doze on the sofa, and another peep into some novel, carried me on till it was time to dress for the evening-airing, at which time I again saw my husband, and sometimes had the honour of his company.

"It was one of the pleasures of my life, (if such absurd amusements are worthy the name,) to see the variety of equipages, horses, and elephants, which were paraded every evening, in the front of our house; among which was a handsome phaeton, a ton-jon, an elephant with his superb howdah, a gig or buggy as we called it, other carriages of inferior note, and several saddle-horses; and it was not seldom, in the cold season, that, after having surveyed all these, I have dismissed them every one, and preferred a walk in the ornamented pleasure-grounds which surrounded the house.

"A splendid dinner was ready on our return from our airing; and we not unfrequently concluded the day by playing at cards. We never supped, or went to bed early.

"Thus passed day after day, there being no notice by bell or book to remind us of the Sabbath; so, that, after a while, I almost forgot to remark its recurrence, and, in fact, became, after a few months, not precisely a heathen, (because the heathen have their forms and ordinances, however profligate and absurd,) but a creature without a God, and without a thought beyond the present state of being.

"Thus passed the first twelve mouths of my married state; at the end of which time, my affections and feelings were warmly and tenderly excited by the birth of a daughter, whom we called Mary-Anne. She was a remarkably pretty child, but, as the surgeon of the station chose to imagine I must have a very tender constitution, as soon as she was born she was placed in the bosom of a dhaye, whose infant, a fine little black baby, was consigned, in consequence, to that fate to which most of the foster-brothers and sisters of the European children in India are doomed, viz, an early death for want of the mother's care.

"About two months after my confinement, it was thought that change of air might be of advantage to me; and we accordingly embarked in a superb pinnace, on the Ganges, with our child and her nurse, and, in a few days, came to anchor under the conka bank on which my uncle's house stood.

"The old gentleman was glad to see me, but he was not in a state to regard my magnificence, or even to notice my beautiful child in her jindelly robes and superb lace caps: for many family troubles were then pressing upon him, and he looked at least ten years older than when I parted from him. I saw in a moment, when he entered the pinnace, that all was not well with him; but he acknowledged only one of his many causes of trouble, and that was, the illness of Gatty, his favourite child, whom he described as in a dying condition from an inward complaint very common in India. I afterwards, however, learned that the state of this child was by no means the only occasion of the old man's grief. Of all his other children, there was not one who gave him the least satisfaction. Jonathan, it seems, had connected himself so with the natives, in his retired situation among the hills, that he was then scarcely fit for European society. Josiah was become wholly indolent and worthless; and Samuel had returned in disgrace from Calcutta. Julia and Mr. Fitzhenry were supposed to be very unhappy in each other, and it was feared were on the brink of ruin, Mr. Fitzhenry having lately run into greater excesses than ever. Celia had made a very imprudent match; and it had been discovered that Lizzy and Stephen had embezzled a variety of their late mother's effects for their own use, having taken advantage of being left with her in her last illness.

Many of these circumstances were told to me by Mr. Frederick Fairlie, and were spoken of with anguish by Euphemia; but my uncle neither at that time nor afterwards ever alluded to them.

"I was much affected by hearing this account of Gatty, and, being told that she was with Euphemia, I left my child with her father and her attendants, and set off with my uncle to Mr. Fairlie's, for it was in the early part of the evening when our pinnace came to anchor.

"It was the cold season at this time, and the whole valley of Bauglepore appeared green and beautiful; yet I felt my spirits much depressed as I descended into it, and feelings of seriousness possessed me as I approached the house where I expected to see the dying child! My uncle, however, uttered not one word as we went on, although we were seated side by side in the howdah of his elephant.

"When we approached the house of my cousins, the same pleasing and peaceful order prevailed around it as I had always observed aforetime; there were, indeed, some servants in the verandah, but they were sitting quietly, all engaged in some employment. Within we heard no sound; and my uncle walked forward, stepping softly, and when he met Mr. Fairlie in the hall, he seemed unable to ask after his child. Mr. Fairlie, after acknowledging my presence with a benevolent smile, spoke to the father's enquiring looks, and said, 'She is easy, quite easy; and happy, very happy. She is taking a little rest; after which, as you are now come, if she is able, we mean to have the ceremony performned.'

"My uncle tittered a kind of groan; which, however, he strove to suppress; and I could not help asking, 'What ceremony?'

"'Baptism,' said Mr. Fairlie, in a low voice. 'Your shipmate, Mr. Arnot, is here, and we wish to take advantage of his presence.'

"'Mr. Arnot!' I repeated. 'Mr. Arnot here?' And I would gladly have left the house, but it was impossible; so I followed my uncle and Mr. Fairlie into the room where poor Gatty lay. It was the apartment which I had formerly occupied; and as I entered it, I saw the child, stretched on a sofa, and Euphemia sitting by her, with an infant in her lap, a daughter, nearly of the age of my own. On the face of Gatty, death was imprinted with an indelible expression; yet there was a softness, a tenderness, and a grace on her countenance, which seemed to denote a holy principle formed within her, that would ensure her triumph over the grave. At sight of her father and me, she smiled; and repeating my name, held out her feverish hand. The poor father turned to Mrs. Fairlie, who had given her infant to its nurse, and said, with a stifled groan, 'I was not prepared to see this change. When did it take place?'

"'Last night,' returned Mrs. Fairlie, in a low voice; 'but she is free from pain now; she is easy, and very happy.'

"'She has no pain?' said the father; 'so much the worse:' and, unable to repress his feelings, he walked to a window, when his groans were for a moment audible, and then suddenly they appeared to be suppressed.

"'Are you come, Olivia, to see me baptized?' said Gatty. 'This is kind;' and turning to Euphemia, 'Pray call Mr. Arnot now papa is come. Don't let us put it off any longer. O, I do so desire to be baptized, and to be made a child of God.'

"'To receive the outward and visible sign, my Gatty,' said Euphemia. 'I do trust and hope that you are already endued with the inward and spiritual grace.'

"The child took her sister's hand, and pressed it with her parched and burning lips. 'O, Euphemia! Euphemia!' she said, 'I shall love you when I am in heaven; for you, you were the first person who ever spoke to me about my Saviour, or taught me the evil of my heart.'

I was speechless with amazement while all this was passing; and could scarcely believe that this was the same child, who, two years ago, had appeared to me so utterly irreclaimable. I was not only astonished at her improved manner, and the sentiments which she uttered, but at the facility with which she expressed herself in English; and not knowing the power of the Gospel in sanctifying the heart--illuminating the understanding--beautifying the countenance--and polishing the manners--I was wholly unable to account for what I saw, and ready to suppose that all this was a dream. However, I had little time for reflection, for at that moment Mr. Arnot, my old shipmate, entered the room, dressed in his gown, and bearing on his countenance such an expression of holy awe and tenderness as he approached the bed of the dying child, as, I am well convinced, could only have been depicted on the features of one long raised above all earthly considerations. I had the decency to consider that this was not a moment for the public recognition of my old companion; I therefore endeavoured rather to elude his observation, and found it no difficult matter, as his mind seemed so wholly engaged with what he was about to do.

"Euphemia had brought a silver bason, containing water, and had placed it on a tea-poy, which she had covered with a white cloth; and all in the house, who were called Christians, were presently gathered in the apartment: among whom I observed two aged native men, with white hair, and a very wrinkled native woman, who had crept in at a remote door; this last held in her arms my cousin's infant daughter, who was in a deep sleep.

"Euphemia had sat down near the pillow of her sister's couch, and was gently raising the head of the dying child. My uncle and Frederick Fairlie stood on one side of the couch; I had placed myself near the foot; and the venerable minister had approached the head of the bed, standing near the tea-poy. After a momentary pause, he commenced the service in a solemn manner, choosing that baptismal service which is intended for such as are of riper years, and are able to answer for themselves; but shortening it, wherever it might be conveniently done, in favour of the weakness of the dying child.

"I had never felt, till that moment, any sense whatever of the importance of our baptismal service; and I was affected beyond measure at the clearness and decision with which the little girl answered all the questions proposed during the course of the service, though by no means in the words indicated by the Prayer-book, and in something of an Hindoostaunee accent and idiom, which rendered her responses still more affecting. My uncle looked sternly and determinately composed, with his arms folded, during the whole of the service, (for I ventured several times to steal an anxious look at him,) till the minister, bathing her forehead with the water, pronounced these words, 'Gertrude, I baptize thee in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost;' and was proceeding to declare her reception into the congregation of the Church of Christ, when the unhappy father turned suddenly round, quitted the room, and his sobs were audible till he had reached Mr. Fairlie's study, which was at the most distant part of the bungalow.

"Whether Mr. Arnot was himself violently affected by this circumstance, or whether he feared that the strength of the little sufferer might be exhausted, certain it was, that he hastened to the conclusion of the service. He pronounced a blessing on the newly baptized child, with a deep and tender emphasis, and hastened out of the room, leaving us with Gatty; who, drawing her sister's head down to hers by a motion of the hand, whispered that she wished to kiss the baby. Mrs. Fairlie wept at the request, and taking the sleeping infant on its fringed rosare from the arms of the old Christian woman, she brought it to the bed.

"My own infant was an exceedingly beautiful one, yet I could not but feel, I did feel, that there was a certain tender expression on the countenance of this exquisitely lovely babe of my cousin's, which exceeded all I had ever seen or conceived of infancy.

"Gatty tried to raise herself to look at the infant, and I assisted her feeble endeavours. 'Farewell, little Lucy,' said Gatty. 'Farewell, little baby. I once thought I should have lived to be your nurse, and to have taught you many things; but, dear Lucy, we shall not be parted long, we shall meet again above' (and she looked up) 'in glory, Lucy, with the Shepherd; where other lambs are gathered to his fold. One more kiss, sweet Lucy,' (for my cousin was gently drawing the babe away,) 'one more kiss, and then--then I shall be ready.'

"'Ready for what, my love?' said Euphemia.

"'To part with my darling,' returned Gatty, 'and go to my Father's house. For now,' she added, addressing me, 'he has set his signet upon me, and marked me for his own.'

"While I asked her what signet, the baby was removed, and her mind evidently began to wander. Her strength, as might be expected, seemed to fail, and she sunk back on her pillow. Being directed by Euphemia, I administered some cordial drops to her, which were near at hand; after which she nearly closed her eyes, and continued to speak in a low and confused manner for some minutes, saying, 'When was it done? Who did it? Did you do it, Olivia?'

"'Do what, my love?'

"'My mother,' she said, 'did they baptize her? Why was she laid in that horrible place?'

"'I knew not what to answer; and as Euphemia had sent away her child and was returned, I looked at her to dictate my reply. Euphemia motioned to me to make no answer, and the poor young sufferer lay still a minute, her eyes being closed; but again beginning to speak, 'It is a dark place,' she said, 'there is no light there. O, my mother!' and she sobbed, and seemed so agitated in her sleep or doze, that Euphemia spoke to her, and said, 'Gatty, dear Gatty, my beloved, what is the matter?'

"The child opened her eyes, with a distressing stare; 'That burying-ground,' she said, 'is so very, very far off. It gets further off every moment,--O, how very far!'

"'Gatty, my love,' said Euphemia, 'you are dreaming. Awake, awake, my child,' and she raised her head a little, and kept repeating her name for a minute.

"'Is it you, Euphemia?' said the child. 'Is it you, my Euphemia? But shall I never see my mother's grave again? Am I parted for ever, Euphemia, from my mother?'

"'No one has ever said so, my child,' returned Euphemia.

"'I thought you said so; and Olivia just now said so,' she added. 'Olivia, why did you speak to me about my mother?'

"'Come,' said Euphemia, 'lay your poor head on my bosom, and I will repeat a hymn to you, and you shall sleep;' and my lovely cousin stretched herself on the couch, and laid her little sisters head on her bosom, and gently soothed her till a refreshing sleep had overcome her, and she was enabled to remove her to her pillow and leave her for a few minutes to the care of the old Christian woman.

"We now withdrew from the sick chamber, and I had opportunity of giving free vent to my tears. 'O, Euphemia,' I said, 'what a scene is this!'

'It shews,' said she, 'the wonderful power of regenerating grace. It shews, my dear Olivia, that religion is no imaginary thing. It also proves that my unhappy brothers and sisters were as capable of improvement as other children, had they possessed only common advantages; and I doubt not, but that these are the reflections which now so dreadfully embitter the feelings of my unhappy father.'

"We were still within the range of the ladies' apartments, and we sat down near an open window; and on this occasion, Euphemia, in the fulness of her sad heart, told me of the marry distressing and disgraceful events which had taken place among my cousins since she had seen me. Of Mr. and Mrs. Fitzhenry, especially, she gave a most affecting account; informing me, that their union had been a truly wretched one; that Julia had tried him greatly with the violence of her temper, and that he had retaliated by open contempt; that, although frequently very gay, and even noisy in company, he was subject to intervals of the most alarming despondency, which sometimes continued for days together. She concluded by saying, 'O Olivia, you had, indeed, an escape; when, in losing your hopes of inheriting any thing from your father, you also lost that unhappy man.'

"'But might he not,' I said, and hesitated,--

"'Might he not have been happier?' added she, taking me up, 'have done better, had he married the woman he pretended, to love, and certainly would have chosen? Ah, Olivia! I have my doubts. Mr. Fitzhenry is an infidel; from this springs his heaviest afflictions. Had you married him, would you have endeavoured to lead him to God? The question is easily answered. How have you acted in this respect towards the milder, and far more amiable man, who is now your husband?'

"I could make no reply to this, but being much overcome by my feelings, began to renew my tears; and nothing more passed between Euphemia and myself, till I was summoned to attend my uncle, who waited for me on the elephant.

"I took a hasty leave of Euphemia, promising to be with her by day-dawn; and being led into the verandah by Mr. Fairlie, there met and acknowledged Mr. Arnot; who promised to call on me in a day or two, and to perform the same kind office for my little daughter as he had done for poor Gatty, and, as I afterwards found, for my cousin's little Lucy.

"When mounted in the howdah by my uncle, I felt at a loss how to address the old gentleman; not well knowing whether he would choose to make any reference to what had passed; and I was glad I desisted, for I should probably have displeased him if I had referred to it; for it appears he was ashamed of the late exposure of his feelings, and had again assumed his usual manner, giving me no very agreeable specimen of it as we returned towards the other side of the valley.

"During the first part of our short ride, he was abusing the mohaut, in language the most coarse; and, during the latter half, he amused me with some speculations he had lately made in indigo, which I should have but little understood, even had I attended to them, which was far from being the case.

"The first time I crossed this vale of Bauglepore was with little Gatty on this very elephant; and when I compared the moral state of the child at this time, with what it was then; and the state of my uncle's family with what it then was; when I considered also, that I myself, in point of religion, was so much deteriorated and fallen, I was agitated with such a variety of feelings as I am unable to describe.

"The sun had just sunk beneath the horizon; and, as we were ascending towards my uncle's bungalow, I perceived that Mr. Milbourne had erected a large tent on the lawn, just opposite the windows of the room where I had formerly sat. Groups of servants were scattered in all directions; and the verandah, as we approached, seemed full of company.

'We shan't want visiters to-night, it seems,' exclaimed my uncle; adding some other remark, with an oath, which I did not exactly hear; and as the next minute brought us to the front of the bungalow, I was assisted front my lofty situation by Mr. Milbourne, who ran before the rest of the party to tell me that the child was well, and in the tent with her nurse. To the tent, therefore, I hastened, and having kissed my baby, and changed my dress, for my toilet was all prepared as by magic, I presently returned to the bungalow, where dinner was waiting. There I found, among other company, Julia and Mr. Fitzhenry; my two favourites, Lizzy and Stephen; the two young men from the hills; and Mr. and Mrs. Ellison. The table, as usual, was groaning with plate, china, and immense joints of meat; and I saw not on any one countenance, excepting that of my uncle, the expression of the smallest anxiety respecting Gatty.

"When I first entered the hall, the blaze of lights and number of voices seemed to confuse me; and I scarcely knew whom I addressed, or whose enquiries I answered. Neither was I aware near whom my uncle had placed me at dinner, till I looked up, and saw Mr. Fitzhenry on my left hand, and his disagreeable wife nearly opposite to me. I could not well turn and look at Mr. Fitzhenry who was so near to me; but I instantly discovered that Julia had become lusty, and had entirely lost her shape, and all the delicacy of her skin, and appeared so old, that I could scarcely believe her to be the same young person whom I knew when I first came to Bauglepore. This mystery was, however, very soon explained to me, when I saw her swallowing one bottle of strong beer after another; and observed a hookah burdaur gently insinuating the silver mouth-piece of a hookah under the arm of his mistress's chair between the courses. But before I had time to make all these observations, the lady addressed me several times in one of those languid tones which are adopted at times by those persons who know that they must not always trust their natural voices. 'I am glad to see you look so well, Olivia,' she said, 'and I hope we shall soon have the pleasure of your company to dinner with us.' All of which was very well; but when she afterwards added, 'I am sorry you found poor Gatty no better,' in the same unmeaning and unvaried tone, I felt my indignation rise, and I could not resist the temptation of saying, 'I did expect to find you with your sister, Mrs. Fitzhenry; but I suppose you had some other engagement.'

'I am glad to see you have not lost your fine flow of spirits, cousin Olivia--Mrs. Milbourne I mean,' said Stephen, whom I had not before much regarded, as he sat near the bottom of the table; adding, as he turned to my husband, 'Mr. Milbourne, don't you find that my cousin has charming spirits? She does not appear to have lost them in the jungles.'

"'Jungles!' I repeated. 'Why you are not comparing our situation to yours among the hills, Stephen? We are, perhaps, not quite so much out of the world as you suppose.'

"Much more discourse of this desultory kind took place, during which, my uncle and Mr. Fitzhenry were silent; till at length some one suggested another subject, by asking how the race had been decided. This was a race at Monghyr, which had excited considerable interest among the neighbouring gentlemen; and in reply to this question many remarks were made, many technical terms were used, with many profane oaths; and Mr. Fitzhenry, bursting forth with a vehemence which made me drop my knife and fork, and look directly in his face, displayed an interest in the subject, which betrayed him, and evinced his increased profligacy. He gave us the whole of the business as it had been arranged, and swore at the successful bettors; asserting there had been foul play, and that every man was a liar who should maintain the contrary; and that he himself was at least a hundred rupees out of pocket by the roguery which had been practised the day before.

"My uncle, on his son-in-law's representation, took up the matter with equal warmth, and the discussion brought us to the end of the second course; the gentlemen in the mean time inflaming their zeal with strong beer, which disappeared, bottle after bottle, with amazing expedition. The subject was given up while the servants were removing the table-cloth; and as soon as possible afterwards, being the burree beebee of the night, I moved for an adjournment, and took the ladies into my tent to see my baby.

During this violent debate, I had, however, an opportunity of surveying the man whom I had once so much preferred, with cool and unimpassioned judgment; and I wondered how he ever could have been the object of my preference. But, surely, he was strangely altered; and, like the ghost in Leonora, he seemed but the ghastly resemblance of his former self. His features appeared larger, as the flesh had shrunk from them; his eyes more wild, and full; his dress, though still fashionable, disordered and outreé; and I doubt not, if I had obtained him as the rose of my choice, I should, indeed, have grasped a thorn, which would have pierced me to the quick.

"My sleep was by no means easy during the night. It was ten o'clock when I withdrew to my tent; and, pretending fatigue, I contrived to get rid of the ladies, and did not return to the bungalow. But although I went to bed, the agitation of my mind prevented me front sleeping; and when Mr. Milbourne came, about midnight, he did not diminish my uneasiness by informing me that the party were not yet dispersed, and that the gentlemen were occupied in play. 'And my uncle?' I said.

"'Your uncle I left at his hookah and his brandy-and-water--him, and that odious woman, his daughter, occupied in the same way.'

"'Odious woman!' I repeated; for Mr. Milbourne was not accustomed to use such expressions.

"'Yes,' he replied, 'odious woman! with her shawls, and her hoohah, and her taunting and reproachful manner!'

"'And poor Gatty,' I said, 'is she quite forgotten?'

"'The best thing you can wish for Gatty,' he replied, 'if there is any good in her, is that she may die, and be out of the way of the whole family; for, with the exception of your charming cousin Euphemia, they are altogether a despicable set.'

"As I before said, I slept but little; and by day-dawn, I rose, and went in my palanquin to Mr. Fairlie's.

"Early as it was, I found my uncle's elephant in the compound; and I augured the worst from the silence of the servants. The doors of the bungalow were open: I walked in: there was a deep silence; and I saw no one till I entered the room where I had seen Gatty the day before. I had arrived at the moment in which all the anxious friends of the beloved child were waiting her last sigh; and such a scene it was as I never can forget. Euphemia was sitting by her pillow, holding a smelling-bottle in her hand, her tears dropping fast from her eyes; the Christian native female was kneeling at the foot of the bed; Frederick Fairlie stood with his arms folded, tenderness seeming to struggle on his fine features with manly firmness. Near him was my uncle, who had been up all night; his grey hairs were disordered, his wrinkles deepened, his iron features shewing, as it were, as if broken up, resembling a mighty rock blasted with the fire of heaven; his eyes were, however, fixed on his child, and he seemed to await the last expected sigh or struggle, as the commencement of heavy affliction and protracted sorrow. The child herself lay stretched upon her back without motion, and apparently without breath; yet it was thought she was not dead, and another gasp, another dying groan, was expected, and expected with dread. No one addressed me as I entered, though all saw me, and I joined the expecting group without daring to hazard a question. Another and another moment passed: at length a slight, a very slight, convulsion agitated the marble features of the child; her mouth opened, she uttered a plaintive and indistinct cry, gently sighed, and escaped for ever from all earthly troubles.

"It was now evident to all that she was no more. My uncle pressed his hips on hers, uttered a groan, infinitely more bitter than that by which the happy little Gatty had resigned her redeemed soul, and rushed out of the room, followed by Mr. Fairlie; while I led the weeping Euphemia into another apartment, though not till she had repeatedly kissed the cold remains of the child of her tenderest affections.

"I spent several sad hours with Euphemia during that morning, but saw no more of my uncle, who did not return till near the hour appointed for the poor child's funeral; for in India it is necessary to expedite these things in a manner truly shocking to our European feelings.

"When I returned to our tent, I found Mr. Milbourne prepared to attend the ceremony; and when he had left me, I spent the interval of his absence in tears.

"Mr. Milbourne did not return till eight o'clock; and then advised me, as I was tolerably calm, to join my uncle's family at supper. 'The old gentleman is composed,' he said, 'and was so during the whole of the sad ceremony; and the longer you delay seeing him, the more affecting will the interview be to both.'

"There was much reason in this; I therefore acquiesced, though feeling inexpressibly low, and accompanied Mr. Milbourne to the supper-table in the bungalow.

"I had prepared myself to expect a burst of feeling on the part of my uncle when he first saw me, but I was mistaken in this expectation. He was sitting in his usual place, at the head of the table, when I came in, and only bowed, or rather slightly nodded, without taking the mouth-piece of his hookah from his mouth. I did not, however, like his appearance; there was a depth of sorrow in his countenance, which spoke more of despair than of tender grief; he looked at least twenty years older than when I first knew him; and there was a heaviness in his eyes, which made me almost fear that he had either drunk or smoked some stupifying drug, to deaden his feelings. Lizzy and Stephen were the only persons of the family who were present, besides my uncle. They were all, as well as myself and Mr. Milbourne, in mourning; and the black, if possible, made Lizzy's sallow complexion and negro features more ugly than ever. I also recognised that in the faces of this brother and sister which made me regard them with increased aversion: this was an expression of satisfaction, endeavoured to be concealed by a sanctified or hypocritical air of sorrow.

"Such was the party assembled round that table, where once I had seen a large, a gay, and numerous assembly of sons and daughters; and it was impossible for me to appear more than composed; cheerful I could not be, neither did I venture to speak.

"While we went through the form of supping, Mr. Milbourne exerted himself in a manner which made me admire his kindness: though a man of very few words, he kept up a tolerably animated, though serious, conversation with Stephen, and tried to bring forward those topics which generally possessed the most interest with my uncle. The old gentleman, in consequence, spoke once or twice; but not one word was said which bore reference to the events of the day.

"At length the table was uncovered, and my uncle being supplied with brandy-and-water, we were beginning to talk ourselves into somewhat greater tranquillity, when suddenly we saw torches on the lawn, and heard the trampling of a horse. In a minute these were arrived at the door of the house, and a moment afterwards, Mr. Fitzhenry, in the same dress in which he attended the funeral, entered the hall. Never shall I forget his appearance, nor the ghastly deadly paleness of his face; he scarcely noticed any of us who sat round the table, but addressing my uncle, begged a moment's conversation with him.

"'What! to-night?' replied my uncle, fretfully.

"'Yes,' said Mr. Fitzhenry, 'my business will admit of no delay. I must speak with you, and alone; time presses, it must be now.'

"My uncle rose, and walked with him into his study, which was a small room at the bottom of the hall, and having two doors opening into it, as well as four others, two of which opened to the outer verandah, and two into the interior of the house. All of these doors were, however, fastened, with the exception of one of the inner ones; nevertheless, as their pannels were all made to open and shut like Venetian blinds, it was very easy to hear without what was said within by any person speaking tolerably loud.

"Nothing was said by us who were left in the hall till we heard the door of the study shut after my uncle and his hopeful son-in-law, though our eyes, no doubt, expressed many things. At length, Stephen broke the silence, exclaiming, though in a low voice which he contrived should not be heard within, 'That fellow has been at some of his pranks again, as sure as I am alive.'

"'What pranks?' said I.

"'Swindling of some sort,' returned Stephen, carelessly, and wholly forgetting the character of the mourner which he had assumed during the former part of the evening. 'If that fellow dies a natural death, my name is not Stephen.'

"'What do you mean?' asked Mr. Milbourne.

"'Why, I mean that he will be hanged before he is many years older; and ought to have been hanged months ago, if he had had his due.'

"'Explain yourself, Sir,' said Mr. Milbourne: 'I cannot understand what you mean. I always supposed Fitzhenry to be a gentleman.'

"'A gentleman!' replied Stephen; 'a pretty sort of a gentleman: there are many such gentlemen hanged in England I take it every year, and no great matter either; but I wish some one had tucked him up before he had made acquaintance with this house, and won our young ladies' hearts with his milk-and-water face.'

"No one, I believe, saw the impertinent look which Stephen gave me as he uttered these words, and I thought it best not to take the insult to myself; and, indeed, I had not much time to think of myself, for I was really anxious to know what charges Stephen had to bring against this unhappy man, and to hearken to the answers which he gave to Mr. Milbourne's enquiries, who asked him on what grounds he supposed his brother-in-law not worthy of the name of gentleman.

"'On what grounds?' returned Stephen. 'In the first place, because he never pays his debts;--in the second, because he will get money on any pretence from every one he knows;--and in the third place, because he makes the worst use of whatever sums he can obtain: and if,' added he, 'he were content with robbing all those fools who choose to trust him, well and good; but he is suspected of having embezzled some public money with which he has been entrusted; and I dare venture to swear that this is the business which has brought him here to-night, and that he is in danger, at this moment, of being brought to public shame.'

"'O, Stephen!' I exclaimed, observing his light and triumphant manner, 'and is there no hope of saving this unhappy man?'

"A look of cool and familiar insolence was all that I got in reply from Stephen, who, addressing Mr. Milbourne, said, 'It's wonderful to me that Fitzhenry has never applied to you for money, knowing, as he does, the interest he has in your family.'

"Mr. Milbourne changed colour as Stephen spoke, and was preparing an answer, I know not to what effect, when the other interrupted him with a shrill whistle; and, as if electrified with some new idea, exclaimed, 'By Jupiter, that's rare! And how much did he come over you for, Milbourne?'

"'What do you mean, Stephen?' I said, being wholly out of patience with him.

"'Why, don't you apprehend the thing, cousin Olivia?' he answered. 'Where's your wit now? or perhaps you don't choose to understand. Can't you see that your husband has been bit? If Fitzhenry has not obtained a good round sum from Milbourne, I am not sitting here, and my name is not Stephen.'

"'I have never acknowledged any such thing,' said Mr. Milbourne.

"'I don't say you have,' returned Stephen, 'neither need you; but I should like to know to what extent you came down with the rupees: for as sure as I am here, you will never see one of them again as long as you live.'

"'I shall have all I expect to receive,' returned Mr. Milbourne, calmly; 'and, therefore, my good fellow, you may make yourself easy on that head.'

"'Easy!' repeated Stephen, 'I am not uneasy about any thing of the sort; if you choose to throw your money to the dogs, it's no business of mine. But hark! how low they speak there within! they are hatching no good, I am sure. But I will see what it all means;' and getting up quietly, he stole softly out into the verandah, leaving us to look at each other, for we could none of us venture to utter what was in our minds.

"A few minutes had passed in silence, when he came back again, stepping softly, and drawing close to the table, 'They are at it, quiet as they are; they are fairly in for it. The old man, however, is as steady as Jagara rock, and the other as mad as a wild boar; though he mutters so confoundedly, he'll burst out by and by. But I'll wager my father against him; he'll not come over him. The old lad can be as steady as--as, no matter what,' he added, looking at me, 'I won't say bad words before ladies; but if Fitzhenry squeezes one rupee out of him, I don't stand here.'

"I was agitated all this time with rage against Stephen, and should probably have broken out, had he not, after having given us this renewed specimen of his brutality, crept out again to his place of observation in the verandah. My anger, however, which was on the point of bursting on Stephen, now broke out on Lizzy, and I remarked, that I wondered how she could sit quietly and hear her brother speak so unfeelingly of her sister's husband, and so disrespectfully of her father.

"It was one of the peculiarities of this young woman, that she never, on any occasion, indulged any expression of irritated feeling in the presence of her equals. How she acted with her inferiors I never asked, but with me she ever preserved a cold, unmoved manner, which occasioned me to detest her more than I should otherwise have done; for I had no degree of charity towards her, and, indeed, never wished to have any.

