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PRECAUTION,

A NOVEL.

By J. FENIMORE COOPER.

• Be •wise to-dav. 't is madness to defer ;
To-morrow's caution may arrire too late."

OOMPLETE IN ONE VOLOMit

NKW EDITION.

NEW YORK:
PUBLISHED BY HURD AND HOUGHTON.

1870.

PKECAUTION.

Entered, Mcordlng to Act of Congress, In the year 1853,

Bt STUINGEK & TOWNSENii.

In the Clerk's Offloe of the District Court of the United St&tce for the

Southeru District of New York.

W C. BRYANT'S DISCOURSE

ON THB

LIFE, GENIUS, AND WKITINGS

OF

JAMES FENIMORE COOPER,

PELIYERED AT METROPOLITAN HAIL, N. Y., PEBRUARY 25, 1852.

It is now somewhat more than a year, since the friends of James
Fenimore Cooper, in this city, were planning tc? give a public
dinner to his honor. It was intended as an expression both ol
the regard they bore him personally, and of the pride they took in
the glory his writings had reflected on the American name. We
thought of what we should say in his hearing; in what terms,
worthy of him and of us, we should speak of the esteem in which
we held him, and of the interest we felt in a fame which had
already penetrated tp the remotest nook of the earth inhabited by
cinlized man.

To^ay we assemble for a sadder purpose : to pay to the dead

some part of the honors then intended for the living. We bring

our offering, but he is not here who should receive it ; in his stead

are vacancy and silence; there is no eye to brighten at our words,

and no voice to answer. " It is an empty office that we perform,"

said Virgil, in his melodious verses, when commemorating the

virtues of the young Marcellus, and bidding flowers be strewn,

with full hands, over his early grave. We might apply the

expression to the present occasion, but it would be true in part

ly. We can no longer do anything for him who is departed,

^Sbut we may do what will not be without fruit to those who

"^fe remain. It is good to occupy our thoughts with the example of

\ great talents in conjunction with great virtues. His genius has

^j passed away ^\ith him ; but we may learn, from the history uf his

^ . life, to employ the faculties we possess with useful activity and

-J noble aims ; we may copy his magnanimous frankness, his disdain

6 LIFE, GITNIUS, AND WRITINGS

of everytliing that wears the faintest semblance of deceit, his
refusal to comply with current abuses, and the courage with
which, on all occasions, he asserted what he deemed truth, and
combated what he thought error.

The circumstances of Cooper's early life were remarkably
suited to confirm the natural hardihood and manliness of his
character, and to call forth and exercise that extraordinary power
of observation, which accumulated the materials afterwards
wielded and shaped by his genius. His father, while an inhabitant
of Burlington, in New Jersey, on the pleasant b:ml*s of the
Delaware, was the owner of large possessions on the borders ot
the Otsego Lake in our own state, and here, in the newly-cleared
fields, he built, in 1786, the first house in Cooperstown. To this
home. Cooper, who was born in Burlington, in the year 1789, was
conveyed in his infancy, and here, as he informs us in his preface
to the Pioneers, his first impressions of the external world were
obtained. Here he passed his childhood, with the vast forest
around him, stretching up the mountains that overlook the lake,
and far beyond, in a region where the Indian yet roamed, and the
white hunter, half Indian in his dress and mode of life, sought his
game, — a region in which the bear and the wolf were yet hunted,
and the panther, more formidable than either, lurked in the
thickets, and tales of wanderings in the wilderness, and encounters
with these fierce animals, beguiled the lengtii of the wh.ter nights.
Of this place. Cooper, although early removed from it to pursue
his studies, was an occasional resident throughout his life, and
here his last years were wholly passed.

At the age of thirteen he was sent to Yale College, where, not-
withstanding his extreme youth, — for, with the exception of the
poet Hillhouse, he was the youngest of his class, and Hillhouse
was afterwards withdrawn, — his progress in his studies is said to
have been honorable to his talents. He left the college, after a
residence of three years, and became a midshipman in the United
States navy. Six years he followed the sea, and there yet
-'•anders, among those who are fond of Uterary anecdote, a story
of the young sailor who, in the streets if one of the English
ports, attracted the curiosity of the crowd by explaining to his
companions a Latin motto in some public p^ce. That during
this period he made himself master of the krowledge and the
imagery which he afterwards employed to so much advantage in
his romances of the sea, ine finest ever written, is a common and
obvious remark; but it has not been, so far as 1 kaow, observed
that from the discipline of a seaman's life he may have derived
much of his readiness and fertility of invention, much >f his skill
in surrounding the personages of his novels with imaginary perils,
and rescuing them by probable expedients. Of all pursuits, th«

OF* J. FEXIMORE CUOPER. J

life of a sailor is that wliich familiarizes men to danger in ita
most fearful shapes, most cultivates presence of mind, and most
effectually calls forth the resources of a prompt and fearless dex-
terity by which imminent evil is avoided.

In 1811, Cooper, having resigned his post as midshipman, began
the year by marrying Miss Dehmcy, sister of the present bishop
of the diocese of Western New York, and entered upon a domestic
life happily passed to its close. He went to live at Mamaroneck, in
the county of Westchester, and while here he wrote and publisiied
the first of his novels, entitled Precaution. Concerning the
occasion of writing this work, it is related, that once, as lie was
reading an English novel to Mrs. Cooper, who has, within a short
time past, been laid in the grave beside her illustrious husband,
and of whom we may now say, that her goodness was no les3
eminent than his genius, he suddenly laid down the book, and
said, " I believe I couJd write a better myself." Almost imme-
diately he composed a chapter of a projected work of fiction, and
read it to the same friendly judge, who encouraged him to finish
it, and when it was completed, suggested its publication. Of this
he had at the time no intention, but he was at length induced to
submit the manuscript to the examination of the late Charles
Wiikes, of this city, in v;hose literary opinions he had great con-
fidence. Mr. Wilkes advised that it should be published, and to
these circumstances we owe it that Cooper became an author.

I confess I have merely dipped into this work. The experiment
was made with the first ediiion, deformed by a strange punctua-
tion^a profusion of commas, and other pauses, which puzzled
and repelled me. Its author, many years afterwards, revised and
republished it, correcting this fault, and some faults of style also,
so that to a casual inspection it appeared almost another work.
It was a professed^delineation of English manners, though the
author had then seen nothing of English society. It had, however,
the honor of being adopted by the country whose manners it
described, and, being early republished in Great Britain, passed
from the first for an English novel. I am not unwilling to believe
what is said of it, that it contained a promise of the powers which
its author afterwards put forth.

Thirty years ago, in the year 1821, and in the thirty-second Oi
his life. Cooper published the first of the works by which he will
be known to posterity, the Spy, It took the reading world by a
kind of surprise; its merit was acknowledged by a rapid sale ; the
public read with eagerness and the critics w'ondered. Many with-
held their commendations on account of defects in the plot oi
blemishes in the composition, arising from want of pn;ctice, and
some waited till they could hear the judgment of European
readers. Yet there were not wanting critics in thia country, oi

8 LIFE, GENIUS, AND WRITINGS

whose good opinion any author in any part of the world might be
proud, who spoke of it in terms it deserved. " Are you not
delighted," wrote a literary friend to me, who has since risen to
high distinction as a writer, both in verse and in prose, " are you
not delighted with the Spy^ as a work of infinite spirit and
genius?" In that word genius lay the explanation of the hold
which the work had taken on tne minds of men. What it had of
excellence was peculiar and unborrowed ; its pictures of life,
whether in repose or activity, were drawn, with broad lights and
shadows, immediately from living originals in nature or in his own
imagination. To him, whatever he described was true ; it was
made a reality to him by the strength with wliich he conceived it.
His power in the delineation of character was shown in the princi-
pal personage of his story, Harvey Birch, on whom, though he has
chosen to employ him in the ignoble office of a spy, and endowed
him with the qualities necessary to his profession, — extreme cir-
cumspection, fertility in stratagem, and the art of concealing his
real character — qualities which, in conjunction with selfishness and
greediness, make the scoundrel, he has bestowed the virtues of
generosity, magnanimity, an intense love of country, a fidelity not
to be corrupted, and a disinterestedness beyond temptation. Out
of this combination of qualities he has wrought a character
which is a favorite in all nations, and with all classes of man-
kind.

It is said that if you cast a pebble into the ocean, at the mouth
of our harbor, the vibration made in the water passes gradually
on till it strikes the icy barriers of the deep at the south pole.
The spread of Cooper's reputation is not confined within narrower
limits. The Spy is read in all the written dialects of Europe, and
in some of those of Asia. Tiie French, immediately after its
first appearance, gave it to the multitudes ,who read their far-
diffused language, and placed it among the first works of its class.
It was rendered into Castilian, and passed into the hands of those
who dwell under the beams of the Southern Cross. At length it
passed the eastern frontier of Europe, and the latest record I have
seen of its progress towards absolute universality, is contained in
a statement of the International Magazine, derived, I presume,
from its author, that in 1847 it was published in a Persian trans-
lation at Ispahan. Before this time, I doubt not, they are reading
t in some of the languages of Hindostan, and, if the Chinese evei
translated anything, it would be in the hands of the many millions
who inhabit the far Cathay.

I have spoken of the hesitation which American critics felt in
admitting the merits of the Spy, on account of crudities in the
plot or the composition, some of which, no doubt, really existed.
An exception must be made in favor of the Port Folio^ whick,

OF J. FENIMORE COOPER. 9

In a notice A^aitten by Mrs. Sarah Hall, mother of the editor of
that periodical, and author of Conversations onlhe Bible, gave the
^ork a cordial welcome ; and' Cooper, as I am informed, never for-
got this act of timely and ready kindness.

It was perhaps favorable to the immediate success of the Spy^
that Cooper had few American authors to divide with him the
public attention. That crowd of clever men and women who now
write for- the magazines, who send out volumes of essays,
sketches, and poems, and who supply the press with novels, bio-
graphies, and historical works, were then, for the most part, either
stammering their lessons in the schools, or yet unborn. Yet it is
worthy of note, that just about the time that the Spy made its
appearance, the dawn of what we now call our literature was just
breaking. The concluding number of Dana's Idle Man, a w^ork
neglected at first, but now numbered among the best things of the
kind in our language, was issued in the same month. The Sketch
Book was then just completed; the world was admiring it, and its
author was meditating Bracebridge Hall. Miss Sedgwick, about
the same time, made her first essay in that charming series of no-
vels of domestic life in New England, which have gained her so
high a reputation. Percival,now unhappily silent, had just put to
press a volume of poems. I have a copy of an edition of Hal-
leek's Fanny, published in the same year ; the poem of Yamoyden,
by Eastburn and Sands, appeared almost simultaneously with
it. Livingston was putting the finishing hand to his Report on
the Penal Code of Louisiana, a work written with such grave,
persuasive eloquence, that it belongs as much to our literature
as to our jurisprudence. Other contemporaneous American
works there were, now less read. Paul Allen's poem of
Moah was just laid on the counters of the booksellers. Arden
published, at the same time, in this city, a translation of Ovid's
Tristia, in heroic verse, in which the complaints of the etfeminate
Roman poet were rendered with great fidelity to the original, and
sometimes not without beauty. If I may speak of myself, it was
in that year that I timidly intrusted to the winds and waves of
public opinion a small cargo of my own — a poem entitled Th^
Ages, and half a dozen shorter ones, in a thin duodecimo volume,
printed at Cambridge.

We had, at the same time, works of elegant literature, fresh
from the press of Great Britain, which are still read and admired.
Barry Cornwall, then a young suitor for fame, published in the
same year his Marcia Colonna ; Byron, in the full strength and
fertility of his genius, gave the readers of Enghsh his tragedy of
Marino Faliero, and was in the midst of his spirited controversy
with Bowles concerning the poetry of Pope. The Spy had to
sustain a comparison with Scott's Antiquary, published simulta-

10 LIFE, GENIUS, AKD WRITINOfl

neously with it, and with Lockhart's Valerius, which socnia
to me one of the most remarkable works of fiction ever com-
posed

In 1823, and in his thirty-fourth year, Cooper brought out his
novel of the Pioneers, the scene of which was laid on the borders
of his own beautiful lake. In a recent survey of Mr. Cooper's
works, by one of his admirers, it is intimated that the reputation
of this work may have been in some degree fictitious. I cnnnot
think so ; I cannot see how such a work could fail of becoming,
sooner or later, a favorite. It was several years after its first np-
pearance that I read the Pioneers, and I read it with a delighted
astonishment. Here, said I to myself, is the poet of rural life in
this country — our Hesiod, our Theocritus, except that he writes
without the restraint of numbers, and is a greater poet than they.
In the Pioneers, as in a moving picture, are made to pass before
us the hardy occupations and spirited amusements of a prosperous
settlement, in a fertile region, encompassed for leagues around
with the primeval wilderness of woods. The seasons in their
different aspects, bringing with them their different employments ;
forests falling before the axe ; the cheerful population, with the
first mild day of spring, engaged in the sugar orchards ; the chase
of the deer through the deep woods, and into the lake ; turkey-
shooting, during the Christmas holidays, in which the Indian
marksman vied for the prize of skill with the white man ; swift
s'eigh rides under the bright winter sun, and perilous encounters
with wild animals in the forests ; these, and other scenes of rural
life, drawn, as Cooper knew how to draw them, in the bright and
healthful coloring of which he was master,- are interwoven with
a regular narrative of human fortunes, not unskilfully constructed;
and how could such a work be otherwise than popular ?

In the Pioneers, Leatherstocking is first introduced — a philoso-
pher of the woods, ignorant of boo'ks, but instructed in all that
nature, without the aid of science, could reveal to the man of
quick senses and inquiring intellect, whose life has been passed
under the open sky, and in companionship with a race whose ani-
mal perceptions are the acutest and most cultivated of which
there is any example. But Leatherstocking has higher qualities;
in him there is a genial blending of the gentlest virtues of the
civilized man with the better nature of the aboriginal tribes; all
that in tJiem is noble, generous, and ideal, is adopted into his own
Icindly character, and all that i# evil is rejected. But why should
I attempt to analyse a character so familiar? Leatlierstocking is
acknowledged, on all hands, to be one of the noblest, as well aa
most striking and original creations of fiction. In some of hia
subsequent novels. Cooper — for he had not yet attained to the full
maturity of his powers-— heightened and ennobled his first ccncep-

OF J. FEMIMOK-E COOPER. 11

tion of the character, but in the Pioneers it dazzled the world
witli the splendor of novelty.

His next work was the Filol, in which he showed how, from the
vicissitudes of a life at sea, its perils and escapes, from the b<.'auty
and terrors of the graiU doep, from the working of a vessel on a
long voyage, and from the frank, brave, and generous, but pecu
liar character of the seaman, may be drawn materials of romance
by which the minds of men may be as deeply moved as by any-
thing in the power of romance to present. In this walk. Cooper
lias had many disciples, but no rival. All who have since written
T )mances of the sea have been but travellers in a country of which
ne was the great discoverer; and none of them all seemed to have
loved a ship as Cooper loved it, or have been able so strongly to
interest all classes of readers in its fortunes. Among other per-
sonages drawn with great strength in the Pilot, is the general f i-
vorite, Tom Coffin, the thorough seaman, with all the virtues
and one or two of the infirmities of his profession, superstitious,
as seamen are apt to be, yet whose superstitions strike us as but
an irregular growth of his devout recognition of the Power who
holds the ocean in the hollow of his hand ; true-hearted, gentle,
full of resources, collected in danger, and at last calmly perishing
at the post of duty, with the vessel he has long guided, by what
I may call a great and magnanimous death. His rougher and
coarser companion, Boltrope, is drawn with scarcely less skill, and
with a no less vigorous hand.

The Pioneers is not Coopers best tale of the American forest,
nor the Pilot, perhaps, in all respects, his best tale of the sea ;
yet, if he had ceased to write here, the measure of his fame would
possibly have been scarcely less ample than it now is. Neither
of them is far below the best of his productions, and in them ap-
pear the two most remarkable creations of his imagination — two
of the most remarkable characters in all fiction.

It was about this time that my acquaintance with Cooper be-
gan, an acquaintance of more than a quarter of a century, in which
his deportment towards me was that of unvaried kindness. He
then resided a considerable part of the year in this city, and hero
he had founded a weekly club, to which many of the most Jis-
tinguished men of the place belonged. Of the mem]>ers vvh
have since passed away, were Chancellor Kent, the jurist; Wiley
the intelligent and liberal bookseller ; Henry D. Sedgwick, always
activ'e in schemes of benevolence ; Jarvis, the painter, a man of in-
finite humor, whose jests awoke inextinguishable laughter; De
Kay, the naturalist ; Sands, the poet ; Jacob Harvey, whose genial
memory is cherished by many friends. Of those who are yet
living was Morse, the inventor of the electric telegraph ; Durand,

12 LIFE, GExN'IUS, AND WRllINGS

then one of the first of engravers, and now no less illustrious as a
painter ; Henry James Anderson, whose acquirements might
awiiken the envy of the ripest scholars of the old world; Hallcck,
tlie poet and wit; Verplanck, who has given the v\orld the best
edition of Shakspeare for general readers ; Dr. King, now at the
head of Columbia College, and his two immediate predecessors in
that office. I might enlarge the list with many other names of
no less distinction. The army and navy contributed their propor-
tion of members, whose names are on record in our national
history. Cooper when in town was always present, and I re-
member being struck with the inexhaustible vivacity of his con-
versation and the minuteness of his knowledge, in everything
which depended upon acuteness of observation and exactness of
recollection. I remember, too, being sotnew hat startled, coming
as I did from the seclusion of a country life, wiih a certain emphatic
frankness in his manner, which, however, I came at last to like
and to admire. The club met in the hotel called Washington
Hall, the site of which is now occupied by part of the ckcuit of
Stewart's marble building.

Lionel Lincoln, which cannot be ranked among the success-
ful productions of Cooper, was published in 1825 ; and in the year
following appeared the Last of the Mohicans, which more than
recovered the ground lost by its predecessor. In this work, the
construction of the narrative has signal defects, but it is one of
the triumphs of the author's genius that he makes us unconscious
of them while we read. It is only when we have had time to
awake from the intense interest in which he has held us by the
vivid reality of his narrative, and have begun to search for faults
hi cold blood, that we are able to find them. In the Last of the
Mohicans, we have a bolder portraiture of Leatherstocking timn
in ihc Pvmeers.

This work was published in 1826, and in the same year Cooper
hailed with his femily for Europe. He left New York as one of
the vessels of war, described in his romances of the sea, goes out
of port, amidst the thunder of a parting salute from the big gims
on the batteries. A dinner was given him just before his de-
parture, attended by most of the distinguished men of the city, at
which Peter A. Jay presided, and Dr. King addressed him in terms
which some then thought too glowing, but which would now
Beem sufficiently temperate, expressing the good wishes of his
friends, and dwelling on the satisfaction they promised themselves
in possessing so illustrious a representative of Amencan literature
in the old world. Cooper was scarcely in France when he re-
membered his friends of the weekly club, and sent frequent mis-
sives to be f ead at its meetings ; but the club missed its founder
•vent into a decline, and not long afterv/ards quietly expired.

OF J. FEXIMOKE COOF^ER. 13

The first of Cooper's novels published after leaving Araerica was
the Prairie, wldch appeared early in 1827, a work with the ad-
mirers of which I wholly agree. 1 read it with a certain awe, an
undefined sense of sublimity, such as one experiences on enterinor,
for the first time, upon those immense gr;issy deserts Irom wliich
the work takes its name. The squatter and his family — tha
brawny old man and his larg-e-limbed sons, living in a sort of pri-
mitive and patriarchal barbarism, sluggish on ordinary occasions,
but terrible when roused, like the hurricane that sweeps the grand
but monotonous wilderness in which they dwell — seem a natural
growth of ancient fields of the West. Leatherstocking, a hunter
in the Pioneers, a warrior in the Last of the Mohicans, and now,
in his extreme old age, a trapper on the prairie, declined m
strength, but undecayedin intellect, and looking to the near close
of his life, and a grave under the long grass, as calmly as the
laborer at sunset looks to his evening slumber, is no less in
harmony with the silent desert in which he wanders. Equally so
are the Indians, still his companions, copies of the American
savage somewhat idealized, but not the less a part of the wild
nature in which they have their haunts.

Before the year closed, Cooper had given the world another
nautical tale, the Red Rover, which, with many, is a greater
favorite than the Pilot, and with reason, perhaps, if we consider
principally the incidents, which are conducted and described with
a greater mastery over the springs of pity and terror.

It ha])pened to Cooper while he was abror.d, as it not unfre-
quently happens to our countrymen, to hear the United States
disadvantageously compared with Europe. He had himself been
a close observer of things both here and in the old world, and was
conscious of being able to refute the detractors of his country in
regard to many points. He published in 1828, after he had been
two years in Europe, a series of letters, entitled Notions of the
Americans, by a Travelling Bachelor, in which he gave a favor-
able account of the w'orking of our institutions, and vindicated his
country from various flippant and ill-natured misrepresentations of
foreisrners. It is rather too measured in style, but is written from
a mind full of the subject, and from a memory wonderfully stored
with particulars. Although twenty-four years have elapsed since
■\t.s publication, but little of the vindication has become obsolete.

Cooper loved his country and was proud of her history and her
institutions, but it puzzles many that he should have appeared, at
different times, as her eulogist and her cei sor. My friends, she
is worthy both of praise and of blame, and Cooper w-as not the
man to shrink from bestowing either, at what seemed to him the
proper time. He defended her from detractors abroad: he sought
lo save her from flatterers at home. I will not say that he wai

14 LIFE, GENIUS, AND WRITINGS

in as good humor with his country when he wrote Home at
Found, as when he wrote his Notions of the Americans, but this I
will say that whether he commended or censured, he did it in the
sincerity of his heart, as a true American, and in the belief that
it would do good. His Notions of the Americans were more
likely to lessen than to increase his popularity in Europe, inas "
much as they were put forth without the slightest regard to
European prejudices.

In 1829, he brought out the novel entitled the Wept of Wish-
ton-Wish, one of the few of his works which we now rarely he«r
mentioned. ' He was engaged in the composition of a third nau-
tical t:iie, which he afterwards published under the name of the
Water- Witch, when the memorable revolution of the Three Days
of July broke out. He saw a government, ruling by fear and in
defiance of public opinion, overthrown in a few hours, with little
bloodshed; he saw the French nation, far from being intoxicated
with their new liberty, peacefully addressing themselves to the
discussion of the institutions under which they were to live. A
work which Cooper afterwards published, his Residence in Europe,
gives the outline of a plan of government for France furnished
by him at that time to La Fayette, with whom he was -in habits
of close and daily intimacy. It was his idea to give permanence
to the new order of things by associating two strong parties in its
support, the friends of legitimacy and the republicans. He sug-
gested that Henry V. should be called to the hereditary throne of
France, a youth yet to be educated as the head of a free people,
that the peerage should be abolished, and a legislature of two
chambers established, with a constituency of at least a million
and a half of electors ; the senate to be chosen by the general
vote, as the representative of the entire nation, and the members
of the other house to be chosen by districts, as the representatives
of the local interests. To the middle ground of politics so
ostentatiously occupied by Louis Philippe»at the beginning of his
reign, he predicted a brief duration, believing that it would speedily
be merged in despotism, or supplanted by the popular rule. His
prophecy has been fulfilled more amply than he could have imagin-
ed—fulfilled in both its alternatives.

In one of the controversies of that time. Cooper bore a dis-
tinguished part. The Revue Britannique, a periodical published
in Paris, boldly atfirmed the government of the United States to
be one of the mbst expensive in the world, and its people among
the most heavily taxed of mankind. This assertion was supported
with a certain show of proof, and the writer aflTected to have
established the conclusion that a republic must necessarily be more
expensive than a monarchy. The partisans of the court were
delighted with the reasoning of the article, and claimed a triumph

OF J. FEMMO:iK COOI'ER. 15

orer our ancient friend La Fayette, who, durinL,'" forty yearH,'had
not ueased to hold uj) tlie governmeHl of the United States as thti
cheapest in the world. At the suggestion of L;i Fayette, Cooper
replied lo this attack upon his country in n letter which was
translated into French, and, together witii another from Genei-al
Bertrand, for many years a resident in America, was laid befoie
the people vi France.

These two letters provoked a shower of rejoinders, in which,
according to Cooper, misstatements were mingled with scunility.
He commenced a series of letters on the question in dispute,
which were pubHshed in the National, a daily sheet, and gave the
fnst evidence of that extraordinary acuteness in controversy \s hich
was no less characteristic of his mind than the vigor of hiis
imagination. 1"he enemies of La Fayette pressed into their ser-
vice Mr. Leaviit Harris, of New Jersey, afterwards our chargt
d'affaires at the court of France, but Cooper replied to Mr. Harris
in the National of May 2d, 1832, closing a discussion in which he
had effectually silenced those who objected to our institutions on
the score of economy. Of these letters, which would form an
important chapter in political science, no entire copy, I have been
told, is to be found in this country.

One of the consequences of earnest controversy is almost in-
variably personal ill-will. Cooper was told by one who held an
official station under the French government, that the part he had
taken in this dispute concerning taxation would neither be for-
gotten nor forgiven. The dislike he had incurred in that quarter
was strengthened by his novel of the Bravo, published hi the year
1831, while he was in the midst of his quarrel with the aristoci-atic
party. In that work, of which he has himself justly said that it
was tiioroughly American in all that belonged to it, his object
was to show how institutions, professedly created to prevent
violence and wrong, become, when perverted from their naturjil
destination, the instruments of injustice ; and how, in every system
which makes power the exclusive property of the strong, the weak
are sure to be oppressed. The work is written with all the vigor
and spirit of his best novels; the magnificent city of Venice, in
which the scene of the story is laid, stands continually before the
imagination ; and from time to time the gorgeous ceremonies of
the Venetian republic pass under our eyes, such as the marriage
of the Doge witli the Adriatic, and the contest of the gondolas for
the prize of speed. The Bravo himself and several of the other
characters are strongly conceived and distinguished, *but the most
remarkable of. there all is the spirited and generous-hearted
daughter of the jailer.

It has been said by some critics, who judge of Cooper by his
failures, that he liad no skill in drawing female characters. By

16 LIFE, GP:N1US, and WRlTINOfi

the same process, it might, I suppose, be shown that Raphael was
but an ordinaiy painter. It must be admitted that when Cooper
drew a lady of high breeding, he was apt to pay too much
attention to the formal part of her character, and to make her a
mere bundle of cold proprieties. But when he places his heroines
m some situation in life which leaves him nothing to do but to
make them natural and true, I know of nothing finer, nothing
more attractive or more individual than the portraitures he has
given us.

Figaro.) the wittiest of the French periodicals, and at that time
on the liberal side, commended the Bravo; the journals on the
side of the government censured it. Figaro afterwards passed
into the hands of the aristocratic party, and Cooper became the
object of its attacks. He was not, however, a man to be driven
from any purpose which he had formed, either by flattery or abuse,
and both were tried with equal ill success. In 1832 he published
his Heidenmauer, and in 1 833 his Headsman of Berne, both with
a political design similar to that of the Bravo, though neither of
them takes the same high rank among his works.

In' 1833, after a residence of seven years in ditferent parts of
Europe, but mostly in France, Cooper returned to his native
country. The welcome whicli met him here was somewhat
chilled by the effect of the attacks made upon him in France,
and remembering with what zeal, and at what sacrifice of the
universal acceptance which his works would otherwise liave met,
he had maintained the cause of his country against the wits and
orators of the court party in France, we cannot wonder that he
should have felt this coldness as undeserved. He published,
shortly after his arrival in this country, A Letter to his Countrymen
in which he complained of the censures cast upon him in the
American newspapers, gave a history of the part he had taken in
exposing the misstatements of the R'viie Britanniqiie, and warned
his countrymen against the too connnon error of resorting, with a
blind deference, to foreign authorities, often swayed by national or
political prejudices, for our opinions of American authors. Going
beyond this topic, he exammed and reprehended the habit of
applying to the interpretation of our own constitution maxims
derived from the practice of other governments, particularly that
of Great Britain. The importance of construing that mstrument
by its own principles, he illustrated by considering several points
in dispute between parties of the day, on which he gave very
decided opini^ns.

The principal effect of this pamphlet,' as it seemed to me, was
to awaken in certain quarters a kind of resentment that a success-
ful writer of fiction should presume to give lessons in politics. 1
meddle not here with the conclusions to which he arrived, though

OF J. FENIMORE COOPER. 1?

must oe allowed to say that they were stated and argued with
great ability. In 1835 Cooper published The Monnikins, a
satirical work, partly with a political aim; and in the same year
appeared Iiis Amcricdn Democrat, a view of the civil and social
relations of the United States, discussing more gravely various
to[)ics touched upon in the former work, and pointing out in what
respects he deemed the American people in their practice to have
fallen short of the excellence of their in.^titutions.

He found time, however, for a more genial task — that of gi\ing
to the world his observations on foreign countries. In 1836
appeared his Sketches of Switzerland, a series of letters in four
volumes, the second part published about two months after the
first, a delightful work, written in a more fluent and flexible style
than his NoUo7is of the Americans. The first part of Gleanings in
Europe, giving an account of his residence in France, followed
in the same year : and the second part of the same work, contain-
ing his observations on England, was published in April, 1837.
In these works, forming a series of eight volumes, he relates and
describes with muoh of the same distinctness as in his novels ;
and his remarks on the manners and institutions of the different
countries, often sagacious, and always peculiarly his own, derive,
from their frequent reference to contemporary events, an historical
interest, ^

In 1838 appeared Homeward Bound and Home as Found, two
satirical novels, in which Cooper held up to ridicule a certain class
of conductors of the newspaper press in America. These works
had not the good fortune to become popular. Cooper did not,
and, because he was too deeply in earnest, perhaps would not,
infuse into his satirical works that gaiety without which satire
becomes wearisome. I believe, however, that if they had been
written by anybody else they would have met with more favor;
but the world knew that Cooper was able to give them something
better, and would not be satisfied with anything short of his hest.
Some childishly imagined that because, in the two works I have
just mentioned, a newspaper editor is introduced, in whose cha-
ricter almost every possible vice of his profession \s made to find
p place. Cooper intended an indiscriminate attack upon the whole
body of writers for the newspaper press, forgetting that such a
portraiture was. a satire only on those to whom it bore a likeness
We have become less sensitive and more reasonable of late, and
the monthly periodicals make sport for their readers of the folliea
and ignorance of the newspaper editors, without awakening the
slightest resentment; but Cooper led the way in this sort of
disciphne, and I remember some instances of towering indignation
at his audacity expressed in the journals of that time.

The next year Cooper made his appearance before the public in

18 LIFE, GENIUS, AND WRITINGS

a new department of writing ; his Naval Historij of the United
Staf.es was brought out in two octavo volumes at Philadelphia, by
Carey and Lea. In writing liis stories of the sea, his attention had
been much turned to this subject, and his mind filled with striking
incidents from expeditions and battles in which our naval com-
manders had been engaged. This made his task the lighter ; but
he gathered his materials with great industry, and with a con-
scientious attention to exactness, for he was not a man to take a
fact for granted, or allow imagination to usurp the place of inquiry
He digested our naval annals into a narrative, written with spirit
it is true, but with that air of sincere dealing which the reader
willmgly takes as a pledge of its authenticity.

An abridgment of the work was afterwards prepared and pub-
lished by the author. The Edinburgh Revieiv, in an article pro-
fessing to examine the statements both of Cooper's work and of
The History of the English Navy, written by Mr. James, a surgeon
by profession, made a violent attack upon the American historian.
Unfortunately, it took James's narrative as its sole guide, and
followed it implicitly. Cooper replied in the Democratic Review
for January, 1840, and by a masterly analysis of his statements,
convicting James of self-contradictfon in almost every particular
in which he differed from himself, refuted both James and the
reviewer. It was a refutation which admitted of no rejoinder.

Scarce anything in Cooper's life was so remarkable, or so
strikingly illustrated his character, as his contest with the news-
paper press. He engaged in it after provocations, many and long
sndured, and prosecuted it through years with great energy, per-
Beverance, and practical dexterity, till he was left master of the
field. In what I am about to say of it, I hope I shall not give
offence to any one, as I shall speak without the slightest malevo-
lence towards those with whom he waged this controversy. Over
some of them, as over their renowned adversary, the gi-ave has
now closed. Yet where shall the truth be spoken, if not beside
the grave ?

I have already alluded to the principal causes which provoked
the newspaper attacks upon Cooper. If he had never meddled
with questions of government on either side of the Atlantic, and
never satirized the newspaper press, I have little* doubt that he
would have been spared these attacks. I cannot, however, ascribe
them all, or even the greater part of them, to personal malignity.
One journal followed the example of another, with little reflection,
I think, in most cases, till it became a sort of fashion, not merely
to decry his works, but to arraign his motives.

It is related that, in 1832, while he was at Paris, an article was
shown him in an American newspaper, purporting to be a criticism

OF J. FENIMORE COOPER. 19

on one of liis works, but reflecting with much asperity on his per-
sonal character. " I care nothing," he is reported to have said,
Mbrtlie criticism, but I am not indilierent to the slander. If
these attacks on my character should be kept up five years after
my return to America, I shall resort to the New York courts for
protection." He gave the newspaper press of this state the full
period of forbearance on which he had fixed, but finding that
forbearance seemed to encourage assault, he sought redress in
the courts of law.

When these litigations were first begun, I recollect it seemed
to me that Cooper had taken a step which would give him a
great deal of trouble, and effect but little good. I said to
myself —

" Alas ! Leviathan is not so tamed ! "

As he proceeded, however, I saw that he had understood the
matter better than I. He put a hook into the nose of this huge
monster, wallowing in his inky pool and bespattering the passers-
by ; he dragged him to the land and made him tractable. One suit
followed another ; one editor was sued, I think, half-a-dozen times ;
some of them found themselves under a second indictment before
the fiist was tried. In vindicating himself to his reader, against
the charge of publishing one libel, the angry journalist often
floundered into another. The occasions of these prosecutions
seem to have been always carefully considered, for Cooper was
almost uniformly successtul in obtaining verdicts. In a letter of
his, written in February, 1843, about five years, I think, from the
commencement of the first prosecutions, he says, " I have beaten
every man I have sued, who has not retracted his libels."

In one of these suits, commenced against the late William L.
Stone of the Commercial Advertiser, and referred to the arbitra-
tion of three distinguished lawyers, he argued hhnself the question
of the authenticity of his account of the battle of Lake Erie,
which was the matter in dispute. I listened to his opening; it
was clear, skilful, and persuasive, but his closing argument was
said to. be splendidly eloquent. "I have heard nothing like it,"
said a barrister to me, " since the days of Emmet."

Cooper behaved liberally towards his antagonists, so far as
pecuniary damages were concerned, though some of them wholly
escaped their payment by bankruptcy. After, I believe, about six
years of litigation, the newspaper press gradually subsided into a
pacific disposition towards its adversary, and the contest closed
with the account of pecuniary profit and loss, so far as he was
concerned, nearly balanced. The occasion of these suits was fiir
from honorable to those who provoked them, but the result waa,
I had almost said, creditable to ^1 parties; to him, as the coura

20 LIFE, GENIUS, AND WRITINGS

geous prosGcator, to the administration of justice in this country,
and to the docility of the newspaper press, which he had disci-
plined into good manners.

It was while he was in the midst of these litigations, that he
published, in 18 10, the Pathfinder. People had begun to think of
him as a controversialist, acute, keen, and persevering, occupie
with his personal wrongs and schemes of attack and defence
They were startled from this estimate of his character by tho
noral duty of that glorious work — I must so call it ; by the vivid
Tiess and lorce of its delineations, by the unspoiled love of natur
apparent in every page, and by the fresh and warm emotions
which everywhere gave life to the narrative and the dialogue.
Cooper was now in his fifty-first year, but nothing which he had
produced in the earlier part of his literary life was written with so
much of what might seem the generous fervor of youth, or
showed the faculty of invention in higher vigor. I recollect that
near the time of its appearance I was informed of an observation
made upon it by one highly distinguished in the literature of our
country and of the age, between whom and the author an unhappy
coolness had for some years existed. As he finished the reading
of the Pathfinder, he exclaimed, " They may say what they will of
Cooper ; the man who wrote this book is not only a great man,
but a good man."

The readers of the Pathfinder were quickly reconciled to the fourth
appearance of Leatherstocking, when they saw him made to act a
different part from any which the author had hitherto assigned
him — when they saw him shown as a lover, and placed in the
midst of associations which invested his character with a higher
and more affecting hero.sm. In this work are two female ch;irac-
ters, portrayed in' a masterly manner, — the corporal's daughter,
Mabel Dunham, generous, resolute, yet womanly, and the young
Indian woman, called by her tribe the Dew of June, a personifica-
tion of female truth, affection, and sympathy, with a strong
aboriginal cast, yet a product of -nature as bright and pure as that
from which she is named.

Mercedes of Castile, published near the close of the same year,
has none of the stronger characteristics of Cooper's genius; but in
the Deerslai/er, which appeared in 1841, another of his Leather-
stocking tales, he gave us a work rivalling the Pathfinder.
Leatherstocking is brought before us in his early youth, in the
first exercise of that keen sagacity which is blended so harmo-
niously with a simple and ingenuous goodness. The two daughters
of the retired freebooter dwelling on the Otsego lake, inspire
scarcely less interest than the principal personage ; Judith, in tlie
pride of her beauty and intellect, her good impulses contending
with a fatal love of admu-ation, holding us fascinated with a con-

OP J. FENIMOHE COOPER. 21

Htant interest in her fate, which, with consummate skill, we are
permitted rather to conjecture than to know: and Hetty, scarcely
less beautiful in person, weak-minded, but wise in the midst of
that weakness beyond the wisdom of the loftiest intellect, through
the power of conscience and religion. The character of Hetty
would have been a hazardous experiment in feebler hands, but in
his it was admirably successful.

The Tivo Admirals and Wing-ancL- Wing were given to the
ublic in 1842, both of them taking a high rank among Cooper's
sea-tales. The first of these is a soi-t of naval epic in prose ; tho
flight and chase of armed vessels hold us in breathless suspense,
and the sea-fights are described with a terrible power. In the
later sea4ales of Cooper, it seems to me that the mastery with
which he makes his grand processions of events pass before the
mind's eye is even greater than in his earlier. The next year he
published the Wyandotte or Hutted Knoll, one of his beautiful
romances of the woods, and in 1844 two more of his sea-stories,
Afloat and Ashore and Miles Wallingford its sequel. The long
series of his nautical tales was closed by Jack Tier or the Florida
Reef, published in 1848, when Cooper was in his sixtieth year,
and it is as full of spirit, energy, invention, life-like presentation
of objects and events —

The vision and the faculty divine —

as anything he has written.

Let me pause here to say that Cooper, though not a manufacturer
of verse, was in the highest sense of the word a poet ; his imagin-
ation wrought nobly and grandly, and imposed its creations on
the mind of the reader for realities. With him there was no
withering, or decline, or disuse of the poetic faculty : as he stepped
downwards from the zenith of life, no shadow or chill came over
it ; it was like the year of some genial climates, a perpetual season
of verdure, bloom, and fruitfulness. As these works came out, I
was rejoiced to see that he was unspoiled by the controversies in
which he had allowed himself to become engaged ; that they had
not given, to these better expressions of his genius, any tinge of
misanthropy, or appearance of contracting and closing sympathies
a^iy trace of an interest in his fellow-beings less large and free
than in his earlier works.

Before the appearance of hisJac/i: Tier, Cooper published, id
J 845 and the following year, a series of novels relating to the
Anti-rent question, in which he took great interest. He thought
that the disposition manifested in certain quarters to make con
cessions to what he deemed a denial of the rights of property,
was a first step in a most dangerous path. To dif^courage this
^sposition, he wrote Satanstos, The Chainbearer, and T'le Redf

22 LIFE, gentusj, and writings

skins. They are didactic in their design, and want the freedom
of invention which belongs to Cooper's best novels ; but if they
had been written by anybody but Cooper, — by a member of
Congress, for example, or an eminent politician of any class, — ■
they would have made his reputation. It was said, I am told, by
a distinguished jurist of our state, that they entitled the author to
as high a place in law as his other works had won for him in lite-
rature. .

I had thought, in meditating the plan of this discourse, to
mention all the works of Mr. Cooper, but the length to which I
have found it extending has induced me to pass over several
written in the last ten years of his life, and to confine myself to
those which best illustrate his literary character. The last of his
novels was The Ways of the Hour, a work in which the objections
he entertained to the trial by jury in civil causes Were stated in
the form of a narrative.

It is a voluminous catalogue — that of Cooper's published works
— but it comprises not all he wrote. He committed to the fire,
without remorse, many of the fruits of his literary industry. It
was understood, some years since, that he had a work ready for
the press on the Middle States of the Union, principally illustrative
of their social history ; but it has not been found among his manu-
scripts, and the presumption is that he must have destroyed it.
He had planned a work on the Towns of Manhattan, for the
publication of which he made arrangements with Mr. Putnam of
this city, and a part of which, already written, was in press at the
time of his death. The printed part has since been destroyed by
fire, but a portion of the manuscript was recovered. The work, I
learn, will be completed by one of the family, who, within a few
years past, has earned an honorable name among the authors of
our country. Great as was the number of his works, and great
as was the favor with which they were received, the pecuniary
rewards of his success were far less than has been generally sup-
posed— scarcely, as I am informed, a tenth part of what the com-
mon rumor made them. His fame was infinitely the largest
acknowledgment which this most successful of American authors
received for his labors.

The Ways of the Hour appeared in 1850. At this time his
personal appearance was remarkable. He seemed in perfect health,
and in the highest energy and activity of his faculties. I have
scarcely seen any man at that period of life on whom his years sat
more lightly. His conversation had lost none of its liveliness,
though it seemed somewhat more genial and forbearing in tone,
and his spirits none of their elasticity. He was contemplating, I
have since been told, another Leatherstocking tale, deeming that
he had not yet exhausted the character ; and those who consider

OF J. FEXIMORE COOPER. iS

what new resources it yielded him in the Palhfmder and tV^ Deet'
slayer, will, readily conclude that he was not mistaken.

The disease, however, by which he was removed, was even then
impending over him, and not long afterwards his friends here were
grieved to learn that his health was declining. He came to New
York so changed that they looked at him with sorrow, and after
a stay of some weeks, partly for the benefits of medical advice
leturned to Cooperstown, to leave it no more. His complaint
grndually gained strength, subdued a constitution originally robust,
aad finally passed into a confirmed dropsy. In August, 1851, he
was visited by his excellent and learned friend. Dr. Francis, a
member of the weekly club which he had founded in the early
part of his literary career. He found him bearing the sufferings
of his disease with manly firmness, ^ave him such medical counseU
as the malady appeared to require, prepared him delicately for its
fatal termination, and returned to New York with the most me-
lancholy anticipations. In a few days afterwards, Cooper expired,
amid the deep affliction of his family, on the 14th of September,
the day before that on which he should have completed his sixty-
second year. He died, apparently without pain, in peace and re-
ligious hope. The relations of man to his Maker, and to that
state of being for which the present is but a preparation, had oc-
cupied much of his thoughts during his whole lifetime, and he
crossed, with a serene composure, the mysterious boundary which
divides this life from the next.

The departure of such a man, in the full strength of his facul-
ties,— on whom the country had for thirty years looked as one of
the permanent ornaments of its literature, and whose name had
been so often associated with praise, with renown, with contro-
versy, with blame, but nex er with death, — diffused a universal awe.
It was as if an earthquake had shaken the ground on which we
stood, and showed the grave opening by our path. In the geii'^.ral
grief for his loss, his virtues only were remembered, and his failings
forgotten.

Of his failings I have said little ; such as he had were obvious
to all the world ; they lay on the surface of his character; those
who knew him least made the most account of them. With a
character so made up of positive qualities — a charactei .so inde
pendent and uncompromising, and with a sensitiveness far more
acute than he was willing to acknowledge, it is not surprising that
occa«^ions frequently arose to bring him, sometimes into friendly
collision, and sometimes into graver disagreements and misundor
standings with his fellow-men. For his infirmities, his friend*
found an ample counterpoise in the generous sincerity of hi.
nature. He never thought of disguising his opinions, a»Mi he ab-
horred all disguise in others ; he did not even deign tt, acse thAt

24 LIFE, GENIUS, AND WRITINGS

show of regard towards those of whom he did not think well,
which the world tolerates, and almost demands. A manly ex-
pression of opinion, however different from his own, commanded
his respect. Of his own works, he spoke with the same freedom
as of the works of others ; and never hesitated to express his
judgment of a book for the reason that it was written by himself;
yet he could bear with gentleness any dissent from the estimate
he placed on his own writings. His character was like the bark
of the cinnamon, a rough and astrmgent rind without, and an in-
tense sweetness within. Those who penetrated below the surface
found a genial temper, warm affections, and a heart with ample
place for his friends, their pursuits, their good name, their welfare.
Tiiey found him a philanthropist, though not precisely after the
fashion of the day ; a religious man, most devout where devotion
IS most apt to be a feeling rather than a custom, in the household
circle ; hospitable, and to the extent of his means liberal-handed
in acts of charity. They found, also, that though in general he
would as soon have thought of giving up an old triend as of
giving up an opinion, he was not proof against testimony, and
could part with a mistaken opinion as one parts with an old friend
who has been proved faithless and unworthy. In short, Cooper
was one of those who, to be loved, must be intimately known.

Of his literary character I have spoken largely in the narrative
of his Hfe, but there are yet one or two remarks which must be
made to do it justice. In that way of writing in which he ex-
celled, it seems to me that he united, in a pre-eminent degree,
those qualities which enabled him to interest the largest number
of readers. He wrote not for the fastidious, the over-refined, the
morbidly delicate ; for these find in his genius something too ro-
bust for their liking — sometljing by which their sensibilities are
too rudely shaken ; but he wrote for mankind at large — for men
and women in the ordinary healthful state of feeling — and in
their admiration he found his reward. It is for this class that pub-
lic libraries are obliged to provide themselves with an extraordina-
ry number of copies of his works : the number in the ^Mercantile
Library in this city, I am told, is forty. Hence it is, that he has
earned a fame, wider, I think, than any author of modern times-
wider, certainly, than any author, of any age, ever enjoyed in his
lifetime. All his excellences are translatable — they pass readily
into languages the least allied in their genius to that in which he
wrote, and in them he touches the heart and kindles the unagina.
tion with the same power as in the original English.

Cooper was not wholly without humor; it is sometimes found
lurking in the dialogue of Harvey Birch, and of Leather-stocking;
but it forms no considerable element in his works ; and if it did,
it would have stood in the way of his universal popularity, since

OF J. FENIMOKE COOPER. 2$

of all qualities, it is the most difficult to transfuse into a foreign
lanouaq-e. Nor did the etfect he produced upon the reader depend
OL any grace of style which would escape a translator of ordinary
skill. With his style, it is true, he took great pains, and in his
earlier works, I am toki, sometimes altered the proofs s'ent from
the printer so largely that they might be said to be written over
Vet he attained no special felicity, variety, or compass of expres-
sion. His style, however, answered his purpose; it has defec's,
but it is manly and clear, and stamps on the mind of the reader
the impression he desired to convey. I am not sure that some of
the very defects of Cooper's novels do not add, by a certain force
of contrast, to their power over the mind. He is long in getting
at the interest of his narrative. The progress of the plot, at first,
is like t43at of one of his own vessels of war, slowly, heavily, and
even awkwardly working out of a harbor. We are impatient
and weary, but when the vessel is once in the open sea, and feels
the free breath of heaven in her- full sheets, our delight and ad-
miration is all the greater at the grace, the majesty, and power
with which she divides and bears down the waves, and pursues
her course, at will, over the great waste of waters.

Such are the works so widely read, and so universally adnyj-ed,
in ?U the zones of the globe, and by men of every kindred and
every tongue ; works wiiich have made of those who dwell in re-
mote latitudes, wanderers in our forests, and observers of our
manners, and have inspired them with an interest in our history.
A gentleman who had returner from Europe just before the
death of Cooper, was asked whai he found the people of the Con-
tinent doing. " They all are re ding Cooper," he answered; '-in
the little kingdom of Holland, vvith its three millions of inhabit,-
ants, I looked into four different translations of Cooper in the
language of the country." A traveller, who has seea much of the
middle classes of Italy, lately said to me, "I found that all they
knew of America!^ and that was not little, they had learned from
Cooper's novels : from him they had learned the story of Ameri-
•an liberty, and through him they had been introduced to our
Washington; they had read his works till the shores of the
Hudson, and the valleys of Westchester, and the banks of Otsego
lake, had become to them familiar ground."

Over all the countries into whose speech this great man'fe works-
have been rendered by the labors of their scholars, the sorrow
of that loss which we deplore is now diffusing itself. Here we
lament the ornament of our country, there they mourn the death
of him who delighted the human race. Even now, while I speak,
the pulse of grief which is passing through the nations has haply
just reached some remote neighborhood ; the news of his death
ban been brought to some dwelling on the slopes of the Andes, or

2

26 LIFE AND WRITIKGS OF J. FENIMORE COOPER.

amidst the snowy wastes of the North, and the dark-eyed damsei
of Chile, or the fair-haired maid of Norway, is sad to think that
he whose stories of heroism and true love have so often kept her
for hourg from her pillow, lives no more.

He is gone! but the creations of his genius, fixed in living
words, survive the frail material organs by which the words were
first traced. They partake of a middle nature, between the
deathless mind and the decaying body of which they are the com-
mon offspring, and are, therefore, destined to a duration, if not
eternal, yet indefinite. The examples he has given in his glorious
fictions, of heroism, honor, and truth, of large sympathies be-
tween man and man, of all that is good, great, and excellent, em-
bodied in personages marked with so strong an individuality that
we place them among our friends and favorites; his fratik and
generous men, his gentle and noble women, shall live through cen-
turies to come, and only perish with our language. I have said
with our language ; but who shall say when it may be the fate of
the English language to be numbered with the extinct forms of
human speech 1 Who shall declare which of the present tongues
of the civilized world will survive its fellows ? It may be that
some one of them, more fortunate than the rest, will long outlast
them, in some undisturbed quarter of the globe, and in the midst
of a new civilization. The creations of Cooper's genius, even
now transferred to that language, may remain to be the delight of
the nations through another great cycle of centuries, beginning
after the English language and its contemporaneous form of
•ivilization shall have passed aM'^v.

PREFACE

NEW EDITION.

This book originally owed its existence to an

accident, and it was printed under circumstances
that prevented the usual supervision of the press by
the author. The consequences were many defects
in plot, style, and arrangement, that were entirely
owing to precipitation and inexperience ; and quite
as many faults, of another nature, that are to be
traced solely to a bad manuscript and worse proof
reading. Perhaps no novel of our times was worst
printed than the first edition of this work. Mor*
than a hundred periods were placed in the middle
of sentences, and perhaps five times that number

XXVIU ^ • PREFACE.

were omitted in places wliere they ought to have
been inserted. It is scarcely necessary to add, that
passages were rendered obscure, and that entire
paragraphs were unintelligible.

Most of the faults just mentioned have now been
corrected, though it would require more labor than
would produce an entirely new work, to repair all
the inherent defects that are attributable to haste,
and to the awkwardness of a novice in the art of
composing. In this respect, the work and its
blemishes are probably inseparable. Still, the reader
will now be better rewarded for his time, and, on
the whole, the book is much more worthy of his
attention.

It has been said that Pkeoaution owes its

existence to fortuitous circumstances. The same

causes induced its English plot, and, in a measure,

«
the medley of characters that no doubt will appear

a mistake in the conception. It can scarcely be

said that the work was commenced with any view to

publication; and when it was finally put into a

publisher's hands, with " all its imperfections on ita

head," the last thought of the writer was any

PREFACE. XXIX

expectatioD that it would be followed by a series of
similar tales from the same pen. "^

More than this the public will feel no interest in
knowing, and less than this the author, could not
consent to say on presenting to the world a reprint
of a book with so lew claims to notice.

PRECAUTION.

CHAPTER I.

" I WONDER if we are to have a neighbor in the Deanery
Boon," inquired Clara Moseley, addressing herself to a small
party assembled in her father's drawing-room, while standing
at a window which commanded a distant view of the house
in question.

" Oh yes," replied her brother, " the agent has let it to a
Mr. Jarvis for a couple of years, and he is to take possession
this week."

" And who is the Mr. Jarvis that is about to become so
near a neighbor ?" asked Sir Edward Moseley.

" Why, sir, I learn he has been a capital merchant ; that
he has retired from business with a large fortune ; that he has,
jke yourself, sir, an only hope for his declming years in
son, an officer in the army ; and, moreover, that he has
couple of fine daughters ; so, sir, he is a man of family in one
sense, at least, you see. But," dropping his voice, " whether
he is a man of family in your sense, Jane," looking at his
second sister, " is more than I could discover."

82 PRECAUTION.

" I hope you did not take the trouble, sir, to inquire oj
my account," retorted Jane, coloring slightly with vexation
at his speech.

" Indeed I did, my dear sis, and solely on your account/*
eplied the laughing brother, "for you well know that no
gentility, no husband ; and it's dull work to you young ladies
without at least a possibility of matrimony ; as for Clara, sh

is "

Here he was stopped by his youngest sister Emily placing
her hand on his mouth, as she whispered in his ear, " John,
you forget the anxiety of a certain gentleman about a fair
incognita at Bath, and a list of inquiries concerning her line-
age, and a few other indispensables." John, in his turn,
colored, and affectionately kissing the hand which kept him
silenf, addressed himself to Jane, and by his vivacity and
good humor soon restored her to complacency.

"I rejoice," said Lady Moseley, "that Sir WiHiam has
found a tenant, however ; for next to occupying it himself, it
is a most desirable thing to have a good tenant in it, on
account of the circle in which we live."

" And Mr. Jan-is has the great goodness of money, by
John's account," caustically observed Mrs. Wilson, who was
a sister of Sir Edward's.

" Let me tell you, mad^m," cried the rector of the parish,
looking around him pleasantly, and who was pretty constant,
and always a welcome visitor in the family, " that a great
deal of money .is a very good thing in itself, and that a great
many very good things may be done with it"

" Such as paying tythes, ha ! doctor/' cried Mr. Haughton,
a gentleman of landed property in the neighborhood, of
plain exterior, but great goodness of heart, and between whom
and the rector subsisted the most cordial good will.

" Aye, tythes, or halves, as the barorfet did here, when he

PRECAUTION. 38

V>rgave old Grregson one half his rent, and his children the
other."

" Well, but, my dear," said Sir Edward to his wife, " you
must not starve our friends because we are to have a neigh
or. William has stood with the dining-room door open
hese five minutes — "

Lady Moseley gave her hand to the rector, and the com
pany followed them, without any order, to the dinner table.

The party assembled around the hospitable board of the
baronet was composed, besides the before-mentioned persons,
of the wife of Mr. Haughton, a woman of much good sense
and modesty of deportment : their daughter, a young lady
conspicuous for nothing but good nature ; and the wife -and
son of the rector — the latter but lately admitted to holy
orders himself.

The remainder of the day passed in an uninterrupted flow
of pleasant conversation, the natural consequence of a unison
of opinions on all leading questions, the parties having long
known and esteemed each other for those qualities which
soonest reconcile us to the common frailties of our nature.
On parting at the usual hour, it was agreed to meet that day
week at the rectory, and the doctor, on making his bow to
Lady Moseley, observed, that he intended, in virtue of his
office, to make an early call on the Jarvis family, and that, if
possible, he would persuade them to be of the party.

Sir Edward Moseley was descended from one of the most
respectable of the creations of his order by James, and had
inherited, with many of the virtues of his ancestor, an estate
which placed him amongst the greatest landed proprietors of
the county. But, as it had been an invariable rule never to
deduct a single acre from tlie inlieritance of th« eldest son,
and the extravagance of his mother, who was the daughter
©f a nobleman, had much embarrassed the affairs of hi* i*

2*

S4 PRECAUTION.

ther, Sir Edward, on coming into possession of his estate,
had wisely determined to withdraw from the gay world, by
renting his house in town, and retiring altogether to his res-
pectable mansion, about a hundred miles from the metropolis.
Here he hoped, by a course of systematic but liberal eco-
nomy, to release himself from all embarrassments, and to make
such a provision for his younger children, tire three daughters
already mentioned, as he conceived their birth entitled them
to expect. Seventeen years enabled him to accomplish this
plan ; and for more than eighteen months, Sir Edv/ard had
resumed the hospitality and appearance usual in his fomily,
and had even promised his delighted girls to take possession,
the ^ensuing winter, of the house in St. James's Square.
Nature had not qualified Sir Edward for great or continued
exertions, and the prudent decision he had taken to retrieve
his fortunes, was perhaps an act of as much forecast and
vigor as his talents or energy would afford ; it was the step
most obviously for his interests, and the one that was safest
both in its execution and consequences, and as such it had
been adopted : but, had it required a single particle more of
enterprise or calculation, it would have been beyond his
powers, and the heir might have yet labored under the diffi-
culties which distressed his more brilliant, but less prudent
•parent.

The baronet was warmly attached to his wife ; and as she
was a woman of many valuable and no obnoxious qualities,
civil and attentive by habit to all around her, and perfectly
disinterested in her attachments to her own family, nothing
m nature could partake more of perfection in the eyes of her
husband and children than the conduct of this beloved rela-
tive. Yet Lady Moseley had hei- failings, however, although
few were disposed to view her errors with that severity which
ti'uth and a just discrimination of character render necessary.

PRECAUTION. 36

Her union had been one of love, and for a time it had been
objected to by the friends of her husband, on the score of
fortune ; but constancy and perseverance prevailed, and the
protracted and inconsequent opposition* of his parents had
left no other effects than an aversion in the children to th
exercise of parental authority, in marrying their own descend-
ants : an aversion which, though common to both the worthy
mronet and his wife, was somewhat different in its two sub-
jects. In the husband it was quiescent ; but in the wife, it
was slightly shaded with tlje female esprit de corps, of having
her daughters comfortably established, and that in due
season. Lady Moseley was religious, but hardly pious ; she
was charitable in deeds, but not always in opinions ; her
intentions were pure, but neither her prejudices nor her rea-
soning powers suffered her to beat all times consistent. Still
few knew her that did not love her, and none were ever heard
to say aught against her breeding, her morals, or her disposi-
tion.

The sister of Sir Edward had been married, early in life, to
an officer in the army., who, spending much of his time abroad
on service, had left her a prey to that solicitude to which she
was necessarily a prey by her attachment to her husband.
To find relief from this perpetual and life-wearing anxiety,
an invaluable friend had pointed out the only true remedy
of which her case admitted, a research into her own heart,
and the employments of active benevolence. The death of
her husband, who lost his life in battle, caused her to with-
draw in a great measure from the world, and gave ti?ne and
inducement for reflections, which led to impressions on reli-
gion that \vere sufficiently correct in themselves, and iiidis-
pensable as the basis of future happiness, but which became
slightly tinctured with the sternness of lier vigorous mind,
and possibly, at times were more unbending than was com-

36 TRECAUTION.

patible with the comforts of this world ; a fault, however, of
manner, more than of matter. Warmly attached to her
brother and his children, Mrs. Wilson, who had never been a
mother herself, yielded to their earnest entreaties to become
one of the family ; and although left by the late General
Wilson with a large income, ever since his death she had
iven up her own establishment, and devoted most of hei
time to the formation of the character of her youngest niece.
Lady Moseley had submitted this child entirely to the control
of the aunt ; and it was commonly thought Emily would
inherit the very handsome sum left at the disposal of the
General's widow.

Both Sir Edward and Lady Moseley possessed a large
share of personal beauty when young, and it had descended
in common to all their children, but more particularly to the
two youngest daughters. Although a strong family resem-
blance, both in person and character, existed between these
closely connected relatives, yet it existed with shades of dis-
tinction that had very different eflects on their conduct, and
led to results which stamped their lives. with widely differing
degrees of happiness.

Between the families at Moseley Hall and the rectory, there
had existed for many years an intimacy founded on esteem
and on long intercourse. Doctor Ives was a clotgyman of
dt^ep piety, and of veiy considerable talents ; he posse«^sed,
in addition to a moderate benefice, an independent forturte
in right of his wife, who was the only child of a distinguished
naval officer. Both were well connected, well bred, and well
disposed to their fellow creatures. They were blessed with
but one child, the young divine we have mentioned, who pro-
mised to equal his father in all those qualities which had
made the l3octor the dehght of his friends, and almost th»
idol of his parishionei*s.

PRECAUTION. 37

Between Francis Ives and Clara Moseley, there had been
An attachment, which had grown with their years, from child-
hood, ile bad been her companion in their youthful recrea-
tions, had espoused her little quarrels, and participated in hei
innocent pleasures.^ for so many years, and with such an evi-
dent preference for each other in the youthful pair, that, on
leaving college to enter on the studies of his sacred calling
with his father, Francis rightly judged that none other would
make his future life as happy, as the mild, the tender, the
unassuming Clara. Their passion, if so gentle a feeling
deserre the term, received the sanction of their parents, and
the two families waited only for the establishment of the
young divine, to perfect the union.

The retirement of Sir Edward's family had been uniform,
with the exception of an occasional visit to an aged uncle of
his wife's, and who, in return, spent much of his time with
them at the Hall, and who had openly declared his intention
of making the children of Lady Moseley his heirs. The visits
of Mr. Benfield were always hailed with joy, and as an evejit
that called for more than ordinary gaiety ; for, although
rough in manner, and somewhat infirm from years, the old
bachelor, who was rather addicted to the customs in which
he had indulged in his youth, and was fond of dwelling on
the scenes of former days, was universally beloved where he
was intimately known, for an unbounded though eccentric
philanthropy.

The illness of the mother-in-law of Mrs. Wilson had called
her to Bath -the winter preceding the spring when our history
commences, and she had been accompanied thither by her
nephew and favorite niece. John and Emily, during the
month of their residence in that city, were in the practice of
making daily excursions in its environs. It was in one of
these little drives that they were of accidental service to a

88 PRECAUTION.

very young and very beautiful woman, apparently in low
health. They had taken her up in their carriage, and con-
veyed her to a farm-house where she resided, during a faint
ness which had come over her in a walk ; and her beauty
air, and manner, altogether so different from those aroun
her, had interested them both to a painful degree. They had
ventured to call the following day to inquire after her welfare,
and this visit led to a slight intercourse, which continued for
the fortnight they remained there.

John had given himself some trouble to ascertain who she
was, but in vain. They could merely learn that her life was
blameless, that she saw no one but themselves, and her dia-
lect raised a suspicion that she was not English. It was to
this unknown fair Emily alluded in her playful attempt to
stop the heedless rattle of her brother, who was not always
restrained from utterinor what he thought bv a proper regard
16? the feelings* ot otiiers.

PRECAUTION. 39

CHAPTER n.

The morning succeeding the day of the dinner at the Hall,
Mrs. Wilson, with all her nieces and her nephew, availed her-
self of the fineness of the weather to walk to the rectory,
where they were all in the habit of making informal and
friendly visits. They had just got out of the little village of

B , which lay in their route, when a rather handsome

travelling carriage and four passed them, and took the road
which led to the Deanery.

" As I live," cried John, " there go our new neighbors the
Jarvis's; yes, yes, that must be the old merchant muffled up
in the corner ; I mistook him at first for a pile of bandboxes ;
then the rosy-cheeked lady, with so many feathers, must be
the old lady — heaven forgive me, Mrs. Jarvis I mean — aye.
and the two others the belles."

" You are in a hurry to pronounce them belles, John," said
Jane, pettishly ; " it would be well to see more of them before
you speak so decidedly."

" Oh !" replied John, "I have seen enough of them, and'
— he was interrupted by the whirling of a tilbury and tandem,
followed by a couple of servants on horseback. All about
this vehicle and its mastei*s bore the stamp of decided fashion ;
and our party had followed it with their eyes for a short dis-
tance, when, having reached a fork in the roads, it stopped,
and evidently waited the coming up of the pedestrians, as if
to make an inquiry. A single glance of the eye was sufficien
to apprise the gentleman on the cushion (who held the reins)
of the kind of people he had to deal with, and stepping from

40 PRECAUTION.

his carriage, he met them with a graceful bow, and after
handsomely apologizing for the trouble he was giving, he
desired to know which road led to the Deanery. " The
right," replied John, returning his salutation.

" Ask them, Colonel," cried the charioteer, *' whether the
old gentleman went right or not." • •

The Colonel, in the manner of a perfect gentleman, but
with a look of compassion for his companion's want of tact,
made the desired inquiry ; which being satisfactorily answered,
he again bowed and was retiring, as one of several pointers
who followed the cavalcade sprang upon Jane, and soiled
her walking dress with his dirty feet.

" Come hither, Dido," cried the Colonel, hastening to beat
the dog back from the young lady ; and again he apologized
in the same collected and handsome manner, then turning to
one of the servants, he said, "call in the dog, sir," and
rejoined his companion. The air of this gentleman was pecu-
liarly pleasant ; it would not have been difficult to pronounce
him a soldier had he not been addressed as such by his
younger and certainly less polished companion. The Colonel
was apparently about thirty, and of extremely handsome faco
and figure, while his driving friend appeared several years
younger, and of altogether different materials.

" I wonder," said Jane, as they turned a corner which hid
them from \ lew, *' who they are ?"

" Who they are ?" cried the brother, " why the Jarvis's in
be sure ; didn't you hear them ask the road to the Deanery ?'

" Oh ! the one that drove, he may be a Jarvis, but not the
gentleman who spoke to us — surely not, John ; besides, he
was called Colonel, you know."

" Yes, yes," said John, with one of his quizzing expressions,
" Colonel Jarvis, that must be the alderman ; they are com-
monly colonels of city Volunteers : yes, that must have been

PRECAUTION'. 41

the old gem'mun who spoke to us. and I was right after all
about the bandboxes."

" You forget," said Clara, smiling, *' the pohte inquiry con-
cerniiig the old gem'mun."

*' Ah ! true ; who the deuce can this Colonel be then, for
voung Jarvis is only a captain, I know ; who do you think ho
is, Jane ?"

" How do you think I can tell you, John ? But whoever he
is, he owns the tilbury, although he did not drive it ; and he
is a gentleman both by birth and manners."

" Why, Jane, if you know so much of him, you should
know more ; but it is all guess with you."

" No ; it is not guess — I am certain of what I say."

The aunt and sisters, who had taken little interest in the
dialogue, looked at her with some surprise, which John
observing, he exclaimed, " Poh : she knows no more than
we all know."

•' Indeed I do."

" Poh, poh, if you know, tell."

*' Why, the arms were different."

John laughed as he said, " That is a good reason, sure
enough, for the tilbury's being the colonel's property ; but
now for his blood ; how did you discover that, sis — by his
gait and actions, as we say of horses ?"

Jane colored a httle, and laughed faintly. "The arms
on the tilbury had six quarterings."

Emily now laughed, and Mrs. Wilson and Clara smiled
while John continued his teazing until, they reached the
lectory.

While chatting with the doctor and his wife, Francis
returned from his morning ride, and told them the Jarvis
family had arrived ; he had witnessed an unpleasant accident
to a gig, in which were Captain Jarvis, and a friend, a Colone]

42 PRECAUTION.

Egerton ; it had been awkwardly driven in turning into the
Deanery gate, and upset : the colonel received some injury
to his ankle, nothing, however, serious he hoped, but such as
to put him under the care of the young ladies, probably, for a
few days. After the exclamations which usually follow such
details, Jane ventured to inquire who Colonel Egerton
was.

" I understood at the time, from one of the servants, that
he is a nephew of Sir Edgar Egerton, and a heuten ant- colonel
on half-pay, or furlough, or some such thing."

" How did he bear his misfortune, Mr. Francis ?" .inquired
Mrs. Wilson.

" Certainly as a gentleman, madam, if not as a Chiistian,'*
replied the young clergyman, sHly smiling ; " indeed, most
men of gallantry would, I believe, rejoice in an accident which
drew forth so much sympathy as both the Miss Jarvis's
manifested."

" How fortunate you should all happen to be near !" said
the tender-hearted Clara.

" Are the young ladies pretty ?" asked Jane, with some-
thing of hesitation in her manner.

" Why, I rather think they are ; but I took very little
notice of their appearance, as the colonel was really in evi-
dent pain."

" This, then," cried the doctor, " affords me an additional
excuse for calling on them at an early day, so I'll e'en go
to-morrow."

" I trust Doctor Ives wants no apologies for performing
his duty," said Mrs. Wilson.

" He is fond of making them, though," said Mrs. Ives,
peaking with a benevolent smile, and for the first time in the
Uttle conversation.

It was then arranged that the rector should make his offi

PRECAUTION. 48

cial visit, as intended by himself ; and on his report, tlie ladies
would act. After remaining at the rectory an hour, they
.'eturned to the hall, attended by Francis.

The next day the doctor drove in, and informed them the
Jarvis family were happily settled, and the colonel in no dan-
ger, excepting from the fascinations of the two young ladies,
who took such palpably care of him that he wanted for
nothing, and they might drive over whenever they pleased,
without fear of intruding unseasonably.

Mr.* Jarvis received his guests with the frankness of good
feelings, if not with the polish of high life ; while his wife,
who seldom thought of the former, would have been mortally
offended with the person who could have suggested that she
omitted any of the elegancies of the latter. Her daughtei*s
were rather pretty, but wanted, both in appearance and
manner, the inexpressible air of haut ton which so eminently
distinguished the easy but pohshed deportment of Colonel
Egerton, whom they found reclining on a sofa with his leg on
a chair, amply secured in numerous bandages, but. unable to
rise. Notwithstanding the awkwardness of his situation, he
was by far the least discomposed person of the party, and
having pleasantly excused himself, he appeared to think no
more of the matter.

The captain, Mrs. Jarvis remarked, had gone out with his
dogs to try the grounds around them, " for he seems to live
only with his horses and his gun : young men, my lady, now^
adays, appear to forget that there are any things in th
world but themselves ; now I told Harry that your ladyship
and daughters would favor us with a call this morning — but
no : there he went, as if Mr. Jarvis was unable to buy us a
dinner, 'and we should all starve but for his quails and
4' peasants."

' Quails and pheasants," cried John, in consternation^

'r'M PRECAUTION.

** does Captain Jarvis shoot quails and pheasants at this
time of the year ?"

" Mrs. Jarvis, sir," said Colonel Egerton, with a correcting
smile, " understands the allegiance due from us gentlemen
to the ladies, better than the rules of sporting ; my friend, the
captain, has taken his fishing rod, I believe."

" It is all one, fish or birds," continued Mrs. Jarvis, " he is
cut of the way when he is wanted, and I believe we can buy
fish as easily as birds ; I wish he would take pattern after
yourself, colonel, in these matters."

Colonel Egerton laughed pleasantly, but he did not blush ;
and Miss Jarvis observed, with a look of something like
admiration thrown on his reclining figure, " that when Harry
had been in the army as long as his friend, he would know
the usages of good society, she hoped, as well,"

" Yes," said her mother, " the army is certainly the place
to polish a young man ;" and turning to Mrs. Wilson, she
abruptly added, " Your husband, I believe, was in the army,
ma'am V .

"I hope," said Emily hastily, '* that we shall have the
pleasure of seeing you soon, Miss Jarvis, at the Hall," pre-
venting by her promp'titude the necessity of a reply from her
aunt. The young lady promised to make an early visit, and
the subject changed to a general and uninteresting discourse
on the neighborhood, the country, the weathei, and other
ordinary topics.

" Now, John," cried Jane in triumph, as they drove from
the door, " you must acknowledge my heraldic witchcraft,
as you are pleased to call it, is right for once at least."

" Oh ! no doubt, Jenny," said John, who was accustomed
to use that appellation to her as a provocation, when he wished
what he called an enlivening scene; but Mrs. Wilson put a
damper on his hopes by a remark to his mother, and the

PRECAUTION. 45

habitual respect jf both the combatants kept them
Bileut.

Jane Moseley was endowed by nature with an excellent
understanding, one at least equal to that of her brother, but
she wanted the more essential requisites of a well governed
mind. Masters had been provided by Sir Edward for all his
daughters, and if they were not acquainted with the usual
acquirements of young women in their rank of life, it was not
his fault : his system of economy had not embraced a denial
of opportunity to any of his children, and the baronet was
apt to think all was done, when they were put where all
might be done. Feeling herself and parents entitled to enter
inco all the gaieties and splendors of some of the richer
families in their vicinity, Jane, who had grown up during the
tvimporary eclipse of Sir Edward's fortunes, had sought that
self-consolation so common to people in her situation, which
was to be found in reviewing the former grandeur of her
house, and she had thus contracted a degree of family pride.
If Clara's weaknesses were less striking than those of Jane, it
was because she had less imagination, and because that in
loving Francis Ives she had so long admired a character,
where so little was to b.e found that could be censured, that
fche might be said to have contracted a habit of judging cor-
rectly, without being able at all times to give a reason for her
conduct or her opinions.

PRECAUTION.

CHAPTER m.

The day fixed for one of the stated visits of Mr. Benfield
had now arrived, and John, with Emily, who was the old
bachelor's favorite niece, went in the baronet's post-chaise

to the town of F , a distance of twenty miles, to meet

him, in order to accompany him in the remainder of his jour-
ney to the Hall, it being a settled rule with the old man, that
his carriage horses should return to their own stables every
night, where he imagined they could alone find that comfort
and care to which their age and services gave them a claim.
The day was uncommonly pleasant, and the young people
were in high spirits with the expectation of meeting their
respected relative, whose absence had been prolonged a few
days by £l severe fit of the gout.

" Now, Emily," cried John, as he settled himself comfort-
ably by the side of his sister in the chaise, " let me know
honestly how you like the Jarvis's, and particularly hew you
like the handsome colonel."

" Then, John, honestly, I neither like nor dislike the Jar-
vis's or the handsome colonel."

" Well, then, there is no great diversity in our sentimentSi
as Jane would say."

"John!"

** Emily!"

** I do not like to hear you speak so disrespectfully of out
sister, whom I am sure you love as tenderly as I do myself."

*' I acknowledge my error," said the brother, taking hei
Ijand and affectionately kissing it, "and will endeavor t©

PRECAUTION. 41

offend no more ; but this Colonel Egerton, sister, is certainly
a gentleman, both by blood and in manners, as Jane" —
Emily interrupted him with a laugh, which John took very
good-naturedly, repeating his remark without alluding to
their sister.

" Yes," said Emily, " he is genteel in his deportment, if
liat be what you mean ; I know nothing of his family."

"■ Oh, I have taken a peep into Jane's Baronetage, wher
1 find him set down as Sir Edgar's heir."

" I'here is something about him," said Emily, musing
" that I do not much admire ; he is too easy — there is no
nature ; I always feel afraid such people will laugh at me as
soon as my back is turned, and for those very things they
seem most to admire to my face. If I might be allowed to
judge, I should say his manner wants one thing, without
which no one can be truly agreeable."

"What's that?"

" Sincerity."

'* Ah ! that's my great recommendation ; but I am afraid I
shall have to take the poacher up, with his quails and his
pheasants, indeed."

" You know the colonel explained that to be a mistake."

" What they call explaining away ; but unluckily I saw
the gentleman returning with his gun on his shoulder, and
followed by a brace of pointers."

*' There's a specimen of the colonel's manners then," said
f'lnily, smiling; " it will do until the truth be known."

*' And Jane, when she saw him also, praised his good
nature and consideration, in what she was pleased to call
relieving the awkwardness of my remark." '

Emily finding her brother disposed to dwell on the foibles
of Jane, a thing he was rather addicted to at times, was silent.
They rode some distance before John, who was ever as ready

fcS PRECAUTION.

lo atone as he was to oflfend, again apologized, again pro-
mised reformation, and during tlie remainder of the ride only
forgot himself twice more in the same way.

They reached F two hours before the lumbering coach

of their uncle drove into the j'ard of the inn, and had sufficien
time to refresh their own horses for the journey homewards.

Mr. Benfield was a bachelor of eighty, but retained th "
personal activity of a man of sixty. He was strongly attachea
to all the fashions and opinions of his youth, during which
he had sat one term in parliament, having been a great beau
and courtier in the commencement of the reign. A disap-
pointment in an affair of the heart drove him into retirement ;
and for the last fifty years he had dwelt exclusively at a seat
he owned within forty miles of Moseley Hall, the mistress of
which was the only child of his only brother. In figure, he
was tall and spare, very erect for his years, and he faithfully
preserved in his attire, servants, carriages, and indeed every,
thing around him, as much of the fashions of his youth as
ci»'cumstances would allow : such then was a faint outline of
the character and appearance of the old man, who, dresse'd
in a cocked hat, bag wig, and sword, took the offered arm of
John Moseley to alight from his coach.

" So," cried the old gentleman, having made good his foot-
ing, on the ground, as he stopped short and stared John in
the face, " you have made out to come twenty miles to meet
an old cynic, have you, sir ? but I thought I bid thee bring
Emmy with thee."

John pointed to the window, where his sister stood anxi-
qjisly watching her uncle's movements. On catching her eye,
he smiled kindly, and pursued his way into the house, talking
to himself.

'* Aye, there she is indeed ; I remember now, when I was
a youngster, of going with my kinsman, old Lord Gosford, to

PRECAUTION. 49

meet his sister, the Lady Juliana, when she first came from
school (this was the 1-^dy whose infidehty had driven him
from the world) ; and a beauty she was indeed, something
like Emmy there ; only she was taller, and her eyes were
black, and her hair too, that was black ; and she was not so
fair as Emmy, and she was fatter, and she stooped a little-
very little ; oh ! they are wonderfully alike though ; don't you
think they were, nephew ?" he stopped at the door of the
room; while John, who in this description could not see a
resemblance, which existed nowhere but in the old man's
aftections, was fain to say, " yes ; but they were related, you
know, uncle, and that explains the likeness."

" True, boy, true," said his uncle, pleased at a reason for
a thing he wished, and which flattered his propensities. *He
h-ad once before told Emily she put him in mind of his house-
keeper, a woman as old as himself, and without a tooth in her
head.

On meeting his niece, Mr. Benfield (who, like many others
that feel strongly, wore in common the affectation of indiffer-
ence and displeasure) yielded to his fondness, and folding
her in his arms, kissed her affectionately, while a tear glistened
in his eye; and then pushing her gently from him, he
exclaimed, " Come, come, Emmy, don't strangle me, don't
strangle me, girl ; let me live in peace the little while I have
to remain here — so," seating himself composedly in an arm
chair his niece had placed for him with a cushion, " so Anne
writes me. Sir William Harris has let the deanery."

" Oh, yes, uncle," cried John.

" I'll thank you, young gentleman," said Mr. Benfield,
Bternly, " not to interrupt me when I am speaking to a lady
that is, if you .please, sir. Then Sir William has let the
deanery to a London merchant, a Mr. Jarvis. Now I knew
three people of that name ; one was a hackney coachman,

3

'50 PRECAUTION.

wLen I was a member of the parliament of this realm, and
drove me often to the house ; the other was valet-de-chamhre
to my Lord Gosford ; and the third, I take it, is the very man
who has become your neighbor. If it be the person I mean,
Emmy dear, he is like — like — aye, very like old Peter, my
steward."

John, unable to contain his mirth at this discovery of a
likeness between the prototype of Mr. Benfield himself in
leanness of figure, and the jolly rotundity of the merchant,
was obliged to leave the room ; Emily, though she could not
forbear smiling at the comparison, quietly said, "You will
meet him to-morrow, dear uncle, and then you will be able
to judge for yourself."

" Yes, yes," muttered the old man, " very like old Peter,
my steward ; as like as two peas." The parallel was by no
means as ridiculous as might be supposed ; its history being
as follows :

Mr. Benfield had placed twenty thousand pounds in the
hands of a broker, with positive orders for him to pay it away
immediately for government stock, bought by the former on
his account; but disregarding this injunction, the broker had
managed the transaction in such a way as to postpone the
payment, until, on his failure, he had given up that and a
much larger sum to Mr. Jarvis, to satisfy what he called an
honorary debt. In elucidating the transaction Mr. Jarvis
paid Benfield Lodge a\nsit, and honestly restored the bacheloi
his property. This act, and the high opinion he entertained
of Mrs. Wilson, with his unbounded love for Emily, were the
few things which prevented his believing some dreadful judg
ment was about to visit this world, for its increasing wicked-
neis and follies. As his own steward was one of the honestest
fellows living, he had ever after fancied that there was a per-
sonal resemblance between him and the conscientious merchant

PRECAUTION. 61

The hoi-ses being ready, the old bachelor was placed care-
fully between his nephew and niece, and in that manner they
rode on quietly to the Hall, the dread of accident keeping
Mr. Benfield silent most of the way. On passing, however

stately castle, about ten miles from the termination of their
ide, he began one of his speeches with,

" Emmy, dear, does Lord Bolton come often to see you ?'

" Very seldom, sir ; his employment keeps him much or
his time at St. James's, and then he has an estate in Ireland."

"I knew his father well — he was distantly . connected by
marriage with my friend Lord Gosford ; you could not
remember him, I suspect " (John rolled his eyes at this
sufrorestion of his sister's recollection of a man who had been
forty years dead) ; " he always voted with me in the parlia-
ment of this realm ; he was a thoroughly honest man; very
much such a man to look at as Peter Johnson, my steward :
but I am told his son likes the good things of the ministry ;
well, well, William Pitt was the only minister to my mind.
There was the Scotchman of whom they made a Marquis ; I
never could endure him — always voted against him."

" Right or wrong, uncle," cried John, who loved a little
mischief in his heart.

" No, sir — right, but never wrong. Lord Gosford always
voted against him too ; and do you think, jackanapes, that
my friend the Earl of Gosford and — and — myself were ever
wrong? No, sir, men in my day were different creatures
from w^iat they are now : we were never wrong, sir ; wo
loved our country, and had no motive for being in the wrong."

" How was it with Lord Bute, uncle ?"

" Lord Bute, sir," cried the old man with great warmth,
" was the minister, sir — he was the minister ; aye, he was the
minister, sir, and was paid for what he did."

" But Lord Chatham, was he not the minister tool**

62 PRECAUTION.

Now, nothing vexed the old gentleman more than to
hear William Pitt called by his tardy honors; and yet,
unwilling to give up what he thought his political opinions,
he exclaimed, with an unanswerable positiveness of argu
ment,

" Billy Pitt, sir, was the minister, sir ; but — but — but — he
was our minister, sir."

Emily, unable to see her uncle agitated by such useless
disputes, threw a reproachful glance on her brother, as she
observed timidly,

" That was a glorious administration, sir, I believe."

" Glorious indeed ! Emmy dear," said the bachelor, soften-
ing with the sound of her voice, and the recollections of his
younger days, " we beat the French everywhere — in Ame-
rica— in Germany ; — we took — (counting on his fingers) —
we took Quebec — yes, Lord Gosford lost a cousin there ; and
we took all the Canadas ; and we took their fleets : there was
a young man killed in the battle between Hawke and Con-
flans, who was much attached to Lady Juliana — poor soul !
how much she regretted him when dead, though she never
could abide him when living — ah ! she was a tender-hearted
creature !"

Mr. Benfield, like many others, continued to love imaginary
qualities in his mistress, long after her heartless coquetry had
disgusted him with her person: a kind of feeling which
springs from self-love, which finds it necessary to seek con
solation in creating beauties, that may justify our follies to
ourselves ; and which often keeps alive the semblance of
the passion, when even hope, or real admiration, is
extinct.

On reaching the Hall, every one was rejoiced to see their
really affectionate and worthy relative, and the evening passed
in the tranquil enjoyment of the blessings which Providence

PRECAUTION. 5S

had profusely scattered around the family of the baronet, but
which are too often hazarded by a neglect of duty that
springs from too great security, or an indolence which
renders us averse to the precaution necessary to msure theii
onUnuance.

54 PRECAUTION.

CHAPTER IV.

** You are welcome, Sir Edward," said the venerable rectc. ,
as lie took the baronet by the hand ; " I was fearful a return
of your rheumatism would deprive us of this pleasure, and
prevent my making you acquainted with the new occupants
of the deanery, who have consented to dine with us to-day,
and to whom I have promised, in particular, an introduction
to Sir Edward Moseley."

" I thank you, my dear doctor," rejoined the baronet ; " I
have not only come myself, but have persuaded Mr. Benfield
to make one of the party ; there he comes, leaning on Emily's
arm, and finding fault with Mrs. Wilson's new-fashioned ba-
rouche, which he says has given him cold."

The rector received the unexpected guest with the kindness
of his nature, and an inward smile at the incongruous assem-
blage he was likely to have around him by the arrival of the
Jarvis's, who, at that moment, drove to his door. The intro-
ductions between the baronet and the new comers had passed,
and Miss Jarvis had made a prettily worded apology on be-
half of the colonel, who was not yet well enough to come out,
bnt whose poHteness had insisted on their not remaining a.
home on his account, as Mr. Benfield, having composedly put
on his spectacles, walked deliberately up to the place where
the merchant had seated himself, and having examined him
Ihrough his glasses to his satisfaction, took them off, and care-
fully wiping them, he began to talk to himself as he put them
into his pocket — " No, no ; it's not Jack, the hackney coach-
man, nor m} Lord Gosford's gentleman, but" — cordially

PRECAUTION. 65

Iiolding out both hands, "it's the man who saved my twenty
thousand pounds."

Mr. Jarvis, whom shame and embarrassment had kept silent
during- this examination, exchanged greetings sincerely with
his old acquaintance, who now took a seat in silence by his
side ; while his wife, whose face had begun to kindle with
indignation at the commencement of the old gentleman's so-
liloquy, observing that somehow or other it had not only tei'-
minated without degradation to her spouse, but with some-
thing like credit, turned complacently to Mrs. Ives, with an
apology for the absence of her son.

'* I cannot divine, ma'am, where he has got to ; he is ever
keeping us waiting for him ;" and, addressing Jane, " these
military men become so unsettled in their habits, that I often
tell Harry he should never quit the camp."

" In Hyde Park, you should add, my dear, for he has never
been in any^ other," bluntly observed her husband.

To this, speech no reply was made, but it was evidently
little relished by the ladies of the family, who w^ere a good
deal jealous of the laurels of the only hero their race had
ever produced. The arrival and introduction of the captain
himself changed the discourse, which turned on the comforts
of their present residehce.

" Pray, my lady," cried the captain, who had taken a chair
familiarly by the side of the baronet's wife, " why is the house
called the deanery ? I am afraid I shall be taken for a son
of the church, when I invite my friends to visit my father at
the deanery."

" But you may add, at the same time, sir, if you please,
dryly remarked Mr. Jarvis, " that it is occupied by an old
man, who has been preaching and lecturing all his hfe; and,
like others of the trade, I believe, in vain.''

" You must except our good friend, the doctor here, at

66 PRECAUTION.

least, sir," said Mrs. Wilson ; who, observing that her sistei
shrank from a familiarity she was unused to, took upon her-
felf the office of replying to the captains question: "The
father of the present Sir William Harris held that station in
he church, and although the house was his private property,
it took its name from the circumstance, which has been con
tinued ever since."

." Is it not a droll life Sir Wilham leads," cried Miss Jarvis,
looking at John Moseley, " riding about all summer from one
watering-place to another, and letting his house year after
year in the manner he does ?''

" Sir Wilham," said Dr. Ives, gravely, "is devoted to his
laughter's wishes ; and since his accession to his title, has
^ome into possession of another residence in an adjoining
coimty, which, I believe, he retains in his own hands."

" Are you acquainted with Miss Harris ?" continued the
lady, addressing herself to Clara; though, without waiting
for an answer, she added, " She is a great belle — ^1 the gen-
tlemen are dying for her."

. " Or her fortune,'* said her sister, with a pretty toss of the
head ; " for my part, I never could see anything so capti-
vating in her, although so much is said about her at Bath
and Brighton."

" You know her then," mildly observed Clara.
"Why, I cannot say — we are exactly acquainted," the
voung lady hesitatingly answered, coloring violently.

" What do you mean by exactly acquainted, Sally ?" pu
n the father with a laugh ; " did you ever speak to or were
you ever in a room with her, in your life, unless it might be
at a concert or a ball ?"

The mortification of Miss Sarah was too evident for con-
cealment, and it happily was relieved by a summons to
dinner.

PRECAUTION. 67

** Never, my dear child," said Mrs. Wilson to Emily, the
»unt being fond of introducing a moral from the occasional
.ncidents of every- day life, "never subject yourself to a sirai-
lajr mortification, by commenting on the characters of those
ou don't know : ignorance makes you liable to great errors ;
and if they should happen to be above you in life, it will only
excite their contempt, should it reach their ears, while those
to whom your remarks are made will think it envy."

" Truth is sometimes blundered on," whispered John, who
held his sister's arm, waiting for his aunt to precede them to
the dining-room.

The merchant paid too great a compliment to the rector's
dinner to think of renewing the disagreeable conversation, and
as John Moseley and the young clergyman were seated next
the two ladies, they soon forgot what, among themselves, they
would call their father's rudeness, in receiving the attentions
of a couple of remarkably agreeable young men.

" Pray, Mr. Francis, when do you preach for us ?" asked
Mr. Haughton ; " I'm very anxious to hear you hold forth
from the pulpit, where I have so often heard your father with
pleasure : I doubt not you will prove orthodox, or you will
be the only man, I believe, in the congregation, the rector has
left in ignorance of the theory of our religion, at least,"

The doctor bowed to the com])liment, as he rephed to the
question for his son, that on the next Sunday they were to
have the pleasure of hearing Frank, who had promised to
assist him on that day.

"Any prospects of a living soon?" continued Mr. Haugh-
on, helping himself bountifully to a piece of plum pudding
as he spoke. John Moseley laughed aloud, and Clara blushed
to the eyes, while the doctor, turning to Sir Edward, observed'
with an air of iiiteresf,, "Sir Edward, the living of Bolton is
vacant, and I should like exceedingly to obtain it for my son.

3*

68 PRECAUTION.

The advowson belongs to the Earl, who will dispose of it mly
to o-reat interest, I am afraid."

Clara was certainly too busily occupied in pici>T*.g raisina
from her pudding to hear this remark, but accidentaiiy stole,
from under her long eyelashes', a timid glance at her father
as he replied :

" I am sorry, my friend, I have not sufficient interest with
his lordship to apply on my own account ; but he is so seldom
here, we are barely acquainted ;" and the good baronet looked
really concerned.

" Clara," said Francis Ives in a low and affectionate tone,
" have you read the books 1 sent you "?"

Clara answered him with a smile in the negative, but pro-
mised amendment as soon as she had leisure.

" Do you ride much on horseback, Mr. Moseley ?" abruptly
asked Miss Sarah, turning her back on the young divine, and
facing the gentleman she addressed. John, who was now
hemmed in between the sisters, replied with a rueful expres-
sion that brought a smile into the face of Emily, who was
placed opposite to him —

" Yes, ma'am, and sometimes I am ridden."

" Ridden, sir, what do you mean by that ?"

"Oh ! only my aunt there occasionally gives me a lecture.'*

*•' I understand," said the lady, pointing slily with her finger
at her own father.

" Does it feel good ?" John inquired, with a look of great
sympathy. But the lady, who now felt awkwardly, without
knowing exactly why, shook her head in silence, and forced a
ffXint laugh.

"Whom have we here ?" cried Captain Jarvis, who was look
Ing out at a window which commanded a view of the ap
proach to the house — "the apothecary and his attendant
judging from the equipage."

PRECAUTION. 59

The rector threw an inquiring look on a servant, who told
his master they were strangers to him.

" Have them shown up, doctor," cried the benevolent ba-
ronet, who loved to see every one as happy as himself, " and
give them some of your excellent pasty, for the sake of hos-
pitality and the credit of your cook, I beg of you."

As this request was pohtely seconded by others of the
party, the rector ordered his servants to show in the stran-
gers.

On opening the parlor door, a gentleman, apparently sixty
years of age, appeared, leaning on the arm of a youth of five-
and-twenty. There was sufficient resemblance between the
two for the most indifferent observer to pronounce them fa-
ther and soil ; but the helpless debility and emaciated figure
of the former, were finely contrasted by the vigorous heahh
and manly beauty of the latter, who supported his venerable
parent into the room with a grace and tenderness that struck
most of the beholdei-s with a sensation of pleasure. The
doctor and Mrs. Ives rose from their seats involuntarily, and
each stood for a moment, lost in an astonishment that was
mingled with grief. Recollecting himself, the rector grasped
the extended hand of the senior in both his own, and endea-
vored to utter something, but in vain. The tears followed
each other down his cheeks, as he looked on the faded and
care-worn figure which stood before him ; while his wife, un-
able to control her feelings, sank back into a chair and wept
jiloud.

Throwing open the door of an adjoining room, and retain
ing the hand of the invalid, the doctor gentlv led the way, /ol
lowed by his wife and son. The former, having recovered from
the first burst of her sorrow, and regardless of everything
else, now anxiously watched the enfeebled step of the stran-
ger. On reaching the door, they both turned and bowed to

60 PKECAUTIOIS.

the company iu a manner of so much dignity, mingled with
sweetness, that all, not excepting Mr. Beufield, rose from their
seats to return the salutation. On passing from the dining
parlor, the door was closed, leaving the company standing
round the table in mute astonishment and commiseration.
Not a word had been spoken, and the rector's family had left
them without apology or explanation. Francis, however
soon returned, and was followed in a few minutes by his mo-
ther, who, slightly apologizing for her absence, turned the
discourse on the approaching Sunday, and the intention of
Francis to preach on that day. The Moseleys were too well
bred to make any inquiries, and the deanery family was
afraid. Sir Edward retired at a very early hour, and was
followed by the remainder of the party.

"Well,'.' cried Mrs. Jarvis, as they drove from the door,
" this may be good breeding, but, for my part, I think both
the doctor and Mrs. Ives behaved very rudely, with the
crying and sobbing."

*' They are nobody of much consequence," cried her eldest
daughter, casting a contemptuous glance on a plain travelling
nhaise which stood before the rector's stables.

" 'Twas sickening," said Miss Sarah, with a shrug ; while
her father, turning his eyes on each speaker in succession,
very deliberately helped himself to a pinch of snuff, his ordi-
nary recourse against a family quarrel. The curiosity of the
ladies was, however, more lively than they chose to avow
and Mrs. Jarvis bade her maid go over to the rectory that
evening, with her compliments to Mrs. Ives ; she had lost a
lace veil, which her maid knew, and she thought it migh
have been left at the rectory,

" And, Jones, when you are there, you can inquire of the
servants ; mind, of the servants — I would not distress Mrs,
Ives for the world ; how Mr. — Mr. — what's his name —

PRKCAUTION. 62

Oh ! — I have forgotten his name ; just bring me his name
too, Jones ; and, as it may make some difference in our party,
just find out how long they stay ; and — and — any other httle
thing, Jones, which can be of use, you know."

Off went Jones, and within an hour she had returned.
With an important look, she commenced her narrative, the
daughters being accidentally present, and it might be on
purpose.

" Why, ma'am, I went across the fields, and William was
good enough to go with me ; so when we got there, I rang,
and they showed us into the servants' room, and I gave my
message, and the veil was not there. Why, ma'am, there's
the veil now, on the back o' that chair."

"Very well, very well, Jones, never mind the veil," cried
the impatient mistress.

" So, ma'am, while they were looking for the veil, I just
asked one of the maids, what company had arrived, but" —
(here Jones looked veiy suspicious, and shook her head omi-
nously :) " would you think it, ma'am, not a soul of tliem
knew ! But, ma'am, there was the doctor and his son, pray-
ing and reading with the old gentleman the whole time —
and"— ,

" And what, Jones ?"

" Why, ma'am, I expect he has been a great smner, or he
wouldn't want so much praying just as he is about to die."

" Die !" cried all three at once : " will he die ?"

" 0 yes," continued Jones, " they all agree he must die*,
but this praying so much, is just like the criminals. I'm sure
o honest person needs so much praying, ma'am."

*' No, indeed," said the mother. '• No, indeed," responded
the daughters, as they retired to their several rooms for the
night.

62 PRECAUTIOir.

CHAPTER V.

There is something in the season of Spring which pecu-
Tiarly excites the feelings of devotion. The dreariness oi
winter has passed, and with it, the deadened aflfections of our
nature. New hfe, new vigor, arises within us, as we walk
abroad and feel the genial gales of April breathe upon us ;
and our hopes, our wishes, awaken with the revival of the ve-
getable world. It is then that the heart, which has been im-
pressed with the goodness of the Creator, feels that goodness
brought, as it were, into very contact with the senses. The eye
loves to wander over the bountiful provisions nature is throw-
ing forth in every direction for our comfort, and fixes its
gaze on the clouds, which, having lost the chilling thinness
of winter, roll in rich volumes, amidst the clear and softened
fields of azure so peculiar to the season, leading the mind in-
sensibly to dwell on the things of another and a better world.

It was o^ such a day, that the inhabitants of B thronged

toward the village church, for the double purpose of pouring
out their thankso-ivinofs, and of hearino; the first efforts of
their rector's son in the duties of his sacred calling.

Amongst the crowd whom curiosity or a better feeling had
drawn forth, were to be seen the flaring equipage of the Jar-
vises, and the handsome carriages of Sir Edward Moseley and
his sister. All the members of the latter family felt a lively
anxiety for the success of the young divine. But knowing,
as they well did, the strength of his native talents, the excel-
lence of his education, and the fervor of his piety, it was an
anxiety that partook more of h«pe than of fear. There was

PRECAl^'ION. 63

one heart, however, amongst them, that palpitated with an
emotion that hardly admitted of control, as they approached
the sacred edifice, for it had identified itself completely with
the welfare of the rector's son. There never was a softer
truer heart, than that which now almost audibly beat withiu
the bosom of Clara Moseley ; and she had given it to the
young divine with all its purity and truth.

The entrance of a congregation into the sanctuary will at
all times furnish, to an attentive observe!-, food for much
useful speculation, if it be chastened with a proper charity
for the weaknesses of others ; and most people are ignorant
of the insight they are giving into their characters and dispo-
sitions, by such an apparently trivial circumstance as their
weekly approach to the tabernacles of the Lord. Christi-
anity, while it chastens and amends the heart, leaves the
natural powers unaltered ; and it cannot be doubted that its
operation is, or ought to be, proportionate to the abiUties and
opportunities of the subject of its holy impression — "Unto
whomsoever much is given, much will be required." While
we acknowledge, that the thoughts might be better employed
m preparing for those humiliations of the spirit and thanks-
giving of the heart which are required of all, and are so
necessary to all, we must be indulged in a hasty view of some
of the personages of our history, as they entered the church

of B .

. On the countenance of the baronet, was the dignity and
composure of a mind at peace with itself and mankind. His
step was rather more deHberate than common; his eye rested
on the pavement, and on turning into his pew, as he prepared
to kneel, in the first humble petition of our beautiful service,
he raised it towards the altar with an expression of benevo-
lence and reverence, that spoke contentment, not unmixed
with faith

64 PRECAUnON.

In the demeanor of Lady Moseley, all was graceful and
decent, while nothing could be properly said to be studied.
•She followed her husband with a step of equal deliberation,
though it was slightly varied by a manner which, while it
ppeared natural to herself, might have been artificial in
another : a cambric handkerchief concealed her face as she
sank composedly by the side of Sir Edward, in a style which
showed, that while she remembered her Maker, she had not
entirely forgotten herself.

The walk of Mrs. Wilson was quicker than that of her
Bister. Her eye, directed before her, was fixed, as if in settled
gaze, on that eternity which she was approaching. The lines
of her contemplative face were unaltered, unless there might
be ti-aced a deeper shade of humility than was ordinarily seen
on her pale, but expressive countenance : her petition was
long ; and on rising from her humble posture, the person
was indeed to be seen, but the soul appeared absorbed in
contemplations beyond the limits of this sphere.

There was a restlessness and varying of color, in the
ordinarily placid Clara, which prevented a display of her
usual manner; while Jane walked gracefully, and with a
tincture of her mother's manner, by her side. She stole one
hastily withdrawn glance to the deanery pew ere she kneeled,
and then, on rising, handed her smelling-bottle affectionately
to her elder sister.

Emily glided behind her companions with a face beaming
with a look of innocence and love. As she sank in the act
of supplication, the rich glow of her healthful cheek lost some
of its brilliancy ; but, on rising, it beamed with a renewed
lustre, that plainly indicated a heart touched with the sanctity
)f its situation.

In the composed and sedate mannei^ of Mr. Jarvis, as he
iteadily pursued his way to the pew of Sir William Harris,

PRECAUTION. 65

you might have been justified. in expecting the entrance of
another Sir Edward Moseley in substance, if not in externals.
But tlie deliberate sepai-ation of the flaps of his coat, as he
comfortably seated himself, when you thought him about to
kneel, followed by a pinch of snuff as he threw his eye
around the building, led you at once to conjecture, that what
t first had been mistaken for reverence, was the abstraction
of some earthly calculation ; and that his attendance was in
compliance with custom, and not a little depended upon the
thickness of his cushions, and the room he found for the
disposition of two rather unwieldy legs.

The ladies of the family followed, in garments carefully
selected for the advantageous display of their persons. As
they sailed into their seats, where it would seem the imj^rovi-
dence of Sir WiUiam's steward had neglected some important
accommodation (some time being spent in preparation to be
seated), the old lady, w^hose size and fleoh really put kneeling
out of the question, bent forward for a moment at an angle
of eighty with the honzon, while her daughters prettily bowed
their heads, with all proper precaution for the safety of their
superb millinery.

At length the rector, accompanied by his son, appeared
from the vestry. There was a dignity and solemnity in the
manner in which this pious divine entered on the duties of
his profession, which disposed the heart to listen with reve^
rence and humihty to precepts that were accompanied with
so impressive an exterior. The stillness of expectation per
vaded the church, when the pew opener led the way to the
same interesting father and son whose entrance had inter*
rupted the guests the preceding day, at the rectory. Every
eye was turned on the emaciated parent, bending into th«
grave, and, as it were, kept from it by the supporting tender-
ness of his child. Hastily throwing open the door of hei

66 PRECAUTION.

Dwn pew, Mrs. Ives buried ber face in her handkerchief ; and
her husband had proceeded far in the morning service before
she raised it again to the view of the congregation. In the
voice of the rector, there was an unusual softness and tremor
that his people attributed to tlie feehngs of a father about to
witness the first efforts of an only child, but which in reality
were owing to another and a deeper cause.

Prayers were ended, and the younger Ives ascended the
pulpit. For a moment he paused ; when, casting an anxious
glance to the pew of the baronet, he commenced his sermon.
He had chosen for his discourse the necessity of placing our
dependence on divine grace. After having learnedly, but in
the most unaffected manner, displayed the necessity of this
dependence, as derived from revelation, he proceeded to paint
the hope, the resignation, the felicity of a Christian's death-
bed. Warmed by the subject, his animation soon lent a
heightened interest to his language ; and at a moment w^hen
ail around him were entranced by the eloquence of the
youthful divine, a sudden and deep-drawn sigh drew every
eye to the rector's pew. The younger stranger sat motionless
as a statue, holding in his arms the hfeless body of his
parent, who had fallen that moment a corpse by his side.
All was now confusion : the almost insensible young man
was relieved from his burden ; and, led by the rector, they
left the church. The congregation dispersed in silence, or
assembled in little groups, to converse on the awful event
they had witnessed. None knew the deceased ; he was the
rector's friend, and to his residence the body was removed.
The young man was evidently his child ; but here all infor-
mation ended. They had arrived in a private chaise, but
with post horses, and without attendants. Their arrival at
the parsonage was detailed by the Jarvis ladies with a few
exaggerations that gave additional interest k) the whole event,

PRECAUTION. U7

and which, by creating an impression with som". -whom
gentler feeHngs would not have restrained, that there was
something of mystery about them, prevented many distress-
ing questions to the Ives's, that the baronet's femily forbore

putting, on the score of delicacy. The body left B at

the close of the week, accompanied by Francis Ives and the
unweariedly attentive and interesting son. . The doctor and
bis wife went into deep mourning, and Clara received a short
note from her lover, on the morning of their departure,
acquainting her with his intended absence for a month, but
throwing no light upon the affair. The London papers, how-
ever, contained the following obituary notice, and w^hich, as
it could refer to no other person, as a matter of course, was
supposed to allude to the rector's friend.

** Died, suddenly, at B , on the 20th instant, George

Derbigh, Esq., aged 63."

68 * PRECAUTION.

CHAPTER VI.

During the week- of mourning, the intercourse between
Moseley Hall and the rectory was confined to messages and
notes of inquiry after each other's welfare : but the visit of
the Moseleys to the deanery had been returned ; and the day
after the appearance of the obituary paragraph, the family of
the latter dined by invitation at the Hall. Colonel Egerton
had recovered the use of his leg, and was included in the
party. Between this gentleman and Mr. Benfield there
appeared, from the first moment of. their introduction, a
repugnance which was rather increased by time, and which
the old gentleman manifested by a demeanor loaded with the
overstrained ceremony of the day, and which, in the colonel,
only showed itself by avoiding, when possible, all intercourse
with the object of his aversion. Both Sir Edward and Lady
Moseley, on the contrary, were not slow in manifesting their
favorable impressions in behalf of the gentleman. The latter,
in particular, having ascertained to her satisfaction that he
was the undoubted heir to the title, and most probably to the
estates of his uncle, Sir Edgar Egerton, felt herself strongly
disposed to encourage an acquaintance she found so agree-
iable, and to which she could see no reasonable objection
Captain Jarvis, who was extremely oflfensive to her, from hi
vulgar familiarity, she barely tolerated, from the necessity of
being civil, and keeping up sociability in the neighborhood
It is true, she could not help being surprised, that a gentleman,
as polished as the colonel, could find any pleasure in an
associate like his friend, or even in the hardly more softened

PRECAUTION. 69

females of his family ; then again, the flattering suggestion
would present itself, that possibly he might have seen Emily
at Bath, or Jane elsewhere, and availed himself of the
acquaintance of young Jarvis to get into their neighborhood.
Lady Moseley had never been vain, or much interested about
the disposal of her own person, previously to her attachment
to her husband : but her daughters called forth not a little
of her natural pride — we had almost said of her selfishness.

The attentions of the colonel were of the most delicate and
insinuating kind ; and Mrs. Wilson several times turned away
in displeasure at herself, for listening with too much satisfac-
tion to nothings, uttered in an agreeable manner, or, what
was worse, false sentiments supported with the gloss of lan-
guage and a fascinating deportment. The anxiety of this
lady on behalf of Emily kept her ever on the alert, when
chance, or any chain of circumstances, threw her in the way
of forming new connexions of any kind ; and of late, as her
charge approached the period of life her sex were apt to make
that choice from which there is no retreat, her solicitude to
examine the characters of the men who approached her was
really painful. As to Lady Moseley, her wishes disposed her
to be easily satisfied, and her mind naturally shrank from an
investigation to which she felt herself unequal ; while Mrs.
Wilson was governed by the convictions of a sound discretion,
matured by long and deep reasoning, all acting on a temper
at all times ardent, and a watchfulness calculated to endure
to the end.

'* Pray, my lady," said Mrs. Jarvis, with a look of some-
thing like importance, *' have you made any discovery about
this Mr. Denbigh, who died in the church lately ?"

" I did not know, ma'am," replied Lady Moseley, " there
was any discovery to be made."

" You know, Lady Moseley," said Colonel Egerton, " that

70 PRECAUTION.

in town, all the little accompaniments of such a melancholy
death would have found their way into the prints ♦ and 1
suppose this is what Mrs. Jarvis alludes to."

" Oh yes," cried Mrs. Jarvis, " the colonel is right." Bu
the colonel was always right with that lady.

Lady Moseley bowed her head with dignity, and the

olonel had too much tact to pursue the conversation; but

the captain, whom nothing had ever yet abashed, exclaimed,

** These Denbighs could not be people of much importance
—I have never heard the name before."

" It is the family name of the Duke of Derwent, I believe,"
dryly remarked Sir Edward.

" Oh, I am sure neither the old man nor his son looked
much like a duke, or so much as an officer either," exclaimed
Mrs. Jarvis, who thought the latter rank the dignity in degree
next below nobility. •

" There sat, in the parliament of this realm, when I was a
member, a General Denbigh," said Mr. Benfield, with his
usual deliberation ; " he was always on the same side with
Lord Gosford and myself. He and his friend. Sir Peter
Howell, who was the admiral that took the French squadron,
in the glorious administration of Billy Pitt, and afterwards
took an island with this same General Denbigh : aye, the old
admiral was a hearty blade ; a good deal such a looking man
as my Hector would make."
I Hector was Mr. Benfield's bull- dog.

" Mercy," whispered John to Clara, " that's your grand
father that is to be uncle Benfield is speaking of."

Clara smiled, as she ventured to say, '' Sir Peter was Mi-s.
Ives's father, sir."

" Indeed !" said the old gentleman, with a look of surprise
" I never knew that before ; 1 cannot say they resemble each
other much."

PRECAUTION. 71

"Prav, uncle, does Frank look much like the family?''
asked John, with an air of unconquerable gravity.

"But, sir," interrupted Emily, "were General Denbigh and
Admiral Howell related ?"

" Not that I ever knew, Emmy dear. Sir Frederick Den-
bigh did not look much like the admiral ; he rather resembled
(^•athering himself up into an air of formality, and bowing
B Iffly to Colonel Egerton) this gentleman, here."

" I have not the honor of the connexion," observed the
colonel, withdrawing behind the chair of Jane.

Mrs. Wilson changed the conversation to one more general ;
but the little that had fallen from Mr. Benfield gave reason
for beheving a connexion, in some way of which they were
ignorant, existed between the descendants of the two veterans,
and which explained the interest they felt in each other.

During dinner. Colonel Egerton placed himself next to
Emily, and Miss Jarvis took the chair on the other side. He
spoke of the gay world, of watering-places, novels, plays, and
still finding his companion reserved, and either unwilling or
unable to talk freely, he tried his favorite sentiment. He had
read poetrj^ and a remark of his lighted up a spark of intelli-
gence in the beautiful face of his companion that for a moment
deceived him ; but as he went on to point out his favorite
beauties, it gave place to a settled composure, which at last
led him to imagine the casket contained no gem equal to the
pomise of its brilliant exterior. After resting from one of
iis most labored displays of feeling and imagery, he acci-
dentally caught the eyes of Jane fastened on him with an
expression of no dubious import, and the soldier changed his
battery. In Jane he found a more willing auditor ; poetry
was the food she lived on, and in works of the imagination
she found her greatest delight. An animated, discussion of
the merits of then- favorite authors now took place ; to renew

72 FRKCiJTION.

which, the colonel early left the dining-room for the society
of the ladies ; John, wh-o disliked drinking excessively, being
happy of an excuse to attend him.

The vouno-er ladies had clustered too-ether round a window

JO C

and even Emily in her heart rejoiced that the gentlemen ha^
come to relieve herself and sisters from the arduous task of
entertaining women who appeared not to possess a singl
taste or opinion in common with themselves.

" You were saying, Miss Moseley," observed the colonel in
his most agreeable manner, as he approached them, " you
thought Campbell the most musical poet we Kave ; I hope
you will unite with me in excepting Moore."

Jane colored, as with some awkwardness she replied,
" Moore was certainly very poetical."

" Has Moore written much ?" innocently asked Emily.

" Not half as much as he ought," cried Miss Jarvis. "Oh!
I could live on his beautiful lines."

Jane turned away in disgust ; and that evening, while
alone with Clara, she took a volume of Moore's songs, and
very coolly consigned them to the flames. Her sister natu-
rally asked an explanation of so extraordinary a procedure.

" Oh !'' cried Jane, " I can't abide the book, since that
vulgar Miss Jarvis speaks of it with so much interest. I really
believe aunt Wilson is right in not suffering Emily to read
such things." And Jane, who had often devoured the
treacherous lines with ardor, shrank with fastidious delicacy
from the indulgence of a perverted taste, when it became
exposed, coupled with the vulgarity of unblushing audacity.

Colonel Egerton immediately changed the subject to one
less objectionable, and spoke of a campaign he had made in
Spain. He possessed the happy faculty of giving an interest
to all he advanced, whether true or not ; and as he never
contradicted, or even opposed unless to yield gracefully, wljen

PKECAUTION. TS

a ladv was his opponent, liis conversation insensibly attracted,
by putting the sex in good humor with themselves. Such a
iTirtfi, aided by the powerful assistants of person and manners,
and no inconsiderable colloquial talents, Mrs. Wilson knew to
be extremely dangerous as a companion to a youthful female
heart ; and as his visit was to extend to a couple of months,
she resolved to reconnoitre the state of her pupil's opinion
forthwith in reference to his merits. She had taken t«jO
much pains in forming the mind of Emily to apprehend she
would fall a victim to the eye ; but she also knew that per-
sonal grace sweetened a benevolent expression, and added
force even to the oracles of wisdom. She labored a little
herself under the disadvantage of what John called a didactio
manner, and which, although she had not the ability, or
rather taste, to amend, she had yet the sense to discern. It
was the great error of Mrs. Wilson to attempt to convince,
where she might have influenced ; but her ardor of tempera-
ment, and great love of truth, kept her, as it were, tilting with
the vices of mankind, and consequently sometimes in unpro
•fitable combat. With her charge, however, this could never
be said to be the case, Emily knew her heart, felt her love,
and revered her principles too deeply, to throw away an
admonition, or disregard a precept, that fell from hps she
knew never spoke idly or without consideration.

John had felt tempted to push the conversation with Miss
Jarvis, and he was about to utter something rapturous
respecting the melodious poison of Little's poems, as the blue
eye of Emily rested on him in the fulness of sisterly affection
and checking his love of the ridiculous, he quietly yielded to
his respect for the innocence of his sisters ; and, as if eager
to draw the attention of all from the hateful subject, he put
question after question to Egerton concerning the Spaniards
eir customs.

4

74 PRECAUTIO?r.

" D'd yoM ever meet Lord Pendennyss in Spain, Colonel
Egerton ?" inquired Mrs. Wilson, with interest.

" Never, madam," he replied. " I have much reason to
regret that our service lay in different parts of the country ;
his lordship was much with the duke, and I made the cam-
paign under Marshal Beresford."

Emily left the group at the window, and taking a seat on
the sofa by the side of her aunt, insensibly led her to forget
the gloomy thoughts which had begun to steal over her;
which the colonel, approaching where they sat, continued, by
asking —

" Are you acquainted with the earl, madam ?"

" Not in person, but by character," said Mrs. Wilson, in a
melancholy manner,

" His character as a soldier was very high. He had no
superior of his years in Spain, I am told."

No reply was made to this remark, and Emily endeavored
anxiously to draw the mind of her aunt to reflections of a more
agreeable nature. The colonel, whose vigilance to please
was ever on the alert, kindly aided her, and they soon suc-
ceeded.

The merchant withdrew, with his family and guest, in
proper season : and Mrs. Wilson, heedful of her duty, took
the opportunity of a quarter of an hour's privacy in her own
dressing-room in the evening, to touch gently on the subject
of the gentlemen they had seen that day.

" How are you pleased, Emily, with your new acquaint
ances ?" familiarly commenced Mrs. Wilson.

** Oh ! aunt, don't ask me ; as John says, they are net
indeed."

" I am not sorry," continued the aunt, " to have you ob-
serve more closely than you have been used to the manners
of such women as the Jarvises ; they are too abrupt and

PRECAUTION.

75

Qnpleasant to create a dread of any imitation ; but the gen-
tlemen are heroes in very different styles."

•• Different from each other, indeed."

" To which do you give the preference, my dear ?"

" Preference, aunt !" said her niece, with a look of asto-
nishment; "preference is a strong word for either; but I
rather think the captain the most eligible companion of the
two. I do believe you see the worst of him ; and although
I acknowledge it to be bad enough, he might amend ; but the
colonel" —

" Go on," said Mrs. Wilson.

" Why, everything about the colonel seems so seated, so
ingrafted in his nature, so — so very self-satisfied, that I am
afraid it would be a difficult task to take the first step in
amendment — to convince him of its necessity? .

" And is it then so necessary ?"

Einily looked up from arranging Bom^ laces, with an ex-
pression of surprise, ass he replied :

•* Did you not hear him talk of those poems, and attempt
to point out the beauties of several works ? I thought every-
thing he uttered was referred to taste, and that not a very
natural one ; at least," she added with a laugh, " it differed
greatly from mine. He seemed to forget altogether there
was such a thing as principle : and then he spoke of some
woman io Jane, who had left her father for her lover, with so
much admiration of her feehngs, to take up with poverty and
love, as he called it, in place of condemning her want of filial
piety — I am sure, aunt, if you had heard that, you would not
admire him so much."

" I do not admire him at all, child ; I only want to know
your sentiments, and I am happy to find them so correct. It
is as you think ; Colonel Egerton appears to refer nothing to
principle : even the more generous feelings I am afraid are

76 PRECAUTION.

corrupted in him, from too low intercourse with the surface
of society. There is by far too much pliability about him for
principle of any kind, unless indeed it be a principle to please,
no matter how. No one, who has deeply seated opinions of
right and wrong, will ever abandon them, even in the courte
sies of polite intercourse : they may be silent but never acqui-
escent : in short, my dear, the dread of oflfending our Maker
ought to be so superior to that of offending our fellow crea-
tures, that we should endeavor, I believe, to be even more
unbending to the follies of the world than we are."

" And yet the colonel is what they call a good companion
— I mean a pleasant one."

" In the ordinary meaning of the words, he is certainly, my
dear ; yet you soon tire of sentiments which will not stand
the test of examination, and of a manner you cannot but see
is artificial. He may do very well for a companion, but \ery
ill for a friend ; in short, Colonel Egerton has neither been
satisfied to yield to his natural impressions, nor to obtain new
ones from a proper source ; he has copied from bad models,
and his work must necessarily be imperfect."

Kissing her niece, Mrs. Wilson then retired into her own
room, with the happy assurance that she had not labored in
vain ; but that, with divine aid, she had implanted a guide in
the bosom of her charge that could not fail, with ordinary
care, to le^d her straight through the devious path of female
duties.

PRECAUTION.

11

CHAPTER VII.

A MONTH now passed in the ordinary occupations and
»nQusem'^nts of a co^iitry life, during which both Lady
Moseley and Jane -manifested a desire to keep up the deanery
acquaintance, that surprised Emily a little, who had ever seen
her mother shrink from communications with those whose
breeding subjected her own delicacy to the little shocks she
could but ill conceal. In Jane this desire was still- more in-
explicable ; for Jane had, in a decided way very common to
her, avowed her disgust of the manners of their new associ-
ates at the commencement of the acquaintance ; and yet Jane
would now even quit her own society for that of Miss Jarvis,
especially if Colonel Egerton happened to be of the party
The innocence of Emily prevented her scanning the motives
for the conduct of her sister ; and she set seriously about an
examination into her own deportment to find the latent cause,
in order, wherever an opportunity should offer, to evince her
regret, had it been her misfortune to have erred by the ten-
derness of her own manner.

For a short time the colonel seemed at a loss where to make
his choice ; but a few days determined him, and Jane was
evidently the favorite. It is true, that in the presence of tho
arvis ladies he was more guarded and general in his atteu-
fons ; but as John, from a motive of charity, had taken the
direction of the captain's sports into his own hands ; and as
they w^ere in the frequent habit of meeting at the llall pre-
paratory to their morning excursion, the colonel suddenly
became a sportsman. The ladies would often accompany

78 ■ PRECAUTION.

them in their mornrng excursions ; and as John would cer-
tainly be a baronet, and the colonel might not if his uncle
married, he had the comfort of being sometimes ridden, as
well as of riding. /

One morning, having all prepared for an excursion on
horseback, as they stood at the door ready to mount, Francis
Tves drove up in his father's gig, and for a moment arrested
the party. Francis was a favorite with the whole Mose-
ley family, and their greetings were warm and sincere. He
found they meant to take the rectory in their ride, and in-
sisted that they should proceed. " Clara would take a seal
with him." As he spoke, the cast of his countenance brought
the color into the cheeks of his intended ; she suffered herself,
however, to be handed into the vacant seat in the gig, and
they moved on. John, who was at the bottom good-natured,
and loved both Francis and Clara very sincerely, soon set
Captain Jarvis and his sister what he called " scrub racing,"
and necessity, in some measure, compelled the rest of the
equestrians to hard riding, in order to keep up with the
sports.

" That will do, that will do," cried John, casting his eye
back, and perceiving they had lost sight of the gig, and nearly
so of Colonel Egerton and Jane, ** why you carry it off like a
jockey, captain ; better than any amateur I have ever seen,
unless indeed it be your sister."

The lady, encouraged by his commendations, whipped on,
followed by her brother and sister at half speed.

" There, Emily," said John, quietly dropping by her side
" I see no reason you and I should break our necks, to show
the blood of our horses. Now do you know I think we are
going to have a wedding in the family soon ?"

Emily looked at him in amazement.

" Frank has got a living ; I saw it the moment he drove

PRFX'AUTIOX. 79

up. He came in like somebody. Yes, I dare say he Las
calculated the tithes already a dozen times."

John was right. The Earl of Bolton had, imsolicited,
piven him the desired living of his own parish ; and Francis
was dt the moment pressing the blushing Clara to fix the day
that was to put a period to his long probation. Clara, who
liad not a particle of coquetry about her, promised to be h's
as soon as he was inducted, an event that was to take plac;^
the following week ; and then followed those delightful little
arrangements and plans with which youthful hope is so fond
of filling up the void of life.

" Doctor," said John, as he came out of the rectory to
assist Clara from the gig, " the parson here is a careful driver ;
see, he has not turned a hair."

He kissed the burning cheek of his sister as she touched
the ground, and whispered significantly.

" You need tell me nothing, my dear — 1 know all — I con-
sent."

Mrs. Ives folded her future daughter to her bosom ; and the
benevolent smile of the good rector, together with the kind
and affectionate manner of her sisters, assured Clara the ap-
proaching nuptials were anticipated, as a matter of course.
Colonel Egerton offered his compliments to Francis on his
preferment to the hving, with the polish of high breeding,
and not without an appearance of intei'est ; and Emily thought
him for the first time as handsome as he was generally repu*:-
ed to be. The ladies undertook to say something civil io
their turn, and John put the captain, by a hint, on the sam
track.

" You are quite lucky, sir," said the captain, "in getting
so good a living with so little trouble ; I wish you joy of il
with all my heart : Mr. Moseley tells me it is a capital thing
vow for a gentleman of your profession. For my part 1

80 PRECAUTION.

prefer a scarlet coat to a black one, but there must be par
sons you know, or bow should we get married or say
grace ?"

Francis thanked him for his good wishes, and Egerton paid

handsome compliment to the liberality of the earl ; " he
doubted not he found that gratification which always attend*
a disinterested act ;" and Jane applauded the sentiment with
a smile.

The baronet, when he was made acquainted with the situ-
ation of affairs, promised Francis that no unnecessary delay
should intervene, and the marriage was happily arranged for
the following week. Lady Moseley, when she retired to the
drawinof-room after dinner, commenced a recital of the cere-
mony and company to be invited on the occasion. Etiquette
and the decencies of life were not only the forte, but the
fault of this lady ; and she had gone on to the enumeration
of about the fortieth personage in the ceremonials, before
Clara found courage to say, that " Mr. Ives and myself both
wish to be married at the altar, and to proceed to Bolton
Rectory immediately after the ceremony." To this her mo-
ther warmly objected; and argument and respectful remon-'
strance had followed each other for some time, before Clara
submitted in silence, with difficulty restraining her tears.
This appeal to the better feelings of the mother triumphed ;
and the love of parade yielded to love of her offspring. Clara,
with a lightened heart, kissed and thanked her, and accom-
■)anied by Emily left the room ; Jane had risen to folio sv
them, but catching a glimpse of the tilbury of Colonel Eger-.
ton she re-seated herself.

He had merely driven over at the earnest entreaties of the
ladies to beg Miss Jane would accept a seat back with him ;
"they had some little project on foot, and could not proceed
without her assistance."

PRECAUTION. 81

Mrs. Wilson looked gravely at her sister, as she smiled
acquiescence to his wishes ; and the daughter, who but the
minute before had forgotten there was any other person in
the world but Clara, flew for her hat and shawl, in order, as
he said to herself, that the poMteness of Colonel Egerton
might not keep him waiting. Lady Moseley resumed her
seat by the side of her sister with an air of great compla
cency, as she returned from the window, after having seen lur
daughter off. For some time each was occupied quietly with
her needle, when Mrs. Wilson suddenly broke the silence by
saying :

" Who is Colonel Egerton ?"

Lady Moseley looked up for a moment in amazement, but
recollecting herself, answered,

" The nephew and heir of Sir Edgar Egerton, sister."

This was spoken in a rather positive way, as if it were un-
ans werable ; yet as there was nothing harsh in the reply, Mrs.
Wilson continued,

" Do you not think him attentive to Jane ?"

Pleasure sparkled in the still brilliant eyes of Lady Moseley,
as she exclaimed —

" Do you think so ?"

" I do ; and you will pardon me if I say improperly so. I
think you were wrong in sufiering Jane to go with him this
afternoon."

" Why improperly, Charlotte ? If Colonel Egerton is polite
enough to show Jane such attentions, should I not b« wrong
*n rudely rejecting them ?"

"The rudeness of refusing a request that is improper t
grant is a very venial offence. I confess I think it improper
to allow any attentions to be forced on us that may subject
us . to disagreeable consequences ; but the attentions of
Colonel Egerton are becoming marked, Anne."

4*

82 PRECAUTION.

" Do you for a moment doubt their being honorable, oi
that he dares to trifle with a daughter of Sir Edward
Moseley?"

'' I should hope not, certainly, although it may be well to
guard even against such a misfortune. But I am of opinion
t is quite as important to know whether he is worthy to be
her husband as it is to know that he is in a situation to
become so."

" On what points, Charlotte, would you wish to be more
assured ? You know his birth and probable fortune — you
see his manners and disposition ; but these latter are things
for Jane to decide on ; she is to hve with him, and it is proper
she should be suited in these respects."

" I do not deny his fortune or his disposition, but I com-
plain that we give him credit for the last, and for still more
important requisites, without evidence of his possessing any
of them. His principles, his habits, his very character, what
do we know of them ? I say we, for you know, Anne, your
children are as dear to me as my own would have been."

" I believe you sincerely, but the things you mention are
points for Jane to decide on. If she be pleased, I have no
right to complain. I am determined never to control the
affections of my children."

" Had you said, never to force the affections of your chil-
dren, you would have said enough, Anne ; but to control, or
I- ither to guide the affections of a child, especially a daughter,
)';, in some cases, a duty as imperative as it would be to avert
:my other impending calamity. Surely the proper time to do
this is before the affections of the child are Hkely to endanger
her peace of mind."

" I haive seldom seen much good result from the inter-
ference of parents," said Lady Moseley, a little pertinaciously.

" True ; for to be of use, unless in extraordinary ca^es, il

PRECAUTION. 83

Btiould not be seen. You will pardon me, Anne, but I have
often thought parents are too often in extremes — determined
to make the election for their children, or leaving them
entirely to their own vanity and inexperience, to govern not
only their own lives, but, I may say, to leave an impression
on future generations. And, after all, what is this love 1
In nineteen cases in twenty of what we call affairs of the
leart, it would be better to term them aflfairs of the ima-
gination.''''

" And is there not a great deal of imagination in all love?'*
inquired Lady Moseley, smiling.

" Undoubtedly, there is some ; but there is one important
difference : in affairs of the imagination, the admired object is
gifted with all those qualities we esteem, as a matter of
course, and there is a certain set of females who are ever
ready to bestow this admiration on any applicant for their
favors who may not be strikingjy objectionable. The neces-
sity of being courted makes our sex rather too much disposed
to admire improper suitors."

" But how do you distinguish affairs of the heart, Char-
lotte, from those of the fancy ?"

" When the heart takes the lead, it is not difficult to detect
it. Such sentiments generally follow long intercourse, and
opportunities of judging the real character. They are the
only attachments that are likely to stand the test of worldly
trials."

" Suppose Emily to be the object of Colonel Egerton's
pursuit, then, sister, in what manner would you proceed to
destroy the influence I acknowledge he is gaining ovr
Jane?"

" I cannot suppose such a case," said Mrs. Wilson, gravely;
and then, observing that her sister 'ooked as if she required
an explanation, she continued —

84 PRECAUTION.

" My attention has been directed to the forming of such
principles, and such a taste, if I may use the expression, under
those principles, that I feel no apprehension Emily will ever
allow her affections to be ensnared by a man of the opinions
and views of Colonel Egerton. I am impressed with a two-
fold duty in watching the feelings of my charge. She has
so much singleness of heart, such real strength of native feel-
ing, that, should an improper man gain possession of her
affections, the struggle between her duty and her love would
be weighty indeed ; and should it proceed so far as to make
it her duty to love an unworthy object, I am sure she would
smk under it. Emily would die in the samp circumstances
under which Jane would only awake from a dieam, and be
wretched."

" I thought you entertained a better opinion of Jane,
sister,^' said Lady Moseley, reproachfully.

" I think her admirably calculated to make an invaluable
wife and mother ; but she is so much under the influence of
her fancy, that she seldom gives her heart an opportunity of
displaying its excellences; and again, she dwells so much
upon imaginary perfections, that adulation has become
necessary to her. The man who flatters her delicately' will
be sure to win her esteem ; and every woman might love the
being possessed of the qualities she will not fail to endow him
with."

" 1 do not know that I rightly understand how you would
avert all these sad consequences of improvident affections ?''
said Lady Moseley.

„ " Prevention is better than cure — I would first implant
uch opinions as would lessen the danger of intercourse ; and
as for particular attentions from improper objects, it should
be my care to prevent them, by prohibiting, or rather
impeding, the intimacy which might give rise to them. And,

PRECAUTION. ' M

/east of all," said Mrs. Wilson, with a friendly smile, as sue
ro!=e to leave the room, " would I suffer a fear of being
impolite to endanger the happiness of a young womAc
inti usted to mv cai*e."

86 PRECAUTION.

CHAPTER VIIL

Francis, who labored with the ardor of a lover, soon
completed the necessary arrangements and alterations in his
new parsonage. The hving was a good one, and as the rector
was enabled to make a very considerable annual allowance
from the private fortune his wife had brought him, and as Sir
Edward had twenty thousand pounds in the funds for each of
his daughters, one poition of which was immediately settled
on Clara, the youthful couple had not only a sufficient, but an
abundant provision for their station in life ; and they entered
on their matrimonial duties with as good a prospect of hap-
piness as the ills of this world can give to health, affection,
and competency. Their union had been deferred by Dr.
Ives until his son was established, with a view to keep him
ander his own direc^'ion during the critical period of his first
impressions in the priesthood ; and as no objection now re-
mained, or rather, the only one he ever felt was removed by
the proximity of Bolton to his own parish, he now joyfully
anited the lovers at the altar of the village church, in the
presence of his wife and Clara's immediate relatives. On
leaving the church Francis handed his bride into his own
c?rriage, which conveyed them to their new residence, amidst
the good wishes of his parishioners, and the prayers of thei
relatives and friends. Dr. and Mrs. Ives retired to the rec-
tory, to the sober enjoyment of the felicity of their only child;
while the baronet and his lady felt a gloom that belied all
the wishes of the latter for the establishment of l*er daugh-
ters. Jane and Emily acted as bridesmaids to their sister,

PKECAUTlOy. 87

and as both the former and her mother had insisted there
should be two gi-oomsmen as a counterpoise, John was em-
powered with a carte-bhmche to make a provision accord-
ingly. At first he intimated his intention of calling on Mr
Benfield, but he finally settled down, to the no small morti
fi cation of the before-mentioned ladies, into writing a note to
his kinsman, Lord Chatterton, whose residence was then in
London, and who in reply, after expressing his sincere regret
that an accident would prevent his having the pleasure of
attending, stated the intention of his mother and two sisters
to pay them an early visit of congratulation, as soon as his
own health would allow of his travelling. This answer arrived
only the day preceding that fixed for the wedding, and at the
very moment they were expecting his lordship in proper
person.

" There," cried Jane, in- triumph, " I told you it was silly
to send so .far on so sudden an occasion ; now, after all, what
is to be done — it will be so awkward when Clara's friends call
to see her — Oh ! John,- John, you aj*e a Marplot."

•' Jenny, Jenny, you are a make-plot," said John, coolly
taking up his hat to leave the room.

" Which way, my son ?" said the baronet, who met him
at the door.

"To the deanery, sir, to try to get Captain Jarvis to act as
bridesmaid — I beg his pardon, groomsman, to-morrow —
Chatterton has been thrown from a horse and can't come."

"John!"
• " Jenny 1"

" I am sure," said Jane, indignation glowing in her pretty
face, " that if Captain Jarvis is to be an attendant, Clara must
excuse my acting. I do not choose to be associated with ■
Captain Jarvis."

" John," said his mother, with dignity, '* your trifling is un-

88 rRECAUTION.

eeasonable ; certainly Colonel Egerton is a more fitting person
on every account, and I desire, under present circumstances,
that you ask the colonel."

*' Your ladyship's wishes are orders to me," said John,
aily kissing his hand as he left the room.

The colonel was but too happy in having it in his power
to be of service in any manner to a gentleman he respected
as much as Mr. Francis Ives. He accepted the duty, and
was the only person present at the ceremony who did not
stand within the bonds of consanguinity to the parties. He
was invited by the baronet to dine at the hall, as a matter of
course, and notwithstanding the repeated injunctions of Mrs.
Jarvis and her daughters, to return immediately with an ac-
count of the dress of the bride, and with other important
items of a similar nature, the invitation was accepted. On
reaching the hall, Emily retired immediately to her own room,
and at her reappearance when the dinner bell rang," the pale-
ness of her cheeks and the redness of her eyes aiforded suf-
ficient proof that the translation o^ a companion from her own
to another family was an event, however happy in itself, not
unmingled with grief. The day, however, passed off tolerably
well for people who are expected to be premeditatedly happy,
and when, in their hearts, they are really more disposed to
weep than to laugh. Jane and the colonel had most of the
conversation to themselves during dinner : even the joyous
and thoughtless John wearing his gaiety in a less gracefu
manner than usual. He was actually detected by his auit
in looking with moistened eyes at the vacant chair a servant
had, from habit, placed at the table, in the spot where Clara
had been accustomed to sit.

" This beef is not done, Saunders," said the baronet to his
butler, " or my appetite is not as good as usual to-day. CoIouaI
Egerton, will you allow me the pleasure of a glass of sherry ?"

PRECAUTION. 89

The wine was drunk, and the game succeeded the beef;
but still Sir Edward could not eat.

" How glad Clara will be to see us all the day after to-
morrow," said Mrs. Wilson ; '* your new housekeepei's de-
light in their first efforts in entertaining their friends."

Lady Moseley smiled through her tears, and turning to her
usband said, " We will go early, my dear, that we may see
t.>e improvements Francis has been making before we dine."
The baronet nodded assent, but his heart was too full to speak ;
and apologizing to the colonel for his absence, on the plea of
some business with his people, he left the room.

All this time, the attentions of Coionel Egerton to both mo-
ther and daughter were of the most delicate kind. He spoke
of Clara as if his office of groomsman entitled him to an in-
terest in her welftxre ; with John he was kind and sociable ;
and even Mrs. Wilson acknowledged, after he had taken his
leave, that he possessed a wonderful faculty of making him-
self agreeable, and she began to think that, under all circum-
stances, he might possibly prove as advantageous a connexion
as Jane could expect to form. Had any one, however, pro-
posed him as a husband for Emily, affection would have
quickened her judgment in a way that would have urged her
to a very different decision.

Soon after the baronet left the room, a travelling- carriao'e,
with suitable attendants, drove to the door ; the sound of the
wheels drew most of the company to a window. " A baron's
coronet !" cried Jane, catching a glimpse of the ornaments of
the hai-ness.

" The Chattertons," echoed her brother, running out. of the
room to meet them.

The mother of Sir Edward was a daughter of this family,
and the sister of the grandfather of the present lord. The
connexion had always been kept up with a show of cordiality

do PRECAUTION.

between Sir Edward and his cousin, altliougli their manner
of living and habits were very different. The baron was a
courtier and a placeman. His estates, which he could not
alienate, produced about ten thousand a year, but the income
he could and did spend ; and the high perquisites of his
situation under government, amounting to as much more,
were melted away year after year, without making the pro-
vision for his daughters that his duty and the observance of
his promise to his wife's father required at his hands. He
had been dead about two years, and his son found himself
saddled with the support of an unjointured mother and
unportioned sisters. Money was not the idol the young lord
worshipped, nor even pleasure. He was affectionate to his
surviving parent, and his first act was to settle, during his
own life, two thousand a year on her, while he commenced
setting aside as much more for each of his sisters annually.
This abridged him greatly in his own expenditures; yet, as
ihey made but one family, and the dowager was really a
managing woman in more senses than one, they made a very
tolerable figure. The son was anxious to follow the example
of Sir Edward Moseley, and give up his town house, for at
least a time ; but his mother had exclaimed, with something
like horror, at the proposal :

" Chatterton, would you give it up at the moment it can
be of the most use to us "?" and she threw a glance at her
daughters that would have discovered her motive to Mrs
Wilson, which was lost on her son ; he, poor soul, thinkii g
she found it convenient to support the interest he had been
making for the place held by his father, one of more emolu-
ment than service, or even honor. The contending parties
were so equally matched, that this situation was kept, as it
were, in abeyance, waiting the arrival of some acquisition of
interest to one or other of the claimants. The interest of the

PRECAUTION. 91

peer, however, had begun to lose ground at the period of
whicli we speak, and his careful mother saw new moiives for
activity in providing for her children. Mrs. Wilson herself
could not be more vigilant in examining the candidates for
Emily's favors than was the dowager Lady Chatterton in
behalf of her daughter. It is true, the task of the former
lady was by far the most arduous, for it involved a study of
character and development of principle ; while that of the
latter would have ended with the footing of a rent-roll, pro-
vided it contained five figures. Sir Edward's was well known
to contain that number, and two of them were not ciphers.
Mr. Benfield was rich, and John Moseley was a very agree-
able young man. Weddings are the season of love, thought
the prudent dowager, and Grace is extremely pretty. Chat-
terton, who never refused his mother anything in his power
to grant, and who was pai'ticularly dutiful when a visit to
Moseley Hall was in question, suffered himself to be per-
suaded his shoulder was well, and they had left town the day
before the wedding, thinking to be in time for ail the gaieties,
if not for the ceremony itself.

There existed but little similarity between the persons and
manners of this young nobleman and the baronet's heir.
The beauty of Chatterton was almost feminine; his skin, his
color, his eyes, bis teeth, were such as many a belle had
sighed after; and his manners were bashful and retiring.
Yet an intimacy had commenced between the boys at school,
which ripened into friendship between the young men at
college, and had been maintaiiied ever since, pi'obably as
much from the contrarieties of character as from any other
cause. With the baron, John Avas more sedate than ordinary;
with John, Chatterton found unusual animation. But a secret
charm which John held over the young peer was his profound
respect and unvarying affection for his youngest sister, Emily

92 PRECAUTION.

This was common ground ; and no dreams of future happi-
ness, no visions of dawning wealth, crossed the imagination
of Chatterton in which Emily was not the fairy to give birth
to the one, or the benevolent dispenser of the hoards of the
other.

The arrival of this family was a happy relief from the
oppression which hung on the spirits of the Moseleys, and
their reception marked with the mild benevolence which
belonged to the nature of the baronet, and that impressement
which so eminently distinguished the manners of his wife.

The honorable Misses Chatterton were both handsome ; but
the younger was, if possible, a softened picture of her brother.
There was the same retiring bashfulness and the same sweet-
ness of temper as distinguished the baron, and Grace was the
peculiar favorite of Emily Moseley. Nothing of the strained
or sentimental nature which so often characterize what is
called female friendships, however, had crept into the com-
munications between these young women. Emily loved her
sistei-s too well to go out of her own family for a repository
of her griefs or a partaker in her joys. Had her life been
chequered with such passions, her own sisters were too near
her own age to suffer her to think of a confidence in which
the holy ties of natural affection did not give a claim to a
participation. Mrs. Wilson had found it necessary to give
her charge very different views on many subjects from those
which Jane and Clara had been suffered to imbibe of them-
elves ; but in no degree had she impaired the obligations of
filial piety or family concord. Emily was, if anything, more
espectful to her parents, more affectionate to her friends,
than any of her connexions ; for in her the warmth of natural
feeling was heightened by an unvarying sense of duty.

In Grace Chatterton she found, in many respects, a tempei
and taste resembling her own. She therefore loved her better

PRECAUTION. 93

than others who had equally general claims on her partiality,
and as such a friend she now received her with cordial and
sincere affection.

Jane, who had not felt satisfied with the ordering of Pro-
vidence for the disposal of her sympathies, and had long felt
a^ restlessness that prompted her to look abroad for a confiding
spirit to whom to communicate her — secrets she had none
that delicacy would suffer her to reveal — but to communicate
her crude opinions and reflections, she had early selected
Catherine for this person. Catherine, however, had not stood
the test of trial. For a short time the love of heraldry kept
them together; but Jane, finding her companion's gusto
limited to the charms of the coronet and supporters chiefly,
abandoned the attempt in despair, and was actually on the
look-out for a new candidate for the vacant station as Colonel
Egerton came into the neighborhood. A really delicate
female mind shrinks from the exposure of its love to the other
sex, and Jane began to be less anxious to form a connexion
which would either violate the sensibility of her nature, or
lead to treachery to her friend.

" I regret extremely. Lady Moseley," said the dowager, as
they entered the drawing-room, " that the accident which
befel Chatterton should have kept us until it was too late for
the ceremony : we made it a point to hasten with our con-
gratulations, however, as soon as Astley Cooper thought it
safe for him to travel."

" I feel indebted for your kindness," replied the smiling
hostess. " We are always happy to have our friends around
us, and none more than yourself and family. We were for-
tunate in finding a friend to supply your son's place, in order
that the young people might go to the altar in a proper
manner. Lady Chatterton, allow me to present our friend.

94 PKECAUTIOW.

Colonel Egerlon" — adding, in a low tone, and with a littU
emphasis, — " heir to Sir Edgar."

The colonel bowed gracefully, and the dowager dropped a
hasty courtesy at the commencement of the speech ; but
lower bend followed the closing remark, and a glance of th
eye was thrown Til quest of her daughters, as if she instinc

ively wished to bring them into what the sailors term " th

ine of battle."

PRECAUTION. 95

^ CHAPTER IX.

The following morning, Emily and Grace, declining the
Mvitation to join the colonel and John in their usual rides,
walked to the rectory, accompanied by Mrs. Wilson and
Chatterton. The ladies felt a desire to witness the happiness
that they so well knew reigned in the rectory, for Francis had
promised his father to drive Clara over in the course of the
day. Emily longed to see Clara, from whom it appeared that
she had been already separated a month. Her impatience
as they approached the house hurried her ahead of her com-
panions, who waited the more sober gait of Mrs. Wilson.
She entered the parlor at the rectory without meeting any
one, glowing with exercise, her hair falling over her shoul-
ders, released from the confinement of tlie hat she had thrown
down hastily as she reached the door. In the room there
stood a gentleman in deep black, with his back towards the
entrance, intent on a book, and she naturally concluded it
was Francis.

" Where is dear Clara, Frank ?" cried the beautiful girl,
faying her hand affectionately on his shoulder.

The gentleman turned suddenly, and presented to her as-
tonished gaze the well remembered countenance of the young
man whose parent's death was not hkely to be forgotten at
B .

" I thought, sir," said Emily, almost sinking with confu-
sion, " that Mr. Francis Ives — "

" Your brother has not yet arrived,' Miss Moseley," simply
replied the stranger, who felt for her embarrassment. " But

9G PRECAUTION. •

1 will immediately acquaint Mrs. Ives with your visit." Bow-
ing, he delicately left the room.

Emily, who felt greatly relieved by his manner, immedi-
ately confined her hair in its proper bounds, and had reco-
vered her composure by the time her aunt and friends joined
her. She had not time to mention the incident, and laugh
her own precipitation, when the rector's wife came into th
room.

Chatterton and his sister were both known to Mrs. Ives,
and both were favorites. She was pleased to see them, and
after reproaching the brother with compelHng her son to ask
a favor of a comparative stranger, she turned to Emily, and
smilingly said —

" You found the parlor occupied, I believe V*

" Yes," said Emily, laughing and blushing, '* I suppose
Mr. Denbigh told you of my heedlessness."

" He told me of your attention in calling so soon to inquire
after Clai-a, but said nothing more" — a servant just then tell
ing her Francis wished to see her, she excused hei-self and
withdrew. In the door she met Mr. Denbigh, who made
way for her, saying, " your son has arrived, ma'am," and
in an easy but respectful manner he took his place with the
guests, no introduction passing, and none seeming necessary.
His misfortunes appeared to have made him acquainted with
Mrs. Wilson, and his strikingly ingenuous manner won insen-
sibly on the confidence of tho^**. who heard him. Everything
was natural, yet everything was softened by education ; and
the little party in the rector's parlor in fifteen minutes felt as
if they had known him for years. The doctor and his son
now joined them. Clara had not come, but she was looking
forward in delightful expectation of to-morrow, and wished
greatly for Emily as a guest at the new abode. This plea-
fure Mrs. Wilson promised she should have as soon as they

PRECAUTION.

%9

had got over the huny of their visit ; " our fiiend?^," she
addea, tui-ning to Grace, " will overlook the nicer punctilios of
ceremony, where sisterly regard calls for the discharge of
more important duties. Clara needs the society of Emily
just now."

" Certainly," said Grace, mildly ; " I hope no useless cere-
mony on the part of Emily would prevent her manifesting
natural attachment to her sister — I should feel hurt at her
not entertaining a better opinion of us than to suppose so for
a moment."

" This, young ladies, is the real feeling to keep alive es-
teem," cried the doctor, gaily: *'go on, and say and do
nothing of which either can disapprove, when tried by the
standard of duty, and you need never be afraid of losing a
friend that is worth keeping."

It was three o'clock before the carriage of Mrs. Wilson ar-
rived at the rectory ; and the time stole away insensibly in
free and friendly communications. Denbigh bad joined mo-
destly, and with the degree of interest a stranger might be
supposed to feel, in the occurrences of a circle to which he
was nearly a stranger ; there was at times a slight display of
awkwardness, however, about both him and Mrs. Ives, for
which Mrs. Wilson easily accounted by recollections of his
recent loss and the scene they had all witnessed in that very
room. This embarrassment escaped the notice of the rest of
the party. On the arrival of the carriage, Mi-s. Wilson took
her leave;

" I like this Mr. Denbigh greatly," said Lord Chatterton,
as they drove from the door ; " there is something strikingly
natural and winning in his manner."

" In his matter too, judging of the little we have seen of
him," replied Mrs. Wilson.

" Who is he, ma'am ?"

5

98 PRECAUTION.

*' I rather suspect he is someway related to Mrs. Ives ; her
staying from Bolton to-day must be owing- to Mr. Denbigh,
and as the doctor has just gone he must be near enough to
them to be neither wholly neglected nor yet a tax upon their
politeness. I rather wonder he did not go with them."

" I heard him tell Francis," remarked Emily, " that he could
not think of intruding, and he insisted on Mrs. Ives's going,
but she had employments to keep her at home."

The carriage soon reached an angle in the road where the
highways between Bolton Castle and Moseley Hall intersected
each other, at a point on the estate of the former. Mrs.
Wilson stopped a moment to inquire after an aged pensioner,
who had lately met with a loss in business, which she was
fearful must have greatly distressed him. In crossing a ford
in the little river between his cottage and the market-town, the
stream, which had been swollen unexpectedly higher than
usual by heavy rains, had swept away his horse and cart loaded
with the entire produce of his small field, and with much dif-
ficulty he had saved even his own life. Mrs. Wilson had not
had it in her power until this moment to inquire particularly
into the affair, or to offer the relief she was ever ready to be-
stow on proper objects. Contrary to her expectations, she
found Humphreys in high spirits, showing his delighted
grand-children a new cart and horse which stood at the door,
and exultingly pointing out the excellent qualities of both.
He ceased talking on the approach of the party, and at the
request of his ancient benefactress he gave a particular ac
count of the affair.

" And where did you get this new cart and horse, Hum
phreys?" inquirea Mrs. Wilson, when he had ended.

" Oh, madam, I went up to the castle to see the steward,
and Mr. Martin just mentioned my loss to Lord Pendennyss,
ma'am, and my loru ordered me this cart, ma'am, and this

PRECAUTION. 99

noble horse, and twenty golden guineas into the bargain to
put me on my legs again — God bless him for it, for ever !'*

" It was very kind of his lordship, indeed," said Mrs. Wil-
son, thoughtfully : " I did not know he was at the castle.*'

" He's gone, already, madam ; the servants told me that he
just called to see the earl, on his way to Lon'on ; but finding
he'd went a few days agone to Ireland my lord went for
Lon'on, without stopping the night even. Ah! madam,"
continued the old man, who stood leaning on a stick, with his
hat in his hand, " he's a great blessing to the poor ; his ser-
vants say he gives thousands every year to the poor who are
in want — he is main rich, too ; some people say, much richer
and more great like than the earl himself. I'm sure I have
need to bless him every day of my life."

Mrs. Wilson smiled mournfully as she wished Humphreys
good day and put up her purse, finding the old man so well
provided for ; a display or competition in charity never en-
tering into her system of benevolence.

" His lordship is munificent in his bounty," said Emily, as
they drove from the door.

" Does it not savor of thoughtlessness to bestow so much
where he can know so little ?" Lord Chatterton ventured to
inquire.

'* He is," replied Mrs. Wilson, " as old Humphrey says,
main rich ; but the son of the old man and the father of these

children is a soldier in the th dragoons, of which the earl

is colonel, and that ^accounts to me for his liberality," recol-
lecting, with a sigh, the feelings which had drawn her out
of the usual circle of her charities in the case of the same
inan.

" Did you ever see Lord Pendennyss, aunt 1"

" Never, my dear ; he has been much abroad, but my letf-
ters were filled with his praises, and I confess my disappoint*

100 PRECAUTION.

ment is great in not seeing him on this visit to Lord Bolton,
who is his relation ; but," fixing her eyes thoughtfully on her
niece, '' we shall meet in Loudon this winter, I trust."

As she spoke a cloud passed o\^r her features, and 8h<3
continued much absorbed in thought for the remainder of theli'
drive.

General Wilson had teen a cavalry officer, and he com-
manded the very regiment now held by Lord Pendennyss.
In an excursion near the British camp he had been rescued
from captivity, if not from death, by a gallant and timely in-
terference of this young nobleman, then in command of a troop
in the same corps. He had mentioned the occurrence to his
wife in his letters, and from that day his correspondence was
filled with the praises of the bravery and goodness to the
soldieiy of his young comrade. When he fell he had
been supported from the field by, and he actually" died in the
arms of the young peer. A letter announcing his death had
been received by his widow from the earl himself, and the
tender and affectionate manner in which he spoke of her hus-
band had taken a deep hold on her affections. All the cir-
cumstances together threw an interest around him that had
made Mrs. ^Vilson almost entertain the romantic wish he
might be found worthy and disposed to solicit the hand of
Emily. Her anxious inquiries into his character had been
attended with such answers as flattered her wishes ; but the
military duties of the earl or his private affairs had never
allowed a meeting ; and she was now compelled to look for-
ward to what John laughingly termed their winter campaign,
as the only probable place where she could be gratified with
the sight of a young man to whom she owed so much, and
whose name was connected with some of the most tender
though most melancholy recollections of her life.

Colonel Egerton, who now appeared to be almost domesti-

PRECAUTION. lOi

cated in the femily, was again of the party at dinner, to the
no small satisfaction of the dowager, who from proper inqui-
ries in the course of the day had learned that Sir Edgar's heii
was likely to have the necessary number of figures in the sum
total of his rental. While sitting in the drawing-room that
afternoon she made an attempt to bring her eldest daughter
and the elegant soldier together over a chess-board ; a game
the young lady had been required to learn because it was one
*at which a gentleman could be kept longer than any other
without having his" attention drawn away by any of those
stragghng charms which might be travelling a drawing-room
*' seeking whom they may devour." It was also a game ad-
mirably suited to the display of a beautiful hand and arm.
But the mother had for a long time been puzzled to discover
a way of bringing in the foot also, the young lady being par
ticularly remarkable for the beauty of that portion of the
frame. In vain her daugher hinted at dancing, an amusement
of which she was passionately fond. The wary mother knew
too well the effects of concentrated force to hsten to the sug-
gestion : dancing might do for every manager, but she prided
herself in acting en masse, like Napoleon, whose tactics con-
sisted in overwhelming by uniting his forces on a given point.
After many experiments in her own person she endeavored to
improve Catharine's manner of sitting, and by dint of twisting
and turning she contrived that her pretty foot and ankle
should be thrown forward in a way that the eye dropping
from the move, should unavoidably rest on this beauteous
object; giving, as it were, a Scylla and Charybdis to her
daughter's charms.

John Moseley was the first person on whom she undertook
to try the effect of her invention; and after comfortably
seating the parties she withdrew to a little distance to watch
the effect.

102 PRECAUTION.

" Check to yoiu' king, Miss Chatterton," cried John, early in
the ga,rae — and the young lady thrust out her foot. " Check
to your king, Mr. Moseley," echoed the damsel, and John's
eyes wandered from hand to foot and foot to hand. " Check
king and queen, sir." — " Check-mate." — " Did you speak ?"
said John. Looking up he caught the eye of the dowager
fixed on him in triumph — '* Oh, ho," said the young man,
internally, " Mother Chatterton, are you playing too ?" and,
coolly taking up his hat, he walked off, nor could they ever*
get him seated at the game again.

" You beat me too easily, Miss Chatterton," he would say
when pressed to play, " before I have time to look up it's
check-mate — excuse me."

The dowager next settled down into a more covert attack
through Grace ; but here she had two to contend with : her
own forces rebelled, and the war had been protracted to the
present hour with vaiied success, and at least without any
material captures, on one side.

Colonel Egerton entered on the duties of his dangerous un-
dertaking with the indifference of foolhardiness. The game
was played with tolerable abiUty by both parties ; but no
emotions, no absence of mind could be discovered on the part
of the gentleman. Feet and hands were in motion ; still the
colonel played as well as usual ; he had answers for all Jane's
questions, and smiles for his partner; but no check-mate
could she obtain, until wilfully throwing away an advanta^^e
he suffered the lady to win the game. The dowager wa3
satisfied nothing could be done with the colonel

PRECAUTION. lOS

CHAPTER X.

The first carriages that rolled over the lawn to Bolton

parsonage, on the succeeding day, were those of the baronet
and his sister ; the latter in advance.

" There, Francis," cried Emily, who was impatiently wait
ing for him to remove some slight obstruction to her alighting,
" thank you, thank you ; that will do."

In the next moment she was in the extended arms of Clara.
After pressing each other to their bosoms for a few moments
in silence, Emily looked up, with a tear glistening in her eye,
and first noticed the form of Denbigh, who was modestly
withdrawing, as if unwilling to intrude on such pure and
domestic feelings as the sisters were betraying, unconscious
of the presence of a witness. Mrs. Wilson and Jane, fol-
lowed by Miss Chatterton, now entered, and cordial salutes
and greetings flowed upon Clara from her various friends.

The baronet's coach reached the door ; it contained himself
and wife, Mr. Benfield, and Lady Chatterton. Clara stood
on the portico of the building, ready to receive them ; her
face all smiles, and tears, and blushes, and her arm locked
in that of Emily.

" I wish you joy of your new abode, Mrs. Francis." Lady
Moseley foigot her form, and bursting into tears, she presses
her daughter with ardor to her bosom.

"Clara, my love!'* said the baronet, hastily wiping his
eyes, and succeeding his wife in the embrace of their child.
He kissed her, and, pressing Francis hy the hand, walked into
the house in silence.

104 -PRECAUTION.

*' Well, well," cried the dowager, as slie saluted her cousin,

•* all looks comfortable and genteel here, upon my word, Mrs.

Ives : grapery — hot-houses — everything in good style too ;

and Sir Edward tells me the living is worth a good five

undred a year."

" So, girl, I suppose you expect a kiss," said Mr. Benfield
who ascended the steps slowly, and with difficulty. " Kissinj
has gone much out of fashion lately. I remember, on the
marriage of my friend, Lord Gosford, in the year fifty-eight,
that all the maids and attendants were properly saluted in
ordei*. The lady Juliana was quite young then ; not more
than fifteen : it was there I got my first salute from her —
but — so — kiss me." After which he continued, as they went
into the house, *' Marrying in that day was a serious business.
You might visit a lady a dozen times before you could get a
sight of her naked hand. Who's that ?" stopping short, and
looking earnestly at Denbigh, who now approached them.

" Mr. Denbigh, sir," said Clara, " my uncle, Mr. Benfield."

" Did you ever know, sir, a gentleman of your name, who
sat in the parliament of this realm in the year sixty ?" Mr.
Benfield abruptly asked, as soon as the civilities of the inti'o-
duction were exchanged. " You don't look much like him."

" That was rather before my day, sir," said Denbigh, with
a smile, respectfully offering to relieve Clara, who supported
him on one side, while Emily held his arm on the other.

The old gentleman was particularly averse to strangers,
and Emily was in terror lest he should say something rude ;
but, after examining Denbigh again from head to foot, he
-took the offered arm, and coolly replied —

" True ; very true ; that was sixty years ago ; you can
hardly recollect as long. Ah ! Mr. Denbigh, times are sadly
altered since my youth. People who were then glad to ride
on a pillion now drive their coaches ; men who thought ale

PRECAUTION. 105

a luxury, diink their port ; aye ! and those who went bare-
foot must have their shoes and stockings, too. Luxury, sir,
and the love of ease, will ruin this mighty empire. Corruption
has taken hold of everything ; the ministry buy the members,
he members buy the ministry ; everything is bought and
old. Now, sir, in the parliament in which I. had the honor
of a seat, there was a knot of us, as upright as posts, sir. Mv
Lord Gosford was one, and General Denbigh was another,
although I can't say he was much a favorite with me. You
do not look in the least like him. How was he related to
you, sir ?"

" He was my grandfather," replied Denbigh, looking
pleasantly at Emily, as if to tell her he understood the
character of her uncle.

Had the old man continued his speech an hour longer,
Denbigh would not have complained. They had stopped
while talking, and he thus became confronted with the
beautiful figure that supported the other arm. Denbigh
contemplated in admiration the varying countenance which
now blushed with apprehension, and now smiled in affection,
or even with an archer expression, as her uncle proceeded in
his harangue on the times. But all felicity in this world has
an end, as well as misery. Denbigh retained the recollection
of that speech long after Mr. Benfield was comfortably seated
in the parlor, though for his life he could not recollect a word
he had said.