"In answer to my accusation, she replied, in her usual indifferent manner, that she had no influence over her brother, and that he must do what he pleased. I probably might have added more, had not the voices in the next room suddenly become louder, Stephen at the same time re-appearing. ''Tis as I thought, Milbourne,' said the young man, ''tis about the government-money; and if Fitzhenry can't raise the sum, he will be dished, and that in a few hours. But the old boy is firm; he stands his ground to a miracle.'

"The contention within now became fiercer, and I heard my uncle say, 'I am not to be frightened, Sir;' and I begged Mr. Milbourne to interfere.

"'Put your pistols down, Sir,' said my uncle; 'don't play off these things on me.'

"Mr. Fitzhenry's voice was heard in reply, but he spoke thickly, and we could not distinguish what he said. My uncle answered again, and then both spoke together; and there was a sound as of a scuffle. Mr. Milbourne and Stephen ran round to the door which was used as a communication to this room, and I, in my agitation, followed. The door was fastened within; and, as they were trying to burst it open, we heard the report of a pistol, followed by a heavy groan and the sound of some great weight falling on the floor: at the same moment the door gave way, and, by the light of the lamp upon the table, I saw my uncle standing upright, but of a ghastly paleness, and the unfortunate Fitzhenry struggling on the floor.

"Never, never shall I forget that awful moment, nor that inundation of thought, which bore me, in an instant, through every scene in which I had, during my early residence in India, been in the company of the miserable man whose dying struggles I then beheld.

"Years have passed since then, but they have scarcely weakened the impression of that horrid moment. I never think of that dreadful scene without a renewal of the first appalling feelings.

"Mr. Milbourne and Stephen rushed into the room the moment the door gave way, and I was following them, when I felt myself seized by some one, and turning, half fainting, half frantic, to ascertain by whom I was thus held, I found myself in the arms of Frederick Fairlie, who forced me from the scene of horror, and delivered me to my own servants, who bearing me to my tent, I was so happy as to lose all recollection, for a time, in a long fainting-fit.

"It was long after midnight when Mr. Milbourne came to me. I asked him no questions, and there was no need, for I knew that he would have told me had poor Fitzhenry still lived, he would have had pleasure in so doing; but he had no communication of this kind to make; and when he suggested to me that it would be best for us to return home, I fully understood that the event, with regard to Mr. Fitzhenry, was fatal.

"Such is the expedition with which things of this kind are managed in India, that we were in our pinnace, and had already lost sight of the conka rock, on which my uncle's house stood, before seven o'clock the next morning; and having moved to that distance which wholly changed the scene, halted for the day, at the foot of a flight of stone steps, on the summit of which was a large Brahminee fig-tree, and an old pagoda, in order to give the remainder of our servants, whom we had left behind us to bring away our baggage and to prepare provision, sufficient time to join us.

"Never shall I forget that long sad day which we spent under that fig-tree--never shall I forget my bitter reflections at that period. How did my thoughts attach themselves to what I fancied was passing at Bauglepore! and when Mr. Milbourne, towards evening, slipped away, and was absent for a few hours, I too well knew the reason of this absence, and my imagination faithfully presented the whole scene of the funeral of the unhappy self-destroyer.

"Thus ended this miserable visit to Bauglepore; and thus closed the life of the unhappy man to whom I had once so fondly attached myself. Here, indeed, were many thorns, but the roses, where were they? Yet there were mercies for me hid beneath these frowning providences. I, however, realized them not at that time; I saw only the horrors which surrounded me; and, refusing to draw the moral from these events, I sunk into a state of deep dejection, from which I did not recover for many months.

"I asked no questions respecting what had passed, during the day, at Bauglepore when Mr. Milbourne returned; nor, indeed, did I ever ask where, and in what way, poor Fitzhenry had been buried, or what impression his death had made.

"Our progress to our station was slow, and I received every indulgence from Mr. Milbourne, who certainly rendered himself every day more worthy of my affection, though I did not yield him the return he deserved.

"I took little delight in the splendours of my situation when I arrived again at my own house; and, as I before said, remained in a very low and distressing state for some months; during which period, I had, at times, strong impressions of the importance of religion, though I did not disclose the fact even to my husband. At the end of about ten months after my return from my miserable visit to Bauglepore, I was considerably relieved in my spirits, and an entire new turn given to my thoughts, by the birth of a son. Ah! my little Henry! my dear boy! how does memory cling to thee, my child, my lovely one! But I will not anticipate the sad end of my baby. Thy little tale, sad at least to thy mother, though joyful to thee, must in its course too soon be told.

"O, what a ferment did I excite on the joyful occasion of the birth of my son! to what expence did I go for lace, and corals, and rows of pearls, to put round his neck! with what a number of attendants did I provide him! My melancholy thoughts were now all fled, or if they sometimes returned for a moment, the smiles of my boy presently banished them. With my gaiety of heart, I again assumed my supercilious airs and love of pomp; and it was about this time that, having some very valuable seeds and plants sent me from China and the Indian Archipelago, I was determined to possess a real, not a figurative, garden of perfumes; and accordingly caused a finely situated piece of ground, in a sheltered situation, at no great distance from our house, to be encompassed with a square puckah wall, in which I assembled all that I could command of the rare and exquisite in the vegetable kingdom. The necessity of having a wall round my garden as a defence from wild animals, and the still more mischievous inhabitants of the neighbouring bazar, somewhat, indeed, troubled me, because it compelled me to exclude from my garden a view of the fine forest and mountain scenery which the situation afforded. It was, however, some consolation to find that, when the wall was built, some of the higher points of the hills were still visible above it, richly decorated with their thickets of latamar, their fan-like palms, their wide spreading fig-trees, the tamarind, the pepul, and cotton trees, with a thousand others of which I never even took the trouble to learn the names. To hide the wall, and decorate the fore-ground, was, therefore, all I had to do; and this was soon accomplished by the means of the magnolia, the loquot, the campion, with its silver bells, amid a variety of those innumerable beautiful plants, with which the tropical regions so generally abound. It was no difficult matter to procure water for my garden from a neighbouring stream on the hills, and from several wells which we caused to be dug; and when the whole ground was laid out by my directions, and all the beautiful flowers were arranged in their due order, the whole was completed by a small pavilion, or dome, which was erected in the centre of the square; and which, being open on all sides, commanded a view of the garden in every direction.

"During one cold season I took great pleasure in my garden, frequently visiting it, and enjoying the fragrance of the flowers, and the presence of my children; and if there was nothing particularly praiseworthy in this amusement, it was at least by no means a blameable one; excepting that the effect was not what it ought to have been: for instead of these beauties filling me with gratitude to God, they served rather to elate me more and more, and to remove me further from him.

"Prosperity was not good for me; and it was necessary, in order to my salvation, that I should find thorns among my roses, or that I should be appointed to suffer temporary afflictions, that I might be delivered from greater evils. But my reader may perhaps wish to know something of what was passing at Bauglepore all this time.

"I had frequent letters from Euphemia, all of which were of a melancholy cast. Her father she described as being much in the state in which I had seen him during the first day of my visit at Bauglepore, though he seldom referred to any afflictive circumstances. Julia, she informed me, had put on mourning for her husband, but had shewn few other tokens of sorrow; she had returned to her father's immediately on her becoming a widow; but, soon afterwards going down to Calcutta, had there married an old surgeon, who had nothing whatever to recommend him but his rupees, and she was living with him in considerable style near the Lal bazar. Of her brothers, Euphemia said little in any of her letters. Celia she mentioned as living in some of the wild regions near the Sunderbunds, having a rapidly increasing family, and a husband who, depending only on some indigo plantations, was sometimes supposed to be worth money, and sometimes not to be in possession of a single pice. Lizzy and Lucretia, she observed, were still at home; but as she never said more than this respecting them, I supposed that she had nothing very agreeable to make known.

"Respecting her own family, she spoke of her little Lucy as being a very delicate child, that she trembled for her life; and expressed her regret, though with submission to the Divine will, that it was not practicable for them to remove from a country which had been so fatal to her children. Upon the whole, Euphemia's letters were of an extremely melancholy kind; though there was an air of piety diffused over these short epistles which diminished their gloom, and, even to my unsanctified imagination, seemed to suggest, that all would work together for good in the end for the humble and patient writer of them.

"It was soon after receiving one of these letters from Euphemia, that new fuel was added to my vanity, by a circumstance which I would now mention, and which is only worthy of notice from the effect it had on my mind. A king's regiment was, we heard, passing up the river in boats to the higher provinces; the colonel of this regiment had formerly been known to Mr. Milbourne, and my husband, on this occasion, resolved to entertain the officers and ladies, for two or three days, if he could persuade them to remain so long in our neighbourhood. We accordingly sent down an invitation to meet them by the way; and our invitation being accepted, and the whole fleet coming to anchor at the foot of the hill on which our house stood, we spent three of the gayest and most dissipated days I had ever experienced. We gave three public breakfasts, three dinners, and three balls, not allowing our entertainments of any kind to be abridged by the Sunday which intervened between our first and last day; and at the end of the period I, for once, was really glad of a cessation of display, gaiety, and compliments. The flatteries, however, which I received at this time, not only from our male visiters, but from the officers' ladies who were of our party, quite completed my own good opinion of myself, and of the various elegancies and distinctions of my situation; and, from that time, if possible, I became more determinately vain than ever.

"When my beloved boy was about a year old, I had a daughter, whom I called Lucy; and, as soon afterwards as possible, another daughter, to whom we gave the name of Amelia.

"I never was so unfeeling and hardened as not to love my children, although they were all nursed by black women; but there was, I fear, much of pride and vanity mingled with my more tender feelings, and I was more anxious respecting their external appearance than the qualities of their minds, or their spiritual welfare.

"And now I am come to that crisis in which my earthly paradise was at its highest bloom, and shed its sweetest fragrance. I had yet to learn the perishable nature of all enjoyments which depend on the creature; and I was soon to be made to feel those thorns which so frequently lie concealed beneath the sweetest flowers. Yet a little while, however, the storm was withheld, and I was suffered to live even without apprehension.

"My Amelia was only a few months old when I received a letter from Mr. Fairlie, informing me of the death of his little Lucy; and very shortly afterwards I had another communication from the same quarter, informing me that Euphemia had another daughter, that it was a fine child, and that the poor mother received this gift from heaven as a token of comfort. A third letter, which arrived the next day from the same quarter, in the hand-writing of Mr. Fairlie, however, surprised and alarmed me; and I opened it with the expectation of bad news, but found, with pleasure, that it contained very desirable information.

"Mr. Fairlie, it seems, by the death of an uncle, had become the possessor of a handsome property, and resolved to return immediately to Europe, with his wife and child. This letter also informed me, that Euphemia intended to visit me, with her baby, before she left India; and it contained a kind offer from this excellent woman, to undertake the charge of one or all of my children, to convey them to England.

"Mr. Milbourne would gladly have accepted this offer for Mary-Anne and Henry, but I would not hear of it; while I expressed the greatest pleasure in the prospect of seeing Euphemia before her departure.

"Euphemia and Mr. Fairlie, with their baby, accordingly came to us, and shewed us much affection: but whether I was changed, or Euphemia, or both of us; whether my high and self-satisfied condition of mind might be particularly ill suited to her feelings, which were considerably depressed; or whether she was become more heavenly minded, and I much more the reverse than formerly, I know not: but certain it was, that we never seemed less congenial to each other; and though I was somewhat affected when she left us, yet I was not sorry to get rid of her.

"I can, however, never forget that I had the cruelty at that time, notwithstanding her recent loss, to bring my children often before her; and to speak with pride in her presence of their healthy state, their beauty, and the delight I had in seeing them all before me. There was no tenderness in this display; it was pride, and only pride, which led me to make it. Euphemia, however, at length left me, and I saw her no more in India.

"A few months after her departure, my old friend Mr. Arnot, who was going up the country, called upon us, and stayed a few days. We took this occasion to have our four children baptized; and the good man gave them his benediction. On the day which succeeded that of the baptism, I took occasion to shew Mr. Arnot my garden; and while we were walking among its agreeable shades, I had a conversation with him which I never shall forget.

"As my story has run to a considerable length, I shall not now repeat this conversation; but shall only observe, that he gave me many earnest cautions against resting in earthly happiness; intimating that prosperity was not unfrequently productive of moral evil, and that under misfortunes real good was often communicated. Neither did this good man fail to point out to me, that sin was the only evil from which we ought to pray to be delivered; 'because,' observed this Christian teacher, 'he that is delivered from the punishment of sin by faith in Christ, and from the power of sin by the influences of the Holy Spirit, is as sure of true happiness as he is of the dissolution of his body.'

"I heard and remembered all that Mr. Arnot said to me at that time; but as his reasoning made me uneasy, I did what I could to forget it, and succeeded but too well for a time. I was scarcely less pleased at being relieved from Mr. Arnot's company than I had been by the departure of Euphemia; and was returning to my own mode of self-pleasing when these excellent persons were gone; but, suddenly, I was alarmed by a certain appearance of languor in my little son, who, after a very short but severe illness, expired in my arms, being little more than two years and a half old.

"I was, at first, almost frantic at the loss of this child. I could scarcely believe that my darling son was no more: I could hardly be induced to part with his cold remains; and, indeed, I actually refused so to do, till my kind husband consented that the pavilion in the garden of roses should be his tomb.

"It was very hot weather, the most sultry season I ever remember in India, when my darling died; and soon after his death Mary-Anne was taken ill in the same way; and, although she recovered, the complaint left her in such a state of languor, that our medical attendant feared she would never be well in India; and he therefore urged us to send her home the next cold season. It was now vain to wish we had taken Euphemia's offer, or to fancy that our lovely Henry might, perhaps, have been saved, had he been sent some months before from India.

"We now heard of a lady who was going to Europe, to whom we entrusted our child to avoid the dreadful alternative of her death. She could only, however, undertake to see her safely lodged with her friends in England; and as I had no other choice, I was glad to have such a person as Euphemia with whom she might be placed at her journey's end.

"It was a severe trial to me to part with my little Mary-Anne, who was still an infant: but heavier trials awaited me. During the next eighteen months, we lost our two younger daughters by fevers; and thus, within six years, I had become the mother of four children and lost them all--lost to all intents and purposes, as far as I was concerned at that time; for half the globe was between me and my only surviving child, and a gulf, impassable to an infidel mother, (such as I then was,) existed between me and the little redeemed ones I had once called my own.

"When my last baby, my lovely and beloved Amelia, died, it seemed to me as if the house in which I dwelt had been cleared, as to all I loved and cherished, as with the besom of destruction.

"There was now no longer any sound of infant merriment within our halls--no tender voices calling mamma--no little baby to look at when I retired to rest and awoke in the morning--no, all, all was still! all gloomy in the children's rooms! The pavilion in my garden of roses had supplied the burying-place of our three children, and the remembrance of them was piercing to my heart.

"My reader will not wonder to hear that those dreadfully gloomy feelings which had seized me after the awful death of Mr. Fitzhenry, again took possession of me after my house had become thus desolate. My grief, which had at first been violent, presently changed into a kind of sullen resentment and rebellion against the divine will; in which state I rejected every suggestion of comfort from religion, and every attempt which my husband made to console me; though, after a time, I returned to my usual mode of spending my time, saw company as usual, devoted much time to dress, and grew fond of cards, as a means of passing a weary hour.

"My lovely Amelia had been dead several months; when, one morning while we were at breakfast, my good old friend Mr. Arnot, who was going down to the presidency by water, unexpectedly walked into the house. I was much affected at the sight of him, remembering how proudly I had paraded my babes before him, and how I had despised the providence of God. The good man, however, felt with me, and for me; and his silent yet deep commiseration was a solace to my heart.

"Being earnestly pressed by Mr. Milbourne and me, he promised to give us all the time he could spare; and actually remained with us more than a week. During that period he used every means in his power to bring me into a right state of mind; but though I heard and remembered all he said, at least the tendency of it, pride and rebellion, rebellion against the Most High, prevented me from profiting, at that time, by his pious instruction. Mr. Milbourne, however, considered attentively every word that he said; though I did not, at that period, know what effect this suitable discourse produced on his mind.

"In the evening before this good man's departure, I took him to the tomb of my children, Mr. Milbourne accompanying us; and there I broke forth in such vehement expressions of unsanctified grief, as probably shewed but too well how unavailing all his labours with me had hitherto been. He allowed me, however, to exhaust this paroxysm of sorrow; and then taking his text, as it were, from the marble sarcophagi, beneath the dome near which we were standing, he gave such a description of the whole system of Christianity, and of the efforts (if such a term may be allowed me) of the Almighty to deliver his people from all evil, as might have softened the most obdurate, though it failed in softening my heart, which was harder than stone.

"The delivery of souls from the power of sin and Satan, consistent with justice, was, he said, the object of the counsels of the Most High; and inasmuch as man, in adult age, too often resists the divine will, the security of thousands, and tens of thousands, millions, and tens of millions, of the human race, is effected by the death of infants, who, departing this life without actual sin, are made acceptable unto God by an interest in Christ, and are thus made heirs of glory after a short and peaceful course, being regenerated and sanctified in their feelings and affections; and thus, without the experience of the bitterness of sin, being admitted into glory.

"From hence he drew this result, that parents, though bereaved, ought not to mourn as those without hope: and he was proceeding to add more on this subject, when, overcome with passion, which struggled violently against conviction, I stepped from the dome, and walked to some little distance, where, sitting down on a garden-chair which offered itself, I wept for a considerable time. At length, looking towards the dome, I saw the two gentlemen still there; my husband leaning, in a deeply thoughtful attitude, on his son's tomb, and Mr. Arnot addressing him with great earnestness. This conversation lasted till the dusk of the evening suddenly coming on, the twilight being short in the tropical countries, we were compelled to return to the house.

"The next day the excellent Mr. Arnot left us; but not till he had effected one point with my husband against my inclinations. This concerned our little Mary-Anne, whom I intended to place in a very fashionable boarding-school in London; but Mr. Arnot had interest sufficient to persuade her father to insist upon her being left with Euphemia, of whom, it seems, he had the highest opinion which one human being could possibly have of another.

"From the departure of Mr. Arnot for as much as twelve years, I can scarcely say that there was a single event of my life worth recording. I never had another child; and as I had resisted religious convictions previous to the visit of the good man, and during its continuance, it seems that the Almighty afterwards left me to myself, and thus permitted me to prove my own schemes of happiness for many years.

"Having nothing to call me out during this period, I became excessively self-indulgent.

"My reader will not, I hope, throw my narrative down with disgust, if I speak the truth, and confess, that though I did not actually get intoxicated, yet, that every day I took a quantity of strong beer and claret; so that, in a short time, my personal appearance was much more portly.

"After a while, falling into the society of one or two country-born ladies, I was tempted to try the hookah, and very soon used it, without any hesitation, before the largest company. Dress and ornament now began to be more my delight than ever; and I was much gratified in receiving shawls, and other presents, from the natives who had business with my husband, although there was some deduction from this gratification by finding it necessary to conceal these presents from Mr. Milbourne.

"In the mean time, as I contracted increasingly these habits, I became more and more alienated from my husband. Mr. Milbourne was always a reserved character, and a man of few words; and, in proportion as he began to think and act more as a Christian, he became more reserved, probably from the circumstance of having no one who could sympathize with him.

"No person who lives in Europe can have an idea of the solitary and isolated feelings of Europeans in some situations in India. It is astonishing how heavily time often passes in these places, and what a sameness and dullness it leaves on the mind. Here are no impressions arising from revolving months and seasons as in higher latitudes; no periods in which the trees lose all their leaves; when the days become short, the windows are closed, and the pleasures of the family circle are realized round the cheerful fire; no seasons in which the heart is cheered by the revival of nature, and the renewed bloom of fields and gardens;--but every thing in these warmer regions wears an unchanging aspect, and even public news is old and stale before it reaches the ear. There is no enjoyment of rural walks and rural scenery, or even of public pleasures, or the stir of town life; no sound of bells to mark the Sabbath; and even every book must be far-fetched and dearly purchased.

"It requires the energy of a noble mind, indeed, to retain an active spirit in regions so depressive both to the bodily and intellectual powers; and, perhaps, without religion, there are very few instances in which India has not utterly destroyed all vigour of mind in persons who have long resided in its more retired situations.

"But I am lost in the contemplation of those years in which I was so completely sunk, so entirely degraded by sin, that I was insensible to all spiritual matters, and as utterly devoid of all power of raising myself from this sleep of death, as he who lies under the influence of an apoplexy to rise and exert himself.

"This was, undoubtedly, the most dangerous state into which I had ever fallen; and had I been left in this state to my dying hour, I had assuredly perished without the smallest hope.

"Twelve long and dreary years had passed since the loss of my Amelia; and I was looking forward to the return of my Mary-Anne to India, where I expected and hoped that she would form an advantageous union, (for I had been informed that she was a remarkably handsome girl,) when Mr. Milbourne, whose constitution had sustained the climate almost to a miracle, suddenly began to sink; and our medical man expressed a wish that it might be convenient for him to return to Europe.

"I was much startled at this suggestion; and when Mr. Milbourne replied, that he certainly could return to England, though not to live in the style he did where he was, I declared, with vehemence, that I trusted it might not be necessary, for my habits were such, that I should find it extremely painful to abandon my mode of life.

"This hint was sufficient for my excellent husband; and from that time, the expediency of returning to England on his account was never once hinted at.

When the cold weather returned, after Mr. Milbourne's first failure of health, he revived very much; though in the next hot season he had a decided and very alarming attack of the liver complaint, which was repeated afterwards. The medical man then took occasion to say, that it would be best for us to think of Europe: but I chose to turn a deaf ear to this admonition, my head being filled with the prospect of settling my daughter.

"Mary-Anne was four years old when she quitted India, and fourteen years had passed since she left us; I therefore became very solicitous that she should now return; and, after Mr. Milbourne's third attack, I eagerly entreated him to give directions immediately for Mary-Anne's being sent to us.

"He looked at me with astonishment. 'What!' he said, 'in my state of health! and when this country has been the grave of three of our children! No,' he added, 'no, Olivia, you shall find me determined in this matter. Mary-Anne shall remain where she is; and you may choose whether you will return to England to enjoy the society of your child, or remain here in perpetual banishment. I am willing to abide by your decision.'

"I was astonished to find so much determination in my husband; and the more so when I discovered that neither tears, reproaches, nor hysterics, had any effect. However, I was so violently affected, that I took to my bed, and remained there and in my chamber for some days.

"Mr. Milbourne's resolution was not, however, to be shaken, and we remained on very distant terms till a letter arrived from Europe, the contents of which almost drove me beside myself.

"This letter was from Mr. Frederick Fairlie; and its purport was to inform us, that he and his wife had observed a growing attachment between their eldest son (for they had been blessed with another son and daughter in England) and Mary-Anne; and that, while awaiting our opinion on the subject, they were using all proper means of keeping the young people separate.

"This letter was addressed to my husband; who, having read it, put it into my hand. I was ready to flame out with indignation while I read the letter; and as I gave it back to Mr. Milbourne, I said, with suppressed indignation, 'Well, Sir, what is your opinion? Mary-Anne might have been on her way by this time, had you chosen to listen to my advice.'

"'And what should we have gained by that?'

"'Why, we should have saved our daughter from a connexion with a poor curate, (for the young man was in orders,) and we should have baffled the mean plots of the Fairlies.'

"'There is no plot in the business,' replied Mr. Milbourne, coolly. 'The young man, from all accounts, is elegant in his person, a gentleman, a scholar, and a Christian; and I am of opinion that things should take their course, if the young people like each other, why should they be parted? I will not be the instrument of making my only child miserable: our departed children are, we know, happy, Olivia. Do not let us make our Mary-Anne regret that she was not taken from under our influence at the time her brother and sisters were.' So saying, he left me.

"I know not what answer he sent to Mr. Fairlie's letter, for I never asked him. I had determined to write myself, and had called for pen, ink, and paper; but before they were brought me, I was seized with a giddiness of the head--the room whirled round with me--the blood rushed to my forehead--my limbs became cold--a burning heat followed--and such a fever ensued, as was sufficient to have destroyed the strongest frame. But it pleased the Almighty to bring me through it; though, when it left me, I was reduced to such a state of exhaustion that I could not move a limb. I was unable to speak, and my memory was totally gone. Every attempt which was made to strengthen me in this situation brought on fever again. It was therefore necessary to keep me exceedingly low for a very long time; and when I was a little recovered from this extreme weakness, disease attacked me in other forms, especially in violent headaches, and excruciating pains in different parts of my frame, of which I cannot now think without shuddering.

"During the former period of my illness I had been unable to reflect, and thus was spared some of the horrors which I afterwards experienced: but never shall I forget my feelings when I was again enabled to use my reflecting powers.

"It was excessive pain, which I endured one night without intermission, that first led me to serious thoughts. I had had no person with me but an ayah, and I had been tossing on my bed through some weary hours, thinking, if pain, for a few hours, was so intolerable, how could it be borne through all eternity? (for who can dwell with everlasting burnings?) when, having an interval of ease at day-dawn, I slept a short time; and when I awoke, saw Mr. Milbourne standing by my bed, and looking anxiously on me.

"'You have had a bad night, Olivia,' he said. 'I am truly sorry for it. Can I do any thing for you?'

"His kind manner affected me; and, bursting into tears, I told him what my reflections had been during the night.

"'I rejoice to find that you have these thoughts, my Olivia,' he replied, 'and I hope that these reflections may benefit you.' He then spoke in such a manner on the subject of religion, that I was perfectly astonished, and said, 'is it from you I hear these things? How long have subjects of this nature occupied your mind?'

"'Ever since I lost my children, and knew your old friend Mr. Arnot,' he replied.

"'And yet you have never spoken to me upon these matters,' I answered.

"'It is my shame and grief that I have not,' he replied. 'But I am naturally, and in this respect I have been sinfully, reserved; and you, my wife, never encouraged me. But I do not blame you, I blame myself.

"I was much affected by this confession of Mr. Milbourne's; it seemed to strike conviction to my soul. I then recollected a thousand instances in which, since the death of our children, he had evidenced a truly Christian spirit; and I could not help feeling how much greater his progress in all that is excellent might have been, had he possessed such a wife as Euphemia. But whatever my feelings and sentiments were, I had little time given me for the expression of them; for I was immediately seized with fresh paroxysms of pain, and these were so frequent that I, at length, became exhausted, and, for a while, was like a person deranged. But though unable, in general, to express myself with any coherency, my mind was perpetually and painfully busy; full of horrible images of death and judgment; with such convictions of sin as I never before experienced. At length, however, my disorder had spent its fury, and I was enabled to lie quietly on my bed, and enjoy something like rest.

"I then happily knew what it was to have a Christian friend. Mr. Milbourne having once opened his mind to me on the subject of religion, was no longer reserved. As soon as he judged that I was able to hear him read, he brought his Bible, and read to me a little at a time, as I could bear it; and the comments he made were such as could only be made by a Christian.

"When I spoke to him of my strong conviction of sin, he expressed himself pleased, and told me that it was needful that we should abhor self before we could value the Saviour: and thus, step by step, he led me on till he had opened to me many of the sweetest consolations of our holy religion.

"Once I said to him, 'I almost wish that I could lie here till my dying day; for here have I enjoyed your Christian friendship and your confidence; here have I learned to love my husband, and by his means I have been brought to know my God. But I dread the temptations which have hitherto ensnared me. I fear that I may be led to love pomp and splendour again, and to fall, through the force of example, into former practices.'

'"Let us go then, Olivia; let us go from this place,' he answered. 'Let us return to England, and see our child again. Let us seek for the society of holy persons, and devote ourselves to the service of our God in retired and humble life. What says my Olivia?'

"He held out his hand to me, and looked anxiously in my face; and I was not then in a situation to withstand his wishes; for my heart, as I trust, being changed, I no longer clung to the vanities of life.

"It was during this conversation that he informed me he supposed our daughter was married, and that she was to live near her mother-in-law. This was an affecting piece of information, but it made me the more willing to return to Europe.

"And now, had not my history proceeded to such a length, I could say much of the closing scenes in my Indian life. However, I must refrain, and shall merely add, that, previous to the next cold season, we sold our house, pensioned off our old servants, sold our furniture, and embarked in a pinnace for Calcutta.

"My garden of roses, where was the tomb of my children, was the last spot which I visited before I quitted that place which had been my home for more than twenty years. I moistened the marble tomb with many tears, and left the remains of my children in the cheering hope of a re-union with them in immortal glory.

"My hookah, my strong beer, and my claret, had long been laid aside; and, with my husband's approbation, I had sold all those shawls which I had not obtained honourably; and as I could not restore the money to those who had presented them to me, I devoted it to a charity for the benefit of the natives. Thus, by the divine mercy, being disencumbered from some of my worst habits, and all my ill-gotten goods, I commenced my long voyage with a heart tolerably composed. We had proposed to have seen my uncle at Bauglepore: but being informed that he was at Calcutta, I was not sorry to be spared a visit to a place which I could not think of without horror.

"The first person we saw, on arriving at Calcutta, was Mr. Arnot; who, being apprized of our visit, was waiting for us at the ghaut.

"He insisted that we should make his house our own while we remained in Calcutta, and to his house we accordingly went; and it was there that we collected all our provisions for the voyage.

"I was then in a state to enjoy his society, and appreciate his conversation, and that of the excellent persons who frequented his house; and under his roof I and my husband met with the strongest confirmation of the importance of religion.

"My uncle, it seems, was gone down towards Fultah, with an old friend who was going to China, when we first arrived in Calcutta; but as soon as he returned, Mr. Arnot brought him to his house, and insisted on his occupying its only spare apartment, that he might enjoy more of our society.

"I had not seen my uncle for many years, and was much struck with the change in his appearance. He was, indeed, at that time, an old man, being considerably above seventy: but the marks and traces of age observable on his person did not impress me so much as the wild and gloomy expression of his countenance, his fits of heaviness and deep abstraction, and the sighs, or rather groans, which sometimes escaped him. He shewed, however, considerable affection for me, and I would willingly have persuaded him to go with me to England; but he replied, with a sigh, that such a thing never could be, and said, as he had lived so long in India, he must be content to lay his bones there.