The Haughtons, the Jarvises, and a few more of their
intimate acquaintances, arrived, and the parsonage had a busy
air ; but John, who had undertaken to drive Grace Chattertoii
in his own phaeton, was yet absent. Some little anxiety had
begun to be manifested, when he appeared, dashing through
the gates at a great rate, and with the skill of a member of
the four-in-hand.

106 PRECAUTION.

Lady Chatterton Iiad begun to be seriously uneasy, and
she was about to speak to her son to go in quest of them, as
they came in sight ; but now her fears vanished, and she
could only suppose that a desire to have Grace alone could
Keep one who had the reputation of a Jehu so much behind
the rest of the party. She met them in great spirits,
<;i-ying,

" Upon my word, Mr. Moseley, I began to think you had
taken the road to Scotland, you stayed so long."

" Your daughter, my Lady Chatterton," said John, pithily,
*' would go to Scotland neither with me nor any other man,
or I am greatly deceived in her character. Clara, my sister,
how do you do ?" He saluted the bride with great warmth
and affection.

" But what detained you, Moseley ?" inquired the mother.

" One of the horses was restive, and he broke the harness.
We merely stopped in the village while it was mended."

" And how did Grace behave ?" asked Emily, laughing.

" Oh, a thousand times better than you would, sister; as
she always does, and like an angel."

The only point in dispute between Emily and her brother
was her want of faith in his driving ; while poor Grace,
naturally timid, and unwilling to oppose any one, particularly
tiie gentleman who then held the reins, had governed herself
sufficiently to be silent and motionless. Indeed, she could
iiardly do otherwise had she wished it, so great was his
impetuosity of character; and John felt flattered to a degree
!)f which he was himself unconscious. Self-complacency,
iiided by the merit, the beauty, and the delicacy of .he young
lady herself, might have led to the very results her mother
so anxiously wished to produce, had that mother been satisfied
with letting things take their course. But managers very
generally overdo their work.

PRECAUTIOK. 107

'•* Grace is a good girl," said her gratified mother ; " and
you found her very valiant, Mr. Moseley V

" Oh, as brave as Caesar," answered John, carelessly, in a
way that was not quite free from irony.

Grace, "whose burning cheek showed" but too plainly that
praise from John Moseley was an incense too powerful for her
Tisistanoe, now sank back behind some of the company,
e ideavoring to conceal the tears that almost gushed from her
eyes. Denbigh was a silent spectator of the whole scene, and
he now considerately observed, that he had lately seen an
improvement which would obviate the difficulty Mr. Moseley
had experienced. John turned to the speaker, and they were
soon engaged in the discussion of curbs and buckles, when
the tilbury of Colonel Egerton drove to the door, containing
himself and his friend the captain.

The bride undoubtedly received congratulations that day
more sincere than those w^hich were now offered, but none
were delivered in a more graceful and insinuating manner
than the compliments which fell from Colonel Egerton. He
passed round the room, speaking to his acquaintances, until
he arrived at the chair of Jane, who was seated next her
aunt. Here he stopped, and glancing his eye round, and
saluting with bows and smiles the remainder of the party, be
appeared fixed at the centre of all attraction.

" There is a gentleman I think I have never seen before,'*
lie observed to Mrs. Wilson, casting his eyes on Denbigh,
whose back was towards him in discourse with Mr. Benfield.

" It is Mr. Denbigh, of whom you heard us speak," replied
Mi-s. Wilson. While she spoke, Denbigh faced them
Ecrerton started as he cauo^ht a view of his face, and seemed
to gaze on the countenance which was open to his inspection
with an earnestness that showed an interest of some kind, but
of a nature that was inexplicable to Mrs. Wilson, who was

108 PRECAUTION.

the only observer of this singular recognition ; for such it
evidently was. All was now natural in the colonel for the
moment ; his color sensibly changed, and there was an ex-
pression of doubt in his face. It might be fear, it might be
horror, it might be a strong aversion; it clearly was not love.
Emily sat by her aunt, and Denbigh approached them, making
a cheerful remark. It was impossible for the colonel to
avoid him had he wished it, and he kept his ground. Mrs.
Wilson thought she would try the experiment of an intro-
duction.

" Colonel Egerton— Mr. Denbigh."

Both gentlemen bowed, but nothing striking was seen in
the deportment of either. The colonel, who was not exactly
at ease, said hastily —

" Mr. Denbigh is, or has been in the army, I believe."

Denbigh was now taken by surprise in his turn : he cast a
look on Egerton of fixed and settled paeaning ; then carelessly
observed, but still as if requiring an answer:

" I am yet ; but I do not recollect having had the pleasure
of meeting with Colonel Egerton on service."

" Your countenance is familiar, sir," replied the colonel,
coldly; "but at this moment I cannot tax my memory with-
the place of our meeting, though one sees so many strange
faces in a campaign, that they come and go like shadows."

He then changed the conversation. It w'as some time,
however, before either gentleman entirely recovei'ed his ease
and many days elapsed ere anything like intercourse passed
between them. The colonel attached himself during this
visit to Jane, with occasional notices of the Misses Jarvis, who
began to manifest symptoms of uneasiness at the decided
preference he showed to a lady they now chose to look upon,
in some measure, as a rival.

Mrs. Wilson and her chaige, on the other hand, were

PRECAUTION. 109

entertained by the conversation of Chatterton and Denbigh,
relieved by occasional sallies from the lively John. There
was something in the person and manners of Denbigh that
insensibly attracted those whom chance threw in his way.
His face was not strikingly handsome, but it was noble ; and
when he smiled, or was much animated, it invariably com-
municated a spark of his own enthusiasm to the beholder.
His figure was faultless ; his air and manner, if less easy than
those of Colonel Egerton, were more sincere and ingenuous ;
his breeding was clearly higher ; his respect for others rather
bordering on the old school. But in his voice there existed
a charm which would make him, when he spoke, to a female
ear. almost resistless : it was soft, deep, melodious, and winning.

" Baronet," said the rector, looking with a smile towards
his son and daughter, " I love to see ray children happy, and
Mrs. Ives threatens a divorce if I go on in the manner I have
commenced. She says I desert her for Bolton."

" Why, doctor, if our wives conspire against us, and pre-
vent our enjoying a comfortable dish of tea with Clara, or a
glass of wine with Frank, we must call in the higher author-
ities as umpires. What say you, sister? Is a parent to
desert his child in any case ?"

" My opinion is," said Mrs. Wilson, with a smile, yei
speaking with emphasis, " that a parent is not to desert a
child, in any case or in any manner."

" Do you hear that, my Lady Moseley ?" cried the good-
humored baronet.

" Do you hear that, my Lady Chatterton f echoed John,
who had just taken a seat by Grace, when her mother
approached them.

" I hear it, but do not see the application, Mr. Moseley."

" No, my lady ! Why, there is the honorable Miss Chat-
terton almost dying to play a game of her favorite chess

110 PRECAUTIo^^

with Mr. Denbigh. She has beaten us all but him, and her
triumph will not be complete until she has him too at her
feet."

And as Denbigh politely ofifered to meet the challenge,
the board was produced, and the parties were seated. Lady
Chatterton stood leaning over her daughter's chair, with a
view, however, to prevent any of those consequences she was
L,enerally fond of seeing result from this amusement ; every
measure taken by this prudent mother being literally governed
by judicious calculation.

" Umph," thought John, as he viewed the players, while
listening with pleasure to tRe opinions of Grace, who had
recovered her composure and spirits ; *' Kate, after all, has
played one game without using her feet."

PRECAUTION. Ill

CHAPTER XI.

Ten days or a fortnight flew swiftly by, during which Mi-s.
Wilson suffered Emily to give Clara a week, having first
ascertained that Denbigh was a settled resident at the rec-
tory, and thereby not likely to be oftener at the House of
Francis than at the hall, where he was a frequent and wel-
come guest, both on his own account and as a friend of Doc-
tor Ives. Emily had returned, and she brought the bride
and groom with her ; when one evening as they were plea-
santly seated at their various amusements, with the ease of
old acquaintences, Mr. Haughton entered. It was at an hour
rather unusual for his visits ; and throwing down his hat,
after making the usual inquiries, he began without preface —

" I know, good people, you are all wondering what has
brought me out this time of night, but the truth is, Lucy has
coaxed her mother to persuade me into a ball in honor of the
times ; so, my lady, I have consented, and ray wife and

daughter have been buying up all the finery in B , by

the way, I suppose, of anticipating their friends. There is a
regiment of foot come into barracks within fifteen miles of us,
and to-morrow I must beat up for recruits among the officers
— gills are never wanting on such occasions."

'' ^Vhy," cried the baronet, " you are growing young again,
my friend."

" No, Sir Edward, but my daughter is young, and life has
so many cares that I am willing she should get rid of as many
as she can at mv expense."

" Surely you w ould not wish her to dance them away,"

112 PRECAUTIOif.

said Mrs. Wilson ; " such relief I am afraid will prove tem-
porary."

" Do you disapprove of dancing, ma'am ?" said Mr. Haugh-
ton, who held her opinions in great respect as well as a little
dread.

" I neither approve nor disapprove of it — ^jumping up and
down is innocent enough in itself, and if it must be done it is
well it were done gracefully ; as for the accompaniments of
dancing I say nothing — what do you say, Doctor Ives ?"

" To what, my dear madam ?"

" To dancing."

" Oh let the girls dance if they enjoy it."

" I am glad you think so, doctor," cried the delighted Mr.
Haughton ; I was afraid I recollected your advising your son
never to dance nor to play at games of chance."

" You thought right, my friend," said the doctor, laying
down his newspaper; "1 did give that advice to Frank,
whom you will please to remember is now rector of Bolton.
I do not object to dancing as not innocent in itself or as an
elegant exercise ; but it is like drinking, generally carried to
excess : now as a Christian I am opposed to all excesses ; the
music and company lead to intemperance in the recreation,
and tliey often induce neglect of duties — but so may any-
thing else."

" I like a game of whist, doctor, greatly," said Mr. Haugh-
ton ; " but observing that you never play, and recollecting
your advice to Mr. Francis, I have forbidden cards when you
are my guest."

" I thank you for the compliment, good sir," replied the
doctor, with a smile ; " still I would much rather see you
play cards than hear you talk scandal, as you sometimes do."

'* Scandal !" echoed Mr. Haughton.

" Ay, scandal," said the doctor, coolly, " such as the re-

PRECAUTION. 113

mark you made the last time, which was only yesterday, I
called to see you. You accused Sir Edward of being wrong
in letting that poacher off so easily ; the baronet, you said, did
not shoot himself, and did not know how to prize game as he
ought."

" Scandal, Doctor — do you call that scandal ? why I told
^ir Edward so himself, two or three times."
" I know you did, and that was rude."
" Rude ! I hope sincerely Sir Edward has put no such con-
struction on it ?"

The baronet smiled kindly, and shook his head.
" Because the baronet chooses to forgive your offences, it
does not alter their nature," said the doctor, gravely : " no,
you must repent and amend ; you impeached his motives for
doing a benevolent act, and that I call scandal."

" Why, doctor, I was angry the fellow should be let loose ;
he is a pest to all the game in the county, and every sports-
man will tell you so — here, Mr. Moseley, you know Jackson,
the poacher."

" Oh ! a poacher is an intolerable wretch !" cried Captain
Jarvis.

"Oh ! a poacher," echoed John, looking drolly at Emily
" hang all poachers."

" Poachei- or no poacher, does not alter the scandal," said
the doctor ; " now let me tell you, good sir, I would rather
play at fifty games of whist than make one such speech, un-
less indeed.it interfered with my duties; now, sir, with your
leave I'll explain myself as to my son. There is an artificial
levity about dancing that adds to the dignity of no man :
from some it may detract : a clergyman for instance is sup-
posed to have other things to do, and it might hurt him in
the opinions of -those with whom his influence is necessary,
and impair his usefulness ; therefore a clergyman should never

14 PRECAUTION".

dance. In the same way with cards; they are the common
instruments of gambling, and an odium is attached to them
on that account; women and clergymen must respect the
prejudices of mankind in some cases, or lose their influence in
society."

" I did hope to have the pleasure of your company, doctor,
said Mr. Haughton, hesitatingly.

" And if it will give you pleasure," cried the rector, " you
shall have it with all my heart, good sir; it would be a
greater evil to wound the feelings of such a neighbor as Mr.
Haughton, than to show my face once at a ball," and rising,
he laid his hand on the shoulder of the other kindly. " Both
your scandal and rudeness are easily forgiven ; but I wished
to show you the common error of the world which has at-
tached odium to certain things, while it charitably overlooks
others of a more heinous nature."

Mr. Haughton, who had at first been a little staggered with
the attack of the doctor, recovered himself, and laying a hand-
ful of notes on the table, hoped he should have the pleasure
of seeing every body. The invitation was generally accepted,
and the worthy man departed, happy if his friends did but
come, and were pleased.

" Do you dance. Miss Moseley ?" inquired Denbigh of
Emily, as he sat watching her graceful movements in netting
a purse for her father.

" Oh, yes ! the doctor said nothing of us girls, you know
I suppose he thinks we have no dignity to lose." .

'* Admonitions are generally thrown away on young ladies
when pleasure is in the question," said the doctor, with a look
of almost paternal affection.

" I hope you do not seriously disapprove of it in modera-
tion," said Mrs. Wilson.

*' That depends, madam, upon circumstances ; if it is to b«

PRECAUTION. 115

made subsidiary to envy, malice, coquetry, vanity, or any
other such little lady-like accomplishment, it certaiijiy had
better be let alone. But in moderation, and with the feelings
of my little pet here, I should be cynical, indeed, to object."

Denbigh appeared lost in his own ruminations during this
dialogue ; and as the doctor ended, he turned to the captain,
who was overlooking a game of chess between the colonel and
Jane, of which the latter had become remarkably fond of late,
playing with her hands and eyes instead of her feet — and in-
quired the name of the corps in barracks at F .

"The th foot, sir," replied the captain, haughtily, who

neither respected him, owing to his want of consequence, nor
loved him, from the manner in which Emily Hstened to his
conversation.

" Will Miss Moseley forgive a bold request," said Denbigh,
with some hesitation.

Emily looked up from her work in silence, but with some
little fiutterings at the heart.

" The honor of her hand for the first dance," continued Den-
bigh, observing she was in expectation that he would proceed.
- Emily laughingly said, " Certainly, Mr. Denbigh, if you
can submit to the degradation."

The London papers now came in, and most of the gentle
men sat down to their perusal. The colonel, however, re-
placed the men for a second game, and Denbigh still kept his
place beside Mrs. Wilson and her niece. The manners, the
sentiments, the whole exterior of this gentleman were such as
both the taste and judgment of the aunt approved of; his
qualities were those which insensibly gained on the heart, and
yet Mrs. Wilson noticed, with a slight uneasiness, the very
evident satisfaction her niece took in his society. Tn Dr. Ives
she had great confidence, yet Dr. Ives was a friend, and pro-
bably judged him favorably ; and again, Dr. Ives was not to

116 PRECAUTION

suppose he was introducing a candidate for the hand of Emilj
in every gentleman he brought to the hall. Mrs. Wilson had
seen too often the ill consequences of trusting to impressions
received from inferences of companionship, not to know the
only safe way was to judge for ourselves : the opinions of
others might be partial — might be prejudiced — and many an
improper connexion had been formed by hstening to the sen-
timents of those who spoke without interest, and consequently
without examination. Not a few matches are made by this
idle commendation of others, uttered by those who are re-
spected, and which are probably suggested more by a desire
to please than by reflection or even knowledge. In short
Mrs. Wilson knew that as our happiness chiefly interests our-
selves, so it was to ourselves, or to those few whose interest
was equal to our own, we could only trust those important
inquiries necessary to establish a permanent opinion of cha-
racter. With Doctor Ives her communications on subjects of
duty were frequent and confiding, and although she sometimes
thought his benevolence disposed him to be rather too lenient
to the faults of mankind, she entertained a profound respect
for his judgment. It had great influence with her, if it were
not always conclusive ; she determined, therefore, to have an
early conveisation with him on the subject so near her heart,
and be in a great measure regulated by his answers in the
steps to be immediately taken. Every day gave her what
B'le thought melancholy proof of the ill consequences of neg-
J'Cting a duty, in the increasing intimacy of Colonel Egerton
•md Jane.

" Here, aunt," cried John, as he ran over a paper, " is a
paragraph relating to your favorite youth, our trusty and well
beloved cousin the Earl of Pendennyss."

" Read it," said Mrs. Wilson, with an interest his name
never failed to excite.

PRECAUTION. 117

*' We noticed to-day the equipage of the gallant Lord Pen-
dennyss before the gates of Annandale-house, and understand
the noble earl is last from Bolton castle, Northamptonshire."

" A very important fact," said Captain Jarvis, sarcastically ;
" Colonel Egerton and myself got as far as the village, to pay
our respects to him, when we heard he had gone on to
town."

" The earl's character, both as a man and a soldier," ob-
served the colonel, " gives him a claim to our attentions that
his rank would not : on that account we would have called."

" Brother," said Mrs. Wilson, " you would oblige me
greatly by asking his lordship to waive ceremony ; his visits
to Bolton castle will probably be frequent, now we have peace ;
and the owner is so much from home that we may never see
him without some such invitation."

•' Do you want him as a husband for Emily ?" cried John,
as he gaily seated himself by the side of his sister.

Mrs. Wilson smiled at an observation which remmded her
of one of her romantic wishes ; and as she raised her head to
reply in the same tone, met the eye of Denbigh fixed on her
with an expression that kept her silent. This is realiy an in-
comprehensible young man in some respects, thought the
cautious widow, his startling looks on the introduction to the
colonel crossing her mind at the same time ; and observing
the doctor opening the door that led to the baronet's library,
Mrs. Wilson, who generally acted as soon as she had decided,
followed him. As their conversations were known often tc
relate to the little offices of charity in which they both de-
lighted, the movement excited no surprise, and she entered
the library with the doctor uninterrupted.

" Doctor," said Mrs. Wilson, impatient to proceed to the
point, "you know my maxim, prevention is better than cure.
This young friend of yours is very interesting."

118 PRECAUTION.

** Do you feel yourself in danger ?" said the recLor, smiling.

" Not very imminent," replied the lady, laughing good-
nataredly. Seating herself, she continued, " Who is he? and
who was his father, if I may ask ?"

" George Denbigh, madam, both father and son," said the
doctor, gravely.

"Ah, doctor, I am almost tempted to wish Frank had
teen a girl. You know what I wish to learn."

"Put your questions in order, dear madam," said the
doctor, in a kind manner, " and they shall be answered."

" His principles ?"

" So far as I can learn, they are good. His acts, as they
have come to my notice, are highly meritorious, and I hope
they originated in proper motives. I have seen but little of
him of late years, however, and on this head you are nearly
as good a judge as myself. His filial piety," said the doctor,
dashing a tear from his eye, and speaking with fervor, " was
lovely."

" His temper — his disposition ?"

" His temper is under great command, although naturally
ardent; his disposition eminently benevolent towards his
fellow-creatures."

"' His connexions ?"

" Suitable," said the -ioctor, gravely.

His fortune was of but little moment. Emily would be
amply provided, for all the customary necessaries of her
station ; and, thanking the divine, Mrs. Wilson returned to
the parlor, easy in mind, and determined to let things take
their own course for a time, but in no degree to relax the
vigilance of her observation.

On her return to the room, Mrs. Wilson observed Denbigh
approach Egerton,^ and enter into conversation of a general
nature. It was the first time anything more than unavoidable

PRECAUTION. 119

courtesies had passed between them. The colonel appeared
slightly uneasy under his novel situation, while, on the other
hand, his companion showed an anxiety to be on a more
friendly footino^ than heretofore. There was something
mysterious in the feelings manifested by both these gentlemen
that greatly puzzled the good lady ; and from its complexion,
she feared one or the other was not entirely free from censure.
]t could not have been a quarrel, or their names would have
been famihar to each other. They had both served in Spain,
she knew, and excesses were often committed by gentlemen
at a distance from home their pride would have prevented
where they were anxious to maintain a character. Gambhng,
and a few other prominent vices, floated through her ima-
gination, until, wearied of conjectures where she had no data,
and supposing, after all, it might be only her imagination,
*he turned to more pleasant reflections.

120 PRECAUTION.

CHAPTER Xn.

The bright eyes of Emily Moseley unconsciously wandered
round the brilliant assemblage at Mr. Haughton's, as she took
her seat, in search of her partner. The rox)ms were filled

with scarlet coats, and belles from the little town of F ;

and if the company were not the most select imaginable, it
was disposed to enjoy the passing moment cheerfully and in
lightness of heart. Ere, however, she could make out to
scan the countenances of the men, young Jarvis, decked in

the full robes of his dignity, as captain in the th foot,

approached and solicited the honor of her hand. The colonel
had already secured her sister, and it was by the instigation
of his friend, Jarvis had been thus early in his application.
Emily thanked him, and pleaded her engagement. The
mortified youth, who had thought dancing with the ladies a
favor conferred on them, from the anxiety his sister always
manifested to get partners, stood for a few moments in sullen
silence; and then, as if to be revenged on the sex, he
determined not to dance the whole evening. Accordingly,
he withdrew to a room appropriated to the gentlemen, where
he found a few of the military beaux, keeping alive the
stimulus they had brought with them from the mess-table.

Clara had prudently decided to comport herself as became
a clergyman's wife, and she declined dancing altogether.
Catherine Chatterton was entitled to open the ball, as supe-
rior in years and rank to any who were disposed to enjoy the
amusement. The dowager, who in her heart loved to show
her airs upon such occasions, had chosen to be later than the

PRECAUTION. 121

rest of the family; and Lucy had to entreat her father to
have patience more than once during the interregnum in their
sports created by Lady Chatterton's fashion. This lady at
length appeared, attended by her son, and followed by her
daughters, ornamented in all the taste of the reigning fashions
Doctor Ives and his wife, who came late from choice, soon
appeared, accompanied by their guest, and the dancing com-
menced. Denbigh had thrown aside his black for the evening,
and as he approached to claim her promised hand, Emily
thought him, if not as handsome, much more interesting than
Colonel Egerton, who just then passed them while leading
her sister to the set. Emily danced beautifully, but perfectly
like a lady, as did Jane ; but Denbigh, although graceful in
his movements and in time, knew but little of the art ; and
but for 'the assistance of his partner, he wOuld have more than
once gone wrong in the figure. He very gravely asked her
opinion of his performance as he handed her to a chair, and
she laughingly told him his movements were but a better sort
of march. He was about to reply, when Jarvis approached.
By the aid of a pint of wine and his own reflections, the
youth wrought himself into something of a passion, especially
as he saw Denbigh enter, after Emily had declined dancing
with himself. There was a gentleman in the corps who
unfortunately was addicted to the bottle, and he had fastened
on Jarvis as a man at leisure to keep him company. Wine
openeth the heart, and the captain having taken a peep at
the dancers, and seen the disposition of affairs, returned to
his bottle companion, bursting with the indignity offered to
his person. He dropped a hint, and a question or two
brought the whole grievance forth.

There is a certain set of men in every service who imbibe
extravagant notions that are revolting to humanity, and which
too often Di-ove to be fatal in their results. Their morals are

6

PRECADTIOK.

never correct, and the little they have set loosely about them.
In their own cases, their appeals to arms are not always so
prompt; but in that of their friends, their perceptions of
honor are intuitively keen, and their inflexibilfty in preserving
it from reproach unbending ; and such is the weakness of
mankind, their tenderness on points where the nicer feehngs
of a soldier are involved, that these machines of custom, these
thermometers graduated to the scale of false'honor, usurp the
place of reason and benevolence, and become too often the
arbiters of life and death to a whole corps. Such, then, was
the confidant to whom Jarvis communicated the cause of his
disgust, and the consequences may easily be imagined. As
he passed Emily and Denbigh, he threw a look of fierceness
at the latter, which he meant as an indication of his hostile
intentions. It was lost on his rival, who at that moment was
filled with passions of a very difi'erent kind from those which
Captain Jarvis thought agitated his own bosom ; for had his
new friend let him alone, the captain would have gone quietly
home and gone to sleep.

" Have you ever fought ?" said Captain Digby coolly to his
companion, as they seated themselves in his father's parlor*
whither they had retired to make their arrangements for the
following morning.

" Yes," said JarWs, with a stupid look, " I fought once
with Tom Halliday at school."

" At school ! My dear friend, you commenced young
indeed," said Digby, helping himself to another glass. " And
bow did it end ?"

" Oh ! Tom got the better, and so I cried enough," said
Jarvis, surlily.

" Enough ! I hope you did not flinch," eyeing him keenly
" Where were you hit ?"

" He hit me all over."

PRECAUTION. 123

** All over ! The d — 1 ! Did you use small shot ? How
did you fight ?"

'* With fists," said J arvis,- yawning.

His companion, seeing how matters were, rang for his
servant to put him to bed, remaining himself an hour longer
to finish the bottle.

Soon after Jarvis had given Denbigh the look big with hi
ntended vengeance, Colonel Egerton appi-oached Emily,
asking permission to present Sir Herbert Nicholson, the
lieutenant-colonel of the regiment, and a gentleman who was
ambitious of the honor of her acquaintance; a particular
friend of his own. Emily gracefully bowed her assent. Soon
after, turning her eyes on Denbigh, who had been speaking
to her at the moment, she saw him looking intently on the
two soldiers, who were making their way through the crowd
to the place where she sat. He stammered, said something
she could not understand, and precipitately withdrew ; and
although both she and her aunt sought his figure in the gay
throng that flitted around them, he was seen no more that
evening.

" Are you acquainted with Mr. Denbigh ?" said Emily to her
partner, after looking in vain to find his person in the crowd.

" Denbigh ! Denbigh ! I have known one or two of that
name/' replied the gentleman. '• In the army there are
several."

" Yes," said Emily, musing, " he is in the army ;" and
looking up, she saw her companion reading her countenance
with an expression that brought the color to her cheeks with
a glow that was painful. Sir Herbert smiled, and observed
that the room was warm. Emily acquiesced in the remark,
for the first time in her life conscious of a feeling she was
ashamed to have scrutinized, and glad of aay excuse to hide
her confusion.

124 PRECAUTION.

" Grace Chatterton is really beautiful to-night," whispered
John Moseley to his sister Clara. " I have a mind to ask
lier to dance."

*' Do, John." replied his sister, looking with pleasure on
her beautiful cousin, who, observing the movements of John
as he drew near where she sat, moved her face on each side
rapidly, in search of some one who was apparently not to be
found. Her breathing became sensibly quicker, and John
was on the point of speaking to her as the dowager stepped
in between them. There is nothing so flattering to the vanity
of a man as the discovery of emotions in a young woman
excited by himself, and which the party evidently wishes to
conceal ; there is nothing so touching, so sure to captivate ;
or, if it seem to be affected, so sure to disgust.

" Now, Mr. Moseley," cried the mother, " you shall not
ask Grace to dance ! She can refuse you nothing, and she
has been up the last two figures."

" Your wishes are irresistible. Lady Chatterton," said
John, coolly turning on his heel. On gaining the other side
of the room, he turned to reconnoitre the scene. The
dowager was fanning herself as violently as if she had been
up the last two figures instead of her daughter, while Grace
sat with her eyes fastened on the floor, paler than usual.
" Grace," thought the young man, "would be very handsome
— very sweet — very — very everything that is agreeable, if —
if it were not for Mother Chatterton." He then led out one
of the prettiest girls in the room.

Col. Egerton was peculiarly fitted to shine in a ball room.
He danced gracefully and with spirit ; was perfectly at home
with all the usages of the best'; society, and was never neg-
lectful of any of those little courtesies which have their charm
for the moment ; and Jane Moseley, who saw all those she
loved around her, apparently as happy as hei-self, found in her

PRECAUTION. 125

judgment or the convictions of her principles, no counterpoise
ag-ainst the weight of such attractions, all centred as it were
in one effort to please herself. His flattery was deep for it
was respectful — his tastes were her tastes — his opinions her
opinions. On the formation of their acquaintance they dif-
fered on some trifling point of poetical criticism, and for near
a month the colonel had maintained his opinion with a show
of firmness ; but opportunities not wanting for the discussion,
he had felt constrained to yield to her better judgment, her
purer taste. The conquest of Colonel Egerton was complete,
and Jane who saw in his attentions the submission of a de-
voted heart, began to look forward to the moment with
trembling that was to remove the thin barrier that existed
between the adulation of the eyes and the most delicate assi-
duity to please, and the open confidence of declared love.
Jane Moseley had a heait to love, and to love strongly ; hei
danger existed in her imagination: it was briUiant, unchast-
ened by her judgment, we had almost said unfettered by her
principles. Principles such as are found in every-day maxims
and rules of conduct sufficient to restrain her within the
bounds of perfect decorum she was furnished with in abund-
ance ; but to that principle which was to teach her submission
in opposition to her wishes, to that principle that could alone
afford her security against the treachery of her own passions,
she was an utter stranger.

The family of Sir Edward were among the first to retire,
and as the Chattertons had their own carriage, Mrs. Wilson
and her charge returned alone in the coach of the former.
Emily, who had been rather out of spirits the latter part of
the evenino;, broke the silence by suddenlv observinjr,

" Colonel Egerton is, or soon will be, a perfect hero !

Her aunt somewhat surprised, both with the abruptness
and with the strength of the remark, iijquired her meaning.

126 PRECAUTION.

'* Oh, Jane will make him one, whether or not.'*
This was spoken with an air of vexation which she was
unused to, and Mrs. Wilson gravely corrected her for speak-
ing in a disrespectful manner of her sister, one whom neither
her years nor situation entitled her in any measm-e to advise
or control. There wa.s an impropriety in judging so near and
dear a relation harshly, even in thought. Emily pressed the
hand of her aunt and tremulously acknowledged her error ;
but she added, that she felt a momentary irritation at the
idea of a man of Colonel Egerton's character gaining the
command over feelings such as her sister possessed. Mrs.
Wilson kissed the cheek of her niece, while she inwardly ac-
knowledged the probable truth of the very remark she had
thought it her duty to censure. That the imagination of
Jane would supply her lover with those quahties she most
honored herself, she believed was taken as a matter of course ;
and that when the veil she had helped to throw befcTre her
own eyes was removed, she vvould cease to respect, and of
course cease to love him, when too late to remedy the evil,
she greatly feared. But in the approaching fate of Jane she
gaw new cause to call forth her own activity.

Emily Moseley had just completed her eighteenth year, and
was gifted by nature with a vivacity and ardency of feeling
that gave a heightened zest to the enjoyments of that happy
age. She was artless but intelligent ; cheerful, with a deep
conviction of the necessity of piety ; and uniform in her prac-
tice of all the important duties. The unwearied exertions of
her aunt, aided by her own quickness of perception, had made
her familiar with the attainments suitable to her sex and years.
For music she had no taste, and the time which would hav6
been thrown away in endeavoring to cultivate a talent she did
not possess, was dedicated under the discreet guidance of her
aunt, to works whicji had a tendency both to qualify her for

PRECAUTION. 127

the duties of this life, and fit her for that which comes liere-
after. It might be said Emily Moseley had iievei read a book
that contained a sentiment or inculcated an opinion improper
for her sex or dangerous to her morals ; and it was not diffi-
cult for those who knew the fact, to fancy they could perceive
the consequences in her guileless countenance and innocent
deportment. Her looks — her actions — her thoughts, wore as.
much of nature as the discipline of her well-regulated mind
and softened manners could admit. In person she was of the
middle size, exquisitely formed, graceful and elastic in her
step, without, however, the least departure from her natural
movements ; her eye was a dark blue, with an expression of
joy and intelligence ; at times it seemed all soul, and again
all heart ; her color was rather high, but it varied with every
emotion of her bosom ; her feelings were sti'ong, ardent, and
devoted to those she loved. Her preceptress had never found
it necessary to repeat an admonition of any kind, since her
arrival at years to discriminate between the right and the
wrong.

" I wish," said Doctor Ives to his wife, the evening his son
had asked their permission to address Clara, "Francis had
chosen my little Emily."

*' Clara is a good girl," replied his wife ; " she is so mild,
BO aftectionate, that I doubt not she will make him happy —
Frank might have done worse at the Hall."

"For himself he has done well, I hope," said the father:
*' a young w^oman of Clara's heart may make any man happy;
but a union with purity, sense, principles, like those of Emily
would be more — it would be blissful."

Mrs. Ives smiled at her husband's animation. " You
remind me more of the romantic youth I once knew than
of the grave divine. There is but one man I know that
1 could wish to give Emily to ; it is Lumley. If Lumley

128 PRECAUTION.

sees her, he will woo her; and if he wooes, he will win
her."

" And Lumley I believe to be worthy of her," cried the
rector, now taking up a candle to retu-e for the night

PRECAUTION. 129

CHAPTER XIII.

The following day brought a large party of the military
elegants to the Hall, in acceptance of the baronet's hospitable
invitation to dinner. Lady Moseley was delighted ; so long
as her husband's or her children's interest had demanded a
sacrifice of her love of society it had been made without a
sigh, almost without a thought. The ties of affinity in her
were sacred ; and to the happiness, the comfort of those in
which she felt an interest, there were few sacrifices of her
own propensities she would not cheerfully have made : it was
this very love of her offspring that made her anxious to dis-
pose of her daughters in wedlock. Her own marriage had
been so happy, that she naturally concluded it the state most
likely to ensure the happiness of her children ; and with
Lady Moseley, as with thousands of others, who averse or
unequal to the labors of investigation, jump to conclusions
over the long hne of connecting reasons, marriage was mar-
riage, a husband was a husband. It is true there wefe cer-
tain indispensables, without which the formation of a con-
nexion was a thing she considered not within the bounds of
nature. There must be fitness in fortune, in condition, in
education, and manners ; there must be no glaiing evil, al-
though she did not ask for positive good. A professor of
religion herself, had any one told her it was a duty of hei
calling to guard against a connexion with any but a Christian
for her girls, she would have wondered at the ignorance that
would embarrass the married state, with feelings exclusively
belonging ta the individual. Had any one told her it were

6*

130 VRSCAUTION.

possible to give her child to any but a gentleman, she would
have wondered at the want of feeling that could devote the
softness of Jane or Emily, to the association with rudeness or
vulgarity. It was the misfortune of Lady Moseley to limit her
views of marriage to the scene of this life, forgetful that every
union gives existence to a long hne of immortal beings, whose
future welfare depends greatly on the force of early exarapJ^^s,
or the strength of early impressions.

The necessity for restriction in their expenditures had
ceased, and the baronet and his wife greatly enjoyed the first
opportunity their secluded situation had given them, to draw
around their board their fellow- creatures of their own stamp.
In the former, it was pure philanthropy ; the same feeling
urged him to seek out and relieve distress in humble life ;
while in the latter it was love of station and seemliness. It
was becoming the owner of Moseley Hall, and it was what
the daughters of the Benfield family had done since the con-
quest.

" I am extremely sorry," said the good baronet at dinner,
" Mr. Denbigh declined our invitation to-day ; I hope he will
yet ride over in the evening."

Looks of a singular import were exchanged between Co-
lonel Egerton and Sir Herbert Nicholson, at the mention of
Denbigh's name; which, as the latter had just asked the
favor of taking wine with Mrs. Wilson, did not escape her
notice. Emily had mnocently mentioned his precipitate re-
treat the pight before; and he had, when reminded of his
engagement to dine with them that very day, and promised
an introduction to Sir Herbert Nicholson by John, in her pre-
sence, suddenly excused himself and withdrawn. With an
indefinite suspicion of something wrong, she ventured, there-
fore, to address Sir Herbert Nicholson.

" Did ^ou know Mr. Denbigh, in Spain 2'-

PRECAUTION. ini

" I told Miss Emily Moseley, I believe, last evening, that 1
knew some of the name," replied the gentleman evasively ;
then pausing a moment, he added with g^eat emphasis, " thei e
is a circumstance connected witii one of that name, I shall
ever remember."

"It was creditable, no doubt, Sir Herbert," cried young
'arvis, sarcastically. The soldier affected not to hear the
question, and asked Jane to take wine with him. Lord Chat-
terton, however, putting his knife and fork down gravely, and
with a glow of animation, observed with unusual spirit,

" I have no doubt it was, sir."

Jarvis in his turn, affected not to hear this speech, and no-
thing farther was said, as Sir Edward saw that the name of
Mr. Denbigh excited a sensation amongst his guests for which
he was unable to account, and which he soon foigot himself.

After the company had retired. Lord Chatterton, however,
related to the astonished and indignant family of the baronet
the substance of the following scene, of which he had b«en a
witness that morning, while on a visit to Denbigh at the rec-
tory. They had been sitting in the parlor by themselves, over
their breakfast, when a Captain Digby was announced.

"I have the honor of waiting upon you, Mr. Denbigh,"
said the soldier, with the stiff formality of a professed duelHfc,
" on behalf of Captain Jarvis, but will postpone my business
until you are at leisure," glancing his eye on Chatterton.

" I know of no business with Captain Jarvis," said Denbigh,
j)()litely handing the stranger a chair, "to which Lord Chat-
terton cannot be privy ; if he will excuse the interruption.
The nobleman bowed, and Captain Digby, a httle awed by
the rank of Denbigh's friend, proceeded in a more measured
manner.

" Captain Jarvis has empowered me, sir, to make any ar-
rangement with yourself or friend, previously to your meet-

132 PRECAUTION.

ing, which he hopes may be as soon as possible, if convenient
to yourself," replied the soldier, coolly.

Denbigh viewed him for a moment with astonishment, in
silence ; when recollecting himself, he said mildly, and with-
out the least agitation, " I cannot affect, sir, not to understand
your meaning, but am at a loss to imagine what act of mine
can have made Mr. Jarvis wish to make such an appeal."

" Surely Mr. Denbigh cannot think a man of Captain Jar-
vis's spirit can quietly submit to the indignity put upon him
last evening, by your dancing with Miss Moseley, after she
had declined the honor to himself," said the captain, affecting
an incredulous smile. " My Lord Chatterton and myself can
easily settle the preliminaries, as Captain Jarvis is much dis-
posed to consult your wishes, sir, in this affair."

*' If he consults my wishes," said Denbigh, smiling, " he
will think no more about it."

"At what time, sir, will it be convenient to give him the
meeting ?" then, speaking with a kind of bravado gentlemen
of his cast are fond of assuming, " my friend would not huriy
any settlement of your affairs."

" I can never meet Captain Jarvis with hostile intentions,"
replied Denbigh, calmly.
l^"Sir!"

" I decline the combat, sir," said Denbigh, with more
firmness.

" Your reasons, sir, if you please ?" asked Captain Digby
compressing his lips, and drawing up with an air of persona,
interest.

" Surely," cried Chatterton, who had with difficulty
cstrained his feelings, " surely Mr. Denbigh 'could never so
far foi'get himself as cruelly to expose Miss Moseley by
accepting this invitation."

"Your reason, my lord," said Denbigh, with inter^bst

PRECAUTION. 133

''would at all times have its weight; but I wish not to
qualify an act of what I conceive to be principle by any lesser
consideration. I cannot meet Captain Jarvis, or any other
man, in private combat. There can exist no necessity for an
appeal to arms in any society where the laws rule, and I am
averse to bloodshed.''

" Very extraordinary," muttered Captain Digby, somewhat
at a loss how to act ; but the calm and collected manner o£
Denbigh prevented a reply; and after declining a cup of tea,
a hquor he never drank, he withdrew, saying he would
acquaint his friend with Mr. Denbigh's singular notions.

Captain Digby had left Jarvis at an inn, about half a mile
from the rectory, for the convenience of receiving early infor-
mation of the result of his conference. The young man had
walked up and down the room during Digby's absence, in a
train of reflections entirely new to him. He was the only
son of his aged father and mother, the protector of his sisters,
and, he might say, the sole hope of a rising family ; and then,
possibly, Denbigh might not have meant to offend him — he
might even have been engaged before they came to the house ;
or if not, it might have been inadvertence on the part of Miss
Moseley. That Denbigh would offer some explanation he
believed, and he had fully made up his mind to accept it, let
it be what it might, as his fighting friend entered.

*' Well," said Jarvis, in a tone that denoted anything but
a consciousness that all was well..

"He says he will not meet you," dryly exclaimed his
friend, throwing himself into a chair, and ordering a glass of
randy and water.

" Not meet me !" exclaimed Jarvis, in surprise, ** Engaged,
perhaps ?"

" Eno-ao-ed to his d — d conscience."

" To his conscience ! I do not know whether I rightly

1 84 PRECAUTION.

nnderstand you, Captain Digby," said Jarvis, catching his
breath, and raising his voice a very httle.

" Then, Captain Jarvis," said his friend, tossing off his
brandy, and speaking with great dehberation, " he says that
nothing — understand yne — nothing will ever make him figh
\ duel."

j "He will not \" rried Jarvis, in a loud voice.
^ " No, he will rot," said Digby, handing his glass to the
^^aiter for a fresK supply.

"He shall, by !"

" I don't ki^ow how you will make him."

«' Make him ! I'll— I'll post him."

" Never do that," said the captain, turning to him, as he
leaned his ♦'-Ibows on the table. "It only makes both parties
ridiculous. But I'll tell you what you may do. There's a
Lord Ohatterton who takes the matter up with warmth. If
I were not afraid of his interests hurting my promotion, I
should have resented something that fell from him myself.
He will fight, I dare say, and I'll just return and require an
explanation of his -words on your behalf."

" No, no," said Jarvis, rather hastily ; " he — he is related
to the Moseleys, and I have views there it might injure."

" Did you think to forward your views by making the
young lady the subject of a duel?" asked Captain Digby
sarcastically, and eyeing his companion with contempt.

*' Yes, yes," said Jarvis ; *' it would certainly hurt my
views."

" Here's to the health of His Majesty's gallant regi

ment of foot !" cried Captain Digby, in a tone of irony, whea
tliree-quarters drunk, at the mess-table, that evening, " and
to its champion. Captain Henry Jarvis !"

One of the corps was present accidentally as a guest ; and
the following week, the inhabitants of F saw the regi-

PRECAUTION. 1^5

ment in their barracks, marching to slow time after the body
of Horace Digby.

Lord Chatterton, in relating the part of the foregoing cir-
cumstances which fell under his observation, did ample justice
to the conduct of Denbigh ; a degree of liberality which did
him no little credit, as he plainly saw in that gentleman he
had, or soon would have, a rival in the dearest wish of his
heart ; and the smiling approbation with which his cousin
Emily rewarded him for his candor almost sickened him with
apprehension. The ladies were not slow in expressing their
disgust at the conduct of Jarvis, or backward in their approval
of Denbigh's forbearance. Lady Moseley turned with horror
from a picture in which she could see nothing but murder
and bloodshed ; but both Mrs. Wilson and her niece secretly
applauded a sacrifice of worldly feelings on the altar of duty ;
the former admiring the consistent refusal of admitting any
collateral inducements, in explanation of his decision : the
latter, while she saw the act in its true colors, could hardly
help believing that a regard for her feelings had, in a trifling
degree, its influence in inducing him to decline the meeting.
Mrs. Wilson saw at once what a hold such unusual conduct
would take on the feelings of her niece, and inwardly
determined to increase, if possible, the watchfulness she had
invariably observed on all he said or did, as likely to elucidate
his real character, well knowing that the requisites to bring
or to keep happiness in the married.state were numerous and
indispensable ; and that the display of a part'cular excellence,
however good in itself, was by no means conclusive as to
character ; in short, that we perhaps as often meet with a
favorite principle as with a besetting sin.

136 PRECAUTION,

CHAPTER XIV.

Sir Edward Moseley had some difficulty in restraining
the impetuosity of his son, who was disposed to resent this
impertinent interference of young Jarvis with the conduct of
his favorite sister ; indeed, the young man only yielded to
his profound respect to his father's commands, aided by a
strong representation on the part of his sister of the disagree-
able consequences of connecting her name with such a quarrel.
It was seldom the good baronet felt himself called on to act
as decidedly as on the present occasion. He spoke to the
merchant in warm, but gentleman-like terms, of the conse-
quences which might have resulted to his own child from the
intemperate act of his son ; exculpated Emily entirely from
censure, by explaining her engagement to dance with Den-
bigh, previously to Captain Jarvis's application ; and hinted
the necessity, if the affair was not amicably terminated, of
protecting the peace of mind of his daughters against any
similar exposures, by declining the acquaintance of a neighbor
he respected as much as Mr. Jarvis.

The merchant was a man of few words, but of great
promptitude. He had made his fortune, and more than one
saved it, by his decision ; and assuring the baronet he shoul
hear no more of it, he took his hat and hurried home from
the village, where the conversation passed. On arriving at
his own house, he found the family collected in the parlor for
a morning ride, and throwing himself into a chair, he broke
out on the whole party with great violence.

*' hio, Mrs. Jarvis," he ciied, " you would spoil a ver3

PRECAUTION. - 13'J

tolerable book-keeper, by wishing to have a soldier in your
family ; and there stands the pnppy who would have blown
out the brains of a deserving young man, if the good sense
of Mr. Denbigh had not denied him the opportunity."

" Mercy !" cried the alarmed matron, on whom Newgate
^for her early life had been passed near its walls), with all
1 s horrors, floated, and a contemplation of its' punishments
Lad been her juvenile lessons of morahty — " Harry ! Harry !
would you commit murder ?"

" Murder !" echoed her son, looking askance, as if dodging
the bailiffs. "No,- mother; I wanted nothing but what was
fair. Mr. Denbigh would have had an equal chance to
blow out my brains ; I am sure everything would have been
fair."

'* Equal chance !" muttered his father, who had cooled
himself, in some measure, by an extra pinch of snuff. *' No,
sir, you have no brains to lose. But I have promised Sir
Edward that you shall make proper apologies to himself, to
his daughter, and to Mr. Denbigh." This was rather
exceeding the truth, but the alderman prided himself on
performing rather more than he promised.

" Apology !" exclaimed the captain. " Why, sir, the
apology is due to me. Ask Colonel Egerton if he ever
heard of apologie"s being made by the challenger."

" No, sure," said the mother, who, having made out the
truth of the matter, thought it was likely enough to be
creditable to her child ; " Colonel Egerton never heard of
such a thing. Did you, colonel ?"

" Why, madam," said the colonel, hesitatingly, and politely
landing the merchant his snuff-box, which, in his agitation,
had fallen on the floor, " circumstances sometimes justify a
departure from ordinary measures. You are certainly right
as a rule ; but nofc knowing the particulars in the present

138 PRECAUTION.

case, it is difficult for me to decide. Miss Jarvis, the tilbury
is ready."

The colonel bowed respectfully to the merchant, kissed his
hand to his wife, and led their daughter to his carriage.

" Do you make the apologies ?" asked Mr. Jarvis, as th
door closed.

" No, sir,'^ replied the captain, sullenly

*' Then you must make your pay answer for the next six
months," cried the father, taking a signed draft on his banker
from his pocket, coolly tearing it in two pieces, carefully
putting the name in his mouth, and chewing it into a ball.

" Why, aldernian," said his wife (a name she never used
unless she had something to gain from her spouse, who loved
to hear the appellation after he had relinquished the office),
" it appears to me that Harry has shown nothing but a proper
spirit. You are unkind — indeed you are."

" A proper spirit ? In what way ? Do you know any-
thing of the matter ?"

" It is a proper spirit for a soldier to fight, I suppose," said
the wife, a little at a loss to explain.

" Spirit, or no spirit, apology, or ten and sixpence.'*

"Harry," said his mother, holding up her finger in a
menacing attitude, as soon as her husband had left the room
(for he had last spoken with the door in his hand), " if you
do beg his pardon, you are no son of mine."

" No," cried Miss Sarah, " nor any brother of mine. Jt
would be insufferably mean."

" Who will pay my debts ?" asked the son, looking up at
the ceiling.

" W hy, I would, my child, if — if — I had not spent my
own allowance."

" I would," echoed the sister ; " but if we go to Bath, you
know, I shall want all my money."

PRECAUTION. 139

" Who will pay my debts ?" repeated the son.

" Apology, indeed ! Who is he, that you, a son of

A-lderman — of — Mr. Jarvis, of the deanery, B , North

amptonshire, should beg his pardon — a vagrant that nobody
knows !"

" Who will pay my debts ?" again inquired the captain,
drumming with his foot."

" Harry," exclaimed the mother, " do you love money
better than honor — a soldier's honor ?"

"No, mother; but I like good eating and drinking. Think
mother ; it's a cool five hundred, and that's a famous deal of
money."

"Harry," cried the mother, in a rage, "you are not fit for
a soldier. I wish I "were in your place."

" I wish, with all my heart, you had been for an hour this
morning," thought the son. x\fter arguing for some time
longer, they compromised, by agreeing to leave it to the
decision of Colonel Egerton, who, the mother did not doubt,
would applaud her maintaining the Jarvis dignity, a family
in which he took quite as much interest as he felt for his
own — so he had told her fifty times. The captain, however,
determined within himself to touch the five hundred, let the
colonel decide as he might ; but the colonel's decision obviated
all difficulties. The question was put to him by Mrs. Jarvis,
on his return from the airing, with no doubt the decision
would be favorable to her opinion. The colonel and herself,
she said, never disagreed ; and the Jady was right — for
wherever his interest made it desirable to convert Mrs. Jarvi
to his side of the question, Egerton had a manner of doing it
that never fiiiled to succeed.

** Why, madam," said he, with one of his mo-t agreeable
smiles, "apologies are different things, at different times.
You are certainly right in your sentiments, as relates to a

140 PRECAUTION.

proper spirit in a soldier ; but no one can doubt the spirit of
the captain, after the stand he took in this affair ; if Mr. Den-
bigh would not meet him (a very extraoi'dinary measure, in
deed, I confess), what can your son do more ? He cannot
make a man fight against his will, you know."

*' True, true," cried the matron, impatiently, " I do not
want him to fight ; heaven forbid ! but why should he, the
challenger, beg pardon ? I am sure, to have the thing regu-
lar, Mr. Denbigh is the one to ask forgiveness."

The colonel felt at a little loss how to reply, when Jarvis,
in whom the thoughts of the five hundred pounds had worked
a revolution, exclaimed —

" You know, mother, I accused him — that is, I suspected
him of dancing with Miss Moseley against my right to her ;
now you find that it was all a mistake, and so I had better
act with dignity, and confess my error."

" Oh, by all means," cried the colonel, who saw the danger
of an embarrassing rupture between the families, otherwise:
*' delicacy to your sex particularly requires that, ma'am,
from your son ;" and he accidentally dropped a letter as he
spoke.

"From Sir Edgar, colonel?" asked Mrs. Jarvis^ as he
stooped to pick it up.

*' From Sir Edgar, ma'am, and he begs to be remembered
to yourself and all of your amiable family."

Mrs. Jarvis inclined her body, in what she intended for a
graceful bend, and sighed — a casual observer might have
^bought, with maternal anxiety for the reputation of her child
—but it was conjugal regret, that the political obstinacy of
the alderman had prevented his carrying up an address, and
thus becoming Sir Timothy. Sir Edgar's heir prevailed, and
the captain received permission to do what he had done
several hours before.

PRECAUTION. 141

On leaving the room, after the first discussion, and before
the appeal, the captain had hastened to his father with his
concessions. The old gentleman knew too well the influence
of five hundred pounds to doubt the effect in the present in
stance, and he had ordered his carriage for the excursion
It came, and to the hall they proceeded. The captain found
his intended antagonist, and in a rather uncouth manner, he
made the required concession. He was restored to his former
favor — no great distinction — and his visits to the hall were
suflered, but wnth a dislike Emily could never conquer, nor
at all times conceal.

Denbigh was occupied with a book, when Jarvis com-
menced his speech to the baronet and his daughter, and was
apparently too much engaged with its contents, to understand
what was going on, as the captain blundered through. It
was necessary, the captain saw by a glance of his father's
eyes, to say something to that gentleman, who had delicately
withdrawn to a distant w'indow. His speech was conse-
quently made here too, and Mrs. Wilson could not avoid
stealing a look at them. Denbigh smiled, and bowed in
silence. It is enough, thought the widow ; the offence was
not against hira, it was against his Maker; he should. not ar-
rogate to himself, in any manner, the right to forgive, or to
require apologies — the whole is consistent. The subject was
never afterwards alluded to : Denbigh appeared to have for-
gotten it ; and Jane sighed gently, as she devoutly hoped the
colonel was not a duellist.

Several days passed before the deanery ladies could suffi-
ciently forgive the indignity their family had sustained, to
resume the customary intercourse. Like all other grievances,
where the passions are chiefly interested, it was forgotten in
time, however, and things were put in some measure on their
former footing. The death of Digby served to increase the

142 PHECAUTION.

horror of the Moseleys, and Jar\'is himself felt rather uncom-
fortable, on more accounts . than one, at the fatal termination
of the unpleasant business.

Chatterton, who to his friends had not hesitated to avow
his attachment to his cousin, but who had never proposed for
her, as his present views and fortune were not, in his estima-
tion, sufficient for her proper support, had pushed every in
terest he possessed, and left no steps unattempted an honor-
able man could resort to, to effect his object. The desire to
provide for his sisters had been backed by the ardor of a
passion that had reached its crisis ; and the young peer who
could not, in the present state of things, abandon the field to
a rival so formidable as Denbigh, even to further his views to
preferment, was waiting in anxious suspense the decision on
his application. A letter from his friend informed him, his
opponent was likely to succeed ; that, in short, all hopes of
success had left him. Chatterton was in despair. On the
following day, however, he received a second letter from the
same friend, unexpectedly announcing his appointment.
After mentioning the fact, he went on to say — " The cause of
this sudden revolution in your favor is unknown to me, and
unless j^our lordship has obtained interest I am ignorant of,
it is one of the most singular instances of ministerial caprice
I have ever known." Chatterton was as much at a loss as
his friend, to understand the affair ; but it mattered not ; he
could now oflfer to Emily — it was a patent office of great
value, and a few years would amply portion his sisters. That
very day, therefore, he proposed, and was refused.

Emily had a difficult task to avoid self-reproach, in regu
lating her deportment on this occasion. She was fond of
Chatterton as a relation — as her brother's fiiend — as the bro
ther of Grace, and even on his own account ; but it was the
fondness of a sister. His manner- —his words, which, although

PRBCAUTION. r43

never addressed to herself, were sometimes overheard uninten-
tionally, and sometimes reached her through lier sisters, had
left her in no doubt of his attachment ; she was excessively
grieved at the discovery, and had innocently appealed to her
aunt for directions how to proceed. Of his intentions she had
no doubt, but at the same time he had not put her in a situa-
tion to dispel his hopes ; as to encouragement, in the usual
meaning of the term, she gave none to him, nor to any one
else. There are no little attentions that lovers are fond of
showing to their mistresses, and which mistresses are fond of
receiving, that Emily ever permitted to any gentleman — no
rides — no walks — no tete-a-tetes. Always natural and un-
affected, there was a simple dignity about her that forbade
the request, almost the thought, in the gentlemen of her ac-
quaintance : she had no amusements, no pleasures of any kind
in which her sisters were not her companions ; and if any-
thing was on the carpet that required an, attendant, John
was ever ready. He was devoted to her ; the decided pre-
ference she gave him over every other man, upon such occa-
sions, flattered his affection; and he would, at any time,
leave even Grace Chatterton to attend his sister. All this
too was without aflfectation, and generally without notice.
Emily so looked the delicacy and reserve she acted with so
little ostentation that not even her own sex had affixed to
her conduct the epithet of squeamish ; it was difficult, there-
fore, for her to do anything which would show Lord Chat-
terton her disinchnation to his suit, without assuming a dis-
like she did not feel, or giving him slights that neither good
breeding nor good nature could justify. At one time, indeed,
she had expressed a wish to return to Clai-a ; but this Mrs.
Wilson thought would only protract the evil, and she was
compelled to wait his own time. The peer himself did not
lejoice more in his abihty to make the offer, therefore, than

14^ PRECAUTION.

Emily did to have it in her power to dedine it. Her rejec-
tion was firm and unquahSed, but uttered with a grace and a
tenderness to his feehngs, that bound her .lover tighter than
ever in her chains, and he resolved on immediate flight as his
only recourse.

" I hope nothing unpleasant has occurred to Lord Chat*
terton," said Denbigh, with great interest, as he reached the
spot where the young peer stood leaning his head against a
tree, on his way from the rectory to the hall.

Chatterton raised his face as he spoke : there were evident
traces of tears on it, and Denbigh, greatly shocked, was about
to proceed as the other caught his arm.

" Mr. Denbigh," said the young man, in a voice almost
choked with emotion, " may you never know the pain I have
felt this morning. Emily — Emily Moseley — is lost to me —
for ever."

For a moment the blood rushed to the face of Denbigh,
and his eyes flashed with a look that Chatterton could not
stand. ■ He turned, as the voice of Denbigh, in those
remarkable tones which distinguished it from every other
voice he had ever heard, uttered —

" Chatterton, my lord, we are friends, I hope — I wish it,
from my heart."

" Go, Mr. Denbigh — go. You were going to Miss Moseley
— do not let me detain you."

" I am going with you^ Lord Chatterton, unless you forbid
it," said Denbigh, with emphasis, slipping his arm through
that of the peer.

For two hours they walked together in the park ; and
when they appeared at dinner, Emily wondered why Mr.
Denbigh had taken a seat next to her mother, instead of his
usual place between herself and her aunt. In" the evening,
he announced his intention of leaving B for a short time

PKACAUTION. lilff

^vith Lord Chatterton. They were going to London together ;
but he hoped to return within ten days. This sudden
determination caused some surprise; but, as the dowager
supposed it was to secure the new situation, and the remainder
of their friends thought it might be business, it was soon
forgotten, though much regretted for the time. The gentle-
men left the hall that night to proceed to an inn, from which
they could obtain a chaise and horses ; and the following
morning, when the baronet's family assembled around their
aocial breakfast, they were many miles on the road to the
metropolis.

146 PTECAUTION.

CHAPTER XV.

Lady Chatterton, finding that little was to be expected
in her present situation, excepting what she looked forward
to from the varying admiration of John Moseley to her
youngest daughter, determined to accept an invitation of
some standing to a nobleman's seat about fifty miles from
the hall, and, in order to keep things in their proper places,
to leave Grace with her friends, who had expressed a wish
to that eflfect. Accordingly, the day succeeding the depar-
ture of her son, she proceeded on her expedition, accompanied
by her wiUing assistant in the matrimonial speculations.

Grace Chatterton was by nature retiring and delicate ; but
her feelings were acute, and on the subject of female pro-
priety sensitive to a degree, that the great want of it in a
relation she loved as much as her mother had possibly in
some measure increased. Her affections were too single in
their objects to have left her long in doubt as to their nature
with respect to the baronet's son ; and it was one of the most
painful orders she had ever received, that which compelled
her to accept her cousin's invitation. Her mother wag
peremptory, however, and Grace was obliged to comply.
Every delicate feeling she possessed revolted at the step :
the visit itself was unwished for on her part; but there did
exist a reason which had reconciled her to that — the wedding
of Clara. But now to remain, after all her family had gone,
in the house where resided the man who had as yet never

PRECAUTION, 117

solicited those affections she had been unable to withhold, it
was humiliating — it was degrading her in her own esteem,
and she could scarcely endure it.

It is said that women are fertile in inventions to further
their schemes of personal gratification, vanity, or even mischief.
It may be it is true ; but the writer of these pages is a man
— one who has seen much of the other sex, and he is happy
to have an opportunity of paying a tribute to female purity
and female truth. That there are hearts so disinterested as
to lose the considerations of self, in advancing the happiness
of those they love ; that there are minds so pure as to recoil
with disgust from the admission of deception, indelicacy, or
management, he knows ; for he has seen it' from long and
close examination. He regrets that the very artlessness of
those who are most pure in the one sex, subjects them to the
suspicions of the grosser materials which compose the other.
He believes that innocency, singleness of heart, ardency of
feeling, and unalloyed, shrinking delicacy, sometimes exist in
the female bosom, to an extent that but few men are happy
enough to discover, and that most men beheve incompatible
with the frailties of human nature. Grace Chatterton
possessed no httle of what may almost be called this ethereal
spirit, and a visit to Bolton parsonage was immediatel}; pro-
posed by her to Emily. The latter, too innocent herself to
suspect the motives of her cousin, was happy to be allowed
to devote a fortnight to Clara, uninterrupted by the noisy
round of visiting and congratulations which had attended her
first week ; and Mrs. Wilson and the two girls left the hall
the same day with the Dowager Lady Chatterton. Francis
and Clara were happy to receive them, and they were imme-
diately domesticated in their new abode. Doctor Ives and
his wife had postponed an annual visit to a relation of the
former on account of the marriage of their son, and they now

148 PRECAUTION.

availed themselves of this visit to perform their ovrn engage-
ment. B appeared in some measure deserted, and

Egerton had the field almost to himself. Summer had
arrived, and the country bloomed in all its luxuriance of
vegetation : everything was propitious to the indulgence of
the softer passions ; and Lady Moseley, ever a strict adherent
to forms and decorum, admitted the intercourse between
Jane and her admirer to be carried to as great lengths as
those forms would justify. Still the colonel was not explicit ;
and Jane, whose delicacy dreaded the exposure of feelings
that was involved in his declaration, gave or sought no
marked opportunities for the avowal of his passion. Yet
they were seldom separate, and both Sir Edward and his
wife looked forward to their future union as a thing not to be
doubted. Lady Moseley had given up her youngest child so
absolutely to the government of her aunt, that she seldom
thought of her future establishment She had that kind of
reposing confidence in Mrs. Wilson's proceedings that feeble
minds ever bes^^w on those who are much superior to them ;
and she even approved of a system in many respects which
she could not endeavor to imitate. Her affection for Emily
was not, however, less than what she felt for her other
children: she was, in fact, her favorite, and, had the
discipline of Mrs. Wilson admitted of so weak an interference,
might have been injured as such.

John Moseley had been able to find out exactly the hour
they breakfasted at the deanery, the length of time it took
Egerton's horses to go the distance between that house and
the hall ; and on the sixth morning after the departure of his
aunt, John's bays were in his phaeton, and allowing ten mi-
nutes for the mile and a half to the park gates, John had got
happily oft' his own territories, before he met the tilbury tra-
velling eastward. I am not to know which road the colonel

PRECAUTION. 140'

«

may turn, tliouglit John : and after a few friendly, but rather
hasty greetings, the bays were again in full trot to the par-
sonage.

** John,'' said Emily, holding out her hand affectionately,
and smiling a little archly, as he approached the window
where she stood, " you should take a lesson in driving from
Frank ; you have turned more than one hair, I believe."

" How is Clara ?" cried John, hastily, taking the offered
hand, with a kiss, " aye, and aunt Wilson f*

*' Both well, brother, and out walking this fine morning."

" How happens it you are not with them ?" inquired the
brother, throwing his eyes round the room. ** Have they left
you alone ?"

" No, Grace has this moment left me."

"Well, Emily," said John, 'taking his seat very compo-
sedly, but keeping his eyes on the door, " I have come to
dine with you. I thought I owed Clara a visit, and have
managed nicely to give the colonel the go-by."

" Clara will be happy to see you, dear John, and so will
aunt, and so am I" — as she drew aside his fine hair with her
fingers to cool his forehead.

" And why not Grace, too ?" asked John, with a look of a
httle alarm.

*' And Grace, too, I fancy — but here she is, to answer for
herself."

Grace said little on her entrance, but her eyes were
brighter than usual, and she looked so contented and happj;
hat Emily observed to her, in an affectionate manner —

" I knew the eau-de-Cologne would do your head good."

" Is Miss Chatterton unwell ?" asked John, with a look of
interest.

" A slight headach," said Grace, faintly, " but I feel mucb
better."

ib? PRECAUTION.

** Want of air and exercise : my horses ar<^ at the door ;
ihe phaeton will hold three easily; run, sister, for your hat,"
almost pushing Emily out of the room as be spoke. In a few
minutes the horses might have been suffering for air, but
surely not for exercise.

" I wish," cried John, with impatience, when at the dis-
tance of a couple of miles from the parsonage, " that gentle-
man had driven his gig out of the road."

There was a small group on one side of the road, consisting
4 if a man, a woman, and several children. The owner of the
pg had alighted, and was in the act of speaking to them, as
■.ii'i phaeton approached at a great rate.

** John," cried Emily, in terror, " You never can pass — you
m\\ upset us."

*' There is no danger, dear Grace," said the brother, endea-
voring to check his horses ; he succeeded in part, but not so
as to prevent his passing at a spot where the road was very
narrow ; a wheel hit violently against a stone, and some of
his works gave way. The gentleman immediately hastened
to his assistance — it was Denbigh.

" Miss Moseley !" cried he, in a voice of the tenderest in-
terest, " you are not hurt in the least, I hope."

"No," said Emily, recovering her breath, "only fright-
ened ;" and taking his hand, she sprang from the carriage.

Miss Chatterton found courage to wait quietly for the care
of John. His " dear Grace," had thrilled on every nervo,
and she afterwards often laughed at Emily lor her terror
when there was so little danger. The horses were not in the
least frightened, and after a little mending, John declared all
was safe. To ask Emily to enter the carriage again, was to
exact no little sacrifice of her feelings to her reason ; and she
Btood in a suspense that too plainly showed that the terror she
bad been in had not left her.

PRECAUTION. 151

" If," said Denbigh, modestly, " if Mr. Moseley will take
the ladies in my gig, I will drive the phaeton to the hall, as
it is rather unsafe for so heavy a load."

"No, no, Denbigh," said John, coolly, "you are not used
to such mettled nags as mine — it would be indiscreet for you
to drive them : if, however, you will be good enough to take
Emily into your gig — Grace Chatterton, I am sure, is n(t
afraid to trust my driving, and we might all get back as well
as ever."

Grace gave her hand almost unconsciously to John, and
he handed her into the phaeton, as Denbigh stood willing to
execute his part of the arrangement, but too diffident to speak.
It was not a moment for affectation, if Emily had been capa-
ble of it, and blushing with the novelty of her situation, she
took her place in the gig. Denbigh stopped and turned his
eyes on the little group with which he had been talking, and
at that moment they caught the attention of John also. The
latter inquired after their situation. The tale was a piteous
one, the distress evidently real. The husband had been
gardener to a gentleman in a neighboring county, and he had
been lately discharged, to make way, in ike difficulty of the
times, for a relation of the steward, who was in want of the
place. Suddenly thrown on the world, with a wife and four
children, with but the wages of a week for his and their sup-
port, they had travelled thus far on the way to a neighboring
parish, where he said he had a right to, and must seek, public
assistance. The children were crying for hunger, and the
mother, who was a nurse, had been unable to walk further
than where she sat, but had sunk on the ground overcome
with fatigue, and weak from the want of nourishment.
Neither Emily nor Grace could refrain from tears at the re-
cital of these heavy woes ; the want of sustenance was some-
thing St* shocking in itself, and brought, as it were, immedi"

152 PRECAUTION.

ately before their eyes, the appeal was irresistible. John
forgot his bays — forgot even Grace, as he listened to the
affecting story related by the woman, who was much revived
by some nutriment Denbigh had obtained from a cottage
near them, and to which they were about to proceed by his
directions, as Moseley interrupted them. His hand shook, his
«yes glistened as he took his purse from his pocket, and gave
several guineas from it to the mendicant. Grace thought
John had never appeared so handsome as the moment he
Handed the money to the gardener ; his face glowed with
unusual excitement, and his symmetry had lost the only
charm he wanted in common, softness. Denbigh, after wait-
mg patiently until Moselej had bestowed his alms, gravely
repeated his directions for their proceeding to the cottage,
when the carriages moved on.

Emily revolved in her mind, during their short ride, the
horrid distress she had witnessed. It had taken a strong
hold on her feelings. Like her brother, she was warm-
hearted and compassionate, if we may use the term, to
excess; and had she been prepared with the means, the
gardener would have reaped a double harvest of donations.
It struck her, at the moment, unpleasantly, that Denbigh
had been so backward in his liberality. The man had rather
sullenly displayed half a crown as his gift, in contrast with
the golden shower of John's generosity. It had been even
somewhat offensive in its exliibition, and urged her brother
to a more hasty departure than, under other circumstances,
he would just at the moment have felt disposed to make.
Denbigh, however, had taken no notice of the indignity, and
continued his directions in the- same mild and benevolent
manner he had used during the whole interview. Half a
crown was but little, thought Emily, for a family that was
R^arving; and, unwilUng to judge harshly of one she had

PRECAUTION. 153

begun to value so highly, she came to the painful conclusion,
her companion was not as rich as he deserved to be. Emily
had not yet to learn that charity was in proportion to the
means of the donor, and a gentle wish insensibly stole over
her that Denbigh might in some way become more richly
endowed with the good things of this world. Until this
moment her thoughts had never turned to his temporal con
dition. She knew he was an ofificer in the army, but of wha
rank, or even of what regiment, she was ignorant. He had
frequently touched in his convereations on the customs of the
diffeient countries he had seen. He had served in Italy, in
the north of Europe, in the West Indies, in Spain. Of the
manners of the people, of their characters, he not unfrequently
spoke, and with a degree of intelligence, a hberality, a just-
ness of discrimination, that had charmed his auditors ; but
on the point of personal service he had maintained a silence
that was inflexible, and not a little surprising — more particu-
larly of that part of his history which related to the latter
country ; from all which she was rather inclined to think his
military rank was not as high as she thought he merited, and
that possibly he felt an awkwardness of ^putting it in contrast
with the more elevated station of Colonel Egerton. The
same idea had struck the whole family, and prevented any
inquiries which might be painful. He was so connected with
the mournful event of his father's death, that no questions
could be put with propriety to the doctor's family ; and if
Francis had been more communicative to Clara, she was too
good a wife to mention it, and her own family was possessed
of too just a sense of propriety to touch upon points that
might bring her conjugal fidelity in question.

Though Denbigh appeared a little abstracted during the
ride, his questions concerning Sir Edward and her friends
were kind and affectionate. As they approached the house,

154 PRECAUTIONS^

he suffered his horse to walk, and, after some hesitation, he
took a letter from his pocket, and handing it to her, said —

"I hope Miss Moseley will not think me impertinent in
becoming the bearer of a letter from her cousin, Lord Chat-
terton. He requested it 'so earnestly, that I could not refuse
taking what I am sensible is a great liberty ; for it would be
deception did I affect to be ignorant of his admiration, or of
his generous treatment of a passion she cannot return.
Chatterton," and he smiled mournfully, " is yet too true to
cease his commendations."

Emily blushed painfully, but she took the letter in silence;
and as Denbigh pursued the topic no further, the little dis-
tance they had to go was ridden in silence. On entering the
gates, however, he said, inquiringly, and with much interest —

" I sincerely hope I have not given offence to your delicacy,
Miss Moseley. Lord Chatterton has made me an unwilling
confidant. I need not say the secret is sacred, on more
accounts than one."

" Surely not, Mr. Denbigh," replied Emily, in a low tone ;
and the gig stopping, she hastened to accept the assistance
of her brother to aligjit.

" Well, sister," cried John, lauo^hino^, " Denbio:h is a
disciple to Frank's sj^stem of horse-flesh. Hairs smooth
enouoh here, I see. Grace and I thouo-ht vou would never
get home." Now, John fibbed a little, for neither Grace nor
he had thought in the least about them, or anything else but
each otlifer, from the moment they sepai-ated until the gig
arrived.

Emily made no reply to this speech, and as the gentlemen
were engaged in giving directions concerning their horses, she
seized an opportunity to read Chatterton 's letter.

" I avail myself of the return of my friend ^h: Denbigh to

PRECAUTION. loo

that happy family from which reason requires my self-banish-
ment to assure my amiable cousin of my continued respect
for her character, and to convince her of my gratitude for the'
tenderness she has manifested to feelings she cannot return.
I may even venture to tell her what few women would be
pleased to hear, but what I know Emily Moseley too well to
cloubt, for a moment, will give her unalloyed pleasure — that
owing to the kind, the benevolent, the brotherly attentions of
my true friend, Mr. Denbigh, I have already gained a peace
of mind and resignation I once thought was lost to me for
ever. Ah ! Emily, my beloved cousin, in Denbigh you will
find, I doubt not, a mind, principles, congenial to your own.
It is impossible that he could see you without wishing to
possess such a treasure ; and, if I have a wish that is now
uppermost in my heart, it is, that you may learn to esteem
each other as you ought, when, I doubt not, you will become
as happy as you both deserve to be. What greater earthly
blessing can I implore upon you !

" Chatterton."

Emily, while reading this epistle, felt a confusion but little
inferior to that which would have oppressed her had Denbigh
himself been at her feet, soliciting that love Chatterton
thought him so worthy of possessing ; and when they met,
she could hardly look in the face a man who, it would seem,
had been so openly selected by another, as the fittest to be
her partner for hfe. The unaltered manner of Denbigh him-
self, however, soon convinced her that he was entirely igno
rant of the contents of the note, and it greatly relieved her
from the awkwardness his presence at first occasioned.

Francis soon returned, accompanied by his wife and aunt,
and was overjoyed to find the guest who had so unexpect-
edly arrived. His parents had not yet i-eturned from their

156 PRECAUTION.

visit, and Denbigh, of course, would remain at his present
quarters. John promised to continue with them for a couple
of days : and everything was soon settled to the perfect sa-
tisfaction of the whole party. Mrs. Wilson knew the great
danger of suffering young people to be inmates of the same
house too well, wantonly to incur the penalties, but her visit
had nearly expired, and it might give her a better opportu-
nity of judging Denbigh's character ; and Grace Chatterton,
though too delicate to follow herself, was well contented to be
fnllowed, especially when John Moseley was the pursuer.

PRECAUTION. 167

CHAPTER XVI.

** I AM sorry, aunt, Mr. Denbigh is not rich," said Emily to
Mrs. Wilson, after they had retired in the evening, alnaost un-
conscious of what she uttered. The latter looked at her
niece in surprise, at a remark so abrupt, and one so very dif-
ferent from the ordinary train of Emily's reflections, as she
required an explanation, Emily, slightly coloring at the
channel her thoughts had insensibly strayed into, gave her
aunt an account of their adventure in the course of the morn-
ing's drive, and touched lightly on the difference in the
amount of the alms of her brother and those of Mr. Denbigh.

" The bestowal of money is not always an act of charity,"
observed Mrs. Wilson, gravely, and the subject was dropped :
thongh neither ceased to dwell on it in her thoughts, until
sleep closed the eyes of both.

The following day Mrs. Wilson invited Grace and Emily
to accompany her in a walk ; the gentlemen having preceded
them in pursuit of their different avocations. Francis had his
regular visits of spiritual consolation ; John had gone to the
hall for his pointers and fowling-piece, the season for wood-
cock having arrived ; and Denbigh had proceeded no one
knew whither. On gaining the high-road, Mrs. Wilson de-
sired her companions to lead the way to the cottage where
the family of the mendicant gardener had been lodged, and
thither they soon arrived. On knocking at the door, they
were immediately admitted to an outer room, in which they
found the wife of the laborer who inhabited the building, en-
gaged ii' her (.-ustomary morning employments. They ex-

158 PRKCAUTION.

plained the motives of the visit, and were told that the family
they sought were in an adjoining room, but she rather thought
at that moment engaged with a clergyman who had called a
quarter of an hour before. " I expect, my lady, it's the new
rector, who everybody says is so good to the poor and needy;
but I have not found time yet to go to church to hear his
reverence preach, ma'am," courtseying and handing the fresh
•lusted chairs to her unexpected visitors. The ladies seated
themselves, too delicate to interrupt Francis in his sacred du-
ties, and were silently waiting his appearance, when a voice
was distinctly heard through the thin partition, the first note
of which undeceived them as to the character of the garden-
er's visitor.

" It appears then, Davis, by your own confession," said
Denbigh, mildly, but in a tone of reproof, *' that your frequent
acts of intemperance have at least given ground for the
steward's procuring your discharge if it has not justified him
in doing that which his duty to your common employer re-
quired."

" It is hard, sir," replied the man sullenly, " to be thrown
on the world with a family like mine, to make way for a
younger man with but one child."

" It may be unfortunate for your wife and children," said
Denbigh, " but just, as respects yourself. I have already
convinced you, that my interference or reproof is not an
empty one : carry the letter to the person to whom it is
directed, and I pledge you, you shall have a new trial ; and
should you conduct yom-self soberly, and with propriety, con
tinned and ample support ; the second letter will gain you.
children immediate admission to the school I mentioned ; and
I now leave you, with an earnest injunction to remember that
«abits of intemperance not only disquaUfy you to support
(Jio^e who have such great claim? on your protection, but in-

J'RKCALTtON. 1 o[)

evitably lead to a loss of those powers which are necessary tu
insure your own eternal welfare."

" May Heaven bless your honor," cried the woman, with
fervor, and evidently in tears, " both for what you have said,
and what you have done. Thomas only wants to be taken
from temptation, to become a sober man again — an honest
one he has ever been, I am sure."

" I have selected a place for him," replied Denbigli,
" where there is no exposure through improper companions,
and everything now depends upon himself, under Provi-
dence."

Mrs. Wilson had risen from her cliair on the first intimation
given by Denbigh of his intention to go, but had paused at
the door to listen to this last speech ; when beckoning her
companions, she hastily withdrew, having first made a small
present to the woman of the cottage, and requested her not
to mention their having called.

"What becomes now of the comparative charity of your
brother and Mr. Denbigh, Emily ?'' asked Mrs. Wilson, as
they gained the road on their return homewards. Emily was
not accustomed to hear any act of John slightly spoken of
without at least manifesting some emotion, which betrayed
her sisterly regard ; but on the present occasion she chose to
be silent ; while Grace, after waiting in expectation that hei
cou^n would speak, ventured to say timidly —

" 1 am sure, dear madam, Mr. Moseley was very liberal
and the tears were in his eyes while he gave the money. T
was looking directly at them the whole time."

^" John is compassionate by nature," continued Mrs. Wilson
with an almost imperceptible smile. "I have no doubt Ins
sympathies were warmly enlisted in behalf of this family
and possessing much, he gave liberally. I have no doubt he
would have underu^t^ne peisonal privation to have relieved

IGO PRECAUTION.

their distress, and endured both pain and labor, with such an
excitement before him. But what is all that to the charity
of Mr. Denbigh V

Grace was unused to contend, and, least of all, with Mrs.
Wilson; but, unwilling to abandon John to such censure,
with increased animation, she said —

"If bestowing freely, and feeling for the distress you
relieve, be not commendable, madam, I am sure I am
ignorant what is."

" That compassion for the woes of others is beautiful in
Itself, and the want of it an invariable evidence of corruption
from too much, and an ill-governed, intercourse with the
world, I am willing to acknowledge, my dear Grace," said
Mrs. Wilson, kindly ; " but the relief of misery, where the
heart has not undergone this hardening ordeal, is only a
relief to our own feelings : this is compassion ; but Cliristian
charity is a higher order of duty : it enters into every sensa-
tion of the heart; disposes us to judge, as well as to act,
favorably to our fellow- creatures ; is deeply seated in the
sense of our own unworthiness ; keeps a single eye, in ity
dispensations of temporal benefits, to the everlasting happi-
ness of the objects of its bounty ; is consistent, well regulated ;
in short," — and Mrs. Wilson's pale cheek glowed with an
unusual richness of color — " it is an humble attempt to copy
after the heavenly example of our Redeemer, in sacrificing
ourselves to the welfare of others, and does and must proceed
from a love of his person, and an obedience to his mar-
dates."

"And Mr. Denbigh, aunt," exclaimed Emily, the blood
mantling to her cheeks with a sympathetic glow, while she
lost all consideration for John in the strenoth of her feelino-s,
*"• his charity you think to be of this description ?"

"So far, my child, as we can understand motives from the

PRECAUTION. 161

nature of the conduct, such appears to have been the charity
of Mr. Denbigh."

Grace was silenced, if not convinced ; and the ladies con-
tinued their walk, lost in their own reflections, until they
reached a bend in the road which hid the cottage from view.
Emily involuntarily turned her head as they arrived at tha
fcpot, and saw that Denbigh had approached within a few
paces of them/ On joining them, he commenced his com-
plimentary address in such a way as convinced them the
cottager had been true to the injunction given by Mrs. Wilson.
No mention was made of the gardener, and Denbigh began
a hvely description of some foreign scenery, of which their
present situation reminded him. The discourse was main-
tained with great interest by himself and Mrs. Wilson for the
remainder of their walk.

It was yet early when they reached the parsonage, where
they found John, who had driven to the hall to breakfast,
and who, instead of pursuing his favorite amusement of
shooting, laid down his gun as they entered, observing, " It
is rather soon yet for the v/oodcocks, and I believe I will
listen to your entertaining conversation, ladies, for the re-
mainder of the morning." He threw himself upon a sofa at
no great distance from Grace, and in such a position as
enabled him, without rudeness, to study the features of her
lovely face, while Denbigh read aloud to the ladies Camp-
bell's beautiful description of wedded love, in Gertrude of
Wyoming.

There was a chastened correctness in the ordinary mannei
of Denbigh which wore the appearance of the influence of
his reason, and a subjection of the passions, that, if anything,
gave him less interest with Emily than had it been marked
by an evidence of stronger feeling. But on the present occa-
sion, this objection was removed : his reading was impressive ;

1G2 PRECAUTION".

he dwelt On those passages which most pleased him with a
warmth of eulogiiira fully equal to her own undisguised sen-
Batioi)S. In the hour occupied in the reading this exquisite
little poem, and in commenting on its merits and sentiments,
Denbigh gained more on her imagination than in all their
form<ir intercourse. His ideas were as pure, as chastened^
and almost as vivid as those of the poet ; and Emily hstened
to hJs periods with intense attention, as they flowed from him
in hxiguage as glowing as his ideas. The poem had been
first read to her by her brother, and she was surprised to
discover how she had overlooked its beauties on that occa-
sion. Even John acknowledged that it certainly appeared a
different thing now from what he had then thought it ; but
Emily had taxed his declamatory power in the height of the
pheasant season, and, somehow or other, John now imagined
that Gertrude was just such a delicate, feminine, warm-
hearted domestic girl as Grace Chatterton. As Denbigh
closed the book, and entered into a general conversation with
Clara and her sister, John followed Grace to a window, and
speaking in a tone of unusual softness for him, he said —

" Do you know, Miss Chatterton, I have accepted your
brother's invitation to go into Suffolk this summer, and that
you are to be plagued with me and my pointers again ?"

" Plagued, Mr. Moseley !" said Grace, in a voice even softer
than his own. " I am sure — I am sure, we none of us think
you or your dogs in the least a plague."

" Ah ! Grace," and John was about to become what 1 e
liad never been before — sentimental — when he saw the
carriage of Chatterton, containing the dowager and Catherine
entering the parsonage gates.

Pshaw ! tJiought John, there comes Mother Chatterton
*' Ah ! Grace," said John, " there are your mother and sister
l-eturned already."

PRECAUTtC'S". 163

" Already !" said the young lady, and, fr»i the flrs' time in
ber life, she felt rather unlike a dutiful chiM. Fi^e minutes
could have made no great difference to her mother, and she
would greatly have liked to lieai- what John Moseley mean<
to have said ; for the alteration in his manner convinced her
that his first "ah ! Grace" was to have been continued in t
somewhat different language from that in which the seconc'
** ah ! Grace" was ended.

Young Moseley and her daughter, standing together at the
open window, caught the attention of Lady Chatterton the
moment she got a view of the house, and she entered with 2
good humor she had not felt since the disappointment in her
late expedition in behalf of Catherine ; for the gentleman she
had had in view in this excursion had been taken up by
another rover, acting on her own account, Piid backed by a
little more wit and a good deal more money than what Kate
could be fairly thought to possess. Nothing fur'lher in that
quarter offering in the way of her occupation, she turned her
horses' heads towards London, that great theatre on which
there never was a loss for actors. The salutations had hardly
passed before, turning to John, she exclaimed, Avith what she
intended for a most motherly smile, " What ! not shooting
this fine day, Mr. Moseley ? I thought you never missed ?
day m the season."

" It is rather early yet, my lady," said John, coolly, a littU
alarmed by the expression of her countenance.

*' Oh !" continued the dowager, in the same strain, *' I se*
how it is ; the ladies have too many attractions for so gallanf
a young man as yourself." Now, as Grace, her own daugli-
ter, was the only lady of the party who could reasonably b«
supposed to have much influence over John's movements — i
young gentleman seldom caring as much for his own as fo
other people's sisters, this may bo fairly set down as a prettj

164 PRECAUTION.

broad hint of the opinion the dowager entertained of the real
state of things; and John saw it, and Grace saw it. The
former coolly replied, " Why, upon the whole, if you will ex-
cuse the neglect, I will try a shot this fine day." In five
minutes, Carlo and Rover were both delighted. Grace kept
her place at the window, from a feehng she could not define,
and of which perhaps she was unconscious, until the gate
closed, and the shi-ubbery hid the sportsman from her sight,
and then she withdrew to her room to weep.

Had Grace Chatterton been a particle less delicate — less
retiring — blessed with a managing mother, as she was, John
Moseley would not have thought another moment about her.
But, on every occasion when the dowager made any of her
open attacks, Grace discovered so much distress, so much
unwilhngness to second them, that a suspicion of a confede-
racy never entered his brain. It is not to be supposed that
Lady Chatterton 's manoeuvres were limited to the direct and
palpable schemes we have mentioned ; no — these were the
effervescence, the exuberance of her zeal ; but as is generally
the case, they sufficiently proved the ground-work of all her
other machinations ; none of the little artifices of such as pla-
cing— of leaving alone — of showing similarity of tastes — of
compliments to the gentlemen, were neglected. — This latter
business she had contrived to get Catherine to take off her
hands ; but Grace could never pay a compliment in her life,
imless changing of color, trembling, undulations of the bosom,
and such natural movements can be so called ; but she loved
dearly to receive them from John Moseley.

" Well, my child," said the mother, as she seated herself
by the side of her daughter, who hastily endeavored to con-
ceal her tears, " when are we to have another wedding ? I
trust everything is settled between you and Mr. Moseley, by
this time."

PRECAUTION. 165

" Mother ! Mother !" said Grace, nearly gasping for breath,
" Mother, you will break my heart, indeed you will." Sh^
hid her face in the clothes of the bed by which she sat, and
wept with a feeling of despair.

" Tut, my dear," replied the dowager, not noticing her an
guish, or mistaking it for agirhsh shame, " you young people
are fools in these matters, but Sir Edward and myself will
arrange everything as it should be."

The daughter now not only looked up, but sprang from her
seat, her hands clasped together, her eyes fixed in horror, her
cheek pale as death ; but the mother had retired, and Grace
sank back into her chair with a sensation of disgrace, of
despair, which could not have been surpassed, had she really
merited the obloquy and shame which she thought weio
about to be heaped upon her*

166 PRECAUTIOir.

CHAPTER XVII.

The succeeding morning, the whole party, with the ex-
ception of Denbigh, returned to the hall. Nothing had
occurred out of the ordinary course of the colonel's assidui-
ties: and Jane, whose sense of propriety forbad the indul-
gence of premeditated tete-a-tetes, and such little accompani-
ments of every-day attachments, was rejoiced to see a sister
she loved, and an aunt she respected, once more in the bosom
of her family.

The dowager impatiently waited an opportunity to effect,
what she intended for a master-stroke of policy in the dis-
posal of Grace. Like all other managers, she thought no one
equal to herself in devising ways and means, and was unwil-
ling to leave anything to nature. Grace had invariably
thwarted all her schemes by her obstinacy ; and as she
thought young Moseley really attached to her, she determined
by a bold stroke to remove the impediments of false shame,
and the dread of repulse, which she believed alone kej^t the
youth from an avowal of his wishes, and get rid at once of a
plague that had annoyed her not a Httle — her daughter's
dehcacy.

Sir Edward spent an hour every morning in his library,
overlooking his accounts, and in other necessary employments
of a similar nature, and it was here she determined to have
the conference.

"My Lady Chatterton, you do me honor," said the baronet,
handing her a chair on her entrance.

" Upon my word, cousin," cried the dowager, " you have

PRECAUTION. 167

a very convenient apartment here," looking around her in
aflfected admiration of all she saw.

The baronet replied, and a short discourse on the arrange*
ments of the whole house insensibly led to some remarks on
the taste of his mother, the Honorable Lady Moseley (a
Chatterton), until, having warmed the feelings of the old
gentleman by some well-timed compliments of that nature,
the ventured on the principal object of her visit.

" I am happy to find, Sir Edward, you are so well pleased
with the family as to wish to make another selection from it.
I sincerely hope it may prove as judicious as the former
one."

Sir Edward was a little at a loss to understand her mean-
ing, although he thought it might allude to his son, who he
had some time suspected had views on Grace Chatterton;
and willing to know the truth, and rather pleased to find
John had selected a young woman he loved in his heart, he
observed —

" I am not sure I rightly understand your ladyship, though
I hope I do."

" No !" cried the dowager, in well-counterfeited affectation
of surprise. " Perhaps, after all, maternal anxiety has
Ideceived me, then. Mr. Moseley could hardly have ventured
to proceed without your approbation."

" I have ever declined influencing any of my children. Lady
Chatterton," said the baronet, " and John is not ignorant of
riy sentiments. I sincerely hope, however, you allude to an
attachment to Grace ?"

" I did certainly, Sir Edward," said the lady, hesitatingly
' I may be deceived ; but you must undei-stand the feelings
of a mother, and a young woman ought not to be trifled
with."

" My son is incapable of trifling, I hope," cried Sir Edward,

1C8 PRECAUTION.

with animation, " and, least of all, with Grace Chatterton
No ; you are quite right. If he has made his choice, ho
should not be ashamed to avow it."

" I would not wish, on any account, to hurry matters,**
said the dowager ; " but the report which is abroad wil
prevent other young men from putting in their claims, Sir
Edward" (sighing). " I have a mother's feelings : if I hav
been hasty, your goodness will overlook it." And Lady
Chatterton placed her handkerchief to her eyes, to conceal
the tears that did not flow.

Sir Edward thought all this very natural, and as it
should be, and he sought an early conference with his
son.

" John," said the father, taking his hand kindly, " you have
no reason to doubt my affection or my compliance to your
wishes. Fortune is a thing out of the question with a young
man of your expectations." And Sir Edward, in his eager-
ness to smoothe the way, went on : " You can live here, or
occupy my small seat in Wiltshire. I can allow you five
thousand a year, with much ease to myself. Indeed, your
mother and myself would both straighten ourselves, to add
to your comforts ; but it is unnecessary — we have enough,
and you have enough."

Sir Edward, in a few moments, would have settled every-
thing to the dowager's perfect satisfaction, had not John
interrupted him by the exclamation of —

"To what do you allude, father?"

"Allude?" said Sir Edward, simply. *'Why, Grace
Chatterton, my son."

" Grace Chatterton ! Su* Edward. What have I to do
with Grace Chatterton ?"

" Her mother has made me acquainted with your proposals,
and"

PRECAUTION. 1G9

" Proposals !"

"Attentions, I ought to have said ; and you have no
reason to apprehend anything from me, my child."

"Attentions !" said John, haughtily. " I hope Lady
Chatterton does not accuse me of improper attentions to her
daughter ?"

" No, not improper, my son," said his father : " on the con
trary, she is much pleased with them."

" She is, is she ? But I am displeased that she should
undertake to put constructions on my acts that no attention
or words of mine will justify."

It was now Sir Edward's turn to be surprised. He had
thought he was doing his son a kindness, when he had only
been forwarding the dowager's schemes; but averse from
contention, and wondering at his cousin's mistake, which he
at once attributed to her anxiety in behalf of a favorite
daughter, he told John he was sorry there had been any
misapprehension, and left him.

" No, no," said Moseley, internally, as he paced up and
down his father's library, "my lady dowager, you are not
going to force a wife down my throat. If you do, I am
mistaken ; and Grace, if Grace" — John softened and began
to feel unhappy a little, but anger prevailed.

From the moment Grace Chatterton conceived a dread of
her mother's saying anything to Sir Edward, her whole con-
duct was altered. She could hardly look any of the family
in the face, arid it was her most ardent wish that they might
depart. John she avoided as she would an adder, although
it nearly broke her heart to do so.

Mr. Benfield had stayed longer than usual, and he now
wished to return. John Moseley eagerly profited by this
opportunity, and the very day after the conversation in the
librarv he went to Benfield Lodge as a dutiful nephew, to

8

} 70 PRKCAUTIOK.

see his venerable uncle safely restored once more to the abode
of his ancestors.

Lady Chatterton now perceived, when too late, that she
had overshot her mark, while, at the same time, she wondered
at the reason of a result so strange from such well-digested
and well-conducted plans. She determined, however, never
again to interfere between her daughter and the baronet ^
heir ; concluding, with a nearer approach to the truth than
always accompanied her deductions, that they resembled
ordinary lovere in neither their temperaments nor opinions.

Perceiving no further use in remaining any longer at the
hall, she took her leave, and, accompanied by both hei
daughters, proceeded to the capital, where she expected to
meet her son.

Dr. Ives and his wife returned to the rectory on the same
day, and Denbigh immediately resumed his abode under
their roof. The intercourse between the rector's family and
Sir Edward's was renewed with all its former friendly
confidence.

Colonel Egerton began to speak of his departure also, but

hinted at intentions of visiting L at the period of the

baronet's visit to his uncle, before he proceeded to town in
the winter.

L was a small village on the coast, within a mile of

Benfield Lodge; and from its natural convenience, it had
long been resorted to by the neighboring gentry for the
benefit of sea bathing. The baronet had promised Mr.
Benfield his visit should be made at an earher day ihau
usual, in order to gratify Jane with a visit to Bath, before
they went to London, at which town they were promised by
Mrs. Jarvis the pleasure of her society, and that of her son
And daughters.

Precaution is a word of simple meaning in itself, but va

PRECAUTION. 171

rious are the ways adopted by different individuals in this life
to enforce its import ; and not a few are the evils which it is
thought necessary to guard against. To provide in season .
against the dangers of want, personal injury, loss of charac-
ter, and a great many other such acknowledged misfortunes,
has become a kind of instinctive process of our natures. The
few exceptions which exist only go to prove the rule : in ad-
dition to these, almost every man has some ruling propensity
to gratify, to advance which his ingenuity is ever on the
alert, or some apprehended evil to avert, which calls all his
prudence into activity. Yet how seldom is it exerted, in
order to give a rational ground to expect permanent happi-
ness in wedlock.

Marriage is called a lottery, and it is thought, like all other
lotteries, there are more blanks than prizes ; yet is it not made
more precarious than it ought to be, by our neglect of that
degree of precaution which we would be ridiculed for omit-
ting in conducting our every-day concerns ? Is not the stand
ard of matrimonial felicity placed too low ? Ought we not to
look more to the possession of principles than to the posses-
sion of wealth 1 Or is it at all justifiable in a Christian to
commit a child, a daughter, to the keeping of a man who
wants the very essential they acknowledge most necessary to
constitute a perfect character ? Most men revolt at infidelity
in a woman, and most men, however Hcentious themselves,
look for, at least, the exterior of religion in their wives. The
education of their children is a serious responsibility; and
although seldom conducted on such rules as will stand the
test of reason, it is not to be entirely shaken otf : they choose
their early impressions should be correct, their infant conduct
at least blameless. And are not one half mankind of the
male sex ? Are precepts in religion, in morals, only for fe-
males ? Are we to reverse the theory of the Mahomraedans,

172 PRECAUTION.

•and thougli we do not believe it, act as if men had no souls •
Is not the example of the father as important to the son as
that of the mother to the daughter ? In short, is there any
security against the commission of enormities, but an humble
and devout dependence on the assistance of that Almighty
Power, which alone is able to hold us up against temp-
tation ?

Uniformity of taste is no doubt necessary to what we call
love, but is not taste acquired ? Would our daughters ad-
mire a handsome deist, if properly impressed with a horror
of his doctrines, sooner than they now would admire a hand-
some Mahommedan ? We would refuse our children to a
pious dissenter, to give them to impious membei*s of the es-
tablishment : we make the substance less than the shadow.

Our principal characters are possessed of these diversified
views of the evils to be averted. Mrs. Wilson considers Chris-
tianity an indispensable requisite in the husband to be per-
mitted to her charge, and watches against the possibility of
any other than a Christian's gaining the affections of Emily.
Lady Chatterton considers the want of an establishment as
the unpardonable sin, and directs her energies to prevent this
evil ; while John Moseley looks upon a free will as the birth-
right of an Englishman, and is, at the present moment, anx-
iously alive to prevent the dowager's making him the hus-
band of Grace, the thmg of all others he most strenuously
desires.

PRBCAUTIOK. lis

CHAPTER XVnL

John Moselet returned from L witMn a week, and

appeared as if his whole delight consisted in knocking over
the inoffensive birds. His restlessness induced him to make
Jarvis his companion ; for although he abhorred the captain's
style of pursuing the sport, being in his opinion both out of
rule and without taste, yet he was a constitutional fidget, and
suited his own moving propensities at the moment. Egerton
and Denbigh were both frequently at the hall, but generally
gave their time to the ladies, neither being much inclined to
the favorite amusement of John.

There was a little arbor within the walls of the park, which
for years had been a retreat from the summer heats to the
ladies of the Moseley family ; even so long as the youth of
Mrs, Wilson it had been in vogue, and she loved it with a
kind of melancholy pleasure, as the spot where she had first
hstened to the language of love from -the lips of her late
husband. Into this arbor the ladies had one day retired,
during the warmth of a noon-day sun, with the exception of
Lady Moseley, who had her own engagement in the house
Between Egerton and Denbigh there was maiatained a kind
of courtly intercourse, which prevented any disagreeable col-
lision from their evident dislike. Mrs. Wilson thought, on
the part of Denbigh, it was the forbearance of a principled
indulgence to another's weakness ; while the colonel's other-
wise uniform good breeding was hardly able to conceal a
sometliing amounting to very near repugnance. Egertou
had taken his seat on the ground, near the feet of Jane ; and

174 PKKCAUTIOX.

Deubigh was stationed on a bench placed without the arbor
but so near as to have the full benefit of the shade of the
noble oak, branches of which had been trained so as Ko com-
pose its principal covering. It might have been accident,
that gave each his particular situation; but it is certain they
were so placed as not to be in sight of each other, and so
placed that the colonel was ready to hand Jane her scissors,
or any other little implement that she occasionally dropped,
and that Denbigh could read every hneament of the animated
countenance of Emily as she listened to his description of the
curiosities of Egypt, a country in which he had spent a few
months while attached to the army in Sicily. In this situa-
tion we will leave them for an hour, happy in the society of
each other, while we trace the route of John Moseley and
his companion, in their pursuit of woodcock, on the same day.

" Do you know, Moseley," said Jarvis, who began to think
he was a favorite with John, now that he was admitted to
his menus plaisirs^ " that I have taken it into my head this
Mr. Denbigh was very happy to plead his morals for not
meeting me. He is a soldier, but I cannot find out what
battles he has been in."

"Captain Ja>-yis," said John, coolly, "the less you say
about that business the better. Call in Rover."

Now, another of Jarvis's recommendations was a set of
lungs that might have been heard half a mile with great ease
m a still mornmg.

" Why," said Jarvis, rather humbly, " I am sensible, Mi;
Moseley, I was very wrong as regards your sister ; but don't
you think it a little odd in a soldier not to fight when pro-
perly called upon ?"

" I suppose Mr. Denbigh did not think himself properly
called upon, or perhaps he had heard what a great shot you
were."

PRECAUTION. 1 75

S"ix months before his appearance in B , Captain Jarvis

•ad been a clerk in the counting-room of Jarvis, Baxter &
Oo., and had never held fire-arras of any kind in his hand,
with the exception of an old blunderbuss, which had been a
kind of sentinel over the iron chest for years. On mounting
the cockade, he had taken up shooting as a martial exercise,
inasmuch as the burning of gunpowder was an attendant of
the recreatioH. He had never killed but one bird in his life,
and that was an owl, of which he took the advantage of day-
light and his stocking feet to knock off a tree in the deanery
grounds, very early after his arrival. In his trials with John,
he sometimes pulled trigger at the same moment with his
companion ; and as the bird generally fell, he thouglit he had
an equal claim to the honor. He was fond of warring with
crows and birds of the larger sort, and invariably went pro-
vided with small balls fitted to the bore of his fowling-piece
for such accidental rencontres. He had another habit, which
was not a little annoying to John, who had several times
tried in vain to break him of it — that of shooting at marks.
If birds were not plenty, he would throw up a chip, and
sometimes his hat, by way of shooting on the wing.

As the day was excessively hot, and the "game kept close,
John felt willing to return from such unprofitable labor.
The captain now commenced his chip firing, which in a few
minutes was succeeded by his hat.

"See, Moseley, see; I have hit the band," cried the
aptain, delighted to find he had at last wounded his old
antagonist. " I don't think you can beat that yourself."

" I am not sure I can," said John, slipping a handful of
gravel in the muzzle of his piece slily, " but I can do as you
did— try."

" Do," cried the captain, pleased to get his companion
down to his own level of amusements. " Are you ready ?"

176 PRECAUTION.

" Yes ; throw."

Jarvis threw, and John fired : the hat fairly bounced.

" Have I hit it ?" asked John, while reloading the barrel
he had discharged.

. " Hit it !" said the captain, looking ruefully at his hat. " It
looks like a cullender ; but, Moseley, your gun don't scatte
well : a dozen shot have gone through in the same place."

" It does look rather like a cullender," said John, as he
overlooked his companion's beaver, " and, by the size of some
of the holes, one that has been a good deal used."

The reports of the fowling-pieces announced to the party
in the arbor the return of the sportsmen, it being an invariable
practice with John Moseley to discharge his gun before he
came in ; and Jarvis had imitated him, from a wish to be
what he called in rule.

*' Mr. Denbigh," said John, as he put down his gun,
'* Captain Jarvis has got the better of his hat at last."

Denbigh smiled without speaking ; and the captain, un-
wiUing to have anything to say to a gentleman to whom he
had been obliged to apologize, went into the arbor to show
the mangled condition of his head-piece to the colonel, on
whose sympathies he felt a kind of claim, being, of the same
corps. John complained of thirst, and went to a little run of
water but a short distance from them, in order to satisfy it.
The interruption of Jarvis was particularly unseasonable.
Jane was relating, in a manner pecuhar to herself, in which
was mingled that undefinable exchange of looks lovers are so
fond of, some incident of her early life to the colonel that
greatly interested him. Knowing the captain's foibles, he
pomted, therefore, with his finger, as he said —

" There is one of your old enemies, a hawk."

Jarvis threw down his hat, and ran with boyish eagerness
to drive away the intruder. In his haste, he caugiit up the

PRECAUTION. 177

gun of John Moseley, and loading it rapidly, threw in a ball
from his usual stock ; but whether the hawk saw and knew
him, or whether it saw something else it liked better, it made
a dart for the baronet's poultry-yard at no great distance,
and was out of sight in a minute. Seeing that his foe had
vanished, the captain laid the piece where he had found
it, and, recovering his old train of ideas, picked up his hat
again.

" John," said Emily, as she approached him affectionately,
" you were too warm to drink."

" Stand off, sis," cried John, playfully, taking up the gun
from against the body of the tree, and dropping it towards
her.

Jarvis had endeavored to make an appeal to the com«
miseration of Emily in favor of the neglected beaver, and was
within a few feet of them. At this moment, recoilinof from
the muzzle of the gun, he exclaimed, "It is loaded !"
"Hold," cried Denbigh, in a voice of horror, as he sprang
between John and his sister. Both were too late ; the piece
was discharged. Denbigh, turning to Emily, and smiling
mournfully, gazed for a moment at her with an expression of
tenderness, of pleasure, of sorrow, so blended that she retained
the recollection of it for life, and fell at her feet.

The gun dropped from the nerveless grasp of young
Moseley. Emily sank in insensibility by the side of her pre-
server. Mrs. Wilson and Jane stood speechless and aghast.
The colonel alone retained the presence of mind necessary to
devise the steps to be immediately taken. He sprang to the
examination of Denbigh ; the eyes of the wounded man were
open., and his recollection perfect : the first weie fixed in in-
tense observation on the inanimate body which lay at hia
side.

*' Leave me, Colonel Egerton," he said, speaking with dif-
8*

178 PRECAUTION.

ficulty, and pointing in- the direction of the little run of watei,
*' assist Miss Moseley — your hat — your hat will answer."

Accustomed to scenes of blood, and not ignorant that time
and care were the remedies to be applied to the wounded
man, Egerton flew to the stream, and returning immediately,
by the help of her sister and Mrs. Wilson, soon restored
Emily to life. The ladies and John had now begun to act.
The tenderest assiduities of Jane were devoted to her sister;
while Mrs. Wilson observing her niece to be uninjured by
anything but the shock, assisted John in supporting the
wounded man.

Denbigh spoke, requesting to be carried to the house ; and
Jarvis was despatched for help. Within half an hour, Den-
bigh was placed on a couch in the house of Sir Edward, and
was quietly waiting for that professional aid which could only
decide on his probable fate. The group assembled in the'
room were in fearful expectation of the arrival of the sur-
geons, in pursuit of whom messengers had been sent both to

the barracks in F and to the town itself. Sir Edward

sat by the side of the sufferer, holding one of his hands
in his own, now turning his tearful eyes on that daugh-
ter who had so lately been rescued as it were from the cer-
tainty of death, in mute gratitude and thanksgiving ; and now
dwelling on the countenance of him, who, by bravely inter-
posing his bosom to the blow, had incurred in his own person
the imminent danger of a similar fate, with a painful sense of
his perilous situation, and devout and earnest prayers for his
safety. Emily was with her father, as with the i-est of his
family, a decided favorite ; and no reward would have been
Rufficient, no gratitude lively enough, in the estimation of
the baronet, to compensate the protector of such a child.
She sat between her mother and Jane, with a hand held
by each, pale and oppressed with a load of gratitude, of

PRECAUTIOIS". 179

thanksgiving, of woe, that almost bowed her to the earth.
Lady Moseley and Jane were both sensibly touched with the
deliverance of Emily, and manifested the interest they took
in her by the tenderest caresses, while Mrs. Wilson sat calmly
collected within herself, occasionally giving those few direc-
tions which were necessary under the ciicumstances, and ofter-
ng up her silent petitions in behalf of the sufferer. John had
aken horse immediately for F , and Jarvis had volun-
teered tc go to the rectory and Bolton. Denbigh inquired fre-
quentfy and with much anxiety for Dr. Ives ; but the rector
was absent from home on a visit to a sick parishioner, and it
was late in the evening before he arrived. Within three
hours of the accident, however, Dr. Black, the surgeon of the
th, reached the hall, and immediately proceeded to ex-
amine the wound. The ball had penetrated the right breast,
and gone directly through the body ; it was extracted with
very little difficulty, and his attendant acquainted the anxious
friends of Denbigh that the heart certainly, and he .hoped
the lungs, had escaped uninjured. The ball was a very small
one, and the principal danger to be apprehended was from
fever : he had taken the usual precautions against that, and
should it not set in with a violence gi-eater than he appre-
hended at present, the patient might be abroad within the
month.

" But," continued the surgeon, with the hardened indiffe-
rence of his profession, " the gentleman has had a narrow
chance in the passage of the ball itself ; half an inch would
have settled his accounts with this world."

This information greatly relieved the family, and orders
were given to preserve a silence in the house that would favor
the patient's disposition to quiet, or, if possible, sleep

Dr. Ives now reached the hall. Mrs. Wilson had never
seen the sector in the agitation, or with the want of self-com-

180 PRECAUTION.

mand he was in, as she met him at the entrance of the
house.

" Is he ahve ? — is there hope ? — where is George ?" — cried
the doctor, as he caught the extended hand of Mrs. Wilson.
She briefly acquainted him with the surgeon's report, and the
reasonable ground there was to expect Denbigh would sur
vive the injury.

"May God be praised," said the rector, in a suppressed
voice, and he hastily withdrew into another room. Mrs.
Wilson followed him slowly and in silence ; but was checked
on opening the door with the sight of the rector on his knees,
the teai-s stealing down his venerable cheeks in quick succes-
sion. " Surely/' thought the widow, as she drew back un-
noticed, " a youth capable of exciting such afiection in a man
like Dr. Ives, cannot be unworthy."

Denbigh, hearing of the arrival of his friend, desired to see
him alone. Their conference was short, and the rector re-
turned from it with increased hopes of the termination of this
dreadful accident. He immediately left the hall for his own
house, with a promise of returning early on the following
morning.

During the night, however, the symptoms became unfa-
vorable ; and before the return of Dr. Ives, Denbigh was in
a state of delirium from the height of his fever, and the ap-
prehensions of his friends were renewed with additional
force.

" What, what, my good sir, do you think of him ?" said the
baronet to the family physician, with an emotion that the
danger of his dearest child would not have exceeded, and
within hearing of most of his children, who were collected iii
the ante-chamber of the room in which Denbigl^ was
placed.

" It is impossible to say, Sir Edward," replied thf physi

p:>kcal"tiox. 181

cian : ** he refuses all medicines, and unless this fever abates,
there is but Httle hope of recovery."

Emily stood during this question and answer, motionless,
pale as death, and with her hands clasped together, betraying
by the workings of her fingers in a kind of convulsive motion,
the intensity of her interest. She had seen the draught pre-
pared which it was so desirable that Denbigh should take,
and it now stood rejected on a table, where it could be seen
through the open door of his room. Almost breathless, she
glided in, and taking the draught in her hand, she approached
the bed, by which sat John alone, hstening with a feeling of
despair to the wanderings of the sick man. . Emily hesitated
once or twice, as she drew near Denbigh ; her face had lost
the paleness of anxiety, and glowed with another emotion.

" Mr. Denbigh — dear Denbigh," said Emily, with energy,
unconsciously dropping her voice into the softest notes of
persuasion, " will you refuse me ? — me, Emily Moseley, whose
life you have saved '?"

" Emily Moseley !" repeated Denbigh, and in those tones
Bo remarkable to his natural voice. " Is she safe ? I thought
she was killed — dead." Then, as if recollecting himself, he
gazed intently on her countenance — his eye became less fiery
— his muscles relaxed — he smiled, and took, with the docility
of a well-trained child, the prescribed medicines from her
hand. His ideas still wandered, but his physician, profiting
by the command Emily possessed over his patient, increased
his care, and by night the fever had abated, and before
morning the wounded man was in a profound sleep. During
the whole day, it was thought necessary to keep Emily by
the side of his bed ; but at times it was no trifling tax on her
feelings to remain there. He spoke of her by name in the
tenderest manner, although incoherently, and in terms thai
restored to the blanched cheeks of the distressed girl morf

182 PRECAUTION.

than the richness of their native color. His thoughts were
not confined to Emily, however : he talked of his father, of
his mother, and frequently spoke of his poor deserted Marian.
The latter name he dwelt on in the language of the warmest
affection, condemned his own desertion of her, and, taking
Emily for her, would beg her forgiveness, tell her her suffer-
ings had been enough, and that he would retui-n, and never
leave her again. At such moments his nui-se would some-
times show, by the paleness of her cheeks, her anxiety for
his health; and then, as he addressed her by her proper
appellation, all her emotions appeared absorbed in the sense
of shame at the praises with which he overwhelmed her.
Mrs. Wilson succeeded her in the chai-ge of the patient, and
slie retired to seek that repose she so greatly needed.

On the second mornins^ after receivino^ the wound, Denbio^h
dropped into a deep sleep, from which he awoke refreshed
and perfectly collected in mind. The fever had left him, and
his attendants pronounced, with the usual cautions to prevent
a relapse, his recovery certain. It were impossible to have
communicated any intelligence more grateful to all the
members of the Moseley family ; for Jane had even lost sight
of her own lover, in sympathy for the fate of a man who had
sacrificed himself to save he • beloved sister.

PRECAUTION. 183

CHAPTER XIX.

The recovery of Denbigh was as rapid as the most sanguine
txpectation of his friends could hope for, and in ten days he
left his bed, and would sit an hour or two at a time in Lis
dressing-ioora, where Mrs. Wilson, accompanied by Jane or
Emily, came and read to him ; and it was a remark of Sir
Edward's gamekeeper, that the woodcocks had become so
t>ame during the time Mr. Moseley was shut up in attendance
on his friend, that Captain Jarvis was at last actually seen to
bag one honestly.

As Jarvis felt something like a consciousness that but for
his folly the accident would not have happened, and also
something very like shame for the manner he had shrunk
from the danger Denbigh had so nobly met, he pretended a
recall to his regiment, then on duty near London, and left
the deanery. He went off as he came in — in the colonel's
tilbury, and accompanied by his friend and his pointers.
John, who saw them pass from the windows of Denbigh's
dressing-room, fervently prayed he might never come back
again — the chip-shooting poacher !

. Colonel Egerton had taken lea le of Jane the evening pre-
ceding, with many assurances of the anxiety with which he
should look forward to the moment of their meeting at

L , whither he intended repairing as soon as his corps

had gone through its annual review. Jane had followed the
bent of her natural feelings too much, during the period of
Denbigh's uncertain fate, to think much of her lover, or any-
thing else but her rescued sister and hei- preserver ; but now

Ib4 PRKCAUTION.

the former was pronounced in safety, and the latter, I'v f"' '^
very reaction of her grief, wa^, if possible, happier than ever,
Jane dwelt in melancholy sadness on the perfections of the
man who had taken with him the best affections (as she
ihought) of her heart. With him all was perfect : hi*
morals were unexceptionable ; his manners showed it ; his
tenderness of disposition manifest, for they had wept together
over the distresses of more than one fictitious heroine ; his
temper, how amiable ! he was never angry — she had never
Been it ; his opinions, his tastes, how correct ! they wei-e her
own ; his form, his face, how agreeable ! — her eyes had seen
it, and her heart acknowledged it ; besides, his eyes confessed
the power of her own charms ; he was brave, for he was a
soldier; — in short, as Emily had predicted, he was a hero —
for he was Colonel Egerton.

Had Jane been possessed of less exuberance of fancy, she
might have been a httle at a loss to identify all these good
properties with her hero : or had she possessed a rfatured or
well-regulated judgment to control that fancy, they might
possibly have assumed a different appearance. No explana-
tion had taken place between them, however. Jane knew,
both by her own feehngs and by all the legends of love from
its eai'liest days, that the moment of parting was generally a
crisis in affairs of the heart, and, \^th a backwardness occa-
sioned by her modesty, had rather avoided than sought ^n
opportunity to favor the colonel's wishes. Egerton had no
been over anxious to come to the point, and everything wjl
Jeft as heretofore : neither, howev^er, appeared to doubt in th(
least the state of the other's affections ; and there might b(
said to exist between them one of those not unusual engage
ments by implication which it would have been, in their own
estimation, a breach of faith to recede from, but which, like
all other bargains that are loosely made, are sometimes

PRECAUTION. 185

violated when conveuient. Man is a creature that, as expe-
rience has sufficiently proved, it is necessary to keep in his
proper place in society by wholesome restrictions ; and we
have often thought it a matter of regret that some well
understood regulations did not exist by which it became not
only customary, but incumbent on him, to proceed in his road
to the temple of Hymen. We know that it is ungenerous,
ignoble, almost unprecedented, to doubt the faith, the con-
stancy, of a male paragon ; yet, somehow, as the papers
occasionally give us a sample of such infidelity ; as we have
sometimes seen a solitary female brooding over her woes in
silence, and, with the seemliness of feminine decorum shrink-
ing from the discoveiy of its cause, or which the grave has
revealed for the first time, we cannot but wish that either the
watchfulness of the parent, or a sense of self-preservation in
the daughter, would, for the. want of a better, cause them to
adhere to those old conventional forms of courtshijD which
require a man to speak to be understood, and a woman to
answer to be committed.

There was a little parlor in the house of Sir Edward Mose-
ley, that was the privileged retreat of none but the membei-s
of his own family. Here the ladies were accustomed to
withdraw into the bosom of their domestic quietude, when
occasional visitors had disturbed their ordinary intercourse ;
and many were the hasty and unreserved communications it
had witnessed between the sistei-s, in their stolen flights from
the graver scenes of the principal apartments. It might be
aid to be sacred to the pious feelings of the domestic afifec-
tions. Sir Edward would retire to it when fatigued with his
occupations, certain of finding some one of those he loved to
draw his thoughts off from the cares of life to the little inci-
dents of his children's happiness ; and Lady Moseley, even in
the proudest hours of her reviving s|)lendor, seldom passed

18G PRECAUTION.

the door without looking in, with a sinile, on the faces she
might find there. It was, in fact, the room in the large man-
sion of the baronet, expressly devoted, by long usage and
common consent, to the purest feelings of human nature.
Into this apartment Denbigh bad gained admission, as the
one nearest to his own room and requiring the least effort of
his returning strength to reach ; and, perhaps, by an undefina-
ble feeling of the Moseleys which had begun to connect him
with themselves, partly from his winning manners, and partly
by the sense of the obligation he had laid them under.

One warm day, John and his friend had sought this re-
treat, in expectation of meeting his sisters, who they found,
however, on inquiry, had walked to the arbor. After re-
maining conversing for an hour by themselves, John was
called away to attend to a pointer that had been taken ill, and
Denbigh throwing a handkerchief over his head to guard
against the danger of cold, quietly composed himself on one
of the comfortable sofas of the room, with a disposition to
sleep. Before he had entirely lost his consciousness, a light
step moving near him, caught his ear ; believing it to be a
servant unwilling to disturb him, he endeavored to continue
in his present mood, until the quick but stifled breathing of
some one nearer than before roused his curiosity. He com-
manded himself, however, sufficiently, to remain quiet; a
blind of a window near him was carefully closed ; a screen
drawn from a corner and placed so as sensibly to destroy the
slight draught of air in which he laid himself; and othei ai-
rangeraents were making, but with a care to avoid disturbing
him that rendered them hardly audible. Presently the step
approached him again, the breathing was quicker, though
gentle, the handkerchief was moved, but the hand was wilh
drawn hastily as if afraid of itself. Another effort was suc-
cessful, and Denbigh stole a glance through his dark lashes,

PRECAUTION. 187

on the figure of Emily as she stood over him in the fulness
of her charms, and with a face in which glowed an interest
he had never witnessed in it before. It undoubtedly was
gratitude. For a moment she gazed on him, as her color
increased in richness. His hand was carelessly thrown over
an arm of the sofa; she stooped towards it with her face
gently, but with an air of modesty that shone in her very
figure. Denbigh felt the warmth of her breath, but her lips
did not touch it. Had he been incHned to judge the actions
of Emily Moseley harshly, it were impossible to mistake the
movement for anything but the impulse of natural feeling.
There was a pledge of innoc^ce, of modesty in her counte-
nance, that would have prevented any misconstruction ; and
he continued quietly awaiting what the preparations on her
Uttle mahogany secretary were intended for.

Mrs. Wilson entertained a great abhorrence of what is
commonly called accomplishments in a woman ; she knew
that too much of that precious time which could never be
recalled, was thrown away in endeavoring to acquire a smat-
tering in what, if known, could never be of use to the party,
and what can never be well known but to a few, whom na-
ture and long practice have enabled to conquer. Yet as her
niece had early manifested a taste for painting, and a vivid
perception of the beauties of nature, her inclination had been
indulged, and Emily Moseley sketched with neatness and ac-
curacy, and with great readiness. It would have been no
subject of surprise, had admiration, or some more powerful
feeling, betrayed to the artist, on this occasion, the deception
the young man was practising. She had entered the room
from her walk, warm and careless ; her hair, than which none
was more beautiful, had strayed on her shoulders, freed from
the confinement of the comb, and a lock was finely contrasted
to the rich color of a cheek that almost burnt with the ex€T-

188 PRECAUTION.

cise and the excitement. Her dress, white as the fii-st snow
of the winter ; her looks, as- she now turned them on the face
of the sleeper, and betrayed by their animation the success of
her art ; formed a picture in itself, that Denbigh would have
been content to gaze on for ever. Her back was to a window,
that threw its strong light on the paper — the figures of which
were reflected, as she occasionally held it up to study its
effect, in a large mirror so placed that Denbigh caught a view
of her subject. He knew it at a glance — the arbor— the
gun — himself, all were there ; it appeared to have been drawn
before — it must have been, from its perfect state; and Emily
had seized a favorable momentr to complete his own resem-
blance. Her touches were light and finishing, and as the
picture was frequently held up for consideration, he had some
time allowed for studying it. His own resemblance was
strong ; his eyes were turned on herself, to whom Denbigh
thought she had not done ample justice, but the man who
held the gun bore no hkeness to John Moseley, except in
dress. A slight movement of the muscles of the sleeper's
mouth might have betrayed his consciousness, had not Emily
been too intent on the picture, as she turnedit in such a waj
that a strong light fell on the recoiling figure of Captain Jar-
vis. The resemblance was wonderful. Denbigh thought he
would have known it, had he seen it in the Academy itself.
The noise of some one approaching closed the portfoho ; it
was only a servant, yet Emily did not resume her pencil
Denbigh watched her motions, as she put the picture care
fully in a private drawer of the secretary, reopened the blind
replaced the screen, and laid the handkerchief, the last thing
Dn his face, with a movement almost imperceptible to himself
*' It is later than 1 thought," said Denbigh, looking at his
watch ; " I owe an apology. Miss Moseley, for making so free
with your parlor ; but I was too lazy to move."

PRECAUTION. 189

"Apology! Mr. Denbigh," cried Emily, with a color vary-
ing with every word she spoke, and trembling at what she
thought the nearness of detection, " you have no apology to
make for your present debility ; and surely, surely, least of all
to me !"

"I undei-stand from Mr. Moseley," continued Denbigh,
with a smile, " that our obligation is at least mutual ; to your
persevemnce and care, Miss Moseley, after the physicians had
given me up, I believe I am, under Providence, indebted for
my recovery."

Emily was not vain, and least of all addicted to a display
of any of her acquirements ; very few even of her friends
knew she ever held a pencil in lier hand ; yet did she now
unaccountably throw open her portfolio, and offer its con-
tents to the examination of her companion. It was done
almost instantaneously, and with great freedom, though not
without certain flushings of the face and heavings of the
bosom, that would have eclipsed Grace Chatterton in her
happiest moments of natural flattery. Whatever might have
been the wishes of Mr. Denbigh to pursue a subject which
had begun to grow extremely interesting, both from its import
and the feelings of the parties, it would have been rude to
decline viewing' the contents of a lady's portfoho. The
drawings were, many of them, interesting, and the exhibitor
of them now appeared as anxious to remove them in haste, as
she had but the moment before been to direct his attention
to her performances. Denbigh would have given much to
dare to ask for the paper so carefully secreted in the private
drawer; but neither the principal agency he had himself in
the scene, nor delicacy to his companion's wish for conceal-
ment, would allow of the request.

*' Doctor Ives ! how happy I am to see you," said Emily,
hastily closing her portfolio, and before Denbigh had gone

100 PRECAUTTOX.

half through its contents ; " you have become almost a stran-
ger to us since Clara left us,"

"No, no, my little friend, never a stranger, I hope, at
Moseley Hall," cried the doctor, pleasantly ; " George, I am
happy to see you look so well — you have even a color — there
is a letter for you, from Marian."

Denbigh took the letter eagerly, and retired to a window
to peruse it. His hand shook as he broke the seal, and his
interest in the writer, or its contents, could not have es-
caped the notice of any observer, however indifferent.

" Now, Miss Emily, if you will have the goodness to ordei
me a glass of wine and water after my ride, believe me, you
will do a very charitable act," cried the doctor, as he took
his seat on the sofa.

Emily was standing by the little table, deeply musing on
the contents of her portfolio ; for her eyes were intently fixed
on the outside, as if she expected to see through the leather
covering their merits and faults.

" Miss Emily Moseley," continued the doctor, gravely, *' am
I to die of thirst or not, this warm day ?"

" Do you wish anything, Doctor Ives ?"

" A servant to get me a glass of wine and water."

'* Why did you not ask me, my dear sir?" said Emily, as
she threw open a cellaret, and handed him what he wanted

'' There, my dear, there is a great plenty," said the doctor,
with an arch expression ; " I really thought I had asked you
thrice — but I believe you were studying something in that
portfolio."

Emily blushed, and endeavored to laugh at her own ab
eence of mind ; but she would have given the world to Jsno^
who Marian was.

PRECAUTION. 191

CHAPTER XX.

Asa month had elapsed since he received his wound, Den-
bgh took an opportunity, one morning at breakfast, where
lie was well enough now to meet his friends, to announce his
intention of trespassing no longer on their kindness, but of
returning that day to the rectory. The communication dis-
tressed the whole family, and the baronet turned to him in
the most cordial manner, as he took one of his hands, and
said with an air of solemnity —

" Mr.- Denbigh, I could wish you to make this house your
home ; Dr. Ives may have known you longer, and may have
the claim of relationship on you, but I am certain he cannot
love you better ; and are not the ties of gratitude as binding
as those of blood ?"

Denbigh was affected by the kindness of Sir Edward's
manner.

" The regiment I belong to, Sir Edward, will be reviewed
next week, and it has become my duty to leave here ; there
is one it is proper I should visit, a near connexion, who is ac-
quainted with the escape I have met with, and wishes natu-
Tilly to see me; besides, my dear Sir Edward, she has many
ciuses of sorrow, and it is a debt I owe her affection to en-
deavor to relieve them."

It was the first time he had ever spoken of his family, or
hardly of himself, and the silence which prevailed plainly
showed the interest his listeners took in the little he uttered.

That connexion, thought Emily — I wonder if her name be
Marian ? But nothing further passed, excepting the affec-

102 PRECAUTION.

tionatfe regrets of her father, and the promises of Denbigh to

visit them again before he left B , and of joining them

at L immediately after the review of which he had

spoken. As soon as he had breakfasted, John drove him in
his phaeton to the rectory.

Mrs. Wilson, like the rest of the baronet's family, had been
too deeply impressed with the debt they owed this young
man to interfere with her favorite system of caution against
too great an intimacy between her niece and her preserver.
Close observation and the opinion of Dr. Ives had prepared
her to give him her esteem; but the gallantry, the self-
devotion he had displayed to Emily was an act calculated to
remove heavier objections than she could imagine as likely
to exist to his becoming her husband. That he meant it, was
evident from his whole deportnient of late. Since the morn-
ing the portfolio was produced, Denbigh had given a more
decided preference to her niece. The nice discrimination of
Mrs. Wilson would not have said his feelings had become
stronger, but that he labored less to conceal them. That he
loved her niece she suspected from the first fortnight of their
acquaintance, and it had given additional stimulus to her in-
vestigation into his character ; but to doubt it, after stepping
between her and death, would have been to have mistaken
human nature. Tkere was one qualification she would have
wished to have been certain he possessed : before this accident,
she would have made it an indispensable one ; but the gra-
titude, the affections of Emily, she believed now to be too
deeply engaged to make the strict inquiry she otherwise
would have done ; and she had the best of reasons for
believing that if Denbigh were not a true Christian, he w^i^s
at least a strictly moral man,*and assuredly one who well
understood the beauties of a religion she almost conceived it
impossible for any impartial and intelligent man long to resist

PRECAUTION. 193

Perhaps Mrs. Wilson, haviug in some measure interfered with
Q«ir system, hke others, had, on finding it impossible to con-
duct so that reason would justify all she did, began to find
reasons for what she thought best to be done under the
circumstances. Denbigh, however, both by his acts and his
opinions, had created such an estimate of his worth in the
breast of Mrs. Wilson, that there would have been but little
danger of a repulse had no fortuitous accident helped him in
his way to her favor.

"Who have we here?" said Lady Moseley. "A landaulet
and four — the Earl of Bolton, I declare !"

Lady Moseley turned from the window with that collected
grace she so well loved, and so well knew how to assume, to
receive her noble visitor. Lord Bolton was a bachelor of
sixty-five, who had long been attached to the court, and
retained much of the manners of the old school. His prin-
cipal estate was in Ireland, and most of that time which his
duty at Windsor did not require he gave to the improvement
of his Irish property. Thus, although on perfectly good
terms with the baronet's family, they seldom met. With
General Wilson he had been at college, and to his widow he
always showed much of that regard he had invariably pro-
fessed for her husband. The obligation he had conferred,
unasked, on Francis Ives, was one conferred on all his friends,
and his reception was now warmer than usual.

" My Lady Moseley," said the earl, bowing formally on her
\iand, "your looks do ample justice to the air of Northamp
tonshire. I hope you enjoy your usual health."

Then, waiting her equally courteous answer, he paid his
comphments, in succession, to all the members of the family ;
a mode undoubtedly well adapted to discover their severaJ
conditions, but not a little tedious in its operations, and some-
what tiresome lo the legs.

9

194 PRECAUTION.

" We are under a debt of gratitude to your lordsliip," said
Sir Edward, in his simple and warm-hearted way, " that T am
sorry it is not in our power to repay more amply than by our
thanks."

The earl was, or affected to be, surprised, as he required
an explanation.

" The living at Bolton," said Lady Moseley, with dignity.

"Yes," continued her husband; "in giving the hving to
Frank you did me a favor, equal to what you would have
done had he been my own child ; and unsolicited, too, my
lord, it was an additional compliment."

The earl sat rather uneasy during this speech, but the love
of truth prevailed ; for he had been too much round the
person of our beloved sovereign not to retain all the impres-
sions of his youth ; and after a httle struggle with his self-
love, he answered —

*' Not unsolicited, Sir Edward. I have no doubt, had my
better fortune allowed me the acquaintance of my present
rector, his own merit would have obtained what a sense of
justice requires I should say was granted to an applicant to
whom the ear of royalty itself would not have been deaf."

It was the turn of the Moseleys now to look surprised, and
Sir Edward ventured to ask an explanation.

" It was my cousin, the Earl of Pendennyss, who applied
for it, as a favor done to himself ; and Pendennyss is a man
not to be refused anything."

" Lord Pendennyss !" exclaimed Mrs. Wilson, with anima
tion ; " and in what way came we to be under this obligation
to Lord Pendennyss ?"

" He did me the honor of a call during my visit to Ireland,
madam," replied the earl ; " and on inquiring of my steward
after his old friend, Doctor Stevens, learnt his death, and the
claims of Mr. Ives: but the reason he gave me was his

PRECAUTluX. 19A

»nterest in the widow of General Wilson," bowing with much
solemnity to the lady as he spoke.

" I am" gratified to find the earl yet remembers us," said
Mm. Wilson, strusfirlinoc to restrain her tears. * " Are we to
hare the pleasure of seeing him soon?"

" I received a letter from him yesterday, saying he should
be here in all next week, madam." And turning pleasantly
to Jane and her sister, he continued, " Sir Edward, you hav
here rewards fit for heavier services, and the earl is a great
admirer of female charms."

" Is he not married, my lord ?" asked the baronet, with
great simplicity.

** No, baronet, nor engaged ; but how long he will remain
so after his hardihood in venturinjr into this neicrhborhood,
will, I trust, depend on one of these young ladies."

Jane looked grave — for trifling on love was heresy, in her
estimation ; but Emily laughed, with an expression in which
a skilful physiognomist might have read — if he means me, he
is mistaken.

" Your cousin. Lord Chatterton, has found interest, Sir
Edward," continued the peer, " to obtain his father's situa-
tion ; and if reports speak truth, he wishes to become more
nearly related to you, baronet."

" I do not well see how that can happen," said Sir
Edward with a smile, and who had not art enough to con
ceal his thoughts, " unless he takes my sister here."

The cheeks of both the young ladies now vied with the
rose ; and the peer, observing he had touched on forbidden
ground, added, " Chatterton was fortunate to find friends
able to bear up against the powerful interest of Lord
Haverford."

" To whom was he indebted for the place, my lord ?*
asked Mis. Wilson.

196 PRECAUTION.

" It was whispered at court, madam," said tlie earl.
sensibly lowering his voice, and speaking with an air of
mystery " and a lord of the bed-chamber is fonder of dis-
coveries than a lord of the council — that His Grace of Der-
went threw the whole of his parliamentary interest into the
scale on the baron's side, but you are not to suppose,"
raising his hand gracefully, vnth a wave of rejection, " that
I speak from authority ; only a surmise, Sir Edward, only
a surmise, my lady."

" Is not the name of the Duke of Derwent, Denbigh ?"
inquired Mrs. Wilson, with a thoughtful manner.

" Certainly, madam, Denbigh," replied the earl, with a
gravity with which he always spoke of dignities ; "one
of our most ancient names, and descended on the female
side from the Plantagenets and Tudors."

He now rose to take his leave, and on bowing to the
younger ladies, laughingly repeated his intention of bringing
his cousin (an epithet he never omitted), Pendennyss, to
their feet.

" Do you think, sister," said Lady Moseley, after the earl
had retired, " that Mr. Denbigh is of the house of Der-
went ?"

" I cannot say," replied Mrs. Wilson, musing, " yet it i«
odd, Chatterton told me of his acquaintance with Ladr
Harriet Denbigh, but not with the Duke."

As this was spoken in the manner of a soliloquy, '
received no answer, and was in fact but little attended to b^
any of the party, excepting Emily, who glanced her eye once
or twice at her aunt as she was speaking, with an interest
the name of Denbigh never failed to excite. Harriet was,
she thought, a pretty name, but Marian was a prettier ; if,
thought Emily, I could know a Marian Denbigh, I am sure
I could love her, and her Name too.

TRECAITIOS.

The Mosek'vs now began to make their preparations foi

their departure to L , and the end of the succeeding

week was fixed for the period at which they were to go.
Mrs. Wilson urged a delay of two or three days, in order to
give her an opportunity of meeting with the Earl of Pen-
dennyss, a young man in whom, although she had relin-
quished her former romantic wish of uniting him to Emily,
in favor of Denbigh, she yet felt a deep interest, growing
out of his connexion with the last moments of her husband,
and his uniformly high character.

Sir Edward accordingly acquainted his uncle, that on the
following Saturday he might expect to receive himself and
family, intending to leave the hall in the afternoon of the
preceding day, and reach Benfield lodge to dinner. This
arrangement once made, and Mr. Benfield notified of it, was
unalterable, the old man holding a variation from an
engagement a deadly sin. The week succeeding the acci-
dent which had nearly proved so fatal to Denbigh, the
inhabitants of the hall were surpi^sed with the approach of
a being, as singular in his manners and dress as the
equipage which conveyed him to the door of the house.
The latter consisted of a high-backed, old-fashioned sulky,
loaded with leather and large-headed brass nails; wheels
at least a quarter larger in circumference than those of the
present day, and wings on each side large enough to have
supported a full grown roc in the highest regions of the
upper air. It was drawn by a horse, once white, but whose
milky hue was tarnished through age with large and
numerous red spots, and whose mane and tail did not appear
to have suff*ered by the shears during the present reign.
The being who alighted from this antiquated vehicle was
tall and excessively thin, wore his own hair drawn over his
almost naked head into a long thin queue, which reached half

198 PRECAUTION.

way down his back, closely cased in numerous windings of
leather, or the skin of some fish. His drab coat was in shape
between a frock and a close-body— close-body, indeed, it
^Tas ; for the buttons, which were in size about equal to an
old-fashioned China saucer, were buttoned to the very throat,
thereby setting oflf his shape to peculiar advantage ; his
breeches were buckskin, and much soiled ; his stockings
blue yarn, although it was midsummer ; and his shoes w ere
provided with buckles of dimensions proportionate to the
aforesaid buttons ; his age might have been seventy, but his
walk was quick, and the movements of his whole system
showed great activity both of mind and body. He was
ushered into the room where the gentlemen were sitting,
and having made a low and extremely modest bow, he
deliberately put on his spectacles, thrust his hand into an
outside pocket of his coat, and produced from under its
huge flaps a black leathern pocket-book about as large as
a good-sized octavo volume ; after examining the multitude
of papers it contained carefully, he selected a letter, and
having returned the pocket-book to its ample apartment,
read aloud,

" For Sir Edward Moseley, bart. of Moseley Hall, B ,

Northamptonshire — with care and speed, by the hands of
Mr. Peter Johnson, steward of Benfield Lodge, Norfolk ;"
and dropping his sharp voice, he stalked up to the baronet,
and presented the epistle, with another reverence.

" Ah, my good friend, Johnson," said Sir Edward as soon
as he delivered his errand (for until he saw the contents of
the letter, he had thought some accident had occurred to
his uncle), " this is the first visit you have ever honored me
with ; come, take a glass of wine before you go to your
dinner ; let us drink, that it may not be the last."

" S r Edward Moseley, and you, honorable gentlemen, wili

PRECAU7T0X. lOU

pardon me," replied the steward, in his own solemn key,
" this is the first time I was ever out of his majesty's county
of Norfolk, and I devoutly wish it may prove the last —
Gentlemen, I drink your honorable healths."

This was the only real speech the old man made during
his visit, unless an occasional monosyllabic reply to a ques-
tion could be thought so. He remained, by Sir Edward'
positive order, until the following day ; for having delivered
his message, and receiving its answer, he was about to take
his departure that evening, thinking he might get a good
piece on his road homewards, as it wanted half an hour to
sunset. On the following morning, with the sun, he was on
nis way to the house in which he had been born, and which
he had never left for twenty-four hours at a time in his life.
In the evening, as he was ushered in by John (who had
known him from his own childhood, and loved to show him
attention) to the room in which he was to sleep, he broke
what the young man called his inveterate silence, with,
" Young Mr. Moseley — young gentleman — might I pre-
sume— to ask — to see the gentleman ?"

" What gentleman ?" cried John, astonished at the request,
and at his speaking so much.

" That saved Miss Emmy's life, sir."

John now fully comprehended him, and led the way to
Denbigh's room ; he was asleep, but they were admitted to
his bed-side. The steward stood for ten minutes gazing on
the sleeper in silence ; and John observed, as he blew his
nose on regaining his own apartment, that his little grey
eyes twinkled with a lustre which could not be taken for
anything but a tear.

As the letter was as characteristic of the writer as its
bearer was of his vocation, we may be excused giving it at
length.

<«\)0 PRECAUTION.

** Dear Sir Edward and Nephew^

" Your letter reached the lodge too late to be answert-j
that evening, as I was about to step into my bed ; but I
hasten to write my congratulations, remembering the
often repeated maxim of my kinsman Lord Gosford, that
letters should be answered immediately ; indeed, a neglect
of it had very nigh brought about an affair of honor
between the earl and Sir Stephens Hallett. Sii Stephens
was always opposed to us in the House of Commons of this
realm ; and I have often thought something might have
passed in the debate itself, which commenced the correspon-
dence, as the earl certainly told him as much as if he were a
traitor to his King and country.

" But it seems that your daughter Emily has been rescued
from death by the grandson of General Denbigh, who sat
with us in the house. Now I always had a good opinion
of this young Denbigh, Avho reminds me, every time I Ibok
at him, of my late brother, your father-in-law that was ;
and I send my steward, Peter Johnson, express to the hall
in order that he may see the sick man, and bring me back
a true account how he fares : for should he be wanting for
anything within the gift of Roderic Benfield, he has only
to speak to have it ; not that I suppose, nephew, you will
willingly allow him to suffer for anything, but Peter is a
man of close observation, although he is of few words, and
may suggest something beneficial, that might escape
younger heads. I pray for — that is, I hope, the young
man will recover, as your letter gives great hopes ; and if he
should want any little matter to help him along in the
army, as I take it he is not over wealthy, you have now a
good opportunity to offer your assistance handsomely ; and
that it may not interfere with your arrangements for this
winter, your draft on me for five thousand pounds will b%.

PRECAUTION. 201

paid at sight ; for fear he may be proud, and not choose to
accept your assistance, I have this morning detained Peter,
while he has put a codicil to my will, leaving him .ten
thousand pounds. You may tell Emily she is a naughty
child, or she would have written me the whole story ; but,
poor dear, I suppose she has other things on her mind just

now. God bless Mr. that is, God bless you all, and

try if you cannot get a lieutenant-colonelcy at once — the
brother of Lady Juliana's friend was made a lieutenant-
colonel at the first step.

" RODERIC BeNFIELD."

The result of Peter's reconnoitering expedition has never
reached our knowledge, unless the arrival of a servant some
days after he took his leave, with a pair of enormous goggles,
and which the old gentleman assured his nephew in a note,
both Peter and himself had found useful to weak eyes in
their occasional sickness, might have been owing to the
prudent forecast of the sagacious steward.

*02 rRECAUTION.

CHAPTER XXI.

The morning on which Denbigh left B was a melan

choly one to all the members of the little circle, in which he
had been so distinguished for his modesty, his intelligence,
and his disinterested intrepidity. Sfr Edward took an
opportunity solemnly to express his gratitude for the services
he had rendered him, and having retired to his library,
delicately and earnestly pressed his availing himself of the
liberal offer of Mr. Benfield to advance his interest in the
army.

" Look upon me, my dear Mr. Denbigh," said the good
baronet, pressing him by the hand, while the tears stood in
his eyes, " as a father, to supply the" place of the one you
have so recently lost. You are my child ; I feel as a parent
to you, and must be suffered to act as one."

To this affectionate offer of Sir Edward, Denbigh replied
with an emotion equal to that of the baronet, though he
declined, with respectful language, his offered assistance as
unnecessary. He had friends powerful enough to advance
his interests, without resorting to the use of money ; and
on taking Sir Edward's hand, as he left the apartment, he
added with great warmth, " yet, my dear Sir, the day will
come, I hope, when I shall ask a boon from your hands,
ihat no act of mine or a life of service could entitle me to
receive."

The baronet smiled his assent to a request he already
understood, and Denbigh withdrew.

John Moseley insisted on putting the bays in requisition to

PRECAUTION. 203

carry Denbigh for the first stage, and they now stood capa-
risoned for the jaunt, with their master in a less joyous mood
than common, waiting the appearance of his companion,

Emily delighted in their annual excursion to Benfiekl
Lodge. She was beloved so warmly, and returned the
affection of its owner so sincerely, that the arrival of the day
never failed to excite that flow of spirits which generally
aicompanies anticipated pleasures, ere experience has proved
how trifling are the greatest enjoyments the scenes of this
life bestow. Yet as the day of their departure drew near,
her spirits sunk in proportion ; and on the morning of Den-
bigh's leave-taking, Emily seemed anything but excessively
happy. There was a tremor in her voice and a redness about
her eyes that alarmed Lady Moseley ; but as the paleness
of her cheeks was immediately succeeded by as fine a color
as the heart could wish, the anxious mother allowed herself
to be persuaded by Mrs. Wilson there was no danger, and
she accompanied her sister to her own room for some purpose
of domestic economy. It was at this moment Denbigh en-
tered : he had paid his adieus to the matrons at the door, and
been directed by them to the little parlor in quest of Emily.

"I have come to make my parting compliments, Miss
Moseley," he said, in a tremulous voice, as he ventured to
hold forth his hand. " May heaven preserve you," he con- .
tinued, holding it in fervor to his bosom : then dropping it,
he hastily retired, as if unwilling to trust himself any longer
to utter all he felt. Emily stood a few moments, pale and
almost inanimate, as the tears flowed rapidly from her eyes ,
and then she sought a shelter in a seat of the window. Lady
Moseley, on returning, was alarmed lest the draught would
increase her indisposition ; but her sister, observing thnt the
window commanded a view of the road, thought the aur too
mild to do her injury.

204 PRECAUTION.

The personages who composed the society at B had

flow, in a great measure, separated, in pursuit of their duties
or their pleasures. The merchant and his family left the
deanery for a watering-place. Francis and Clara had gone
on a little tour of pleasure in the northern counties, to take

L in their return homeward ; and the morning arrived

for the commencement of the baronet's journey to the same
place. The carriages had been ordered, and servants werq
running in various ways, busily employed in their several
occupations, when Mrs. Wilson, accompanied by John and his
sisters, returned from a walk they had taken to avoid the
bustle of the house. A short distance from the park gates,
an equipage was observed approaching, creating by. its
numerous horses and attendants a dust which drove the
pedestrians to one side of the road. An uncommonly elegant
and admirably fitted travelling bai-ouche and six rolled by,
with the graceful steadiness of an English equipage : several
servants on horseback were in attendance ; and our little
party were struck with the beauty of the whole establish'
ment.

" Can it be possible Lord Bolton drives such elegant
horses ?" cried John, with the ardor of a connoisseur in that
noble animal. '* They are the finest set in the kingdom."

Jane's eye had seen, through the clouds of dust, the
armorial bearings, which seemed to float in the dark glossy
panels of the carriage, and she observed, " It is an earl'i
coronet, but they are not the Bolton arms," Mrs. Wilson and
Emily had noticed a gentleman reclining at his ease, as the
owner of the gallant show ; but its passage was too rapid to
enable them to distinguish the features of the courteous old
earl ; indeed, Mrs. Wilson remarked, she thought him a
younger man than her friend.

^*Pray, sir," said John to a tardy groom, as v»e civilW

PRECAUTION. 20{

walked Ins horse by the ladies, " who has passed in thfc
barouche?"

" My Lord Pendennyss, sii'."

" Pendennyss !" exclaimed Mrs. Wilson, with a tone of
regret, " how unfortunate !"

She had seen the day named for his visit pass without hi
arrival, and now, as it was too late to profit by the oppor-
tunity, he had come for the second time into her neighborhood
Emily had learnt, by the solicitude of her aunt, to take au
interest in the young peer's movements, and desired John to
ask a question or two of the groom.

" Where does your lord stop to-night?"

" At Bolton Castle, sir ; and I heard my lord tell his valet
that he intended staying one day hereabouts, and the day
after to-morrow he goes to Wales, yorr honor."

" I thank you, friend," said John ; when the man spurred
his horse after the cavalcade. The carriages were at the
door, and Sir Edward had been hurrying Jane to enter, as a
servant, in a rich livery and well mounted, galloped up and
delivered a letter for Mrs. Wilson, who, on opening it, read
the following :

" The Earl of Pendennyss begs leave to present his most
respectful compliments to Mrs. Wilson and the family of Sir
Edward Moseley. Lord Pendennyss will have the honor of
paying his respects in person at any moment that the widow
of his late invaluable friend, Lieutenant- General Wilson, will
please to appoint.

Bolton Castle, Friday evening."

To this note Mrs. Wilson, bitterly regretting the necessity
which compelled her to forego the pleasure of meeting her
paragon, wrote in reply a short letter, disliking the formalitv
of a note.

206 precaution.

*' My Lord,
" I sincerely regret that an engagement which cannot be
postponed ^,oinpels us to leave Moseley Hall within the hour,
and must, m consequence, deprive us of the pleasure of your
intended visit. But as circumstances have connected your
ordship with some of the dearest, although the most melan-
choly events of my life, I earnestly beg you will no longer
consider us as strangers to your person, as we hav2 long-
ceased to be to your character. It will afibrd me the greatest
pleasure to hear that there will be a prospect of our meeting
in town next winter, where I may find a more fitting oppor-
tunity of expressing those grateful feelings so long due to
your lordship from your sincere friend,

" Charlotte Wilson.
" Moseley Hall, Friday morning."

With this answer the servant was despatched, and the
carriages moved on. John had induced Emily to trust her-
self once more to the bays and his skill ; but on perceiving
the melancholy of her aunt, she insisted on exchanging seats
with Jane, who had accepted a place in the carriage of Mrs.
Wilson. No objection being made, Mrs. Wilson and her
niece rode the first afternoon together in her travelling chaise.
The road run within a quarter of a mile of Bolton Castle, and
ihe ladies endeavored in vain to get a glimpse of the person
of the young nobleman. Emily was willing to gratify her
aunt's propensity to dwell on the character and history of her
("avorite ; and hoping to withdraw her attention gradually
from more unpleasant recollections, asked several- trifling
questions relating to those points.

" The earl must be very rich, aunt, from the style he
maintains."

" Very, my dear ; his family I am unacquainted with, but

rnncAUTioN. 207

1 understand his title is an extremely ancient one ; and some
one, I believe Lord Bolton, mentioned that his estates in Wales
alone, exceeded fifty thousand a year."

'* Much good might be done," said Emily, thoughtfully,
" with such a fortune."

*' Much good is done," cried her aunt, with fervor. •' I
am told by every one who knows him, his donations are large
and frequent. Sir Herbert Nicholson said he was extremely
simple in his habits, and it leaves large sums at his disposal
every year."

" The bestowal of money is not always charity," said Emily,
with an arch smile and a slight color.

Mrs. Wilson smiled in her turn as she answered, "not al-
ways, but it is charity to hope for the best."

" Sir Herbert knew him, then ?" said Emily.

" Perfectly well ; they were associated together in ihe ser-
vice for several years, and he spoke of him with a fervor
equal to my warmest expectations."

The Moseley arms in F was kept by an old butler of

the family, and Sir Edward every year, in going to or coming

from L , spent a night under its roof. He was i-eceived

by its master with a respect that none who ever knew the
baronet well, could withhold from his goodness of heart and
many virtues.

" W^ell, Jackson," said the baronet, kindly, as he was
feated at the supper table, " how does custom increase with
you — I hope you and the master of the Dun Cow are more
amicable than formerly."

" Why, Sir Edward," replied the host, who had lost a
nttle of the deference of the servant in the landlord, but none
of his real respect, "Mr. Daniels and I are more upon a
footing of late than we was, when your goodnes? enabled me
to take the house ; then he got a.l the great truvelleis, and

COS PRECAUffON.

for more than a twelvemonth I had not a title in my house
but yourself and a great London doctor, that was called here
to see a sick person in the town. He had the impudence to
call me the knight barrow-knight, your honor, and we had a
quarrel upon that account."

" I am glad, however, to find you are gaining in the rank
of your customers, and trust, as the occasion has ceased, ycu
will be more inclined to be good-natured to each other."

" Why, as to good-nature, Sir Edward, I lived with your
honor ten years, and you must know somewhat of my tem-
per," said Jackson, with the self-satisfaction of an approving
conscience ; " but Sam Daniels is a man who is never easy
unless he is left quietly at the top of the ladder ; however,"
continued the host, with a chuckle, " I have given him a dose
lately."

"■ How so, Jackson?" inquired the baronet, willing to gra-
tify the man's wish to relate his triumphs.

*' Your honor must have heard mention made of a
great lord, the Duke of Derwent ; well, Sir Edward, about
six weeks agone he passed through w^ith my Lord Chatterton."

" Chatterton !" exclaimed John, interrupting him, " has he
been so near us again, and so lately ?"

" Yes, Mr. Moseley," replied Jackson with a look of im-
portance : " they dashed into my yard with their chaise and
four, with five servants, and would you think it. Sir Edward,
they hadn't been in the house ten minutes, before Daniels
son was fishing from the servants, who they were ; I tol I
liim, Sir Edward — dukes don't come every day."

'' How came you to get his grace away from the Dun Gov
— chance V*

" No, your honor," said the host, pointing to his sign, and
bowing reverently to his old master, " the Moseley Arms did
it. Mr. Daniels used to taunt me with having worn a livery,

PRECAUTION. 209

and has said more than once he could milk his cow, but that
your honor's arms would never lift me into a comfortable seat
for life ; so I just sent him a message by the way of letting
him know my good fortune, your honor."

" And what was it ?"

" Only that your honor's arms had shoved a duke and a
baron into my house — that's all."

" And I suppose Daniels' legs shoved your messenger oul
of his," said John, laughing.

" No, Mr. Moseley ; Daniels would hardly dare do that
but yesterday, your honor, yesterday evening, beat every-
thing. Daniels was seated before his door, and I was taking
a pipe at mine, Sir Edward, as a coach and six, with servants
upon servants, drove down the street ; it got near us, and the
boys were reining the horses into the yard of the Dun Cow,
as the gentleman in the coach saw my sign : he sent a groom
to inquire who kept the house ; I got up, your honor, and
told him my name, sir. * Mr. Jackson,' said his lordship,
* my respect for the family of Sir Edward Moseley is too
great not to give my custom to an old servant of his
family; "

" Indeed," said the baronet ; " pray who was my lord ?"

*' The Earl of Pendennyss, your honor. Oh, he is a sweet
gentleman, and he asked all about my living with your honor,
and about Madam Wilson."

'• Did his lordship stay the night ?" inquired Mrs. Wilson,
excessively gratified at a discovery of the disposition mani-
fested by the earl towards her.

"Yes, madam, he left here after breakfast."

"What message did you send the Dun Cow this time,
Jackson?" cried John.

Jackson looked a little foolish, but the question bem^ re-
peated, he answered- " Why, sir, I was a little crowdec* for

i^lO PRKCAUTIOX.

room, and so your honor, so I just sent Tom across the
street, to know if Mr. Daniels couldn't keep a couple of the
grooms."

" And Tom got his head broke."

" No, Mr. John, the tankard missed him ; but if — "

" Very well," said the baronet, willing to change the con-
versation, " you have been so fortunate of late, you can afford
to be generous ; and I advise you to cultivate harmony with
your neighbor, or I may take my arms down, and you may
lose your noble visiters — see my room prepared."

" Yes, your honor," said the host, and bowing respectfully
he withdrew.

" At least, aunt," cried John, pleasantly, " we have tho
pleasure of supping in the same room with the puissant earlj
albeit there be twenty-four hours' difference in the time."

" I sincerely wish there had not been that difference," ob
served his father, taking his sister kindly by the hand.

" Such an equipage must have been a harvest indeed t(
Jackson," remarked the mothei* ; as they broke up for the
evening.

The whole establishment at Benfield Lodge, were drawn
up to receive them on the following day in the great hall,
and in the centre was fixed the upright and lank figure of its
master, with his companion in leanness, honest Peter Johnson,
on his right.

" I have made out, Sir Edward and my Lady Moseley, to
get as far a^ my entrance, to receive the favor you are coi -
ferring upon me. It was a rule in my day, and one invarial^ly
practised by all the great nobihty, such as Lord Gosford —
and — and — his sister, the lady Juliana Dayton, always to re-
ceive and quit their guests in the country at the great en-
trance ; and in conformity — ah, Emmy dear," cried the old
gentleman, folding her in his arms as the tears rolled down

PRECAUTION. 211

iiis cheeks, forgetting his speech in the warmth of his feehng,
" You are saved to us again ; God be praised — there, that
will do, let me breathe — let me breathe ;" and then by the
way of getting rid of his softer feelings, he turned upon John ;
" so, youngster, you would be playing with edge tools, and
put the hfe of your sister in danger. No gentleman held a
gun in my day ; that is, no gentleman about the court. My
Lord Gosford had never killed a bird in his hfe, or drove his
horse ; no sir, gentlemen then were not coachmen. Peter
how old was I before I took the reins of the chaise, in
driving round the estate — the time you broke your arm ? it
was—"

Peter, who stood a little behind his master, in modest re-
tirement, and who had only thought his elegant form brought
thither to embellish the show, when called upon, advanced a
step, made a low bow, and answered in his sharp key :

" In the year 1798, your honor, and the 38th of his present
majesty, and the 64th year of your life, sir, June the 12th,
about meridian."

Peter dropped back as he finished ; but recollecting him-
self, regained his place with a bow, as he added, " new
style."

" How are you, old style ?" cried John, with a slap on the
back, that made the steward jump again.

" Mr. John Moseley — young gentleman" — a term Peter
had left off using to the baronet within the last ten years,
" did you think — to bring home — the goggles ?"

" Oh yes," said John, gravely, producing them from his
pocket. Most of the party having entered the parlor, he pr.t
them carefully on the bald head of the steward — "There,
Mr Peter Johnson, you have your property again, safe and
Bound."

** And Mr. Denbigh said he felt much indebted to your

212 PRECAUTTON.

consideration in sending them," said Emily, soothingly, as she
took them off with her beautiful hands.

" Ah, Miss Emmy," said the steward, with one of his bes'
bows, ** that was — a noble act ; God bless him !" then hold
ing up his finger significantly, "the fourteenth codicil — to
master's will," and Peter laid his finger alongside his nose, as
he nodded his head in silence.

" I hope the thirteenth contains the name of honest Peter
Johnson," said the young lady, who felt herself uncommonly
well pleased with the steward's conversation.

" As witness, Miss Emmy — witness to all — but God for-
bid," said the steward with solemnity, " I should ever live to
see the proving of them : no. Miss Emmy, master has done
for me what he intended, while I had youth to enjoy it. I
am rich, Miss Emmy — good three hundred a year." Emily,
who had seldom heard so long a speech as the old man's
gratitude drew from him, expressed her pleasure at hearing
it, and shaking him kindly by the hand, left him for the
parlor.

"Niece," said Mr. Benfield, having scanned the party
closely with his eyes, " where is Colonel Denbigh ?''

" Colonel Egerton, you mean, sir," interrupted Lady
Moseley.

" No, my Lady Moseley," replied her uncle, with great
formality, " I mean Colonel Denbigh. I take it he is a colo-
nel by this time," looking expressively at the baronet ; " and
who is fitter to be a colonel or a general, than a man who ia
not afraid of gunpowder ?"

*' Colonels must have been scarce in your youth, sir," cried
John, who had rather a mischievous propensity to start the
old man on his hobby.

"No, jackanapes, gentlemen killed one another then, al-
though they did not torment the innocent birds : honor was

PRECAUTION. 213

as dear to a gentleman of George the Second's court, as to
those of his grandson's, and honesty toOj sirrah — ay, honesty.
I remember when we were in, there was not a man of doubt
ful integrity in the ministry, or on our side even ; and then
again, when we went out, the opposition benches were filled
with sterling characters, making a parliament that was cor-
rect throughout. Can you show me such a thing at this
day?"

214 PRECAUTION.

CHAPTER XXII.

k FEW days after the arrival of the Moseleys at the lodge

John drove his sisters to the httle village of L , which at

that time was thronged with an unusual number of visiters.
It had, among other fashionable arrangements for the accom-
modation of its guests, one of those circulators of good and
evil, a public hbrary. Books are, in a great measure, the in-
struments of controlling the opinions of a nation like ours.
They are an engine, alike powerful to save or to destroy. It
cannot be denied, that our libraries contain as many volumes
of the latter, as the former description; for we rank amongst
the latter that long catalogue of idle productions, which, if
they produce no other evil, lead to the misspending of time,
ottr own perhaps included. But we cannot refrain expressing
our regret, that such formidable weapons in the cause of
morality, should be suffered to be wielded by any indifferent
or mercenary dealer, who undoubtedly will consult rather the
pubhc tastes than the private good : the evil may be reme-
diless, yet we love to express our sentiments, though we
should suggest nothing new or even profitable. Into one of
these haunts of the idle, then, John Moseley entered with a
lovely sister leaning on either arm. Books were the enter-
tainers of Jane, and instructors of Emily. Sir Edward was
fond of reading of a certain sort — that which required no
great depth of thought, or labor of research ; and, like most
others who are averse to contention, and disposed to be easily
satisfied, the baronet sometimes found he had harbored opi-
nions on things not exactly reconcileable with the truth, or

PRECAUTION. 215

even with each other. It is quite as dangerous to give up
your faculties to the guidance of the author you are perusing,
as it is unprofitable to be captiously scrutinizing every syl-
lable he may happen to advance ; and Sir Edward was, if
anything, a little inclined to the dangerous propensity. Un-
pleasant, Sir Edward Moseley never was. Lady Moseley
very seldom took a book in her hand : her opinions were
established to her own satisfaction on all important points,
and on the minor ones, she made it a rule to coincide with
the popular feeling. Jane had a mind more active than her
father, and more brilliant than her mother ; and if she liad
not imbibed injurious impressions from the unlicensed and
indiscriminate reading she practised, it was more owing to the
fortunate circumstance, that the baronet's library contained
nothing extremely offensive to a pure taste, nor dangerous to
good morals, than to any precaution of her parents against
the deadly, the irretrievable injury to be sustained from un-
governed liberty in this^ respect to a female mind. On the
other hand, Mrs. Wilson had inculcated the necessity of re-
straint, in selecting the books for her perusal, so strenuously
on her niece, that what at first had been the effects of obedi-
ence and submission, had now settled into taste and habit ;
and Emily seldom opened a book, unless in search of inform-
ation ; or if it were the indulgence of a less commendable
spirit, it was an indulgence chastened by a taste and judg-
ment that lessened the danger, if it did not entirely re-
i.iove it.