"I afterwards understood that this impossibility consisted in his being so deeply involved in debt, that he never could be permitted to leave the country; a too common case with many who live in apparent affluence in India.

"We remained three months under Mr. Arnot's hospitable roof; and, during that time, heard many discourses on religious subjects, which tended not a little to strengthen us in that which is right. My uncle was generally present on these occasions; but I could not make out, at that time, what impressions they made upon him.

"On reviewing the few last pages of my history, I seem scarcely to have accounted sufficiently for the change which had taken place in my feelings and habits. I dare not, to this moment, speak assuredly on my Christian character; though I hope that I shall be among the redeemed ones, through the faithfulness of Him who never changes, and who has wrought good for me all my days. Yet this is certain, that I was greatly changed in my habits, my desires, and my pursuits; and that this change took place during a long protracted and acutely painful illness, in which my mind was first brought under the power of dreadful horrors, which were followed by the strongest sensibility of sin, producing an intolerable burden, until some rays of light and hope, from the views of redeeming love set before me, beamed upon my benighted heart. Thus was I led on, thus was I delivered from destruction, thus was I induced to adopt the way in which I should go.

"We remained three months in Mr. Arnot's house; and on the day previous to our departure, this excellent man spoke to me, in a manner, and on a subject of such peculiar interest to me, as I never can forget.

"We were walking on the roof of his house, in the cool of the evening, in a situation whence we could discern the shipping at some distance. 'My dear Mrs. Milbourne,' he said, 'you are the oldest friend I have in India; and to-morrow you leave us, and I shall probably never see you more on earth; but I shall always think of you with pleasure, and with gratitude to God for all he has done for you. You were a giddy young creature, without religion--excuse me for saying so,--when you came to this country. On your arrival, you were immediately thrown into contaminating society, and were on the eve of attaching yourself for life to a young man, who, being a decided infidel, would have made you like himself, and ruined you both soul and body; but the Almighty would not permit this to befal you. The pomps and vanities of this wicked world next assailed you, and had your dear offspring been spared you, you might have ruined them ere you knew the value of their souls: but neither was this to be; these little redeemed ones were to be secured; and their heavenly Father, in removing them from you, fixed their happiness for ever, and delivered you, perhaps, from the anguish of seeing your children rise up, but not to bless you.'

"'In the history of your only surviving daughter, you see also the goodness of God; and in his afflicting providences, by which you have lately been brought to a sense of the importance of religion, you have a new and still stronger proof of that divine goodness which has decreed your deliverance from all evil, both now and for ever. You have, therefore, nothing to do, my good Madam,' added the excellent man, 'but to give the glory to God for all past deliverances, and to cast all cares for the future on Him who has hitherto cared so truly for you.'

"I was much affected by this address; and, thanking my old friend for the interest he took in me, I besought him, when I was gone, to extend that interest to my uncle.

"He sighed, and I thought shook his head; but he assured me that the poor old gentleman should not lack his services.

"The next day we embarked on board a boat to go down to Sauger. Mr. Arnot and my uncle accompanied us to the ghaut. My uncle could not speak when I parted from him; and I stood on the deck of the pinnace, looking on my Indian friends, till the windings of the river rendered it impossible for me to see them any more.

"Thus passed my Indian life; and thus closed all my Indian affairs.

"A voyage of five months brought us to England. We landed at Gravesend, and hastened into Worcestershire. We arrived at Worcester after two days' and one night's hard travelling; and taking a chaise-and-four, arrived, about four in the afternoon, in that woody vale, so long and tenderly remembered, through which the clear and modest Teme winds her secret course, and where no burning siroch blows, or pestilential vapours rise.

"The old white house, which had been visible to us from the opposite side of the valley, presently appeared again as soon as we had crossed the bridge; and in less than twenty minutes I saw on the green lawn, in front of the venerable mansion, a friendly group awaiting to receive the travellers with open arms and open heart.

"The carriage stopped at length, but not till my beating heart had almost overpowered me; and foremost of the party rushed forwards my Mary-Anne, all other persons giving way, and threw herself, half fainting, into her parents' arms.

"For some minutes I could look on no other than this lovely child who, in the first moments of her joy, had uttered that sweet sound, 'My mother! my dear, dear mother!' But after I had once and again pressed her to my heart, I came forward to meet the embraces of Euphemia, and of the venerable grandmother, now tottering and bending down with age. My son-in-law too was presented to me, the second Lucy, and the younger children of Euphemia. Mr. Fairlie himself also clammed my notice, and others of the family whom I had formerly known, all of whom were married.

"But how can I describe this meeting, when such was my state of mind that I do not recollect how I got into the house, or how I came to be seated on a sofa, in a large room, with the venerable mother on one side of me, and Euphemia on the other; all the rest of the happy party being gathered about Mr. Milbourne, with the exception only of my daughter and her husband, who had both disappeared.

'But Mary-Anne,' I said, 'where is she? Let me see her;' and I was going to chide, when I saw her enter again, smiling most sweetly and followed by her husband, who was very carefully carrying something white in his arms.

"The charming young pair came close to me, and, both kneeling, the husband held before me a little sleeping baby, about two months old, fair as alabaster, and fast asleep, utterly unconscious of the interest which he was exciting. 'Dearest mother,' said my beloved daughter, 'here is your little Henry--another little Henry!' and, as she spoke, the conflict of tenderness and joy occasioned her to burst into a flood of tears.

"'Your child! my Mary-Anne, my child!' I said. I could add no more; and seeing Mr. Milbourne pressing forward, it was with difficulty I could keep myself from fainting. My cup indeed was running over. I was truly happy. I was oppressed with a sense of my unworthiness. My pride and ingratitude, in former times, rose up before me, and served to subdue and humble me.

"Four happy years are past since that blessed day. Mr. Milbourne and I are residing in a comfortable but not magnificent dwelling, near our dear children. Other children are added to our little Henry; and, like Job, I rejoice again in my children, and am straitened for room, for the multitude of my little ones. Nevertheless, through the divine mercy, I have ceased to expect and desire a garden of roses on earth; for I have felt the thorns which are produced in this baneful climate; and I now long after those regions of pure delight where sin no longer exists, and from which all evil is banished.

"The reader of my narrative must not, however, suppose that I am become a second Euphemia, or that there is any thing like her excellence in my character. No; I am a poor broken down creature, always weak in body, and sometimes so in mind; obliged often to keep my chamber, and to exclude myself from society. But I am enabled, through the divine mercy, not to disturb others with my ailments, nor to wish to exclude my excellent husband from his enjoyments, or to use such restraints towards my children as to make them uneasy: and few are the days in which I am not delighted with the younger members of our family enjoying their sports beneath the windows. As to Mr. Milbourne, he is become young again; health has bloomed afresh in his cheeks; and he has lost his reservedness: and it is pleasing to see him surrounded by his grandchildren, or carrying one of them in his arms.

"And here I would conclude my history, filled with gratitude towards Him who has delivered me from every evil: but supposing that my reader will feel some satisfaction in hearing more of my uncle's family and Mr. Arnot, I shall add such information as I have been able to gather.

"Mr. Arnot still lives, and is active in the blessed work of serving his fellow-creatures in Calcutta. My poor uncle is no more; but his death, as Mr. Arnot expressed himself in his letter which brought the news of the old gentleman's decease, was not without hope. Immediately after we left India, my uncle was seized with a violent attack in the liver, under the roof of Mr. Arnot. It was impossible to remove him; and the old gentleman expressed his satisfaction that he had not been seized thus suddenly at his own house. Thus was an opportunity afforded by Providence to Mr. Arnot for promoting the spiritual good of the poor old man.

"He informed me, however, that the old gentleman fought hard against conviction. 'Never, never,' said he, 'did I witness such a warfare. Your uncle, Mrs. Milbourne, proved himself a man of iron; but rock, iron, and adamant must yield to the influence of the Spirit of God, which is quick and powerful, and sharper than a two-edged sword. And I had the inexpressible delight of seeing the old rock broken down, and the adamant and iron dissolved, some weeks before the spirit of your uncle took its departure.'

"Mr. Arnot then proceeded to describe the penitent, subdued, and contrite state of the old man, and his expressions of anguish respecting his former life, his unhappy connexions, and the neglect of his children. Gatty was the last of these of whom he spoke by name, calling her his happy little Gatty.

"Mr. Arnot concluded by saying, that exceedingly bright and glorious views of redeeming love had been vouchsafed the aged convert shortly before his death, so that he now enjoyed the most pleasing confidence of his happiness.

"Julia still lives with her husband in Calcutta, and is sunk deeply into the lowest order of half Indian, and half European morals and manners. Celia and her husband are lost in the jungles--lost, I fear, in every sense of the word. The two young men in the hills are completely amalgamated with the natives. Lucretia married to a sergeant major, in the Company's service, and died soon after, leaving one child. Lizzy and Stephen live together on an indigo-factory in the Sunderbunds. But the whole family are altogether so entirely degraded, and so much, which is discreditable to them in every point of view, has been told of them in India, that their sister Euphemia can only weep for them; though she is prepared to do any thing for them which circumstances may call for, and she has actually sent to India to request that the daughter of Lucretia, who is called Gertrude, and who is in the orphan-school in Calcutta, having lost her father as well as her mother, may be sent home to her as soon as she is old enough to undertake so long a journey, piously hoping to find in this poor infant a second little Gatty."

When the lady of the manor had finished the Garden of Roses, the young people began to express their astonishment at certain parts of the story. "We should hardly have believed it possible," said they, "that any Englishman could have been so entirely careless of the soul of his partner, as to live with her till advanced age, and suffer her to die, undisturbed, in the errors of superstition in which she had lived."

"I am sorry to say," replied the lady of the manor, "that examples of this kind were by no means rare in India a few years since: and I myself have known more than one in which a connexion of this kind, with a heathen woman, has ended, not in the conversion of the unbeliever, but in the apostacy of the nominal Christian. Hence the wisdom of the Apostle's command, Be not unequally yoked together with unbelievers." [2 Cor. vi. 14.]

The lady of the manor then called her young people to prayer.

A Prayer for Deliverance from Evil.

"O THOU eternal Lord Jehovah, who formedst the plan of man's salvation ere thou hadst set this globe in the empty air; and who, in thine infinite goodness, didst appoint the sufferings and death of thine only Son as the means of triumph over Satan and sin on earth; deliver us, we humbly beseech thee, from all evil, and, in thy mercy, save us from the consequences of our sinful doings.

"Thou hast promised that all things shall work together for good to those who are adopted into thy family. O, leave us not, therefore, to ourselves; but guide us through the dangers of this present life as a mother guides her infant child. Suffer us not to turn from thy ways: but, though the path should be difficult and painful, still, in thy tender mercy, lead us forward to the end.

"We know not what is good for us; we know not what to desire, or what to avoid; bestow, therefore, upon us, we beseech thee, an obedient and child-like temper, that we may place a thorough dependence on thee, and rest assured that all thou ordainest is for our benefit both in time and eternity. Enable us to say, Thy will, O God, be done; and in seasons of joy and sorrow, alike to give glory to Thee.

"And now to Thee, O Holy Father, Son, and Holy Ghost, be all glory and honour for evermore. Amen."

FOURTH CONVERSATION ON THE LORD'S PRAYER

When the young ladies were again met at the manor-house, the lady addressed them to the following purpose.

"I do not feel willing, my dear young friends, to leave the subject of prayer, till I have added something more on its nature and efficacy.

"There are many promises in Scripture, relative to prayer, which I am anxious to remind you of; for I doubt not that you have already noticed them.

"'Prayer,' says a venerable divine, 'is an offering up of our desires to the Almighty for things lawful and needful, with an humble confidence that they will be obtained through the mediation of Christ, to the praise of the mercy, truth, and power of God. It is either mental or vocal, ejaculatory or occasional, either private or public, for ourselves or others, for the procuring of good things or the removing or preventing of evil things.' The Almighty Lord is the only legitimate object of worship, as we find in Psalm 1. 15. From St. James we also learn that we are to pray for others as well as ourselves. [James v. 16.] We are also to pray fervently, [Col. iv. 12.] and constantly, [Col. iv. 2;] with faith, [James v. 15;] and by the help of the Holy Spirit. [Rom. viii. 26.]

"The parts of prayer," continued the lady of the manor, "are invocation, adoration, confession, petition, pleading, dedication, thanksgiving, and blessing. But the composition of any prayer is of infinitely less importance than the spirit in which it is offered up. Hence learning and talents are not required in rendering a prayer acceptable to God, though they may render it more pleasing to the ears of men."

The lady of the manor then requested one of the young people to repeat the answer to this question, "What desirest thou of God in this prayer?"

One of the young ladies replied, "I desire my Lord God our heavenly Father, who is the Giver of all goodness, to send his grace unto me, and to all people, that we may worship him, serve him, and obey him, as we ought to do. And I pray unto God, that he will send us all things that be needful both for our souls and bodies; and that he will be merciful unto us, and forgive us our sins; and that it will please him to save and defend us in all dangers ghostly and bodily; and that he will keep us from all sin and wickedness, and from our ghostly enemy, and from everlasting death. And this I trust he will do of his mercy and goodness, through our Lord Jesus Christ. And therefore I say, Amen, So be it."

The lady of the manor then proposed to read a story to her young people, containing some remarks on prayer, which she trusted might be pleasing to them. She accordingly unfolded a manuscript, and read as follows.

THE SHEPHERDESS OF THE ALPS.

Ernesthus Müller was born at Geneva, about the middle of the last century. His father was the head of a respectable family, which had long resided in the canton of the same name; and his mother was of English parentage; but how this lady became united with a foreigrier is not our present business to enquire.

Geneva is a name which must be familiar to every refined ear: the extraordinary beauty of its situation, on the banks of a charming lake surrounded with mountains, some of which are the most lofty in Europe, has rendered it the delight of every traveller through Switzerland, and will continue to distinguish it above almost every other city of Europe while the face of our globe retains its present form. The extraordinary beauties of its scenery, the grandeur of the mountains, the refreshing coolness of its lake, the shadowy and fragrant walks of the vicinity, are not the only circumstances which have distinguished this city; for there are few places which have acquired more notoriety in history than this. The reformation in religion, which took place here, procured for it a very extended influence. As soon as this town, upheld by the success of its allies of Berne and Fribourg, had succeeded in obtaining its independence, Calvin and Beza formed within its walls a nursery of zealous preachers and theologians, which rendered it at one time the metropolis and the guide of almost all the reformed Churches in Switzerland. These were the happiest times which it ever knew; and well would it have been, had its sons continued to follow the steps of the first reformers--had they continued to retain the light of truth, as it shone in the pages of those venerable teachers, and rejected those principles of infidelity and death which were diffused by the blasphemous writers of the last age. For I must inform my young readers, that in the beginning of the last century, and towards the end of the preceding one, there arose certain persons, in different countries of Europe, who made it their object, in every possible way, but particularly by their writings, to subvert the Christian religion; and multitudes of weak, vicious, and ignorant persons were, by these means, conducted into the regions of infidelity, error, and awful destruction. Among these infidel writers, the two who did the most mischief were J. J. Rousseau and Voltaire. They were men of quick, subtle, impudent, and witty minds. The former of these was born at Geneva; and the latter spent many of the last years of his life in the little village of Ferney, between Geneva and Mont Jura. Their endeavours were too successful in destroying the good effects of the labours of the reformers; so that, about the period which gave birth to Ernesthus Müller, the greater part of the young people in Geneva were decided infidels; puffed up with their own conceits, refusing to admit the validity of revelation, and questioning the wisdom of the divine government; while they maintained the sufficiency of human reason and human virtue.

After having given the above description of the state of Geneva at the time of the birth of the gentleman whose history I am about to report, and after having hinted that Ernesthus Müller differed in no essential points from his companions in general, my reader will not be surprised to hear that this young man, when about the age of twenty-two, was distinguished for little else than a handsome person, a good address, and much worldly cunning. He was the second son of his father; and, as there were several younger children, Ernesthus was educated for the mercantile line, and placed in the counting-house of a rich merchant in the city.

While in this situation, he found means to obtain the affection of one of his master's daughters, whom he married in a clandestine manner; being persuaded that he should not be approved by her father. This union, as might be expected, was not a happy one. The young lady had as little religion as her husband. The tempers of both were haughty and unsubdued; and, within a few months after her marriage, the lady began to repent of her undutiful precipitancy; though she was by no means humbled in the sight of God, under a sense of the evil she had committed, so as to receive her afflictions as the due reward of her misconduct; but she added to them by murmurs and reproaches; and, having thus entirely lost the affections of her inconstant husband, she expired soon after having given birth to a son, to whom the father gave the name of Christopher.

Ernesthus Müller being thus set free from a union which promised nothing but misery, and having given up his child to the care of its maternal grandmother, quitted Geneva and came over to England, to attend to some mercantile transactions in this country.

Mr. Müller, as we shall now call him, (because from that time he became more than half an Englishman,) soon settled in a mercantile house in London, being able to speak good English; and in this situation he remained for three or four years, maintaining intercourse, by letter only, with his family. At the end of this period, he became weary of this employment, which did not suit his restless and ambitious mind; and, his father happening to die about this time, he gave up his situation and entered the army, as an ensign in a marching regiment; then he became a lieutenant by purchase; and, as soon afterwards as possible, a captain of a company of foot.

It was now that he was quartered for some time in a small town in Yorkshire, where the appearance of such a young man (for Captain Müller was not only remarkably handsome, but elegant and accomplished) excited no small sensation among such persons as had little else to do but to look about them for entertainment.

I know little of the course of life led by young Müller in this place, excepting that he spent much time in lounging about the streets, reading the newspapers, talking against the existing government, whatever it might be, and walking with the ladies; employing himself sometimes in music, of which he was excessively fond; and in drawing, for which he had a fine taste; and occasionally in reading, though this was of a kind even less profitable than his other engagements.

After having been some weeks in this little town, Captain Müller had occasion to change his lodgings, and he was by this circumstance removed from a central situation, which had commanded a view of the coffee-room and of a milliner's shop, to a very retired street, or rather lane, where he had no other prospect than the fields, and a small yet elegant dwelling, standing in a fragrant garden, and backed by a coppice. The house was occupied at that time by a widow lady of the name of Courtney, who possessed an easy fortune, and was blessed with one daughter.

It happened, however, that Captain Müller, who had by this time learned the names and histories of most of the young ladies in the neighbourhood, had never heard that of Emily Courtney; for this attractive young person was rarely seen in the streets; and, as the family attended a small country church in the neighbourhood, the plain people there did not notice her, in the way the gay and thoughtless of a more fashionable assembly are apt to do. It was therefore not without wonder, as well as admiration, that the young soldier first saw her watering her flowers, at an open window, as he was standing at the door of his lodgings. Whether she observed him or not, he could not tell; for, although he frequently took occasion to watch for her from the same place, he never afterwards saw her employed in the same way, and found it difficult even to obtain a second view of her on any occasion whatever. But, to be short, he was so well pleased with her when he did see her again, and was so delighted by the character he heard of her, that he was resolved to obtain an introduction to her mother; and, having succeeded in this attempt, he behaved with so much decorum, and laboured with so much success to appear what he really was not, viz, an amiable and upright young man, that in the course of time he won the affections of the young lady, and shortly afterwards became the husband of one of the most lovely as well as the most amiable of women.

Mrs. Courtney made it a condition, in bestowing her only child on Mr. Müller, that he would not separate her from her daughter; the consequence of which was, that, on his marriage, he was obliged to give up his connexion with the army, and content himself with residing in the obscurity of his mother-in-law's dwelling--a mode of life by no means suited to the generally restless state of his mind. Nevertheless, such was the ardour of his affection for his young and interesting wife, that he appeared not to regret the sacrifice; and if some symptoms of irritability in his temper would sometimes appear, his wife presently found means to allay the fever by the amiableness of her manner and her gentle and modest attentions.

We may be assured, that Mrs. Müller, who, though young, was pious and penetrating, could not be long associated with her husband without discovering that he had not that respect for religion to which he had pretended in the days of courtship; but how far she suspected his actual infidelity does not appear, and we hope that she was spared the anguish which a conviction of this kind would undoubtedly have inflicted.

The first exercise of her influence, after her marriage, was to induce her husband to send for his little son, who had lately suffered another loss of a parent by the death of his grandmother; and when the child arrived, there was no instance of maternal tenderness and maternal attention which she denied him; while it was evident to every one, that the little boy, then more than five years of age, and a child of engaging appearance and promising disposition, was regarded by his father with little kindness. Of this, however, Mrs. Müller took no notice, but laboured, by every innocent contrivance, to render the child amiable in the view of the father, and to conceal from her husband any little failure of his son which might increase his prejudice against him.

Thus, by the becoming manner of this lovely young woman, Mr. Müller spent many months in more domestic happiness than he might be supposed to be capable of; and before the natural restlessness and impatience of his disposition had begun to render him dissatisfied with his quiet situation, she was suddenly removed from the friends, of whose affection she was the idol, by a fever, immediately after the birth of a daughter.

I shall not enter into a detail of the husband's or mother's feelings on the occasion of this bereavement. Mr. Müller's grief, however, not being corrected by religion, was at first violent and impious; while that of the mother was such as might be expected from one who, though not clearly acquainted with all the truths of our blessed religion, was habitually pious and resigned.

I shall now state the arrangements which were made, when, by the death of the beloved daughter, wife, and mother, the bond was loosened which united Ernesthus Müller and Mrs. Courtney.

The former again entered the military service, and accompanied his regiment abroad, leaving his son and infant daughter under the care of the old lady, not sorry to be relieved by this excellent woman of the charge which he would have found particularly burdensome in the line of life he had selected. Mr. Müller was not much more than twenty-eight when he became a widower a second time; and, though still in the prime of life, it was supposed that his regard and admiration of his late wife were such as would render him difficult in another choice.

It was before the year of mourning for his wife was expired, that Mr. Müller took his leave of his children to go abroad. It was remarked by Mrs. Courtney that he parted from his son without a tear; but when the infant Emily was brought to him, and placed in his arms, all the feelings of a father appeared in his manner, and he displayed such tenderness, that the sympathy of all who were present was awakened. The good old grandmother mingled her sobs with those of her son-in-law; and, from that day, it was observed, that she never failed to remember him in her prayers--thus performing a duty for this unhappy man which he had never yet thought it needful to exercise on his own account.

Those who mourn in connexion with Christian hope, and who have the blessed assurance that they shall realize in the Saviour more than all they have lost on earth, find a delight in their very sorrows. And this was the case with Mrs. Courtney. Though deprived of her endeared Emily, though she saw no more before her a lovely and blooming daughter, who had been her sole earthly delight for many years of widowhood, yet she was not unhappy. She blessed her God for the comforts still left her; she found exquisite pleasure in the smiles of the infant Emily; and derived consolation to herself in the exercise of maternal care over the little Christopher, who, though not allied to her by blood, seemed to have a thousand claims on her tenderness and compassion. The very idea that this little boy was not loved by his father rendered him the more dear to her tender heart; and she resolved, that, with the divine blessing, he should never be sensible of his orphan state by any failure on her part. He was taught to call her grandmamma, to tell her all his little griefs, to repose his sorrows in her bosom, and to confess to her all his faults and misdemeanours.

Such a friend was particularly needful to this little boy; for having been hitherto carelessly brought up, he was perpetually guilty of serious failures, and the dread he had conceived of his father often induced him to conceal those faults by untruths, the constant effect of harshness; and, although he was a child of amiable dispositions, and possessed that openness of countenance and smiling appearance frequently remarkable in the natives of Switzerland, he would certainly have been made an unfeeling and desperate character, had he continued long with his father, who always addressed him with some expression of contempt or suspicion; and this occasioned him to enter the company of his elders with a cloud on his brow, which the good old lady generally contrived to disperse, by a friendly word, or some little act of kindness, which was often known only to the child himself. By this means, little Christopher, when relieved from his father's presence, soon recovered his natural ease and cheerfulness of character; and, though some sagacious persons hinted that the old lady sometimes carried her indulgence too far, yet the child undoubtedly grew and prospered under her management, and became open, generous, and affectionate.

A truly pious mind possesses a facility of deriving consolation from those mercies which remain after severe bereavements have taken place. When the worldly man has lost an object of affection, he seems, as it were, to bear a grudge (if so homely a phrase may be allowed me) against the Almighty, for having thus afflicted him; and he refuses to take pleasure in the blessings continued to him; but the religious man, aware that God does not willingly afflict the children of men, but, in exercising them with sorrows, is only using a fatherly chastisement, and, believing that he shall receive what is infinitely better in a more blessed and heavenly state, where no bitterness shall mingle with his sorrows, he rejoices in affliction, and triumphs inn tribulation.

Such was the case with Mrs. Courtney when the first months of sorrow were passed away, and she found herself quietly settled with her two little children, at liberty to observe their daily growth and improvement.

Emily was exactly six years younger than her brother, and was at first considered by him merely as a beautiful and delicate plaything, which might he injured by the least carelessness or roughness--by the least carelessness on his part; and therefore, during the first stages of her infancy, he cherished her with the utmost tenderness; and when she was able to follow him, and talk to him, he became excessively fond of her company, and considered it as the highest possible privilege to he intrusted with the care of her, and to be permitted to lead her into his garden, to shew her his rabbits and his birds, or to administer in any other way to her amusement.

Immediately in the neighbourhood of Mrs. Courtney's house was a little coppice, through which ran a pure stream, on a pebbled channel. This little brook, after having performed several windings in its contracted course, fell over some low rocks, and made its way to a pool at some distance beyond the precincts of the wood.

This pool, which might be seen from the coppice, especially when the sun shone upon its glossy surface, was frequently compared by the little Swiss to the Lake of Geneva; the child having, no doubt, been led to this comparison by early impressions: and when his little sister Emily was able to accompany him into this wood, he used to point out this Lilliputian lake to her, and amuse her with recollections of his infancy, and tales of his childhood, half remembered, and half blended with what he had heard spoken of at a later period of his short life.

Education, as it is now carried on, was not understood by Mrs. Courtney; nevertheless, what she knew, she taught with accuracy. She was methodical and orderly. She caused Christopher to study the Bible; he was taught to write and cipher, to read history, and to draw maps; and, when of a proper age, she procured a respectable clergyman, of the name of Harrington, in the town, to give him classical lessons with his own son, who was somewhat older than her boy, and who, after this engagement, became the constant companion of his play-hours, and another friend and protector of the little Emily.

Charles was an amiable boy, and possessed more steadiness of character than Christopher. Hence the friendship of Charles proved a great blessing to his friend; and the union, formed at this time between these young people, proved more permanent than schoolboy friendships are frequently found to be.

I could dwell long, with much pleasure, on the happy manner in which many years of the early life of these young people passed, under the kind and pious auspices of the gentle Mrs. Courtney; Charles and Christopher being frequent companions, and the little Emily the object of the attention and love of each, so equally, that it was impossible for her to know which of her brothers was most dear to her; neither was she scarcely able to decide, when they played at shepherds, and built little huts in the coppice, in imitation of the shepherds' tents, remembered by Christopher, as seen on the mountains of Jura, with whom she should take up her abode, or whose rustic dwellings she should render gay with her innocent prattle and dimpled smiles.

The very contentions of these children were considerably tempered by good principle and the desire of doing well; and, though Christopher was sometimes hasty and unjust, one gentle word on the part of his friend, or one tear of his lovely Emily, would always bring him to his recollection, and restore him to temper and reason again.

No particular change took place in the situation of these young people until Charles had attained his eighteenth, Christopher his sixteenth, and Emily her tenth year. Nothing can be conceived in human nature more lovely than Emily was at that time; she was so gentle, so fair, so simple, so smiling, and yet so intelligent.

After these remarks, it will not be doubted but this little girl had some proper feelings respecting religion; for it is religion only, which, by correcting the heart, and governing the powers of the mind, can make a naturally fine countenance truly interesting. Nevertheless, Emily's religion was like that of her grandmother: it was not founded on an extensive knowledge of scriptural truths; though it was a sincere and pious approval of what was good: still it needed a broader foundation, to support her in the time of trial. But this time was not yet come: she was yet under the shelter of a tender parent's roof; her years were few; and she had no other thought than that of following implicitly the direction of others.

About the time of which I am speaking, a melancholy breach was made in the happy little society by the death of the elder Mr. Harrington, and the consequent removal of Charles to another situation.

The separation of Charles from his young companions was extremely affecting. It took place in the beloved coppice, in which they had spent so many happy days of cheerful infancy. On this occasion, deep sorrow sat on the fine countenance of Charles; little Emily wept and sobbed distressingly; while the tender and warm heart of Christopher seemed ready to burst. Charles consoled his young friends with promises, never likely to be performed, of visiting them soon and often in this scene of their happy, early days; and Emily undertook to take care of the trees and flowers they had planted together.

Thus they endeavoured to console each other; notwithstanding which, the grief of Emily was little abated at the time when news came from abroad that Captain Müller was promoted to be a major, and that he was obliged at the same time to leave the army on account of the state of his health.

Mrs. Courtney, Emily, and Christopher, were all differently affected on hearing this news, with the additional information that the major purposed to return to England and to his family immediately. Mrs. Courtney felt that his presence would not add to her happiness; Christopher, who had ever associated unpleasant feelings with the remembrance of his father, instantly lost his cheerfulness; and Emily alone seemed pleased, though she often expressed a hope, indicative of anxiety, that her father would not take her away from her grandmother.

In proportion as the time of the major's arrival approached, the apprehensions of Mrs. Courtney and Christopher seemed to increase; and even Emily's joy changed unto something like dread. However, all seemed willing to conceal their feelings from each other, and to endeavour, in the bustle of preparation, to overcome the apprehensions of which they could not but be sensible.

There was a vacant parlour in Mrs. Courtney's house, which, together with her best bed-room, she determined to devote to the major; and she caused Emily to busy herself, the day before he was expected, in adorning the parlour with flowers, and making other affectionate preparations for the father who was to return to his children after so long an absence.

Mrs. Courtney had been told, that, during the years in which her son-in-law had been absent, he had acquired the habits of a great man; that he was also become an old man in constitution, though young in years; and that the irritation of his temper was become much greater: for the major had found the pleasures of the world greatly inferior to the ideas he had formed of them; and, having no religion to soothe his wounded feelings, he had fallen a miserable victim to the violence of his own passions.

Mrs. Courtney had taken care to conceal from Christopher and Emily the unpleasant account she had heard of their father; but it s very certain, that she trembled for herself and them when she looked forward to his arrival, and hoped that he would soon find for himself some other residence than that which was under her roof; notwithstanding which, she secretly resolved to sacrifice her own comfort rather than be separated from the young people, in case that he should propose either to remain with them in her house, or require them to accompany him to another.

Such was the state of mind of the family at the period when the father was expected. It was afternoon when the major drove up to the door, accompanied by his valet, who was a Swiss, and in a hack chaise, laden with dress-in-boxes, military hats, swords, medicine-chests, and other appurtenances of a beau, an invalid, and a soldier.

Mrs. Courtney, though expecting to find a considerable change in the appearance of her son-in-law, was not prepared to see him become exceedingly corpulent, or limping with a gouty affection, or to discover that his hard, and, I might add, profligate, mode of life for many years past, had effected such an alteration in his handsome countenance, that, had she seen him when she had not expected him, she would hardly have recognised him. But however shocked she might be at this inauspicious change, which she instantly perceived, she endeavoured to appear pleased, hastened to her garden-gate to receive him, and led him into the house with as hearty a welcome as she could express; while Emily and her brother stood trembling in the hall, startled at the appearance of their father, at whom they had been peeping from behind the parlour-blinds.

From the moment that the major had entered the garden, his eye had been seeking his daughter; and no sooner did it rest upon her, than his countenance lighted up.--Scarcely had he pronounced her name, than she flew towards him, and, throwing her arms round his neck, mingled her tears with his, and from that moment conceived for him all the affection due from a child to a parent and, as he never used any means to cool that affection, it continued to augment, and was the means of supporting her through many trials, as will appear hereafter.

This sudden rush of affection in the lovely child, with the effect it produced on the father, affected the old grandmother, whose heart warming on the occasion, she hastened to bring forward Christopher, who had drawn somewhat into the back-ground. The major, in the mean time, had seated himself on a chair in the hall, and was pressing Emily to his bosom, kissing her forehead and her cheeks; at sight, however, of his son, who came timidly forward, led by Mrs. Courtney, he started, addressed him with a sort of forced kindness, put some question to him, the answer to which he did not wait, and then, turning again to Emily, he bestowed upon her some fresh caress, which seemed to say, "This shall be my darling." Higher and still higher rose the blushes on the cheek and forehead of Christopher, and he turned suddenly away to conceal the tear that started in his eye. Emily was too young to observe all this; but it was not lost on the tender Mrs. Courtney, who, as she brushed by him in leading the Major into the parlour, prepared, unobserved, to give him a gentle pressure of the hand, which so thoroughly over-powered the warm-hearted youth, that he rushed out into the garden, and there indulged in tears and sorrow.

From this day might be dated the beginning of troubles to this unfortunate young man; and here we might say much upon the subject of partiality in parents; but, as our history will supply a sufficient warning on this topic, we now forbear to multiply precepts.

Mrs. Courtney had occasioned her hospitable table to be spread with refreshments, and answered many questions respecting Emily, on whom the father still gazed with unabated pleasure; Christopher still being absent. The major had summoned his valet to unpack a box of pungent sauces which he had brought with him from Town, one of which he required, to give a relish to some cold lamb which was placed upon the table, before he again recollected, and called for, his son. The box at length being uncorded, and the phials produced, he bethought himself of the absent youth; and, as he held up one bottle and another between his eye and the light, he commenced his enquiries. "What is become of young hopeful, Mrs. Courtney?" said he: "did I not see him as I came in? is he already tired of my company, think you I know that he was never over fond of me." Then turning to his valet, he made some enquiry respecting a peculiar bottle which had not yet come to hand; adding, with a heathenish oath, often used by persons who have reasons for not being more profane, that he would break his skull if he had left the preparation behind.

In reply to this, the valet shrugged up his shoulders, and smiled, or rather grinned; on which the master, calling him by his German name of Wietlesbach, told him, in French, that he might be thankful that ladies were present, or he would put his threat immediately in execution.

Mrs. Courtney, who had never been used to hear persons swear by Jupiter, or threaten to break the bones of their servants, hardly knew whether all this was passing in jest or earnest; for the major's countenance was not one which was easily deciphered; but, seeing that Monsieur Wietlesbach remained perfectly calm, she came to this conclusion--that what had passed was merely an every-day occurrence, and that, if she continued to live with her son-in-law, she must accustom herself to hear these things with the same nonchalance as the valet himself evinced on these occasions. The question then was, "But can I--must I--live with this man?" This point, however, was too important to be hastily settled; she therefore fetched a deep yet gentle sigh, in memory of the peaceful days which now seemed for ever fled, and softly whispered to Emily to look for her brother.

The major being by this time fully engaged, with the help of his servant, in compounding and concocting a sauce for the lamb which should exactly suit his delicate palate, did not observe the departure of Emily, who, after having run up stairs and down stairs, out of the house and into the house, several times, at length found her brother in an arbour of woodbine, in a retired corner of the garden, where he had fled to conceal from all the world, and from himself, if possible, the acuteness of his feelings, and the extreme mortification which he felt at the manner in which his father had received him. He was seated in the arbour when Emily appeared, and was leaning his head against the frame-work which supported the woodbine, his fine hair of dark chesnut hanging over his face, and half concealing it in the attitude he then was; but, at the sound of his sister's step, he suddenly raised his head, and, rubbing his sleeve across his eyes, asked her, somewhat roughly, what she was doing there.

It was not usual for Christopher thus to address his Emily; and the little girl, little suspecting what was passing in his mind, was terrified and startled by his manner, and stood still, trembling and irresolute, while the tears glistened in her eyes.

On this, he held out his hand to her, and said, "My Emily! my little Emily! will you too cease to love me?"

She sprang forward, at one moment conceiving all that was passing in her brother's mind, and throwing herself into his arms, she burst into tears, and, laying her head in his bosom, said, "No, my brother! my brother! never, never, never shall I forget to love my brother!" She would have said more, but was interrupted by her feelings.

The brother and sister remained a while weeping together; after which, Emily having made known her errand, they both returned to the parlour, and found the major extended on the sofa, on the opposite side of the table to his mother-in-law, with a bottle of Madeira and a glass standing on a table by his side. As soon as the young people entered, the father ceased from a description into which he had entered on the subject of foreign and home-made wines, and addressed Christopher in a bitter strain of merriment touching his long absence, expressing a hope that he was not already tired of his father's company.

The youth made no answer, but his blushes denoted his unpleasant feelings; on which, the major, laughing, remarked to the old lady, that it was a pity Christopher was not a girl; adding, that his fine complexion and curling hair would look very well under the shade of a lace cap.

"I rejoice." said Mrs. Courtney somewhat angrily, "that you have no other fault to find with your son, Sir', than that he is too good-looking; this being a defect," she observed, " which time will soon moderate."

I have before remarked that the major's countenance was not one which was easily deciphered, and on this occasion it was utterly impenetrable. He made Mrs. Courtney no reply whatever, but, directing his son to ring the bell, called for a pair of slippers, and gave orders, in the old lady's presence, about his bed; adding, as he addressed Mrs. Courtney, "You will excuse me, Madam, but I am somewhat particular in these respects; and I must have such and such comforts, or it will be impossible for me to stay under your roof."

The old lady felt her patience about to fail; but, looking at Emily and Christopher, and seeing that anxiety was painted on their young features, she restrained herself, and carelessly remarked, that she hoped her son-in-law would make himself comfortable; remarking, that, having shewn him his apartments, she would leave it to his own servants to arrange things to his taste; politely expressing her hope that he would consider himself at home, as long as he remained under her roof.

In reply to this, he bowed half familiarly and half respectfully, thanked her for her hospitality; and, although his valet was present, he ordered his son to pull down the blinds, saying, that he could not endure the glare of the afternoon sun.

The poor old lady, who had long been accustomed to be the mistress of her own quiet and happy mansion, now felt herself so much offended, that, fearing she might break out into some intemperate expression, she arose in haste, informed the major that she drank tea in her own parlour, at a certain hour, and should be glad to see him, and walked out of the room, leaving her troublesome guest with his children.

The departure of the old lady was but the signal for the unkind father to make more open attacks on his son.

The major was a thoroughly selfish man, an infidel, as I have before said, a man of wit, or of what he supposed to be wit; and, being used to situations of authority, had no idea of the pain he gave to others in the indulgence of this propensity. He had also been accustomed to bestow strong epithets of contempt on his inferiors, and could not live without having some objects against whom to aim his shafts of malice; though he had the cunning to select these objects from among such persons as dared not shew any resentment.

During his journey, Wietlesbach, with his broken English and perpetual mistakes, had afforded constant subjects for the raillery of the major; but Monsieur Wietlesbach was not a gentleman of very delicate feelings: he had come to our island to pick up a little money, and he found himself in a fair way of doing so in his present service; he therefore made up his mind to endure all insults short of a broken head. But poor Christopher had not the Nonchalance of Monsieur Wietlesbach. He could not console himself, as the valet did, by grinning and shrugging up his shoulders; and, indeed, that which may be endured from a master, or common acquaintance, is almost intolerable when proceeding from a parent, or a near connexion.

If we suppose that the major was not aware of the acute pain which he inflicted upon his son by the cold and satirical manner in which he constantly thought proper to address him, by making him the constant object of his raillery, yet, had he not been very remote from proper feeling, he must have sooner or later made this discovery, and would surely have refrained from treating his son in a manner which had the most injurious effect on his character. We cannot believe that the worst of fathers can desire the ruin of a son; but, where selfishness preponderates in any character, the individual is often induced to commit acts of cruelty which he would shudder to witness in another.--But, to return to our story.

Mrs. Courtney had scarcely closed the door after her, before the major began to open his battery of dangerous wit against Christopher; at the same time directing his little daughter to take her place by him on the sofa.

He first attacked the cut of his son's coat, enquiring of him how long short backs and long lappets had been in fashion. He then proceeded to enquire of him what he had learned, and whether the old lady had taught him to sew samplers; and concluded by asking him if she made him stand up and say his Catechism every Sunday evening.

There is a certain time of life (and Christopher was precisely at that age) when young people are particularly jealous of being laughed at. We will not ask why or wherefore it is so, or enquire whether they feel in themselves, at that period, a peculiar awkwardness which they think may afford matter of merriment to others, being conscious that they are ceasing to be children, and yet that they are not arrived at the dignity of mature age. Be this as it may, this is the period when boys are most ready to quarrel, and young ladies to complain of neglects and insults; and this is the period when such are most liable to he injured by ill-timed merriment; and when they are most ready to renounce all that is good and precious rather than be laughed at. Some few, indeed, there are who can smile again when ridiculed, and who have prudence enough, or rather are divinely assisted, to acquire wisdom from the unkind remarks of a neighbour. But these persons are comparatively few, and poor Christopher was not one of the number. To all his father's curious questions he first gave short answers, and afterwards, growing sullen, he made no reply at all, but sat reddening and swelling, now and then giving a certain twitch to his head and shoulders, which was not half so agreeable as the shrug and grin of Monsieur Wietlesbach.

In the mean time, the major seemed either not to observe the uneasiness of his son, or not to regard it in the smallest degree. For, having amused himself a while with making his remarks, he suddenly turned to Emily, and praising her hair, her complexion, and her features, would soon have succeeded in filling her with conceit, had not the tender heart of this lovely child been provided with an antidote to his poison by her sympathy for her beloved brother, and her dread that he might say something to make their father angry. Accordingly, while her father was thus bestowing his caresses upon her, her gentle eye was now and then turned to her brother; and once she extended her hand to him, unobserved by their common parent, and with one touch of her velvet palm restored peace to his wounded bosom; while such were his feelings on the occasion, that it was with difficulty he could prevent himself from raising it to his lips.

How delightful are the silent expressions of affection which are suggested by a pious and feeling heart! What is there in nature so winning, so attractive, as these? and how entirely different are their effects from those which are the effect of art or affectation! It is the peculiar province of females, by the use of these engaging and tender qualities, to soften the more violent passions of the other sex; and never does a woman depart so far from all that is amiable, as when she uses her influence with brother's, husbands, and fathers, to irritate and excite rather than to calm and soothe.--But, to leave these reflections, and to proceed to other matters.

Having given my reader one specimen of the manner in which the major conducted himself towards his children and mother-in-law, I shall satisfy myself by merely stating, that he continued to treat Christopher in such a way that the young man could scarcely be restrained, either by his old friend, or his sister, from behaving in a manner wholly unbecoming. From time to time, the youth was, however, held back from open rebellion by the beseeching looks of Emily, and the earnest pleadings of Mrs. Courtney. Nevertheless, a kind of bitterness seized upon his mind, and he became impatient of being at home, and anxious that some plan for his future life might be decided upon, whereby he might be rendered independent of a father whose manner was so peculiarly unwelcome to his feelings.

Neither was the major more agreeable to Mrs. Courtney than to Christopher, though he undoubtedly shewed less of his hauteur and selfishness in her presence than in her absence; for she had a few thousands at her disposal, and he was far from being superior to the consideration of this circumstance.

Emily loved her father, notwithstanding the pain she felt in witnessing his conduct towards her brother. The affection, however, which she had for her parent, and the strong regard she had ever felt for her brother, induced her to soften matters on both sides; and, as her father had expressed his determination never more to separate himself from her, she tried to induce Mrs. Courtney to bear with him, dreading lest she should be separated from her beloved grandmother. Neither did Mrs. Courtney lack the same motive for forbearance; and such was the tenderness of this excellent old lady for the children whom she had reared, that she would rather have endured any privation than have seen them removed from under her maternal influence. Nevertheless, she used many arguments to persuade her son-in-law to fix upon some plan for the future life of Christopher. His education was by no means complete; and she lost no opportunity of representing to the major, that more instruction was necessary, if he were to be of a learned profession; and if not, that he should be permitted immediately to choose his line of life, and be conducted to it.

To these arguments the major commonly answered in his usual satirical style; sometimes saying that he meant to bring up Christopher to be a bishop, or a judge, for he was sure nothing inferior would suit him; and at another time remarking that he meant to apprentice him to a shoemaker, if he could find any one who would take him. More than this he would never add, but seemed anxious to postpone all decision on the subject, either from the desire of keeping his money in his pocket, or from an indolence natural to all selfish characters.

This ill-assorted family continued to dwell together, in the manner I have described, for some months, during which period some of the individuals of whom it was composed were scarcely restrained from open warfare with the others, by motives of interest, affection, or religion while Emily was the only one who was heartily cordial with all the rest.

For some weeks the major displayed no other evil qualities but such as I have described, namely, an inordinate love of eating, and similar indulgences, with an entire contempt for the comforts of others. But, after a while, when grown more familiar with Mrs. Courtney, he scrupled not to let it appear that he was an absolute infidel, and capable of casting reflections upon the most sublime and awful truths. He had, during his early life, made himself acquainted with all the sophistries of the continental sceptics, and could, as it suited him best, mock and sneer at religion with much of the false wit indulged by the infidel of Ferney, or endeavour to bewilder the minds of his fellow-creatures by artful and deceptive reasonings.

Were not the matter too serious for jest, a stander-by might have been amused at the manner in which this false philosopher would sometimes argue with his good mother-in-law, who (excellent woman as she was, and well grounded in the faith, as far as she herself was concerned) had not the smallest notion of stating the reason of the hope that was in her. She believed, and loved, and trusted her Saviour; her heart was full of holy peace; and she was enabled to rely, without a single doubt, upon the merits and promises of the God incarnate; but how to state the ground of this confidence to an unbeliever, she had not the most remote idea; and, by reason of this, when her opponent used his impious skill, she became angry, and more than usually confused, and said every thing which she had better have left unsaid, and did much to--

"Make the worse appear the better cause."

These ill-conducted arguments might have been fatal (humanly speaking) to the principles of the young people, had not Emily at that time been too young to understand their purport, and Christopher in a state indisposing him to receive any thing favourably which proceeded from his father.

I might describe several of these arguments, but shall content myself with entering into the minutiæ of one only.

The subject on which the major argued was, what he called the native perfection of the human character; asserting that the mind of man, in infancy, resembled a sheet of paper, perfectly pure and white, and that it would undoubtedly remain such if man could be preserved from the contagion of evil example. He was stimulated to proceed by Mrs. Courtney's symptoms of growing displeasure, betrayed by her raised eyebrows, and the flush in her cheeks, falsely asserting the evil effects of laws and religion on society indulging in a high-flown description, in the style of St. Pierre, of the virtues of savages, of the innocence of cannibals, and the integrity of Hottentots; and had absurdly pursued his course for some time, when Mrs. Courtney interrupted him with a deep sigh, or rather groan, exclaiming, "Why, major! it perfectly astonishes and confounds me to hear you talk at this rate!--a man of your sense, and one who has been so much in the world, to talk of the heart of man being like a sheet of white paper, when you must have seen in your travels so much that is sinful among your fellow-creatures!"

"All the consequence, my good lady," replied the major calmly, "of evil example and false principles. It is evil company, my dear Madam, you may depend upon it;--evil company, evil example, bad government, and superstition, which make men what they are. Could you but visit the wilds of America, or of Africa, you would see man as he should be; simple, open, generous, hospitable; following the pure dictates of his natural feelings; full of sympathy, tenderness, affection; all that is amiable; all that is rational."

"What!" said the old lady, "am I then to understand that all moral evil is but the effect of example?"

"Of example, Madam," repeated the major: "of example and improper control."

"And not," said Mrs. Courtney, "the consequence of an evil nature and a depraved heart?"

"Undoubtedly not," said the major, opening his tooth-pick-case, and applying its contents to its usual purpose.

"Then, Sir," said the old lady, "you do not believe in the fall of man, and of his consequent corruption?"

"I believe," replied the major, "all that is necessary for a philosopher and a wise man to believe, and reject all which such a one should reject."

"Then, Sir," said Mrs. Courtney, "you and I can never agree." And the pink hue arose higher in the old lady's cheek, extending itself over her forehead and the upper part of her nose.

The major smiled, called to Wietlesbach to bring him a glass of bitters; and remarked, that he was sorry that so entire a disagreement should subsist between Mrs. Courtney and the wiser part of mankind.

Mrs. Courtney was on the point of making some vehement retort; and perhaps of telling the major that she was no longer disposed to harbour one under her roof who could treat her with so much contempt, and who could utter sentiments so contrary to religion, when the gentle Emily, who still but little understood the cause of her grandmother's displeasure, ran in between her two parents, and with one glance of her modest eye recalled the old lady to reflection, and brought her again to the resolution of bearing all rather than be parted from her child.

The major had resided in Mrs. Courtney's family little more than two years and a half, when the young people were deprived of their excellent friend and protectress by death. I could say much of their distress on the occasion; but as this may be readily imagined, I proceed to observe, that the situation of Christopher was rendered so painful by the loss of Mrs. Courtney, that, soon after her funeral, he summoned courage to tell his father, that he hoped he would decide upon some plan for removing him from home, and settling him in the world. To this request the major gave only a hesitating answer; telling his son that he would think of these matters by and by, though he could not as yet conceive what he was fit for, brought up as he had been by an old woman, and prepared only for the company of such.

It may be asked, what motive a father could possibly have for thus conducting himself towards an only son; but the truth of the matter was, that the major was a lover of money, and though he never denied himself any indulgence whatever, yet he could not think of parting with so much as was needful for placing his son in a good situation; and he had too much pride to allow him to think of any thing inferior for his child.

The major was not rich; and he had been much mortified on opening Mrs. Courtney's will, to find that she had left the bulk of her property to Emily, not to be touched till she was of age, with a considerable sum to Christopher upon the same conditions, but not a shilling to himself. Poor Christopher had therefore chosen an evil moment, while his father was smarting under this disappointment, to press his suit; and the consequence to himself was only a renewal of mortification.

After Mrs. Courtney's death, the major remained some months in the house of his late mother-in-law, being undetermined whither next to go; at the same time expressing great disgust at his situation, which ill suited a man of his habits.

During this period, poor Christopher became more and more dissatisfied with his father's treatment, which was peculiarly calculated to gall a high-spirited young man. And then it was that Emily, now thirteen years of age, felt increasingly the loss of her grandmother. She was still the darling and pride of her father; nevertheless, she had sense enough to discern that his conduct towards her brother was decidedly wrong, and strength and quickness of feeling sufficient to sympathize in all his trials. Many times, when she saw him in a state of high irritation, she would soothe and console him. "Dear Christopher," she would say, "do not doubt that our father loves you; and I love you--your own Emily loves you. Remember, also, that you have a Father in heaven, who knows all your troubles, and he will comfort you. Pray, dear Christopher, be patient."

"But to stay here, year after year," the brother would reply, "idling my time away, while other young men are gaining an independency; and then to be called an idle fellow--a vaut rien--a Miss Molly--it is what I cannot bear. No, Emily, I will run away, and go to sea, or enlist as a soldier."

This declaration always wrung the heart of Emily; and on these occasions she used to employ all the eloquence of tears and sobs to shake his resolution.

At length, on some high provocation from the selfish father, the unhappy young man fixed his determination so decidedly, that he resolved not to subject himself again to the pleadings of his Emily, for he felt that he could not resist them.

There was nothing so dear on earth to Christopher as his sister; and whenever he indulged the hope of future happiness in this life, it arose from the prospect of living with his Emily; and, surely, if he cherished what was romantic, or fanciful, in these visions of future days, we should pardon him, considering his youth, and recollecting that the earlier part of his life was spent on the borders of the Lac de Leman, the legion of all that is attractive in nature. But the time was arrived when this unfortunate youth was resolved to leave his sister, and with her, as he believed, to leave all that made his life desirable. His intentions were to take a small bundle of linen, and proceed on foot to the next port, where he doubted not he might be received on board some ship as a common sailor. What were his further views I know not, and perhaps he hardly knew himself: but how to separate himself from Emily, this was the question; and when could he resolve to part to meet no more?

For several days after he had made up his little bundle of linen, and arranged all his plans, he tried to see his sister for the last time, but tried in vain. In the morning he resolved to leave her in the evening, and in the evening he determined to put off his departure till the next morning. Thus day wore away after day till a whole week had passed. At length, on occasion of some new excitement, he made his final resolution; but still the difficulty existed, how was he to part from Emily?

Full of this sad thought, he one afternoon left his father's presence, and wandered, scarcely knowing whither he was going, into the coppice which had been the scene of his most happy boyish hours. Here he had enjoyed the society of his friend, the amiable Harrington; and here he had watched the growth of Emily, from lisping infancy to her present blooming period. Here he had often received the maternal endearments of her who now slept in the dust; and here he had indulged in all the glowing schemes and hopes of ardent youth. Every tree, every mossy bank, nay, every aged stump, or tender sapling, had its effect upon Christopher; and even the remoter views, caught through the openings of the wood, were all connected in his mind with some affecting recollection of past days.

There, on that bed of moss, beneath that hollow tree, he and his friend had made a hermitage for Emily, and adorned it with bits of broken glass and petrifactions. There, in that bush, he had pointed out a bird's nest to her, and had gone with her to feed the little nestlings. And in a third place, he had made a swing for her between two trees, and could recollect how she had once fallen from the swing, and excited his extreme alarm lest she should have received any injury.

Onward he walked, full of sorrow, and trying to subdue every rising recollection which might shake his resolution to depart for ever from this place, till he came to a favourite corner of the coppice, where, a few years past, under the shelter of a spreading oak, he and his friend had erected a hut, with infinite labour, to which the name had been given of 'Emily's Bower.' A few stakes still remained of their past labour, and a small part of the ill-constructed roof was still attached to the trunk of the oak, although several winters had passed since it had been wholly neglected.

The site of this bower had been chosen because it commanded a view of the hill and pool before mentioned, to which objects Christopher was particularly attached, because he fancied some resemblance in the arrangement of these objects to a scene he recollected in Switzerland; not aware that the most lovely scenes in England are not at all comparable to the glories of that most wonderful and enchanting country. Nevertheless, these imperfect resemblances had amused the mind of our warm-hearted youth; who had not unfrequently, when viewing this scene from the bower, taken occasion from it to speak of his native country, and to describe the events of his infancy; such as he recollected, when residing at a country-house, possessed by his paternal grandfather, on the heights of the Dole.

The shattered hut, therefore, with its beautiful environs, and the lovely view which it commanded, were impressive to his heart; and the powerful associations of his mind entirely overcame him; yea, such was his agitation, that he staggered to a mossy seat within the round bower, and, placing his open hands upon his knees, laid his burning forehead upon them, and yielded to the violence of his feelings by a flood of tears.

How long he had remained in this position he knew not; but, if time were to be calculated by the progress of thought, it was long, very long, (for the whole life of the unhappy youth had passed in review before him during this interval,) when he was suddenly roused by a rustling noise and the sound of approaching steps. He started, and looked up, and saw Emily approaching him. And now, as I am anxious that the reader may have a view of this lovely child, and there remains no way of presenting her to him, but by my feeble powers of description, I feel inclined to attempt such a portrait of her as may be given with the materials I possess.

She was, at this time, not more than thirteen years of age, and, though taller than many young persons of her age, yet, from the lovely simplicity of her habits, the modesty of her deportment, and the delicacy of her form and features, she was looking younger than she really was. She wore no cap, or hat, having come out in haste in pursuit of her brother; and though sorrow and anxiety were expressed on her countenance, still, the agitation of her mind, together with the quickness of her motion, had added a glow to her cheeks, which had rendered her native beauty still more pleasing. A profusion of chesnut hair hung in ringlets over her face and neck, and her dark blue eyes and dimpled features, though indicative of the most affecting tenderness, were now strongly marked by the distress which agitated her bosom. She came with such quickness, that Christopher had no time to conceal from her the tokens of his distress; in vain he hastily rubbed his eyes as she approached him; the evidences of his trouble were still too apparent, even through the smiles which now beamed on his countenance. "O, my brother!" she said, as she entered the bower and came closer to him, "O, my Christopher, you are unhappy! what can I do to comfort you?" and she threw her arms around him as he sat, and pressing his head against her gentle breast, wiped away the tears which moistened his cheeks with her muslin apron.

Christopher was so wholly overpowered by this affection, that his tears again gushed forth, and he sobbed aloud.

"What new sorrow troubles my brother?" said Emily; "tell me, O tell me, what afflicts you, my brother! Is it any thing in which our father is concerned? if it is, (and she hesitated,) I will run to him; I will kneel to him; I will not rise till he has granted all you wish.

"No, no, Emily," he replied: "no, my sister, my friend, my beloved; in one word, my Emily, you can do nothing for me."

"But tell me," she said, "has any thing new arisen? Has my father--?" and she hesitated again.

In reply to this, her brother assured her that he had no additional cause of sorrow to what he had known for many days past; and concluded by kissing away the tears of sympathy which were flowing down her cheeks.

"Then, my dear brother," she said, "there really is nothing new which afflicts you?"

"Nothing, my Emily, nothing," he replied: "only be comforted; I can bear every thing but to see you unhappy: be happy, my sister, and I cannot be miserable."

She looked enquiringly at him. His countenance seemed, even in her inexperienced view, to indicate something she could not understand. But, at the age of Emily, doubts and fears, however well grounded, have only a transient effect on the mind; and, as she had often seen her brother rendered uneasy by her father's manner, she tried to believe that this uneasiness would now pass away without other consequences than she had witnessed on former occasions; and therefore, when he attempted to rouse himself, and talk of ordinary things, she congratulated herself on seeing him in better spirits; and when he proposed to her to walk with him to a stile at the end of the wood, saying that he had some little business at a cottage a little beyond, she consented with cheerfulness, and commenced her walk with some composure. Nevertheless, as they proceeded through the narrow wood-ways, she observed that he relapsed into gloom; and when they arrived at the end of the wood, she was startled at the hurried manner in which he embraced her; the moment afterwards bounding over the stile, and running down the slope towards the cottage with a swiftness which soon removed him from her view.

It was late in the day when Emily was left by her brother; and she stood looking towards the spot where he had disappeared, till, the sun sinking suddenly behind the hills, the freshness of the evening breeze reminded her of the lateness of the hour, and her solitary situation. Casting one more glance towards the cottage, to see if her brother might yet be returning, she hastened her steps towards her home; and, not being in a condition to appear before her father, (who would immediately have discerned the traces of tears on her cheeks,) she withdrew to her chamber, and soon lost the remembrance of the melancholy scene in the wood in a deep sleep.

The major was a late riser, and made a point of taking his last meal at a late hour in the evening; therefore, though Emily was often asleep before nine o'clock, the domestics were commonly in motion till nearly twelve; the outer door being frequently open, or at least unbarred, till a very hate hour. Such being the case, it was not difficult for Christopher to execute a project which he had formed on parting with Emily at the stile. This was, to return, and see her once more, whether sleeping or waking; resolving, if he found her in the former situation, to cut a lock of her hair, and leave a letter with her, which should contain his farewell, and give the reasons of his departure. He accordingly wrote the letter with a pencil at the cottage, and returning, as soon as it was dark, to his father's house, which was no longer to be his home, he stole up to Emily's apartment; and there, having gently kissed her forehead, as she lay asleep, and cut one lovely ringlet from her head, he laid the letter on her pillow, and withdrew: but years passed away before it was known where he slept that night, or where he found a home or resting-place, after he quitted his father's house.

Thus, the selfishness and inconsideration of the parent effected the temporary ruin of a hopeful child. And here we might suitably adduce the caution of the Apostle-- Fathers, provoke not your children to anger, lest they be discouraged. [Col. iii. 21.] Nevertheless, it may be well to remark, in this place, that for one instance of a child ruined by a father's cruelty, as in the case of Christopher Muller, thousands may be found of undutiful and ungrateful children who ruin themselves.

As soon as the morning rose on Emily, after the departure of her brother, she observed the letter on her pillow, and opened it, full of apprehensions, which were too fully confirmed before she read the first line; and, early as it was, she hastened to her father's room, and imparted to him the cause of her anguish, by supplicating him to send some one to seek her brother, and bring him back, though he had left no clew by which he might be traced.