The room was filled with gentlemen and ladies ; and while
John was exchanging his greetings with several of the neigh-
boring gentry of his acquaintance, his sisters were running
nastily over a catalogue of the books kept for circulation, as
an elderly lady, of foreign accent and dress, entered ; and
depositing a couple of religious works on the counter, she

216 PRECAUTION.

inquired for the remainder of the set. The peculiarity of her
idiom and her proximity to the sisters caused them both to
look up at the moment, and, to the surprise of Jane, her sister
uttered a slight exclamation of pleasure. The foreigner was
attracted by the sound, and after a moment's hesitation, she
respectfully curtsied. Emily, advancing, kindly offered her
hand, and the usual inquiries after each other's welfare sue
ceeded. To the questions asked after the friend of the
matron Emily learnt, with some surprise,^and no less satisfac-
tion, that she resided in a retired cottage, about five miles

from L , where they had been for the last six months,

and where they expected to remain for some time, " until she
could prevail on Mrs. Fitzgerald to return to Spain ; a thing,
now there was peace, of which she did not despair." After
asking leave to call on them in their retreat, and exchanging
good wishes, the Spanish lady withdrew, and, as Jane had
made her selection, was followed immediately by John
Moseley and his sisters. Emily, in their walk home, ac-
quainted her btother that the companion of their Bath
incognita had been at the library, and that for the first time
she had learnt that their young acquaintance was, or had
been, married, and her name. John listened to his sister
with the interest which the beautiful Spaniard had excited at
the time they first met, and laughingly told her he could not
beHeve their unknown friend had ever been a wife. To
satisfy this doubt, and to gratify a wish they both had to
renew their acquaintance with the foreigner, they agreed to
drive to the cottage the following morning, accompanied by
Mrs. Wilson and Jane, if she would go ; but the next day was

the one appointed by Egerton for his arrival at L , and

Jane, under a pretence of writing letters, decHned the
excursion. She had carefully examined the papers since his
departure; had seen his name included in the arrivals at

PRECAUTION. 217

London; and at .a later day, had read an account of the
review by the commander-in-chief of the regiment to which
he belonged. He had never written to any of her friends ;
but, judging from her own feelings, she did not in the least
doubt he would be as punctual as love could make him.
Mrs. Wilson listened to her niece's account of the unexpected
nterview in the library with pleasure, and cheerfully promised
to accompany them in their morning's excursion, as she had
both a wish to alleviate sorrow, and a desire to better under-
stand the character of this accidental acquaintance of Emily's

Mr. Benfield and the baronet had a long conversation in
relation to Denbigh's fortune the morning after their arrival;
and the old man was loud in his expression of dissatisfaction
at the youngster's pride. As the baronet, however, in the
fulness of his affection and simplicity, betrayed to his uncle
his expectation of a union between Denbigh and his daughter,
Mr. Benfield became contented with this reward ; one fit, he
thought, for any services. On the whole, *' it was best, as he
was to marry Emmy, he should sell out of th6 army ; and as
there would be an election soon, he would bring him into
parliament — yes — yes — it did a man so much good to sit one
term in the parliament of this realm — to study human nature.
All his own knowledge in that way was raised on the founda-
tions laid in the House." To this Sir Edward cordially
assented, and the gentlemen separated, happy in their
arrangements to advance the welfare of two beings they so
sincerely loved.

Although the care and wisdom of Mrs. Wilson had pro-
hibited the admission of any romantic or enthusiastic
expectations of happiness into the day-dreams of her charge,
yet the buoyancy of health, of hope, of youth, of innocence,
had elevated Emily to a height of enjoyment hitherto unknown
to her usually placid and disciplined pleasures. Denbigh

10

218 PRECAUTION.

certainly mingled in most of her thoughts, both of the past
and the future, and she stood on the threshold of that fan-
tastic edifice in which Jane ordinarily resided. Emily was in
the situation perhaps the most dangerous to a young female
Christian : her heart, her affections, were given to a man, to
appearance, every way worthy of possessing them, it is true
but she had admitted a lival in her love to her Maker ; and
to keep those feelings distinct, to bend the passions in due
submission to the more powerful considerations of endless
duty, of unbounded gratitude, is one of the most trying
struggles of Christian fortitude. We are much more apt to
forget our God in prosperity than adversity. The weakness
of human nature drives us to seek assistance in distress ; but
vanity and worldly-mindedness often induce us to imagine we
control the happiness we only enjoy.

Sir Edward and Lady Moseley could see nothing in the
prospect of the future but lives of peace and contentment for
their children. Clara was happily settled, and her sisters
were on the eve of making connexions .with men of family,
condition, and certain character. What more could be done
for them ? They must, like other people, take their chances
in the lottery of life ; they could only hope and pray for their
prosperity, and this they did with great sincerity. Not so
Mrs. Wilson : she had guarded the invaluable charge
intrusted to her keeping with too much assiduity, too keen
an interest, too just a sense of the awful responsibility she
had undertaken, to desert her post at the moment watchful
ness was most required. By a temperate, but firm and well-
chosen conversation she kept alive the sense of her real
condition in her niece, and labored hard to prevent the
blandishments of life from supplanting the lively hope of
enjoying another existence. She endeavored, by her pious
example, her prayers, and her iudicious allusions, to keep the

PRECAUTTOX. 219

passion of love in the breast of Emily secondary to the more
important object of her creation ; and, by the aid of a kind
dnd Al might J Providence, her labors, though arduous, were
crowned with success.

As the family were seated round the table after dinner, on
the day of th'^ir walk to the library, John Moseley, awakening
from a reverie, exclaimed suddenly,

*' Which do you think the handsomest, Emily, Grace Chat
^erton or Miss Fitzo^erald ?"

Emily laughed, as she answered, " Grace, certainly ; do
you not think so, brother ?"

" Yes, on the whole ; but don't you think Grace looks like
her mother at times ?"

" Oh no, she is the image of Chatterton."

" She is very like yourself, Emmy dear," said Mr. Benfield,
who was listening to their conversation.

" Me, dear uncle ; I have never heard it remarked before."

*' Yes, yes, she is as much like you as she can stare. I
never saw as great a resemblance, excepting between you and
Lady Juliana — Lady Juliana, Emmy, was a beauty in her
day ; very like her uncle, old Admiral Griffin — you can't re-
member the admiral — he lost an eye in a battle with the
Dutch, and part of his cheek in a frigate, when a young naan
fighting the Dons. Oh, he was a pleasant old gentleman ;
many a guinea has he given me when I was a boj at
school."

" And he looked like Grace Chatterton, uncle, did he V
a-sked John, innocently.

" No, sir, he did not ; who said he looked hke Grace Chat-
terton, jackanapes ?"

"Why, I thought you made it out, sir: but perhaps it
was the description that deceived me — his eye and cheek,
uncle."

220 PRECAUTION.

" Did Lord Gosford leave children, uncle ?" inquired
Emily, throwing a look of reproach at John.

'' No, Emmy dear ; Lis only child, a son, died at school.
I shall never forget the grief of poor Lady Juliana. She
postponed a visit to Bath three weeks on account of it. A
gentleman who was paying his addresses to h«V at the time,
offered then, and was refused — indeed, her self-denial raised
such an admiration of her in the men, that immediately after
the death of young Lord Dayton, no less than seven gentle-
men offered, and were refused in one week. I heard Lady
Juliana say, that what between lawyers and suitors, she had
not a moment's peace."

" Lawyers 1" cried Sir Edward : *' what had she to do with
lawyers ?"

" Why, Sir Edward, six thousand a year fell to her by the
death of her nephew ; and there were trustees and deeds to
be made out — poor young woman, she was so affected, Emmy,
I don't think she went out for a week — all the time at home
reading papere, and attending to her important concerns.
Oh ! she was a woman of taste ; her mourning, and liveries,
and new carriage, were more admired than those of any one
about the court. Yes, yes, the title is extinct ; I know of
none of the name now. The Earl did not survive his loss
but six years, and the countess died broken-hearted, about a
twelvemonth before him."

" And Lady Juliana, uncle," inquired John, ** what became
of her, did she marry ?"

The old man helped himself to a glass of wine, and looked
)ver his shoulder to see if Peter was at hand. Peter, who
nad been originally butler, and had made it a condition of
his preferment, that whenever there was company, he should
be allowed to p'reside at the sideboard, was now at his sta-
tion. Mr. Benfield, seeing his old friend near him, ventured

PRECAUTION. 221

to talk on a subject he seldom trusted himself with in com-
pany.

" Why, yes — yes — she did marry, it's true, although she
did tell me she intended to die a maid ; but — hem — I sup-
pose— hem — it was compassion for the old viscount, who
often said he could not live without her; and then it gav^
her the power of doing so much good, a jointure of five thou
sand a year added to her own income: yet — hem— I do
confess I did not think she would have chosen such an old
and infii-m man — but, Peter, give me a glass of claret."
Peter handed the claret, and the old man proceeded : —
" They say he was very cross to her, and that, no doubt, must
have made her unhappy, she was so very tender-hearted."

How much longer the old gentleman would have continued
in this strain, it is impossible to say ; but he was interrupted
by the opening of the parlor door, and the sudden appear-
ance on its threshold of Denbigh. Every countenance glowed
with pleasure at this unexpected return of their favorite ; and
but for the prudent caution of Mrs. Wilson, in handing a
glass of water to her niece, the surprise might have proved
too much for her. The salutations of Denbigh were re-
turned by the different members of the family with a cordi-
ahty that must have told him how much he was valued by
all its branches ; and after briefly informing them that his
review was over, and that he had thrown himself into a
chaise and travelled post until he had rejoined them, he took
Lis seat by Mr. Benfield, who received him with a marked
preference, exceeding that which he had shown to any man
who had ever entered his doors, Lord Gosford himself not
excepted. Peter remo 'ed from his station behind his mas-
ter's chair to one where he could face the new comer ; and
after wiping his eyes until they filled so rapidly with water,
that at last he was noticed by the delighted John to put on

222 PRECAUTION.

the identical goggles which his care had provided for Den-
bigh in his illness. His laugh drew the attention of the rest
to the honest steward, and when Denbigh wavS told this was
Mr. Benfield's ambassador to the hall, he rose from his chair,
and taking the old man by the hand, kindly thanked him for
his thoughtful consideration for his weak eyes.

Peter took the offered hand in both his own, and after ma
king one or two unsuccessful efforts to speak, ht; uttered,
" Thank you, thank you ; may Heaven bless you," and burst
into tears. This stopped the laugh, and John followed the
steward from the room, while his master exclaimed, wiping
his eyes, " Kind and condescending ; just such another as mv
old friend, the Earl of Gosford."

PRECAUTION. 22a

CHAPTER XXIIL

At the appointed hour, the carriage of Mrs. Wilson
was ready to convey herself and niece to the cottage of
Mrs. Fitzgerald. John was left behind, under the pretence
of keeping Denbigh company in his morning avocations, but
really because Mrs. Wilson doubted the propriety of his
becoming a visiting acquaintance at the house, tenanted as
the cottage was represented to be. John was too fond of
his friend to make any serious objections, and was satisfied
for the present, by sending his compliments, and requesting
his sister to ask permission for him to call in one of his
morning excursions, in order to pay his personal respects.

They found the cottage a beautiful and genteel, though a
very small and retired dwelling, almost hid by the trees and
shrubs which surrounded it, and its mistress in its little
veranda, expecting the arrival of Emily. Mrs. Fitzgerald
was a Spaniard, under twenty, of a melancholy, yet highly
interesting countenance ; her manners were soft and retiring,
but evidently bore the impression of good company, if not
of high life. She was extremely pleased with this renewal
of attention on the part of Emily, and expressed her gratitude
to both ladies for their kindness in seeking her out in her
solitude. She presented her more matt-only companion to
them, by the name of Donna Lorenza ; and as nothing but
good feeling prevailed, and useless ceremony was banished,
the little party were soon on terms of friendly intercourse.
The young widow (for sucli her dress indicated her to be),
did the honors of her house with o-i-Hcet'ul ease, and conduct

224 . PREUAUTIOX.

ed her visiters into her little grounds, which, together witii
the cottage, gave evident proofs of the taste and elegance of
its occupant. The establishment she supported she repre-
sented as very small ; two women and an aged man servant,
with occasionally a laborer for her garden and shrubbery.
They never visited ; it was a resolution she had made on
fixing her residence here, but if Mrs. Wilson and Miss
Moseley would forgive the rudeness of not returning their
call, nothing would give her more satisfaction than a frequent
renewal of their visits. Mrs. Wilson took so deep an
interest in the misfortunes of this young female, and was so
much pleased with the modest resignation of her manner,
that it required little persuasion on the part of the recluse to
obtain a promise of soon repeating her visit. Ejnily
mentioned the request of John, and Mrs. Fitzgerald received
it with a mournful smile, as she replied that Mr. Moseley
had laid her under such an obligation in their first interview,
she could not deny herself the pleasure of again thanking
him for it ; but she must be excused if she desired they
would limit their attendants to him, as there was but one
gentleman in England whose visits she admitted, and it was
seldom indeed he called ; he had seen her but once since
she had resided in Norfolk.

After giving a promise not to sufier any one else to
accompany them, and promising an early call again, our
ladies returned to Benfield Lodge in season to dress for
dinner. On entering the drawing-room, they found the
elegant person of Colonel Egerton leaning on the back of
Jane's chair. He had arrived during their absence, and
immediately sought the baronet's family. His reception, if
not as warm as that given to Denbigh, was cordial fnom all
but the master of the house ; and even he was in such spirits
by the company around him, and the prospects of Emily's

PRECAUTION. 225

marriage (which he considered as settleaj, that he forced him-
self to an appearance of good will he did not feel. Colonel
Egerton was either deceived by his manner, or too much a
man of the world to discover his suspicion, and everything
in consequence was very harmoniously, if not sincerely
conducted between them.

Lady Moseley was completely happy. If she had the
least doubts before, as to the intentions of Egerton, the/
were now removed. His journey to that unfashionable
watering-place, was owing to his passion ; and however she
might at times have doubted as to Sir Edgar's heir,
Denbigh she thought a man of too little consequence in the
world, to make it possible he would neglect to profit by his
situation m the family of Sir Edward Moseley. She was
satisfied with both connexions. Mr. Benfield had told her
General Sir Frederic Denbigh was nearly allied to the Duke
of Derwent, and Denbigh had said the general was his
grandfather. Wealth, she knew Emily would possess from
both her uncle and aunt ; and the services of the gentleman
had their due weight upon the feelings of the affectionate
mother. The greatest of her maternal anxieties was removed,
and she looked forward to the peaceful enjoyment of the
remnant of her days in the bosom of her descendants. John,
the heir of a baronetcy, and 15,000 pounds a year, might
suit himself; and Grace Chatterton, she thought, would
be likely to prove the future Lady Moseley. Sir Edward,
without entering so deeply into anticipations of the future as
his wife, experienced an equal degree of contentment ; and
it would have been a difficult task to discover in the island
a roof, under which there resided at the moment more
happy countenances than at Benfield Lodge ; for as its
master had insisted on Denbigh beconiing an inmate, he
was obliged to extend his hospitality in an equal degree to
10*

220 rj'.KCAUTiox.

Colonel Egerton : indeed, the subject had been fully can-
vassed between him and Peter the morning of his arrival,
and was near being decided against his admission, vhen the
steward, who had picked up all the incidents of the arbor
cene from the servants (and of course with many exaggera-
tions), mentioned to his master that the colonel was very
active, and that he even contrived to bring water to revive
Miss Emmy, a great distance, in the hat of Captain Jar vis,
which w^as full of holes, Mr. John having blown it off the
head of the captain without hurting a hair, in firing at a
woodcock. This mollified the master a little, and he agreed
to suspend his decision for further observation. At dinner,
the colonel happening to admire the really handsome face
of Lord Gosford, as delineated by Sir Joshua Reynolds,
which graced the dining-room of Benfield Lodge, its master,
in a moment of unusal kindness, gave the invitation ; it was
politely accepted, and the colonel at once domesticated.

The face of John Moseley alone, at times, exhibited
evidences of care and thought, and at such moments it
might be a subject of doubt whether he thought the most
of Grace Chatterton or her mother : if the latter, the former
was sure to lose ground in his estimation ; a serious misfor-
tune to John, not to be able to love Grace without alloy.
His letters from her brother mentioned his being still at
Denbigh castle, in Westmoreland, the seat of his friend the
Duke of Derwent ; and John thought one or two of his
encomiums on Lady Harriet Denbigh, the sister of his grace,
augured that the unkindness of Emily might in time be
forgotten. The dowager and her daughters were at the
Eeat of a maiden aunt in Yorkshire, where as John knew no
male aninaal was allowed admittance, he was tolerably easy
at the disposition of things. Nothing but legacy-hunting
he knew would induce the dowager to submit to such a

PRECAUTION. 22*.

banisliment from the other sex ; but that was so preferabK
to husband-hunting he was satisfied. " I wish," said Johi»
mentally, as he finished the perusal of his lettei, " mother
Chatterton would get married herself, and she might let
Kate and Grace manage for themselves. Kate would do
very well, I dare say, and how would Grace make out 1"
^ohn sighed, and whistled for Dido and Rover.

In the manners of Colonel Egerton there was the same
general disposition to please, and the same unremitted atten-
tion to the wishes and amusements of Jane. They had
renewed their poetical investigations, and Jane eagerly
encouraged a taste which afforded her delicacy some little
coloring foF the indulgence of an association different from
the real truth, and which, in her estimation, was' necessary to
her happiness. Mrs. Wilson thought the distance between
the two suitors for the favor of her nieces was, if anything,
increased by their short separation, and particularly noticed
on the part of the colonel an aversion to Denbigh that at
times painfully alarmed, by exciting apprehensions for the
future happiness of the precious treasure she had prepared
herself to yield to his solicitations, whenever .properly prof-
fered. In Ihe intercourse between Emily and her preserver, *
as there was nothing to condemn, so there was much to
admire. The attentions of Denbigh were pointed, although
less exclusive than those of the colonel ; and the aunt was
j)l eased to observe that if the manners of Egerton had more
of the gloss of hfe, those of Denbigh were certainly dis-
iinguished by a more finished delicacy and propriety. The
one appeared the influence of custom and association, with a
tincture of artifice ; the other, benevolence, with a just per-
ception of what was due to others and with an air of sincerity,
when speaking of sentiments and principles, that was parti-
ticularly pleasing to the watchful widow. At times, however.

228 PRECAUTION.

she could not but observe an air of restraint, if not of awk-
wardness, about him that was a little surprising. It was most
observable in mixed society, and once or twice her imagina-
tion pictured his sensations into something like alarm. These
unpleasant interruptions to her admiration were soon forgotten
in her just appreciation of the more solid parts of his charac-
ter, which appeared hterally to be unexceptionable; and
when momentary uneasiness would steal over her, the
remembrance of the opinion of Dr. Ives, his behavior with
Jarvis, his charity, and chiefly his devotion to her niece, would
not fail to drive the disagreeable thoughts from her mind.
Emily herself moved about, the image of joy and innocence.
If Denbigh were near her, she was happy; if. absent, she
suft'ered no uneasiness. Her feelings were so ardent, and
yet so pure, that jealousy had no admission. Perhaps no
circumstances existed to excite this usual attendant of the
passion ; but as the heart of Emily was more enchained than
her imagination, her aftections were not of the restless nature
of ordinary attachments, though more dangerous to her peace
of mind in the event of an unfortunate issue. With Denbigh
she never walked or rode alone. He had never made the
request, and her dehcacy would have shrunk frem such an
open manifestation of her preference ; but he read to her and
her aunt ; he accompanied them in their little excursions ;
and once or twice John noticed that she took the offered
hand of Denbigh to assist her over any little impediment h
their course, instead of her usual unobtrusive custom of
taking his arm on such occasions. "Well, Miss Emily,
thought John, " you appear to have chosen another favorite,
on her doing this three times in succession in one of their,
walks. " How strange it is women will quit their natural
friends for a face they have hardly seen." John forgot his
own — " There is no danger, dear Grace," when his sist/^r waa

TMtnrirriov. ooo

almost dead with apprehension. But John loved Emily too
well to witness her preference of another with satisfaction,
even though Denbigh was the favorite; a feehng which soon
wore away, however, by dint of custom and reflection. Mr.
Benfield had taken it into his head that if the wedding of
Emily could be solemnized while the family was at the lodge,
it would render him the happiest of men ; and how to com-
pass this object, was the occupation of a whole mornino-'s
contemplation. Happily for Emily's blushes, the old gentle
man harbored the most fastidious notions of female delicacy,'
and never in conversation made the most distant allusion to
the expected connexion. He, therefore, in conformity with
these feelings, could do nothing openly; all must be the
effect of management ; and as he thought Peter one of the
best contrivers in the world, to his ingenuity he determined
to refer the arrangement.

The bell rang — " Send Johnson to me, David."

In a few minutes, the drab coat and blue yarn stockings
entered his dressing-room with the body of Mr. Peter Johnson
snugly cased within them.

"Peter," commenced Mr. Benfield, pointing kindly to a
chair, which the steward respectfully declined, "I suppose
you know that Mr. Denbigh, the grandson of General Den-
bigh, who was in parliament with me, is about to marry my
little Emmy ?"

Peter smiled, as he bowed an assent.

"Now, Peter, a wedding would, of all things, make roe
most happy ; that is, to have it here in the lodge. It would
remind me so nuuh of the marriage of Lord Gosford, and
the bridemaids. 1 wish your opinion how to bring it about
before they leave us Sir Edward and Anne decline mter-
fering, and Mrs. Wilson I am afraid to speak to on tba
subject."

230 PRECAUTION.

Peter was not a little alarmed by this sudden requisition
on his inventive faculties, especially as a lady was in the case ;
but, as he prided himself on serving his master, and loved
the hilarity of a wedding in his heart, he cogitated for some
time in silence, when, having thought a preliminary question
or two necessary, he broke it with saying —

" Everything, I suppose, master, is settled between the
young people ?"

" Everything, I take it, Peter."

" And Sir Edward and my lady *?"

" WilHng ; perfectly wiUing."

" And Madam Wilson, sir ?"

" Willing, Peter, willing."

*' And Mr. John and Miss Jane ?"

*' All willing ; the whole family is willing, to the best of
my belief.'*

" There is the Rev. Mr. Ives and Mrs. Ives, master ?"

" They wish it, I know. Don't you think they wish others
as happy as themselves, Peter ?"

** No doubt they do, master. Well, then, as everybody is
willing, and the young people agreeable, the only thing to be
done, sir, is "

" Is what, Peter ?" exclaimed his impatient master
observing him to hesitate.

" Why, sir, to send for the priest, I take it."

" Pshaw ! Peter Johnson, I know that mjself," replied the
dissatisfied old man. " Cannot you help me to a better
plan ?"

" Why, master," said Peter, " I would have done as well
for Miss Emmy and your honor as I would have done for
myself. Now, sir, when I courted Patty Steele, your honor,
in the year of our Lord one thousand seven hundred and
sixty-five, I should have been married but for one diffi-

PRECAUTIOX. 2.11

culty, whicli your honor says is removed in the case of Miss
Emmy."

" What was that, Peter ?" asked his master, in a tender
tone.

*' She wasn't willing, sir.'*

" Very well, poor Peter," replied Mr. Ben6eld, mildly
*' you may go." And the steward, bowing low, withdrew.

The similarity of their fortunes in love was a strong link in
the sympathies which bound the master and man together,
and the former never failed to be softened by an allusion to
Patty. The want of tact in the man, on the present occasion,
after much reflection, was attributed by his master to the fact
that Peter had never sat in parliament.

232 PRECAUTION.

CHAPTER XXIV.

Mrs. Wilson and Emily, in the fortnight they had /^en
at Benfield Lodge, paid frequent and long visits to th« cot-
tage: and each succeeding interview left a more favorable
impression of the character of its mistress, and a greater cer-
tainty that she was unfortunate. The latter, however, allu-
ded very slightly to her situation or former life ; she was a
Protestant, to the great surprise of Mrs. Wilson ; and one that
misery had made nearly acquainted with the religion she
professed. Their conversations chiefly turned Ctfi the cus-
toms of her own, as contrasted with those of her
adopted country, or in a pleasant exchange of opinions,
which the ladies possessed in complete unison. One morning
John had accompanied them and been admitted ; Mrs. Fitz-
gerald receiving him with the frankness of an old acquaint-
ance, though with the reserve of a Spanish lady. His visits
were permitted under the direction of his aunt, but no others
of the gentlemen were included amongst her guests. Mrs.
Wilson had casually mentioned, in the absence of her niece,
the interposition of Denbigh between her and death; and
Mrs. Fitzgerald was so much pleased at the noble conduct of
the gentleman, as to express a desire to see him ; but th
impressi<i»ns of the moment appeared to have died away, a
nothing more was said by either lady on the subject, and i
was apparently forgotten. Mrs. Fitzgerald was found one
morning, weeping over a letter she held in her hand, and the
Donna Lorenza was endeavoi'ing to console her. The situ-
-ation of tills latter lady was somewhat doubtful ; she ap

PRECAUTION. 2'J3

peared neither wholly a friend nor a menial. In the manners
of the two there was a striking difference; although the
Donna was not vulgar, she was far from possessing the polish
of her more juvenile friend, and Mrs. Wilson considered her
to be in a station between that of a housekeeper and that
of a companion. After hoping that no unpleasant intelligence
occasioned the distress they witnessed, the ladies were deli-
cately about to take their leave, when Mrs. Fitzgerald en-
treated them to remain.

" Your kind attention to me, dear madam, and the good-
ness of Miss Moseley, give you a claim to know more of the
unfortunate being your sympathy has so greatly assisted to
attain her peace of mind. This letter is from the gentleman
of whom you have heard me speak, as once visiting me, and
though it has struck me with unusual force, it contains no
more than I expected to hear, perhaps no more than I de-
serve to hear."

" I hope your friend has not been unnecessarily harsh :
severity is not the best way, always, of effecting repentance,
and I feel certain that you, my young friend, can have been
guilty of no offence that does not rather require gentle than
stern reproof," said Mrs. Wilson.

" I thank you, dear madam, for your indulgent opinion of
me, but although I have suffered much, I am willing to con-
fess it is a merited punishment ; you are, however, mistaken
as to the source of my present sorrow. Lord Pendennyss is
the cause of grief, I believe, to no one, much less to me."

" Lord Pendennyss !" exclaimed Emily, in surprise, uncon
sciously looking at her aunt.

" Pendennyss !" reiterated Mrs. Wilson, with animation
" and is he your friend, too ?"

" Yes, madam ; to his lordship I owe everything — honor
—comfort— religion — and even life itself."

Vrji PRECAUTION".

Mrs. Wilson's cheek glowed with an unusual color, at this
iiscovery of another act of benevolence and virtue, in a young
aobleman whose character she had so long admired, and
whose person she had in vain wished to meet.

" You know the earl, then ?" inquired Mrs. Fitzgerald.

" By reputation, only, my dear," said Mrs. Wilson ; " but
that is enough to convince me a friend of his must be a
worthy character, if anything were wanting to make us your
friends."

The conversation was continued for some time, and Mrs.
Fitzgerald saying she did not feel equal just then to the
undertaking, but the next day, if they would honor her with
another call, she would make them acquainted with the inci-
dents of her life, and the reasons she had for speaking in such
terms of Lord Pendennyss. The promise to see her was
cheerfully made by Mrs. Wilson, and her confidence accepted ;
not from a desire to gratify an idle curiosity, but a belief that
it was necessary to probe a wound to cure it ; and a correct
opinion, that she would be a better adviser for a young and
lovely woman, than even Pendennyss ; for the Donna Lorenza
she could hardly consider in a capacity to offer advice, much
less dictation. They then took their leave, and Emily, during
their ride, broke the silence with exclaiming, —

" Wherever we hear of Lord Pendennyss, aunt, we hear
of him favorably."

" A certain sign, my dear, he is deserving of it. There is
hardly any man who has not his enemies, and those aie
seldom just-; but we have met with none of the earl's yet."

" Fifty thousand a year will make many friends," observed
Emily, shaking her head.

" Doubtless, my love, or as many enemies ; but honor, life,
and religion, my child, are debts not owing to money — in
this c^ ?s^.v, at least."

PRECAUTION. '235

To this remark Emily assented ; and after expressing her
own admiration of the character of the young nobleman, she
dropped into a reverie. How many of his virtues she identified
with the person of Mr. Denbigh, it is not, just now, our task
to enumerate ; but judges of human nature may easily deter-
mine, and that too without having sat in the parliament of
this realm.

The mornino^ this conversation occurred at the cottasje, Mr.
and Mrs. Jarvis, with their daughters, made their unexpected

appearance at L . The arrival of a post-chaise and four

with a gig, was an event soon circulated through the little
village, and the names of its ownei's reached the lodge just
as Jane had allowed herself to be persuaded by the colonel
to take her first walk with him unaccompanied by a third
person. Walking is much more propitious to declarations
than riding ; and whether it was premeditated on the part of
the colonel or not, or whether he was afraid that Mrs. Jarvis
or some one else would interfere, he availed himself of this
opportunity, and had hardly got out of hearing of her brother
and Denbigh, before he made Jane an explicit offer of his
hand. The surprise was so great, that some time elapsed
before the distressed girl could reply. This she, however, at
length did, but incoherently : she referred him to her parents,
as the arbiters of her fate, well knowing that her wishes had
Ions: been those of her father and mother. With this the
colonel was obliged to be satisfied for the present. But their
walk had not ended, before he gradually drew from the con-
fiding girl an acknowledgment that, should her parents decline
his offer, she would be very little less miserable than himself;
indeed, the most tenacious lover might have been content
with the proofs of regard that Jane, unused to control her
feelings, allowed hei-self to manifest on this occasion. Egerton
was in raptures ; a life devoted to her would never half repay

236 PRECAUTION.

her condescension; and as their confidence increased with
their walk, Jane re-entered the lodge with a degree of happi-
ness in her heart she had never before experienced. The
much dreaded declaration — her own distressing acknowledg-
ments, were made, and nothing farther remained but to Uve
and be happy. She flew into the arms of her mother, and,
hiding her blushes in her bosom, acquainted her with the
colonel's offer and her own wishes. Lady Moseley, who was
prepared for such a communication, and had rather wondered
at its tardiness, kissed her daughter affectionately, as she
promised to speak to her father, and to obtain his appro-
bation.

" But," she added, with a degree of formality and caution
which had better preceded than have followed the courtship,
" we must make the usual inquiries, my child, into the fitness
of Colonel Egerton as a husband for our daughter. Once
assured of that, you have nothing to fear."

The baronet was requested to grant an audience to Colonel
Egerton, who now appeared as determined to expedite things,
as he had been dilatory before. On meeting Sir Edward, he
made known his pretensions and hopes. The father, who
had been previously notified by his wife of what was forth-
coming, gave a general answer, similar to the speech of the
mother, and the colonel bowed in acquiescence.

In the evening, the Jarvis family favored the inhabitants
of the lodge with a visit, and Mrs. Wilson was struck with
the singularity of their reception of the colonel. Miss Jarvis,
especially, was rude to both him and Jane, and it struck all
who witnessed it as a burst of jealous feeling for disappointed
hopes ; but to no one, excepting Mrs. Wilson, did it occur
that the conduct of the gentleman could be at all imphcated
in the transaction. Mr. Benfield was happy to see under his
roof again the best of the trio of Jarvises he had known, and

PRECAUTICN. 237

something like sociability prevailed. There was to be a ball,

Miss Jarvis remarked, at L , the following day, which

would help to enliven the scene a little, especially as there
were a couple of frigates at anchor, a few miles off, and the
officers were expected to join the party. This intelligence
had but little effect on the ladies of the Moseley fiimily ; yet,
as their uncle desired that, out of respect to his neighbors, if
invited, they would go, they cheerfully assented. During the
evening, Mrs. Wilson observed Egerton in familiar conversa-
tion with Miss Jarvis ; and as she had been notified of his
situation with respect to Jane, she determined to watch nar-
rowly into the causes of so singular a change of deportment
in the young lady. Mrs. Jarvis retained her respect for the
colonel in full force, and called out to him across the room, a
few minutes before she departed —

" Well, colonel, I am happy to tell you I have heard veiy
lately from your uncle, Sir Edgar."

" Indeed, madam !" replied the colonel, starting. " Ho
was well, I hope."

" Yery well, the day before yesterday. His neighbor, old

Mr. Holt, is a lodger in the same house with us at L ;

and as I thought you would like to hear, I made particular
inquiries about the baronet." The word baronet was pro-
nounced with emphasis and a look of triumph, as if it would
Bay, you see we have baronets as well as you. As no answer
was made by Egerton, excepting an acknowledging bow, the
merchant and his family departed.

" Well, John," cried Emily, with a smile, " we have heard .
more good to-day of our trusty and well-beloved cousin, the
Earl of Pendennyss."

" Indeed 1" exclaimed her brother. " You must keep
Emily for his lordship, positively, aunt : she is almost as great
an admirer of him as yourself."

233 PRECA :tiox.

" I apprehend it is necessary she should be quite as mudi
BO, to become his wife," said Mrs. Wilson.

" Really," said Emily, more gravely, " if all one hears of
him be true, or even half, it would be no difficult task to
admire him.""

Denbigh was standing leaning on the back of a chair, in
ituation where he could view the animated countenance of
Emily as she spoke, and Mi-s. Wilson noticed an uneasiness
and a changing of color in him that appeared uncommon
from so trifling a cause. Is it possible, she thought, Denbigh
can harbor so mean a passion as envy ? He walked away,
as if unwilling to hear more, and appeared much engrossed
with his own reflections for the remainder of the evening.
There were moments of doubting which crossed the mind of
Mrs. Wilson with a keenness of apprehension proportionate
to her deep interest in Emily, with respect to certain traits in
the character of Denbigh ; and this, what she thought a
display of unworthy feeling, was one of them. In the course
of the evening, the cards for the expected ball arrived, and
were accepted. As this new arrangement for the morrow
interfered with their intended visit to Mrs. Fitzgerald, a
servant was sent with a note of explanation in the morning
and a request that on the following day the promised com-
munication mio;ht be made. To this arranofement the recluse
assented, and Emily prepared for -the ball with a melancholy
recollection of the consequences which grew out of the last
she had attended — melancholy at the fate of Digby, and
pleasure at the principles manifested by Denbigh, on the
occasion. The latter, however, with a smile, excused himself
from being of the party, telling Emily he was so awkward
that he feared some unpleasant consequences to himself oi
his friends would arise from his inadvertencies, did he veutun
again with her into such an assembly.

vRECAuriON. 239

Emily sighed gently, as she entered the carriage of her aunt
early in the afternoon, leaving Denbigh in the door of the
lodge, and Eger ton absent on the execution of some business j
the former to amuse himself as he could until the following
morning, and the latter to join them in the dance in the
evening.

The arrangement included an excui-sion on the water,
attended by the bands from the frigatas, a collation, and in
the evening a ball. One of the vessels was commanded by
a Lord Henry Stapleton, a fine young man, who, struck with
the beauty and appearance of the sisters, sought an intro-
duction to the baronet's family, and engaged the hand of
Emily for the first dance. His frank and gentlemanlike de-
portment was pleasing to his new acquaintances ; the more
so, as it was peculiarly suited to their situation at the moment.
Mrs. Wilson was in unusual spirits, and maintained an ani-
mated conversation with the young sailor, in the course of
which, he spoke of his cruising on the coast of Spain, and by
accident he mentioned his having carried out to that country,
upon one occasion. Lord Pendennyss. This Avas common
ground between them, and Lord Henry was as enthusiastic
in his praises of the earl, as Mrs. Wilson's partiality could
desire. He also knew Colonel Eger ton slightly, and ex-
pressed his pleasure, in polite terms, when they met in the
evening in the ball-room, at being able to renew his acquaint
ance. The evening passed off as such evenings generally do
-—in gaiety, listlessness, dancing, gaping, and heartburnings,
according to the dispositions and good or ill fortune of the
several individuals who compose the assembly. Mi-s. Wilson,
while her nieces were dancing, moved her seat to be near a
window, and found herself in the vicinity of two elderly gen-
tlemen, who were commenting on the company. After
making, several common-place remarks, one of them inquired

240 PRECAUTION.

of the other— "Who is that military gentleman amongst the
naval beaux, HoltV"

" That is the hopeful nephew of my friend and neighbor,
Sir Edgar Egerton ; he is here dancing, and misspending his
time and money, when I know Sir Edgar gave him a thou-
sand pounds six months ago, on express condition, he should
not leave the regiment or take a card in his hand for
twelvemonth."

" He plays, then ?"

" Sadly ; he is, on the whole, a very bad young man."

As they changed their topic, Mrs. Wilson joined her sister,
dreadfully shocked at this intimation of the vices of a man so
near an alliance with her brother's child. She was thankful
it was not too late to avert part of the evil, and determined
to acquaint Sir Edward, at once, with what she had heard, in
order that an investigation might establish the colonel's iniu^
cence or guilu

PRECAUTION. 241

CHAPTER XXV

They returned to the lodge at an early hour, and Mrs
Wilson, after meditating upon the course she ought to take,
resolved to have a conversation with her brother that evening
after supper. Accordingly, as they were among the last to
retire, she mentioned her wish to detain him, and when left
by themselves, the baronet taking his seat by her on a sofa,
she commenced as follows, willing to avoid her unpleasant
information until the last moment.

" I wished to say something to you, brother, relating to my
charge : you have, no doubt, observed the attentions of Mr.
Denbigh to Emily ?"

*' Certainly, sister, and with great pleasure ; you must not
suppose I wish to interfere with the authority I have so freely
relinquished to you, Charlotte, when I inquire if Emily favors
ills views or not ?"

" Neither Emily nor I, my dear brother, wish ever to ques-
tion your right, not* only to inquire into, but to control the
conduct of your child ;— she is yours, Edward, by a tie
nothing can break, and we both love you too much to wish it.
There is nothing you may be more certain of, than that, with-
out the approbation of her parents, Emily would accept of no
offer, however splendid or agreeable to her own wishes."

" Nay, sister, I would not wish unduly to influence my
child in an affair of so much importance to herself; but
my interest in Denbigh is little short of that I feel for my
daughter."

" I trust," continued Mrs. Wilson, " Emily is too deeply
11

242 PRECAUTION.

impressed with her duty to forget the impressive mandate,
'to honor her father and mother:' yes, Sir Edward, I am
mistaken if she would not relinquish the dearest object of her
affections, at your request ; and at the same time, I am per-
suaded she would, under no circumstances, approach the altar
with a man she did not both love and esteem."

The baronet did not appear exactly to understand his sis
ter's distinction, as he observed, " I am not sure I rightly
comprehend the difference you make, Charlotte."

" Only, brother, that she would feel that a promise made at
*he altar to love a man she felt averse to, or honor one she
could not esteem, as a breach of a duty, paramount to all
earthly considerations," replied his sister; "but to answer
yom* question — Denbigh has never offered, and when he does,
I do not think he will be refused."

** Refused !" cried the baronet, " I sincerely hope not ; I
wish, with all my heart, they were married already."

" Emily is very young," said Mrs. Wilson, " and need not
hurry : I was in hopes she would remain single a few years
longer."

** Well," said the baronet, " you and Lady Moseley, sister,
have different notions on the subject of marrying the girls. "

Mrs. Wilson replied, with a good-hu-mored smile, "you
have made Anne so good a husband, Ned, that she forgets
there are any bad ones in the world ; my greatest anxiety is,
that the husband of my niece may be a Christian ; indeed, I
know not how I can reconcile it to my conscience, as a Chris-
tian myself, to omit this important qualification."

" I am sure, Charlotte, both Denbigh and Egerton appear
to have a great respect for religion ; they are punctual ai
church, and very attentive to the service :" Mrs. WilsoD
smiled as he proceeded, " but religion may come after map
riags, you know."

PRECAUTION. 243

" Yes, brother, and I know it may not come at all ; no
really pious woman can be happy, without her husband is in
what she deems the road to future happiness himself ; and it
IS idle — it is worse — it is almost impious to marry with a view
to reform a husband : indeed, she greatly endangers her own
safety thereby ; for few of us, I believe, T^ut find the tempta-
tion to err as much as we can contend with, without calling
in the aid of example against us, in an object we love ; indeed
it appears to me, the life of such a woman must be a struggle
between conflicting duties."

" Why," said the baronet, " if your plan were generally
adopted, I am afraid it would give a deadly blow to matri-
mony."

" I have nothing to do with generals, brother, I am acting
for individual happiness, and discharging individual duties :
at the same time I cannot agree with you in its efiects on the
community. I think no man who dispassionately examines
the subject, will be other than a Christian ; and rather than
remain bachelors, they would take even that trouble ; if the
strife in our sex were less for a husband, wives would increase
in value."

" But how is it, Charlotte," said the baronet, pleasantly,
" your sex do not use your power and reform the age ?"

" The work of reformation, Sir Edward," replied .his sister,
gravely, "is an arduous one indeed, and I despair of seeing it
general, in my day ; but much, very much, might be done
towards it, if those who have the guidance of youth would-
take that trouble with their pupils that good faith requires of
them, to discharge the minor duties of hfe."

" Women ought to marry," observed the baronet, musing,

*' Marriage is certainly the natural and most desirable state
for a woman," but how few are there who, having entered it,
know how to discharge its duties ; more particularly those of

244 PRECAUTION.

a mother ! On the subject of marrying our daughters, for
instance, instead of quahfying them to make a proper choice,
they are generally left to pick up such principles and opinions
as they may come at, as it were by chance. It is true, if the
parent be a Chiistian in name, certain of the externals of reli-
gion are observed ; but what are these, if not enforced by a
consistent example in the instructor ?"

" Useful precepts are seldom lost, I believe, sister," said
Sir Edward, with confidence.

" Always useful, my dear brother ; but young people are
more observant than we are apt to imagine, and are wonder-
fully ingenious in devising excuses to themselves for their
conduct. I have often heard it offered as an apology, that
father or mother knew it, or perhaps did it, and therefore it
could not be wrong : association is all-important to a child."

" I believe no family of consequence admits of improper
associates within my knowledge," said the baronet.

Mrs. Wilson smiled as she answered, " I am sure I hope
not, Edward ; but are the qualifications we require in com-
panions for our daughters, always such as are most recon-
cileable with our good sense or our consciences ; a single com-
munication with an objectionable character is a precedent, if
known and unobserved, which will be offered to excuse
acquaintances with worse persons : with the other sex,
especially, their acquaintance should be very guarded and
select."

" You would make many old maids, sister."

" I doubt it greatly, brother ; it would rather bring female
ociety in demand. I often regret that selfishness, cupidity,
and the kind of strife which prevails in our sex, on the road
to matrimony, have brought celibacy into disrepute. For my
part, I never see an old maid, but I am willing to think she
is so from choice or principle, and although not in her proper

PRECAUTION. 245

place, serviceable, by keeping alive feelings necessary to
exist, that marriages may not become cui'ses instead of
blessings."

'*A kind of Eddystone, to prevent matrimonial ship-
wrecks," said the brother, gayly.

" Their lot may be solitary, baronet, and in some measure
cheerless, but infinitely preferable to a marriage that may
lead them astray from their duties, or give birth to a family
which are to be turned on the world — without any religion
but form — without any morals but truisms — or without even
a conscience which has not been seared by indulgence. I
hope that Anne, in the performance of her system, will have
no cause to regret its failure." -

** Clara chose for herself, and has done well, Charlotte ;
and so, I doubt not, will Jane and- Emily : and I confess I
think their mother is right."

" It is true," said Mrs. Wilson, " Clara has done well,
though under circumstances of but Uttle risk ; she might have
jumped into your fish-pond, and escaped with life, but the
chances are she would drown : nor do I dispute the right of
the girls to choose for themselves ; but I say the rights extend
to requiring us to qualify them to make their choice. I am
sorry, Edward, to be the instigator of doubts in your breast
of the ^yorth of any one, especially as it may give you pain."
Here Mrs. Wilson took her brother affectionately by the hand,
and communicated what she had overheard that evening.
Although the impressions of the baronet were not as vivid, oi
as deep as those of his sister, his parental love was too great
not to make him extremely uneasy under the intelligence
and after thanking her for her attention to his children's wel-
fare, he kissed her, and withdrew. In passing to his own
room, he met Egerton, that moment returned from escorting
the Jarvis ladies to their lodgings ; a task he had undertaken

246 PRECAUTION.

at the request of Jane, as they were without any male attend-
ant. Sir Edward's heart was too full not to seek immediate
relief, and as he had strong hopes of the innocence of the
colonel, though he could give no reason for his expectation,
he returned with him to the parlor, and in a few words
acquainted him with the slanders which had been circulated
at his expense ; begging him by all means to disprove them
as soon as possible. The colonel was struck with the cir-
cumstance at first, but assured Sir Edward, it was entirely
untrue. He nevjer played, as he might have noticed, and
that Mr. Holt was an ancient enemy of his. He would in
the morning take measures to convince Sir Edward, that he
stood hioher in the estimation of his uncle, than Mr. Holt had
thought proper to state. Much relieved by this explanation,
the bai-onet, forgetting that this heavy charge removed, he
only stood where he did before he took time for his inquiries,
assured him, that if he could convince him, or rather his sister,
he did not gamble, he would receive him as a son-in-law
with pleasure. The gentlemen shook hands and parted.

Denbigh had retired to his room early, telling Mr. Ben-
field he did not feel well, and thus missed the party at
supper ; and by twelve, silence prevailed in the house.

As usual after a previous day of pleasure, the party were
late in assenibling on the following, yet Denbigh was the
last who made his appearance. Mrs. Wilson thought he
threw a look round the room as he entered, which prevented
his making his salutations in his usual easy and polished
manner. In a few minutes, however, his awkwardness was
removed, and they took their seats at the table. At that
moment the door of the room was thrown hastily open, and
Mr. Jarvis entered abruptly, and with a look bordering on
wildness in his eye — " Is she not here ?" exclaimed the
merchant scanning the company closely.

' PRECAITTTOK. 2-17

" Who ?" inquired all in a breath.

" Polly — my daughter — my child," said the merchant,
mdeavoring to control his feelings ; " did she not come here
this morning with Colonel Egerton ?"

He was answered in the negative, and he briefly explained
the cause of his anxiety. The colonel had called very early,
and sent her maid up to his daughter who rose immediately.
Tliey had quitted the house together, leaving word the Miss
Moseleys had sent for the young lady to breakfast, for some
particular reason. Such was the latitude allowed by his
wife, that nothing was suspected until one of the servants of
the house said he had seen Colonel Egerton and a lady
drive out of the village that morning in a post-chaise and
four.

Then the old gentleman first took the alarm, and he
proceeded instantly to the lodge in quest of his daughter.
Of the elopement there now remained no doubt, and an exam-
ination into the state of the colonel's room, who, it had been
thought, was not yet risen, gave assurance of it. Here was
at once sad confirmation that the opinion of Mr. Holt was a
just one. Although every heart felt for Jane during this
dreadful explanation, no eye was turned on her excepting
the stolen and anxious glances of her sister ; but when all
was confirmed, and nothing remained but to reflect or act
upon the circumstances, she naturally engrossed the whole
attention of her fond parents. Jane had listened in indig-
nation to the commencement of the narrative of Mr. Jarvis,
and so firmly was Egerton enshrined in purity within her
imagination, that not until it was ascert.*med that both his
servant and clothes were missing, would she admit a
thought injurious to his truth. Then indeed the feelings of
Mr. Jarvis, his plain statement corroborated by this testimony,
Btruck her at once as true ; and as she rose to leave the

248 PRECAUTION.

room, she fell senseless into the arms of Emily who observ-
ing her movement and loss of color had flown to her assist-
ance. Denbigh had drawn the merchant out in vain eflforts
to appease him, and happily no one witnessed this effect of
Jane's passion but her nearest relatives. She was im-
mediately removed to her own room, and in a short time
was in bed with a burning fever. The bursts of her grief
were uncontrolled and violent. At times she reproacheo.
herself — her friends — Egerton ; in short, she was guilty of
all the inconsistent sensations that disappointed hopes,
accompanied by the consciousness of weakness on our part
seldom fail to give rise to ; the presence of her fiiends was
irksome to her, and it was only to the soft and insinuating
blandishments of Emily's love that she would at all yield.
Perseverance and affection at length prevailed, and as Emily
took the opportunity of some refreshments to infuse a strong
soporific, Jane lost her consciousness of misery in a tem-
porary repose. In the mean time a more searching inquiry
had been able to trace out the manner and direction of the
journey of the fugitives.

It appeared the colonel left the lodge immediately after
his conversation with Sir Edward ; he slept at a tavern, and
caused his servant to remove his baggage at day-light ;
here he had ordered a chaise and horses, and then proceed-
ed, as mentioned, to the lodgings of Mr. Jarvis. What
arguments he used with Miss Jarvis to urge her to so sudden
a flight, remained a secret ; but from the remarks of Mrs.
Jarvis and Miss Sarah, there was reason to believe that he
had induced them to think from the commencement, that
his intentions were single, and Mary Jarvis their object.
How he contrived to gloss over his attentions to Jane in
Buch a manner as to deceive those ladies, caused no little
surprise ; but it was obvious it had been done, and the

PRECAUTION. 249

Moseleys were not without hopes his situation with Jane
would not make the noise in the world such occurrences
seldom fail to excite. In the afternoon a letter was handed
to Mr. Jarvis, and by him immediately communicated to the
baronet and Denbigh, both of whom he considered as among
his best friends. It was from Egerton, and written in a
respectful manner : he apologized for his elopement, and
excused it on the ground of a wish to avoid the delay of a
license or the publishing of bans, as he was in hourly expecta-
tion of a summons to his regiment, and contained many
promises of making an attentive husband, and an affection-
ate son. The fugitives were on the road to Scotland,
whence they intended immediately to return to London and
to wait the commands of their parents. The baronet in a
voice trembling with emotion at the suflferings of his own
child, congratulated the merchant that things were no worse ;
while Denbigh curled his lips as he read the epistle, and
thought settlements were a greater inconvenience than the
bans — for it was a well known fact, a maiden aunt had left
the Janrises twenty thousand pounds between them.

11*

2iA)

PRECAUTION.

CHAPTEE XXYI.

Although the affections of Jane had sustained a heaty
blow, her pride had received a greater, and no pei-suasions
of her mother or sister could induce her to leave her room.
She talked little, but once or twice she yielded to the affec-
tionate attentions of Emily, and poured out her sorrows into
the bosom of her sister. At such moments she would declare
her intention of never appearing in the world again. One of
these paroxysms of sorrow was witnessed by her mother,
and, for the first time, self-reproach mingled in the grief of
the matron. Had she trusted less to appearances and to the
opinions of indifferent and ill-judging acquaintances, her
daughter might have been apprized in season of the charac-
ter of the man who had stolen her affections. To a direct
exhibition of misery Lady Moseley was always sensible, and,
for the moment, she became alive to its causes and conse-
quences ; but a timely and judicious safeguard against future
moral evils was a forecast neither her inactivity of mind nor
abihties were equal to.

We shall leave Jane to brood over her lover's misconduct,
while we regret she is without the consolation alone able to

PRECAUTIOK. 25 1

bear her up against the misfortunes of life, and return to tha
other personages of our history.

The visit to Mrs. Fitzgerald had been postponed in con-
sequence of Jane's indisposition ; but a week after the
colonel's departure, Mrs. Wilson thought, as Jane had con-
sented to leave her room, and Emily really began to look
pale from her confinement by the side of a sick bed, she
"would redeem the pledge she had given the recluse on the
following morning. They found the ladies at the cottage
happy to see them, and anxious to hear of the health of Jane,
of whose illness they had been informed by note. After
offering her guests some refreshments, Mrs. Fitzgerald, who
appeared laboring under a greater melancholy than usual,
proceeded to make them acquainted with the incidents of her
hfe.

The daughter of an English merchant at Lisbon had fled
from the house of her father to the protection of an Irish
officer in the service of his Catholic Majesty : they were
united, and the colonel immediately took his bride to Madrid.
The offspring of this union were a son and daughter. The
former, at an early age, had entered into the service of his
king, and had, as usual, been bred in the faith of his ances-
tors ; but the Senora McCarthy had been educated, and yet
remained a Protestant, and, contrary to her faith to her hus-
band, secretly instructed her daughter in the same belief.
At the age of seventeen, a principal grandee of the court of
Charles sought the hand of the general's child. The Conde
d'Alzada was a match not to be refused, and they were
united in the heartless and formal manner in which marriages
are too often entered into, in countries where the customs of
society prevent an intercourse between the sexes. The Conde
never possessed the affections of his wife. Of a, stern anc^
unyielding disposition, his harsllnes^^ rtipellecl her love j and

252 PRECAUTION.

as slie naturally turned her eyes to the home of lier child-
hood, she cherished all those peculiar sentiments she had
imbibed from her mother. Thus, although she appeared to
the world a Catholic, she liyed in secret a Protestant. Her
parents had always used the English language in their family,
and she spoke it as fluently, as the Spanish. To encourage
her recollections of this strong feature, which distinguished
the house of her father from the others she entered, she
perused closely and constantly those books which the death
of her mother placed at her disposal. These were princi-
pally Protestant works on religious subjects, and the countess
became a strong sectarian, without becoming a Christian.
As she was compelled to use the same books in teaching her
only child, the Donna Julia, English, the consequences of the
original false step of her grandmother were perpetuated in
the person of this young lady. In learning English, she also
learned to secede from the faith of her father, and entailed
upon herself a life of either persecution or hypocrisy. The
countess was guilty of the unpardonable error of complaining
to their child of the treatment she received from her husband ;
and as these conversations were held in English, and were
consecrated by the tears of the mother, they made an indelible
impression on the youthful mind of Julia, who grew up with
the conviction that next to being a Catholic herself, the
greatest evil of life was to be the wife of one.

On her attaining her fifteenth year, she had the misfortune
(if it could be termed one) to lose her mother, and within the
year her father presented to her a nobleman of the vicinity
as her future husband. How long the religious faith of Julia
would have endured, unsupported by example in others, and
assailed by the passions soliciting in behalf of a young and
handsome cavalier, it might be difficult to pronounce ; but as
her suitor was neither very young, and the reverse of ven

PRECAUTION".

handsome, it is certain the more he wooed, the more con-
firmed she became in her heresy, until, in a moment of
desperation, and as an only refuge against his solicitations,
she candidly avowed her creed. The anger of her father was
violent and lasting : she was doomed to a convent, as both a
penance for her sins and a means of reformation. Physical
resistance was not in h^r power, but mentally she determined
never to yield. Her body was immured, but her mind con-
tinued unshaken and rather more settled in her belief, by the
aid of those passions which had been excited by injudicious
harshness. For two years she continued in her novitiate,
obstinately refusing to take the vows of the order, and at the
end of that period the situation of her country had called her
father and uncle to the field as defenders of the rights of
their lawful prince. Perhaps to this it was owing that
harsher measures were not adopted in her case.

The war now raged around them in its greatest horrors,
until at length a general battle was fought in the neighbor-
hood, and the dormitories of the peaceful nuns were crowded
with wounded British officers. Amongst others of his nation
was a Major Fitzgerald, a young man of strikingly handsome
countenance and pleasant manners. Chance threw him under
the more immediate charge of Julia : his recovery was slow,
and for a time doubtful, and as much owing to good nursing
as science. The major was grateful, and Julia unhappy as
,she was beautiful. That love should be the offspring of this
association, will excite no surprise. A brigade of British
encamping in the vicinity of the convent, the young couple
sought its protection from Spanish vengeance and Ilomish
cruelty. They were married by the chaplain of the brigade,
and for a month they were happy.

As Napoleon was daily expected in person at the seat of
war, his generals were alive to their own interests, if not to

254 PRECAUTION.

that of their master. The body of troops in which Fitzgerald
had sought a refuge, being an advanced party of the main
army, were surprised and defeated with loss. After doing
his duty as a soldier at his post, the major, in endeavoring to
secure the retreat of Julia, was intercepted, and they both fell
into the hands of the enemy. They were kindly treated, and
allowed every indulgence their situation admitted, until a small
escort of prisoners was sent to the frontiers ; in this they
were included, and had proceeded to the neighborhood of
she Pyrenees, when, in their turn, the French were assailed
suddenly, and entirely routed ; and the captive Spaniards, of
which the party, with the exception of our young couple,
consisted, released. As the French guard made a resistance
until overpowered by numbers, an unfortunate ball struck
Major Fitzgerald to the earth — he survived but an hour, and
died where he fell, on the open field. An English officer, the
last of his retiring countrymen, was attracted by the sight of
a woman weeping over the body of a fallen man, and ap-
proached them. In a few words Fitzgerald explained his
situation to this gentleman, and exacted a pledge from him
to guard his Julia, in safety, to his mother in England.

The stranger promised everything the dying husband
required, and by the time death had closed the eyes of Fitz-
gerald, he had procured from some peasants a rude convey-
ance, into which the body, with its almost equally h£eless
widow, were placed. The party which intercepted the con-
voy of prisoners, had been out from the British camp on other
duty, but its commander hearing of the escort, had pushed
rapidly into a country covered by the enemy to effect their
rescue ; and his service done, he was compelled to make a
hasty retreat to ensure his own security. To this was owing
the indifference, which left the major to the care of the Spa-
nish peasantry who had gathered to the spot, and the retreat-

PRECAUTION. 255

jng troops bad got several miles on their return, before tbe
widow and ber protector commenced their journey. It was
impossible to overtake them, and tbe inhabitants acquainting
the gentleman that a body of French dragoons were already
harassing their rear, he was compelled to seek another route
to the camp. This, with some trouble and no little danger,
he at last effected ; and the day following the skirmish, Julia
found herself lodged in a retired Spanish dwelling, several
miles within the advanced posts of the British army. The
body of her husband was respectfully interred, and Julia was
left to mourn her irretrievable loss, uninterrupted by anything
but by the hasty visits of the officer in whose care she had
been left — visits which he stole from his more important
duties as a soldier.

A month ghded by in this melancholy manner, leaving to
Mi-s. Fitzgerald the only consolation she would receive — her
incessant visits to the grave of her husband. The calls of her
protector, however, became more frequent ; and at length he
announced his intended departure for Lisbon, on his way to
England. A small covered vehicle, drawn by one horse, was
to convey them to the city, at which place he promised to
procure her a female attendant, and necessaries for the voyage
home. It was no time or place for dehcate punctilio ; and
Julia quietly, but with a heart nearly broken, prepared to
submit to the wishes of her late husband. After leavinjr the
dwelling, the manners of her guide sensibly altered ; he
became complimentary and assiduous to please, but in a way
rather to offend than conciliate; until his attentions became
60 irksome, that Julia actually meditated stopping at some
of the villages through which they passed, and abandoning
the attempt of visiting England entirely. But the desir"? to
comply with Fitzgerald's wish, that she would console hia
mother for the loss of an only child, and the dread of the

250 PRECAunoN.

an^^er of her relatives, determined her to persevere until they
reached Lisbon, where she was resolved to separate for ever
from the disao^reeable and unknown j^uardian into whose
Keeping she had been thrown by chance.

The last day of their weary ride, while passing a wood, the
officer so far forgot his own character and Julia's misfor
tunes, as to offer personal indignities. Grown desperate from
her situation, Mrs. Fitzgerald sprang from the vehicle, and
by her cries attracted the notice of an officer who was riding
express on the same road with themselves. He advanced to
her assistance at speed, but as he arrived near them, a pistol
fired from the carriage brought his horse down, and the
treacherous friend was enabled to escape undetected. Julia
endeavored to explain her situation to her rescuer ; and by
her distress and appearance, satisfied him at once of its truth.
Wiihin a short time, a strong escort of light dragoons came
up, and the officer despatched some for a conveyance, and
othei*s in pursuit of that disgrace to the army, the villanous
guide : the former was soon obtained, but no tidings could
be had of the latter. The carriage was found at a short dis-
tance, without the horse and with the baggage of Julia, but
with no vestige of its owner. She never knew his name, and
either accident or art had so completely enveloped him in
mystery, that all efforts to unfold it then were fruitless, and
had continued so ever since.

On their arrival in Lisbon, every attention was shown t'
the disconsolate widow the most refined delicacy could die
^te, and every comfort and respect were procured for her
which the princely fortune, high rank, and higher charactei
of the Earl of Pendennyss, could command. It was this noble-
man, who, on his way from head-quarters with despatches
for England, had been the means of preserving Julia from a
fate worse than death. A packet was in waiting for the

PRECAUTION. 257

eaii, and they proceeded in her for home. The Donna Lo-
renza was the widow of a subaltern Spanish officer, who had
fallen under the orders and near Pendennyss, and the interest
he took in her brave husband had induced hiin to offer her,
in the destruction of her little fortune by the enemy, his pro«
taction : for near two years he had maintained her at Lisbon,
and now, judging her a proper person, had persuaded her to
accompany Mrs, Fitzgerald to England.

On the passage, which was very tedious, the earl became
more intimately acquainted with the history and character
of his young friend, and by a course of gentle yet powerful
expedients had drawn her mind gradually from its gloomy
contemplation of futurity, to a juster sense of good and evil
The peculiarity of her religious persuasion afforded an intro-
duction to frequent discussions of the real opinions of that
church, to which JuUa had hitherto belonged, although igno-
rant of all its essential and vital truths. These conversations,
which were renewed repeatedly in their intercourse while
under the protection of his sister in London, laid the founda-
tions of a faith which left her nothing to hope for but the
happy termination of her earthly probation.

The mother of Fitzgerald w^as dead, and as he had no near
relative left, Juha found herself alone in the world. Her
husband had taken the precaution to make a will in season
it was properly authenticated, and his widow, by the powerful
assistance of Pendennyss, was put in quiet possession of a
little independency. It was while waiting the decision of
this affair that Mrs. Fitzgerald resided for a short time near
Bath. As soon as it was terminated, the earl and his sister
had seen her settled in her present abode, and once since had
they visited her ; but delicacy had kept him away from the
cottage, although his attempts to serve her had been constant,
though not always successful*. He had, on his return to

258 PRECAUTION.

Spain, seen her father, and interceded with him on her
behalf, but in vain. The anger of the Spani^r'i remained
unappeased, and for a season he did not rene*v his eflforts ;
out having heard that her father was indisposed, Juha had
employed the earl once more to make her pea'^e with him,
without prevailing. The letter the ladies had found her
weeping over was from Pendennyss, informing her of his
want of success on that occasion.

The substance of the foregoing narrative was related by
Mrs. Fitzgerald to Mrs. Wilson, who repeated it to Emily in
their ride home. The compassion of both ladies was strongly
moved in behalf of the young widow ; yet Mrs. Wilson did
not fail to point out to her niece the consequences of decep-
tion, and chiefly the misery which had followed from an
abandonmerlt of some of the primary duties of life — obedience
and respect to her parent. Emily, though keenly alive to
all the principles inculcated by her aunt, found so much to
be pitied in the fate of her friend, that her failings lost their
proper appearance in her eyes, and for a while she could
think of nothing but Julia and her misfortunes. Previously
to their leaving the cottage, Mrs. Fitzgerald, with glowing
cheeks and some hesitation, informed Mrs. Wilson she had
yet another important communication to make, but would
postpone it until her next visit, which Mrs. Wilson promised
Bhould be on the succeeding dav.

PREOAT7TIOW 259

CHAPTEE XXYII.

Emily threw a look of pleasure on Denbigh, as he handed
her from the carriage, which would have said, if looks could
talk, 'I In the principles you have displayed on more than
one occasion, I have a pledge of your worth." As he led
her into the house, he laughingly informed her that he had
that morning received a letter which would make his absence

from L necessary for a short time, and that he must

remonstrate against these long and repeated visits to a cottage
where all attendants of the male sex were excluded, as they
encroached greatly on his pleasures and improvements,
bowing, as he spoke, to Mrs. Wilson. To this Emily replied,
gaily, that possibly, if he conducted himself to their satisfac-
tion, they would intercede for his admission. Expressing his
pleasure at this promise, as Mrs. Wilson thought rather
awkwardly, Denbigh changed the conversation. At dinner
he repeated to the family what he had mentioned to Emily
of his departure, and also liis expectption of meeting with
iiOrd 'JliHtttiitot; .iuniiii m^ journey.

' Havt; vou iieard from Chatter ton lately, John ?" inquired
Sij Edward Moseley.

"Yes, sir, to-day : he had left Denbigh Castle a fortnight
since, and writes he is to meet his friend, the duke, at Bath.'*

" Are you connected with his grace, Mr. Denbigh ?" asked
Lady Moseley.

A smile of indefinite meaning played on the expressive face
of Denbigh, as he answered slightly —

200 PRECAUTION.

"He has a sister," continued Lady Moseley, wilKng to
know more of Chatterton's friends and Denbigh's relatives.

" He has," was the brief reply.

" Her name is Harriet," observed Mrs. Wilson. Denbigh
bowed his assent in silence, and Emily timidly added —

" Lady Harriet Denbigh 2"

" Lady Harriet Denbigh — will you do me the favor to tak(
wine ?"

The manner of the gentleman during this dialogue had not
been in the least unpleasant, but it was peculiar; it pro
hibited anything further on the subject; and Emily was
obliged to be content without knowing who Marian was, or
whether her name was to be found in the Denbigh family or
not. Emily was not in the least jealous, but she wished to
know all to whom her lover was dear.

" Do the Dowager and the young ladies accompany Chat-
terton ?" asked Sir Edward, as he turned to John, who was
eating his fruit in silence.

" Yes, sir — I hope — that is, I believe she will," was the
answer.

" She ! Who is she, my son ?"

" Grace Chatterton," said John, starting from his medita-
tions. " Did you not ask me about Grace, Sir Edward ?"

" Not particularly, I believe," said the baronet, dryly.

Denbigh again smiled : it was a smile different from any
Mrs. Wilson had ever seen on his countenance, and gave an
entirely novel expression to his face; it was full of meaning
it was knowing — spoke more of the man of the world than
anything she had before noticed in him, and left on her mind
one of those vague impressions she was often troubled with,
that there was something about Denbigh in character or
wndition, or both, that was mysterious.

The spiiit of Jane was too great to leave her a pining oj

PREGAUTIOK. . 261

pcisive maiden ; yet her feelings had sustained a shock that
time alone could cure. She appeared again amongst her
friends ; but the consciousness of her expectations with re-
spect to the colonel being known to them, threw around her
a hauteur and distance veiy foreign to her natural manner.
Emily alone, whose every movement sprang from the
spontaneous feelings of her heart, and whose words and
actions were influenced by the finest and most aftectionate
delicacy, such as she was not conscious of possessing herself,
won upon the better feelings of her sister so far, as to restore
between them the usual exchange of kindness and sympathy.
But Jane admitted no confidence ; she found nothing con-
soling, nothing solid, to justify her attachment to Egerton ;
nothing indeed, excepting such external advantages as she
was now ashamed to admit had ever the power over her
they in reality had possessed. The marriage of the fugi-
tives in Scotland had been announced ; and as the impression
that Egerton was to be connected with the Moseleys was
destroyed of course, their every-day acquaintances, feeling
the resti-aints removed that such an opinion had once im-
posed, were free in their comments on his character. Sir
Edward and Lady Moseley were astonished to find how
many things to his disadvantage were generally known ;
that he gambled — intrigued — and was in debt — were no
secrets apparently to anybody, but to those who were most
interested in knowing the truth ; while Mrs. AVilson saw in
these facts additional reasons for examining and judging for
oui-selves ; the world uniformly concealing from the party
and his friends their honest opinions of his character. Some
of these insinuations reached the ears of Jane : her aunt
having rightly judged, that the surest way to destroy
Egerton's power over the imagination of her niece was to
strip him of his fictitious qualities, suggested this expedient

262 . PRECAUTION.

to Lady Moseley ; and some of their visitors had thought,
as the colonel had certainly been attentive to Miss Moseley,
it would give her pleasure to know that her rival had not
made the most eligible match in the kingdom. The
project of Mrs. Wilson succeeded in a great measure;
but although Egerton fell, Jane did not find she rose in
uer own estimation ; and her friends wisely concluded that
time was the only remedy that could restore her former
serenity.

In the morning, Mrs. Wilson, unwilling to have Emily
present at a conversation she intended to hold with Denbigh,
with a view to satisfy her annoying doubts as to some minor
points in his character, after excusing herself to her niece,
invited that gentleman to a morning drive. He accepted
her invitation cheerfully ; and Mrs. Wilson saw, it was only
as they drove from the door without Emily, that he betrayed
the faintest reluctance to the jaunt. When they had got a
short distance from the lodge she acquainted him with her
intention of presenting him to Mrs. Fitzgerald, whither she
had ordered the coachman to proceed. Denbigh started as
she mentioned the name, and after a few moments' silence,
desired Mrs. Wilson to allow him to stop the carriage ; he
was not very well — was sorry to be so rude — but with her
permission, he would alight and return to the house. As
he requested in an earnest manner that she would proceed
without him, and by no means disappoint her friend, Mrs.
Wilson complied ; yet, somewhat at a loss to account for his
sudden illness, she turned her head to see how the sick man
fared, a short time after he had left her, and was not a little
surprised to see him talking very composedly with John
who had met him on his way to the fields with his gun.
Lovesick — thought Mrs. Wilson with a smile ; and as sh<j
rode on she came to the conclusion, that as Denbigh was to

PRECAUTION. 203

leave them soon, Emily would have an important communi-
cation to make on her return.

" Well," thought Mrs. Wilson with a sigh, " if it is to
happen, it may as well be done at once."

Mrs. Fitzgerald was expecting her, and appeared rather
pleased than otherwise that she had come alone. After
some introductory conversation, the ladies withdrew by
t-iemselves, and JuHa acquainted Mrs. Wilson with a new
source of uneasiness. The day the ladies had promised to
visit her, but had been prevented by the arrangements for
the ball,, the Donna Lorenza had driven to the village to
make some purchases, attended as usual by their only man-
servant, and Mrs. Fitzgerald was sitting in the little parlor
in momentary expectation of her friends by herself. The
sound of footsteps drew her to the door, which she opened
for the admission of the wretch whose treachery to her
dying husband's requests had given her so much uneasiness.
Horror — fear — surprise — altogether, prevented her from
making any alarm at the moment, and she sank into a
chair, lie stood between her and the door, as he endeavor-
ed to draw her into a conversation ; he assured her. she had
nothing to fear; that he loved her, and her alone; that he
was about to be married to a daughter of Sir Edward
Moseley, but would give her up, fortune, everything, if she
would consent to become his wife — that the views of her
^)rotector, he doubted not, were dishonorable — that he
iiimself was willing to atone for his former excess of passion,
by a life devoted to her.

How much longer he would have gone on, and what
further he would have offered, is unknown ; for Mrs.
Fitzgerald, having . recovered herself a little, darted to
the bell on the other side of the room ; he tried to pre-
vent her ringing it, but was too late ; a short struggle

2G4 PRECAUTION.

followed, when the sound of the footsteps of the maid
compelled him to retreat precipitately. Mrs. Fitzgerald
added, that his assertion concerning Miss Moseley had
given her incredible uneasiness, and prevented her making
the communication yesterday; but she understood this
morning through her maid, that a Colonel Egerton, who had
been supposed to be engaged to one of Sir Ed w aid'
daughters, had eloped with another lady. That Egerton
w^as her persecutor, she did not now entertain a doubi ;
but that it was in the power of Mrs. Wilson probably to
make the discovery, as in the struggle between them for
the bell, a pocket-book had fallen fro-n the breast-pocket of
his coat, and his retreat was too sudden to recover it.

As she put the book into the hands of Mrs. Wilson, she
desired she would take means to return it to its owner ; its
contents might be of value, though she had not thought it
correct to examine it. Mrs. Wilson took the book, and as
she dropped it into her work-bag, smiled at the Spanish
punctilio of her friend in not looking into her prize under
the peculiar circumstances.

A few questions as to the place and year of his first
attempts, soon convinced her it was Egerton whose un-
licensed passions had given so much trouble to Mrs. Fitz-
gerald. He had served but one campaign in Spain, and in
that year, and that division of the army ; and surely his
'principles were no restraint upon his conduct. Mrs.
Fitzgerald begged the advice of her more experienced friend
as to the steps she ought to take; to which the former
asked if she had made Lord Pendennyss acquainted with
the occurrence. The young widow's cheek glowed as she
answered, that, at the same time she felt assured the base
insinuation of Egerton was unfounded, it had created a re-
pugnance in her to troubling the earl any more than waa

PRECAUTION. 265

necessary in lier affairs ; and as she kissed the hand of Mi-s.
Wilson, she added — " besides, } our goodness, my dear
madam, renders any other adviser unnecessary now." Mrs.
Wilson pressed her hand affectionately, and assured her of
her good wishes and unaltered esteem. She commended
her delicacy, and plainly told the young widow, that how
ver unexceptionable the character of Pendennyss might be,
a female friend was the only one a woman in her situation
could repose confidence in, without justly incurring th
sarcasms of the world.

As Egerton was now married, and would not probably offer,
for the present at least, any further molestation to Mrs. Fitz-
gerald, it was concluded to be unnecessary to take any imme
diate measures of precaution ; and Mrs. Wilson thought the
purse of Mr. Jarvis might be made the means of keeping him
within proper bounds in future. The merchant was pronipt,
and not easily intimidated ; and the shghtest intimation of the
truth would, she knew, be sufficient to engage him on their
side, heart and hand.

The ladies parted, with a promise of meeting soon again,
and an additional interest in each other by the communicar
tions of that and the preceding day.

Mrs. Wilson had ridden half the distance between the cot-
tage and the lodge, before it occurred \o her they had not
absolutely ascertained, by the best means in their possession,
the identity of Colonel Egerton with Julia's persecutor. She
accordingly took the pocket-book from her bag, and opened
it for examination : a couple of letters fell from it into her
lap, and conceiving their direction would establish all >^h.G
wished to know, as they bad been read, she turned to tie
superscription of one of them, and saw — " George Denbigh,
Esq." in the well known hand-writing of Dr. Ives. — Mrs,
Wilson felt herself overcome to a degree that compelled her
12

266 PKECAUTIOK.

to lower a glass of the carriage for air. She sat gazing on
the letters until the characters swam before her eyes in undis-
tinguished confusion ; and with diflSculty she rallied her
thoughts to the point necessary for investigation. As soon
as she found herself equal to the task, she examined the let-
ters with the closest scrutiny, and opened them both to be
sure there was no mistake. She saw the dates, the " dear
George" at the commencements, and the doctor's name sub-
scribed, before she would believe they were real ; it was then
the truth appeared to break upon her in a flood of light. The
aversion of Denbigh to speak of Spain, or of his services in
that country — his avoiding Sir Herbert Nicholson, and that
gentleman's observations respecting him — Colonel Egerton's
and his own manners — his absence from the ball, and start-
ling looks on the following morning, and at different times
before and since — his displeasure at the name of Pendennyss
on vaiious occasions — and his cheerful acceptance of her
invitation to ride until he knew her destination, and singu-
lar manner of leaving her — were all accounted for by this
dreadful discovery, and Mrs. Wilson found the solution of her
doubts rushing on her mind with a force and rapidity that
sickened her.

The misfortunes of Mrs. Fitzgerald, the unfortunate issue
to the passion of Jane, were trifles in the estimation of Mrs.
Wilson, compared to the discovery of Denbigh's unworthi-
ness. She revolved in her mind his conduct on various occa-
sions, and wondered how one who could behave so well in
common, could thus yield to temptation on a particular occa-
sion. His recent attempts, his hypocrisy, however, proved
that his villany was systematic, and she was not weak enough
to hide from herself the evidence of his guilt, or of its enor*
mity. His interposition between Emily and death, she attri
bated now to natural courage, and perhaps in some measure

PRECAUTION. 207

to chance; but his profound and unvarying reverence fof
holy things, his consistent charity, his refusing to fight, to
what were they owing ? And Mrs. Wilson mourned th
weakness of human nature, while she acknowledged to her
self, there might be men, qualified by nature, and even dis-
posed by reason and grace, to prove ornaments to religion
and the world, who fell beneath the maddening influence of
their besetting sins. The superficial and interested vices of
Egerton vanished before these awful and deeply seated
offences of Denbigh, and the correct widow saw at a glance,
that he was the last man to be intrusted with the happiness
of her niece ; but how to break this heartrending discovery
to Emily was a new source of uneasiness to her, and the car-
riage stopped at the door of the lodge, ere she had deter-
mined on the first step required of her by duty.

Her brother handed her out, and, filled with the dread that
Denbiofh had availed himself of the opportunity of her ab-
sence to press his suit with Emily, she eagerly inquired after
him. She was rejoiced to hear he had returned with John
for a fowling-piece, and together they had gone in pursuit of
game, although she saw in it a convincing proof that a desire
to avoid Mrs. Fitzgerald, and not indisposition, had induced
him to leave her. — As a last alternative, she resolved to have
the pocket-book returned to him in her presence, in order to
see if he acknowledged it to be his property ; and, accord
ingly, she instructed her own man to hand it to him while ai-
dinner, simply saying he had lost it.

The open and unsuspecting air with which her niece met
Denbigh on his return gave Mrs. Wilson an additional shock,
and she could hardly command herself sufficiently to extend
the common courtesies of good breeding to Mr. Benfield's
guest.

While sitting at the dessert, her servant handed the pocket-

268 PRECAUTION.

book, as directed by his mistress, to its owner, saying, *' Your
pocket-book, I believe,, Mr. Denbigh." Denbigh took the
book, and held it in his hand for a moment in surprise, and
then fixed his eye keenly on the man, as he inquired where
he found it, and how he knew it was his. These were inter-
rogatoiies Francis was not prepared to answer, and in his con-
fusion he naturally turned his eyes on his mistress. Denbigh
followed their direction with his own, and in encountering the
looks of the lady, he asked in a stammering manner, and with
a face of scarlet,

" Am I indebted to you, madam, for my property ?"
" No, sir ; it was given me by one who found it, to restore
to you," said Mrs. Wilson, gravely, and the subject was dnipped,
both appearing willing to say no more. Yet Denbigh was
abstracted and absent during the remainder of the repast, and
Emily spoke to him once or twice without obtaining an
answer. Mrs. Wilson caught his eye several times fixed on
her with an inquiring and doubtful expression, that convinced
her he was alarmed. If any confirmation of his guilt had
been wanting, the consciousness he betrayed during this scene
aftbrded it ; and she set seriously about considering the short-
est and best method of interrupting his intercourse with
Emily, before he had drawn from her an acknowledgment
of her love.