The major was evidently agitated on the first reception of this intelligence; but soon relapsed into a state of indifference, which rendered it impossible for those about him to determine how far he felt for his son. One thing, however, was remarked, that Wietlesbach was immediately dispatched in search of Christopher, and did not return for several weeks; and many epistles, uncouthly directed, were received from him during the interval.

In the mean time, Emily was inconsolable, and, for a length of time, never entered her father's presence without betraying her sorrow. Christopher--her beloved Christopher--seemed to occupy her whole thoughts, and even in her sleep she frequently called upon him; being strongly impressed, no doubt, with the remembrance of his last visit to her in her chamber. Many were the efforts made by this lovely little girl to trace her brother, but in vain. She often stole out alone, and enquired at the neighbouring cottages; she even expended all her pocket-money in promoting enquiries; and, as her last resource, she wrote to Charles Harrington, who had entered the army, and who was then in Ireland.

The conscience of Emily was somewhat wounded at the necessity under which she lay of carrying on this correspondence privately; for her father had forbidden her to mention her brother's name before him; but she felt what she did to be a duty, and thus conquered her reluctance.

The answer from Charles was what Emily might have expected--replete with sorrowful and affectionate expressions, and abounding with assurances, that he would do all that in him lay, among his many acquaintance and connexions, to trace his unhappy friend; while the last paragraph brought new sorrow to her heart, by informing her that he himself was on the eve of embarking, with his regiment, for the West Indies; the dangers of which she knew too well, by the description she had received of those fatal islands from her father.

After a while, Wietlesbach returned, and brought no tidings of Christopher; and the major then resolved upon leaving his present residence, and taking Emily with him. This intention was no sooner conceived than put into execution, with the precipitancy of one who was weary of all about him. The house and furniture, now become the property of Emily, were placed in the hands of her trustees; and the father with his daughter, and Wietlesbach as their only attendant, set out for London.

Emily, though grieved to part with many things and persons whom she had known and loved from infancy, was not displeased at this arrangement; for she entertained the hope that she might perhaps, during her travels, discover the object of her anxiety; and, to a heart not at ease, a change of place often affords some relief.

I shall not enter into a very detailed account of the various movements of the major and his family, from the time of their leaving the birthplace of Emily, till their final settlement in a place which I shall have occasion to describe at large in a future part of my history. The family first removed to London; whence, after having spent more than a year, they proceeded to Dover and Calais; and from this last place to Paris. There the major occupied handsome apartments, near the Palais Royal; and, as it was his plan to take all his meals at the cafés and restaurateurs, he placed Emily as a pensionnaire in one of the most fashionable seminaries in that capital--by this means leaving himself at liberty to pursue his own plans of amusement.

During her residence at Paris, Emily saw little of her father; and it is pleasing that we are able to say that she was not materially injured by the false system of education, the evil principles, and dreadful examples, which prevailed in the house. The religion of the family (if the lax principles and practice which obtained therein could be called religion) was Roman Catholic. The young people were, indeed, required to attend mass on the Sunday morning; to learn a catechism, to which they seldom attached any definite ideas, however obvious the meaning might be, and to confess during Lent; but these observances were not required of Emily, because she was a Protestant. One unhappy consequence of this situation was, that, after a while, she became careless in her private religious duties, and was persuaded, in the course of a few months, to accompany her young companions to Tivoli and Beaujon, on the evening of the Lord's-day. In these places she had opportunity of witnessing all the absurdities of what is called the pleasurable world; such as waltzing, flying down the Montagne Russe, rope-dancing, theatrical amusements in the open air, fortune-telling, and flirting.

We do not mean to say that Emily readily consented when first these amusements for the Lord's-day were proposed to her--that she did not remember with pain the peaceful and happy sabbaths spent under her grandmother's roof--that her conscience did not sometimes trouble her, when she reflected upon her great departure from Christian simplicity. But Emily was only in her fifteenth year, and had not one friend to remind her of her duty, or one example set before her by which she might be rendered sensible of her danger. She had also, since her father's return, been accustomed to hear perpetual sneers against religion, and the evidences of Christianity attacked by false reasoning; and though she as yet, through the divine blessing, indulged no professed doubts, yet she insensibly grew more and more careless respecting religion, and the love of pleasure gradually obtained increasing power over her.

It has been remarked before, that Mrs. Courtney was herself somewhat confused in her religious opinions; that she had not that clearness of perception into divine truth which would have enabled her to convey her instructions in a convincing way to her young people; in consequence of which, Emily had not the information and discernment which would have enabled her to detect the absurdities of popery, or to resist the sophistries of its teachers; and although she never once thought of adopting the Roman Catholic religion, yet she was greatly in danger, if not of becoming entirely an infidel, like her father, of falling into such a state of confusion and carelessness as would have left her, in fact, little better.

In the mean time, what improvements she made were in matters of secondary importance. She indeed acquired facility in speaking French, could enter a room with less embarrassment, and obtained a considerable knowledge of music, though not of the best kind.

While his daughter was thus passing through the fiery ordeal of this contagious society, and was preserved from utter destruction by Him who from the beginning, as afterwards appeared, had chosen her everlasting salvation, the major was passing his time in the cafés, gambling-houses, and theatres of the corrupt capital in which he resided, increasing his tendency to the gout by high living--to irritation, by continually exposing himself to the caprices of fortune--and to infidelity, by contaminating books, and licentious society; till, at length, after a lapse of about two years, he resolved, in a fit of disappointment, to quit Paris, because his vicious courses could not procure him that pleasure which belongs exclusively to virtue. Whither next he should bend his course he knew not, but to remain where he was he felt to be impossible. He therefore suddenly removed his daughter; and, having added an elderly French female servant to his establishment, and bought a carriage, he proceeded towards the frontiers of the Pays-Bas.

Emily felt as if suddenly awakened from a dream, in which she had long remained, when taken, without warning, from her young, her gay, and her unprincipled companions, and placed in the comparative quiet of a close carriage, with her father; Monsieur Wietlesbach and Madame la Blonde (the femme-de-chambre) being seated on the box. The major, who was uneasy, and dissatisfied with himself and all around him, was no companion to his daughter. It seemed to her that he had made greater advances to old age and infirmity, since last she had been familiarly associated with him, than the lapse of two years could account for; and, though she had been lately used to much license of discourse, she was not a little shocked at his sudden and frequent bursts of passion, and his intemperance of language, when he addressed his servants.

There was little to amuse Emily in her journey from Paris to Brussels, and still less in her progress through Flanders towards the German territory; for the major, after some hesitation, had made up his mind to reside for a while at Cologne. But, uneasy as Emily was with her father, she could less endure her own thoughts, which presented only reflections of a painful or perplexing nature; for, whether she thought of her grandmother, of Charles, or of her unhappy brother--whether she meditated on her present state, or looked back on her past life during the last two years--she saw nothing but subjects of regret, of shame, and grief; and, in order to fly from these, she could think of no resource but reading; and, as she had with her no English books but her Bible, (of which, at that period, she thought as a diseased subject does on the surgeon's knife, which may be necessary to secure him from death,) she was glad to procure a temporary relief by reading volumes such as the Continent chiefly supplies; namely, philosophical essays, corrupt histories, poetical works calculated only to inflame the passions, and various romances and novels; which last we may account as being more dangerous, because more fictitious and attractive, and requiring less mental effort in their perusal than all the other books we have enumerated.

Every well-meaning and intellectual traveller on the Continent must have observed, that most of the objects there to be seen are calculated to enervate the mind, and to excite the imagination and the passions at the expence of the judgment; and that scarcely a single ornamental work, a hook, a picture, or a statue, presents itself of a contrary tendency; while almost every conversation which meets the ear, is addressed rather to the passions than the reason. Hence the danger, the dreadful danger, to young and unstable characters in visiting these countries; and the impropriety of intrusting young persons, without a guide, in regions where sensual pleasure spreads all her snares; and where superstition, in the garb of religion, presents those allurements that decoy the thoughtless mind, rather than instruct and purify it.

Major Müller had, among his baggage, a variety of publications which he had collected at Paris, all of which were at Emily's command; nor did he refuse to add such volumes to his collection as the booksellers' shops afforded in the towns through which they passed; and, as the party travelled slowly, made frequent stoppages, and rested often, Emily found too many opportunities to pursue her dangerous studies; and thus, before she reached the place of their next destination, she had filled her mind with much of the trash, the false sentiment, and romantic desires, which books of imagination, not regulated by truth and religion, are calculated to inspire.

Amid all these deceitful vapours of fancy, one true and natural feeling only acted with any power on Emily's heart. This was the remembrance of her brother, with anxiety for his fate; and sometimes, when left alone in her chamber, she would think of him, and of many things connected with his history; of her happy early days, and the pious instructions of her grandmother; of the corner of her little play-room, where she had been accustomed to kneel and call upon her God; of her old Bible and hymn-book; till floods of tears would gush from her eyes, and a half-uttered prayer would burst from her lips. But these better feelings were continually chased from her mind by her dangerous studies, by the constant change of scenes and objects, and by the idle and corrupt tattle of her waiting-maid.

I shall not attempt to describe any of the countries through which the travellers passed in their way from Brussels to Cologne; though I might say much of the various beautiful churches in the Pays-Bas, with their musical chimes, and the dilapidated appearance of many of the towns and villages in that country, so entirely different from those in our happy island, where all look lively, fresh, and new.

I should feel a gratification in describing some of the forests on the confines of Germany--forests which have scarcely changed their aspect since they afforded a shelter to the wild hordes of Gomerites, the original inhabitants of the country--forests whose dark and gloomy appearance awakens the most fearful and terrific sensations.

I should also have much pleasure in describing the hills and valleys, the houses of lath and plaster, with their thatched roof and frowning gable-ends, which meet the eye in every direction in this part of Europe; but these things not being to my present purpose, I proceed to observe, that the major with his family having arrived at Cologne, he hastened to take a furnished house, in which having established Emily with her waiting-maid as a kind of companion, or duenna, and a suitable number of inferior servants, he found himself at liberty to seek such society as his depraved taste rendered most desirable.

Cologne is a very large walled town, founded, as it is said, by the Romans. The houses in the principal streets are wide and lofty, and have shutters on the outside.--There are some magnificent churches, and the inhabitants are Papists. Here, as in many parts of the Continent, it is customary, both for gentlemen and ladies, to dine at a table prepared in the principal inns, at a fixed hour; and it was at these public tables that the major always took his principal meal; but he did not suffer Emily to accompany him; and from these tables he frequently resorted to the billiard-room, concluding his evening at the theatre. By this means he presently formed acquaintance with most of the loose and dissipated characters of the place; and soon made himself conspicuous among those who were forward in discussing political subjects, and ridiculing religion generally; together with the existing absurdities of popery.

In the mean time poor Emily was left the mistress of a wide, half-furnished house, with no other companion than her femme-de-chambre, and no other amusement than her harp and her books, unless she sometimes ventured to peep at what was passing in the street, through the half-closed window-shutters: for, although her father was so careless with regard to his own morals and manners, he had worldly prudence enough to observe that a young woman detracts from her excellence by being seen much abroad; and, as his daughter was particularly attractive in her external appearance, he doubted not but she might be considerably elevated in life by marriage, if her friends and guardians used such precautions as worldly wisdom might dictate.

The major, however, scarcely seemed aware that bars and bolts, window-shutters, blinds, and duennas, are all insufficient when a young woman is herself imprudent. And how can prudence he reasonably expected when the principles are left unguarded? Nevertheless, in this most dangerous situation Emily was preserved, but not by the precautions taken by her father. He that had loved her from the beginning loved her still--she was his adopted one; and who shall pluck his adopted ones from the hand of the Almighty?

At this period of her utmost danger, her heavenly Father was her protector, his care was exercised over her, and none were suffered to hurt her; for, though she fell into many errors, through she spent her whole time in folly, she was not permitted to fall into any snare by which her character could he implicated, or her honour diminished.

Major Müller had not continued many weeks at Cologne, when news arrived from Switzerland, importing that his elder brother, with whom he had always been on very bad terms, was dead; and that, as this brother had never married, the whole of his considerable property had devolved on himself. The major was wonderfully elated at this news, and immediately made preparations for his return to his native country.

Emily had always fancied that it was possible her brother might have taken refuge in Switzerland among his mother's relations; she was, therefore, no less pleased than her father at this event, which called her to Geneva; and she made preparations for leaving her gloomy abode at Cologne with no small alacrity.

She now remembered with delight the wild tales with which her brother had so often amused her respecting his native country; and her imagination being raised by her late romantic kind of reading, she pictured to herself, in a lively manner, the snowy mountains, the dashing waterfalls, the demolished castles, the thatched cottages, and alpine pastures.

And now I wish it were in my power to make you, my readers, the companions of Emily and those regions of wonders and native beauties through which she passed in her way to Geneva. But, O, how impossible is it, by the medium of words, to give any adequate ideas of the grandeur of the Rhine, where castles frown on woody promontories, and the valleys bloom with fruit and flowers in abundance, almost as fair as those which graced the bowers of Eden! or to represent the deep and sombre forests of the Schwartzwald! or the bold and magnificent heights of the Hauenstein, through which the traveller passes into Switzerland! But we may have many and even superior scenes to describe, during the course of our narrative; and we would rather linger where our Emily may be resident, than dwell longer in regions where she was only a passenger.

It was on the day following that on which the travellers had entered Switzerland by the pass of the Hauenstein, that Emily first obtained a view of the snowy mountains. The carriages had just emerged from a wood in the neighbourhood of the valley of Soleure, when they were pointed out to her by her father. It was a cloudless morning, though somewhat hazy: there were near the horizon high blue hills, such as would have been called mountains in any other part of Europe. Being directed to look above these, her eye rested on a white spot in the region of the clouds. This spot was more bright than the cloud, when the sun shines upon it, and it was soon apparent that it was the summit of a mountain; and, as she gazed, more of the dazzling summits of other hills became visible; till at length, as the morning mist dispersed, the travellers were able to discover such a range of peaks, of cones, and table-lands, as Emily had never before beheld. These appeared elevated into a region more exalted than that which is occupied by mortal man; they seemed as the creations of another world; possessing a dazzling white and ethereal splendour which communicated to the spectator the feeling of something more than what belongs to earth; and conveying the idea of immeasurable height and unattainable distance: their connexion with the world below being imperceptible to the eye by reason of the dark colour of the lower parts of the mountains, which were wholly concealed by the morning mists. No person acquainted with the influence of religion can, I am persuaded, look at these glories of creation without a renewal of pious emotions. And thus it was with Emily; she remembered several occasions in which the venerable father of Charles Harrington had caused her by similitudes to trace the glories of the heavenly Jerusalem; by similitudes taken from the scenery of mountainous regions; and, by a natural association, these lessons of early youth soon returned to her mind, and she almost fancied she now beheld the outworks of a celestial world, and the portals, as it were, of heaven.--"Heaven!" she repeated to herself; "Mount Zion--the abode of those blessed spirits who have been saved by Christ and received into glory! But what have I to do with these? O where is the peace I once enjoyed? where is the happiness of my early days? Why have I thrown away my confidence in God? As I never can attain those glorious heights before me, so must I ever be banished from the everlasting hills! O, my beloved and venerable friends, would to God that I had been laid in the grave which contains your precious remains!"

Emily was brought to tears by these reflections, but not being willing that her father should notice these tears, she wiped them hastily away; and the mountains by this time being concealed from her view by the trees of a forest into which the carriage had just entered, she endeavoured to chase away her unpleasant feelings by returning to the perusal of one of her favourite authors.

A very few days after Emily had first seen the snowy mountains, her journey was concluded by the arrival of the family at Geneva. There Major Müller entered into the possession of a handsome inheritance; but, finding occasion to disagree with most of his old friends and connexions, he neither enjoyed their society himself, nor would allow Emily to do so. He, indeed, fixed himself with a suitable establishment in a handsome house; but, so far from seeming to be the more happy from his addition of fortune, he was evidently the more miserable; for his pride rising more rapidly than his fortune, his wants and wishes were as incapable of being satisfied as when his fortune was at its lowest ebb. Emily had also experienced a severe disappointment in not hearing any thing of her brother; and having few female acquaintances, and not one friend, Geneva appeared as dull and uninteresting to her as her residence in Germany had formerly done.

Major Müller always possessed a particular facility in connecting himself with the most worthless characters in every place. There is a kind of language, a peculiar sneer, a ready method of throwing contempt in a few words on religion and the existing government, by which persons of bad principle instantly understand each other; and the major had been but a few days in his native city before he was the acknowledged brother and confederate of the disciples of the philosopher of Ferney, and in a very short time many of these found their way to his house and to his table.

Emily was at this time not sixteen; and, as her father did not think it necessary to exclude her from society so entirely as at Cologne, her situation might have proved more dangerous than it was in that place, had not Providence interposed in her behalf, and secured her happiness, though in a way which could not be foreseen.

The major had not enjoyed the society of his new connexions many weeks, before a dispute arose between him and a young gentleman, a relation of his first wife, upon the subject of his conduct towards his son, which was understood to have been very culpable. The major answered with much warmth; on which the young man used very harsh and ungentlemanly expressions. Very high words passed on both sides; when the major forgot his character as a man of honour, and gave such provocation, that it was thought necessary, agreeably to the infidel idea of honour which prevailed in that unprincipled society, that the matter should be settled by a duel. A challenge therefore was sent to the major, who behaved at this crisis in such a way, that, when he next appeared in public, he was treated with marked contempt. The particulars of his behaviour have not reached me; and, had they done so, I perhaps should have been as much at a loss to understand why this unprincipled man, who had lived in open contempt of his Almighty Ruler, and all subordinate authority, and who had proved himself a despiser of all morality and religion, was to be scouted for some little point of etiquette in the court of honour, as I now am by being unacquainted with the particulars of the case. But, be this as it may, the major was unable to endure this kind of obloquy thus thrown upon him by his fellow-creatures, yet ashamed to own that he felt it; he pretended, therefore, that he was weary of living in the town, which he called dull and uninteresting to the last degree, and took the sudden resolution of removing to a beautiful country-house which he possessed in the neighbourhood of the Dole.

The Dole is the loftiest summit of the Jura, and lifts its craggy heights to the south-east extremity of that part of the chain of mountains which belongs to Switzerland. It is situated in the canton of Vaud, upon the frontier of France, and is 5474 feet above the sea, and near four thousand feet above the Lake of Geneva. The beautiful plants which it produces, its noble forests of pine and other trees, and the magnificent views which it commands, have rendered it deservedly celebrated. Mont Blanc is seen from hence in its greatest splendour; and from hence the eye may embrace, at once, the whole chain of the Alps, from Mont St. Gothard as far as the mountains of Dauphiny.

The little domain, with its château, inherited by Major Müller on this beautiful mountain, was neither so high as to be exposed to violent winds, nor so low as to lose much of the charming prospect visible from the higher points of the hill. The house was built of stone, and stood on an extensive lawn, variegated with clusters of trees; amidst which, the observant traveller could not fail of remarking the chesnut, the sycamore, the silver birch, the tulip tree, the laburnum, with its pendent wreaths of vegetable gold, the dark crimson shrub-rose, the beech, and the oak.--From an open portico in the front of the house, and from a balcony above the portico, the eye was able to command a view of the lake, spreading its glassy bosom beneath rocky hills, which appeared in some places to rise directly from under the water. Beyond these mountains, and towering above the clouds into the region of ether, not unfrequently appeared the snowy summits of Mont Blanc. The appearance of this mountain, seen from this direction, is almost pyramidical, and it is elevated nearly eight thousand feet above the level of perpetual snow; thus presenting to the eye such a pyramid--so vast, so luminous, and so magnificent--as we should scarcely find in any other region of the world; unless we were to visit the snowy Andes, or take our station in the plains beneath the Indian Caucasus.

Such were the objects which presented themselves in the front of the château; while immediately behind it was an immense forest of pine, in an opening of which, formed by certain rugged and barren rocks, appeared a mountain torrent, dashing and foaming over its stony bed, till, turning a little aside, it fell into a deep ravine on the northern side of the house.

The house itself was not very large, but well suited for the residence of a gentleman. It consisted of one large hall, encircled by a corridor, into which the doors of the upper chambers opened. This hall, which was composed of marble, was enriched with many statues, some in groups, some single, but all as large as life. On the left-hand of this hall was a library, which seemed to hang over the ravine above mentioned in a manner almost terrific, and at such a height, that the eagles of the mountain were not unfrequently seen winging their flight beneath it. Here the ear was continually soothed by the distant murmur of the mountain torrent; while a perpetual feast was prepared for the eye by the picturesque wildness of the scenery of the glen, forming a striking contrast with the softer features of the landscape beyond. This apartment had been abundantly furnished with books by the elder brother of the major; but though among these books there was much which might amuse the curious reader, or feed the fancy of the poetical one, there was little to amend the heart or correct the judgment. The other apartments of this château are not worthy of particular description.

Young persons are in general fond of change; and Emily was not a little delighted at the first view of the beautiful spot which was to become the place of her abode. It is true, that she had little to regret in leaving Geneva; but she had never yet tried what sort of a companion her father would prove in a situation where he was to be her only one; neither had she considered, that a time might come when even the beauties of the Dole, and the ever-varying charms of alpine scenery, might cease to delight--when the heart might be sighing for a companion to whom it might impart its feelings, or for some occupation which might excite a real interest. During, however, the first day or two of her residence in her new abode, she experienced no lassitude; and in that period she examined every corner of the house and of the pleasure-grounds, and even of the pine-forest and the sombre glen within a mile of the château. She made herself acquainted with every statue, every painting, and every remarkable prospect about the house, and formed to herself a thousand plans of improvement and occupation.

During this first fervour of spirits, she did not observe that her father was gloomy and inactive, that he seldom spoke, that he sat continually in one place, and that his countenance scarcely ever relaxed into a smile. When, in a short time, this discovery was made,--when she found that he complained much of bodily infirmity, that he was fretful, disputatious, and incapable of being amused by any exertion which she could make for that purpose,--she began to feel the difficulties of her situation, to look forward with dread to long hours of solitude, and to gaze on the natural beauties which surrounded her with indifference. To add to her unpleasant feelings at this moment, Madame la Blonde (her chambermaid) being seized with the same apprehensions which had taken possession of her mistress, thought proper to take her departure; by which Emily was deprived of the only person with whom she could converse freely.

Religion, at this moment, would have offered itself as a resource, but Emily shrank from the idea of recurring to her Bible; but she had recourse to the library, and tried to pass away the long, weary day by reading romances; and thus she bewildered herself more deeply in the mazes of error, and more assiduously endeavoured to console herself, in the absence of real happiness, by the dreams of fancy.

The summer was now past, the autumn succeeded, and winter arrived. The major sank more deeply into dejection of spirits. He had proved the pleasures of the world, and found them fallacious; and the pleasures and hopes of religion he had deliberately cast away. His health was declining; and he was made sensible, by many infirmities, that he was not immortal. If he loved any thing on earth, it was Emily; but he had lately indulged the thought that his affection was not returned, and he believed that he had forfeited her regard by his conduct to her brother.

This idea, once admitted, found much to support it in her uneasy and dissatisfied manner. Thus he became shy towards her, and she, in return, more distant to him; till, at length, the uneasiness became reciprocal; and the unhappy daughter, shunning as much as possible her father's presence, spent her solitary hours in shedding tears, in thinking of past happy days, in calling upon the name of Christopher, and regretting the distance which separated her from Charles.

In this manner passed the winter, and spring again began to appear in all the glowing beauties with which she advances in that charming region. At this period, Emily, who was much without, began almost to envy the little peasant boys and girls, who were pursuing their rustic labours in the valleys and on the sides of the mountain; and she was greatly attracted by a pastoral life; and she fancied, that, had she been born in a cottage, she should have been happy; not considering that every path of life has its advantages and disadvantages; and that, however agreeable it might be as a shepherdess in a morning of May, when bees are gathering honey on the fragrant down, and gentle breezes scarcely shake the dew from the opening flowers, yet that even shepherdesses are sometimes scorched with the burning rays of the midday sun, and sometimes pinched with the cold frosts of the autumnal evening. But who can describe the variety of sickly fancies which, by turns, take possession of the heart which is sighing for happiness, and yet perversely refusing to seek it where it may be found?

The spring passed away, and the summer came, but brought no alleviation to the sorrows of Emily. In the beginning of June her father had a severe fit of the gout; during which his daughter, driven from him partly by his waywardness, and partly because she no longer felt a wish to please him, left him almost wholly to the care of his servant, and to the influence of those infidel writers with which his brother's library abounded; and it was before he was recovered from his bodily complaint, which left him more infirm than it had found him, that certain events took place, which I shall now proceed to relate.

It was the middle of June; the morning was very fine; and the ardent rays of the sun were tempered by clouds, which, passing over the mountains, sometimes threw parts of them into shade, and again, by their removal, restored them to the full glory of the broad summer day;--the gentle breezes, also, wafted the perfumes of this honeyed region, to regale the senses and moderate the heat;--when Emily, stepping forth from her unsocial home, hoped to find some alleviation to that restless spirit, which continually disturbed her, by exploring the charming environs of the château. The conscience of this young female was not as yet so insensible as to allow her wholly to neglect her father, and yet feel comfortable. She indeed tried to plead his irritable temper as an exercise for her conduct, but the plea was not sufficiently strong to give ease to her mind; and when she recollected his unkindness to her brother as another reason for neglecting him and pursuing her own fancies, she could not but feel that she was the last person who ought thus to avenge her brother's injuries, inasmuch as, as far as she was concerned, there appeared no similar ground of complaint. Her father had always loved her, always preferred her, always cherished her, and never denied her any indulgence which it was in his power to bestow.

Such being the state of the case, we cannot suppose that Emily was happy when she left her home in the instance we speak of; and it was in some degree to her honour that she was not so; and that she frequently wept as she proceeded, and often sighed, as she drew a comparison between the state of her mind, when she lived in England, with its present condition.

The first steps of Emily's walk were through a grove of dark pine, which formed, as it were, a wreath around one of the lower peaks of the mountain; and then, passing in a broad line behind the château, she descended into the glen, beneath the windows of the library. Emily, having passed this line of forest, came out into one of those verdant pastures, so frequently found in the higher regions of the mountains of Switzerland; from which they are emphatically called Alps. A range of bold rocks, in a semicircular form, composed the western boundary of this pasture-ground. The lower part of these rocks was adorned with saxifrages, laburnums, brushwood, mountain-ash, and the crimson rose; while the upper regions were arranged by nature in the forms of mowers and bastions, fortresses and bulwarks; tower being exalted above tower, bastion above bastion, and bulwark above bulwark; till the highest points were lost in the region of the clouds. From these rocks, in different directions, poured two limpid streams, rushing through the stony chasms, and down the rugged precipices, with a never-ceasing noise, dashing and foaming through their shadowy beds, as if impatient of delay, till, having reached the pasture-ground below, their progress became more calm, and the thunders of their courses were converted into gentle murmurs--these waters producing the only sounds that interrupted the silence of this sequestered spot, which, during ten months of the year, is rarely visited by the foot of man.

In the centre of this alpine pasture was a lonely edifice of unhewn stone, built for the convenience of the shepherds, whose custom it was to resort thither, with their flocks, for six weeks in the year. This edifice was white, and built in the form of a shepherd's tent. Emily had often visited this place before, and had frequently gazed on the scene with delight; but now she turned from it with a sigh, and, directing her steps around the base of the rocks, she came to a narrow pass on the northern side of them.

Pursuing this path a while, being inclosed on either side by rock, she presently arrived at an opening, from which she saw other parts of the mountain, and at her feet a narrow valley, at the bottom of which ran a little stream. This valley was so entirely wooded that she could distinguish the water in a few places only between the openings of the trees. The descent into this valley was by certain rugged steps cut into the rock, which Emily resolved to try at all hazards, and accordingly lost no time in bounding from step to step, till she presently found herself near the bottom of the ravine, and saw before her a bridge of a single plank thrown over the water, and on the opposite side of the bridge, a little higher up the brook, a thatched cottage, such as continually meet the eye in the canton of Berne, though not so commonly in that of the Vaud. The roof projected over the sides of the house to such an extreme as to shelter a gallery of considerable width beneath it. This roof was made to slope so much that its sides were almost perpendicular, and little of the side walls of the house was visible; but the gable end which faced the bridge was high, and the gallery was adorned on this side with creepers, that wound around the rough timber pillars which supported it. The doors and windows of the cottage opened into the gallery above and the verandah below; and before the lower door sat a very old woman, having a table before her, on which lay a book, that she seemed to be studying with deep attention. The old woman was dressed as a peasant, in a coarse blue petticoat, a jacket of the same, and a black apron; but having a cap and kerchief of the whitest linen. Behind the house was a small garden, encompassed with some wooden frame-work, inclosing a variety of flowers, and a covered stand, in which were many bee-hives; but the bees were abroad, busy in their daily labour; their murmurs mingling with the rush of waters and the rustling of leaves, the sounds of which disturbed the deep stillness of this peaceful abode; or rather tended to increase the soothing influence of this pleasing spot.

Emily stood a while gazing at this scene with delight. In the venerable woman there was something above what is generally seen in an ordinary peasant; and Emily, in admitting the conviction that what she was reading could be no other than the Bible, experienced a degree of respect for this inhabitant of an obscure cottage, which she would scarcely have felt for a sovereign princess employed in any other way. The peasant continued to be occupied by her book; and Emily, stealing forwards, crossed the bridge, and approached the cottage, yet hesitated again before she ventured to disturb the old woman. While she still lingered, the peasant looked up and saw her. There was no appearance of vulgar wonder in the old woman when first she perceived the young lady standing before her; but, rising and stepping forwards with a courteous smile, she invited her in, caused her to sit down, and, before she was well aware, had set before her a cup of goats' milk, and a basket of mountain strawberries. The new acquaintances then entered into discourse; and Emily was soon conscious that it was no ordinary peasant with whom she was holding intercourse; but how to account for the residence of any one above a peasant in this sequestered spot, she was utterly at a loss.