PRECAUTION. 269

CHAPTER XXYTH

On withdrawing to her dressing-room after dinner, Mrs.
Wilson commenced the disagreeable duty of removing the
veil from the eyes of her niece, by recounting to her the
substance of Mrs. Fitzgerald's last communication. To the
mnocence of Emily such persecution could excite no other
sensations than surprise and horror ; and as her aunt omitted
the part concerning the daughter of Sir Edward Moseley, she
naturally expressed her wonder as to who the wretch could
be.

" Possibly, aunt," she said with an involuntary shudder,
" some of the many gentlemen we have lately seen, and one
who has had art enough to conceal his real character from
the world."

" Concealment, my love," replied Mrs. Wilson, " would be
hardly necessary. Such is the fashionable laxity of morals,
that I doubt not many of his associates would laugh at his
misconduct, and that he would still continue to pass with the
world as an honorable man."

" And ready," cried her niece, " to sacrifice human life, in
the defence of any ridiculous punctilio."

" Or," added Mrs. Wilson, striving to draw nearer to her
subject, " with a closer veil of hypocrisy, wear even an affec
tation of principle and moral feeling that would seem to
forbid such a departure from duty in favor of custom."

" Oh ! no, dear aunt," exclaimed Emily, with glowing
cheeks and eyes dancing with pleasure, " he would hardly
tlare to be so very base. It would be profanity."

270 "* PRECAUTION.

Mrs. Wilson sighed heavily as she witnessed that confiding
esteem which would not permit her niece even to suspect that
an act which in Denbigh had been so warmly applauded,
could, even in another, proceed from unworthy motives ; and
she found it would be necessary to speak in the plainest
terms, to awaken her suspicions. Willing, however, to come
gradually to the distressing truth, she replied —

" And yet, my dear, men who pride themselves greatly on
their morals, nay, even some who wear the mask of religion,
and perhaps deceive themselves, admit and practise this very
appeal to arms. Such inconsistencies are by no means
uncommon. And why, then, might there not, with equal
probability, be others who would revolt at murder, and yet
not hesitate being guilty of lesser enormities? This is, in
some measure, the case of every man ; and it is only to con-
sider kilhng in unlawful encounters as murder, to make it one
in point."

" Hypocrisy is so mean a vice, I should not think a brave
man could stoop to it," said Emily, " and Julia admits he
was brave."

" And would not a brave man revolt at the cowardice of
insulting an unprotected woman ? And your hero did that
too," replied Mrs. Wilson, bitterly, losing her self-command
in indignation.

" Oh ! do not call him my hero, I beg of you, dear aunt,"
said Emily, starting, excited by so extraordinary an allusion,
but instantly losing the unpleasant sensation in the delightful
consciousness of the superiority of the man on whom she had
bestowed her own admiration.

" In fact, my child," continued her aunt, " our natures are
guilty of the grossest inconsistencies. The vilest wretch has
generally some property or. which he values himself, and the
most perfect are too often frail on some tender point. Long

PRECAUTION. 271

ind hied friendships are those only wliic]\ can be trusted, and
these oftentimes fail."

Emily looked at her aunt in surprise at hearing her utter
Bucli unusual sentiments ; for Mrs. Wilson, at the same time
she had, by divine assistance, deeply impressed her niece
with the frailty of her nature, had withheld the disgusting
representation of human vices from her view, as unnecessary
to her situation and dangerous to her humility. '

After a short pause, Mrs. Wilson continued, " Marriage is
a fearful step in a woman, and one she is compelled, in some
measure, to adventure her happiness on, without fitting
opportunities of judging of the merit of the man she confides
in. Jane is an instance in point, but I devoutly hope you are
not to be another."

While speaking, Mrs. Wilson had taken the hand of Emily,
and by her looks and solemn manner she had succeeded in
alarming her niece, although Denbigh was yet furthest from
the thoughts of Emily. The aunt reached her a glass of
water, and willing to get rid of the hateful subject she con-
tinued, hurriedly, " Did you not notice the po^,ket-book
Francis gave to Mr. Denbigh ?" Emily fixed her inquiring
eyes on her aunt, as the other added, " It was the one Mrs.
Fitzgerald gave me to-day." Something like an indefinite
glimpse of the facts crossed the mind of Emily ; and as it
most obviously involved a separation from Denbigh, she sank
lifeless into the extended arms of her aunt. This had been
anticipated by Mrs. Wilson, and a timely application of
restoratives soon brought her back to a consciousness of
misery. Mrs. Wilson, unwilling any one but herself should
witness this first burst of grief, succeeded in getting her niece
to her own room and in bed. Emily made no lamentations —
shed no tears — asked no questions — her eye was fixed, and
every faculty appeared oppressed with the load on hei heart.

272 PRECAUTION.

Mrs. Wilson knew her situation too well to intrude witK
unseasonable consolation or useless reflections, but sat
patiently by her side, waiting anxiously for the moment she
could be of service. At length the uplifted eyes and clasped
hands of Emily assured her she had not forgotten herself or
her duty, and she was rewarded for her labor and forbearance
by a flood of tears. Emily was now able to listen to a mor
full statement of the reasons her aunt had for believing in the
guili of Denbigh, and she felt as if her heart was frozen up
for ever, as the proofs followed each other until they amounted
to demonstration. As there was some indication of fevei
from her agitated state of mind, her aunt required she should
remain in her room until morning ; and Emily, feeling every
way unequal to a meeting with Denbigh, gladly assented
After ringing for her maid to sit in the adjoining room, Mrs.
Wilson went below, and announced to the family the indis-
position of her charge, and her desire to obtain a little sleep.
Denbigh looked anxious to inquire after the health of Emily,
but there was a restraint on all his actions, since the return
of his book, that persuaded Mrs. Wilson he apprehended
that a detection of his conduct had taken place. He did
venture to ask when they were to have the pleasure of seeing
Miss Moseley again, hoping it would be that evening, as he
had fixed the morning for his departure ; and when he learnt
that Emily had retired for the night, his anxiety was sensibly
increased, and he instantly withdrew. Mrs. Wilson was'
alone in the drawing-room, and about to join her niece, ai.
Denbigh entered it with a letter in his hand : he approached
her with a diffident and constrained manner, and com-
menced the followinsj dialoojue :

" My anxiety and situation will plead my apology for trou-
bling Miss Moseley at this time — may I ask you, madam, to de-
liver this letter — I hardly dare ask you for your good offices."

PRECAUTION. 273

Mrs. Wilson took the letter and coldly replied,

" Certainly, sir ; and I sincerely wish I could be of any
real service to you."

" I perceive, madam," said Denbigh, like one that was
choking, *' I have forfeited your good opinion — that pocket
book—"

" Has made a dreadful discovery," said Mrs. Wilson, shud-
dering.

" Will not one offence be pardoned, dear madam ?" cried
Denbigh, with warmth ; " if you knew my circumstances —
the cruel reasons— why — why did I neglect the paternal
advice of Doctor Ives ?"

" It is not yet too late, sir," said Mrs. Wilson, more mildly,
" for your own good ; as for us, your deception — "

" Is unpardonable — I see it — I feel it," cried he, in the
accent of despair ; "yet Emily — Emily may relent — you will
at least give her my letter — anything is better than this sus-
pense."

" You shall have an answer from Emily this evening, and
one entirely unbiassed by me," said Mrs. Wilson. As she
closed the door, she observed Denbigh gazing on her retiring
figure with a countenance of despair, that caused a feeling of
pity to mingle with her detestation of his vices.

On opening the door of Emily's room, Mrs. Wilson found
her niece in tears, and her anxiety for her health was alle-
viated. She knew or hoped, that if she could once call in the
assistance of her judgment and j)iety to lessen her sorrows,
Emily, however she might mourn, would become resigned to
her situation ; and the first step to attain this was the exer-
cise of those faculties which had been, as it were, momen-
tarily annihilated. Mrs. Wilson kissed her niece with tender-
ness, as she placed the letter in her hand, and told her she
would call for her answer within an hour. Employment, and
12*

274 PRECAUTION.

the necessity of acting, would, she thought, be the surest
means of reviving her energies ; nor was she disappointed.
When the aunt returned for the expected answer, she was
informed by the maid in the ante-chamber, that Miss Moseley
was up, and had been writing. On entering, Mrs. Wilson stood
a moment in admiration of the picture before her. Emily was
on her knees, and by her side, on the carpet, lay the letter
and its answer : her face was hid by her hair, and her hands
were closed in the fervent grasp of petition. In a minute she
rose, and approaching her aunt with an air of profound
resignation, but great steadiness, she handed her the letter?
her own unsealed :

" Read them, madam, and if you approve of mine, I wil-
thank you to deliver it."

Her aunt folded her in her arms, until Emily, finding her-
self yielding under the effects of sympathy, begged to be left
alone. On withdrawing to her own room, Mrs. Wilson read
the contents of the two letters.

" I rely gTeatly on the goodness of Miss Moseley to pardon
the liberty I am takmg, at a moment she is so unfit for
such a subject ; but ray departure — my feelings- -must plead
my apology. From the moment of my first acquaintance
with you, I have been a cheerful subject to your loveliness
and innocence. I feel — I know — I am not deserving of such
a blessing ; but since knowing you, as I do, it is impossible
not to strive to win you. You have often thanked me as the
] >reserver of your life, but you little knew the deep interest I
had in its safety. Without it my own would be valueless.
By accepting my offered hand, you will place me amongst
the happiest, or by rejecting it, the most wretched of men.'*

To this note, which was unsigned, and evidently written

PRECAUTION. 27 5

under great agitation of mind, Emily had penned the fol-
lowing reply :

*' Si I — It is with much regret that I find myself reduced
to the possibility of giving uneasiness to one to whom I am
under such heavy obligations. It will never be in my power
to accept the honor you have offered me ; and I beg you to
Tec^ve my thanks for the compliment conveyed in your
request, as well as my good wishes for your happiness in
future, .and fervent prayers that you may be ever found
worthy of it. — Your humble servant,

" Emily Moseley."

Perfectly satisfied with this answer, Mrs. Wilson went below
in order to deliver it at once. She thought it probable, as Den-
bigh had already sent his baggage to a tavern, preparatory to his
intended journey, they would not meet again ; and as she felt
a strong wish, both on account of Doctor Ives, and out of
respect to the services of the young man himself, to conceal
his conduct from the world entirely, she was in hopes that
his absence might make any disclosure unnecessary. He
took the letter from her with a trembling hand, and casting
one of his very expressive looks at her, as if to read her
thoughts, he withdrew.

Emily had fallen asleep free from fever, and Mrs. Wilson
had descended to the supper-room, when Mr. Benfield was
first struck with the absence of his favorite. An inquiry after
Denbigh was instituted, and while they were waiting his
appearance, a servant handed the old man a note.

" From whom ?" cried Mr. Benfield, in surprisa

*' Mr. Denbigh, sir," said the servant.

** Mr. Denbigh ?" exclaimed Mr. Benfield : " no accident, I
ope — I remember when Lord Gosford — here, Peter, your
eyes are young ; read it for me, read it aloud."

276 PUECAUTIOX.

As all but Mrs. Wilson were anxiously waiting to know the
meaning of this message, and Peter had many preparations
to go through before his youthful eyes could make out the
contents, John hastily caught the letter out of his hand, saying
he would save him the trouble, and, in obedience to hia
uncle's wishes, he read aloud

*' Mr. Denbigh, being under the necessity of leaving L •

immediately, and unable to endure the pain of taking leave,
avails himself of this means of tendering his warmest thanks
to Mr. Benfield, for his hospitality, and to his amiable guests
for their many kindnesses. As he contemplates leaving
England, he desires to wish them all a long and an aflfection-
ate farewell."

" Farewell !'' cried Mr. Benfield ; " farewell — does he say
farewell, John? Here, Peter, run — no, you are too old —
John, run — bring my hat; I'll go myself to the village —
some love-quarrel — Emmy sick — and Denbigh going away —
yes— yes, I did so myself — Lady Juhana, poor dear soul, she
was a long time before she could forget it — but Peter" —
Peter had disappeared the instant the letter was finished, and
he was quickly followed by John. Sir Edward and Lady
Moseley were lost in amazement at this sudden and unex-
pected movement of Denbigh, and the breast of each of the
affectionate parents was filled with a vague apprehension that
the peace of mind of another child was at stake. Jane felt a
renewal of her woes, in the anticipation of something similar
for her sister — for the fancy of Jane was yet active, and she
did not cease to consider the defection of Egerton a kind of
unmerited misfortune and fatality, instead of a probable con-
sequence of want of principle. Like Mr. Benfield, she was in
danger of raising an ideal idol, and of spending the r^naijiwdey

PRECAUTION. 277

of her days in devotion to qualities, rarely if ever found iden-
tified with a person that never had existed. The old gentle-
man was entirely engrossed by a different object ; and having
in his own opinion decided there must have been one of those
misunderstandings which sometimes had occurred to himself
and Lady Juliana, he quietly composed himself to eat his
salad at the supper table : on turning his bead, however, in
quest of his first glass of wine, he observed Petei- standing
quietly by the sideboard with the favorite goggles over his
eyes. Now Peter was troubled with two kinds of debility
about his organs of vision ; one was age and natural weak-
ness, while the other proceeded more directly from the heart.
His master knew of these facts, and he took the alarm.
Again the wine-glass dropped from his nerveless hand, as he
said in a trembling tone,

" Peter, I thought )^ou went" —

" Yes, master," said Peter, laconically.

" You saw him, Peter — will he rehirn ]"

Peter was busily occupied at his glasses, although no one
was dry.

'* Peter," repeated Mr. Benfield, rising from his seat ; " is he
coming in time for supper ?"

Peter was obliged to reply, and deliberately uncasing his
eyes and blowing his nose, he was on the point of opening
his mouth, as John came into the room, and threw himself
mto a chair with an air of great vexation. Peter pointed to
the young gentleman in silence, and retired.

" John," cried Sir Edward, " where is Denbigh ?*'

" Gone, sir."

" Gone !"

" Yes, my dear father," said John, " gone without saying
good-bye to one of us — without telling us whither, or when
to return. It was cruel in him — unkind — I'll never forgive

278

PRECAUTION.

him" — and John, whose feehngs were strong, and unusually
excited, hid his face between his hands on the table. — As he
raised his head to reply to a question of Mr. Benfield — of
" how he knew he had gone, for the coach did not go
until daylight ?'' Mrs. Wilson saw evident marks of tears.
Such proofs of emotion in one like John Moseley gave
her the satisfaction of knowing that if she had been de-
ceived, it was by a concurrence of circumstances and a
depth of hypocrisy almost exceeding belief: self-reproach
added less than common, therefore, to the uneasiness of the
moment.

" I saw the innkeeper, uncle," said John, " who told me
that Denbigh left there at eight o'clock in a post-chaise and
four ; but I will go to London in the morning myself." This
was no soonei- said than it was corroborated by acts, for the
young man immediately commenced his preparations for the
journey. The family separated that evening with melan-
choly hearts ; and the host and his privy counsellor were
closeted for half an hour ere they retired to their night's
repose. John took his leave of them, and left the lodge for
the inn, with his man, in order to be ready for the mail.
Mrs. Wilson looked in upon Emily before she withdrew her-
self, and found her awake, but perfectly calm and composed :
she said but little, appearing desirous of avoiding all allusions
to Denbigh ; and after her aunt had simply acquainted her
with his departure, and her resolution to conceal the cause,
the subject was dropped. Mrs. Wilson, on entering her own
room, thought deeply on the discoveries of the day : they had
interfered with her favorite system of morals, baffled her
ablest calculations upon causes and effects, but in no degree
had impaired her faith or reliance on Providence. She knew
one exception did not destroy a rule : she was certain without
princiDles there was no security for good conduct, and the

PRECAUTION. 279

case ^f Denbigh proved it. To discover these principles,
might be difficult ; but was a task imperiously required at her
hands, as she believed, ere she yielded the present and futuf
happiness of her pupil to the power of any man.

t280 PRECAUTION.

CHAPTEE XXIX.

The day had not yet dawned, when John Moseley wa
summoned to take his seat in the mail for London. Three
of the places were already occupied, and John was compelled
to get a seat for his man on the outside. An intercourse
with strangers is particularly irksome to an Englishman, and
none appeared disposed, for a long time, to break the silence.
The coach had left the little village of L — — far behind it,
before any of the rational beings it contained thought it pru-
dent or becoming to bend in the least to the charities of our
nature, in a communication with a fellow creature of whose
name or condition he happened' to be ignorant. This reserve
is unquestionably characteristic of the nation ; to what is it
owing ! — modesty ? Did not national and deep personal
vanity appear at once to refute the assertion, we might enter
into an investigation of it. The good opinion of himself in
an Englishman is more deeply seated, though less buoyant,
than that of his neighbors ; in them it is more of manner, in
us more of feeling ; and the wound inflicted on the self-love
of the two is very different. The Frenchman wonders at its
rudeness, but soon forgets the charge; while an Englishmai
broods over it in silence and mortification. It is said thi
distinction in character is owing to the different estimatioi
of principles and morals in the two nations. The solidit}
and purity of our ethics and religious creeds may have
given a superior tone to our moral feeling ; but has that man
a tenable ground to value himself on either, whose respect
to sacred things grows out of a respect to himself: on the

PRECAUTION. 28 1

other hand, is not humility the very foundation of the real
Christian? For our part, we should be glad to see this
national reserve lessened, if not done entirely away ; we
believe it is founded in pride and uncharitableness, and could
wish to see men thrown accidentally together on the roads
of the country, mindful that they are also travelling in com-
pany the highway of life, and that the goal of their destina-
tion is equally attainable by all.

John Moseley was occupied with thoughts very different
from those of any of his fellow-travellers, as they proceeded
rapidly on their route ; and it was only when roused from
his meditations by accidentally coming in contact with the hilt
of a sword, that he looked up, and in the glimmerings of the
morning's light, recognised the person of Lord Henry Sta-
Dleton : their eyes met, and — " My lord," — " Mr. Moseley," —
were repeated in mutual surprise. John was eminently a
social being, and he was happy to find recourse against his
gloomy thoughts in the conversation of the dashing young
sailor. The frigate of the, other had entered the bay the
night before, and he was going to town to the wedding of
his sister ; the coach of his brother the marquis was to meet
him about twenty miles from town, and the ship was ordered
round to Yarmouth, where he was to rejoin her.

" But how are your lovely sisters, Moseley ?" cried the
young sailor in a frank and careless manner. " I should have
been half in love with one of them if I had time— and
money ; both are necessary to marriage nowadays, you
know."

" As to time," said John with a laugh, " I believe that
may be dispensed with, though money is certainly a different
thing."

" Oh, time too," replied his lordship. " I have never time
enough to do anything as it ought to be done — always hurried

282 PRECAUTION.

— I wish you could recommend to me a lady who would
take the trouble off" my hands."

" It might be done," said John with a smile, and the image
cf Kate Chatterton crossed his brain, but it was soon suc-
ceeded by that of her more lovely sister. " But how do you
manage on board your ship — hurried there too ?"

" Oh ! never there," replied the captain gravely ; " that's
duty you know, and everything must be regular of course
on shore it is a diflferent thing — there I am only a passenger.

L has a charming society, Mr. Moseley — a week or ten

days ago I was shooting, and came to a beautiful cottage
about five miles from the village, that was the abode of a
much more beautiful woman, a Spaniard, a Mrs. Fitzgerald
— I am positively in love with her : so soft, so polished, so
modest "

" How came you acquainted with her ?" inquired Moseley,
'nterrupting him in a little surprise.

" Chance, my dear fellow, chance. I was thirsty, and
approached for a drink of water ; she was sitting in the ve-
randa, and being hurried for time, you know, it saved the
trouble of introduction. I fancy she is troubled with the
same complaint; for she managed to get rid of me in no
time, and with a great deal of pohteness. I found out her
name, however, at the next house."

During this rattling talk, John had fixed his eyes on the
face of one of the passengers who sat opposite to him. Tl e
Btranger appeared to be about fifty years of age, stronglv
pock-marked, with a stifi" military air, and had the dress
and exterior of a gentlemen. His face was much sun-
burnt, though naturally very fair ; and his dark keen eye
was intently fixed on the sailor as he continued his re-
marks.

"Do you know such a lady, Moseley ?"

PRECAUTION. 283

* Yes,'' said Jolin, " though very slightly ; she is visited
l» one of my sisters, and "

** Yourself," cried Lord Henry, with a laugh.

"Myself, once or twice, ray lord, certainly," answered
John, gravely ; " but a lady visited by Emily Moseley and
Mrs. Wilson is a proper companion for any one. Mrs.
Fitzgerald is very retired in her manner of living, and chance
made us acquainted ; but not being, like your lordship, in
want of time, we have endeavored to cultivate her society,
as we have found it very agreeable."

The countenance, of the stranger underwent several
changes during this speech of John's, and at its close his eyes
rested on him with a softer expression than generally marked
its rigid and compressed muscles. Willing to change a dis-
course that was growing too particular for a mail-coach,
John addressed himself to the opposite passengers, while his
eye yet dwelt on the face of the military stranger.

" We are likely to have a fine day, gentlemen." The
soldier bowed stiffly, as he smiled his assent, and the other
passenger humbly answered, " Very, Mr. John," in the well
known tones of honest Peter Johnson. Moseley started, as
he turned his face for the first time on the lank figure which
was modestly compressed into the smallest possible compass
in the corner of the coach, in a way not to come in contact
with any of its neighbors.

" Johnson," exclaimed John, in astonishment, " you here !
Where are you going — to London ?"

" To London, Mr. John," replied Peter, with a look of
much importance; and then, by way of silencing further
interrogatories, he added, '* On my master's business, sir."

Both Moseley and Lord Henry examined him closely ; the
former wondering what could take the steward, at the age of
seventy, for tht> first time in his life, into the vortex of tha

284 PRECAUTION.

capital ; and the latter in admiration at tlie figure and equip-
ments of the old man. Peter was in full costume, with the
exception of the goggles, and was in reality a subject to be
gazed at; but nothing relaxed the muscles or attracted the
particular notice of the soldier, who, having regained his set
form of countenance, appeared drawn up in himself, waiting
patiently for the moment he was expected to act. Nor did
he utter more than as many words in the course of the first
fifty miles of their journey. His dialect was singular, and
such as put his hearers at a loss to determine his country.
Lord Henry stared at him every time he spoke, as if to say,
what countryman are you ? until at length he suggested to
John he was some officer whom the downfal of Bonaparte
had driven into retirement.

" Indeed, Moseley," he added, as they were about to
resume their carriage after a change of horses, "we must
draw him out, and see what he thinks of his master now —
delicately, you know." The soldier was, however, impervious
to his lordship's attacks, until the project was finally aban-
doned in despair. As Peter was much too modest to talk in
the presence of Mr. John Moseley and a lord, the young men
had most of the discourse to themselves. At a village fifteen
miles from London, a fashionable carriage and four, with the
coronet of a marquis, was in waiting for Lord Henry. John
refused his invitation to take a seat with him to town ; for he
had traced Denbigh from stage to stage, and was fearful of
losing sight of him, unless he persevered in the manner he
had commenced. Peter and he accordingly were put down
safely at an inn in the Strand, and Moseley hastened to make
his inquiries after the object of his pursuit. Such a chaise
had arrived an hour before, and the gentleman had ordered
his trunk to a neighboring hotel. After obtaining the
address, and ordering a hackney coach, he hastened to the

PRECAUTION. 285

house; but on inquiring for Mr. Denbigh, to his great mor
tification was told they knew of no such gentleman. John
turned away from the person he was speaking to in visible
disappointment, when a servant respectfully inquired if the

gentleman had not come from L , in Norfolk, that day.

" He had," was the reply. " Then follow me, sir, if you
please." They knocked at a door of one of the parlors, and
the servant entered : he returned, and John was shown into
a room, where Denbigh was sitting with his head resting on
his hand, and apparently musing. On seeing who required
admittance, he sprang from his seat and exclaimed —

" Mr. Moseley ! Do I see aright ?"

" Denbigh," cried John, stretching out his hand to him,
** was this kind — was it like yourself — to leave us so unex-
pectedly, and for so long a time, too, as your note mentioned?"

Denbigh waved his hand to the servant to retire, and
handed a chair to his friend.

" Mr. Moseley," said he, struggling with his feeUngs, " you
appear ignorant of my pToposals to your sister."

" Perfectly," answered the amazed John.

" And her rejection of them."

" Is it possible !" cried the brother, pacing up and down
the room. " I acknowledge I did expect you to offer, but
not to be refused."

Denbigh placed in the other hand the letter of Emily,
which, having reud, John returned, with a sigh. " This, then,
is the reason you left us," he continued. " Emily is not
capricious — it cannot be a sudden pique — she means as she
says."

" Yes, Mr. Moseley," said Denbigh, mournfully ; ** your
sister is faultless — but I am not worthy of her — my decep-
tion"— here the door again opened to the admission of Peter
Johnson. Both the gentlemen rose at this sudden interrup.

286 PRECAUTION.

tion, and the steward advancing to the table, once more
produced the formidable pocket-book, the spectacles, and a
letter. He ran over its direction — "For George Denbigh,
Esquire, London, by the hands of Peter Johnson, with care
and speed." After the observance of these preliminaries, he
delivered the missive to its lawful owner, who opened it, and
apidly perused its contents. Denbigh was much affected
tvith whatever the latter might be, and kindly took the
steward by the hand, as he thanked him for this renewed
instance of the interest he took in him. If he would tell him
where a letter would find him in the morning, he would send
a reply to the one he had received. Peter gave his address,
but appeared unwilling to go, until assured again and again
that the answer would be infallibly sent. Taking a small
account-book out of his pocket, and referring to its contents,
the steward said, " Master has with Coutts & Co. £7,000 ;
in the bank, £5,000. It can be easily done, sir, and never
felt by us." Denbigh smiled in reply, as he assured the
steward he would take proper notice of his master's offers in
his own answer. The door again opened, and the military
stranger was admitted to their presence. He bowed, appeared
not a little surprised to find two of his mail-coach companions
there, and handed Denbigh a letter, in quite as formal,
althoucrh in a more silent manner than the steward. The
soldier was invited to be seated, and the letter was perused
with an evident curiosity on the part of Denbigh. As soon
as the latter ended it, he addressed the stranger in a language
which John rightly judged to be Spanish, and Peter took to
be Greek. For a few minutes the conversation was main-
tained between them with great earnestness, his fellow
travellers marvelling much at the garrulity of the soldier
however, the stranger soon rose to retire, when the door
was thrown open for the fourth time, and a voice cried out,

PRECAUTION. 287

*' Here I am, George, safe and sound — ready to kiss tbe
bridesmaids, if they will let me — and I can find time — bless
me, Moseley ! — old marling-spike ! — general ! — whew, where
is the coachman and guard ?" — it was Lord Henry Stapleton.
The Spaniard bowed again in silence and withdrew, while
Denbigh threw open the door of an adjoining room and
excused himself, as he desired Lord Henry to walk in there
f r a few minutes.

" Upon my word," cried the heedless sailor, as he com-
plied, " we might as w^ell have stuck together, Moseley ; we
Avere bound to one port, it seems."

" You know Lord Henry ?" said John, as he withdrew.

" Yes," said Denbigh, and he again required his address
of Peter, which having been given, the steward departed.
The conversation between the two friends did ,not return to
the course it was taking when they were interrupted, as
Moseley felt a delicacy in making any allusion to the pro-
bable cause of his sister's refusal. He had, however, begun
to hope it was not irremovable, and with the determination
of renewing his visit in the morning, he took his leave, to
allow Denbigh to attend to his other guest. Lord Henry
Stapleton.

About twelve on the following morning, John and the
steward met at the door of the hotel where Denbigh lodged,
in quest of the same person. The latter held in his hand
the answer to his master's letter, but wished particularly to
8 e its writer. On inquiring, to their mutual surprise they
were told, that the gentleman had left there early in the
morning, having discharged his lodgings, and that they were
unable to say whither he had gone. To hunt for a man with-
out a clew, in the city of London, is usually time misspent.
Of this Moseley was perfectly sensible, and disregarding a pro-
position of Peter's, he returned to his own lodgings. The pro-

288 PRECAUTION.

posal of the steward, if it did not do much credit to liia
sagacity, was much in favor of his perseverance and enter-
prise. It was no other than that John should take one side
of the street, and he the other, in order to inquire at every
house in the place, until the fugitive was discovered. " Sir,"
said Peter, with great simplicity, " when our neighbor White
lost his little girl, this was the way we found her, aJthoug

we went nearly through L before we succeeded, Mr.

John." Peter was obliged to abandon this expedient for
want of an associate, and as no message was left at the
lodgings of Moseley, he started with a heavy heart on his
return to Benfield Lodge. But Moseley's zeal was too
warm in the cause of his friend, notwithstanding his un
merited desertion, to discontinue the search for him. He
sought out tl>e town residence of the Marquess of Eltring-
ham, the brother of Lord Henry, and was told that both
the Marquess and his brother had left town early that
morning for his seat in Devonshire, to attend the wedding
of their sister.

" Did they go alone ?" asked John musing.

" There were two chaises, the Marquess's and his GraceV"

" Who was his Grace ?" inquired John.

" Why the Duke of Derwent, to be sure."

" And the Duke ?— was he alone ?"

" There was a gentleman with his Grace, but they did not
know his name."

As nothing further could be learnt, John withdrew. A
good deal of irritation mixed with the vexation of Moseley
at his disappointment ; for Denbigh, he thought, too evidently
wished to avoid him. That he was the companion of his
kinsman, the Duke of Derwent, he had now no doubt, and
he entirely relinquished all expectations of finding him iu
London or its environs. While retracing his steps in no

PRECAUTION. 289

enviable state of mind to his lodgings, with a resolution of

retui-ning immediately to L , his arm was suddenly

taken by his friend Chatterton. If any man could have
consoled John at that moment, it was the Baron. Questions
and answers were rapidly exchanged between them ; and
with increased satisfaction, John learnt that in the next square,
he could have the pleasure of paying his respects to his
kinswoman, the Dowager Lady Chatterton, and her two
daughters. Chatterton inquired warmly after Emily, and in
a particularly kind manner concerning Mr. Denbigh, hearing
with undisguised astonishment the absence of the latter from
the Moseley family.

Lady Chatterton had disciplined her feelings upon the
subject of Grace and John into such a state of subo^rdination^
thatihe fastidious jealousy of the young man now found no
ground of alarm in anything she said or did. It cannot be
denied the Dowager was delighted to see him again ; and
if it were fair to draw any conclusions from coloring, pal
pitations, and other such little accompaniments of femah
feeling, Grace was not excessively sorry. It is true, it wa*
the best possible opportunity to ascertain all about her friend
Emily and the rest of the family ; and Grace was extremely
happy to have intelligence of their general welfare so direct
as was afforded' by this visit of Mr. Moseley. Grace looked all
she expressed, and possibly a little more ; and John thought
he looked very beautiful.

There was present an elderly gentleman, of apparently
indifferent health, although his mannei-s were extremely
lively, and his dress particularly studied. A few minutes
observation convinced Moseley this gentleman was a^ candi-
date for the favor of Kate ; and a game of chess being soon
introduced, he also saw he was one thought worthy of
peculiar care and attention. He had been introduced to

o •

290 PRECAUTION.

him as Lord Herriefield, and soon discovered by his conver-
sation that he was a peer who promised little towards
rendering the house of incurables more convalescent than it
was before his admission. Chatterton mentioned him as a
distant connexion of his mother ; a gentleman who had
lately returned from filling an official situation in the East
Indies, to take his seat among the lords by the death of his
brother. He was a bachelor, and reputed rich, much of his
wealth being personal property, acquired by himself abroad.
The dutiful son might have added, if respect and feeling had
not kept him silent, that his off'ei's of settling a large jointure
upon his elder sister had been accepted, and that the following
week was to make her the bride pf the emaciated debauchee
who now sat by her side. He might also have said, that
when the proposition was made to himself and Grace,* both
had shrunk from the alliance with disgust : and that both
had united in humble though vain remonstrances to their
mother, against the sacrifice, and in petitions to their sister,
that she would not be accessary to her own misery. There
was no pecuniary sacrifice they would not make to her, to
avert such a connexion ; but all was fruitless — Kate was
resolved to be a viscountess, and her mother was equally
determined that she should be rich.

PRBCAUTIOK. 29 1

CHAPTEE XXX.

A DAY elapsed betv^een the departure of Denbigh and th
reappearance of Emily amongst her friends. An indifferen
observer would have thought her much graver and less ani-.
mated than usual. A loss of the rich color which ordinarily-
glowed on her healthful cheek might be noticed ; but the
placid sweetness and graceful composure which regulated her
former conduct pervaded all she did or uttered. Not so
with Jane : her pride had suffered more than her feelings —
her imaginatien had been more deceived than her judgment
— and although too well bred and soft by nature to become
rude or captious"", she was changed from a communicative, to
a reserved ; from a confiding, to a suspicious companion.
Her parents noticed this alteration Avith an uneasiness that
was somewhat embittered by the consciousness of a neglect
of some of those duties that experience now seemed to indi-
cate, could never be forgotten with impunity.

Francis and Clara had arrived from their northern tour, so
happy in each other, and so contented with their lot, that it
required some little exercise of fortitude in both Lady Mose-
ley and her daughters, to expel unpleasant recollections while
they contemplated it. Their relation of the little incidents
of their tour had, however, an effect to withdraw the atten-
tion of their friends in some degree from late occurrences;
and a melancholy and sympathizing kind of association had
taken place of the unbounded confidence and gaiety ; which
so lately prevailed at Benfield Lodge. Mr. Benfield mingled
with his solemnity an air of mystery ; and he was frequently

292 PRECAUTION.

noticed by his relatives looking over old papers, and was
apparently employed in preparations that indicated move-
ments of more than usual importance.

The family were collected in one of the parlors on an ex-
tremely unpleasant day, the fourth after the departure of
John, when the thin person of Johnson stalked in amongst
them. All eyes were fixed on him in expectation of what he
had to communicate, and all apparently dreading to break
the silence, from an apprehension that his communication
would be unpleasant. In the meantime Peter, who had
respectfully left his hat at the door, proceeded to uncase his
body fiom the multiplied defences be had taken against the
inclemency .of the weather. His master stood erect, with an
outstretched hand, ready to receive the reply to his epistle ;
and Johnson having liberated his body from thraldom, pro-
duced the black leathern pocket-book, and from its contents
a letter, when he read aloud — Roderic Befifield, Esq., Ben-
field Lodge, Norfolk ; favored by Mr. — here Peter's modesty
got the better of his method ; he had never been called Mr.
Johnson by anybody, old or young ; all knew him in that
neighborhood as Peter Johnson — and he had very nearly
been guilty of the temerity of arrogating to himself another
title in the presence of those he most respected : a degree of
self-elevation from which he escaped with the loss of a small
piece of his tongue. Mr. Benfield took the letter with an
eagerness that plainly indicated the deep interest he took in
its contents, while Emily, with a tremulous voice and flushed
cheek, approached the steward with a glass of wine.
*' Peter," she said, " take this ; it will do you good."
" Thank you. Miss Emma," said Peter, casting his eyes
from hep to his master, as the latter, having finished his letter,
exclaimed, with a strange mixture of consideration and dift-
appointment —

PRECAUTION". 293

" Johnson, you must change your clothes immediately, or
you will take cold : you look now like old Moses, the Jew
beggar."

Peter sighed heavily at this comparison, and saw in it a
confirmation of his fears ; for he well knew, that to his being
the bearer of unpleasant tidings was he indebted for a resem-
blance to anything unpleasant to his master, and Moses was
the old gentleman's aversion.

The baronet now followed his uncle from the room to his
library, entering it at the same moment with the stewaid,
who had been summoned by his master to an audience.

Pointing to a chair for his nephew, Mr. Benfield com-
•menced the discourse with saying,

" Peter, you saw Mr. Denbigh ; how did he look ?"

" As usual, master," said Peter, laconically, still piqued at
being likened to old Moses.

" And what did he say to the offer 1 did he not make any
comments on it? He was not offended at it, I hope," de-
manded Mr. Benfield.

" He said nothing but what he has written to your honor,**
replied the steward, losing a little of his constramed manner
in real good feeling to his master.

" May I ask what the offer was ?" inquired Sir Edward.

Mr. Benfield regarding him a moment in silence, said, " Cer-
tainly, you are nearly concerned in his welfare ; your daughter"
— the old man stopped, turned to his letter- book, and handed
the baionet a copy of the epistle he had sent to Denbigh. It
read as follows :

*' Dear Friend Mr. Denbigh,

" I have thought a great deal on the reason of your sudd'Cn
departure from a house I had begun to hope you thought
your own ; and bv calling to mind my own feehngs when

294 PRECAUTION-.

Lady Juliana became the heiress to her nephew's estate, take
it for granted you have been governed by the same senti-
ments ; which 1 know both by my own experience and that
of the bearer, Peter Johnson, is a never-failing accompani-
ment of pure affection. Yes, my dear Denbigh, I honor
your dehcacy in not wishing to become indebted to a stran-
ger, as it were, for the money on which you subsist, and that
stranger your wife — who ought in reason to look up to you,
instead of your looking up to her ; which was the true cause
Lord Gosford would not marry the countess — on account of
her great wealth, as he assured me himself ; notwithstanding,
envious people said it was because her ladyship loved Mr
Chaworth better : so in order to remove these impediments,
of delicacy, I have to make three propositions, namely, that I
bring you into parliament the next election for my own bo-
rough— that you take possession of the lodge the day you
marry Emmy, while I will live, for the little time I have to
stay here, in the large cottage built by my uncle — and thatj
give you your legacy of ten thousand pounds down, to pre-
vent trouble hereafter.

" As I know nothing but delicacy has driven you away
from us, I make no doubt you will now find all objections
removed, and that Peter will bring back the joyful intelli-
gence of your return to us, as soon as the business you left
us on, is completed.

*' Your uncle, that is to be,

" RODERIC BeNFIELD."

** N. B. As Johnson is a stranger to the ways of the
town, I wish you to advise his inexperience, particularly
against the arts of designing women, Peter being a man of
considerable estate, and great modesty."

"There, nephew," cried Mr, Renfield, as the baronet

PRECAUTION. 295

limshed reading the letter aloud, " is it not unreasonable to
refuse my oflfers ? Now read his answer."

" Words are wanting to express the sensations which have
been excited by Mr. Benfield's letter ; but it would be impos-
sible for any man to be so base as to Avail himself of such
liberaUty: the recollection of it, together with that of his
many virtues, will long continue deeply impressed on the
heart of him, whom Mr. Benfield would, if within the power
of man, render the happiest amongst human beings."

The steward Hstened eagerly to this answer, but after it
was done he was as much at a loss to know its contents a»s
before its perusal. He knew it was unfavorable to their
wishes, but could not comprehend its meaning or expressions,
and immediately attributed their ambiguity to the strange
conference he had witnessed between Denbigh and the miU-
tary stranger.

'* Master," exclaimed Peter, with something of the elation
of a discoverer, "I know the cause, it shows itself in the
letter : there was a man talking Greek to him while he was
reading your letter."

" Greek !" exclaimed Sir Edward in astonishment.

" Greek !" said the uncle. " Lord Gosford read Greek ;
but I believe never conversed in that lano^uag-e."

"Yes, Sir Edward— yes, your honor — pure wild Greek;
.t must have been something of that kind," added Peter, with
positiveness, '' that would make a man refuse such offers —
Miss Emmy — the lodge — £10,000 !" — and the steward shook
his head with much satisfaction at having discovered the
cause.

Sir Edward smiled at the simplicity of Johnson, but dis
liking the idea attached to the refusal of his daughter, said,

296 PRECAUTION.

" Perhaps, after all, uncle, there has been some misunder-
Btanding between Emily and Denbigh, which may have driven
him from us so suddenly."

Mr. Benfield and his steward exchanged looks, and a new
idea broke upon them at the mstant. They had both suf-
fered in that way ; and after all it might prove that Emily was
the one whose taste or feelings had subverted their schemes
The impression, once made, soon became strong, and the party
separated ; the master thinking alternately on Lady Juliana
and his niece, while the man, after heaving one heavy sigh to
the memory of Patty Steele, proceeded to the usual occupa-
tions of his office.

. Mrs. Wilson thinking a ride would be of service to Emily,
and having the fullest confidence in her self-command and
resignation, availed herself of a fine day to pay a visit to theii
friend in the cottasfe. Mrs. Fitzg-erald received them in her
usual manner, but a single glance of her eye sufficed to show
the aunt that she noticed the altered appearance of Emily
and her manners, although without knowing its true reason,
which she did not deem it prudent to explain. Julia handed
her friend a note which she said she had received the day
before, and desired their counsel how to proceed in the pre-
sent emergency. As Emily was to be made acquainted with
its contents, her aunt read it aloud as follows :

"My Dear Niece,

" Your father and myself had been induced to think you
were leadings a diso:raceful hfe, with the officer your husband
had consigned you to the care of; for hearing of your capti-
vity, I had arrived with a band . of Guerillas, on the spot
where you were rescued, early the next morning, and *hero
learnt of the peasants your misfortunes and retreat. The
enemy pressed us too much to allow us to deviate from our

PRECAUTION. 297

route at the time ; but natural affection and the wishes of
your father have led me to make a journey to England, in
order to satisfy our doubts as regards your conduct. I have
seen you, heard your character in the neighborhood, and after
much and long search have found out the officer, and am
satisfied, that so far as concerns your deportment, you are an
injured woman. I have therefore to propose to you, on ray
own behalf, and that of the Conde, that you adopt the faith
of your country, and return with me to the arms of your
parent, whose heiress you will be, and whose life you may
be the means of prolonging. Direct your answer to me, to
the care of our ambassador ; and as you decide, I am your
mother's brother, Louis M'Carthy y Harrison."

" On what point do you wish my advice ?'* said Mrs. Wil-
son, kindly, after she had finished reading the letter, " and
when do you expect to see your uncle ?"

" Would you have me accept the offer of my father, dear
madam, or am I to remain separated from him for the short
residue of his life?"

Mrs. Fitzgerald was aflfected to tears, as she asked this
question, and waited her answer, in silent dread of its
nature.

•' Is the condition of a change of religion, an immovable
one ?" inquired Mrs. Wilson, in a thoughtful manner.

" Oh ! doubtless," replied Julia, shuddering ; " but I am
deservedly punished for my early disobedience, and bow in
submission to the will of Providence. I feel now all that
horror of a change of my religion, I once only affected : I
must live and die a Protestant, madam."

" Certainly, I hope so, my dear," said Mrs. Wilson ; " I
am not a bigot, and think it unfortunate you were not, in
your circumstances, bred a pious Catholic. It would have
13*

298 PRECAUTION.

saved you much misery, and might have rendered the clos«
of your father's life more happy ; but as your present creed
embraces doctrines too much at variance with the Romish
church to renounce the one or to adopt the other, with your
riews, it will be impossible to change your church without
committing a heavy offence against the opinions and practices
of every denomination of Christians. I should hope a proper
representation of this to your uncle would have its weight, or
they might be satisfied with your being a Christian, without
becoming 3 Catholic."

" Ah ! my dear madam," answered Mrs. Fitzgerald, des-
pairingly, " you little know the opinions v/f my countrymen
on this subject."

*' Surely, surely," cried Mrs. Wilson, " parental affection is
a stronger feeling than bigotry."

Mrs. Fitzgerald shook her head in a manner which bespoke
both her apprehensions and her filial regard.

"Julia ought not, must not, desert her father, dear
aunt," said Emily, her face glowing with the ardency of her
feelings.

"And ought she to desert her heavenly Father, my child ?"
asked the aunt, mildly.

" Are the duties conflicting, dearest aunt ?"

" The Conde makes them so. Juha is, I trust, in sincerity
a Christian, and with what face can she offer up her daily
petitions to her Creator, while she wears a mask to her
earthly father ; or how can she profess to honor doctrines
that she herself believes to be false, or practise customs she
thinks improper ?"

. " Never, never," exclaimed Julia, with fervor ; " the strug-
gle is dreadftil, but I submit to the greater duty."

" And you decide rightly, my friend," said Mrs. Wilson,
soothingly; "but you need relax no efforts to convince the

PRECAUTION-. 299

Conde of your wishes : truth and nature will finally con-
quer."

" Ah !" cried Mrs. Fitzgerald, " the sad consequences of
one false step in early life !"

" Rather," added Mrs. Wilson, " the sad consequences of
one false step in generations gone by. Had your grand-
mother listened to the voice of prudence and duty, she
jnever would have deserted her parents for a comparative
stranger, and entailed upon her descendants a train of evils
.which yet exist in your person."

" It will be a sad blow to my poor uncle too," said Mrs.
Fitzgerald, " he who once loved me so much."

" When do you expect to see him ?" inquired Emily.

Julia informed them she expected him hourly ; as, fearful a
written statement of her views would drive him from the
country witlfbut paying her a visit before he departed, she
had earnestly entreated him to see her without delay.

On taking their leave, the ladies promised to obey her
summons whenever called to meet the general, as Mrs.
Wilson thought she might be better able to give advice to a
friend, by knowing more of the character of her relatives,
than she could do with her present information.

One day intervened, and it was spent in the united society
of Lady Moseley and her daughters, while Sir Edward and
Francis rode to a neighboring town on business ; and on
the succeeding, Mrs. Fitzgerald apprised them of the an-ival
(^f General M'Carthy. Immediately after breakfast, Mi-s.
Wilson and Emily drove to the cottage, the aunt both
wishuig the latter as a companion in her ride, and beReving
the excitement would have a tendency to prevent her niece
from indulging in reflections, alike dangerous to her peacy
of mind and at variance with her duties.

Our readers have probabh anticipated, that the stage

300 PRECAUTION.

companion of John Moseley was tlie Spanish general, who
had just been making those inquiries into the manner of his
niece's Hving which terminated so happily in her acquittal.
With that part of her history which relates to the injurious
attempts on her before she arrived at Lisbon, he appears to
have been ignorant, or his interview with Denbigh might
have terminated very differently from the manner already
related.

A description of the appearance of the gentleman present-
ed to Mrs. Wilson is unnecessary, as it has been given already ;
and the discerning matron thought she read through the
rigid and set features of the soldier, a shade of kinder
feeHngs, which might be wrought into an advantageous
intercession on behalf of Julia. The General was evidently
endeavoring to keep his feelings within due bounds, before
the decision of his niece might render it proper for him to
indulge in that aflfection for her, which his eye plainly show-
ed existed under the cover of his assumed manner.

It was an effort of great fortitude on the part of Julia to
acquaint her uncle with her resolution ; but as it must be
done, she seized a moment after Mrs. Wilson had at some
length defended her adhering to her present faith, until
religiously impressed with its errors, to inform him such was
her unalterable resolution. He heard her patiently, and
without anger, but in visible surprise. He had construed
her summons to her house into a measure preparatory to
accepting his conditions ; yet he betrayed no emotion, after
the first expression of his wonder : he told her distinctly, a
renuncmtion of her heresy was the only condition on which
Ler father would own her either as his heiress or his child.
Julia deeply regretted the decision, but was firm ; and her
friends left her to enjoy uninterruptedly for one day, the
society of so near a relative. During this day every doubt

PllECAUTlON. 301

4

as to the propriety of her conduct, if any yet remained, was
removed by a relation of her little story to her uncle ; and
after, it was completed, he expressed great uneasiness to
get to London again, in order to meet a gentleman he had
seen there, under a different impression as to his merits,
than what now appeared to be just. Who the gentleman
was, or what these impressions were, Julia was left to con-
jecture, taciturnity being a favorite property in the
general.

302 PRECAUTION.

CHAPTER XXXI.

The -sun had just risen on one of the loveliest vales of
Caernarvonshire, as a travelling- chaise and six swept up to
the door of a princely mansion, so situated as to command a
prospect of the fertile and extensive domains, the rental of
which filled the cofi:ers of its rich owner, having a beautiful
view of the Irish channel in the distance.

Everything around this stately edifice bespoke the magni-
ficence of its ancient possessors and the taste of its present
master. It was irregular, but built of the best materials,
and in the tastes of the diff'erent ages in which its various
parts had been erected ; and now in the nineteenth century
it preserved the baronial grandeur of the thirteenth, mingled
with the comforts of this later period.

The lofty turrets of its towers were tipt with the golden
light of the sun, and the neighboring peasantry had com-
menced their daily labors, as the different attendants of the
equipage we have mentioned collected around it at the
great entrance to the building. The beautiful black horses,
with coats as shining as the polished leather with which
they were caparisoned, the elegant and fashionable finish of
the vehicle, with its numerous grooms, postillions, and foot-
men, all wearing the livery of one master, gave evidence of
wealth and rank.

In attendance there were four outriders, walking leisurely
about, awaiting the appearance of those for whose comforts
and pleasures they were kept to contribute; while a fifth,
who, Wh' the others, was equipped with a horse, appeared to

PRECA['TIOX, 303

bear a doubtful station. Tlie form of the latter was athletic,
and apparently drilled into a severer submission than could
be seen in the movements of the Hveried attendants: his
dress was peculiar, being neither quite menial nor quite mili-
tary, but partaking of both chai-acters. His horse was hea-
vier and better managed than those of the others, and by its
side was a charger, that was prepared for the use of no
pommon equestrian. Both were coal-black, as were all the
others of the cavalcade ; but the pistols of the two latter, and
housings of their saddles, bore the aspect of use and elegance
united.

The postilhons were mounted, listlessly waiting the pleasure
of their superiors ; when the laughs and jokes of the menials
were instantly succeeded by a respectful and profound silence,
as a gentleman and lady appeared on the portico of the
building. The former was a young man of commanding sta-
ture and genteel appearance ; and his air, although that of
one used to command, was softened by a character of bene-
volence and gentleness, that might be rightly supposed to give
birth to the willing alacrity with which all his requests or
orders were attended to.

The lady was also young, and resembled her companion
both in features and ex})ression, for both were noble, both
were handsome. The former was attired for the road ; the
latter had thrown a shawl around her elegant form, and by
hei* morning dress showed that a sepai'ation of the two was
about to happen. Taking the hand of the gentleman with
both her own, as she pressed it with fingers interlocked, the
lady said, in a voice of music, and with great affection,

" Then, my dear brother, I shall certainly hear from you
within the week, and see you next ?"

" Certainly," replied the gentleman, as he tenderly paid his
adieiis ; then throwing himself into the chaise, it dashed from

304 PRECAUTION.

the door, like the passage of a meteor. The horsemen fol
lowed; the uniidden charger, obedient to the orders of his
keeper, wheeled gracefully into his station ; and in an instan
they were all lost amidst the wood, through which the .'oac
to the park gates conducted.

After lingering without until the last of her brother's fol
lowers had receded from her sight, the lady retired through
ranks of liveried footmen and maids, whom curiosity or
respect had collected.

The young traveller wore a gloom on his expressive fea-
tures, amidst the pageantry that surrounded him, which
showed the insufficiency of wealth and honors to fill the sum
of human happiness. As his carriagef rolled proudly up an
eminence ere he had reached the confines of his extensive
park, his eye rested, for a moment, on a scene in which
meadows, forests, fields waving with golden corn, comforta-
ble farm-houses surrounded with innumerable cottages, were
seen, in almost endless variety. All these owned him for
their lord, and one quiet smile of satisfaction beamed on his
face as he gazed on the unlimited view. Could the heart of
that youth have been read, it would at that moment have
told a story very different from the feelings such a scene is
apt to excite ; it would have spoken the consciousness of well
apphed wealth, the gratification of contemplating meritorious
deeds, and a heartfelt gratitude to the Being which had
enabled him to become the dispenser of happiness to so many
of his fellow-creatures.

" Which way, my lord, so early ?" cried a gentleman in
phaeton, as he drew up, on his way to a watering j)lace, t«
pay his own parting compliments.

" To Eltringham, Sir Owen, to attend the marriage of my
kinsman, Mr. Denbigh, to one of the sistoi*s of the mar
quess."

PRECAUTION. 305

A few more questions and ansvvei*s, and the gentlemen,
exchanging friendly adieus, pursued each his own course ;
Sir Owen Ap Rice pushing forward for Cheltenham, and the
Earl of Pendennyss proceeding to act as groomsman to his
cousin.

The gates of Eltringham were open to the admission of
many an equipage on the following day, and the heart of the
Lady Laura beat quick, as the sound of wheels, at different
times, reached her ears. At last an unusual moveYnent in
the house drew her to a window of her dressing-room, and
the blood rushed to her heart as she beheld the equipages
which were rapidly approaching, and through the mist which
stole over her eyes she saw alight from the first, the Duke of
Derwent and the bridegroom. The next contained Lord

Pendennyss, and the last the Bishop of . Lady Laura

waited to see no more, but with a heart filled with terror,
hope, joy, and uneasiness, she threw herself into the arms of
one of her sisters.

" Ah !" exclaimed Lord Henry Stapleton, about a week
after the wedding of his sister, seizing John suddenly by the
arm, while the latter was taking his morning walk to the resi-
dence of the dowager Lady Chatterton, " Moseley, you dissir
pated youth, in town yet : you told me you should stay but
a day, and here I find you at the end of a fortnight."

John blushed a little at the consciousness of his reason for
sending a written, instead of carrying a verbal report, of the
result of his journey, but replied,

" Yes, my friend Chatterton unexpectedly arrived, and so
— and so — "

" And so you did not go, I presume you mean," cried
Lord Henry, with a laugh.

** Yes," said John, " and so I stayed — but where is Den-
bigh?"

306 PRECAUTION.

" Where ? — why with liis wife, wliere every well-behaved
man should be, especially for the first month." rejoined the
sailor, gaily.

*' Wife !" echoed John, as soon as he felt able to give
utterance to his words — " wife ! is he married?"

" Married," cried Lord Henry, imitating his manner, " are
you yet to learn that ? why did you ask for him 1"

" Ask for him!" said Moseley, yet lost in astonishment;
" but when — how — where did he marry— my lord ?"

Lord Henry looked at him for a moment with a surprise
little short of his own, as he answered more gravely :

" When ? — last Tuesday ; how ? by special license, and

the Bishop of ; where ? — at Eltringham :— yes, my dear

fellow," continued he, with his former gaiety, " George is
my brother now — and a fine fellow h<* is."

" I really wish your lordship much joy," said John, strug-
gling to command his feelings.

" Thank you — thank you," replied the sailor ; " a jolly
time we had of it, Moseley. I wish, with all my heart,
you had been there ; no bolting or running away as soon
as spHced, but a regularly constructed, old-fashioned wed-
ding ; all my doings. I wrote Laura that time was scarce,
and 1 had none to throw away on fooleries ; so dear, good
soul, she consented to let me have everything my own
way. AVe had Derwent and Pendennyss, the marquess,
Lord William, and myself, for groomsmen, and my thi-ee
sisters — ah, that was bad, but there was no helping it —
Lady Harriet Denbigh, and an old maid, a cousin of ours,
for bridesmaids ; could not help the old maid either, upon my
honor, or be quite certain I would."

How much of what he said Moseley heard, we cannot say ;
for had he talked an hour longer he would have been unin-
terrupted. Lord Henry was too much engaged with h»

PRECAUTION. 307

description to notice his companion's taciturnity or surprise,
and after walking a square or two together they parted; the
sailor being on the wing for his frigate at Yarmouth.

John continued his course, musing on the intelligence he
had just heard. That Denbigh could forget Emily so soon,
he would not believe, and he greatly feared he had been
driven into a step, from despair, that he might hei-eafter
repent of. The avoiding of himself was now fully explained ;
but would Lady Laura Stapleton accept a man for a husband
at so short a notice ? and for the first time a suspicion that
something in the character of Denbigh was wrong, mingled,
in his reflections on his sister's refusal of his offers.

Lord and Lady Herriefield were on the eve of their depar-
ture for the continent (for Catherine had been led to the
altar the preceding week), a southein climate having been
prescribed as necessary to the bridegroom's constitution ; and
the dowager and Grace were about to proceed to a seat of
the baron's within a couple of miles of Bath. Chatterton
himself had his own engagements, but he promised to be
there in company with his friend Derwent within a fortnight ;
the former visit having been postponed by the mariiages in
their respective families.

John had been assiduous in his attentions during the season
of forced gaiety which followed the nuptials of Kate ; and as
the dowager's time was monopolized with the ceremonials of
that event, Grace had risen greatly in his estimation. If
Grace Chatterton was not more miserable than usual, at what
she thought was the destruction of her sister's happiness, it
was owing to the presence and unconcealed affection of John
Moseley.

The carriage of Lord Herriefield was in waiting when John
rang for admittance. On opening the door and entering the
drawing-room, he saw the bride and bridegroom, with their

308 PRECAUTION.

/

mother and sister, accoutred for an excursion amongst the
shops of Bond street : for Kate was dying to find a vent for
some of her surpkis pin-money — her husband to show his
handsome wife in the face of the world — the mother to dis-
play the triumph of her matrimonial schemes. And Grace
was forced to obey her mother's commands, in accompanying
her sister as an attendant, not to be dispensed with at all in
her circumstances.

The entrance of John at that instant, though nothing more
than what occurred every day at that hour, deranged the
whole plan : the dowager, for a moment, forgot her resolution,
and forgot the necessity of Grace's appearance, exclaiming
with evident satisfaction,

" Here is Mr. Moseley come to keep you company, Grace ;
so, after all, you must consult your headach and stay at home.
Indeed, my love, I never can consent you should go out. I
not only wish, but insist you remain within this morning."

Lord Heiriefield looked at his mother-in-law in some sur-
prise, and threw a suspicious glance on his own rib at the
moment, which spoke as plainly as looks can speak,

" Is it possible I have been taken in after all !"

Gi-ace was unused to resist her mother's commands, and
throwing off her hat and shawl, reseated herself with more
composure than she would probably have done, had not the
attentions of Moseley been more delicate and pointed of late
than formerly.

As they passed the porter, Lady Chatterton observed tc
him significantly — " Nobody at home, Willis." — " Yes, mj
lady," was the laconic reply, and Lord Herriefield, as he took
his seat by the side of his wife in the carriage, thought she
was not as handsome as usual.

Lady Chatterton that morning unguardedly laid the foun-
dation of years of , misery for her eldest daughter ; or rather

PRECAUTION. 309

tlie foundations were already laid in the ill-assorted, and
heartless, unprincipled union she had labored with success to
effect. But she had that morning stripped the mask from
her own character prematurely, and excited suspicions in the
breast of her son-in-law, which time only served to confirm,
and memory to brood over.

Lord Herriefield had been too long in the world not to
understand all the ordinary arts of match-makers and match-
huntei*s. Like most of his own sex who have associated
freely with the worst part of the other, his opinions of female
excellences were by no means extravagant or romantic.
Kate had pleased his eye ; she was of a noble family"; young,
and at that moment interestingly quiet, having nothing par-
ticularly in view. She had a taste of her own, and Lord
Herriefield was by no means in conformity with it ; conse-
quently, she expended none of those pretty little arts upon
him which she occasionally practised, and which his experi-
ence would imm.ediately have detected. Her disgust he had
attributed to disinterestedness ; and as Kate had fixed her eye
on a young officer lately returned from France, and her mo-
ther on a Duke who was mourning the death of a third wife,
devising means to console him with a fourth — the Viscount
had got a good deal enamored with the lady, before either
she or her mother took any particular notice that there was
sjch a being in existence. His title was not the most ele-
rated, but it was ancient. His paternal acres were not
numerous, but his East-India shares were. He was not very
young, but he was not very old ; and as the Duke died of a
fit of the gout in his stomach, and the officer ran away with
a girl in her teens from a boarding-school, the dowager and
her daughter, after thoroughly scanning the fashionable world,
determined, for want of a better, that he would do.

It is not to be supposed that the mother and child held

310 PRECAUTION.

any open communications with each other to this eflfect. The
delicacy and pride of both would have been greatly injured
by such a suspicion ; yet they arrived simultaneously at the
same conclusion, as well as at another of equal importance to
the completion of their schemes on the Viscount. It was
simply to adhere to the same conduct which had made him a
captive, as most likely to insure the victory.

There was such a general understanding between the two
it can excite no surprise that they co-operated harmoniously
as it were by signal.

For two people, correctly impressed with their duties and
responsibilities, to arrive at the same conclusion in the govern-
ment of their conduct, would be merely a matter of coume ;
and so with those who are more or less under the dominion
of the world. They will pursue their plans with a degree of
concurrence amounting nearly to sympathy ; and thus had
Kate and her mother, until this morning, kept up the mas-
querade so well that the Viscount was as confiding as a
country Corydon. When he first witnessed the dowager's
management with Grace and John, however, and his wife's
careless disregard of a thing which appeared too much a
matter of course to be quite agreeable, his newly awakened
distrust approached conviction.

Grace Chatterton both sang and played exquisitely ; it
was, however, seldom she could sufficiently overcome her
desire, when John was an auditor, to appear to advantage.

As the party went down stairs, and Moseley had gone
with them part of the way, she threw herself unconsciously
on a seat, and began a beautiful song, that was fashionable
at the time. Her feelings were in consonance with the
words, and Grace was very happy both in execution and
Foice.

John had reached the back of her seat before she was at

PRECAUTIOX. 311

all sensible of his return, and Grace lost her self-command
immediately. She rose and took a seat on a sofa, and the
young man was immediately at her side.

" Ah, Grace," said John, the lady's heart beating high
you certainly do sing as you do everything, admirably."

" I am happy you think so, Mr. Mos"eley," returned Grace
ooking everywhere but in his face.

John's eyes ran over her beauties, as with palpitating
bosom and varying color she sat confused at the unusual
warmth of his language and manner.

Fortunately a remarkably striking likeness of the Dowager
hung directly over their heads, and John taking her unre-
sisting hand, continued,

" Dear Grace, you resemble your brother very much Id
features, and what is better still, in character."

" I could wish," said Grace, venturing to look up, " to re-
semble your sister Emily in the latter."

" And why not to be her sister, dear Grace ?" said he
with ardor. ■ " You are worthy to become her sister. Tell
me, Grace, dear Miss Chatterton — can you — will you make
me the happiest of men ? may I present another inestimable
daughter to my parents ?"

As John paused for an answer, Grace looked up, and he
waited her reply in evident anxiety ; but she continued
silent, now pale as deat^, and now of the color of the rose,
i.;id he added :

" I hope I have not offended you, dearest Grace : you ara
all that is desirable to me ; my hopes, my happiness, are
centred in you. Unless you consent to become my wife, I
must be very wretched."

Grace burst into a flood of tears, as her lover, interested
deeply in their cause, gently drew her towards him. Her
head sank on his shoulder, as she faintl^ whispered some-

312 PRECAUTION.

thing that was inaudible, but which he did not fail to inter-
pret into everything he most wished to hear. John was in
ecstasies. Every unpleasant feeling of suspicion had left
him. Of Grace's innocence of manoeuvring he never doubted,
but John did not relish the idea of being entrapped into
anything, even a step which he desired. An uninterrupted
communication followed ; it was as confiding as thei.
aflfections : and the return of the dowager and her child i-en
first recalled them to the recollection of other people.

One glance of the eye was enough for Lady Chatterton.
t^he saw the traces of tears on the cheeks and in the eyes
of Grace, and the dowager was satisfied; she knew his
friends would not object ; and as Grace attended her to her
dressing-room, she cried on entering it, " Well, child, when
is the wedding to be ? You will wear me out with so much
gaiety."

Grace was shocked, but did not as formerly weep over
her mother's interference in agony and dread. John had
opened his whole soul to her, observing the greatest dehcacy
towards her mother, and she now felt her happiness placed
in the keeping of a man whose honor she believed much
exceeded that of any other human being.

PRECAUTION. 313

CHAPTEE XXXII.

The seniors of the party at Benfield Lodge were al
assembled one morning in a parlor, when its master and tha
baronet were occupied in the perusal of the London papers
Clara had persuaded her sisters to accompany her and
Francis in an excursion as far as the village.

Jane yet continued reserved and distant to most of her
friends ; while Emily's conduct would have escaped unnoticed,
did not her blanched cheek and wandering looks at times
speak a language not to be misunderstood. With all her
relatives she maintained the affectionate intercourse she had
always supported ; though not even to her aunt did the
name of Denbigh pass her lips. But in her most private
and humble petitions to God, she never forgot to mingle
with her requests for spiritual blessings on herself, fervent
prayers for the conversion of the preserver of her life.

Mrs. Wilson, as she sat by the side of her sister at their
needles, first discovered an unusual uneasiness in their
venerable host, while he turned his paper over and over,
as if unwilling or unable to comprehend some part of its
contents, until he rang the bell violently, and bid the servant
to send Johnson to him without a moment's delay.

" Peter," said Mr. Benfield doubtingly, " read that — your
eyes are young, Peter ; read that."

Peter took the paper, and after having adjusted his spec
tacles to his satisfaction, he proceeded to obey his master's
mjunctions ; but the same defect of vision as suddenly seized
the steward at it had aff"ected his master. He turned the

14

314 PRECAUTION.

paper sideways, and appeared to be spelling the matter of
the paragi-aph to himself. Peter would have given his three
hundred a year to have had the impatient John Moseley a
hand, to relieve him from his task ; but the anxiety of Mr. Ben
field overcoming his fear of the worst, he inquired in
tremulous tone —

" Peter? hem ! Peter, what do you think ? "

" Why, your honor," replied the steward, stealing a look
at his master, " it does seem so indeed."

" I remember," said the master, " when Lord Gosford saw
the marriage of the countess announced he "

Here the old gentleman was obliged to stop, and rising
with dignity, and leaning on the arm of his faithful servant,
lie left the room.

Mrs. Wilson immediately took up the paper, and her eye
catching the paragraph at a .glance, she read aloud as
follows to her expecting friends :

" Married by special license, at the seat of the Most Noble
the Marquess of Eltringham, in Devonshire, by the Right

Rev. Lord Bishop of , George Denbigh Esq., Lieutenant

Colonel of his Majesty's regiment of dragoons, to the

Right Honorable Lady Laura Stapleton, eldest sister of "the
Marquess. Eltringham was honored on the present happy
occasion with the presence of his grace of Derwent, and the
gallant Lord Pendennyss, kinsmen of the bridegroom,
and Captain Lord Henry Stapleton of the Royal Navy
We understand that the happy couple proceed to Denbigl
Castle immediately after the honey-moon."

Although Mrs. Wilson had given up the expectation of
ever seeing her niece the wife of Denbigh, she felt an inde
Bcribable shock as she read this paragraph. The strongest
feeling was horror at the danger Emily had been in of
contracting an alliance with such a man. His avoiding tlie

"PRECAUTION. 315

ball, at which be knew Lord Henry was expected, was
explained to her by this marriage ; for with John, she could
not believe a woman like Lady Laura Stapleton was to be won
in the short space of one fortnight, or indeed less. There was
too evidently a mystery yet to be developed, and she felt cer
tain one that would not elevate his character in her opinion.

Neither Sir Edward nor Lady Moseley had given up the
expectation of seeing Denbigh again, as a suitor for Emily's
hand, and to bdth of them this certainty of his loss was a
heavy blow. The baronet took up the paper, and after
perusing the article, he muttered in a low tone, as he wiped
the tears from his eyes, " Heaven bless him : I sincerely hope
she is worthy of him." Worthy of him, thought Mrs. Wil-
son, with a feeling of indignation, as, taking up the paper,
she retired to her own room, whither Eraily, at that moment
returned from her walk, had proceeded. As her niece must
hear this news, she thought the sooner the better. The
exercise, and the unreserved conversation of Francis and
Clara, had restored in some degree the bloom to the cheek
of Emily ; and Mrs. Wilson felt it necessary to struggle with
herself, before she could summon sufficient resolution to
invade the returning peace of her charge. However, having
already decided on her course, she proceeded to the discharge
of what she thought to be a duty.

" Emily, my child," she whispered, pressing her affection
ately to her bosom, " you have been all I could wish, and
more than I expected, under your arduous struggles. Bu
one more pang, and I trust your recollections on this painful
subject will be done away."

Emily looked at her aunt in anxious expectation of what
was coming, and quietly taking the paper, fohowed the
direction of Mrs. Wilson's finger to the article on the mar
riage of Denbigh.

816 PRECAUTION.

There was a momentary struggle in Emily for self-com-
mand. She was obliged to find support in a chair. The
returning richness of color, excited by her walk, vanished ;
but recovering herself, she pressed the hand of her anxious
guardian, and, gently waving her back, proceeded to her own
room.

On her return to the company, the same control of her
feelings which had distinguished her conduct of late, was
again visible ; and, although her aunt most narrowly watched
her movements, looks, and speeches, she could discern no
visible alteration by this confirmation of misconduct. The
truth was, that in Emily Moseley the obligations of duty
were so imperative, her sense of her dependence on Provi-
dence so humbling snd yet so confiding, that, as soon as
she was taught to believe her lover unworthy of her esteem,
that moment an insuperable barrier separated them. His
marriage could add nothing to the distance between them.
It was impossible they could be united ; and although a
secret lingering of the aff'ections over his fallen character
might and did exist, it existed without any romantic expecta-
tions of miracles in his favor, or vain wishes of reformation,
in which self was the prominent feeling. She might be said
to be keenly alive to all that concerned his welfare or move-
ments, if she did not harbor the passion of love ; but it
showed itself in prayers for his amendment of life, and the
most ardent petitions for his future and eternal happiness.
She had set about, seriously and with much energy, the
task of erasing from her heart sentiments which, however
delightful she had found it to entertain in times past, were
now in direct variance with her duty. She knew that a
weak indulgence of such passions would tend to draw her
mind from, and disqualify her to discharge, those various
calls on her time and her exertions, which could alone enable

PRECAUTION. 317

her to assist others, or effect in her own person the great
purposes of her creation. It was never lost sight of by
Emily Moseley, that her existence here was preparatory to an
immensely more important state hereafter. She was conse-
quently in charity with all mankind ; and if grown a httle
more distrustful of the intentions of her fellow-creatures, it
was a mistrust bottomed in a clear view of the frailties of
our nature ; and self-examination was amongst the not unfre-
quent speculations she made on this hasty marriage of her
former lover.

Mrs. Wilson saw all this, and was soon made acquainted
by her niece in terms, with her views of her own condition ;
and although she had to, and did, deeply regret, that all her
caution had not been able to guard against deception, where
it was most important for her to guide aright, yet she was
cheered with the reflection that her previous care, with the
blessings of Providence, had admirably fitted her charge to
combat and overcome the consequences of their mistaken
confidence.

The gloom which this little paragraph excited, extended to
every individual in the family ; for all had placed Denbigh
by the side of John, in their affections, ever since his weighty
services to Emily.

A letter from John announcing his intention of meeting
them at Bath, as well as his new relation with Grace, relieved
in some measure this general depression of spirit. Mr. Ben-
field alone found no consolation in the approaching nuptials
John he regarded as his nephew, and Grace he thought a
very good sort of young woman ; but neither of them were
beings of the same genus with Emily and Denbigh.

"Peter," said he one day, after they had both been expend-
ing their ingenuity in vain efforts to discover the cause of
this so-much-desired marriage's being so unexpectedly frua-

318 PRECAUTION.

b^ted, " have I not often told you, that fate governed these?
things, in order th?t men might be humble in this life ?
Now, Peter, had the Lady Juliana wedded with a mind con-
genial to her own, she might have been mistress of Benfield
Lodge to this very horn*."

" Yes, your honor — but there's Miss Emmy's legacy."

And Peter withdrew, thinking what would have been the
consequences had Patty Steele been more willing, when he
wished to make her Mrs, Peter Johnson — an association by
no means uncommon in the mind of the steward ; for if
Patty had ever a rival in his aflfections, it was in the person
of Emily Moseley, though, indeed, with very different degrees
and coloring of esteem.

The excursions to the cottage had been Continued by Mrs.
Wilson and Emily, and as no gentleman was now in the
family to interfere with their communications, a general visit
to the young widow had been made by the Moseleys, includ-
ing Sir Edward and Mr. Ives.

The Jar vises had gone to London to receive their children,
now penitent in more senses than one ; and Sir Edward
learnt with pleasure that Egerton and his wife had been
admitted into the family of the merchant.

Sir Edgar had died suddenly, and the entailed estates had
fallen to his successor the colonel, now Sir Harry ; but the
bulk of his wealth, being in convertible property, he had
given by will to his other nephew, a young clergyman, and
a son of a younger brother. Mary, as well as her mother,
were greatly disappointed, by this deprivation, of what they
•"onsidered their lawful splendor ; but they found great conso-
ation in the new dignity of Lady Egerton, whose greatest
wish now was to meet the Moseleys, in order that she might
precede them in or out of some place where such ceremonials
are observed. The sound of " Lady Egerton's carriage stops

PRECAUTION. 319

the way," was delightful, and it never failed to be used on
all occasions, although her ladyship was mistress of only a
hired vehicle.

A slight insight into the situation of things amongst
them may be found in the following narrative of their
views, as revealed in a discussion which took place about
a fortnight after the reunion of the family under on
roof.

Mrs. Jarvis was mistress of a very handsome coach, the
gift of her husband for her own private use. After having
satisfied herself the baronet (a dignity he had enjoyed just
twenty-four hours) did not possess the abihty to furnish his
lady, as she termed her daughter, with such a luxury, she
magnanimously determined to relinquish her own, in support
of the new-found elevation of her daughter. Accordingly,
a consultation on the alterations which were necessary took
place between the ladies — " The arms must be altered, of
course," Lady Egerton observed, " and Sir Harry's, with
the bloody hand and six quarterings, put in their place ;
tJien the liveries, they must be changed."

" Oh, mercy ! my lady, if the arms are altered, Mr. Jarvis
will be sure to notice it, and he would never forgive me ;
and perhaps — "

" Perhaps what ?" exclaimed the new-made lady, with a
disdainful toss of her head.

" Why," replied the mother, warmly, " not give me the
hundred pounds he promised, to have it new-lined and
painted."

" Fiddlesticks with the painting, Mrs. Jarvis," cried the
lady with dignity : " no carriage shall be called mine that
does not bear my arras and the bloody hand."

" Why, your ladyship is unreasonable, indeed you are,"
said Mrs. Jarvis, coaxingly; and then after a moment's

320 PRECAUTION.

thought she continued, *' is it the arms or the baronetcy you
want, my dear ?"

" Oh, I care nothing for the arms, but I am determined,
now I am a baronet's lady, Mrs. Jarvis, ►to have the proper
emblem of my rank."

" Certainly, my lady, that's true dignity : well, then, we
will put the bloody hand on your father's arms, and he will
never notice it, for he never sees such things."

The arrangement was happily completed, and for a few
days the coach of Mr. Jarvis bore about the titled dame,
until one unlucky day the merchant, who still went on
'change when any great bargain in the stocks was to be
made, arrived at his own door suddenly, to procure a calcu-
lation he had made on the leaf of his prayer-book the last
Sunday during sermon. This he obtained after some search.
In his haste he drove to his broker's in the carriage of his
wife, to save time, it happening to be in waiting at the
moment, and the distance not great. Mr. Jarvis forgot to
order the man to return, and for an hour the vehicle stood
in one of the most public places in the city. The conse-
quence was, that when Mr. Jarvis undertook to examine into
his gains, with the account rendered of the transaction by
his broker, he was astonished to read, " Sir Timothy Jarvis.
Bart., in account with John Smith, Dr." Sir Timothy
examined the account in as many different ways as Mr. Ben-
field had examined the marriage of Denbigh, before he
would believe his eyes ; and when assured of the fact, he
immediately caught up his hat, and went to find tlie man
who had dared to insult him, as it were, in defiance of the
formality of business. He had not proceeded one square in
the city before he met a friend, who spoke to him by the title ;
an explanation of the mistake followed, and the quasi baronet
proceeded to his stables. Here by actual examination ha

PRECAUTION. 321

detected the fraud. An explanation with his consort fol-
lowed ; and the painter's brush soon effaced the emblem of
dignity from the panels of the coach. All this was easy
but with his waggish companions on 'Change and in the
city (where, notwithstanding his wife's fashionable propensi
ties, he loved to resort) he was Sir Timothy still.

Mr. Jarvis, though a man of much modesty, was one of
great decision, and he determined to have the laugh on his
side. A newly purchased borough of his sent up an address
flaming with patriotism, and it was presented by his own
hands. The merchant seldom kneeled to his Creator, but
on this occasion he humbled himself dutifully before his
prince, and left the presence with a legal right to the
appellation which his old companions had affixed to him
sarcastically.

The rapture of Lady Jarvis may be more easily imagined
than faithfully described, the Christian name of her husband
alone throwing any alloy into the enjoyment of her eleva-
tion : but by a license of speech she ordered, and addressed
in her own practice, the softer and more familiar appellation
of Sir Timo. Two servants were discharged the fii-st week,
because, unused to titles, they had addressed her as mistress ;
and her son, the captain, then at a watenno--place, was made
acquainted by express with the joyful intelligence.

All this time Sir Henry Egerton was but little seen
amongst his new relatives. He had his own engagements
and haunts, and spent most of his time at a fashionable
gaming house in the West End. As, however, the town
was deserted, Lady Jarvis and her daughters, having con-
descended to pay a round of city visits, to show off her airs
and dignity to her old friends, pei-suaded Sir Timo that the
hour for their visit to Bath had arrived, and they were soon
comfortably settled in that city.
14*

322 PRECAUTION.

Lady Chatterton and her youngest daughter had arrived
at the seat of her son, and John Moseley, as happy as the
eeitainty of love returned and the approbation of his friends
could make him, was in lodgings in the town. Sir Edward
notified his son of his approaching visit to Bath, and John
took proper accommodations for the family, which lie occu-
pied for a few days by himself as'locum tenens.

Lord and Lady Herriefield had departed for the south of
France ; and Kate, removed from the scenes of her earliest
enjoyments and the bosom of her own family, and under
the protection of a man she neither loved nor respected,
began to feel the insufficiency of a name or of a fortune to
constitute felicity. Loid Herriefield was of a suspicious and
harsh temper, the first propensity being greatly increased
by his former associations, and the latter not being removed
by the humility of his eastern dependants. But the situation
of her child gave no uneasiness to the managing mother,
who thought her in the high-road to happiness, and wa£
gratified at the result of her labors. Once or twice, indeed,
her habits had overcome her caution so much as to endeavor
to promote, a day or two sooner than had been arranged,
the wedding of Grace ; but her impnidence was checked
instantly by the recoiling of Moseley from her insinuations
in disgust ; and the absence of the young man for twenty-
four hours gave her timely warning of the danger of such an
interference with one of such fastidious feelings. John
punished himself as much as the dowager on these occasions ;
but the smiling face of Grace, with her hand fransly placed
in his own at his return, never failed to do away the unplea.
Bant sensations created by her mother's care.