The venerable cottager was in no haste to enter into any particulars which might lead to an explanation of her circumstances; on the contrary, she spoke only on such topics as the surrounding objects might suggest. But it is, perhaps, in ordinary conversation that the difference between an informed and an uninformed mind is chiefly remarkable. Emily, who was weary of the solitude of her situation, lingered long with her, and did not take her leave till she had been invited to repeat her visit.

On her return to the château, she was met by Monsieur Wietlesbach, who came running towards her out of breath, exclaiming, while still at some distance, on his own good fortune in having met with her.

"And why do you count your meeting with me so fortunate?" replied Emily.

"Because," replied the valet, "Monsieur is distressed at your long absence. And, vraiment," he added, shrugging up his shoulders, "he would have made me feel the effects of his distress, had I not hastened and flown to seek you."

"What! is my father angry at my absence?" asked Emily.

"Angry! Mademoiselle," replied the valet, "the word is by far too mild, he is furious! and he treated me, on your account, as I have never before been treated."

"But apparently," said Emily, "he has not made you suffer much, otherwise you could not seem so pleased as you now do."

"This is because my disposition is not vindictive, lady," he replied: "but your father is displeased, lady; therefore hasten home."

"I cannot help it," replied Emily, sullenly: "surely he would not deprive me of the liberty of walking about these solitary mountains! Go back, Monsieur," she added, "and tell him I am coming."

"Pardonnez," replied the valet: "I appear not but in your suite, Mademoiselle;" and again he drew up his shoulders, as if they still ached.

Emily hastened homewards, and entered her father's presence in no mood to propitiate his favour. He was in his sleeping-apartment, which he had not left since his last attack, and was sitting with his gouty foot on a pillow; clad in a silk dressing-gown, and wearing a black velvet cap on his head.

"And where, young lady, may you have been?" he asked, in a thundering voice. "You have been absent more than three hours; and the dinner has been delayed half an hour and five minutes."

Emily sat down, but made no answer.

"Wietlesbach, where did you find your young lady?" said the major; "for it seems she cannot speak for herself."

"Where have you been, Mademoiselle?" asked the valet, shrinking behind his master's chair.

"Where did you meet her, Sir?" thundered the major.

The valet had conceived that Emily did not wish her father to know in what direction she had walked; though he had not yet formed any conjecture concerning the reason she might have for wishing to mislead her father respecting her excursion. It was enough for his crooked mind to suppose that she had some such reason; and, therefore, looking significantly at Emily from behind the major, he said, "Did you wish for your dinner, Monsieur? shall I give directions to the cook?"

"Are you deaf, Sir?" said the major. "Cannot you answer the question I put to you? Where did you meet my daughter?"

"Moi, Monsieur, I--I followed her; I returned with her'; I entered the room in following her. Should I walk before my master's daughter? where would be my politesse?"

The major became furious, (to use an expression of the valet;) and, turning to strike him on the side of the face, Monsieur gave a spring backwards, and in a moment was out of the room.

"What a grinning fool we have there!" exclaimed the major; "and yet the fellow makes me smile whether I will or not, and that," he added with bitterness, "is more than my children have ever done;" and he muttered something indistinctly, which Emily in vain endeavoured to understand.

She, however, looked up, (for her eyes had hitherto been fixed on the ground,) and said, "I am sorry if I have kept your dinner waiting; but surely there is no great sin in walking upon the mountains, where I seldom see a human being?"

"Nor pleasure neither, I should think," said the major.

"That is a matter of opinion," replied Emily.

"You are very short and unceremonious," remarked the major; and he sighed.

At that instant the valet reappeared, bringing in the first dish, and wearing a napkin attached to his jacket. The dish pleased the major, he looked graciously at the bearer of it, he ate heartily, talked to his valet; and, having drunk a certain portion of wine, he told his daughter she might withdraw for a time, while he enjoyed his evening's sleep.

Emily, being thus dismissed from her father's presence, felt more than ever displeased with herself. She tried to believe that her father's infirmities of temper were a sufficient excuse for her neglect of him, and for her frequent sullenness in his presence; but she could not set her conscience at ease, and yet could not resolve to do better in future. She, therefore, could only weep; and, when she returned to his room in the evening, she was so sullen in her manner, that her father bade her leave the room, and stay away till she could behave more like a daughter.

Emily spent some hours that night in weeping, and the next morning felt doubtful for some time whether she should send an apology to her father for her misconduct, or wait to ascertain if he would make some advances to her. But, while she hesitated, the sound of his voice reached her ears from his bedroom, and she heard him laugh aloud at some jest of his servant. Offended at this, she took her breakfast alone, and then walked out, directing her steps the nearest way to the cottage in the glen.

The venerable peasant was found by Emily where she had left her. She expressed great pleasure at seeing the young lady, and gave her to understand that she now knew who she was; and added, that she should be most happy to serve her in any way possible.

Emily thanked her, though it did not immediately occur to her of what service so humble a person could be to her.

"You are young, dear lady," said the peasant, "and have no mother, no elderly female friend about you; and sometimes you might stand in need of counsel from one of some experience." She then gave Emily an outline of her life. "I have not always dwelt in this solitude, dear young lady," she said: "mine has been a changeful lot. My name is Vauvrier; I was educated perhaps beyond my situation, and married in early life to a learned man, a pastor of the Reformed Church. I resided with him many years on the banks of the lake of Morat. We were blessed with several children; all of whom, with the exception of one, are now in glory with their father, for they knew in whom they trusted." She then accounted for her present circumstances by saying, that her daughter had married a plain good man, whose only patrimony was the cottage in which they then dwelt; that her son-in-law had once enjoyed a flourishing trade; but, being reduced by misfortunes, had died, leaving his family with means of subsistence so contracted, that they were compelled to retire to their little patrimony, and to add to their small pittance by their labour in the fields in summer, and by spinning and needlework in the winter.

"You are, then," replied Emily, in astonishment, "the daughter and widow of educated men? You have lived in affluence, you have mixed with the world, and yet you are content in this humble situation?"

"There are many considerations, Mademoiselle," replied Madame Vauvrier, "which ought to make me contented in this situation, independent of religion. Low as I am now, I might have been brought lower; much as I have already lost, I might have lost more; and, though I possess no earthly splendour, the comforts I enjoy are numerous. Have I not my affectionate daughter, my smiling grandchildren, my peaceful cottage, and sufficient nourishment? not to mention these beauties of creation by which I am surrounded. Surely every sense is regaled in this charming spot. Look, dear lady, at yonder rushing waterfall, high up the glen, half hidden by trees; at those rocks, so adorned by the hand of nature; see that extent of woodland, rising towards the mountain top on the opposite bank; and the deep shade of those many trees beneath which the brook retires from view. Then consider what music I have to enliven me, (and the old lady paused a moment, as in the attitude of listening,)--the hum of bees, the song of birds, the rush of waters, the whispering of the breeze! What a concert has nature prepared in this place! not to speak of the feast which is provided for another sense. Surely no flowers are half so fragrant as ours in this delightful country! How is it possible to live here, and not be ever gay, ever delighted?"

Emily looked as if she thought the thing very possible; on which the venerable cottager seemed to recollect herself, and added, "But I talk foolishly: I ought to remember, that the enjoyment of present comforts depends very much upon religion; for the unchanged heart is incapable of true happiness. I should have commenced by explaining that which has rendered all the agreeable scenery around me really interesting. The knowledge and enjoyment of God's love, and a constant reliance on Him, have rendered my present condition thus happy to me.

"And the pleasure you take in serving him," replied Emily. "Alas! alas!" she added, "I was once happy too, and it was when I loved God and attended to my religious duties; but I am very unhappy now, Madame Vauvrier, and I would tell you wherefore, if you would hear me."

"Hear you, my dear child, to be sure I would, if it would do you any good. But I will dispense with your confessions, for perhaps I know already every thing you would say. You have some domestic troubles, and who has not? You have some painful duties to fulfil, and you rather avoid the performance of them than seek to find peace in their fulfilment; and the sense you have of your misconduct in these respects, makes you fly from God, and shun all intercourse with him by prayer and meditation. Your case, my dear young lady, is a very common one, and requires little explanation to an old woman like me."

The conversation between Emily and the venerable peasant was at this moment interrupted by two playful children, who came bounding down the almost perpendicular hill, on the side of the glen opposite the cottage; a boy and a girl, between eight and ten years of age, fair and lovely in their appearance; the boy wearing no head-dress, and the girl having a large flat straw hat, such as are often supposed to be worn by the shepherdesses of pastoral romance. Swift as arrows from a bow they had descended the height and passed the wooden bridge; and, before the grandmother had had time to point them out to Emily as her own Wilhelm and Agnace, they had paid their compliments to their visiter with a politeness above their degree.

Emily being now reminded, by the position of the mountain shadows, that the morning was wearing away, took her leave, adding, that she hoped soon to return to enjoy more of the society of her venerable monitress.

Emily returned towards her home with a slow step, being lost in meditations of no agreeable nature. When entered beneath the belt of pine, the deep gloom which encompassed her seemed to be in such conformity with the state of her mind, that she began to shed tears. O, my unhappy brother!" she said, "where are you now? and am I not now following your example, yielding to the same irritation, and with less cause? My father did love me once, and I once hoped to be the means of reconciling him to you; but now I have need of one to stand between me and my father." And my heavenly Father too, I once loved him, once delighted in his service; but that time is past; and yet there is one who would mediate between me and my offended God--my Saviour, my long despised and neglected Saviour."

Thus speaking, she sat down on a stone, and, leaning her head upon her hands, she prayed earnestly and ardently, repeating many times, "Lord, have mercy upon me, a miserable sinner!" So fervent a prayer, dictated, evidently, by the Holy Spirit, and presented with such simplicity and sincerity, was the beginning of better things; for when she arose she felt new courage, and now proceeded more speedily on the way to her father's house.

Being arrived there, she went immediately to the door of her father's chamber, and there stood waiting till the valet came out. "Monsieur Wietlesbach," said she, in a humble tone, "will you go back to my father, and ask him if I shall have the pleasure of dining with him? I have not seen him to-day."

The valet bowed, grinned, and, assuming an air of patronage, replied, that he would do as she desired, with all the pleasure in the world.

Emily still stood at the door, and heard the servant deliver the message, and a loud and harsh voice in answer, saying, "Tell her that I choose to dine alone!"

"Mais, Monsieur," said the valet, "assurément you would not deny the request of Mademoiselle? She is au dessespoir; she is very much afflicted; she earnestly desires the honour of being admitted to your presence."

"None of your absurd grimaces," was the reply given by the major; "I will not see my daughter; she has offended me, and I have not deserved this treatment, from her at least. Tell her what I say: I will not see her. Begone."

Emily did not wait to hear this stern answer repeated by the valet, but, rushing along the corridor, she hastened to her own room, and shut the door. There, bursting into a flood of tears, she soon became more composed; but shortly afterwards, hearing the step of the valet near her door, she went out to him, and asked if she might be permitted to see her father, and what message he might have for her.

"Madame," said Monsieur Wietlesbach, bowing, and accompanying his bow with a shrug, " I am sorry, but Monsieur cannot see you to-day. Notwithstanding, he makes his compliments to you, and hopes that you will not be offended, but he has another engagement."

"Did my father send his compliments to me?" said Emily.

"Précisément," said the valet: "he hoped you would not be offended, but he is at present disposed for solitude."

"Tell him, then," said Emily, "that I am ready to attend him whenever he wishes to see me;" and so saying, she turned back into her room, and spent the rest of her day alone. She endeavoured to beguile the long hours by reading; and, with this view, took up a book, but her thoughts wandered from it. She laid it down, and tried her needle. A needle is often a dangerous companion to those whose minds have taken a wrong direction; but, in the state in which Emily was at that period, this quiet occupation was one, of all others, which proved most profitable to her. Every word which Madame Vauvrier had said to her in the morning recurred to her mind, and, with these, the many lessons of piety she had received in her youth. Her long neglect of these lessons next occurred to her, her alienation from God, her selfishness, her undutifulness, the worldliness of thought in which she had indulged, and the discontent into which she had fallen. Thus the sinfulness of her conduct for many months past unfolded itself, till, in an agony of grief, she threw down her work, and yielded, without restraint, to her grief. In the morning she sent to enquire after her father's health by a female servant, and to ask permission to see him; but, receiving no answer to the enquiry, and a fiat denial to her request to be allowed to see him, she sent to ask permission to take a walk.

"Tell her," said the major, in reply, "that she is at liberty to do what she will--her dutifulness comes too late; the agitation she has occasioned me has been the means of removing the gout from the extremities of my body, and I doubt not but I shall soon feel it in some vital part."

The servant who had carried Emily's request to the major brought only the former part of his reply; in consequence of which, she immediately prepared to go to Madame Vauvrier, resolving to open her heart to her, and request her maternal counsel.

Madame Vauvrier was indeed a stranger to Emily; but this poor young female had no friend, no tender mother, to whom she might relate her troubles, and she felt that she had discovered the maternal character which she needed for her consolation in this venerable peasant: nor was she deceived; for the Almighty, in his infinite mercy, had prepared such a friend for Emily in Madame Vauvrier as, we fear, few parts of the Continent could supply.

Emily found Madame Vauvrier alone, and rejoiced to see her. The conversation this day was confidential on both sides; and Madame Vauvrier, having consented to hear all Emily had to say relative to her particular trials, gave her the best advice respecting her conduct,--"I see no remedy, but from God," said she, "for all these evils. You must, therefore, my dear child, lose no time in applying to your heavenly Father for help. But, before we part, permit me, my dear young lady, to question you respecting your knowledge of that God whom, I trust, you now desire to make your friend."

Madame Vauvrier then, finding that Emily was comparatively ignorant of the leading doctrines of the Christian religion, endeavoured to state them to her as clearly and shortly as possible. She first spoke upon the nature of God; of the doctrine of the Trinity in Unity, on which the whole Christian system is built. With the names appropriated to the persons in the Trinity Emily was acquainted, but was ignorant of the offices they condescendingly sustain in the plan of human redemption. She was entirely unaware of the love of the Father, of the nature of the sacrifice made by the Son, with the work of the Spirit, and the perfection of that salvation wrought for the saints.

The venerable peasant then explained the high privilege obtained for us sinful creatures by the death of Christ, namely, that of being permitted to converse with God in prayer; and pointed out to the young lady the benefits which she might hope to derive from a constant application to the Almighty for assistance. "Your trials, my dear young friend," she said, "are of constant recurrence, not only from the infirmities of your dear father, but from your own rebellious heart. A constant supply of grace that you may patiently endure your trials is, therefore, necessary for you. And in what way can you seek these supplies, but by continual prayer?--Ask, and it shall be given you; seek, and ye shall find; knock, and it shall be opened unto you. [Luke xi. 9.] Let those woods and groves, my dear child, which have hitherto heard only your complaints, now resound with the song of praise; encourage a thankful, grateful spirit; let grateful acknowledgements henceforward take place of lamentation; and be assured, my beloved guest, yea will soon wonder at the magnitude of your blessings instead of lamenting the severity of your trials."

The good woman added much wore relative to the redeeming love of our Lord Jesus; and closed the conference by a prayer, in which the venerable widow, having fastened the door of her cottage, poured forth her whole heart in pleading for the poor major and his unhappy children.

The prayer being concluded, Emily embraced her aged friend, who pressed her young visiter to her maternal bosom with every expression of love and pity; after which, she prepared to return to her father s house.

During her walk, her heart was so full, that, for a while, she could not even weep. Never before had she felt so deep a sense of sin; while the natural wonders which were spread around her with a munificent hand served only to increase a deep conviction of her own meanness, and the infinite glory of God. Being again arrived at the alpine pasture, on the heights above the château, her eye fixed itself, for the first time during that morning, on Mont Blanc, whose summits appeared above the Mont de Midi on the opposite side of the lake, the lower part of it being concealed in mist, as its snow-clad heights shone in aerial splendour above, appearing to reject all connexion with inferior earth.

Emily was arrested by the view of this inconceivably glorious object. The power, the majesty, the magnificence of the Creator, as connected with the remembrance of his love and condescension, as they had been brought before her by Madame Vauvier, in the work of man's salvation, seemed, for a time, wholly to overpower her; and, clasping her hands, and raising her eyes and heart far above the dazzling peaks of the snowy region now before her, she poured forth her whole soul in one ardent prayer; by which her strength was renewed as the eagle's. She now descended the heights with hasty steps, nor delayed a moment till she had reached the château, her father's chamber, and the side of the bed, from which he had not yet risen: and there, casting herself on her knees, "My father!" she exclaimed, "forgive, forgive your unhappy child. I have offended, I have incurred your just displeasure; but I will not rise till you pronounce my forgiveness."

The tears and deep penitence of his daughter were not to be resisted by the major; who had begun to feel himself very uncomfortable in her absence, repenting of his harshness towards her. He therefore hesitated not, but extended his arms to her, and received her, weeping, to his bosom.

When the first moment of powerful sensation was over, and the major had recovered his wonted manner, Emily saw, with grief, that he appeared more unwell than she had seen him before. He complained of his foot, and said, "Emily, I have wanted you to rub my poor leg; your soft hand always eases me."

"I know I have behaved very ill, my dear father," she answered; "but, if you will think no more of the past, I will try, with God's blessing, to behave better in future."

"Try, with God's blessing!" said the major, smiling.

"Why, you can behave well, and stay at home, if you will, can't you, you little fool?" and he tapped her cheek as she stooped over his gouty leg.

"I am not quite sure that I can stay at home, or do any thing right, without help," replied Emily, smiling; "for I think I have proved my insufficiency already; as I certainly never purposed to do any thing to displease you, my dear parent, and yet I have done it."

"Well, well," said the major, "only be a good girl, and rub my leg gently; for I am quite sick of that Wietlesbach. The fellow took so much upon him, and made so many grimaces, when I was left to his care, that I was ready to knock him down every instant. And I hope, as you say, that you will be helped to stay more with me; and then I shall not be so dependent on him."

"Dear father," replied Emily, "you shall not be dependent on him any longer; but you must not laugh at me when I speak of my own helplessness and want of power to do well, because it troubles me."

"Well, I won't then," said the major, in something of the tone which a person uses to a petted child.

Before more could be expressed, the valet came capering into the room, bringing a highly-seasoned ragout on a salver, with other appurtenances, for his master's dinner. On seeing Emily, he started; but, recovering himself with a bow, into which he endeavoured to throw a kind of congratulatory expression on her return to favour, he set the salver before his master, and, retreating a few steps, "Acknowledge, Monsieur," he said, "that I have well done. There is a dish fit to set before the king himself. I have had difficulty to prevent myself from devouring it, as I conveyed it from the kitchen."

The major was in high good-humour, owing to the presence of his daughter; and the scent of the ragout by no means diminished his pleasure. He laughed heartily at his valet's grimaces, and promised him the licking of the dish for his supper; "that is," added he, " if I have not occasion to break your pate, for some dog's trick, before that time."

Monsieur Wietlesbach always had an answer ready, conformable to the temper of his master, for he had found it his interest to please him; and the witticisms of the master, and the repartees of the valet, passed and repassed so quickly, while the former was taking his meal, that Emily neither found opportunity, nor inclination, to meddle in the discourse; and she then plainly perceived, that it ought to be her first endeavour to withdraw her father from this society, which, to say the least, was injurious to the major, and to herself extremely irksome.

Emily was enabled to persevere in her attentions to her father for several days, and was by this means thoroughly restored to his affection and favour; yet, during all this time, though she found one or two opportunities of visiting Madame Vauvrier, and fortifying her own mind by her advice and pious discourse, and by joining with her in prayer, she could not find strength to introduce any discourse decidedly serious in her father's hearing. Nevertheless, Providence was not unmindful of her; and what she could not effect herself was done for her, and in a very remarkable manner.

The reconciliation between Emily and her father had not taken place many days, before the gout, which had long been moving about him, took possession of his stomach. The remedies which were used to expel it thence were very violent, and he fell into a state of weakness in consequence; during which, he was, for a time, either wholly delirious or childish, requiring attention night and day. Emily then ventured, from her own judgment, to ask Madame Vauvrier's assistance. The excellent old lady was never backward in a work of mercy; accordingly, on receiving the invitation of Emily, she soon arrived, in her best blue petticoat, her newest silk apron, and her whitest cap.

It was an inexpressible delight to Emily to see this pious person seated by the pillow of her father's bed; and, though he at first was unconscious of her presence, she hoped for the happiest effects by having this eminent Christian so nearly associated with her infidel parent. In addition to her consolation on this occasion, Monsieur Wietlesbach was incapacitated from attending by a sprained ankle, occasioned, as he said, by running down stairs in haste, to execute some order of his master. But, be this as it may, Emily saw in this affair the wisdom of Providence, and received it as a token for good.

While Major Müller was in that state of weakness which scarcely allowed him to distinguish one person from another, his venerable nurse found means to make her services so acceptable to him, that, as he became more sensible of her presence, he would not be satisfied unless she was constantly with him, and could hardly be prevailed upon to allow her the rest which was absolutely necessary for one of her advanced age. After a while, he became desirous of knowing her history--whence she came, and how she, as a poor peasant, was able to speak with such propriety, and conduct herself with such decorum; and, when informed on these points, he seemed to take more pleasure in conversing with her. And thus a way was opened for all she wished to say on the most important subjects; and, no doubt, much was said at this time by the pious and wise old lady, which had a happy influence on the future life and opinions of the major.

The illness of Major Müller was protracted, by divine providence, for a long time; and thus many opportunities afforded to Madame Vauvrier for saying all she desired to say. As the sick man obtained strength, and his fears of death were somewhat removed, he began to argue with Madame Vauvrier and to controvert her principles; but she, who had been the daughter and wife of pious and learned men, was not to be baffled by his infidel arguments, as poor Mrs. Courtney had been. She had been accustomed to hear the quibbles of such men, and knew how they should be answered. Mr. Müller soon discovered, that in this humble and obscure woman, he had found such a champion for Christianity as he had never before encountered. He also soon discovered, that he was no more a match for her in wit than in argument; for, though she never aimed at a bon mot, she possessed that kind of plain sense and quick discernment of the truth, as enabled her instantly to detect and expose the fallacy of every forced jest; while it shewed him at once that true wit and wisdom were never far apart.

The residence of Madame Vauvrier at the château was protracted till the approach of the winter months, and we do not hesitate to say, that Emily was benefited, in no small degree, by the society and example of this truly pious woman. From her she learned how to conduct herself with tenderness and address in a sick-chamber; in her she saw the loveliest pattern of female gentleness and patience; and so well was she enabled to profit by this example, that when Madame Vauvrier, from a failure of her health, was obliged to return home, Emily took her place by the major, and performed the part of nurse, not only with mildness, but with skill.

It was on the approach of this second winter, that the major first left his chamber, and descended into his library; and it was on this occasion that all the address of Emily was necessary to prevent him from returning to that practice of injurious reading, which, from habit, was become almost necessary to him.

Since his recovery, and since his intimacy with his valet had somewhat diminished, Emily perceived that he became more reserved, and apparently thoughtful, but what were the subjects of his meditations no one could tell. He appeared also, since his illness, considerably more like an old man; and seemed to experience much of that languor which accompanies old age; especially those who are naturally dull, or who have lived freely, which had been the case with the major. However, his manner towards Emily was affectionate, and he received her endeavours to please him with thankfulness.

And now this amiable daughter, being recovered from her errors, by the divine blessing on the instructions of Madame Vauvrier, had a thousand little contrivances to amuse her infirm parent. She played to him on the harp; she engaged him to teach her the game of chess; she talked to him, described her walks, brought him specimens of fossils and stones, and tried to interest him in the study of history. At length she brought out her Bible, and asked permission to read it to him. He started at this request, and gave some reply expressive of disgust. Emily looked at him, not with anger, but with sorrow. She had hoped he would have heard her, at least, with patience; and she was so much affected at this disappointment that she burst into tears, and went out of the room; but returned, some moments afterwards, with a composed, though sorrowful, countenance. While she was taking her usual seat, her father looked at her with affection, and said, "Well, if I am to hear this book, the sooner we begin the better."

Emily smiled, and it was such a smile as illumined every feature, and diffused a grace over her youthful countenance. It was impossible for a father to look on such a child without delight. The major's eyes were fixed upon her. "Come nearer, child," he said; "draw yourself closer to me; my illness has affected my hearing. Be seated in this chair by my side, and begin your lecture."

Emily sat down. She opened the book, on the first page of which was written her mother's name. The major saw the writing; but, not suspecting what it was, laid his hand on the volume, saying, "What have you there?" and at the same moment read these words, written by his wife, "Emily Courtney, aged eight years;" and underneath, in his daughter's writing, "This book belonged to my beloved mother, who is now in glory."

The major was agitated on perusing these words; the tears came into his eyes; he rubbed them hastily away; then looking tenderly at Emily, he added, in a tone of forced complacency, "Come, let us begin. What is this hook about?"

Emily began to read. She uttered a few words--she hesitated--she read again--again she hesitated--and, no longer able to restrain herself, she burst into tears, and her lovely head sank on her father's bosom.

"My child! my Emily!" said the major, himself strongly agitated, "what is the matter? what grieves, what affects you? Why these tears, my child, my daughter?"

Emily at that moment arose, and, giving utterance, confusedly, to her feelings, fell on her knees before him, exclaiming, "O, my parent! my father! my beloved father! if you love your Emily, if you cherish the memory of her mother, cast away those hateful books which you have so long studied, read our Bible, seek your God, acknowledge your Saviour, and--be happy."

While thus addressed by his weeping daughter, every feature of the major's face worked with violent agitation. Several times he attempted to speak, but conflicting passions seemed to prevent him. At length he said, "Arise, Emily; go from my presence; you have awakened such feelings within me, as leave me not the command of myself."

"What, leave you in anger, my father!" said Emily, "never! never!" and she seized his hands, and, pressing them vehemently between her own, "never, never, will I leave you till you have pronounced my pardon--till you have given me your blessing."

"My blessing!" repeated the major, with a groan, "what are the blessings of such a one as I?"

"Your pardon, my father," repeated the agitated Emily; and, raising her arms, she threw them round his neck, and drew his face to hers.

The major was totally overcome; he bent his head to hers; he uttered audible groans; he pressed his lips upon her cheek; he repeated her name, her mother's name; and for a moment seemed wholly overpowered by his feelings; while his weeping daughter continued to implore his forgiveness.

"Go, my Emily," he at length said, "arise and go; and may He who is above pour his choicest blessings upon your head! For, O!" he added, as Emily arose and looked anxiously upon him, "there is a God, and thou art highly favoured by him."

The major could add no more, but beckoned to her to withdraw. Yet, as she looked anxiously behind her, on passing through the door-way, she saw that he was leaning back in his chair, with his eyes and hands lifted up, as she hoped, in the attitude of prayer to Heaven.

Emily did not again appear before her father till summoned to the evening meal. The major strove to appear as usual on this occasion; and, while she felt some apprehension concerning his disposition towards her, he selected a fine apple from others which were on a plate before him, and, offering it to her, smiled, and asked if she would read to him after supper.

"Yes, my dear father," she joyfully answered, "now, and at any time, am I ready to obey you."

The reading of that holy volume, which, when accompanied by the divine blessing, brings peace to the heart, was commenced that very evening, and continued through every evening of the winter; while at other hours the father and daughter diversified their employments. Emily selected some books of ancient history to read. She often also introduced her chess-board; she played on her harp; she exercised herself in drawing, and consulted her father as she proceeded; and, at intervals, she rubbed his foot, talked to him about her visits to Madame Vauvrier, and described the various beauties of nature which she observed in her walks. In the mean time, she closely observed her father's looks and words. She noticed that for a long time he made no comment whatever on the Bible, nor did she ever find him engaged in prayer. Nevertheless, she perceived that he entirely refrained from uttering infidel sentiments, or any of those profane jests in which he formerly so much delighted; and that he seldom indulged any intemperance of expression with his servants. But as yet she had not discovered any decisive evidences of that change of heart which Madame Vauvrier had taught her must take place ere the Christian character can be formed.

Madame Vauvrier, to whom she constantly reported all that passed between herself and her father, pointed out to her the need of patience. "Much is done, my dear daughter," said she: "but your father may have many conflicts yet, before he is permitted to enter into the rest of the faithful. He has not yet been brought to a sense of his own corruptions; and this must take place before he can know the value of a Saviour. There are many motives which may induce a man to amend his life, besides the true one," said this experienced Christian; "natural affection, convenience, the fear of death, all these may produce a partial reformation; and such feelings and fears are desirable, because they may prepare the way for better things; but their effects are weak and transitory, unless accompanied by that deep, that radical change of heart, which is effected by the Almighty. The work of the Spirit," continued she, "is described as being quick and powerful, piercing to the joints and marrow, sharper than a two-edged sword. Under such teaching," added she, "the haughty man is bowed down; his heart is melted within him; he is stripped of all his vain glory; he is made to feel that he is worthless; a worm, and no man; and is brought to abhor himself in dust and ashes."

"If such," replied Emily, "are the conflicts which all must pass through who are to enter the kingdom of heaven, I have not yet myself experienced them. I have, indeed, had some painful sense of my sin, but not in the degree which you describe."

"If you are of the number of the righteous," replied the old lady, "my dear Mademoiselle, your self-abhorrence will become stronger; you will be taught more of your natural depravity; sooner or later you will be emptied of self-sufficiency; and the process may, and most likely will, be a painful one. At the same time, it will be less painful to you, if the Saviour is revealed to you, and his great power of rendering you everlastingly happy is unfolded to you as the view of your own depravity becomes more clear. Thus it often happens with the true Christian; conviction of sin is constantly attended by refreshing views of the Saviour. This is frequently the case with persons who have been brought up by pious friends, and who have been restrained from gross offences. But in characters such as your father, we cannot look for so gentle an experience. I have hope of him, my dear daughter; I feel that he will be blessed; but I am not fully satisfied that any decisive change has yet taken place in him."

Emily sighed ; for she was convinced, that, not only in her father's religious state, but in her own, all was not yet as it should be.