The Chatterton and Jarvis families met in the rooms, soon
after the arrival of the latter, when the lady of the knight,
followed by both her daughters, approached the dowager with

PRECAUTION. S2H

a most friendly salute of recognition. Lady Chatterton,

really forgetful of the persons of her B acquaintance,

and disliking the vulgarity of her air, drew up into an ap-
pearance of great dignity, as she hoped the lady was well.
The merchant's wife felt the consciousness of rank too much
to be repulsed in this manner, and believing that the dowager
liad merely forgotten her face, she added, with a simpering
smile, in imitation of what she had seen better bred people
practise with success —

" Lady Jarvis — my lady — your ladyship don't remember

me — Lady Jarvis of the Deanery, B , Northamptonshire,

and my daughters. Lady Egerton and Miss Jarvis." Lady
Egerton bowed stiffly to the recognising smile the dowager
now condescended to bestow ; but Sarah, remembering a cer
tain handsome lord in the family, was more urbane, deter-
mining at the moment to make the promotion of her mother
and sister stepping-stones to greater elevation for herself.

" I hope my lord is well," continued the city lady. " 1
regret that Sir Timo, and Sir Harry, and Captain Jarvis, are
not here this morning to pay their respects to your ladyship ;
but as we shall see naturally a good deal of each other, it
must be deferred to a more fitting opportunity."

" Certainly, madam," replied the dowager, as, passing her
compliments with those of Grace, she drew back from so open
a conversation with creatures of such doubtful standing in the
fishionable world.

324 PRECAUTION.

CHAPTEE XXXin.

On taking leave of Mrs. Fitzgerald, Emily and her aunt
nettled a plan of correspondence ; the deserted situation of
this young woman having created great interest in t^e breasts
of her new friends. General M'Carthy had returned to Spain
without receding from his original proposal, and his niece was
left to mourn her early departure from one of the most
solemn duties of life.

Mr. Benfield, thwarted in one of his most favorite schemes
of happiness for the residue of his hfe, obstinately refused to
make one of the party at Bath ; and Ives and Clara having
returned to Bolton, the remainder of the Moseleys arrived at
the lodgings of John a very few days after the interview of
the preceding chapter, with hearts ill qualified to enter into
the gaieties of the place, though, in obedience to the wishes
of Lady Moseley, to see and to be seen once more on that
great theatre of fashionable amusement.

The friends of the family who had known them in times
past were num^erous, and were glad to renew their acquaint-
ance with those they had always esteemed ; so tliat they
found themselves immediately surrounded by a circle of
smiling faces and dashing equipages.

Sir William Harris, the proprietor of the deanery, and a
former neighbor, with his showy daughter, were amongst the
first to visit them. Sir William was a man of hand^rae
estate and unexceptionable character, but entirely governed
by the whims and desires of his only child. Caroline Harris
wanted neither sense nor beauty, but expecting a fortune,

PRECAUTION. 325

she had placed her views too high. She at first aimed at the
peerage ; and while she felt herself entitled to suit her taste
as well as her ambition, had failed of her object by ill-con-
cealed efforts to attain it. She had justly acquired the repu-
tation of the reverse of a coquette or yet of a prude ; still she
had never received an offer, and at the age of twenty-six, bad
now begun to lower her thoughts to the commonalty. Her
fortune would have easily obtained her husband here, but she
was determined to pick amongst the lower supporters of the
aristocracy of the nation. With the Moseleys she had been
early acquainted, though some years their senior ; a circum-
stance, however, to which she took care never to allude unne-
cessarily.

The meeting between Grrace and the Moseleys was tender
and sincere. John's countenance glowed with delight, as he
saw his future wife folded successively in the arms of those
heloved,.and Grace's tears and blushes added twofold charms
to her native beauty. Jane relaxed from her reserve to
receive her future sister, and determined with herself to
appear in the world, in order to show Sir Henry Egerton that
she did not feel the blow he had inflicted as severely as the
truth might have proved.

The Dowager found some little occupation, for a few days,
in settling with Lady Moseley the preliminaries of the wed-
dinor ; but the latter had suffered too much throuofh her
youngest daughters, to enter into these formalities with her
ancient spirit. All things were, however, happily settled; and
Ives making a journey for the express pui-pose, John and
Grace were united privately at the altar of one of the prin-
cipal churches in Bath. Chatterton had been summoned off
the occasion; and the same ])apcr whicii announced the nup-
tials, contained, amongst the fashionable arrivals, the namea
of the Duke of Derwent and his sister, the Marauess of

326 PRECAUTION.

Eltringliam and sistei's, amongst whom was to be found Lady
Laura Denbigh. Lady Chatterton carelessly remarked, in
presence of her friends, the husband of the latter was sum-
moned to the death-bed of a relative, from whom he had ofreat
expectations. Emily's color did certainly change as she hs-
tened to this news, but not allow4n£j her thouo-hts to dwell on
the subject, she was soon enabled to recall her serenity of
appearance.

But Jane and Emily were delicately placed. The lover
of the former, and the wives of the lovers of both, were in
the way of daily, if not hourly rencounters ; and it required
all the energies of the young women to appear with compo-
sure before them. The elder was supported by pride, the
younger by principle. The first was restless, haughty, dis-
tant, and repulsive. The last mild, humble, reserved, but
eminently attractive. The one was suspected by all around
her ; the other was unnoticed by any, but by her nearest and
dearest friends.

The first rencounter with these dreaded guests occurred at
the rooms one evening, where the elder ladies had insisted on
the bride's making her appearance. The Jarvises were there
before them, and at their entrance caught the eyes of the
group. Lady Jarvis approached immediately, filled with
exultation — her husband with respect. The latter was re-
ceived with cordiality — the former politely, but with distance.
The young ladies and Sir Henry bowed distantly, and the
gentleman soon drew off into another part of the room : his
absence alone kept Jane from fainting. The handsome figure
i>f Egerton standing by the side of Mary Jarvis, as her
ncknowledged husband, was near proving too much for her
cride, notwithstanding all her efforts ; and he looked so like the
imaginary being she had set up as the object of her worship,
that her heart was also in danger of rebelling.

pnErAriiox. 32'7

"Positively, Sir Edward and my lady, both Sir Timo and
myself, and, I dare say, Sir Harr}'- and Lady Egerton too,
are delighted to see you comfortably at Bath among us.
Mrs. Moseley, I wish you much happiness ; Lady Chatterton
too. I suppose your ladyship recollects me now ; I am
Lady Jarvis. Mr. Moseley, I regret, for your sake, that my
son Captain Jarvis is not here ; you were so fond of each
other, and both so loved your guns."

" Positively, my Lady Jarvis," said Moseley, drily, " my
feelings on the occasion are as strong as your own ; but I
presume the captain is much too good a shot for me by this
time."

" Why, yes ; he improves greatly in most things he under-
takes," rejoined the smiling dame, " and I hope he will soon
learn, like you, to shoot with the Narrows of Cupid. I hope
the Honorable Mrs. Moseley is well."

Grace bowed mildly, as she answered to the interroga-
tory, and smiled at the thought of Jarvis put in competition
with her husband in this species of archery, when a voice
immediately behind whei-e they sat caught the ears of the
whole party ; all it said was —

" Harriet, you forgot to show me Marian's letter."

" Yes, but I will to-morrow," was the reply.

It was the tone of Denbigh. Emily almost fell from
her seat as it first reached her, and the eyes of all but
herself were immediately turned in quest of the speaker.
He had approached within a very few feet of them,
supporting a lady on each arm. A second look con-
vinced the Moseleys that they were mistaken. It was not
Denbigh, but a young man whose figure, face, and air
resembled him strongly, and whose voice possessed the
same soft melodious tones which had distinguished that of

o

Denbigh. This party seated themselves within a very short

328 PRECAUTION.

distance of tlie Moseleys, and they continued their conver-
sation.

" You heard from tlie Colonel to-day, too, I believe,
continued the gentleman, turning^ to the lady who sat next U
Emily.

" Yes, he is a very punctual correspondent ; I hear everj
other day."

"How is his uncle, Laura?" inquired her female com-
panion.

" Rather better ; but I will thank your grace to find the
Marquess and Miss Howard."

" Bring them to us," rejoined the other.

" Yes," said the former lady, with a laugh, **and Eltring-
ham will tliank you too, I dare say."

In an instant the duke returned, accompanied by a gen-
tleman of thirty and an eldeily lady, who might have
been safely taken for fifty without offence to anybody but
herself.

During these speeches their auditors had listened with
almost breathless interest. Emily had stolen a glance which
satisfied her it was not Denbigh himself, and it greatly
relieved her ; but was startled at discovering that she was
actually seated by the side of his young and lovely wife.
When an opportunity offered, she dwelt on the amiable,
flank countenance of her rival with melancholy satisfaction •
at least, she thought, he may yet be happy, and I hop
penitent.

It was a mixtui-e of love and gratitude which prompter
this wish, both sentiments not easily got rid of whei
once ingrafted in our better feelings. John eyed the stran-
gers with a displeasure for which he could not account at
once, and saw, in the ancient lady, the bridesmaid Lord'
Heuiy had so unwillingly admitted to that distinction.

PRECAUTION. 32J)

Lady Jarvis was astounded with her vicinity to so much
nobility, and she drew back to her family to study its
movements to advantage ; while Lady Chatterton sighed
heavily, as she contemplated the fine figures of an unmarried
Duke and Marquess, and she without a single child to dis-
pose of. The remainder of the party continued to view
them with curiosity, and listened with interest to what they
said.

Two or three young ladies had now joined the strangers,
attended by a couple of gentlemen, and the conversation
became general. The ladies declined dancing entirely, but
appeared willing to throw away an hour in comments on
their neighbors.

" William," said one of the young ladies, " there is your
old messmate, Col. Egerton "

" Yes, I observe him," replied her brother, *' I see him ;"
but, smiling significantly, he continued, " we are messmates
no longer."

" He is a sad character," said the Marquess, with a
shrug. " William, I would advise you to be cautious of his
acquaintance."

" I thank you," replied Lord William, " but I beheve I
understand him thoroughly."

Jane manifested strong emotion during these remarks,
while Sir Edward and his wife averted their faces from a
simultaneous feeling of self-reproach. Their eyes met, and
mutual concessions were contained in the glance ; yet their
feelings were unnoticed by their companions, for over the
fulfilment of her often repeated forewarnings of neglect and
duty to our children, Mrs. Wilson had mourned in sincerity,
but she had forgotten to triumph.

"When are we to see Pendennyss ?" inquired the Mar-
quess ; '* I hope he will be here with George — I have a mind

330 PBECAUTION.

to beat up his quarters in Wales this season- — what say you,

Derwent?"

" I intend it, if I can persuade Lady Harriet to quit the
gaieties of Bath so soon — what say yow, sister — will you be
in readiness to attend me so early ?"

This question was asked in an arch tone, and drew the
eyes of her friends on the person to whom it was addressed.

" I am ready now, Frede" ok, if you wish it," answered
the sister hastily, and coloring excessively as she spoke.

'* But where is Chatterton ? I thought he was here — he
had a sister married here last week," in(juired Lord William
Stapleton, addressing no one in particular.

A slight movement in their neighbors attracted the atten-
tion of the party.

" What a lovely young woman," whispered^ the duke to
Lady Laura, " your neighbor is !"

The lady smiled her assent, and as Emily overheard it,
she rose with glowing cheeks, and proposed a walk round
the room.

Chatterton soon after entered. The young peer had
"acknowledged to Emily that, deprived of hope as he had
been by her firm refusal of his hand, his eftbrts had been
directed to the suppi-ession of a passion which could never
be successful ; but his esteem, his respect, remained in full
force. He did not touch at all on the subject of Denbigh,
and she supposed that he thought his marriage was a step
that required justification.

The Moseleys had commenced their promenade round the
room as Chatterton came in. He paid his compliments to
them as soon as he entered, and walked with their party.
The noble visitors followed their example, and the two par-
ties met. Chatterton was delighted to see them, the Duke
was particularly fond of him ; and, had one been present pf

PRECAUTION. 33:1

sufficient observation, the agitation of his sister, the Lady
Harriet Denbigh, would have accounted for the doubts of
her brother as respects her wilHngness to leave Bath.

A few words of explanation passed ; the duke and his
friends appeared to urge something on Chatterton, who acted
as their ambassador, and the consequence was, an introduc-
tion of the two parties to each other. This was conducted
with the ease of the present fashion — it was general, and
occurred, as it were incidentally, in the course of the evening.

Both Lady Harriet and Lady Laura Denbigh were particu-
larly attentive to Emily. They took their seats by her, and
manifested a preference for her conversation that struck Mrs.
Wilson as remarkable. Could it be that the really attractive
manners and beauty of her niece had caught the fancy of
these ladies, or was there a deeper seated cause for the desire
to di-aw Emily out, that both of them evinced ? Mrs. Wilson
had heai-d a rumor that Chatterton was thought attentive to
Lady Harriet, and the other was the wife of Denbigh ; was it
possible the quondam suitors of her niece had related to their
present favorites the situation they had stood in as regarded
Emily ? It was odd, to say no more ; and the widow dwelt
on the innocent countenance of the bride with pity and admi-
ration. Emily herself was not a little abashed at the notice
of her new acquaintances, especially Lady Laura's ; but as
their admiration appeared sincere, as well as their desire to be
on terms of intimacy with the Moseleys, they parted, on the
whole, mutually pleased.

The conversation several times was embarrassing to the
baronet's family, and at moments distressingly so to their
daughters.

At the close of the evening they all formed one group at a
little distance from the rest of the company, and in a situation
to comn^nd a view of it.

332 PRECAUTION.

**Who is that vulgar-looking woman," said Lady Sarah
Stapleton, " seated next to Sir Henry Egerton, brother V*

" No less a personage than my Lady Jarvis," rephed the
marquess, gravely, " and the mother-in-law of Sir Harry, and
the wife to Sir Timo — ;" this was said with a look of drol-
lery that showed the marquess was a bit of a quiz

" Married !" cried Lord William, " mercy on the woman who
is Egerton's wife. He is the greatest latitudinarian amongst
the ladies, of any man in England — nothing — no, nothing
would tempt me to let such a man marry a sister of mine !"

Ah, thought Mrs. Wilson, how we may be deceived in
character, with the best intentions, after all ! In what are the
open vices of Egerton worse than the more hidden ones of
Denbigh ?

These freely expressed opinions on the character of Sir
Henry were excessively awkward to some of the listeners, to
whom they were connected with unpleasant recollections of
duties neglected, and affections thrown away.

Sir Edward Moseley was not disposed to judge his fellow-
creatures harshly ; and it was as much owing to his philan-
thropy as to his indolence, that he had been so remiss in his
attention to the associates of his daughters. But the veil once
removed, and the consequences brought home to him through
his child, no man was more alive to the necessity of caution
on this important particular ; and Sir Edward formed many
salutary resolutions for the government of his future conduct
in relation to those whom an experience nearly fatal in its
results had now greatly qualified to take care of themselves
But to resume our narrative — Lady Laura had maintainec
with Emily a conversation, whkih was enhvened by occasiona
remarks from the rest of the party, in the course of which the
nerves as well as the principles of Emily were put to a severe
trial.

PRECAUTION. 333

** My brother Henry," said Lady Laura, " who is a captain
in the navy, once had the pleasure of seeing you, Miss Mose-
ley, and in some measure made me acquainted with you
before we met."

"I dined with Lord Henry at L , and was much

indebted to his polite attentions in an excursion on the water,"
rephed Emily, simply.

" Oh, I am sure his attentions were exclusive," cried the
sister; "indeed, he told us that nothing but want of time
prevented his being deeply in love — he had even the audacity
to tell Denbigh it was fortunate for me he had never seen
you, or I should have been left to lead apes."

" And I suppose you believe him now," cried Lord Wil-
ham, laughing, as he bowed to Emily.

His sister laughed in her turn, but shook her head, in the
confidence of conjugal affection.

" It is all conjecture, for the Colonel said he had never
enjoyed the pleasure of meeting Miss Moseley, so I will not
boast of what my powers might have done ; Miss Moseley,''
continued Lady Laura, blushing slightly at her inclination to
talk of an absent husband, so lately her lover, " I hope to
have the pleasure of presenting Colonel Denbigh to you
soon."

" I think," said Emily, with a strong horror of deception,
and a mighty struggle to suppress her feelings, " Colonel
Denbigh was mistaken in saying that we had never met ; he
was of material service to me once, and I owe him a debt of
gratitude that I only wish I could properly repay."

Lady Laura listened in surprise ; but as Emily paused, she
could not delicately, as his wife, remind her further of the
obligation, by asking what the service was, and hesitating a
moment, continued —

" Henry quite made you the subject of conversation

334 PRECAUTION.

amongst us ; Lord Chatterton too, who visited us for a day,
was equally warm in his eulogiums. I really thought they
created a curiosity in the Duke and Pendennyss to behold
their idol."

"A curiosity that would be ill rewarded in its indul
gence,"said Emily, abashed by the personality of the discourse

"■ So says the modesty of Miss Moseley," said the Duke of
Derwent, in the peculiar tone which distinguished the softer
keys of Denbigh's voice. Emily's heart beat quick as she
heard them, and she was afterwards vexed to remember with
how much pleasure she had listened to this opinion of the
duke. Was it the sentiment, or was it the voice ? She,
however, gathered strength to answer, with a dignity that
repressed further praises : —

"Your grace is willing to divest me of what Httle I
possess."

*' Pendennyss is a man of a thousand," continued Lady
Laura, with the privilege of a married woman. " I do wish
he would join us at Bath — is there no hope, duke?"

'* I am afraid not," replied his grace : " ke keeps himself
immured in Wales with his sister, who is as much of a hermit
as he is himself."

" There was a story of an inamorata in private some-
where," cried the marquess ; '* why at one time it was even
said he was privately married to her."

" Scandal, my lord," said the duke, gravely : *' Pendennyss
is of unexceptionable morals, and the lady you mean is
the widow of Major Fitzgerald, whom you knew. Penden
nyss never sees her, though by accident he was once of very
great service to her."

Mrs. Wilson breathed freely again, as she heard this ex
planation, and thought if the Marquess knew all, how diflei*
ently would he judge Pendennyss, as well as othei-s.

rRECAUT?iow. 335

" Ob ! I have the highest opinion of Lora Pendennyss,"
cried the Marquess.

The Moseleys were not sorry that the usual hour of retiring
put an end to the conversation and then* embarrassment.

HiiH PRECAUTIOlf.

CHAPTER XXXIV.

During the succeeding fortnight, the intercourse between
the Moseleys and their new acquaintances increased daily
It was rather awkward at first on the part of Emily ; and her
beating pulse and changing color too often showed the alarm
of feelings not yet overcome, when any allusions were made
to the absent husband of one of the ladies. Still, as her
parents encouraged the acquaintance, and her aunt thought
the best way to get rid of the remaining weakness with
respect to Denbigh was not to shrink from even an interview
with the gentleman himself, Emily succeeded in conquering
her reluctance ; and as the high opinion entertained by Lady
Laura of her husband was expressed in a thousand artless
ways, an interest was created in her that promised in time
to weaken if not destroy the impression that had been made
by Denbigh himself.

On the other hand, Egerton carefully avoided all collision
with the Moseleys. Once, indeed, he endeavored to renew
his acquaintance with John, but a haughty repulse almost
produced a quarrel.

What representations Egerton had thought proper to make
to his wife, we are unable to say ; but she appeared to resent
something, as she never approached the dwelling or persons
of her quondam associates, although in her heart she was
dying to be on terms of intimacy with tHeir titled friends.
Her incorrigible mother was restrained by no such or any
other consideration, and contrived to fasten on the Dowager
and Lady Harriet a kind of bowing acquaintance, which she
made great use of at the rooms.

PRECAUTION. 337

The Duke sought out the. society of Emily wherever he
could obtain it ; and Mrs. Wilson thought her niece admitted
his approaches with less reluctance than that of any other
of the gentlemen around her. At first she was surprised,
but a closer observation betrayed to her the latent cause.

Derwent resembled Denbigh greatly in person and. voice,
although there were distinctions easily to be made on an
acquaintance. The Duke had an air of command and
hauteur that was never to be seen in his cousin. But his
admiration of Emily he did not attempt to conceal ; and,
as he ever addressed her in the respectful languag-e and
identical voice of Denbigh, the observant widow easily per-
ceived, that it was the remains of her attachment to the one
that induced her niece to listen, with such evident pleasure,
to the conversation of the other.

The Duke of Derwent wanted many of the indispensable
requisites of a husband, in the eyes of Mrs. Wilson ; yet, as
she thought Emily out of all danger at the present of any
new attachment, she admitted the association, under no other
restraint than the uniform propriety of all that Emily said
or did.

" Your niece will one day be a Duchess, Mrs. Wilson,"
whispered Lady Laura, as Derwent and Emily were running
over a new poem one morning, in the lodgings of Sir
Edward ; the former reading a fine extract aloud so strik-
ngly in the air and voice of Denbigh, as to call all the
animation of the unconscious Emily into her expressive face.

Mrs. Wilson sighed, as she reflected on the strength of
those feelings which even principles and testimony had no
been able wholly to subdue, as she answered —

"Not of Derwent, I believe. But how wonderfully Ihe
Duke resembles your husband at times," she added, entirely
thrown off her guard.

15

338 PRECAUTION.

Lady Laura was evidently surprised.

" Yes, at times he does ; they are brothers' children, you
know : the voice in all that connexion is remarkable.
Pendennyss, though a degree further off in blood, possesses
it ; and Lady Harriet, you perceive, has the same character-
istic ; there has been some syren in the family, in days past."

Sir Edward and Lady Moseley saw the attention of the
Duke with the greatest pleasure. Though not slaves to the
ambition of wealth and rank, they were certainly no objec-
tions in their eyes ; and a proper suitor Lady Moseley
thought the most probable means of driving the recollection
of Denbigh from the mind of her daughter. The latter con-
sideration had gi-eat weight in inducing her to cultivate an
acquaintance so embarrassing on many accounts.

The Colonel, however, wrote to his wife the impossibility
of his quitting his uncle while he continued so unwell, and
it was settled that the bride should join him, under the
escort of Lord William.

The same tenderness distinguished Denbigh on this occa-
sion that had appeared so lovely when exercised to his
dying father. Yet, thought Mrs. Wilson, how insufficient
are good feelings to effect what can only be the result of
good principles.

Caroline Harris was frequently of the parties of pleasure,
walks, rides, and dinners, which the Moseleys were compelled
to join in ; and as the Marquess of Eltringham had given
her one day some little encouragement, she determined to
make an expiring effort at the peerage, before she conde-
scended to enter into an examination of the qualities of
Capt. Jarvis, who, his mother had persuaded her, was an
Apollo, that had great hopes of being one day a Lord, as
both the Captain and herself had commenced laying up
a certain sum quarterly for the purpose of buying a title

PRECAUTION. 339

hereafter — an ingenious expedient of Jarvis*s to get into his
hands a portion of the allowance of his mother.

Eltringham was strongly addicted to the ridiculous ; and
without committing himself in the least, drew the lady out
on divers occasions, for the amusement of himself and the
Duke — who enjoyed, without practising, that species of
joke.

The collisions between ill-concealed art and as ill-con
cealed irony had been practised with impunity by the Mar*
quess for a fortnight, and the lady's imagination began to
revel in the delights of a triumph, when a really respectable
offer was made to Miss Harris by a neighbor of her father's
in the country — one she would rejoice to have received a
few days before, but which, in consequence of hopes created
by the following occurrence, she haughtily rejected.

It was at the lodgings of the Baronet that Lady Laura
exclaimed one day, —

" Marriage is a lottery, certainly, and neither Sir Henry
nor Lady Egerton appears to have drawn a prize."

Here Jane stole from the room.

" Never, sister," cried the Marquess. ** I will deny that.
Any man can select a prize from your sex, if he only knows
his own taste."

" Taste is a poor criterion, I am afraid," said Mrs. Wilson,
gravely, " on which to found matrimonial felicity."

" To what would you refer the decision, my dear
madam ?" inquired the Lady Laura.

" Judgment."

Lady Laura shook her hear doubtingly.

" You remind me so much of Lord Pendennyss I Every-
thing he wishes to bring under the subjection of judgment
and principles."

" And is he wrong, Lady Laura !'*^ asked Mrs. Wilson,

340 PRECAUTION.

pleased to find such correct views existed in one of whom
she thought so highly.

" Not wrong, my dear madam, only impracticable. What
do you think, Marquess, of choosing a wife in conformity to
your principles, and without consulting your tastes ?"

Mrs. Wilson shook her head with a laugh, and disclaimed
any such statement of the case ; but the Marquess, who
disliked one of John's didactic conversations very much,
gaily interrupted her by saying —

" Oh ! taste is everything with me. The woman of my
heart against the world, if she suits my fancy, and satisfies
my judgment."

" And what may this fancy of your Lordship be ?" said
Mrs. Wilson, willing to ■ gratify the trifling. "What kind
of a woman do you mean to choose ? How tall for
instance ?"

" Why, madam," cried the Marquess, rather unprepared
for such a catechism, and looking around him until the
outstretched neck and the eager attention of Caroline Harris
caught his eye, when he added with an air of great sim-
plicity— " about the height of Miss Harris."

" How old ?" asked Mrs. Wilson with a smile.

" Not too young, ma'am, certainly. I am thirty-two — my
wife must be five or six and twenty. Am I old enough, do
you think, Derwent ?" He added in a whisper to the Duke

" Within ten years," was the reply.

Mrs. Wilson continued —

" She must read and write, I suppose ?"

" Why, faith," said the Marquess, " I am not fond of a
bookish sort of a woman, and least of all a scholar."

" You had better take Miss Howard," whispered his
brother. " She is old enough — never reads — and is just the
height''

PRECAUTION. 34 1

" No, no, Will.," rejoined the brotlier. " Rather too old
that. Now, I admire a woman who has confidence in her-
self. One that understands the proprieties of life, and has,
if possible, been at the head of an establishment before she
is to take charge of mine."

The delighted Caroline wriggled about in her chair, and,
unable to contain herself longer, inquired : —

" Noble blood of course, you would require, my Lord ?"

" Why no ! I rather think the best wives are to be founa
in a medium. I would wish to elevate my wife myself. A
Baronet's daughter for instance."

Here Lady Jarvis, who had entered during the dialogue,
and caught a clue to the topic they were engaged in, drew
near, and ventured to ask if he thought a simple knight too
low. The Marquess, who did not expect such an attack,
was a little at a loss for an answer ; but recovering himself
answered gravely, under the apprehension of another desigr-
on his person, that " he did think that would be forgetting
his duty to his descendants."

Lady Jarvis sighed, and fell back in disappointment ; whik
Miss Harris, turning to the nobleman, in a soft voice, desired
him to ring for her carriage. As he handed her down, she
ventured to inquire if his lordship had ever met with such
a woman as he described.

" Oh, Miss Harris," he whispered, as he handed her intc
the coach, " how can you ask me such a question ? You
are very cruel. Drive on, coachman."

" How, cruel, my Lord ?" said Miss Harris eagerly. " Stop,
John. How, cruel, my Lord ?" and she stretched her neck
out of the window as the Marquess, kissing his hand to ^er,
ordered the man to proceed.

" Don't you hear your lady, sir ?"

Lady Jarvis had followed them down, also with a view to

342 PRECAUTION.

catch anything which might be said, having apologized for
her hasty visit ; and as the Marquess handed her politely
into her carriage, she also begged '• he would favor Sir Timo
and Sir Henry with a call ;" which being promised, Elti-ing
ham returned to the room.

" When am I to salute a Marchioness of Eltringham ?"
cried Lady Laura to her brother, " one on the new standard
set up by your Lordsiiip."

" Whenever Miss Harris can make up her mind to the
sacrifice," replied the brother very gravely. " Ah me ! how
very considerate some of your sex are, for the modesty of
ours."

" I wish you joy with all my heart, my Lord Marquess,"
exclaimed John Moseley. " I was once favored with the
notice of that same lady for a week or two, but a viscount
saved me from capture."

" I really think, Moseley," said the Duke innocently, but
speaking with animation, " an intriguing daughter worse
than a managing mother."

John's gravity for a moment vanished, as he replied in
a lowered key,

" Oh, much worse."

Grace's heart was in her throat, until, by stealing a glance
at her husband, she saw the cloud passing over his fine
brow ; and happening to catch her afiectionate smile, his
fe,ce was at once lighted into a look of pleasantry.

" I would advise caution, my Lord. Caroline Harris has
the advantage of experience in her trade, and was expert
from the first."

" John — John," said Sir Edward with warmth, " Sir
William is my friend, and his daughter must be respected."

" Then, baronet," cried the Marquess, " she has one recom
mendation I was ignorant of, and as such 1 am silent : bui

PRECAUTION. 34S

ought not Sir "William to teach his daughter to respect her-
self ? I view these husband-hunting ladies as pirates on the
ocean of love, and lawful objects for any roving cruiser like
myself to fire at. At one time I was simple enough to
retire as they advanced, but you know, madam," turning to
Mrs. Wilson with a droll look, " flight only encourages
pursuit, so I now give battle in self-defence."

" And I hope successfully, my Lord," observed the Lady '
" Miss Harris, brother, does appear to have grown desperate
in her attacks, which were formerly much more masked
than at present. I believe it is generally the case, when a
young woman throws aside the delicacy and feelings which
ought to be the characteristics of her sex, and which teach
her studiously to conceal her admiration, that she either
becomes in time cynical and disagreeable to all around her
from disappointment, or persevering in her efforts, as it
were, runs a muck for a husband. Now in justice to the
gentlemen, I must say, baronet, there are strong symptoms
of the Malay about Caroline Harris."

" A muck, a muck," cried the piarquess, as, in obedience
to the signal of his sister, he rose to withdraw.

Jane had retired to her own room in a mortification of
spirit she could ill conceal during this conversation, and she
felt a degree of humiliation which almost drove her to the
desperate resolution of hiding herself for ever from the
world. The man she had so fondly enshrined in her heart
proving to be so notoriously unworthy as to be the subject
of unreserved censure in general company, was a reproach
to her delicacy, her observation, her judgment, that was the
more severe, from being true ; and she wept in bitterness
over her fallen happiness.

Emily had noticed the movement of Jane, and waited
anxiously for the departure of the visitors to hasten to her

344

PRECAUTION.

room. She knocked two or three times before her sistei
replied to her request for admittance.

** Jane, my dear Jane," said Emily, soothingly, *' will you
not admit me ?"

Jane could not resist anj longer the affection of her sister,
and the door was opened ; but as Emily endeavored to tak
her hand, she drew back coldly, and cried —

" I wonder you, who are so happy, will leave the gay
scene below for the society of an humbled wretch like me ;"
and overcome with the violence of her emotion, she burst
into tears.

" Happy !" repeated Emily, in a tone of anguish, " happy,
did you say, Jane ? Oh, little do you know my sufferings,
or you would never speak so cruelly !"

Jane, in her turn, surprised at the strength of Emily's
language, considered her weeping sister with commiseration ;
and then her thoughts recurring to her own case, she con-
tinued with energy —

" Yes, Emily, happy ; for whatever may have been the
reason of Denbigh's conduct, he is respected ; and if you do
or did love him, he was worthy of it. But I," said Jane,
wildly, "threw away my affections on a wretch — a men
imi^osioT — and I am miserable for ever."

" No, dear Jane," rejoined Emily, having recovered her
self-possession, " not miserable — nor for ever. You have
many, very many sources of happiness yet within your
reach, even in this world. I — I do think, even our strongest
attachments may be overcome by energy and a sense of
duty. And oh ! how I wish I could see you make the
effort."

For a moment the voice of the youthful moralist had
failed her ; but anxiety in behalf of her sister overcame her
feehngs, and she ended the sentence with earnestness.

PRECAUTION. 345

*' Emily," said Jane, with obstinacy, and yet in tears,
" you don't know what bhghted affections are. To endure
the scorn of the world, and see the man you once thought
near being your husband married to another, who is showing
herself in triumph before you, wherever you go !"

" Hear me, Jane, before you reproach me further, and
then judge between us." Emily paused a moment to
acquire nerve to proceed, and then related to her astonished
sister the little history of her own disappointments. She
did not affect to conceal her attachment for Denbigh. With
glowing cheeks she acknowledged, that she found a necessity
for all her efforts to keep her rebellious feelings yet in
subjection ; and as she recounted generally his conduct to
Mrs. Fitzgerald, she concluded by saying, " But, Jane, I can
see enough to call forth my gratitude ; and although, with
yourself, I feel at this moment as if my affections were
sealed for ever, I wish to make no hasty resolutions, nor act
in any manner as if I were unworthy of the lot Providence
has assigned me."

" Unworthy ? no ! — you have no reasons for self-reproach.
If Mr. Denbigh has had the art to conceal his crimes from
you, he did it to the rest of the world also, and has married
a woman of rank and character. But how differently are
we situated ! Emily — I — I have no such consolation."

" You have the consolation, my sister, of knowing there
is an interest made for you where we all require it most,
and it is there I endeavor to seek my support," said Emily,
in a low and humble tone. " A j-eview of our own errors
takes away the keenness of our perception of the wrongs
done us, and by placing us in charity with the rest of the
world, disposes us to enjoy calmly the blessings within our
reach. Besides, Jane, we have parents whose happiness is
locked up in that of their children, and we should-— we rausi
lo*

346 PRECAUTION.

overcome the feelings whicli disqualify us for our common
duties, on their account."

" Ah !" cried Jane, " how can I move about in the world,
while I know the eyes of all are on me, in curiosity to dis-
cover how I bear ray disappointments. But you, Emily
are unsuspected. It is easy for you to afiect a gaiety you
do not feel."

"I neither affect nor feel any gaiety," said her sister,
mildly. " But are there not the eyes of One on us, of
infinitely more po^ver to punish or reward than vrhat may be
found in the opinions of the world ? Have we no duties ?
For what is our wealth, our knowledge, our time given us,
but to improve for our own and for the eternal welfare of
those around us ? Come then, my sister, we have both been
deceived — let us endeavor not to be culpable."

" I wish, from my soul, we could leave Bath," cried Jane.
*' The place, the people are hateful to me !"

" Jane," said Emily, " rather say you hate their vices, and
wish for their amendment : but do not indiscriminately con-
demn a whole community for the wrongs you have sustained
from one of its members."

Jane allowed herself to be consoled, though by no means
convinced, by this effort of her sister ; and they both found
a relief by thus unburdening their hearts to each other, that
in future brought them more nearly together, and was of
mutual assistance in supporting them in the promiscuous
circles in which they were obliged to mix.

With all her fortitude and principle, one of the last things
Emily would have desired was an interview with Denbigh
and she was happily relieved from the present danger of it
by the departure of Lady Laura and her brother, to go to
the residence of the Colonel's sick uncle.

Both Mrs. Wilson and Emily suspected that a dread of

PRECAUTION. 347

meeting them had detained him from his intended journey
to Bath ; and neither was sorry to perceive, what they con-
sidered as latent signs of grace — a grace of which Egerton
appeared entirely to be without.

" He may yet see his errors, and make a kind and affec
ionat" husband," thought Emily ; and then, as the imag
(f Denbigh rose in her imagination, sun-ounded with th
coraestic virtues, she roused herself from the dangerous
reflection to the exercise of the duties in which she found a
refuge from impardonable wishes.

348 PRECAUTION.

CHAPTER XXXY.

Nothing material occurred for a fortnight after the de-
parture of Lady Laura, the Moseleys entering soberly into
the amusements of the place, and Derwent and Chatterton
becoming more pointed every day in their attentions — thii
one to Emily, and the other to Lady Harriet ; when the
dowager received a pressing entreaty from Catherine to hasten
to her at Lisbon, where her husband had taken up his abode for
a time, after much doubt and indecision as to his place of
residence. Lady Herriefield stated generally in her letter,
that she was miserable, and that without the support of her
mother she could not exist under the present grievances ;
but what was the cause of those grievances, or what grounds
she had for her misery, she left unexplained.

Lady Chatterton was not wanting in maternal regard, and
she promptly determined to proceed to Portugal in the next
packet. John felt inclined for a httle excursion with his
bride ; and out of compassion to the baron, who was in a
dilemma between his duty and his love (for Lady Harriet
about that time was particularly attractive), he offered his
services.

Chatterton allowed himself to be persuaded by the good-
natured John, that his mother could safely cross the ocean
under the protection of the latter. Accordingly, at the end
f the before mentioned fortnight, the dowager, John, Grace,
and Jane, commenced their journey to Falmouth.

Jane had offered to accompany Grace, as a companion 2£
her return (it being expected Lady Chatterton would remai ^

PRECAUTION. 349

in the country with her daughter) ; and her parents appreciat-
ing her motives,' permitted the excursion, with a hope it
would draw her thoughts from past events.

Although Grace shed a few tears at parting with Emily
and her friends, it was impossible for Mrs. Moseley to be long
unhappy, with the face of John smiling by her side; and
they pursued their route uninterruptedly. In due season
they reached the port of embarkation.

The following morning the packet got under weigh, and a
favorable breeze soon wafted them out of sight of their native
shores. The ladies \^ere too much indisposed the first day
to appear on the deck ; but the weather becoming calm and
the sea smooth, Grace and Jane ventured out of the con-
finement of their state-rooms, to respire the fresh air
above.

There were but few passengers, and those chiefly ladies —
the wives of officers on foreign stations, on their way to join
their husbands. As these had been accustomed to moving in
the world, their disposition to accommodate soon removed
the awkwardness of a first meeting, and our travellers began
to be at home in their novel situation.

While Grace stood leaning on the arm of her husband, and
clinging to his support, both from affection and a dread of the
motion of the vessel, Jane ventured with one of the ladies to
attempt a walk round the deck of the ship. Unaccustomed
to such an uncertain foothold, the walkers were preven'^^ed
falling by the kind interposition of a gentleman, who for the
first time had shown himself among them at that moment.
The accident, and their situation, led to a conversation which
was renewed at different times during their passage, and in
some measure created an intimacy between our party and the
stranger. He was addressed b'" the ccmraander of the vessel
as Mr. Harland ; and Lady Chatterton exercised her inge-

350 PRECAUTION.

nuity in the investigation of his history, by which she made
the following discovery :

The Rev. and Hon. Mr. Harland was the yoiinger son of
an Irish earl, who had early embraced his sacred profession
in tliat church, in which he held a valuable living in the gift
of his father's family. His father was yet alive, and then at
Lisbon with his mother and sister, in attendance on his elder
brother, who had been sent there in a deep decline a couple
of months before. It had been the wish of his parents to
have taken all their children with them ; but a sense of duty
had kept the young clergyman in the exercise of his holy
office, mitil a request of his dying brother, and the directions
of his father, caused him to hasten abroad to witness the
decease of the one, and to afford all the solace within his
power to the others.

It may be easily imagined that the discovery of the rank
of their accidental acquaintance, with the almost certainty
that existed of his being the heir of his father's honors, in no
degree impaired his consequence in the eyes of the dowager ;
and it is certain, his visible anxiety and depressed spirits, his
unaffected piety, and disinterested hopes for his brother's
recovery, no less elevated him in the opinions of her com-
panions.

There was, at the moment, a kind of sympathy between
Harland and Jane, notwithstanding the melancholy which
gave rise to it proceeding from such very different causes;
and as the lady, although with diminished bloom, retained all
her personal charms, rather heightened than otherwise by
the softness of low spirits, the young clergyman sometimes
relieved his apprehensions of his brother's death by admitting
the image of Jane among his more melancholy reflections.

The voyage was tedious, and some time before it was ended
tile dowager had given Grace an intimation of the probabihty

PREOAUTION. 351

there was of Jane's becoming, at some future day, a countess
Grace sincerely hoped that whatever she became she would
be as happy as she thought all allied to John deserved to be.

They entered the bay of Lisbon early in the morning ; and
as the ship had been expected for some days, a boat came
alongside with a note for Mr. Harbnd, before they had an-
chored. It apprised him of the death of his brother. The
young man threw himself precipitately into it, and was soon
employed in one of the loveliest offices of his vocation, that
of healing the wounds of the afflicted.

Lady Herriefield received her mother in a sort of sullen
satisfaction, and her companions with an awkwardness she
could ill conceal. It requiied no great observation in the
travellers to discover, that their arrival was entirely unex-
pected by the viscount, if it were not equally disagreeable ,
indeed, one day's residence under his roof assured them all
that no great degree of domestic felicity was an inmate of the
dwelHng.

From the moment Lord Herriefield became suspicious that
he had been the dupe of the management of Kate and her
mother, he viewed every act of his wife with a prejudiced
eye. It was easy, with his knowledge of human nature, to
detect her selfishness and worldly-mindedness ; for as these
were faults she was unconscious of possessing, so she was
unguarded in her exposure of them. But her designs, in a
matrimonial point of view, having ended with her marriao-e,
had the viscount treated her with any of the courtesies due
her sex and station, she might, \vith her disposition, have
been contented in the enjoyment of rank and in the possession
of wealth ; but their more private hours were invariably
rendei-ed unpleasant, by the ovei-flowings of her husband's
resentment at having been deceived 'n his judgment of tho
female sex.

'i52 PRECAUTION.

There is no point upon which men are more tender than
their privilege of suiting themselves in a partner for life,
although many of both sexes are influenced in this important
selection more by tlie wishes and whims of others than is
asually suspected ; yet, as all imagine what is the result of
contrivance and management is the election of free will and
taste, so long as they are ignorant, they are contented, ^^ord
Herriefield w^anted this bliss of ignorance ; and, with con-
tempt for his wife, was mingled anger at his own want of
foresight.

Very few people can tamely submit to self reproach ; and
as the cause of this irritated state of mind was both not only
constantly present, but completely within his power, the
viscount seemed determined to give her as little reason to
exult in the success of her plans as possible. Jealous he
was, from temperament, from bad associations, and a want
of confidence in the principles of his wife, the freedom of
foreign manners having an additional tendency to excite
this baneful passion to an unusual degree. Abiidged in her
pleasures, reproached with motives she was incapable of
harboring, and disappointed in all those enjoyments her
mother had ever led her to believe the invariable accompani-
ments of married life, where proper attention had been paid
to the necessary qualifications of riches and rank, Kate had
written to the dowager with the hope her presence might
restrain, or her advice teach her, successfully to oppose th
unfeeling conduct of the viscount.

Lady Chatterton never having implanted any of hei
favorite systems in her daughter, so much by precept as b)
the force of example in her own person, as well as by indi-
rect eulogiums on certain people who were endowed with
those qualities and blessings she most admired, on the
present occasion Catherine did not uiiburden hei*self in terms

PRECAUTION. 353

to her mother ; but by a regular gradation of complaints,
aimed more at the world than at her husband, she soon let
the knowing dowager see their application, and m the end
completely removed the veil from her domestic grievances.

The example of John and Grace for a short time awed
the peer into dissembling his disgust for his spouse ; but
the ice once broken, their presence soon ceased to affect
either the frequency or the severity of his remarks, when
under its influence.

From such exhibitions of matrimonial discord, Grace
shrank timidly into the retirement of her room, and Jane,
with dignity, would follow her example ; while John at times
became a listener, with a spirit barely curbed within the
bounds of prudence, and at others, he sought in the com-
pany of his wife and sister, relief from the violence of his
feehngs.

John never admired nor respected Catherine, for she
wanted those very qualities he chiefly loved in her sister ;
yet, as she was a w^oman, and one nearly connected with
him, he found it impossible to remain a quiet spectator of
the unmanly treatment she often received from her husband ;
he therefore made preparations for his return to England by
the first packet, abridging his intended residence in Lisbon
more than a month.

Lady Chatterton endeavored all within her power to heal
the breach between Kate and her husband, but it greatly
exceeded her abilities. It was too late to implant such
principles in her daughter, as by a long course of self-denial
and submission might have won the love of the viscount,
had the mother been acquainted with them herself; so that
having induced her child to marry with a view to obtaining
precedence and a jointure, she once more set to work to
undo part of hei former labors, by bringing about a decent

354 PRECAUTION.

separation between the husband and wife, in such a mannef
as to secure to her child the possession of her wealth, and
the esteem of the world. The latter, though certainly a
somewhat difficult undertaking, was greatly lessened by the
assistance of the former.

John and his wife determined to seize the opportunity to
examine the environs of the city. In one of these daily
rides, they met their fellow traveller, Mr. now Lord Harland.
He was rejoiced to see them again, and hearing of their
intended departure, informed them of his being about to
return to England in the same vessel — his parents and sister
contemplating ending the winter in Portugal.

The intercourse between the two families was kept up
with a show of civihties between the noblemen, and much
real good-will on the part of the juniors of the circle, until
the day arrived for the sailing of the packet.

Lady Chatterton was left behind with Catherine, as yet
unable to circumvent her schemes with prudence ; it being
deemed by the world a worse offence to separate, than to
join together one's children in the bands of wedlock.

The confinement of a vessel is very propitious to those
intimacies which lead to attachments. The necessity of
being agreeable is a check upon the captious, and the desire
to lessen the dulness of the scene a stimulus to the lively ;
and though the noble divine and Jane could not possibly be
ranked in either class, the effect was the same. The noble-
man was much enamored, and Jane unconsciously gratified.
It is true, love had never entered her thoughts in its direct
and unequivocal form ; but admiration is so consoling to
those laboring under self-condemnation, and flattery of a
certain kind so very soothing to all, it is not to be wondered
that she listened with increasino- pleasure to the interesting
conversation of HaFland on all occasions, and more par

PRECAUTION. 355

ticularly, as often happened, when exclusively addressed to
herself.

Grace had of late reflected more seriously on the subject
of her eternal welfare than she had been accustomed to do
in the house of her mother ; and the example of Emily,
with the precepts of Mrs. Wilson, had not been thrown
away upon her. It is a singular fact, that more women feel
a disposition to religion soon after marriage than at any
other period of life ; and whether it is, that having attained
the most important station this life affords the sex, they are
more willing to turn their thoughts to a provision for the
next, or whether it be owing to any other cause, Mrs. Mose-
ley was included in the number. She became sensibly
touched with her situation, and as Harland was both devout
and able as well as anxious to instruct, one of the party,
at least, had cause to rejoice in the journey for the remainder
of her days. But precisely as Grace increased in her own
faith, so did her anxiety after the welfare of her husband
receive new excitement ; and John, for the first time, became
the cause of sorrow to his affectionate companion.

The deep interest Harland took in the opening conviction
of Mrs. Moseley, did not so entirely engross his thoughts as
to prevent the too frequent contemplation of the charms of
her friend for his own peace of mind ; and by the time the
vessel reached Falmouth, he had determined to make a
tender of his hand and title to the acceptance of Miss Mose-
ley. Jane did not love Egerton ; on the contrary, she
despised him ; but the time had been, when all her romantic
feehngs, every thought of her brilliant imagination, had been
filled with his image, and Jane felt it a species of indelicacy
to admit the impression of another so soon, or even at all.
These objections would, in time, have been overcome, as her
affections became raor<* and more enlisted on behalf of

356 PRECAUTIOW.

Harland, had she admitted his addresses ; but there was an
impediment that Jane considered insurmountable to a union
with any man.

She had once communicated her passion to its object.
There had been the confidence of approved love ; and she had
now no heart for Harland, but one that had avowedly been
a slave to another. To conceal this from him would be
unjust, and not reconcilable to good faith ; to confess it,
humiliating, and without the pale of probabihty. It was the
misfortune of Jane to keep the world too constantly before
her, and to lose sight too much of her really depraved nature,
to relish the idea of humbling herself so low in the opinion of
a fellow-creature. The refusal of Harland's offer was the
consequence, although she had beglm to feel an esteem for
him, that would no doubt have given rise to an attachment
in time, far stronger and more deeply seated than her passing
fancy for Colonel Egerton had been.

If the horror of imposing on the credulity of Harland a
wounded heart, was creditable to Jane, and showed an ele-
vation of character that under proper guidance would have
placed her in the first ranks of her sex ; the pride which con-
demned her to a station nature did not design her for was
h-r/BConcilable with the humility a just view of her condition
could not fail to produce ; and the second sad consequence
of the indulgent weakness of her parents, was confirming
their child in passions directly at variance with the first dutie.
of a Christian.

We have so little right to value ourselves on anything
that piide is a sentiment of very doubtful service, and one
certainly, that is unable to effect any useful results which wil.
not equally flow from good principles.

Harland was disappointed and grieved, but prudently
judging that occupation and absence would remove recollec

PRECAUTION. 357

tions which could not be very deep, they parted at Falmouth,

and our ti-avellers proceeded on their journey for B ,

whither, during their absence, Sir Edward's family had
returned to spend a month, before they removed to town for
the residue of the winter.

The meeting of the two parties was warm and tender, and
as Jane had many things to recount, and John as many to
laugh at, their arrival threw a gaiety around Moseley Hall to
which it had for months been a stranger.

One of the first acts of Grace, after her return, was to enter
strictly into the exercise of all those duties and ordinances
required by her church, and the present state of her mind,
.md from the hands of Dr. Ives she received her first com-
munion at the altar.

As the season had now become far advanced, and the
fashionable world had been some time assembled in the me-
tropolis, the Baronet commenced his arrangements to take
possession of his town-house, after an interval of nineteen
years. John proceeded to the capital first ; and the necessary
domestics procured, furniture supplied, and other arrange-
ments usual to the appearance of a wealthy family in the
world having been completed, he returned with the informa
tion that all was ready for their triumphal entrance.

Sir Edward, feeling that a separation for so long a time,
and at such an unusual distance, in the very advanced age of
Mr. Benfield, would be improper, paid him a visit, with the
intention of persuading him to make one of his family for the
next four months. Emily was his companion, and their soli-
citations were happily crowned with a success they had not
anticipated. Averse to be deprived of Peter's society, the
honest steward was included in the party.

" Nephew," said Mr. Benfield, beginning to waver in his
objections to the undertaking, as the arguments pro and con

358 PRECAUTION.

were produced, " there are instances of gentlemen, not in
parliament, going to town in the winter, I know. You are
one yourself ; and old Sir John Cowel, who never could get
in, although he ran for every city in the kingdom, nevei
missed his winter in Soho. Yes, yes — the thing is admis-
sible— but had I known your wishes before, I would cer
tainly have kept my borough if it were only for the appear-
ance of the thing — besides," continued the old man, shaking
his head, " his majesty's ministers require the aid of some
more experienced members in these critical times ; for what
should an old man like me do in Westminster, unless it were
to aid his country with his advice ?"

" Make his friends happy with his company, dear uncle,'*
said Emily, taking his hand between both her own, and
smiling affectionately on the old gentleman as she spoke.

" Ah ! Emmy dear !" cried Mr. Benfield, looking on her
with melancholy pleasure, "you are not to be resisted —
just such another as the sister of my old friend Lord Gos-
ford ; she could always coax me out of anything. I remem-
ber now, I heard the earl tell her once he could not afford
to buy a pair of diamond ear-rings ; and she looked — only
looked — did not speak ! Emmy ! — that I bought them with
intent to present them to her myself."

" And did she take them, uncle ?'' asked his niece, in a
little surprise.

" Oh yes ! When I told her if she did not I would throw
iiem into the river, as no one else should wear what had
6een intended for her ; poor soul ! how delicate and unwil-
ling she was. I had to convince her they cost three hundred
pounds, before she would listen to it ; and then she though
it such a pity to throw away a thing of so much value. I
would have been wicked, you know, Emmy, dear ; and she
was much opposed to wickedness and sin in any shape.*'

PRECAUTION. 359

•* Sne must have been a very unexceptionable character
indeed," cried the Baronet, with .i m.ihe, as V proceeded to
make the necessary orders for tl\»^ir lourucp. ^'it we mus
return to the party left at BatK

^00 PBECAUTIOH.

CHAPTER XXXYl.

The letters of Lady Laura informed her friends, that sh
and Colonel Denbigh had decided to remain with his uncle
until the recovery of the latter was complete, and then to
proceed to Denbigh Castle, to meet the Duke and his sister
during the approaching holidays.

Emily was much relieved by this postponement of an inter-
view which she would gladly have avoided for ever; and
her aunt sincerely rejoiced that her niece was allowed more
time to eradicate impressions, which, she saw with pain, her
charge had yet a struggle to overcome.

There were so many points to admire in the character of
Denbigh ; his friends spoke of him with such decided par-
tiality ; Dr. Ives, in his frequent letters, alluded to him with so
iTiuch affection; that Emily frequently detected herself in
weighing the testimony of his guilt, and indulging the expec-
tation that circumstances had deceived them all in their
judgment of his conduct. Then his marriage would cross
her mind ; and with the conviction of the impropriety of
admitting him to her thoughts at all, would come the mass
of circumstantial testimony which had accumulated against
him.

Derwent served greatly to keep alive the recollections of
his person, however ; and as Lady Harriet seemed to live
only in the society of the Moseleys, not a day passed without
giving the Duke some opportunity of indirectly preferring
his suit.

Emily not only appeared, but in fact was, unconscious of

PRECAUTION. 3(3]

hl^ admiration ; and entered into their amusements with a
satiblaction thai was increased by the behef that the unfortu-
nate auachmcrt her cousin Chatterton had once professed for
herself, was forgotten in the more certain enjoyments of a
uccessful love.

Lady Harriet was a woman of manners and character very
different horn Emily Moseley ; yet had she in a great mea
sure erased tht' impressions made by the beauty of his kins
woman frorii tJie bosom of the baron.

Chatterton. under the depression of his first disappoint

ment, it will be remembered, had left B in company

with Mr. DenLigh. The interest of the duke had been unac-
countably exerted to procure him the place he had so long
Solicited in vdn, and gratitude required his early acknow-,
ledgments for the favor. His manner, so very different from
a successful apphcant for a valuable office, had struck both
Derwent and his sister as singular. Before, however, a week's
intercourse had passed between them, his own frankness had
made them acquainted with the cause ; and a double wish
prevailed in the bosom of Lady Harriet, to know the woman
who could resist the beauty of Chatterton, and to relieve him
from the weight imposed on his spirits by disappointed
affection.

The manners of Lady Harriet Denbigh were not in the
teast forward or masculine ; but they had the freedom of high
vank, mingled with a good deal of the ease of fashionable life
Mrs. Wilson noticed, moreover, in her conduct to Chatterton,
«. something exceeding the interest of ordinary communica-
tions in their situation, which might possibly have been attri-
buted more to feeling than to manner. It is certain, one of
the surest methods to drive Emily from his thoughts, was to
dwell on the perfections of some other lady ; and Lady Har-
riet was so constantly before him in his visit into Westmore
16

362 PRECAUTION.

land, so soothing, so evidently pleased with his presence, thai
the baron made rapid advances in attaining his object.

He had alluded, in his letter to Emily, to the obligation he
was under to the services of Denbigh, in erasing his unfortu-
nate partiality for her : but what those services were, we are
unable to say, unless they were the usual arguments of the
plainest good sense, enforced in the singularly insinuating and
kind manner which distinguished that gentleman. In fact.
Lord Chatterton was not formed by nature to love long, de-
prived of hope, or to resist long the flattery of a preference
from such a woman as Harriet Denbigh.

On the other hand, Derwent was warm in his encomiums
on Emily to all but herself; and Mrs. Wilson again thought
it prudent to examine into the state of her feelings, in order
to discover if there was any danger of his unremitted efforts
dra\Ying Emily into a connexion that neither her religion nor
prudence could wholly approve.

Derwent was a man of the world — a Christian only in
name ; and the cautious widow determined to withdraw in
season, should she find grounds for her apprehensions.

About ten days after the departure of the Dowager and
her companions. Lady Harriet exclaimed, in one of her morn-
ing visits —

** Lady Moseley ! I have now hopes of presenting to you
soon the most polished man in the United Kingdom !"

" As a husband ! Lady Harriet ?" inquired the other
with a smile.

" Oh, no ! only as a cousin, a second cousin ! madam !'
replied Lady Harriet, blushing a little, and looking in th
opposite direction to the one in wiiich Chatterton was placed

" But his name ? You forget our curiosity ! What is his
name ?" cried Mrs. Wilson, entering into the trifling for the
moment

PRECAUTION. 363

" Pendennyss, to be sure, my dear madam : whom else can
I mean ?"

" And you expect the earl at Bath 1" Mrs. Wilson eagerly
inquired.

" He has given us such hopes, and Derwent has written
im to-day, pressing the journey."

" You will be disappointed, I am afraid, sister,'* said th
duke. " Pendennyss has become so fond of Wales of late,
that it is difficult to get him out of it."

" But," said Mrs. Wilson, " he will take his seat in parlia-
ment during the winter, my lord ?"

" I hope he will, madam ; though Lord Eltringham holds
his proxies, in my absence, in all important questions before
the house."

" Your grace will attend, I trust," said Sir Edward. " The
pleasure of your company is among my expected enjoyments
in the town."

" You are very good. Sir Edward," replied the duke, look-
ing at Emily. " It will somewhat depend on circumstance,
I believe."

Lady Harriet smiled, and the speech seemed understood
by all but the lady most concerned in it.

" Lord Pendennyss is a universal favorite, and deservedly
so," cried the duke. " He has set an example to the nobi-
lity, which few are equal to imitate. An only son, with an
immense estate, he has devoted himself to the profession of a
soldier, and gained great reputation by it in the world ; noi
has he neglected any of his private duties as a man "

" Or a Christian, I hope," said Mrs. Wil-son, delighted
with the praises of the earl.

" Nor of a Christian, I believe," continued the duke ; " he
appears consistent, humble, and sincere — three requisites, 1
believe, for that character."

364

PRECAUTION.

" Does not your grace know ?" said Emily, with a benero*
lent smile

Derwent colored slightly as he answered —

"Not as well as I ought; but" — lowering his voice for
Her ear alone, he added, " under proper instruction I think I
might learn."

" Then I would recommend that book to you, my lord,*'
rejoined Emily, with a blush, pointing to a pocket Bible
which lay near her, though still ignorant of the allusion he
meant to convey.

" May I ask the honor of an audience of Miss Moseley,"
said Derwent, in the same low tone, " whenever her leisure
will admit of her granting the favor ?"

Emily was surprised ; but from the previous conversation
and the current of her thoughts at the moment, supposing
his communication had some reference to the subject before
them, she rose from her chair, and unobtrusively, but cer-
tainly with an air of perfect innocence and composure, she
went into the adjoining room, the door of which was open
very near them.

Caroline Harris had abandoned all ideas of a coronet
with the departure of the Marquess of Eltringham and his
sisters for their own seat ; and as a final effort of her fading
charms, had begun to calculate the capabilities of Captain
Jarvis,who had at this time honored Bath with his company

It is true, the lady would have greatly preferred her
father's neighbor, but that was an irretrievable step. He
had retired, disgusted with her haughty dismissal of his
hopes, and was a man who, although he greatly admired
her fortune, was not to be recalled by any beck or smile
which might grow out of caprice.

Lady Jarvis had, indeed, rather magnified the personal

PRECAUTION. 365

qualifications of her son ; but the disposition fney had mani-
fested to devote some of their surplus wealth to purchasing
a title, had great weight, for Miss Harris would cheerfully,
at any time, have sacrificed one half her own fortune to be
called my lady. Jarvis would make but a shabby-looking
lord, 'tis true ; but then what a lord's wife would she not
make herself! His father was a merchant, to be sure, but
then merchants were always immensely rich, and a few
thousand pounds, properly applied, might make the mer-
chant's son a baron. She therefore resolved to inquire, the
first opportunity, into the condition of the sinking fund of his
plebeianism, and had serious thoughts of contributing her
mite towards the advancement of the desired object, did she
find it within the bounds of probable success.

An occasion soon offered, by the invitation of the Captain
to accompany him in an excursion in the tilbury of his
brother-in-law.

In this ride they passed the equipages of Lady Harriet
and Mrs. Wilson, with their respective mistresses, taking an
airing. In passing the latter, Jarvis bowed (for he had
renewed his acquaintance at the rooms, without daring to
visit at the lodgings of Sir Edward), and Miss Harris saw
both parties as they dashed by them.

" You know the Moseleys, Caroline ?" said Jarvis, with
the freedom her manners had established between them.

" Yes," rephed the lady, drawing her head back from a
view of the carriages ; " what fine arms those of the Duke'
are — and the coronet, it is so noble — so rich — I am sure if
were a man," laying great emphasis on the word — " I woul
be a Lord."

" If you could, you mean," cried the captain.

" Could — why money will buy a title, you know — only
most people are fonder of their cash than of honor."

366 PRECAUTION.

" That*s right," said the wireflecting captain ; " money is
the thing, after all. Now what do you suppose our last
mess-bill came to?''

" Oh, don't talk of eating and drinking," cried Miss~Harris,
in affected aversion; "is it beneath the consideration of
nobility."

" Then any one may be a lord for m«," said Jarvis, drily
" if they are not to eat and drink ; why, what do they live
for, but such sort of things !"

" A soldier lives to fight and gain honor and distinction'*
— for his wife — Miss Harris would have added, had she
spoken all she thought.

" A poor way that of spending a man's time," said the
Captain. " Now there is Captain Jones in our regiment ;
they say he loves fighting as much as eating : if he do, he is
a bloodthirsty fellow."

"You know how intimate I am with your dear mother,"
continued the lady, bent on the principal object ; " she has
made me acquainted with her greatest wish."

" Her greatest wish !" cried the Captain, in astonishment;
" why, what can that be ? — a new coach and horses ?"

" No, I mean one much dearer to us — I should say, to
her, than any such trifles : she has told me of the plati."

" Plan !" said Jarvis, still in wonder, " what plan ?"

" About the fund for the peerage, you know. Of course,
the thing is sacred with me, as, indeed, I am equally inte
rested with you all in its success."

Jarvis eyed her with a knowing look, and as she concluded,
rolling his eyes in an expression of significance, he said —

'* What, serve Sir William some such way, eh ?"

" I will assist a little, if it be necessary, Henry," said the
lady, tenderly, " although my mite cannot amount to a great
deal."

PRECAUTIOIT. 367

During this speech, the Captain was wondering what she
% -tild mean ; but, having had a suspicion, from something
tnat had fallen from his mother, that the lady was intended
for him as a wife, and that she might be as great a dupe as
Lady Jarvis herself, he was resolved to know the whole, and
to act accordingly.

" I think it might be made to do," he replied, evasiveh,
in order to discover the extent of his companion's informa-
tion.

'' Do !" cried Miss Harris, with fervor, " it cannot fail !
How much do you suppose will be wanting to buy a barony,
for instance ?"

" Hem !" said Jarvis ; " you mean more than we have
already ?"

" Certainly."

" Why, about a thousand pounds, I think, will do it, with
what we have," said Jarvis, affecting to calculate.

" Is that all ?" cried the delighted Caroline ; and the cap-
tain grew in an instant, in her estimation, three inches
higher ; — quite noble in his air, and, in short, very tolerably
handsome.

From that moment. Miss Harris, in her own mind, had
fixed the fate of Captain Jarvis, and had determined to be
his wife, whenever she could persuade him to offer himself;
a thing she had no doubt of accomphshing with comparative
ase. Not so the Captain. Like all weak men, there was
nothing of which he stood more in terror than of ridicule.
He had heard the manoeuvres of Miss Harris laughed at by
many of the young men in Bath, and was by no means
disposed to add himself to the food for mirth of these wags;
and, indeed, had cultivated her acquaintance with a kind of
bravado to some of his bottle companions, in order to show
bis abihty to oppose all her arts, when most exposed tu

368 PRECAUTION.

them : for it is one of the greatest difficulties to the success
of this description of ladies, that their characters soon become
suspected, and do them infinitely more injury than all their
skill in their vocation.

With these views in the respective champions the campaign
opened, and the lady, on her return, acquainted his mother
with the situation of the privy purse, that was to promote hei
darling child to the enviable distinction of the peerage. Lady
Jarvis was for purchasing a baronetcy on the spot, with wluit
they had, under the impression that when ready for anotlier
promotion they would only have to pay the difference, as
they did in the army when he received his captaincy. As,
however, the son was opposed to any arrangement that might
make the producing the few hundred pounds he had obtained
from his mother's folly necessary, she was obliged to post-
pone the wished-for da}', until their united efforts could com-
pass the means of effecting the main point. As an earnest,
however, of her spirit in the cause, she gave him a fifty pound
note, that morning obtained from her husband, and which
the Captain lost at one throw of the dice to his brother-in-
law the same evening.

During the preceding events, Egerton had either studi-
ously avoided all collision with the Moseleys, or his engage-
ments had confined him to such very different scenes, that
they never met.

The Baronet had felt his presence a reproach, and Lady
'Moseley rejoiced that Egerton yet possessed sufficient shame
to keep him from insulting her with his company.

It was a month after the departure of Lady Chatterton
that Sir Edward returned to B , as related in the pre-
ceding chapter, and that the arrangements for the London
mnter were commenced.

The day preceding their leaving Bath, the engagement of

PRECAUTION. 369

Chatterton with Lady Harriet was made public amongst their
mutual friends, and an intimation was given that their nup-
tials would be celebrated before the family of the Duke left
his seat for the capital.

Something of the pleasure that she had for a long time
been a stranger to, was felt by Emily Moseley, as the well

remembered tower of the village church of B struck her

sight on their retui-n from their protracted excursion. More
than four months had elapsed since they had commenced
their travels, and in that period what changes of sentiments
had she not witnessed in others ; of opinions of mankind in
general, and of one individual in particular, had she not
expei'ienced in her own person. The benevolent smiles, the
respectful salutations they received, in passing the little group
of houses which, clustered round the church, had obtained
the name of " the village," conveyed a sensation of delight
that can only be felt by the deserving and virtuous ; and the
smiling faces, in several instances glistening with tears, which
met them at the Hall, gave ample testimony to the worth of
both the master and his servants.

Francis and Clara were in waiting to receive them, and a
very few minutes elapsed before the rector and Mrs. Ives,
having heard they had passed, drove in also. In saluting the
different members of the foniily, Mrs. Wilson noticed the
startled look of the doctor, as the change in Emily's appear-
ance first met his eyes. Hur bloom, if not gone, was greatly
diminished ; and it was only when under the excitement of
strong emotions, that her face possessed that radiance which
had so eminently distinguished it before her late journey.

" Where did you last see my friend George ?" said the .
Doctor to Mrs. Wilson, in the course of the first afternoon,
as he took a seat by her side, apart from the rest of the
famiK

16*

370 PRECAUTION.

" At L ," said Mrs. Wilson, gravely.

"L !" cried the doctor, in evident amazement. "Wa>

he not at Bath then during yom- stay there ?"

" No ; I understand he was in attendance on some sick
relative, which detained him from his friends," said Mrs. Wil-
son, wondering why the doctor chose to introduce so delicate
a topic. Of his guilt in relation to Mrs. Fitzgerald he was
doubtless ignorant, but surely not of his marriage.

" It is now some time since I heard from him," continued
the doctor, regarding Mrs. Wilson expressively, but to which
the lady only rephed with a gentle inclination of the body ;
and the Rector, after pausing a moment, continued :

" You will not think me impertinent if I am bold enough
to ask, has George ever expressed a wish to become con-
nected with your niece by other ties than those of friend-
ship ?"

" He did," answered the widow, after a little hesitation.

''He did, and—"

"Was refused," continued Mrs. Wilson, with a slight
feeling for the dignity of her sex, which for a moment caused
her to lose sio;ht of iustice to Denbiofh.

Dr. Ives was silent ; but manifested by his dejected coun-
tenance the interest he had taken in this anticipated connex-
ion, and as Mrs. Wilson had spoken with ill-concealed reluc-
tance on the subject at all, the Rector did not attempt a
renewal of the disagreeable

PRECAUTION. 37 J

CHAPTER XXXYII.

" SiV-VENSON has returned, and I certainly must hear from
Harrif/.," exclaimed the sister of Pendennyss, as she stood at
a wiij/Mw watching the return of a servant from the neigh-
borivifj post-office.

" I am afraid," rejoined the Earl, who was seated by the
brc'ikfar.t table, waiting the leisure of the lady to give him
his cup of tea — " You find Wales very dull, sister. I sin-
cerely hope both Derwent and Harriet will not forget their
ijToraise of visiting us this month."

The lady slowly took her seat at the table, engrossed in
fier own reflections, when the man entered with his budget
of news ; and having deposited sundry papers and letters he
respectfully withdrew. The Earl glanced his eyes over the
directions of the epistles, and turning to his servants said,
"• Answer the bell when called." Three or four liveried foot-
men deposited their silver salvers and different implements
of servitude, and the peer and his sister were left to them •
selves.

" Here is one from the Duke to me, and one for you from
his sister," said the brother ; " I propose they be read aloud
iov our mutual advantage." To this proposal the lady, whose
curiosity to hear the contents of Derwent's letter greatly
exceeded her interest in that of his sister, cheerfully acqui-
esced, and her brother first broke the seal of his own epistle,
and read its contents as follow :

"Notwithstanding my promise of seeing you this month

3? 2 PREOAUTIOX.

in CaoiiAifc » onshire, I remain here yet, my dear Pendennyss,
unable to tear myself from the attractions I have found in
this city, although the pleasure of their contemplation has
been purchased at the expense of mortified feelings and
unrequited aflfections. It is a truth (though possibly diffi-
cult to be believed), that this mei-cenary age has produced
a female disengaged, young, and by no means very rich,
who has refused a jointure of six thousand a year, with the
privilege of walking at a coronation within a dozen of royalty
itself."

Here the accidental falling of a cup from the hands ol
the fair listener caused some little interruption to the reading
of the brother ; but as the lady, with a good deal of trepida-
tion and many blushes, apologized hastily for the confusion
her awkwardness had made, the Earl continued to read.

"I could almost worship her independence: for I know
the wishes of both her parents were for my success. I con-
fess to you freely, that my vanity has been a good deal
hurt, as I really thought myself agreeable to her. She
certainly listened to my conversation, and admitted my
ap]^roaches, with more satisfaction than those of any other
of the men ai-ound Ler ; and when I ventured to hint to her
this circumstance, as some justification for my presumption,
she frankly acknowledged the truth of my impression, and,
without explaining the reasons for her conduct, deeply
regretted the construction I had been led to place uj)0!i th
circumstance. Yes, my lord, I felt it necessary to apologize
to Emily Moseley for presuming to aspire to the honor of
possessing so much loveliness and virtue. The accidenta
advantages of rank and wealth lose all their importance,
when opposed to her delicacy, ingenuousness, and unaffected
principles.

" 1 have heard it intimated lately, that George Denbigh

PRECAUTION. 373

«^as in some way or other instrumental in saving her life
once ; and that to her gratitude, and to my resemblance to
tlie colonel, am I indebted to a consideration with Miss
Moseley, which, although it has been the means of buoying
me up with false hopes, I can never regret, from the plea-
sure her society has afforded me. I have remarked, on my
mentioning his name to her, that she showed unusual emo-
tion ; and as Denbigh is already a husband, and myself
rejected, the field is now fairly open to you. You will
enter on your enterprise with great advantage, as you have
the same flattering resemblance, and, if anything, the voice,
which, I am told, is our greatest recommendation with the
ladies, in higher perfection than either George or your hura«
ble servant."

Here the reader stopped of his own accord, and was so
mtently absorbed in his meditations, that the almost breath-
less curiosity of his sister was obliged to find relief by desir-
ing him to proceed. Roused by the sound of her voice, the
earl changed color sensibly, and continued :

** But to be serious on a subject of great importance to
my future life (for I sometimes think her negative will make
Denbigh a duke), tiie lovely girl did not appear happy at
the time of our inteiview, nor do I think she enjoys at any
time the spirits nature has evidently given her. Harriet is
nearly as great an admirer of Miss Moseley, and takes her
refusal to heart as much as myself; she even attem])ted to
intercede with her in mv behalf. But the charrainij oirl
though mild, grateful, and delicate, was firm and unequi
vocal, and left no grounds for the remotest exper'.ation of
Buccess from };eiseverance on my part.

** As Harriet had received an intimation that both Miss
Moseley and her aunt entertained extremely rigid notions on
the score of religion, she took occasion to introduce the subr

S74 PRECAUTION.

ject in her conference -witli the former, and was told in
reply, ' that other considerations would have determined her
to decline the honor I intended her; but that, under any
circumstances, a more intimate knowledge of my principles
would be necessary before she could entertain a thought of
accepting my hand, or, nideed, that of any other man.'
Think of that, Pendennyss ! The principles of a duke ! —
now, a dukedom and forty thousand a year would furnish a
character, with most people, for a Nero.

'* I trust the important object I have had in view here is a
sufficient excuse for my breach of promise to you ; and I
am serious when I wish you (unless the pretty Spaniard has,
as I sometimes suspect, made you a captive) to see, and
endeavor to bring me in some degree connected with, the
charming family of Sir Edward Moseley.

" The aunt, Mrs. Wilson, often speaks of you with the
greatest interest, and, from some cause or other, is strongly
enlisted in your favor, and Miss Moseley hears your name
mentioned with evident pleasure. You?- religion or princi-
ples cannot be doubted. You can offer larger settlements,
as honorable if not as elevated a title, a far more illustrious
name, purchased by your own services, and personal merit
greatly exceeding the pretensions of your assured friend and
relative, '* Derwent."

Both brother and sister were occupied with their own
reflections for several minutes after the letter was ended, and
the silence was broken first, by the latter saying with a low
tone to her brother, —

" You must endeavor to become acquainted with Mrs,
Wilson ; she is, I know, very anxious to see you, and your
friendship for the general requires it of you."

" I owe General Wilson much," replied the brother, in a

PllECAUTIOX. 375

melancholy voice ; " and when we go to Annerdale House,
I wish you to make the acquaintance of the ladies of the
Moseley family, should they be in town this winter ; — but
you have yet the letter of Harriet to read."

After first hastily running over its contents, the lady com-
menced the fulfilment of her part of the engagement.

" Frederick has been so much engrossed of late with his
own affairs, that he has forgotten there is such a creature in
existence as his sister, or, indeed, any one else but a Miss
Emily Moseley, and consequently I have been unable to
fulfil my promise of making you a visit, for want of a proper
escort, and — and — perhaps some other considerations, not
worth mentioning in a letter I know you will read to the
earl.

" Yes, my dear cousin, Frederick Denbigh has supplicated
the daughter of a country baronet to become a duchess ;
and, hear it, ye marriage-seeking nymphs and marriage-
making dames ! has supplicated in vain !

" I confess to you, when the thing was first in agitation,
my aristocratic blood roused itself a little at the anticipated
connexion ; but finding on examination that Sir Edward was
of no doubtful lineage, and that the blood of the Chattertons
runs in his veins, and finding the young lady everything 1
could wish in a sister, iny scruples soon disappeared, with
-the follv that enojendered them.

" There was no necessity for any alarm, for the lady very
decidedly refused the honor offered her by Derwent, and
what makes the matter worse, refused the solicitations of hia
sister also.

" I have fifty times been surprised at my own condescen-
sion, and to this moment am at a loss to know whether it
was to the lady's worth, my brother's happiness, or the Chat-

3TG PRECAUTION.

terton blood, that I finally yielded. Heigho ! this Chatterton
is certainly much too handsome for a man ; but I forget you
have never seen him." (Here an arch smile stole over the
features of the listener, as his sister continued) — *' To return
to my narration, I had half a mind to send for a Miss Harris
there is here, to learh the most approved fashion of a lady
preferring a suit, but as fame said she was just now practisin<>-
on a certain hero ycleped Captain Jarvis, heir to Sir Timo of
that name, it struck me her system might be rather too
abrupt, so I was fain to adopt the best plan — that of trusting
to natuie and my own feelings for woids.

" Nobility is certainly a very pretty thing (for those who

have it), but I would defy the old Margravine of to

keep up the semblance of superiority with Emily Moseley.
She is so very natural, so very beautiful, and withal at times
a little arch, that one is afraid to set up any other distinc-
tions than such as can be fairly supported.

" I commenced with hoping her determination to reject the
hand of Frederick was not an unalterable one. (Yes, I
called him Frederick, what I never did out of my own family
before in my life.) There was a considerable tremor in the
voice of Miss Moseley, as she replied, ' I now perceive, when
too late, that my indiscretion has given reason to my friends
to think that I have entertained intentions towards his grace,
of which I entreat you to beheve me, Lady Harriet, I am
innocent. Indeed — indeed, as anything more than an agree
able acquaintance I have never allowed myself to think of
your brother :' and from my soul I believe her. We con
tinued our conversation for half an hour longer, and such wa
the ingenuousness, delicacy, and high religious feeling dis
played by the charming girl, that if I entered the room with
a spark of regret that I was compelled to solicit another to
favor my brother's love, I left it with a feeling that my efforts

PRECAUTION. 377

had been unsuccessful. Yes ! thou peerless sister of the
more peerless Pendennyss ! I once thought of your ladyship
as a wife for Derwent — "

A glass of water was necessary to enable the reader to cleai
her voice, which grew husky from speaking so long.

" But I now openly avow, neither your birth, your hun-
dred thousand pounds, nor your merit, would put you on a
footing, in my estimation, with my Emily. You may form
some idea of her power to captivate, and of her indifFerencs
to her conquests, when I mention that she once refused — but
I forget, you don't know him, and therefore cannot be a
judge. The thing is finally decided, and we shortly go into
Westmoreland, and next week, the Aloseleys return to North-
amptonshire. I don't know when I shall be able to visit you, and
think I may now safely invite you to Denbigh Castle, although
a month ago I might have hesitated. Love to the earl, and
kind assurance to yourself of unalterable regard.

" Harriet Denbigh."

*' P. S. I believe I forgot to mention that Mrs. Moseley, a
sister of Lord Chatterton, has gone to Portugal, and that the
peer himself is to go into the country with us : there is, I
suppose, a fellow-feehng between them just now, though I do
not think Chatterton looks so very miserable as he might.
Adieu."

On ending this second epistle the same silence which had
succeeded the reading of the first prevailed, until the lady
with an arch expression, interrupted it by saying,

" Harriet will, I think, soon grace the peerage."

•'And happily, I trust," replied the brother.

"Do you know Lord Chatterton ?"

"I do ; he is very amiable, and admirably calculated to
eontrast with the lively gaiety of Harriet Denbigh."

378 PRECAUTION.

" You believe in loving our opposites, I see," rejoined the
lady ; and then affectionately stretching out her hand to him,
she added, " but, Pendennyss, you must give me for a sister
one as nearly like yourself as possible."

" That might please your affections," answered the earl
with a smile, " but how would it comport with my tastes ?
Will you suffer me to describe the kind of man you are to
select for your future lord, unless, indeed, you have decided
the point already 1"

The lady colored violently, and appearing anxious to
change the subject, she tumbled over two or three unopened
letters, as she cried eagerly —

" Here is one from the Donna Julia." The earl instantly
broke the seal and read aloud ; no secrets existing between
them in relation to their mutual friend,

" My Lord,

" I hasten to wiite you what I know it will give you plea-
sure to hear, concerning my future prospects in life. My
uncle, General M'Carthy, has written me the cheerful tidings,
that my father has consented to receive his only child, with-
out any other sacrifice than a condition of attending the
service of the Catholic Church without any professions on
my side, or even an understanding that I am conforming to
its peculiar tenets. This may be, in some measure, iiksome
at times, and possibly distressing ; but the worship of G()(^,
with a proper humiliation of spiiit, I have learnt to considn*
as -a privilege to us here, and I owe a duty to my earthly
father of penitence and care in his later years that will jus-
tify the measuie in the eyes of my heavenly One. I ha>ve,
therefore, acquainted my uncle in reply, that I am willing to
attend the Conde's summons at any moment he will choose
to make them ; and I thought it a debt due your care and

PRECAUTION. 379

friendship to apprise your lordship of my approaching depar
ture from this country ; indeed, I have great reasons for
believing that your kind and unremitted efforts to attain this
object have already prepared you to expect this result.