It was not many days after this conversation, that Emily returning one morning from a walk, found her father with an open letter in his hand, which he was looking upon with an expression of countenance in which grief and horror appeared in the strongest degree. As Emily entered, he uttered a groan; and, throwing the letter on the table, struck his hand on his forehead, repeated the name of his son, and, rushing out of the room by another door, pointed to the paper as that which would reveal to her the cause of his distress.

"Oh, my brother! my brother!" exclaimed Emily, as she hastened to the table and took up the letter, while a variety of painful apprehensions, respecting her beloved Christopher, passed through her mind.

The letter was from the relations of her brother, in Geneva, containing bitter charges against the father for cruelty; and informing him, that the unhappy youth had been traced to an English regiment in the West Indies, into which he had enlisted as a common soldier; relating some misdemeanors he had been guilty of in that character, for want of money; and stating, that it was supposed he was no more, as he had been invalided, and put on board ship to return to Europe; since which nothing had been heard of him. The number of the regiment was given, and Emily hoped it might be the same to which Charles Harrington belonged, but in this she was disappointed.

Having read this letter, Emily felt convinced that her brother was not living; and such were her sorrowful feelings on the occasion, that she became entirely insensible, and was removed in that state to her bed.

The servants of the château, in this distress, (for Major Müller was in a worse condition than his daughter,) immediately sent for Madame Vauvrier; who soon arrived, and was, indeed, the only person who could administer the smallest consolation to Emily; but the major remained inconsolable. He had long secretly repented his conduct towards his son, though he had had too much pride to confess it; and he had always checked his daughter whenever she had attempted to introduce a plea in his favour; but when he believed him dead, and thought himself the cause of his death, he became like one desperate: and the Almighty, by impressing him so deeply with a sense of this sin, seemed, as Madame Vauvrier hoped, to be removing those strong bulwarks of pride and self-sufficiency in which he had hitherto entrenched himself.

The condition of his mind for some time was such, that it was feared he would commit suicide; but, after having been long and violently exercised with a kind of maniac spirit, he sank into a state of fixed despair, during which he conversed with no one, nor took notice of any thing that transpired; but, as he lay on his bed, to which he was confined by bodily weakness, he often uttered the name of his son, accompanying the exclamation with the deepest groans.

When Emily entered his room, he did not look at her, nor would he answer her when she spoke to him; but always commanded her to leave him, saying, that he was not worthy to be called the parent of such a child; while Emily, though indulging pity for him, could scarcely look upon him without horror, filled as her mind was with the misfortunes of her beloved brother. However, as the letter, on a second perusal, had not absolutely asserted the death of Christopher, she wrote to Mr. Harrington, and to every friend she had left in England, sending them her address, and requesting them to enquire for her brother; and insensibly, while engaged in this occupation, she became consoled, and hope again revived in her breast.

In the mean time, Madame Vauvrier used her utmost endeavours to raise the major from his despondency, and to render this affliction profitable to his soul; and her conversation was at this time blessed to him to a degree which was truly pleasing, and which was shewn on an occasion which I am about to relate.

The major had remained many weeks in the state of despair above described, when the first letter arrived from England, in answer to those which Emily had written respecting Christopher. This letter was from the trustees of the property left to herself and her brother by Mrs. Courtney; and the writer stated, that her brother was still living; and that, now being of age, he had applied for the first payment of the interest of his two thousand pounds--that the money had been sent to a banker in London--that he had received it, in person, some few weeks before--but that his present situation was not known by them.

Who can describe the feelings of joy and gratitude which this letter imparted to the affectionate Emily. She flew with it to her father's chamber, and, had she not been prevented by Madame Vauvrier, might, perhaps, have done serious injury by the suddenness of the intelligence; but, being brought to reflection by a hint from her aged counsellor, she left it to her to open the matter to the major.

I shall not enter into a full account of the manner by which Madame Vauvrier prepared Major Müller for the happiness which awaited him; but I shall only say, that he was deeply affected with the pleasing intelligence and, to the surprise of Madame Vauvrier, lifting up his eyes and hands to heaven, "My God!" he exclaimed, "I thank thee,--unworthy, as I am, of every mercy,--unworthy, as I am, to open my lips before thee,--I thank thee for this inexpressible blessing. O my son! my Christopher! thy father may yet live to see thee, to acknowledge his rashness--may yet live to tell thee of the mercies of his God!"

Here he burst into tears; and Emily entering at this moment, Madame Vauvrier beckoned to her to kneel down by the bed; while she uttered a prayer, minded with thanksgiving, in which the major joined with a fervour that evidently proceeded from his heart.

The progress of Major Müller towards recovery was most rapid after this letter had arrived from England and still more blessed and happy was his gradual advancement, from that time, in a new and holy life. All his infidel books were, from that day, cast away; many of his evil habits were discontinued; Monsieur Wietlesbach was taught to keep his proper place; the happy father dictated many letters, written by Emily, addressed to his friends, in different parts of the world, requesting them to seek his son and send him home; while he frankly confessed his erroneous treatment of him, and expressed his humble hope, that he might, in future, prove himself a better father.

And thus this proud infidel became a new creature; old things were passed away; old habits renounced; and the lion was now gentle as a lamb. His daily, his hourly study was, at this time, the Book of God. He received spiritual things with the avidity of one who, having long thirsted, meets with some clear and sparking fountain, of which he feels he cannot take enough. He enjoyed the greatest pleasure in the society of Madame Vauvrier; though she still continued to wear her blue petticoat and black silk apron. Instead of the vile and low jests in which he formerly delighted, his imagination, which was naturally lively, regaled itself with the beauties of the prophetical books, and the appropriate emblems with which they abound. It was his practice, when walking out with Emily in the precincts of the Château, to advert to these sacred passages; and he was not a little encouraged in it by Madame Vauvrier; who delighted to join him and his daughter in their walks; and to sit down with them, under the shade of the spreading trees in the front of the building; while all the beauties of the lake, the rocky hills on the opposite banks, and the snowy mountains in the background, were extended before their eyes.

One evening, in the beginning of the second spring after the arrival of Emily and her father in this country, Madame Vauvrier paid her usual visit to the château, where the little party were assembled in the portico. Emily regaled them with one of the ancient hymns of the Vaudois, which she had set to her harp; bringing the wild air under the control of art, without depriving it of its simplicity and national character. The conversation of the party, on this occasion, took its direction from the subject of the hymn, which spoke of the spiritual Zion, under the scriptural figure of a mountainous region, adorned with cedars, and refreshed by flowing springs. Madame Vauvrier remarked, that, to a pious mind, she thought there could not be a country in the known world which afforded more objects tending to lead the mind to the contemplation of divine truth, and the grandeur of the Creator of all things, than that in which they were so happy as to dwell. "I have often thought," said she, "that the Holy Land, under the peaceful reign of Solomon, might not be unlike our lovely land. And thus," continued this venerable daughter of the ancient Vaudois, "the unparalleled beauty of our native land supplies a lively image of the glories of the earth, at that blessed period when the frosts of infidelity shall have passed away, under the fervent rays of the Sun of Righteousness; when the flowers shall appear on the earth, the time of the singing-birds shall be come, and the voice of the turtle shall be heard in every land;--when every blessing, both spiritual and temporal, shall be granted to the redeemed, under the peaceful reign of Him of whom Solomon was but a faint and imperfect emblem."

Looking then towards Mont Blanc, which was suddenly brought to view by the rolling away of the clouds, which had hitherto rested on the lower mountains, the old lady proceeded to illustrate to her companions, in a metaphorical way, the resemblance which a snowy mountain bears to the Church of Christ on earth; and, being encouraged by Major Müller, she entered into some particulars.

"It has always been granted," said the venerable woman, " by those who know any thing of Scripture, that a mountain is an emblem of the spiritual Church; and, allowing this, let us contemplate yonder glorious object before us, and compare the various particulars in which the simile holds good. The Church of God, being composed of the redeemed of all nations, is clothed with the righteousness of Christ, which, as a white and spotless garment, encompasses it around, as yon brilliant mantle of snow covers that summit, and stands as a beacon to the whole earth, while its glory is lifted up above the tops of the inferior hills. This righteousness experiences no change; it admits no defilement from the world below; it receives no spots or stains; but remains for ever unpolluted and unaltered. Nevertheless, were the imputed righteousness of Christ the only saving benefit belonging to the redeemed, the Christian character would be barren and unprofitable; but when the heavenly rays of the Sun of Righteousness beam upon their regenerated hearts, and they feel the softening powers of divine influence, then their graces flow forth, and impart inestimable treasures to the whole earth. So, during the long night of wintry darkness, the springs of the hills, which take their rise in the mantles of everlasting snow, are bound up as the stones of the quarry; but when the sun, the emblem of Christ, sheds its kindly beams on the sparkling cliffs, then the waters begin to flow, and to distil in a thousand rills and brooks, fountains, and refreshing streams; which, descending on the parched earth, like the graces of the Holy Spirit on the changed heart, cause the tender herbs to spring, and the fragrant blossoms to unfold themselves; adorning the valleys, and crowning the earth with beauty.--Thus," said she, "in the volume of nature are graven the hieroglyphics of everlasting truths. These truths, indeed, have hitherto been illegible to the knowing and prudent of the earth, though they have been comprehended, through all the long ages of papal darkness, by the poorest inhabitants of our sequestered country."

In this agreeable manner did the little company maintain their conversation; the old and experienced Christian leading her disciples from one degree of information to another, till, by the divine blessing, those glories of the unseen world were unfolded to their view which the unenlightened never perceive.

In the mean time, Madame Vauvrier refused to be raised, by the bounty of the major, from her lowly situation. "No," she said, "I am content in my present state; I do not desire to change it. I do not wish high notions to be given to my grandchildren. They are, at present, happy in their simplicity: permit them to retain it. My daughter, too, is a humble and retired character; she descended earlier into obscure life than I did; she would not be happy in the society of her superiors. Leave us, dear lady," she would say, when addressing Emily, "as you found us. Let it not appear, that, on my part, my regard for you is an interested one; or, on yours, that you still believe that happiness has any thing to do with an enlarged possession of the good things of this world."

Thus the old lady pleaded, and Emily was convinced that she was right; nevertheless, she would not refrain from many little acts of kindness and attention, which might contribute to the comfort of the family. She observed what was old and worn out in their apparel and the furniture of the cottage, and renewed them in the same form and precisely after the same fashion which they had hitherto sustained; so that she gradually introduced a superior air of comfort throughout the family, without occasioning any departure from the simplicity of its appearance. She frequently met the little ones in the alpine pasture, conversed with them, instructed them, and improved herself by the simple piety of their innocent discourse. She became acquainted with Genevieve, their mother, and found her precisely what Madame Vauvrier had described her to be--a modest, humble person, truly pious, but decidedly inferior to her venerable parent in all intellectual acquirements.

In the mean time, letters were received from Charles Harrington, filled with expressions of kindness and unabated love. He was then in England, and using every means to find his friend. His letters, however, still brought a renewal of sorrow, because his attempts had hitherto failed. But this protracted trial, like every trial appointed by God, was not without its good effect. The major, by the divine blessing, appeared to be more and more humble under it, and gave evidence, that such a decided change had taken place in his heart, as afforded the most happy assurance that all would be finally well with him; for, if the work of grace was really begun, who could doubt but that it would be completed? What project of man fails, but because it is either ill planned, or that he who has begun it is changeable, or that he wants power to accomplish it? But is the Eternal capable of folly? Does the Almighty change his purposes? or must he forbear to carry them into execution from weakness? Who then can question, but what the Lord of all the earth has begun to do will be accomplished? Such were the consolations derived by Emily when she contemplated her father's altered character; though she could not observe without anguish the gradual decay of his health, and his increase of bodily weakness;--a decay which was probably hastened by his protracted anxiety and uneasiness, arising from his augmented sense of sin, and which he often expressed in a manner that brought tears in the eyes of his daughter.

When I remember the manner," he would say, "in which I habitually spoke and thought of God, and the contempt I endeavoured to throw on my Saviour, it is what I am unable to bear! O, my child! my child! how gracious is that God who has restrained you from sins of this nature! These are what must make a death-bed terrible! O that I had been born without the faculty of speech! or that I had died before I knew good from evil! or that my life had been spent in the lowest dungeon of the earth, where I never could have had communication with mankind! O Emily!" he would often say, when addressing her, "I tremble when I think what mischief I may have done to the souls of others by my blasphemous jests!"

In this manner he would exclaim, and appeared with difficulty restrained from despair by all that could be said to him of the magnitude and power of redeeming love. Easier moments were, however, sometimes vouchsafed to him; and on these occasions Emily was full of joy, and had no other solicitude but regarding her Christopher.

It was the end of July; Emily was then in her eighteenth year; and she had lost her brother precisely four years; when, one morning early, her father, having enjoyed a peaceful season the day before, called her to his bed-side, and, speaking calmly to her, said, "Emily, darling of my heart! receive, my child, the thanks of your father. All I now enjoy of happiness, humanly speaking, is owing to you. You first persuaded me to read my Bible; you first made religion lovely to me by your example; you introduced a pious person into my family; you have soothed, consoled, and comforted me in the hour of despair. Without my Emily, I should have sunk under my afflictions. Go then, blessed child; go then, happy child. This day I wish to devote to prayer and solitude. Go, visit your friends in the cottage; make this a holiday; I will see you again at supper."

"My father!" said Emily, with apprehension.

"Be not alarmed, my child," said the father; "I simply wish to be alone to-day--I wish to devote it to prayer and meditation. I feel that it will do me good. I thank God that I have, for some time, been blessed with the encouraging hope that all is well with me, that my sins are pardoned, and that I shall be hereafter admitted among the blessed. I have no distressing fears now. Although my sins are great, I see that such a price has been paid for me, as, even in the requirements of divine justice, must be deemed more than sufficient. I shall, I trust, never cease to deplore my sin and sinfulness; but the tears I shed are not those of despondency. You may leave me, therefore, with pleasure; you may leave me with the pleasing thought, that your once infidel father desires to be alone, that he may converse with his God, while you, my child, may enjoy the society of your humble friends, and the beauties of this charming country."

Emily's countenance beamed with tenderness towards her father. He was pale, but the expression of his face was gentle. She kissed him, and saying, "We shall meet again, dear parent, I trust, at supper," was going out; when, recollecting herself, she returned, and said, "But, my father, I do not deserve what you have just said of me." And she made a free and full acknowledgment of her own departure from what was right, before she knew Madame Vauvrier.

The major, affected by this confession, again embraced her; lifting up his eyes at the same time to heaven, as in the act of thanksgiving for the preservation of his Emily from the dangers which she had incurred by his neglect; and then he solemnly assured her, that it was only from devotional feelings he wished to be alone.

She left him; and, full of gaiety, (innocent gaiety we may call it,) she hastened to take her breakfast, and went forth into the woods, all buoyant with youthful feelings, and animated with a sweet sense of what her God had done for her, having in her bosom but one regret, one melancholy thought; and this regarded the fate of Christopher.

And now, my courteous reader, I fear that my favourite Emily will incur your censure, connected with the facts that I am about to relate; in which I confess she did not evince the prudence and discretion that her age, and especially her religious experience, might lead us to expect; but we must remember our own youthful days, and, under a sense of their many imperfections, make some allowance for this young creature.

In retiring from her father's house, Emily had provided herself with a basket, and covered her head with one of those large straw hats usually worn in Switzerland, as a defence from the sun. In passing through the woods, attracted by the various beautiful flowers which appeared on every bank and in every brake, she plucked them in large quantities, and filled her basket. Among these, the crimson shrub-rose, then in high bloom, preponderated above the rest; and, as it was the most abundant, so it was the fairest flower in her collection.

While gathering these flowers, she frequently broke forth into songs of praise, and gave utterance to those hymns she had lately learned from the ancient collection of the Vaudois which Madame Vauvrier had supplied her with. They were chiefly taken from those portions of the psalms, and other prophetic books, which describe the reign of Christ on earth, wherein he is exhibited as a Shepherd and a King, and all the earth described as his fold; when all nations shall be gathered together under his faithful care and government.

As she advanced, lovely and more lovely scenes burst on her sight; and, while her eyes beheld woods and waterfalls, shadowy coppices, sunny downs, snowy mountains, rocky precipices, verdant meadows, flowery banks, with all that is fragrant, all that is fair, all that is magnificent and glorious in nature, in a thousand various combinations, her spiritual mind contemplated the splendours of the kingdom of Christ on earth; and her thoughts were filled with the anticipation of those happy days when showers of blessings shall descend on the righteous; and when the saints of the Lord shall dwell quietly in the wilderness, and sheep in the woods.

Passing on, yet frequently pausing, she presently came out on the alpine pasture so often mentioned, and there she met with a rare spectacle--a little flock, consisting of twelve sheep and a few lambs, feeding on the fragrant herbage. Neither was there wanting a shepherd to complete the scene; and such a shepherd, notwithstanding his russet coat, as might have been taken for the youthful David, ere yet his brows had felt the pressure of the royal crown. No less fair and ruddy was our shepherd of the Alps. He wore no hat, but his dark ringlets formed a natural coronet above his polished temples; neither did he want his staff of office, for he held a crook as he sat beneath the covert of the impending fragment of a rock. Yet, notwithstanding all these promising appearances, there was a pensiveness in his manner; for he did not look up as Emily approached, but sat ruminating on some misfortune, which seemed to nest heavy upon him.

Emily came forwards, and soon recognised little Wilhelm. She was also, at the same time, welcomed by his faithful dog, with every testimony of regard which such poor animals are able to express. "My little shepherd," said Emily, as she drew near to him, "how does it fare with you to-day? Where is your care for your sheep, that you allow a stranger to creep, unheeded, into your pasture-ground?"

At the sound of her voice, he started up; but the tear was in his eye, and his coral lips trembled as with agitation. "Ah, lady," said he, "you are no stranger, and I am glad to see you: but I am so unhappy!"

"What," said Emily, in alarm, "what has happened? Is all well at home?"

"All is well with those at home," said the sobbing boy, "but very ill with me;" and he burst into tears.

Emily was afflicted for him. She drew close to him. "Nay, but, my boy," she said, "what can have happened?--you, a shepherd, seated under the shade of a rock, refreshed by fragrant breezes, soothed by rushing waters and murmuring bees, while all the beauties of Switzerland are spread at your feet, and yet unhappy! Have you quarrelled with your little shepherdess? Has Agnace forsaken you? What can be the cause of these tears?"

The child sobbed; he could not speak.

"Nay, but, my boy, you alarm me," said Emily. Do explain this painful occurrence to me."

The young shepherd then, though not without some expressive gestures, thus stated his case to the lady. A farmer, he said, in the valley, having engaged him to watch his sheep during the day, he had brought out with him a certain old hymn-book, which had been for ages in his family, and had left it, as he believed, by the side of a spring at some distance below, where he had stopped to drink. "And, Oh, lady!" he added, "my grandmother will be so troubled, if it should be lost; for my grandfather's name was written on the first page at full length."

Here renewed grief interrupted the recital, and Emily took occasion to administer some words of consolation.

"But if you think you know where you left the book, my little man," she said, "why not go and fetch it, instead of sitting there indulging fruitless grief?"

The boy looked up with a kind of innocent amazement, and replied, "What! and leave the sheep, lady?"

"But cannot you drive them towards the spring?"

"Ay," said the boy, smiling through his tears, "and get the lambs tumbled over the rocks. No, no, lady; that will never do."

"What must be done then?" said Emily: "cannot you direct me to the spring?"

"To be sure I could," said the little boy, brightening up: "it is the spring down at the bottom of the south alp, over against the rock called the Giant's Tower, it may be a mile or more from here. But then, lady, you must understand, that I am not sure I left it there, though I think I did; for I had it in my hand just before I stopped to drink; but if it is not by the spring, I may have dropped it in the path between that and the farmer's, and you will have the trouble to go that way."

"What way?" asked Emily.

"Straight down the glen from the Giant's Tower, and up by the spring towards the Eagle's Nest--you know the Eagle's Nest--and then through the coppice, and over the long corn-field, and across the brook, and so up to the--"

"Stop, stop," said Emily; "I will not go an inch further."

The little shepherd looked disappointed, and his lip began to quiver.

"But I will tell you what I will do," said Emily, "so don't be distressed. Give me your crook, and tell me how many sheep you have; and I will keep the flock while you go up the hill, and down the dell, and under the rock, and over the brook, and wherever else you please, to seek the book."

"No, but you won't, lady?" said the little shepherd, looking up archly at her.

"But I will," replied Emily.

"You really will?" said the little boy, scarcely trusting in his good luck.

"Yes, really," returned Emily, setting down her basket of flowers, and extending her hand to receive the crook, inwardly delighted at the opportunity thus afforded her of becoming a shepherdess. The weather was charming, the birds were singing, the waters rushing, the flowers breathing their freshest odours, the snowy mountains shining in their purity, and the lakes beneath reflecting all their glories. Could any thing be more à propos than the sort of necessity in which Emily found herself, of assuming the office of a Pastorella? Preliminaries were accordingly speedily settled.

The little boy, who wondered at nothing but the great kindness of the young lady, was now all animation, while he gave her directions respecting what she was to do, and what she was to leave undone.

"Look, lady," said the young shepherd, "the sheep are not to go towards the crags: if you see any of them near to them, you must call Aimé. We have named our dog Aimé, because he is beloved. Only say, 'Mind, Aimé!--to your post, Aimé!' and he will be up and on the watch in a moment. And now, lady, you must count your sheep--twelve full-grown, and six lambs-- you must not forget to count them every now and then; and don't let them go down the side of the pasture; for if the lambs get among the bushes, we shall have hard work to drive them up again."

"We!" said Emily, laughing: "we, indeed! Well, this will be a caution to me how I make myself too intimate with the shepherds on the Dole."

The little boy was too much engaged, by the important business of directing Emily how she was to manage her flock, to pay much attention to what the lady had last said. And now, as he prepared to leave the alp, he bowed to his fair substitute; and once more entreated her to take care of the sheep. "Farewell, lady," he said: "I will return very speedily, and I shall love you more than ever I did before, if that is possible," he added, as he turned away; and presently he was seen bounding down from steep to steep, like the fleet gazelle when pursued by the hunter.

And now, my gentle reader, having followed our little mountaineer in his descent, let us turn our attention to our shepherdess of the Alps; who, being seated on a point of the rock where she was shaded from the direct rays of the sun, which had now nearly obtained its midday height, had already counted her flock, and summoned Aimé to his duty. For a while the exulting cries of the little boy, sounding more and more remotely disturbed the deep silence; but at length these sounds had ceased, and the silence remained unbroken, except by the occasional bleating of the sheep, and the rush of falling waters, the sound of which was brought to the ear at intervals by the breeze, and again passed away in low and almost inaudible murmurs.

Emily, now left alone, thought of her father, and the thought was delightful. "How is he now engaged?" she reflected: "perhaps in prayer for poor Christopher: I may unite in these prayers, though not with him. Oh, my Christopher! my brother!" Thus exclaiming, for she spoke these words aloud, and adding to them a short yet earnest prayer, she fell into a state of reflection on the early days of childhood; and, insensibly becoming lost in these recollections, she took the flowers from her basket, and began to weave the crimson roses, with their buds and leaves, into a garland, with which she decorated her straw hat. This little work being completed, she again counted her sheep, and again looked round her. The rush of the waters continued, and there was a murmur of the wind among the higher points of the mountain. A cloud had passed between her and Mont Blanc. It was now gone, and the snowy peak had assumed a rosy hue of inexpressible beauty; while the valley beneath her feet, with the unruffled bosom of the lake, presented a calm and delightful scene. The roses lay scattered on the grass by Emily. She gathered them up, and occupied herself again in preparing another garland; which being finished, she passed it over her shoulder; thinking that it formed a very appropriate ornament, over her white dress, for one in her present situation.

When this second garland was complete, as Wilhelm did not appear, she amused herself by adorning her crook with the residue of her flowers. She then counted her sheep again, and rehearsed several of the hymns of the Vaudois; wishing for her harp, that she might accompany it with her own voice in these songs of praise; nevertheless she thought that some lyre of more simple construction would be in unison with her present situation.

At length, however, a kind of disturbance among her sheep drew her attention; they had drawn closely together, and stood looking in one direction. To add to the terror of Emily, Aimé was already on the alert, his ears were erect, and he had uttered one or two low growling sounds, and short interrupted barkings. The shepherdess arose in haste; she quitted her shady retreat, and grasped her flowery crook. It might have been a question at that moment, whether she were not more terrified than the very lambs of her flock; neither would it have been easy to say what dreadful enemy she had prepared herself to behold.

At length, her eye being directed by the surer eye of the dog, she was aware of the point from which the enemy might be expected. It was at that point where the pasture-ground touched upon a little coppice, through which the country-people had worn a path, the entrance to which, being embowered in thick trees, yawned fearfully on the terrified shepherdess. Emily had heard of wolves, and read of banditti; and it was unfortunate that the remembrance of these should occur to her just at that moment, when honour forbade her to run away and forsake her bleating charge.

At length a sound, as of steps, or voices, or of some-thing she knew not what, issued from the terrific wood; and, anon, a four-footed hairy creature, which might perhaps be as large as a wolf, if it were not a wolf indeed, appeared in the very centre of the shadowy archway. Emily, in increased terror, called on Amié, whose quick eye glanced from the flock to the enemy, and from the enemy to the flock, which latter he seemed endeavouring to keep together. The growls and barking of Amié now became more decided, his ears became more erect, and his very hair seemed to bristle. The four-footed creature approached; and, though it undoubtedly had every appearance, and the very voice, of a creature of the canine race, yet it was impossible for Emily at that crisis to think of any tiring but a wolf. The dog of the mountain and he of the wood were now come within view of each other; and they neglected not to salute each other with fierce growling; which adding fresh terror to the trembling flock, they ran precipitately down the steeps on the northern border of the pasture, leaving the shepherdess, who had made one or two vain efforts to stop them, in a state of such confusion and alarm as almost induced her to join the routed party, and make the best of her way down the side of the mountain. Turning, however, once again to look, fearing that some mischance might befall Aimé, she saw a young gentleman, in the dress of a sportsman, advancing towards the dogs, whom he presently separated; on which Aimé ran precipitately down the hill after the sheep. Emily waited not to give a second look at the stranger; all she now thought of was how to avoid him; but, in turning hastily round, her petticoat was caught in a thorny bush; and, before she could extricate herself, the stranger had come up to her, and offered his services to assist her. She stammered some excuse, and was moving away, without venturing another look at the intruder; but he begged her attention for a moment, expressed his sorrow for the disturbance he had caused by bringing his dog within the precincts of her pasture-ground, and entreated permission to follow her sheep, and bring them back.

Emily thought of the garlands with which she had adorned herself, and the extraordinary figure which she must make in the eyes of this stranger. She felt it impossible either to answer him or to look at him.

"Fair shepherdess," said the young gentleman, "I fear that I have unintentionally occasioned you great alarm. I have a thousand apologies to make; but let me first assist your dog to bring back your sheep, and then I trust you will receive my acknowledgments more favourably." So saying, the young man ran immediately down the pasture, and, making a circuit round the flock, shortly appeared again, driving the sheep before him.

During his short absence, Emily tried to recover her composure, but he was with her again before she had succeeded; and, while wiping away a tear, which had stolen down her cheek, a tear too for which she could scarcely account, she heard his voice again, requesting her to lay aside her fears, and assuring her that he had brought back all her sheep.

Emily thanked him; but she spoke in a low voice, and did not venture to cast one look towards him; being too much disconcerted by the idea of the extraordinary appearance which she must necessarily make in the eyes of a stranger.

"I am truly sorry," said the young gentleman, who seemed resolved to improve his acquaintance with the lovely shepherdess, "that I have caused you so much alarm, fair lady; but I had not the smallest intention of so doing. Indeed, I had no idea of the scenes I was to witness on this mountain: but surely I am come into a land of wonders."

Emily had nothing to say, and especially, as she was aware that the young gentleman had made one or two attempts (with what success she knew not) to obtain a view of her face, which was considerably shaded by her shepherdess's hat.

"I am afraid," said the stranger, "that you have not recovered your alarm, Madam. I fear that you have not forgiven me for intruding thus upon your solitary avocation." And while he spoke, Emily was aware, by his tone of his voice, that he had some difficulty to restrain himself from laughing.

"How rude he is!" she thought: "I wish Wilhelm would come back, that I might leave this place!"

"I have heard much of this country," resumed the young man, "and of the beauty of its inhabitants; but certainly I had no expectation of seeing such a shepherdess, even in Switzerland. I had always considered the Arcadia of the poets to have had no existence in real life; but I shall be a sceptic on this subject no longer."

"Who cares what you supposed?" thought Emily, turning quite away from him towards the sheep.

"I trust that you have not lost one of your flock, fair shepherdess!" said the stranger, following her steps.

"I should be obliged to you, Sir," said Emily, "if--"and she hesitated.

"What can I do for you?" asked the stranger, with alacrity: "I am wholly at your service."

Emily was silent; she did not know what to say.

"Would you have the kindness, Madam," said the young man, "to inform me, as I am a stranger in this country, whether there are any other shepherdesses on the Dole resembling yourself?"

Emily did not speak.

"I mean to say," continued the young man, "have the shepherdesses of the Dole, in general, your sort of air and manner? I ask only for information, as a traveller."

Emily was still silent, and the question was repeated; on which she replied, somewhat angrily, "Indeed, Sir, I don't know, I have a very limited acquaintance."

"I have read of shepherdesses," said the stranger, "who have united all the elegance of courtly manners with the beautiful simplicity of pastoral life; but I always doubted the existence of such lovely beings, till I this morning visited the Dole. I am only now anxious, Madam, to know whether I am to consider you an exception to others, or a sample of all the shepherdesses of the Alps?"

Emily was now provoked beyond endurance, and turned suddenly round, to desire the stranger to leave her immediately; when, to her surprise and delight, she recognised her former beloved friend, and the friend of her brother, Charles Harrington. This was an overpowering discovery and she remained motionless with astonishment.

"O! my Emily! my dear sister! my own Emily!" said the smiling youth, "and have you at length recognised your old friend? and do I see you converted into the fairest shepherdess the world ever saw? Forgive, my lovely Emily, the uneasiness I occasioned you by my persevering pursuit of you when you thought me a stranger; but I could not resist the temptation; it was too much for me at the moment; I could not resist it, I must confess. I hope I have not offended beyond forgiveness."

"O, Charles!" said Emily, "this sudden meeting has quite overcome me!" and she burst into tears, and was with difficulty preserved from falling while she faintly articulated the name of Christopher.

"Be happy, my sister," replied Mr. Harrington; "wipe away those tears. Your Christopher, and my Christopher, is at hand; he waits only to know whether he may presume to appear. We were told, by a peasant whom we met near the château, that you would be found in the vicinity; and we hastened to seek you; not presuming to present ourselves before your father till we had heard your report."

This delightful assurance was too much for Emily, who was so wholly overpowered by it as to lose a consciousness of all that passed; till, recovering her recollection, she found herself in the arms of her brother; while her second and scarcely less dear brother was kneeling at her feet, holding both her hands.

"O, Emily! dear Emily!" were the first words which she heard from her brother, "can you forgive your Christopher? and is it here, upon my native hills, that I am restored to all that is dear to mime on earth? O my God!" he added, lifting up his eyes to the heavens, "if my father will forgive me, I shall be doubly happy! O, my friend! my Charles! my sister! my Emily!--how can you be rewarded for all, all you have done for me?"

There are scenes in life which defy description; and such were those that attended the restoration of Christopher to Emily.

When composure was a little restored to this happy party, many interesting explanations followed, not necessary to be recapitulated. Emily told of the happy change in her father's character; and it now appeared to her for what reason he had set apart a day for prayer and meditation; for, on recollection, it was found to be precisely that day four years since Christopher left his home; and it was, no doubt, in order that he might spend the day in prayer for his child, that this altered father had desired to be alone.

"O!" said Charles Harrington, "what a proof is this of a changed heart! the Almighty has, indeed, renewed a right spirit within him. Who, on observing these things, can question the renewing power of the Holy Spirit? Who can doubt that the power of God is necessary to set man free from the dominion of sin? O, my Emily! let us pray, that, if we have not yet experienced the power of regenerating and sanctifying grace, we may seek it as the first of blessings. Happy as you now are, my Christopher," added the young man, "depend upon it, without religion, you will not continue to be so. You look at me, Emily," continued Charles Harrington; "perhaps you are surprised to hear such words from the mouth of a military youth. But I have been blessed with convictions of the truth, since we hived together, such as I never before was conscious of; and it is my grief that my conduct has not been answerable to these convictions."

"Your conduct, my friend!" said Christopher: "O, Charles! could I but live and act as you do, I should be happy indeed!"

"If Mr. Harrington," said Emily, "is a true Christian, he will not, he cannot think highly of himself--he cannot be satisfied with his own attainments. Religion gives self-knowledge, and self-knowledge must always occasion humility."

The young man looked at Emily, as she spoke, with love and admiration; and the conversation took another turn, while they still lingered in the place where they had first met, and considered how they should break the news of Christopher's return to his father.

At the same time, Emily accounted for the situation in which Mr. Harrington had found her; and observed, that she must remain to take care of her flock till the little shepherd-boy returned to take the charge from her.

"Delightful little shepherd!" exclaimed Charles, "I owe him a thousand thanks for having devolved his pastoral office on so lovely a substitute; he has added unexpected charms to our happy reunion by the innocent trick he has played you."

"Ah, Mr. Harrington!" said Emily, smiling, "was it not very cruel of you to alarm me as you did? But I forgive you with my whole heart, since you have brought my brother back to his family: but do not suppose that the little boy meant to play me a trick; he is too simple for any device of this kind; it was entirely my own proposal to take charge of the sheep."

"Happy sheep! happy pasture! lovely hills! delightful country!" said Christopher: "and most happy I to be returned to it under such blessed auspices! O, Emily! you little thought for whom you decorated yourself with those charming flowers!"

Thus the young people conversed till the return of little Wilhelm, who hastened to inform Emily that he had found his book, and that he felt greatly obliged to her.

The child was much surprised to find her in such company; and more so to be thus addressed by Charles! "Best of little shepherds, how am I to thank you for causing such enjoyment to me this morning? Never, never shall I forget the happy and delightful scene of the pasture-ground, and that lovely shepherdess I found there."

And now Emily, relieved from her charge, returned her crook to Wilhelm; and, bidding him tell his grandmother that their prayers were answered, and that she had found her brother, the three young people proceeded to the château.

It was two in the afternoon when the happy party reached the house, and the hour was not yet arrived at which the major had appointed to see his daughter. Nevertheless, Emily stole softly up to his room, and, passing through the antechamber, quietly opened his room-door. There (O pleasing sight!) she saw her father engaged in prayer. He started at seeing her, but she advanced with the boldness of one who brings good tidings; and, gathering speed as she approached, she threw her arms round him, before he could rise, and, falling on her knees by his side, "Join with me, my father," she said, "in the voice of thanksgiving. Your prayers are heard, your supplications have reached the throne of mercy: O my father! my father! your son is found--is returned--is in this house--and waits your forgiveness!"

"Emily!" said the major, turning to her, "my Emily!" and, attempting to rise, his strength failed him, and his daughter, weeping aloud, could scarcely support him till Charles and Christopher ran into the room.

O! who can describe the scene which followed? Love, mercy, gratitude, and tenderness, had their full, free, and most happy exercise; and the once-infidel father, on this occasion, gave an indisputable evidence of that change of heart effected only by infinite power. All anger, all resentments, on the part of the father, were past; and the contrite son felt that he could only atone for his impatience and undutifulness by devoting his future life to promote the happiness of his parent.

And now let us attend this blessed family in that last hour of the evening, when, having concluded their temperate meal, they united in one act of prayer and praise, to the honour of divine grace; accompanied by Madame Vauvrier, who had hastened to the château as soon as the happy news had reached her.

And now, I would further add--that it pleased the Almighty to enable this blessed family to continue in those paths of piety into which they had been happily introduced, by the divine blessing on the instructions of Madame Vauvrier; that the glorious influences of the Spirit were never withdrawn from them; that deep repentance was vouchsafed to Christopher; and that he now affords one of the brightest examples of godliness which his country can supply.

Time infirmities of the major cut him short before age had bleached his head, or he had attained his fiftieth year; yet not until he had held on his knees the children of his Emily, who, in her nineteenth summer, became the happy and beloved wife of Mr. Harrington.

The departure of the major was easy and full of consolation; a circumstance that occasioned the aged Madame Vauvrier, who watched him till the last moment, joyfully to exclaim, "O God! I thank thee; for another soul is added to the multitudes of the redeemed."

This venerable Christian was also blessed in her death; and her daughter's children, in the third generation, are now flourishing like cedars in Lebanon; exemplifying the words of the Shepherd of Israel--I have been young, and now am old: yet have I not seen the righteous forsaken, nor his seed begging bread. [Psalm xxxvii. 25.]

The history of the Shepherdess of the Alps being concluded, the young ladies expressed their satisfaction.

"My dear young friends," said the lady of the manor, "if I have found the means of uniting pleasure with profit, I do most sincerely rejoice; and I hope that when you remember Major Müller and his family, you will feel the conviction that the father of the family was unacquainted with happiness till he ceased to scoff and learned to pray."

The lady then requested the party present to join her in devotional exercises.

For a Spirit of Prayer.

"O ALMIGHTY LORD! help us, thy sinful creatures, to pray to thee in an acceptable manner;--inspire us with a deep and lasting sense of the obligations we are under to thee, not only for our creation and preservation, but for the means of grace and the hope of glory. Let our prayers arise to heaven as the odour of holy incense. Accept them in the name and through the merits of our blessed Saviour; and let all our desires and requests result from the inspiration of thy Holy Spirit; and let not the imperfections of our services hinder their acceptance with thee: O grant us the benefit of that mediation thou hast provided.

"O most merciful God! we pray for all mankind; not only for those who have been made sensible of their helpless condition, but for all who are now living in sin, and ignorance and hardness of heart. We desire to depend entirely on thy mercy through our Lord Jesus Christ. We would unite with the publican, and say, 'God be merciful to us miserable sinners.' O, pour into our hearts more of the grace of supplication; and let a due sense of our unworthiness and helplessness preserve us in a lowly state at thy footstool.

"And now to God the Father," &c.

Q. How many Sacraments hath Christ ordained in his Church?

A. Two only, as generally necessary to Salvation; that is to say, Baptism, and the Supper of the Lord.

Q. What meanest thou by this Word Sacrament?

A. I mean an outward and visible Sign of an inward and spiritual Grace, given unto us, ordained by Christ himself, as a Means whereby we receive the same, and a Pledge to assure us thereof.

Q. How many Parts are there in a Sacrament?

A. Two; the outward visible Sign, and the inward spiritual Grace.

Q. What is the outward visible Sign, or Form in Baptism?

A. Water; wherein the Person is baptized, In the Name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost.

Q. What is the inward and spiritual Grace?

A. A Death unto Sin, and a new Birth unto Righteousness: for being by Nature born in Sin and the Children of Wrath, we are hereby made the Children of Grace.

Q. What is required of Persons to be baptized?

A. Repentance, whereby they forsake Sin and Faith, whereby they stedfastly believe the Promises of God made to them in that Sacrament.

Q. Why then are Infants baptized, when by Reason of their tender Age they cannot perform them?

A. Because they promise them both by their Sureties; which Promise, when they come to Age, themselves are bound to perform.

"We are now drawing, my dear young people," said the lady of the manor, again addressing her young ladies, "towards the end of our proposed course of instructions; and I have reason to hope, that you, as well as myself, will have cause to look back with pleasure on our frequent happy meetings in this place. I trust they have been as profitable to me as to you; for, in the course of our many conversations, I have been led to study, with more accuracy, and in some order, many subjects, which I had considered before only in a desultory manner. It is said, that he that watereth shall be watered; and I am fully convinced, that a peculiar and especial blessing is bestowed on those who, humbly trusting in the divine assistance, devote themselves to the instruction of others."

The young ladies expressed much regret at the approaching cessation of their happy meetings; and their kind instructress hoped that such meetings might be renewed, even after the cause which had first given them rise had ceased to operate.

The lady of the manor then said, "I have another little manuscript to read to you, my dear young people; but, before I commence, I must put some questions to you from the Church Catechism."

The following questions and answers were then repeated.

"Q. How many sacraments hath Christ ordained in his Church?

"A. Two only, as generally necessary to salvation; that is to say, Baptism, and the Supper of the Lord.

"Q. What meanest thou by this word sacrament?

"A. I mean an outward and visible sign of an inward and spiritual grace, given unto us, ordained by Christ himself, as a means whereby we receive the same, and a pledge to assure us thereof.

"Q. How many parts are there in a sacrament?

"A. Two; the outward visible sign, and the inward spiritual grace.

"Q. What is the outward visible sign, or form in Baptism?

"A. Water; wherein the person is baptized, In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost.

"Q. What is the inward and spiritual grace?

"A. A death unto sin, and a new birth unto righteousness: for being by nature born in sin and the children of wrath, we are hereby made the children of grace."

When these questions and answers were concluded, the lady of the manor asked the young people whether there were any passages in the portion of the Catechism which had been repeated which did not appear clear to them.

"Of the word sacrament," said Miss Emmeline, "I certainly do not understand the etymology."

"The word sacrament," replied the lady of the manor, "is derived, as I have been informed, from the Latin, sacramentum, which signifies an oath. Hence we understand, that the individual who partakes of the sacraments ordained by Christ, binds himself in allegiance to Christ, and vows to be faithful to the Captain of his salvation."

The lady then proceeded to point out the nature of the sacraments, by shewing that they are emblems, or visible signs, of benefits, which, when received in faith, become the means of nourishing the soul; while, too often, the unbelief of those who partake of the outward and visible sign, hinders the benefit of the inward and spiritual grace.--She then asked her young people what was the outward and visible sign in the sacrament of Baptism.

They answered, "Water."

On which, she required them to tell her what was the general signification of springs, fountains, and brooks, mists, and dew, in the language of prophecy.

They replied, that these emblems signified the gifts and graces of the Holy Spirit, or the life from above.

"The washing the body with water," replied the lady, "then, signifies the cleansing, purifying, and revivifying operations of the Holy Spirit, as applied to the soul; and when this inward and spiritual grace either accompanies, follows, or precedes the outward and visible sign, or form, in Baptism, the individual has then, and not till then, become a partaker of the thing signified, and is born again unto everlasting life."

The lady then repeated the following questions and answers.

"Q. What is required of persons to be baptized?

A. Repentance, whereby they forsake sin; and faith, whereby they stedfastly believe the promises of God made to them in that sacrament.

" Q. Why then are infants baptized, when by reason of their tender age they cannot perform them?

"A. Because they promise them both by their sureties; which promise, when they come to age, themselves are bound to perform."

"I enlarged on the subject of the baptism of infants," said the lady, "in the early part of our acquaintance, my dear young people; and, because I have no doubt, should you ever become mothers, that you will be most anxious to devote your infants to the Lord, I think it the less necessary to discuss the subject at length; and especially as there is no question in our national Church as to the propriety and importance of infant baptism. With your permission, I will, therefore, add something respecting the necessity of an entire change of heart; or, as our Catechism expresses it, 'a death unto sin, and a new birth unto righteousness.'

"I have spoken to you largely and repeatedly, my beloved young people, of the present depraved state of man; whereby he is subject to everlasting misery, and is justly termed a child of wrath. We are born children of wrath, and continue such till we are born again.

"'Wrath has gone as wide as ever sin went,' said a valuable old writer. 'When angels sinned, God brake in upon them as a flood: God spared not the angels that sinned, but cast them down to hell; and thereby it was demonstrated, that no natural excellency in the creature will shield it from the wrath of God, if it becomes a sinful creature.'

"What this wrath of God is, can only be proved by its effects. Who can fully describe it? and what created being could bear it, if let loose upon him in all its fury?--The terms, however, in which the wicked are spoken of in Scripture are sufficiently marked to denote the anger of the righteous God against them--The foolish shall not stand in thy sight: thou hatest all workers of iniquity. Thou shalt destroy them that speak leasing: the Lord will abhor the bloody and deceitful man. [Psalm v. 5, 6.] God is angry with the wicked every day. [Psalm vii. 11.]

"The wicked, in Scripture, are compared to dogs and swine, and whited sepulchres, and even to viper and venomous serpents. Being unbelievers, they cannot please him; because, without faith, it is impossible to please God; and their very duties, because not done in faith, are an abomination to the Lord.

"The Almighty shews his hatred of sin, on occasion without number, even in this world. Temporal death is the punishment of sin. Every pain we feel, every infirmity we experience, every imperfection of our body whether visible or invisible, is the effect of sin, and an evidence of the divine displeasure against it. There is also the wrath of God on man's soul. The natural man can have no communion with God; he is separated from him; he is foolish, and shall not stand in God's sight. [Psalm v. 5.]

"But," continued the lady of the manor, "as, in dear young people, I have carefully endeavoured to establish you in the doctrine of man's depravity, and the consequent anger of God against man, I shall dwell no longer on this part of my subject; but proceed to explain how needful it is that every child of Adam should be entirely renewed in the spirit of his mind, and become a new creature in Christ Jesus, before he can become an object of the divine complacency.

"We must, therefore, consider how man may be recovered from this state in which he is born, and enquire whether he is able, of himself, to effect this recovery.

"I answer, from Scripture, that he cannot; for the Scripture saith, When we were yet without strength, in due time Christ died for the ungodly. [Rom. v. 6.] No man can come to me, except the Father, which hath sent me, draw him. [John vi. 44.]

"True wisdom, then, consists in being sensible of our utter depravity and helplessness; and in a disposition to receive the Saviour with thankfulness, and (if we are enabled to obey) to give the glory to him to whom only it is due. Hence it belongs to the Holy Spirit, restore the lost sinner to a state of grace and favour by humbling the soul, abasing self, and creating a desire for divine assistance.

"We proceed now," continued the lady of the manor "to describe this state of grace, or recovery of human nature, into which all that shall partake of eternal happiness must be translated, sooner or later, while in this world.

"This change, which is, as I before said, the work of the Holy Spirit, is called regeneration, or the new birth. It is a real and radical change, whereby the man is made a new creature. [2 Cor. v. 17.] The old man is put off; the new man is put on. As it is written, That ye put off, concerning the former conversation, the old man, which is corrupt according to the deceitful lusts; and be renewed in the spirit of your mind; and that ye put on the new man, which after God is created in righteousness and true holiness." [Eph. iv. 22--24.]

The lady then paused for a moment; after which, she added, "I have by me a short history of two young ladies, in which the doctrine of the new birth is clearly elucidated; and, as it is my intention to read it to you, I shall forbear to enlarge on the doctrine, so much as I should have done, had it not been so fully explained in the course of this narrative. Permit me, however, to give you one caution. Be solicitous, my young friends, to avoid, in this important affair, every deception. It is very easy, through the love of self, and satanic influence, to suppose this change to have taken place where it has not. It is of the highest importance, my dear young people, that we should be aware of this; and that we should be disposed to search our own hearts, lest we should be deluded to our everlasting shame.

"Many, I fear, call the Church their mother, whom God will not own to be his children. Simon was baptized, yet still remained in the gall of bitterness. [Acts viii. 13, 23.] Judas received the sacramental bread and wine from the hand of our Lord himself; yet was it said of that man, 'It would have been better for him had be never been born.'

"Education may moderate the passions of men, and render them externally amiable; but it cannot change the heart. Men are often induced, by precept, example, or interest, to forsake profanity and scandalous vices; but neither precept nor example can form the new creature. Men may go through a long and continued course of duties, and yet be wholly unconverted.

"But, as I have promised you an illustration of this subject, I will no longer detain your attention by any previous discussions; but will express my hope that you will carefully distinguish the effect of true and converting grace, in one of the characters I am about to set before you, from that of the partial change produced by circumstances in the other."

The lady of the manor then produced a manuscript, and read as follows.

THE HISTORY OF ELEANORE AND ANTOINETTE.

Near the public road between Paris and Roüen, in a situation where the valley of the Seine is considerably contracted by the higher lands on either side approaching unusually near to each other, are the large possessions of the noble family of J----. A traveller from Paris may see from the eminence over which the road passes, on the left banks of the river, the towers of the château lifting their Gothic heads above the forest-trees by which they are surrounded; and not far distant, the spire of the parish church, and the ruins of an ancient monastery, which, having been delivered to plunder during the Revolution, nom presents only bare walls and dilapidated turrets. Nevertheless, the Tour de Tourterelle, which stands on a considerable eminence above the castle, and which gives its possessor the title of the Baron de J----, still remains in high preservation; having escaped, by some extraordinary oversight, the fury of those who waged war against all things honourable or sacred among men. It is built of a kind of chalky stone, and forms a strong contrast with the dark green of the forest.

The occupant of this château, and possessor of these lands, about forty years before the Revolution, was Ernest Adolphe, Baron of J----, an officer of the guard of honour, and chevalier of the order of St. Louis. This nobleman had married a lady of high and imperious temper, who brought him one son and one daughter. It had been long determined in the family to marry this daughter, Mademoiselle Adele de J----, to the Marquis de F----, a man of three times her age. But while the relations on both sides were engaged in drawing out the settlements, and preparing the marriage gifts, the young lady effected a union with a Mr. Northington, who had been an officer in the Irish brigade, and with whom she had become acquainted in a way unknown to her mother. For, although the utmost licence is allowed to females, in France, after marriage, the French mothers perhaps excel the English matrons in the policy with which they guard their unmarried daughters.

Immediately after this marriage, Mrs. Northington, being utterly rejected by her family, accompanied her husband to Ireland, where she remained till the improvident couple had nearly expended the whole of Mr. Northington's patrimony; when the lady suddenly became a widow, Mr. Northington having fallen an early victim to the irregularities of his conduct.

On the death of her husband, Mrs. Northington, who found herself in the possession only of a slender annuity, removed from Ireland to England, with her two daughters, Eleanore and Antoinette; where, after having tried various places, she at length settled in a small house in the beautiful town of Reading, in Berkshire; being induced to fix there, by a hope of sometimes seeing some individuals of her own nation; the town being a favourite place of residence for foreigners when in England.

Notwithstanding her misfortunes, Mrs. Northington still retained all the gaiety, and I may add levity, of manner, so commonly attributed to persons of her nation. Though she had suffered considerably by ill health, by which her appearance had been much injured, she still appeared in an afternoon, or when in company, with her head dressed with artificial flowers, and her sallow cheeks tinged with rouge; while the same vehement desire for admiration still influenced her as had actuated her in the bloom of youth, and the vigour of her days.

The hoary head is a crown of glory, if it be found in the way of righteousness: [Prov. xvi. 31.] but when the vanity and folly of youth accompany the infirmities of age, we behold a spectacle at once the most melancholy and ridiculous which human nature can present.

There is in the vicinity of the town of Reading, though separated from the more populous parts of it by a large and elevated green called the Forbury, the remains of an ancient abbey, still in tolerable preservation, and near it a mound thrown up in the feudal ages, with the venerable remains of a cathedral church standing in a garden. The abbey for some years past has been devoted to the purpose of a school for young ladies; and its antique halls and towers, which formerly resounded with the orisons of the monks, are now made frequently to re-echo with the shrill cries and jocund revelry of thoughtless infancy.

This ancient building is fronted by a large garden, inclosed on one side by a high bank artificially raised, on which is a terrace-walk commanding a view of the meadows of the Thames, and on the other by a high wall. A gateway, which forms a part of the abbey, is without the garden; and beneath it is the road to a small street, at the back of the abbey.

It was in this street that Madame Northington (for she adopted the title of Madame on her arrival at Reading) took a small house, to enjoy the privilege of sending her daughters to school at the abbey. And it afforded no small degree of pastime to the young ladies, whose sleeping apartments were in the back part of the house, to observe the manouvres of Madanme Northington, whose small abode was entirely overlooked from the turrets of the abbey.

A neat undress, or dishabille, is much admired in England, but for the most part held in utter contempt by the fine ladies of our neighbouring country. But, however this may be, Madame Northington, whose doors were never at any hour closed to a native of France, was in consequence often under the necessity of receiving her visiters in her morning-dress. This dress, while she resided in Reading, consisted of a pelisse, or larbardour, of tarnished silk, worn without any apparent linen, a pair of coloured slippers, with or without the accompaniment of stockings, as it suited the convenience of the wearer; there being no cap or other head-dress, unless it might be now and then a coloured silk handkerchief, the well-pomaded hair being platted and turned up behind, and combed from the face in front.

In this elegant costume the foreign lady was often seen complimenting her acquaintances as far as the gate of her little garden; not at all disconcerted by the appearance she might be supposed to make in the eyes of her visiters; or, if she thought at all, trusting to her elegant figure in the afternoon, to obliterate the remembrance of her morning dishabille.

The household of Madame consisted of a single domestic whom she had brought with her from Ireland, an affectionate and devoted character, and not less remarkable in her habits and manners than was her mistress. This damsel, from the circumstance of her residence in England, from being a native of Ireland, and from having lived several years with a mistress whose manners were altogether French, was as odd a compound of the three nations as could be conceived. She had some of the qualifications and some of the defects of each country. She could prepare a vol-au-vent or a soufflet with considerable skill; she could perform the part of a fille-de-chambre with more adroitness than could have been expected by any one who observed the natural clumsiness of her figure; could join, with some credit to herself, in general conversation when serving the coffee to the guests; and could gossip and sip tea with any maid-servant in the town of Reading. And, although a very delicate English lady might not have coveted her, she was a real comfort to her mistress.

Madame's house, though entirely English in construction, consisting of a small vestibule, a kitchen on one hand, and a parlour on the other, with a suitable number of bed-rooms above, was completely French with respect to its furniture and decorations, having no resemblance to the dapper neatness of an humble English dwelling. The floors were entirely without carpets, the furniture mismatched, the elegant shawls and embroidered dresses of Madame were to be seen hanging on pegs and nails against the parlour-wall; while a superb Parisian timepiece on the chimney-piece was the only ornament which the place could boast.

Those who visited Madame in a morning might not unfrequently find her playing at tric-trac with one of her countrymen, whose loose surtout and morocco slippers corresponded with her own elegant appearance; the Irish damsel coming in at intervals to receive directions for the fricassee, which was to be prepared for the repast at noon.

In the evening this parlour was the common resort of all the idle foreigners who might happen to be in the neighbourhood; and here, in the sprightly conversation of Madame, they found an enjoyment with which the more correct and less animated society of the English ladies could never supply them.

As Madame Northington, from her public mode of life, had no leisure, and, from her desultory habits, little inclination, to carry on the education of her children, she found it very convenient to send her young people, at first, as day-boarders, and afterwards as entire boarders to the abbey, only reserving to herself the privilege of enjoying their company on a Sunday afternoon; Sunday being a day which she considered should be as devoted to pleasure. And herein we agree with her: Sunday ought to be a day of rest and pleasure, though perhaps we might differ with Madame in our definition of the word pleasure; for, to use a homely but expressive phrase on this occasion, "What is one man's meat is another man's poison;" and that person who has once enjoyed the delight of feeding on the bread of heaven, has no wish to return to feed on the husks of the world; and he who has obtained the privilege of wandering, in divine meditation, among the delightful regions of millennial and heavenly glory, where the Saviour so eminently blesses his redeemed ones, would be sorry to exchange these glorious privileges for those empty enjoyments which Madame termed pleasure.--But, to cease from these reflections, and to continue our story.

Eleanore and Antoinette lost little by their exchange of the seclusion of the school-room on a Sunday evening for the gaiety of their mother's house. For at that period religion obtained no part of the attention of the teachers within the walls of the seminary of the abbey at Reading. The young ladies were indeed taken to church, where, having spent an hour or more in smothered titters, low whispers, and peeping at their neighbours in the next pew, it was considered that their religious duties were fulfilled; and the rest of the day was spent in eating, walking, lounging, and gossiping in the garden, parlour, dancing-room, or bed-room; and if any individual of the family, being more pious than the rest, ventured to produce a Bible, a general murmur of contempt or burst of ridicule proceeded from every lip.

This is indeed a sad, but I fear too true, a picture of the state of schools in general, about forty years ago. At the same time, perhaps, more attention than usual was paid in this school to some other branches of education.

A good French accent, a graceful carriage, and an accurate ear for music, were highly prized at the abbey; and as Eleanore and Antoinette possessed all these in uncommon perfection, and were very good figures, combining in their persons the vivacity and brilliance of their mother's nation with the fine bloom of their father's, they were generally esteemed as the chief ornaments of the school, and set forward in the most prominent situations on every occasion of display. There was, however, a considerable disparity in the dispositions of these young people. Eleanore had much vanity, which induced her to accommodate herself as much as possible to the humours of those about her, and readily to adopt their modes and sentiments, to obtain a sort of popularity; while Antoinette was more reserved, and, at the same time that it was difficult to make an impression upon her, that impression, when made, was more lasting than any which could be made on her sister. These were the peculiarities of their dispositions; but, in common with all other persons in an unregenerate state, they were both equally influenced by selfish motives of action, and never lost sight of what they conceived to be their own interests. And in this place it may perhaps be a useful speculation to consider how far the unconverted man may have the appearance of what is good.

Man, in his unregenerate state, may be led to what is outwardly right, by some remains of natural affection, by prudence, by respect for the opinions of others, by example, by good education, by fear of punishment and hope of reward. But, as the Articles of our Church assert, as "works done before the grace of Christ, and the inspiration of his Spirit, are not pleasant to God, inasmuch as they spring not of faith in Jesus Christ, neither do they make men meet to receive grace; yea, rather, for that they are not done as God hath willed and commanded them to be done, we doubt not but they have the nature of sin." [See 13th Article.]

Neither is there any injustice in this; for, I ask you, what monarch on earth would feel himself under obligation to any one of his servants or subjects, who, instead of labouring to serve him and promote his glory, exerted himself, however wisely and prudently, in establishing his own honour, and in exalting his own household? Would not such a monarch say, 'That man may have done well for himself, and he has received his reward, but he has no demands upon me?' Now, as the relation between the Creator and the creature is infinitely more close than that between the servant and the master, that man who, forgetting God, goes about to establish his own righteousness and promote his own honour, is infinitely more to be blamed than the servant who separates his interest from that of his rightful lord. But every unrenewed and carnal man is guilty of this sin. Wherefore we must agree with the words of the Article, and confess that such works as spring not from faith partake of the nature of sin. If we look well to our hearts, we shall find it to be so.--But to return to our story.

Eleanore, in common with many persons of her father's country, had a quick insight into character--a valuable quality, when rightly directed, but a dangerous gift in the possession of an irreligious person; because it frequently occasions the individual, not only to deceive others, but also to mislead himself. However, among the undiscerning persons by whom she was educated, this talent enabled the child to become a very popular character; and although now and then some instances of dissimulation were brought forward, by which she was exposed to censure, yet she generally had the address to extricate herself from these difficulties, and to retain the general regard in which she was held. Antoinette had also some friends, but they were fewer than those of her sister.

In the mean time, the years of the early childhood of the daughters of Madame passed away with little improvement in useful knowledge, without any advancement towards better things, and in the daily acquirement of the corruptions of the world and its vices; which may be obtained in every place of education where the closest attention is not paid to the private habits of each individual.

'When Eleanore had attained her fourteenth and Antoinette her thirteenth year, Madame Northington, becoming weary of her situation, and having received information that her father was not likely to live long, resolved to leave her daughters at school, and go over to France; hoping to be able to bring about some reconciliation with her friends, and to obtain some little addition to her narrow income.

About the same time, an old lady, who had, fifty years before, received her education under the roof of the abbey, wished to finish her days where she had spent many years of her youth; and prevailed upon the managers of the school to allow her the use of a pleasant apartment, in a sufficiently quiet corner of the old building, to which there was access by a grand staircase, little resorted to by the younger part of the family.

This room had a window opening into the garden where the young people used to play; and here the old lady loved to sit, in a summer evening, pondering on the days that were gone, and thinking of the generation, nearly passed away, with whom she had often gambolled on the same spot.

This old lady (whom