" I feel it will be impossible to quit England without seeing
you and your sister, to thank you for the many, very many
favors, of both a temporal and eternal nature, you have been
the ascents of conferrinor on me. The cruel sua^ffestions which
I dreaded, and which it appears had reached the ears of my
friends in Spain, have prevented my troubling your lordship
of late unnecessarily with my concerns. The consideration
of a friend to your character (Mrs. Wilson) has removed the
necessity of applying for your advice ; she and her charming
niece, Miss Emily Moseley, have been, next to yourselves, the
greatest solace I have had in my exile, and united you will be
remembered in my prayei's. I will merely mention here,
deferring the explanation until I see you in London, that I
have been visited by the wretch from whom you delivered
me in Portuo-al, and that the means of ascertaininof his name
have fallen into my hands. You will be the best judge of
the proper steps to be taken ; but I wish, by all means,
something may be done to prevent his attempting to see me
in Spain. Should it be discovered to my relations there that
he hap any such intentions, it would certainly terminate in his
death, and possibly in my disgrace. Wishing you and your
kind sister all possible happiness, I remain,

" Your Lordship's obliged friend,

" Julia Fitzgerald."

" Oh !" cried the sister as she concluded the letter, " we must
certainly see her before she goes. What a wretch that per-
secutor of hers must be ! how persevering in his villany !"

** He does exceed ray ideas of effrontery," said the earl, in

380 PRECAUTION.

great warmth — " but he may offend too far ; the laws shall
interpose their power to defeat his schemes, should he ever
repeat them."

" He attempted to take your life, brother," said the lady
shuddering, *' if I remember the tale aright."

" Why, I have endeavored to free him from that imputa
tion," rejoined the brother, musing ; "he certainly fired
pistol, but the latter hit my horse at such a distance from
myself, that I believe his object was to disable me and not
murder. His escape has astonished me ; he must have fled
by himself into the woods, as Harmer was but a short
distance behind me, admirably mounted, and the escort was
up and in full pursuit within ten minutes. After all it may
be for the best he was not taken ; for I am persuaded the
dragoons would have sabred him on the spot, and he may
have parents of respectability, or a wife to kill by the know-
ledge of his misconduct."

" This Emily Moseley must be a faultless being," cried the
sister, as she ran over the contents of Juha's letter. " Three
different letters, and each containing her praises !"

The earl made no reply, but opening the duke's letter
again, he appeared to be studying its contents. His color
slightly changed as he dwelt on its passages, and turning to
his sister he inquired if she had a mind to try the air of West-
moreland for a couple of weeks or a month.

" As you say, my Lord," replied the lady, with cheeks of
carlet.

" Then I say we will go. I wish much to see Derwent
and I think there will be a wedding during our visit."

He rang the bell, and the almost untasted breakfast wa
removed in a few minutes. A servant announced that his
horse was in readiness. The earl wished his sister a friendly
good morning, and proceeded to the door, where "was stand

PRECAUTION. 381

ing one of the noble black horses before mentioned, held by
a groom, and the military-looking attendant ready mounted
on another.

Throwing himself into the saddle, th'e young peer rode
gracefully from the door, followed by his attendant horseman.
Durinof this ride, the master suffered his steed to take what-
ever course most pleased himself, and his follower looked up
in surprise more than once, to see the careless manner in
which the Earl of Pendennyss, confessedly one of the best
horsemen in England, managed the noble animal. Raving,
however, got without the gates of his own park, and into the
vicinity of numberless cottages and farm-houses, the mas-
ter recovered his recollection, and the man ceased to wonder.

For three hours the equestrians, pursued their course
through the beautiful vale which opened gracefully opposite
one of the fronts of the castle ; and if faces of smiling wel-
come, inquiries after his own and his sister's welfare, which
evidently sprang from the heart, or the most familiar but
respectful representations of their own prosperity or misfor-
tunes, gave any testimony of the feelings entertained by the
tenantry of this noble estate for their landlord, the situa-
tion of the young nobleman might be justly considered
envied.

As the hour for dinner approached, they turned the heads
of their horses towards home ; and on entering the park,
removed from the scene of industry and activity without, the
earl relapsed into his fit of musing. A short distance from
the house he suddenly called, " Harmer." The man drove
his spurs into the loins of his horse, and in an instant was by
the side of his master, which he signified by raising his hand
to his cap with the palm opening outward.

"You must prepare to go to Spain when required, in
attendance on Mrs. Fitzgerald."

382 PRECAUTION.

The man received his order with the indifference of oue
used to adventures and movements, and having laconically
signified his assent, he drew his horse back again into bis
station in the rear;

PRECAUTION. 383

CHAPTER XXXYIII.

The day succeeding the arrival of he Moseleys at the seat
i,i their ancestors, Mrs. Wilson observed Emily silently put-
ting on her pelisse, and walking out unattended by either of
the domestics or any of the family. There was a peculiar
melancholy in her air and manner, which inclined the cau-
tious aunt to suspect that her charge was bent on the indul-
gence of some ill-judged weakness ; more particularly, as the
direction she took led to the arbor, a theatre in which Den-
bigh had been so conspicuous an actor. Hastily throwing
a cloak over her own shoulders, Mrs. "Wilson followed Emily
with the double purpose of ascertaining her views, and if
necessary, of inteiposing her own authority against the repe-
tition of similar excursions.

As Emily a|)proached the arbor, whither in truth she had
directed her steps, its faded vegetation and chilhng aspect,
so different from its verdure and luxuriance when she last
saw it, came over her heart as a symbol of her own blighted
prospects and deadened affections. The recollection of Den-
bigh's conduct on that spot, of his general benevolence and
assiduity to please, being forc'bly recalled to her mind at the
iisUmt, forgetful of her object in visiting the arbor, Emily
yielded to her sensibilities, and sank on the seat weeping as
if her heart would break.

She had not time to dry her eyes, and to collect her
scattered thoughts, before Mrs. Wilson entered the arbor.
Eyeing her niece for a moment with a sternness unusual for
the one to adopt or the other to receive, she said.

384 PRECAUTION.

** It is a solemn obligation we owe our religion and our-
selves, to endeavor to suppress such passions as are incom-
patible with our duties ; and there is no weakness greater
than blindly adhering to the wrong, when we are convinced
of our error. It is as fatal to good morals as it is unjust to
ourselves to persevere, from selfish motives, in believing
those innocent whom evidence has convicted as guilty
Many a weak woman has sealed her own misery by such
wilful obstinacy, aided by the unpardonable vanity of believ-
ing herself able to control a man that the laws of God could
not restrain."

" Oh, dear madam, speak not so unkindly to me," sobbed
the weeping giil ; " I — I am guilty of no such weakness, I
assure you :'* and looking up with an air of profound resig-
nation and piety, she continued : " Here, on this spot, where
he saved my Hfe, I was about to offer up my prayers for
his conviction of the error of his ways, and for the pardon
of his too — too heavy transgressions."

Mrs. Wilson, softened almost to tears herself, viewed her
for a moment with a mixture of delight, and continued in a
milder tone, —

" I believe you, my dear. I am certain, although you
may have loved Denbigh much, that you love your Maker
and his ordinances more ; and I have no apprehensions that,
were he a disengaged man, and you alone in the world —
unsupported by anything but your sense of duty — you
would ever so far forget yourself as to become his wife
But does not your religion, does not your own usefulness in
society, require you wholly to free your heart from the
power of a man who has so unworthily usurped a dominion
over it ?"

To this Emily replied, in a hardly audible voice, " Certainly
—and I pray constantly for it."

PRECAUTION. 385

** It is well, ray love," said the aunt, soothingly ; " you
cannot fail with such means, and your own exertions, finally
to prevail over your own worst enemies, your passions. The
task our sex has to sustain is, at the best, an arduous one ;
but so much the greater is our credit if we do it well."

" Oh ! how is anunguided girl ever to judge aright, if, — "
cried Emily, clasping her hands and speaking with great
energy, and she would 'have said, " one like Denbigh in
appearance, be so vile !" Shame, however, kept her silent.

" Fevf men can support such a veil of hypocrisy as that
with which- I sometimes think Denbigh must deceive even
himself. His case is an extraordinary exception to a very
sacred rule — * that the tree is known by its fruits,' " replied
her aunt. " There is no safer way of judging of character
that one's oppoi-tunitics will not admit of more closely
investigating, than by examining into and duly appreciating
early impressions. The man or woman who has constantly
seen the practice of piety before them, from infancy to the
noon of hfe, will seldom so far . abandon the recollection of
virtue as to be guilty of great enormities. Even Divine
Truth has promised that his blessings or his curses shall
extend to many generations. It ^s true, that with our most
most guarded prudence we may be deceived." Mrs. Wil-
son paused and sighed heavily, as her own case, connected
with the loves of Denbigh and her niece, occurred strongly
to her mind. " Yet," she continued, " we may lessen the
danger much by guarding against it ; and it seems to me
no more than what self-preservation requires in a young
woman. But for a religious parent to neglect it, is a wilful
abandonment of a most solemn duty."

As Mrs. Wilson concluded, her niece, who had recovered
the command of her feelings, pressed her hand in silence to
her lips, and showed a disposition to retire from a spot
17

PRECAUTION.

which she found recalled too many recollections of a mafl
whose image it was her imperious duty to banish, on every
consideration of propriety and religion.

Their walk into the house was silent, and their thoughts
were drawn from the unpleasant topic by finding a letter
from Julia, announcing her intended departure from this
country, and her wish to take leave of them in London
before she sailed. As she had mentioned the probable day
for that event, both the ladies were delighted to find it was
posterior to the time fixed by Sir Edward for their own
visit to the capital.

Had Jane, instead of Emily, been the one that suffered
through the agency of Mrs. Fitzgerald, however innocently
on the part of the lady, her violent and uncontrolled passions
would have either blindly united the innocent with the guilty
in her resentments; or, if a sense of justice had vindicated
the lady in her judgment, yet her pride and ill-guided
delicacy would have felt her name a reproach, that would
have forbidden any intercourse with her or any belonging to
her.

Not so with her sister. The suiBFerings of Mrs. Fitzgerald
had taken a strong hold on her youthful feelings, and a simi-
larity of opinions and practices on the great object of their
lives, had brouoht them tos^ether in a manner no misconduct
in a third person could weaken. It is true, the recollection
of Denbigh was intimately blended with the fate of Mrs.
Fitzgerald. But Emily sought support against her feelings
from a quarter that rather required an investigation of them
than a desire to drown care with thought.

She never indulged in romantic -reflections in which the
image of Denbigh was associated. This she had hardly
done in her happiest moments ;. and his marriage, if nothing
else had interfered, now absolutely put it out of the question.

PRECAUTION. 387

But, although a Christian, and an humble and devout one,
Emily Moseley was a woman, and had loved ardently, con-
fidingly, and gratefully- Marriage is the business of life
with her sex, — with all, next to a preparation for a better
world, — and it cannot be supposed that a first passion in a
bosom like that of our heroine was to be suddenly erased
and to leave no vestiges of its existence.

Her partiality for the society of Derwent, her meditations
in which she sometimes detected herself drawing a picture
of what Denbigh might have been, if early care had been
taken to impress him with his situation in this world, and
from which she generally retired to her closet and her knees,
were the remains of feelings too strong and too pure to be
torn from her in a moment.

The arrival of John, with Grace and Jane, enlivened not
only the family but the neighborhood. Mr. Haughton and
his numerous friends poured in on the young couple with their
"congratulations, and a few weeks stole by insensibly, previa
ously to the commencement of the journeys of Sir Edward
and his son — the one to Benfield Lodge and the other to St.
James's Square.

On the return of the travellers, a few days before they
commenced their journey to the capital, John laughingly told
his uncle that, although he himself greatly admired the taste
of Mr. Peter Johnson in dress, yet he doubted whether th*»
present style of fashions in the metropolis would not be scan
dalized by the appearance of the honest steward.

John had in fact noticed, in their former visit to London,
mob of mischievous boys eyeing Peter with indications of
rebellious movements which threatened the old man, and
from which he had retreated by taking a coach, and he now
made the suggestion from pure good-nature, to save him any
future trouble from a similar cause.

388 PRECAUTION.

They were at dinner when Moseley made the remark, and
the steward was in his place at the sideboard — for his master
was his home. Drawing near at the mention of his name
first, and casting an eye over his figure to see if all was
decent, Peter respectfully broke silence, determined to defend
his own cause.

" Why ! Mr. John — Mr. John Moseley ? if I might judge,
for an elderly man, and a serving man," said the steward,
bowing humbly, " I am no disparagement to my friends, or
even to my honored master."

Johnson's vindication of his wardrobe drew the eyes of the
family upon him, and an involuntary smile passed from one
to the other, as they admired his starched figure and drab
frock, or rather doublet with sleeves and skirts. Sir Edward,
being of the same opinion with his son, observed —

" I do think. Uncle Benfield, there might be an improve-
ment in the dress of your steward without much trouble to
the ingenuity of his tailor."

" Sir Edward Moseley — honorable sir," said the steward,
beginning to grow alarmed, " if I may be so bold, you young
gentlemen may like gay clothes ; but as for me and his
honor, we are used to such as we wear, and what we are
used to we love."

The old man spoke with earnestness, and drew the parti-
cular attention of his master to a review of his attire. After
reflecting that no gentleman in the house had been attended
by any servitor in such a garb, Mr. Benfield thought it time
to give his sentiments on the subject.

" Why I remember that my Lord Gosford's gentleman
never wore a liver}^ nor can I say that he dressed exactly
after the manner of Johnson. Every member had his body
servant, and they were not unfrequently taken for their mas-
ters. Lady Juliana, too, after the death of her nephew, had

PRECAUTION. 3^9

one or two attendants out of livery, and in a different fashion
from your attire. Peter, I think ^Yith John Moseley there,
we must alter you a little for the sake of appearances."

"Your honor!" stammered out Peter, in increased terror;
"for Mr. John Moseley and Sir Edward, and youngerly gen-
tlemen like, dress may do. Now, your honor, if — " and
Peter, turning to Grace, bowed nearly to the floor — " I had
such a sweet, most beautiful young lady to smile on me,[
might wish to change ; but, sir, my day^ has gone by."
Peter sighed as the recollection of Patty Steele and his youth-
ful love floated across his brain. Grace blushed and thanked
him for the compliment, and gave her opinion that his gal-
lantry merited a better costume.

*' Peter," said his master, decidedly, " I think Mrs. Moseley
is right. If I should call on the viscountess (the Lady Juli-
ana, who yet survived an ancient dowager of seventy), I shall
wa t your attendance, and in your present garb you cannofe
fail to shock her delicate feelings. You remind me now 1
tiiiiik, every time I look at you, of old Harry, the earl's
gamekeeper, one of the most cruel men T ever knew."

This decided the matter. Peter well knew that his mas-
ter's antipathy to old Harry arose from his having pursued a
poacher one day, in place of helping the Lady Juliaiia over
a stile, in her flight from a bull that was playing his gambols
in the same field ; and not for the world w^ould the faithful
steward retain even a feature, if it brought unpleasant recol-
ections to his kind master. He at one time thought of
clo«inor his innovations on his waidrobe, however, with a
cnai^ge c: iii? nether garrrjent ; as after a great deal of study
he cou^d only siake oui ine reser^blaiice between himself
and the ounoxious game-keeper \o :oi sisi :n tne leathern
breeches. But fearful of'sorae poincs escipinor his men2':^rv :d
forty years, ae tameiy acquiesced in all John's alteratiouSj

390 PRECAUTION.

and appeared at his station three days afterwards newly
decked from head to foot in a more modern suit of snuff-
color.

The change once made, Peter greatly admired himself in a
glass, and thought, could he have had the taste of Mr. John
Moseley in his youth to direct his toilet, that the hard heart
of Patty Steele would not always have continued so obdu-
rate.

Sir Edward wished to collect his neighbors round him
once more before he left them for another four months ; and
accordingly the rector and his wife, Francis and Clara, the
Ilaughtons, with a few others, dined at the Hall by invita-
tion, the last day of their stay in Northamptonshire. The
company had left the table to join the ladies, when Grace
came into the drawing-room with a face covered with smiles
and beaming with pleasure.

"You look like'th^ bearer of good news, Mrs. Moseley,"
cried the rector, catching a glimpse of her countenance as she
passed.

" Good ! I sincerely hope and believe," replied Grace.
'* My letters from my brother announce that his maniage took
place last week, and give us hopes of seeing them all in
town within the month."

" Married !" exclaimed Mr. Haughton, casting his eyes
unconsciously on Emily, " my Lord Chatterton married 1
May I ask the name of the bride, my dear Mrs. Moseley ?"

*' To Lady Harriet Denbigh — and at Denbigh Castle in

Westmoreland ; but very privately, as you may suppose from

eeing Moseley and myself here," answered Grace, her

heeks yet glowing with surprise and pleasure at the intel-

igence.

" Lady Harriet Denbigh ?" echoed Mr. Haughton ; '* what!
a kinswoman of our old friend ? your friend, Miss- Emily ?**

PRECAUTION, 2[)l

Jtifs recollection of the service lie had performed at the arbor
still fresh in his memor}'.

Emily commanded herself sufficiently to reply, " Brothers'
hildren, I believe, sir."

" But a lad)/ — how came she my lady ?" continued the
good man, anxious to know the whole, and ignorant of any
reasons for delicacy where so great a favorite as Denbigh was
in the question.

" She is the daughter of the late Duke of Derwent," said
Mrs. Moseley, as willing as himself to talk of her new sister.

" How happens it that the death of old Mr. Denbigh was
announced as plain Geo. Denbigh, Esq., if he was the bro-
ther of a duke V" said Jane, forgetting for a moment the .pre-
sence of Dr. and Mrs. Ives, in her surviving passion for gene-
alogy : "should he not have been called Lord George, or
honorable ?"

This was the fiist time any allusion had been made to the
sudden death in the church by any of the Moseleys in the
hearing of the rector's family ; and the speaker sat in breath-
less terror at her own inadvertency. But Dr. Ives, observing
that a profound silence prevailed as soon as Jane ended,
answered mildly, though in a way to prevent any further
comments —

" The late Duke's succeeding a cousin-german in the title,
was the reason, I presume. Emily, I am to hear from you
by letter I hope, after you enter into the gaieties of the me-
tropolis ?"

This Emily cheerfully promised, and the conversation took
another turn.

Mrs. Wilson had carefully avoided all communications with
the rector concerning his youthful friend, and the Doctor
appeared unwilling to commence anything which might lead
U) bis name being meutioued, " He is disappointed in him aa

392 PRECAUTION.

well as ourselves," thought the widow, " and it must be anplea
Bant to have his image recalled. He saw his attentions to
Emily, and he knows of his marriage to Lady Laura of
course, and he loves us all, and Emily in particular, too wel
not to feel hurt by his conduct."

" Sir Edward !" cried Mr. Haughton, with a laugh, " Baro
nets are likely to be plenty. Have you heard how near w
were to have another in the neighborhood lately ?" Sir Ed-
ward answered in the negative, and his neighbor con-
tinued— "^

" Why no less a man than Captain Jarvis, promoted to the
bloody hand."

" Captain Jarvis !'' exclaimed five or six at once; "explain
yourself, Mr. Haughton.*'

" My near neighbor, young Walker, has been to Bath on
an unusual business — his health — and for the benefit of the
country he has brought back a pretty piece of scandal. It
seems that Lady Jarvis, as I am told she is since she left
here, wished to have her hopeful heir made a lord, and that
the two united for some six months in forming a kind of
savings' bank between themselves, to enable them at some
future day to bribe the minister to honor the peerage with
such a prodigy. After awhile the daughter of our late ac-
quaintance. Sir William Harris, became an accessary to the
plot, and a contributor too, to the tune of a couple of hundred
pounds. Some circumstances, however, at length made this
litter lady suspicious, and she wished to audit the books.
The Captain prevaricated — the lady remonstrated, until the
gentleman, with more truth than manners, told her that she
was a fool — the money he had expended or lost at dice ; and
that he did not think the ministers quite so silly as to make
him a lord, or that he himself was such a fool as to make hei
his wife ; so the whole thing exploded.'*

PRECAUTION. 393

John listened with a delight but little short of what he had
felt when Grace owned her love, and anxious to know all,
eagerly inquired —

" But, is it true ? how was it found out ?"

** Oh, the lady complained of part, and the Captain tells
all to get the laugh on his side ; so that Walker says the
former is the derision and the latter the contempt of all
Bath."

" Poor Sir William," said the baronet, with feehng ; " he
is much to be pitied."

'* I am afraid he has nothing to blame but his own indul-
gence," remarked the rector.

" You don't know the worst of it," replied Mr. Haughton.
" We poor people are made to suffer — Lady Jarvis wept and
fretted Sir Timo out of his lease, which has been given up,
and a new house is to be taken in another part of the
kingdom, where neither Miss Harris nor the story is
known."

" Then Sir William has to 4)rocure a new tenant," said
Lady Moseley, not in the least regretting the loss of the
old one.

" No ! my lady !" continued Mr, Haughton, with a smile.
" Walker is, you know, an attorney, and does some business
occasionally for Sir William. When Jarvis 'gave up the
lease, the baronet, who finds himself a little short of money,
offered the deanery for sale, it being a useless place to him ;
and the very next day, while Walker was with Sir William,
a gentleman called, and without higgling agreed to pay down
at once his thirty thousand pounds for it."

" And ^ho is the purchaser V inquired Lady Moseley,
eagerly.

" The Earl of Pendennyss."

" Lord Pendennyss !" exclaimed Mi-s. Wilson in rapture.
17*

39:4 PRECAUTION-.

" Pendennyss !" cried the rector, eyeing the aunt and
Emily with a smile.

" Pendennyss !" echoed all in the room in amazement.

" Yes," said Mr. Haughton, " it is now the property of tl.t
arl, who says he has bought it for his sister.*'

PRECAUTION. 395

CI^APTER XXXIX.

Mru. WiLso>i found time the ensuing day to ascertain
^ Sefore they Vit the hall, the truth of the tale related by Mr.
Kaughtop The deanery had certainly changed its master,
And a PoW steward had a^/'eady arrived to take possession in
che Tame of his lord. What induced Pendennyss to make
thii purchase she was at a loss to "conceive — most probably
some arrangement between himself and Lord ]3olton. But
whatever might be his motive, it in some measure insured his
becoming for a season their neighbor ; and Mrs. Wilson felt
a degree of pleasure at the circumstance that she had been a
stranger to for a long time — a pleasure which was greatly
heightened as she dwelt on the lovely face of the companion
who occupied the other seat in her travelling chaise.

The road to London led by the gates of the deanery, and
near them they passed a servant in the livery of those they
had once seen following the equipage of the earl. Anxious to
know anything which might hasten her acquaintance with
this admired nobleman, Mrs. Wilson stopped her carriage to
inquire.

" Pray, sir, whom do you serve ?"

" My Lord Pendennyss, ma'am," replied the man, respecV
fuUy taking off his hat.

"The earl is not here?" asked Mrs. Wilsor, A^ith inte-
rest.

'* Oh, no, madam ; I am here in waiU^tg on his steward.
My lord is in Westmoreland, with his grace and Colonel
Denbigh, and the ladies." •

396 PUECAUTIOX.

*' Does lie remain there long ?" continued the anxious
W^idow, desirous of knowing all she could learn.

*' I believe not, madam ; most of our people have gone to
Annerdale- House, and my lord is expected in town with the
duke and the colonel."

As the servant was an elderly man, and appeared to
understand the movements of his master so well, Mrs. Wil
son was put in unusual spirits by this prospect of a speedy
termination to her anxiety to meet Pendennyss.

'* Annerdale-House is the earl's^town residence 1" quietly
inquired Emily.

" Yes ; he got the fortune of the last duke of that title,
but how I do not exactly know. I believe, however, through
his mother. General Wilson did not know his family*:
indeed, Pendennyss bore a second title during his lifetime ;
but did you observe how very civil his servant was, as well
as the one John spoke to before, — a sure sign their master
is a gentleman ?"

Emily smiled at the strong partialities of her aunt, and
replied, " Your handsome chaise and attendants will draw
respect from most men in his situation, dear aunt, be theii
masters who they mny."

The expected pleasure of meeting the earl was a topic
frequently touched upon between her aunt and Emily during
their journey ; the former beginning to entertain hopes she
would have laughed at herself for, could they have been
fairly laid before her ; and the latter entertaining a profound
respect for his character, but chiefly governed by a wish to
gratify her companion.

The third day they reached the baronet's handsome house
in St. James's Square, and foitnd that the forethought of
John had provided everything in the best and most comfort
able*manuer.

PRECAUTION. 397

It was the first visit of both Jane and Emily to the metro-
polis ; and under the protection of tlieir almost equally
curious mother, and escorted by John, they wisely deter-
mined to visit the curiosities, while their leisure yet admitted
of the opportunity. For the first two weeks their time was
chiefly employed in the indulgence of this unfashionable and
vulg-ar propensity, which, if it had no other tendency, served
greatly to draw the thoughts of both the young women from
the recollections of the last few months.

While her sister and nieces were thus employed, Mrs.
Wilson, assisted by Grace, was occupied in getting things in
preparation to do credit to the baronet's hospitality.

The second week after their arrival, Mrs. Moseley was
delighted by seeing advance upon her unexpectedly through
the door of the breakfast parlor, her brother, with his bride
leaning on his arm. After the most sincere greetings and
congratulations, Lady Chatterton cried out gaily, ^

" You see, my dear Lady Moseley, I am deternf^ied to
banish ceremony between us, and so, instead of sending you
my card, have come myself to notify you of my arrival.
Chatterton would not suffer me even to swallow my break-
fast, he was so impatient to show me off."

" You are placing things exactly on the footing I wish to
see ourselves with all our connexions," replied Lady Moseley,
kindly ; " but what have you done with the tkike ? is he not
in your train ?"

" Oh ! he is gone to Canterbury with George Den
b'gh, madam," cried the lady, shaking her head reproach
fully though affectionately at Emily ; " his grace dislikes
London just now excessively, he says, and the Colonel
being obliged to leave his wife on regimental business^
Derwent was goo 1 enough to keep him company during hia
exile."

PRECAUTION.

** And Lady Laura, do we see her ?" inquired Lady
Moseley.

" She came with us. Pendennyss and his sister follow
immediately ; so, my dear madam, the dramatis personse will
all be on the stage soon."

Cards and visits now began to accumulate on the Moseleys,
and their time no longer admitted of that unfettered leisure
which they had enjoyed at their entrance on the scene. Mrs.
Wilson, for herself and charge, adopted a rule for the govern
ment of her manner of living, which was consistent with hei
duties. They mixed in general society sparingly ; and,
above all, they rigidly adhered to the obedience to the injunc-
tion which commanded them to keep the Sabbath day holy ;
a duty of no trifling difficulty to perform in fashionable society
in the city of London, or, indeed, in any other place, where
the influence of fashion has supplanted the laws of God.

Mrs. Wilson was not a bigot ; but she knew and performed
her duly rigidly. It was a pleasure to her to do so. It
would have been misery to do otherwise. In the singleness
of heart and deep piety of her niece, she had a willing pupil
to her system of morals, and a rigid follower of her religious
practices. As they both knew that the temptations to go
astray were greater in town than in country, they kept a
strict guard over the tendency to err, and in watchfulness
found their gi'eatest security.

John Moseley, next to his friends, loved his bays : indeed,
if the aggregate of his afiections for these and Lady Herrie-
field had been put in opposite scales, we strongly suspect the
side of the horses would predominate.

One Sunday, soon after being domesticated, John, who
had soberly attended morning service with the ladies, came
into a little room where the more reflecting part of the
family were assembled, in search of his wife.

PUECAUTION. 399

Grace, we liave before mentioned, had become a real mem-
ber of that cliuvch in which she had been educated, and had
entered, under the direction of Dr. Ives and Mrs. Wilson, into
an observance of its wholesome ordinances. Grace was cer-
tainly piously inclined, if not devout. Her feelings on the
subject of religion had been sensibly awakened during their
voyage to Lisbon ; and at the period of which we write, Mrs
Moseley was as sincerely disposed to perform her duty as her
powers admitted. To the request of her husband, that she
would take a seat in his phaeton while he drove her round
tbe park once or twice, Grace gave a mild refusal, by saying,

" It is Sunday, my dear Moseley."

" Do you think I don't know that ?" cried John, gaily.
" There will be everybody there, and, the better day, the
better deed."

Now, Moseley, if he had been asked to apply tliis speech
*o the case before them, would have frankly owned bis ina-
bility ; but his wife did not make the trial : she was con-
tented with saying, as she laid down her book to look on a
face she so tenderly loved,

" Ah ! Moseley, you should set a better example to those
below you in life."

" I wisli to set an example," returned her husband, with
an affectionate smile, " to all above as well as below me, in
order that they may find out the path to happiness, by
exhibiting to the world a model of a wife in yourself, dear
Grace." •

As this was uttered with a sincei-ity which distinguished
the manner of Moseley, his wife was more pleased with the
compliment than she would have been willing to make
known ; and John spoke no more than he thought ; for a
desire to show his handsome ,wife was the ruling passion fw
R moment.

401 PRECAUTION.

'i'he husband was too pressing and the wife too fond not to
yield the point; and Grace took her seat in the carriage with
a kind of half-formed resolution to improve the opportunit}
by a discourse on serious subjects — a resolution which termi
Dated as all others do, that postpone one duty to discharg
another of less magnitude ; it was forgotten.

Mrs. Wilson had listened with interest to the efforts of Joiin
to prevail on his wife to take the ride, and on her leaving the
room to comply she observed to Emily, with whom she now
remained alone —

" Here is a consequence of a difference in religious views
between man and wife, my child : John, in place of supporting
Grace in the discharge of her duties, has been the actual
cause of her going astray."

Emily felt the force of her aunt's remark, and saw its jus-
tice; yet her love for the offender induced her to say —

*'John will not lead her openly astray, for he has a sin-
cere respect for religion, and this offence is not unpardonable,
dear aunt."

" The offence is assuredly not unpardonable," replied Mrs.
Wilson, " and to infinite mercy it is hard to say what is ;
but it is an offence, and directly in the face of an express
ordinance of the Lord ; it is even throwing off the appearance
of keeping the Sabbath day holy, much less observing the
substance of the commandment ; and as to John's resjiect for
holy things in this instance, it was injurious to his wife. Ha^
he been an open deist she would llave shrunk from the act ii
suspicion of its sinfulness. Either John must become
Christian, or I am afraid Grace will fall from her under
taking."

Mrs. Wilson shook her head mournfully, while Emily
offered uj? a silent petition that the first might speedily be
•the case.

PRECAUTIOlf. 401

Lady Laura had been early in her visit to the Moseleys ;
and as Denbigh had both a town residence and a seat in par-
liament, it appeared next to impossible to avoid meeting him
or to resjuite the pressing civilities of his wife by haish refu-
sals, that might prove in the end injurious to themselves by
creating a suspicion that resentment at his not choosing a
partner from amongst them, governed the conduct of the
^loseleys towards a man to whom they were under such a
heavy obligation.

Had Sir Edward known as much as his sister and daugh-
ters he would probably have discountenanced the acquaint-
ance altogether ; but owing to the ignorance of the rest of
her friends of what had passed, Mrs. Wilson and Emily had
not only the assiduities of Lady Laura but the wishes of their
own family to contend with, and consequently she submitted
to the association with a reluctance that was in some measure
counteracted by their regard for Lady Laura, and by com-
passion for her abused confidence.

A distant connexion of Lady Moseley's had managed to
collect in her house a few hundred of her nominal friends,
and as she had been particularly attentive in calling in person
on her venerable relative, Mr. Benfield, soon after his arrival
in town, out of respect to her father's cousin, or perhaps mind-
ful of his approaching end, and remembering there were such
things as codicils to wills, the old man, flattered by her notice,
and yet too gallant to reject the favor of a lady, consented to
accompany the remainder of the family on the occasion

Most of their acquaintances were there, and Lady Mt/seley
BOon found herself engaged in a party at quadrille, while th"
young people were occupied by the usual amusements o
their age in such scenes. Emily alone feeling but little desire
to enter into the gaiety of general conversation with a host of
gentlemen who had collected round her aunt and sisters,

402 PRECAUTION.

off<ired her arm to Mr. Benfield, on seeing him manifest a dis
position to take a closer view of the company, and walked
away with him.

They wandered from room to room, unconscious of the
observation attracted by the sight of a man in the costume
of Mr. Benfield, leaning on the arm of so young and lovely a
woman as his niece ; and many an exclamation of surprise,
ridicule, admiration, and wonder had been made, unnoticed
by the pair, until finding the crowd rather inconvenient to hei
companion, Emily gently drew him into one of the apart
ments where the card-tables, and the general absence of
beauty, made room less difficult to be found.

" Ah ! Emmy dear," said the old gentleman, wiping his
face, " times are much changed, I see, since my youth. Then
you would see no such throngs assembled in so small a
bpace ; gentlemen shoving ladies, and yes, Emmy,'' continued
her uncle in a lower tone, as if afraid of uttering something
dangerous, '' the ladies themselves shouldering the men. I
remember at a drum given by Lady Gosford, that although
I may, without vanity, say I wfis one of the gallantest
men in the rooms, I came in contact with but one of the
ladies during the whole evening, with the exception of hand-
ing the Lady Juliana to a chair, and that," said her uncle,
stopping short and lowering his voice to a whisper, " was
occasioned by a mischance in the old duchess in rising from
her seat when she had taken too much strong waters, as si e
was at times a little troubled with a pain in the chest."

Emily smiled at the casualty of her grace, and they pro-
ceeded slowly through the table until their passage was
stopped by a party at the game of whist, which, by its incon-
gruous mixture of ages and character, forcibly drew her
attention.

The party was composed of a young man of five or six and

PRECAUTION. 403

twenty, who threw down his cards in careless indifference,
and heedlessly played with the guineas which were laid on
the side of the table as markers, or the fruits of a former vic-
tory : or by stealing hasty and repeated jjjiances through the
vista of the tables into the gayer scenes of the adjoining
rooms, proved he was in duresse, and waited for an oppor-
tunity to make his escape from the tedium of cards and ugli
ness to the life of conversation and beauty.

His partner was a woman of doubtful age, and one whose
countenance rather indicated that the uncertainty was likely
to continue until the record of the tomb-stone divulged the
so often contested circumstance to the world. Her eyes also
wandered to the gayer scenes, but with an expression of cen-
soriousness mingkd with lori^ings ; nor did she neglect the
progress of the game as frequently as her more heedless part-
ner. A glance thrown on the golden pair which was placed
between her and her neii^hbor on her risfht, marked the im-
portance of the corner, and she shuffled the cards with a
nervousness which plainly denoted her apprehension of the
consequences of her partner's abstraction.

Her neighbor on the right was a man of sixty, and his vest-
ments announced him a servant of the sanctuary. His
intentness on the game proceeded no doubt from his habits
of reflection ; his smile at success, quite possibly from charity
to his neighbors ; his frown in adversity from displeasure at
the triumphs of the wicked, for such in his heart he had set
down Miss Wigram to be; and his unconquerable gravity in
the employment from a profound regard to the dignity of his
holy office.

The fourth performer in this trial of memories was an
ancient lady, gaily dressed, and intently eager od the game.
Between her and the young man was a large pile of guineas,
which appeared to be her exclusive property, from which she

404 FRECAUTIONw

repeatedly, during the play, tendered one to his acceptance on
the event of a hand or a trick, and to which she seldom failed
from inadvertence to add his mite, contributing to accumulate
the pile. •

" Two double and the rub, ray dear doctor," exclaimed the
senior lady, in triumph. " Sir William, you owe me ten."

The money was paid as easily as it had been won, and
the dow^ager proceeded to settle some bets with her female
antagonist.

" Two more, I fancy, ma'am," said she, closely scanning
the contributions of the maiden.

" I believe it is right, my lady," was the answer, with a
look that said pretty plainly, that or nothing.

*' I beg pardon, my dear, ftere are but four ; and you
remember two on the corner, and four on the points. Doc-
tor, I will trouble you for a couple of guineas from Miss
Wigram's store, I am in haste to get to the Countess's route."

The doctor was coolly helping himself from the said store,
under the watchful eyes of its owner, and secretly exulting in
his own judgment in requiring the stakes, when the maiden
replied in great warmth,

" Your ladyship forgets the two you lost to jiie at Mrs.
Howard's."

" It must be a mistake, my dear, I always pay as I lose,"
cried the dowager, with great spirit, stretching over the
table and helping herself to the disputed money.

Mr. Benfield and Emily had stood silent spectators of the
whole scene, the latter in astonishment to meet such manners
in such society, and the former under feehngs it would hav
been difficult to describe ; for in the face of the Dowager
which was inflamed partly from passion and more from high
living, he recognised the remains of his Lady Juliana, now
the Dowager Viscountess Haverford.

PRECAUTION. 405

" Emmy, dear," said the old man, with a heavj^-drawn
sigh, as if awaking from a long and troubled dream, " w«
will go."

The phantom of forty years had vanished before the truth
and the fancies of retirement, simplicity, and a diseased ima-
gination yielded to the iufluence of life and common sense.

406 PRECAiTTION

CHAPTER XL.

With Harriet, now closely connected with them by mar-
riage as well as attachment, the baronet's family maintained
a most friendly intercourse ; and Mrs. Wilson, and Emily, a
prodigious favorite with her new cousin, consented to pass a
day soberly with her during an excursion of her husband to
Windsor on business connected with his station. They had,
accordingly, driven round to an early breakfast; and Chat-
terton, after politely regretting his loss, and thanking them
for their consideration for his wife, made his bow.

Lady Harriet Denbigh had brought the Baron a very sub-
stantial addition to his fortune ; and as his sisters were both
provided for by ample settlements, the pecuniary distresses
which had existed a twelvemonth before had been entirely
removed. Chatterton's income was now large, his demands
upon it small, and he kept up an establishment in proportion
to the rank of both husband and wife.

" Mi-s. Wilson," cried the hostess, twirling her cup as she
followed with her eyes th& retreating figure of her husband
at the door, " I am about to take up the trade of Miss Harris,
'and become a match-maker."

" Not on your own behalf so soon, surely./' rejoined the
widow.

" Oh no, my fortune is made for life, or not at all," con-
tinued the other, gaily ; " but in behalf of our httle friend
Emily here."

" Me," cried Emily, starting from a reverie, in which th«

PRECAUTION. 407

(*rospect of happiness to Lady Laura was the subject; "you

e very good, Harriet ; for whom do you intend me ?"

" Whom ! Who is good enough for you, but my cousin
xlennyss ? Ah !" she cried, laughing, as she caught

lily by the hand, "Derwent and myself both settled the
matter long since, and I know you will yield when you come
to know him."

" The duke !" cried the other, with a surprise and innocence
that immediately brought a blush of the brightest vermillion
into her face.

*' Yea, the duke," said Lady Chatterton : " you may think
it odd for a discarded lover to dispose of his mistress so soon,
but both our hearts are set upon it. The earl arrived last
night, and this day he and his sister dine with us in a sober
way : now, my dear madam," turning to Mrs. Wilson, " have
I not prepared an agreeable surprise for you V"

" Surprise indeed," said the widow, excessively gratified at
the probable teimination to her anxieties for this meeting;
" but where are they from V

" From Northamptonshire, where the earl has ah-eady pur-
chased a residence, I understand, and in your neighborhood
too ; so, you perceive, he at least begins to think of the thing."

•' A certain evidence, truly," cried Emily, " his having
purchased the house. But was he without a residence that
he bought the deanery ?"

" Oh no ! he has a palace in town, and three seats in the
ountry ; but none in Northamptonshij-e but this," said the
lady, with a laugh. " To own the truth he did offer to let
George Denbigh have it for the next summer, but the G)lo-
ne-1 chose to be nearer Eltringham ; and T take it, it was only
a ruse in the earl to cloak his own designs. You may de
pend upon it, we trumpeted your praises to him incessantly
in Westmoreland."

408 PRECAUTION.

" And is Colonel Denbigh in town ?" said Mrs. Wilson,
stealing an anxious glance towards her niece, who, in spite
of all her efforts, sensibly changed color.

'* Oh, yes ! and Laura is as happy — as happy — as myself,"
feaid Lady Chatterton, with a glow on her cheeks, as she
uttended to the request of her housekeeper, and left the room.

Her guests sat in silence, occupied with their own reflec
tions, while they heard a summons at the door of the house.
It wjis opened, and footsteps approached the door of their
own room. It was pushed partly open, as a voice on the
other side said, speaking to a servant without, —

"Very well. Do not disturb your lady. I. am in no
haste."

At the sound of its well known tones, both the ladies
almost sprang from their seats. Here could be no resem-
blance, and a moment removed their doubts. The speaker
entered. It w.as Denbigh.

He stood for a moment fixed as a statue. It was evident
the surprise was mutual. His face was pale as death, and
then instantly was succeeded by a glow of fire. Approach-
ing them, he paid his compliments with great earnestness,
and in a voice in which his softest tones pueponderated.

" I am happy, very happy, to be so fortunate in again
meeting with such friends, and so unexpectedly."

Mrs. Wilson bowed in silence to his compliment, and
Emily, pale as himself, sat with her eyes fastened on the
carpet, without daring to trust her voice with an attempt (o
speak.

After struggling with his mortified feehngs for a moment,
Denbigh rose from the chair he had taken, and drawing
near the sofa on which the ladies were placed, exclaimed
with fervor,

" Tell me, dear madam, lovely, too lovely Miss Moseley,

PRECAUTION. 409

lias one net of folly, of wickedness if you please, lost me
your goci opinion for ever ? Derwent had given me hopes
that you yet retained some esteem for ray character, lowered,
as I acknowledge it to be, in ray own estimation."

" The Duke of Derwent ? Mr. Denbigh !"

" Do not, do not use a name, dear madam, almost* hateful
to me," cried he, in a tone of despair.

*' If," said Mrs. Wilson, gravely, " you have made your
own name disreputable, I can only regret it, but — "

" Call me by my title — oh ! do not remind me of my
folly ; I cannot bear it, and from you."

"Your title !" exclaimed Mrs. Wilson, with a cry of won-
der, and Emily turned on him a face in which the flashes
of color and succeeding paleness were as quick, and almost
as vivid, as the glow of lightning. He caught their astonish-
ment in equal surprise.

" How is this ? some dreadful mistake, of which I am yet
in ignorance," he cried, taking the unresisting hand of Mrs.
Wilson, and pressing it with warmth between both his own,
as he added, " do not leave me in suspense."

" For the sake of truth, for my sake, for the sake of this
suff*ering innocent, say, in sincerity, who and what you are,"
said Mrs, W^ilson in a solemn voice, gazing on him in dread
of his reply.

Still retaining her hand, he dropped on his knees befo're
her, as he answered, —

" I am the pupil, the child of your late husband, the com -
panion of his dangers, the sharer of his joys and griefs, and
would 1 could add, the friend of his widow. I am the Eaii
of Pendennyss."

Mrs. Wilson's head dropped on the shouldei^ of the
kneeling youth, her arms were thrown in fervor around his
neck, and she burst into a flood of tears. For a moment,
18

410 PRECAUTION.

both were absorbed in their own feelings ', but a cry from
Pendennyss aroused the aunt to the situation of her niece.

Emily had fallen senseless on the sofa.

An hour elapsed before her engagements admitted of
the return of Lady Chatterton to the breakfast parlor, where
she was surprised to find the breakfast equipage yet standing,
and her cousin, the earl. Looking from one to the other in
surprise, she exclaimed, —

" Very sociable, upon my word ; how long has your lord-
ship honored my house with your presence, and have you
taken the liberty to introduce yourself to Mrs. Wilson and
Miss Moseley ?"

*' ^Sociability and ease are the fashion of the day. I have
been here an hour, ray dear coz, and have taken the liberty
of introducing myself to Mrs. Wilson and Miss Moseley,"
replied the earl gravely, although a smile of meaning lighted
his handsome features as he uttered the latter part of the
sentence, which was returned by Emily with a look of arch-
ness and pleasure that would have graced her happiest
moments of juvenile joy.

There was such an interchange of looks, and such a visible
alteration in the appearance of her guests, that it could not
but attract the notice of Lady Chatterton. After listening
to the conversation between them for some time in silence,
and wondering what could have wrought so sudden a change
below stairs, she broke forth with saying, —

" Upon my word, you are an incomprehensible party to
:ne. I left you ladies alone, and find a gentleman with jou,
T left you grave, if not melancholy, and find you all life and
gaiety.* I find you with a stranger, and you talk with him
about walks, and rides, and scenes, and acquaintances. Will
yoUy madam, oi- yow, my lord, be so kind as to explain these
seeming inconsistencies ?"

PltECAUTION. 411

" No," cripd the earl, " to punish your ouriosity, I will
keep you in iornorance ; but Marian is in waiting for me at
youv neighbor's, Mrs. Wilmot, and I must hasten to her —
you will see us both by five." Rising from his seat he took
the offered hand of Mrs. Wilson and pressed it to his hps
To Emily he also extended his hand, and received hers in
return, though with u face suffused with the color of tha
rose. Pendennyss held it to his heart for a moment with
fervor, and kissing it, precipitately left the room. Emily
concealed her face with her hands, and, dissolving in tears,
sought the retirement of an adjoining apartment.

All these unaccountable movements filled Lady Chatterton
with amazement, that would have been too painful for fur-
ther endurance ; and Mrs. Wilson, knowing that further
concealmetit with so near a connexion would be impossible,
if not unnecessary, entered into a brief explanation of the
earl's masquerade (although ignorant herself of its cause, or
of the means of supporting it), and his present relation with
her niece.

" I declare it is provoking," cried Lady Chatterton, with a
tear in her eye, " to have such ingenious plans as Derwent
and I had made lost from the want of necessity in putting
them in force. Your demure niece has deceived us all
handsomely ; and my rigid cousin, too — I will rate him
soundly for his deception."

" I believe he already repents sincerely of his having
practised it," said Mrs. Wilson, " and is sufficiently punished
for his error by its consequence. A life of misery for foui
months is a serious penalty to a lover."

" Yes," said the other; '• I am afraid his punishment was
not confined to himself alone : he has made othera suffer
from his misconduct. 1 will rate him famously, depend upon
it I wiH'*

412 PRECAUTION.

If anything, the interest felt by Lady Chatterton for her
friend was increased by this discovery of the affections of
Pendennyss, and a few hours were passed by the three, in
we will not say sober delight, for transport would be a belter
word. Lady Chatterton frankly declared that she would
rather see Emily the wife of the earl than of her brother, for
he alone was good enough for her • and Mi-s. Wilson felt an
exhilaration of spirits, in the completion of her most sanguine
wishes, that neither her years, her philosophy, nor even her
religion, could entirely restrain. The face of Emily was a
continued blush, her eye sparkled with the lustre of renewed
hope, and her bosom was heaving with the purest emotions
of happiness.

At the appointed hour the rattling of wheels announced
the approach of the earl and his sister.

Pendennyss came into the room with a young woman of
great personal beauty and extremely feminine manners, lean-
ing on his arm. He first announced her to Mrs. Wilson as
his sister, Lady Marian Denbigh, who received her with a
frank cordiality that made them instantly acquainted. Emily,
although confiding in the fullest manner in the truth and
worth of her lover, had felt an inexphcable sensation of plea-
sure, as she heard the earl speak of his sister by the name of
Marian ; love is such an unquiet, and generally such an en-
grossing passion, that few avoid unnecessary uneasiness while
under its influence, unless so situated as to enjoy a mutual
confidence.

As this once so formidable Marian approached to salute
her with an extended hand, Emily rose, with a face illumined
with pleasure, to receive her. Marian viewed her for a mo-
ment intently, and folding her arms around her, whispered
Boftly as she pressed her to her heart,

" My sister, my only sister." ♦

PRECAUTION. 413

Oui* heroine was affected to tears, and Pendennyss gently
separating the two he loved' best in the world, they soon
became calm.

Lady Marian was extremely like her brother, and had a
family resemblance to her cousin Harriet; but her manners
were softer and more retiring, and she had a slight tinge of
a settled melancholy. When her brother spoke she was
generally silent, not in fear, but in love. She evidently
regarded him amongst the fii'st of human beings, and all her
love was amply returned.

Both the aunt and niece studied the manners of the eail
closely, and found several shades of distinction between what
he was and what he had been. He was now the perfect man
of the world, without having lost the frank sincerity which
caused you to believe all he said. Had Pendennyss once
told Mrs. Wilson, with his natural air and manner, " I am
innocent," she would have believed him, and an earlier inves-
tigation would have saved them months of misery ; but the
consciousness of his deception had oppressed him with the
curse of the wicked.

Pendennyss had lost that air of embarrassment and alarm
which had so often startled the aunt, even in her hours of
greatest confidence, and which had their original in the
awkwardness of disguise. But he retained his softness, his
respect, his modest diffidence of his opinions, although some-
what corrected now by his acknowledged experience and
acquaintance with man.

Mrs. Wilson thought these decided trifling alterations in
manner were improvements ; but it required some days and
a few tender speeches to reconcile Emih' ' ' any change in
the appearance of Denbigh.

Lady Marian had ordered her carriage early, as she had no*
tnticipated the pleasure she found, and was engaged to ac

414 PRECAUTION.

company her cousin, Lady Laura, to a fashionable r< at thai
evening. Unwilling to be toin from his newly found friends,
the earl proposed that the three ladies should accompany his
sister to Annerdale House, and then accept himself as an
escort to their own residence. To this Harriet assented,
and leaving a message for Chatterton, they entered the coach
of Marian, and Pendennyss, mounting the dickey, drove off.

Annerdale House was amongst the best edifices of London.
It had been erected in the preceding century, and Emily for a
moment felt, as she went through its splendid apartments,
that it threw a chill around her domestic affections ; but the
figure of Pendennyss by her side reconciled her to a magni-
ficence she had been unused to, which looked the lord indeed ;
but with so much modesty and softness, and so much atten-
tion to herself, that before she left the l^ouse, Emily began to
think it very possible to enjoy hapfpines-s even in the lap of
splendor.

The names of Colonel Denbigh and Lat \ Laura were soon
announced, and this formidable gentleman made his appear-
ance. He resembled Pendennyss more than ftven the duke,
and appeared about the same age.

Mrs. Wilson soon saw that she had no gi'ounds for pitying
Lady Laura. The colont^l was a polished, elegant man, of evi-
dent good sense and knowledge of the world, and apparently
devoted to his wife. He was called George frequently by
all his relatives, and he, not unfrequently, used the same term
himself in speaking to the earl. Something was said of a
much admired bust, and the doors of a large library were
opened to view it. Emily was running over the backs of a
case of books, until her eye rested on one; and hall smiling
and blushing she turned to Pendennyss, who wa^«l ' * "^v "^n
movement, as she said, playfully,

" Pity me, my lord, and lend me this volume.''

PRE C A U! ION. 415

**What is it you read ?" he asked, as he bowed his cheer-
ful assent.

But Emily hid the book in lier handkerchief. Pend-ennyss
noticing an unwillingness, though an extremely playful one,
to let him into the secret, examined the case, and perceiving
her motive, smiled, as he took down another volume and
said —

" I am not an Irish, but an English peer, Emily. You ha >
the wrong volume."

Emily laughed, with deeper blushes, when she found her
wishes detected, while tbe earl, opening the volume he held
— the first of Debrett's Peerage — pointed with his finger to
the article concerning his own family, and said to Mrs. Wil-
son, who had joined them at the instant —

"To-morrow, dear madam, I shall beg your attention to a
melancholy tale, and which may, in some slight degree, ex-
tenuate the offence I was guilty of in assuming, or rather in
maintaining an accidental disguise."

A& he ended, he went to the others, to draw off their atten-
tion, while Emily and her aunt examined the paragraph. It
was as follows :

"• George Denbigh — Earl of Pendennyss — and Baron Lum-
ley, of Lumley Castle — Baron Pendennyss — Beaumaris, and
Fitz waiter, born , of , in the year of ; a ba-
chelor." The list 'of earls and nobles occupied several pages,
but the closing article was as follows :

*' George, the 21st earl, succeeded his mother Marian, late
Countess of Pendennyss, in her own right, being born of her
marriage with George Denbigh, Esq., a cousin-german lo
Frederick, the 9th Duke of Derwent."

" Heir apparent. The titles being to heirs general, will
descend to his lordship's sister, Lady Marian Denbigh, should
the present. earl die without lawful issue,"

416 PRECAUTION.

As much of the explanation of the mystery of our taL s

involved in the foregoing paragraphs, we may be allowed co

relate in our own language, what Pendennyss made hi«

friends acquainted with at diflferent times, and in a mannei

uitable to the subject and his situation.

PRKCATSTfOtf. 'll?

CHAPTER XLI.

It was at the close of that war which lost this country the
wealthiest and most populous of her American colonies, that
a fleet of ships were .returning from their service amongst the
islands of the New World, to seek for their worn out and
battered hulks, and equally weakened crews, the repairs and
comforts of England and home.

The latter word, to the mariner the most endearing of all
sounds, had, as it were, drawn together by instinct a group
of sailors on the forecastle of the proudest ship of the squad-
ron, who gazed with varied emotions on the land which gave
them birth, but with one common feeling of joy that the day
of attaininfr it was at lenorth arrived.

The water curled from the bows of this castle of the ocean,
in increasing waves and growing murmurs, that at times drew
the attention of the veteran tar to their quickening progress,
and having cheered his heart with the sight, he cast his expe-
rienced eye in silence on the swelling sails, to see if nothing
more could be done to shorten the distance between him and
his country.

Hundreds of eyes were fixed on the land of their birth, and
hundreds of hearts were beating in that one vessel with tht-
awakening delights of domestic love and renewed affection- ;
but no tongue broke the disciplined silence of the ship into
sounds that overcame the propitious ripple of the water.

On the hij^hest summit of their towerinor mast floated a
small blue flag, the symbol of authority, and beneath it
paced a man to and fro the deck, who was abandoned by his
IS*

418 PRECAUTION.

inferiors to his more elevated rank. His square-built form
and careworn features, which had lost the brilliancy of an
English complexion, and hair whitened prematurely, spoke
of bodily vigor, and arduous services which had put that
vigor to the severest trials.

At each turn of his walk, as he faced the land of his
nativity, a lurking smile stole over his sun-burnt features, and
then a glance of his eye would scan the progress of the
far-stretched squadron which obeyed his orders, and which
he was now returning to his superiors, undiminished in
numbers, and proud with victory.

By himself stood an officer in a uniform differing fiom all
around him. His figure was small, his eye restless, quick,
and piercing, and bent on those shores to which he was
unwillingly advancing, with a look of anxiety and mOrtifica-
'tion, that showed him the late commander of those vessels
around them, which, by displaying their double flags, mani-
fested to the eye of the seaman a recent change of masters.

Occasionally the conqueror would stop, and by some
effort of well meant, but rather uncouth civility, endeavor to
soften the hours of captivity ; efforts which were received
with the courtesy of the most punctilious etiquette, but a
restraint which showed that they were unwelcome.

It was, perhaps, the most unlucky moment that had
occurred within tlie two months of their association, for an
excbanofe of their better feelinofs. The honest heart of the
English tar dilated with ill-concealed delight at his approach
to tlie termination of labors performed with credit and
honor, and his smiles and good humor, which partly pro-
ceeded from the feelings of a father and a friend, wore
dasrsfers to the heart of his discomfited rival.

A third personage now appeared from the cabin of the
vessel, and approached the spot where the advei-se admirals

PRECAUTION. 419

at the moment were engaged in one of these constrained
conferences.

The appearance and dress of this gentleman differed
widely from the two just described. He was tall, graceful,
and dignified ; he was a soldier, and clearly of high rank.
His carefully dressed hair concealed the ravages of time,
and on the quarter-deck of a first-rate his attire and manners
were suited to a field-day in the park.

" I really insist, monsieur," cried the admiral, good-
naturedly, " that you shall take part of my chaise to London.
You are a stranger, and it will help to keep up your spirits
by the way."

" You are very good, Monsieur Howell," replied the
Frenchman, with a polite baw and forced smile, misconstru-
ing ill-judged benevolence into a wish for his person to
grace a triumph — " but I have accepted the offer Monsieur
le General Denbisfh was so sfood as to make me."

" The comte is engaged to me, Howell," said the general,
with a courtly smile, '* and, indeed, you must leave the ship
to-night, or as soon as we anchor. — But I shall take daylight
and to-morrow."

" Well — well — Denbiorh," exclaimed the other, rubbinjor
his hands with pleasure as he viewed the increasing power
of the wind, ** only make yourselves happy, and 1 am con-
tented."

A few hours intervened before they reached the Bay of
Plymouth, and round the table, after their dinner, were
seated the general and English admiral. The comte, under
the pretence of preparing his things for a removal, had
retired to his apartment to conceal liis feelings ; — and the
captain of the ship was above, superintending the approach
of the vessel to her anchorage. Two or three well emptied
bottles of wine yet » 'mained ; btit as the healths of all the

420 PRECAUTION.

branches of the House of Brunswick liad been propitiated
from their contents, with a polite remembrance of Louis XVI.
and Marie Antoinette from General Denbigh, neither of the
superiors was much inclined for action.

" Is the Thunderer in her station ?" said the admiral to
the signal lieutenant, who at that moment came below with
a report.

" Yes, sir, and has answered."

•* Very well ; make the signal to prepare to anchor.'*

"Aye, aye, sir."

" And here, Bennet," to the retiring lieutenant — " call the
transports all in shore of us."

"Three hundred and eighty-four, sir," said the officer,
looking at his signal-book.

The admiral cast his eye at the book, and nodded an
assent.

" And let the Mermaid — Flora — Weasel — Bruiser, and al'.
the sloops lie well off, until we have landed the soldiei-s : the
pilot says the channel is full of luggers, and Jonathan has
grown very saucy."

The lieutenant made a complying bow, and was retiring
to execute these o/ders, as Admiral Howell, taking up a
bottle not yet entirely deserted by its former tenant, cried
stoutly — " Here, Bennet — I forgot — take a glass of wine ;
drink success to ourselves, and defeat to the French all over
the world.'*

The general pointed significantly to the adjoining cabin
of the French admiral, as he pressed his hand on nis lips fo
silence.

'• Oh !" cried Admiral Howell, recollecting himself, con
tinuing in a whisper, " you can drink it in your heart,
notwithstanding."

The signal officer nodded, and drank the liquor. As h*

PRECAUTION. 42J

Bmacked his lips while going on deck, he thought to himself,
these nabobs drink famous good wine.

Although the feelings of General Denbigh were under
much more command and disciplined obedience than those
of his friend, yet was he too unusually elated with his return
to home and expected honors. If the admiral had captured
a fleet, he had taken an island ; — and hand in hand they
had co-operated in unusual harmony through the difficulties
of an arduous campaign. This rather singular circumstance
was owing to their personal friendship. From their youth
they had been companions, and although of very different
characters and habits, chance had cemented their intimacy
in more advanced life. While in subordinate stations, they
had been associated together in service ; and the general
and admiral, in command of an army and fleet, had once
before returned to England with less renown, as a colonel
and a captain of a frigate. The great family influencp of
the soldier, with the known circumstance of their harmony,
had procured them this later command, and home, with its
comforts and rewards, was close before them. Pouring out
a glass of Madeira, the general, who always calculated whj*t
he said, exclaimed,

" Peter — we have been friends from boys."

" To be sure we have," said the admiral, looking up in a
little surprise at this unexpected commencement — " and it
will not be my fault if we do not die such, Frederick."

Dying was a subject the general did not much delight in
although of conspicuous courage in the field ; and he pro
'^eeded to his more important purpose —

" I could never find, although 1 have looked over our familjr
tree so often, that we aie in any manner related, Howell."

" I believe it is too late to mend that matter now," said tbe
admiral, musing.

422 PJIE CAUTION.

" Wh}- no — hem — I think not, Howell ; take a glass of
this Burgundy."

The admiral shook his head With a stubborn resolution to
taste nothing French, but he helped himself to a bountiful
Btock of Madeira, as he replied —

" I should like to know how you can bring it about this
time of day, Denbigh."

" How much money will you be able to give that girl of
yoiirs, Peter?" said his friend, evading the point.

" Forty thousand down, my good fellow, and as much
more when I die," cried the open-hearted sailor, with a nod
of exultation.

" George, my youngest son, will not be rich — but Francis
will be a duke, and have a noble estate ; yet," said the gene-
ral, meditating, "he is so unhappy in his disposition and
uncouth in his manners, I cannot think of offering him to
your daughter as a husband."

"Isabel shall marry a good-natured man, like myself, or
not at all," said the admiral, positively, but not in the least
suspecting the drift of his friend, who was influenced by any-
thing but a regard for the lady's liappiness.

Francis, his first born, was, in truth, as he had described ;
but his governing wish was to provide for his favorite
George. Dukes could never want wives, but unportioned
captains in the guai-ds might.

" George is one of the best tempers in the world,'*
Slid his father, with. strong feeling, "and the delight of
us all. I could wish he had been the heir to the family
honors."

" That, it is certainly too lale to help," cried the-adniiral,
wondering if the ingenuity of his friend could devise a remedy
for this evil too.

" Too late, indeed," said the other, with a heavy sigh, " but

rnT.c.\nws. 423

Howell, what say you to matching Isabel with my favorite
George?"

"Denbigh," cried the sailor, eyeing him keenly, "Isabel is
my only child, and a duCiful, good girl ; one that will obey
orders if ^he breaks owners, as we sailors say. Now I did
think of marrying her to a seaman, when a proper man came
athwart my course; yet your son is a soldier, and that is
next to being in the navy: if-so-be you had made him come
aboard me, when I wanted you to, there would have been no
objection at all ; however, when occasion offers, I will over-
haul the lad, and if I find him staunch he may turn in with
Bell and welcome."

This was uttered in perfect simplicity, and with no inten-
Mon of giving offence, partaking partly of the nature of a soli-
loquy ; so the general, greatly encouraged, was about to
push the point, when a gun was fired from their own ship.

""There's some of them lubberly transports won't mind our
signals; they have had these soldiers so long on board, they
get as clumsy as the red-coats themselves," muttered tlu
admiral, hastening on deck to enforce his commands.

A shot or two, sent significantly in the direction of the
wanderers, but so as not to hit them, restored order ; and
within an hour forty line of battle ships and a hundred
transports were disposed in the best manner for convenience
and safety,

, On their presentation to theiu sovereign, both veterans were
embellished with the riband of the Bath ; and as their exploits
filled the mouths of the newsmongers, and the columns of the
public prints of the day, the new knights began to think
more seriously of building a monument to their victories, in a
union between their childie' . The admiral, however, de-
termined to do uothing with Lis eyes^shut, and bo demanded
a scrutiny.

424 PUECAUTION.

" Where is the boy who is to be a diike ?*' exclaimed he,
one day, when his friend had introduced the point with a
view ^o a final arrangement. " Bell has good blood in her
veins — is a tight built little vessel — clean heel'd and trim,
and would make as good a duchess as the best of them ; so,
Denbigh, I will begin by taking a survey of the senior."

To this the general had no objection, as he well knew that
Francis would be wide of pleasing the tastes of an open-
hearted, simple man, like the sailor. They met, accordingly,
for what the general facetiously called the review, and what
the admiral innocently termed his survey, at the house of tue
former, when the young gentlemen were submitted to his
inspection.

Francis Denbigh was about four and twenty, of a feeble
body, and with a face marked with the small-pox, to ap-
proaching deformity; his eye was brilliant and piercing, but
unsettled, and at times wild — his manner awkward, .con-
strained, and timid. There would be seen, it is true, an intelli-
gence and animation, which occasionally lighted his counte-
nance into gleams of sunsliine, that caused you to overlook
the lesser accompaniments of complexion and features in the
expression ; but they were transient, and inevitably vanished
whenever his father spoke or in any manner mingled in his
pursuits.

An observer close as Mrs. "Wilson, would have said that
the feelinjrs of the father and son were not such as ouo-ht t(
exist between parent and child.

But the admiral, who regarded model and rigging a goo«
deal, satisfied himself with muttering, as he tui-ned his eye
on the junior —

" He may do for a duke — but I would not have him for a
cockswain."

Geoige was a year younger than Francis ; in foim, stature,

PRECAUTION. . 42ii

and personal grace, the counterpart of his father ; his eye
was less keen but more atti-active than that of his brother ;
his air open, polished, and manly.

" Ah !" thought the sailor, as he ended a satisfactory sur-
vey of the youth, '• what a thousand pities Denbigh did not
send him to sea !"

The thing was soon settled, and George was to be the
Lappy man. Sir Peter concluded to dine with his friend, in
order to settle prehminaries over the bottle by themselves ;
the young men and their mother being engaged to their uncle
the duke..

" Well, Denbigh," cried the admiral, as the last servant
withdrew, " when do you mean to have the young couple
spliced ?"

"Why," replied the wary soldier, who knew he could not
calculate on obedience to his mandate with as great a cer-
tainty as his friend — " the better way is to bring the young
people together, in order that they may become acquainted,
you know."

*' Acquainted — together — " cried his companion, in a little
surprise, " what better way is there to bring them together,
than to have them up before a priest, or to make them
acquainted by letting them swing in the same hammock ?"

" It might answer the end, indeed," said the general, with
a smile, *' but somehow or other, it is always the best method
to bring young folks together, to let them have their own way
in the affair for a time."

" Own way 1" rejoined Sir Peter, bluntly, " did you ever
find it answer to let a woman have her own way, Sir Fre-
ierick ?"

*' Not common women certainly, my good friend," said the
general, " but such a girl as mv intended daughter is an
exception.''

426 • PRECAUTION.

" I don't know hat," cried the sailor ; " Bell is a good girl,
but she has her quirks and whims Uke all the sex."

" You have had no trouble with Ker as yet, I believe,
Howell," said Sir Frederick cavalierly, throwing an inquiring
glance on his friend at the same time.

" No, not yet — nor do I think she will ever dare to
mutiny ; but there has been one wishing to take her in tow
already since we got in."

" How !" said the other in "alarm, " who — what is he ?
some officer in the navy, I suppose."

" No, he was a kind of chaplain, one Parson Ives, a good
sort of a youth enough, and a prodigious favorite with my
sister, Lady Hawker."

" Well, what did you answer, Peter ?" said his companion
in increasing uneasiness ; " did you put him off?"

" Off ! to be sure I did — do you think I wanted a bar-
ber's clerk for a son-in-law ? No, no, Denbigh ; a soldier is
bad enough, without having a preacher."

The general' compressed his lips at this direct attack on
a profession that he thought the most honorable of any in
the world, in some resentment ; but remembering the eighty
thousand pounds, and accustomed to the ways of the other,
he curbed his temper, and inquired —

" But Miss Howell — your daughter — how did she stand
affected to this priest ?"

" How — why — how ? — why I never asked her."

" Never asked her 1"

*• No, never asked her : she is my daughter, you know,
and bound to obey my orders, and I did not choose she
should marry a parson ; but, once for all, when is the wed-
ding to take place ?"

General Denbigh had indulged his younger son too
blindly and too fondly to expect that implicit obedience the

PRECAUTION. 427

admiral calculated to a certainty on, and with every pros*
pect of not being disappointed, from his daughter. Isabel
Howell was pretty, mild, and timid, and unused to oppose
any of her father's commands ; but George Denbigh was
haughty, positive, and self-willed, and unless the affair could
be so managfed as to make him a willinof assistant in the
courtship, his father knew it might be abandoned at Oiice
He thought his son might be led, but not driven ; and, rely-
ing on his own powers for managing, the general saw his
only safety in executing the scheme was in postponing his
advances for a regular siege to the lady's heart.

Sir Peter chafed and swore at this circumlocution : the
thing could be done as well in a week as in a year; and the
veterans, who, for a miracle, had agreed in their rival sta-
tions, and in doubtful moments of success, were near splitting
on the point of marrying a girl of nineteen.

As Sir Peter both loved his friend, and had taken a pro-
digious fancy to the youth, he however was fain to submit
to a short probation.

" You are always for going a round-about way to do a
thing," said the admiral, as he yielded the point. " Now,
when you took that battery, had you gone up in front, as I
advised you, you "would have taken it in ten minutes, instead
of five hours."

" Yes," said the other, with a friendly shake of the hand
at parting, " and lost fifty men in place of one by the step."

428 PRECAUTIOir.

CHAPTER XLH.

The Honorable General Denbigh was the youngest of
three sons. His seniors, Francis and Georgu, were yet
bachelors. The death of a cousin had nKide Francis a duke
while yet a child, and both he and hk /kvorite brother,
George, had decided on lives of inactivity and sluggishness.

" When I die, brother," the oldest would say, " you will
succeed me, and Frederick can provide heirs for the nam a
hereafter."

This arrangement had been closely adhered to, and the
two elder brothers reached the ages of fifty-five and fifty-six,
without altering their condition. In the mean time, Frederick
married a young, woman of rank and fortune; the fruits of
their union being the two ycung candidates for the hand of
Isabel Howell.

Francis Denbigh, the eldest son of the genei'al, was natu-
rally diffident, and, in addition, it was his. misfortune to be
the reverse of captivating in external appearance. The small-
pox sealed his doom ; — ignorance, and the violence of the
attack, left him indelibly impressed with the ravages of that
dreadful disorder. On the other hand, his brother escaped
without any vestiges of the complaint; and his spotless skin
and fine open countenance, met the gaze of his mother, aftci
the recovery of the two, in striking contrast to the defoi-med
lineaments of his elder brother. Such an occurrence is sure
to excite one of two feelings in the breast of every beholder
— pity or disgust ; and, unhappily for Francis, maternal
tenderness, in his case, was unable to counteract the latter

rvccAUTioN. 429

sfc. jiioD. George become a favorite, and Francis a neutral
Tilt. iS'b 1 was easy to be seen, and it was rapid, as it was

The fo^Sjj^'i, G- Frnnois were sensitive to an extreme. He
hac' more quiciue»s, more sensibility, more real talent' than
George ; whi^h ctiabled hi in to perceive, and caused him to
'feel more acutely, tht partiality of his mother.

As yet, the engag-^ments and duties of the general had
kept his children and their improvements out of his sight ;
but at the ages of eleven and twelve, the feelings of a father,
began to take pride in the possession of his sons.

On his return from a foreign station, after an absence of
two years, his children were ordered from school to meet
him. Francis had improved in stature, but not in beauty ;
George had flourished in both.

The natural diffidence of the former was increased, by
perceiving that he was no favorite, and the effect began to
show itself on manners at no time engaging. He met his
father with doubt, and he saw with asguish, that the embrace
received by his brother much exceeded in warmth that
which liad been bestowed on himself

" Lady Margaret," said the general to his wife, as he fol-
lowed the boys as they retired from the dinner table, with
his eyes, " it is a thousand pities George had not been the
elder. He would have graced a dukedom or a throne.
Frank is only fit for a parson."

This ill-judged speech was uttered sufficiently loud to be
overheard by both the sons: on the younger, it made a
pleasurable sensation for the moment. His father — his dear
father, had thought him fit to be a king ; and his father must
be a judge, whispered his native vanity ; but all this time
the connexion between the speech and his brother*s rights
did not present themselves to his mind. George loved this

4»0 PRECAUTION.

brother too well, too sincerely, to liave injured him even in
thought ; and so far as Francis was concerned, his vanity
was as blameless as it was natural.

The effect produced on the mind of Francis was diflferen
both in substance and in degree. It mortified his pride
alarmed his delicacy, and wounded his already morbid
ensibility to such an extent, as to make him entertain the
romantic notion of withdrawing from the world, and of
yielding a birthright to one so every way more deserving of
it than himself.

From this period might be dated an opinion of Francis's,
which never afterwards left him ; he fancied he was doing
injustice to another, and that other, a brother whom he
ardently loved, by continuing to exist. Had he met with
fondness in his parents, or sociability in his playfellows, these
fancies would have left him as he grew into life. But the
affections of his parents were settled on his more promising
brother ; and his manners daily increasing in their repulsive
traits, drove his companions to the society of others, more
agreeable to their own buoyancy and joy.

Had Francis Denbigh, at this age, met with a guardian
clear-sighted enough to fathom his real character, and com-
petent to direct his onward course, he would yet have become
an ornament to his name and country, and a useful membei
of society. But no such guide existed. His natural guardi
ans, in his particular case, were his worst enemies ; and th*»
L»oys left school for college four years afterwards, each advanc'
ed in his respective properties of attraction and repulsion.

Irreligion is hardly a worse evil ij a family than favorit-
ism. When once allowed to exist, in the breast of the
parent, though hid apparently from all other eyes, its sad
consequences begin to show themselves. Effects are pro-
duced, and we look in vain for the cause. The awakened

PRECAUTION. 431

sympatliies of reciprocal caresses and fondness are mistaken
for uncommoD feelings, and the forbidding aspect of deadened
affections is miscalled native sensibility.
' In this manner the evil increases itself, until manners are
formed, and characters created, that must descend with their
possessor to the tomb.

In the peculiar formation of the mind of Francis Denbigh,
t le evil was doubly injurious. His feelings required sympa-
thy and softness, and they met only with coldness and dis-
gust. George alone was an exception to the rule. He did
love his brother; but even his gaiety and spirits finally
tired of the dull uniformity of the diseased habits of his
senior.

The only refuge Francis found in his solitude, amidst the
hundreds of the university, was in his muse and in the
powers of melody. The voice of his family has been fre-
quently mentioned in these pages ; and if, as Lady Laura
had intimated, there had ever been a siren in the race, it was
a male one. He wrote prettily, and would sing these efforts
of his muse to music of his own, drawing crowds around his
windows, in the stillness of the night, to listen to sounds as
melodious as they were mournful. His poetical efforts par-
took of the distinctive character of the man, being melan-
choly, wild, and sometimes pious.

George was always amongst the most admiring of his
brother's auditors, and would feel a yearning of his heart
/owards him, at such moments, that was painful. But
George was too young and too heedless, to supply the place of
a monitor, or to draw his thoughts into a more salutary train.
Tliis was the duty of his parents, and should have been their
task. But the world, his rising lionors, and his professional
engagements, occupied the time of the father; and fashion,
parties, and pleasure, killed the time of his mother. When

432 PRECAUTION.

fiiey did think of their children, it was of George; the
painful image of Francis being seldom admitted to disturb
their serenity.

George Denbigh was open-hearted without suspicion, and
a favorite. The first quality taxed his generosity, the
second subjected him to fraud, and the third supplied him
with the means. But these means sometimes faited. Th
fortune of the general, though handsome, was not more than
competent to support his style of living. He expected to be
a duke himself one day, and was anxious to maintain an
appearance now that would not disgrace his future elevation.
A system of strict but liberal economy had been adopted in
the case of his sons. They had, for the sake of appearances,
a stated and equal allowance.

The duke had ofiered to educate the heir himself, and
under his own eye. But to this Lady Margaret had found
some ingenious excuse, and one that seemed to herself and
the world honorable to her natural feeling; but had the
offer been made to George, these reasons would have vanished
in the desire to advance his interests, or to gratify his pro-
pensities. Such decisions are by no means uncommon ;
parents having once decided on the merits and abilities of
their children, frequently decline the interference of third
persons, since the impi-ovement of their denounced offspring
might bring their own judgment into question, if it did not
convey an indirect censure on their justice.

The heedlessness of George brought his purse to a state
of emptiness. His last guinea was gone, and two months
were wanting to the end of the quarter. George had played
and been cheated. He had ventured to apply to his mother
for small sums, when his dress or some trifling indulgence
required an advance ; and always with success. But here
were sixty guinea?, gone at a blow, and pride, candor, fo^-

PRECArrioN. 433

bade his concealing the manner of his loss, if he made th«
application. This was dreadful ; his own conscience re-
proached him, and he had so often witnessed the violence of
his mother's resentments against Francis, for faults which
appeared to him very trivial, not to stand in the utmost dread
of her more just displeasure in the present case.

Entering the apartment of his brother, in this disturbed
condition, George threw himself into a chair, and with his
face concealed between his hands, sat brooding over his for
lorn situation.

" George !" said his brother, soothingly, " you are in dis-
tress ; can I relieve you in any way ?"

" Oh no — no — no — Frank ; it is entirely out of your
power."

"Perhaps not, my dear brother," continued the other,
endeavoring to draw his hand into his own.

" Entirely ! entirely !'' said George. Then springing up in
despair, he exclaimed, " But I must live — I cannot die."

" Live 1 die !" cried Francis, recoiling in horror. " What
do you mean by such language ? Tell me, George, am I not
your brother ? Your only brother and best friend ?"

Francis felt he had no friend if George was not that friend,
and his face grew pale while the tears flowed rapidly down his
cheeks.

George could not resist such an appeal. He caught the
hand of his brother and made him acquainted with his losses
and his wants.

Fj-ancis mused some little time over his narration, ere he
broke silence.

" It was all you had V

" The last shilling," cried George, beating his head with
his hand.

** How much will you require to make out the quarter V*
19

434 PRECAUTION.

** Oh 1 must have at least fifty guineas, or how can I live
at all ?"

The ideas of life in George were connected a good deal
with the manner it was to be enjoyed. His brother appeared
sti-uggling with himself, and then turning to the other, con-
tinued,

" But surely, under present circumstances, you could make
less do."

"Less, never — hardly that" — interrupted George, vehe-
mently. " If Lady Margaret did not inclose me a note now
and then, how could we get along at all ? don't you find it
so yourself, brother ?"

"I don't know," said Francis, turning pale —

*' Don't know !" cried George, catching a view of his
altered countenance — " you get the money, though ?"

" I do not remember it," said the other, sighing heavily.

"Francis," cried George, comprehending the truth, "you
shall share every shilling I receive in future — you shall —
indeed you shall."

" Well, then," rejoined Francis with a smile, " it is a bar-
gain ; and you will receive from me a supply in your present
necessities."

Without waiting for an answer, Francis withdrew into an
inner apartment, and brought out the required sum for his
brother's subsistence for two months. George remonstrated,
but Francis was positive ; he had been saving, and his stock
was ample for his simple habits without it.

*' Besides, you forget we are partners, and in the end I
shall be a gainer."

George yielded to his wants and his brother's entreaties,
and he gave him great credit for the disinterestedness of the
act. Several weeks passed without any further allusion to
this disagreeable subject, which bad at least the favorable

PRECAUTION. 435

result of making George more guarded and a better
student.

The brothers, from this period, advanced gradually in
those distinctive qualities which were to mark the future
men ; George daily improving in grace and attraction. Frarj-
cis, m an equal ratio, receding from those very attainments,
which it was his too great desire to possess. In the educa-
tion of his sons, General Denbigh had preserved the appear-
ance of impartiality; his allowance to each was the same:
they were at the same college, they had been at the sam*^
school ; and if Frank did not improve as much as his younge**
brother, it was unquestionably his own obstinacy and stupi*
dity, and surely not want of opportunity or favor.

Such, then, were the artificial and accidental causes, wbic^a
kept a noble, a proud, an acute but a diseased mind, in
acquirements much 'below another every way its inferior,
excepting in the happy circumstance of wanting those very
excellences, the excess and indiscreet management of which
proved the ruin instead of the blessing of their possessor.

The duke would occasionally rouse himself from his
lethargy, and complain to the father, that the heir of his
honors was far inferior to his younger brother in acquire-
ments, and remonstrate against the course which produced
such an unfortunate inequality. On these occasions a super-
ficial statement of his system from the general met the objec-
tion ; they cost the same money, and he was sure he not only
wished but did everything an indulgent parent could, to
render Francis worthy of his future honors. Another evil of
the admission of feelings of partiality, in the favor of one
child, to the prejudice of another, is that the malady is con-
tagious as well as lasting : it exists without our own know-
ledge, and it seldom fails to affect those around us. The
uncle soon learnt to distinguish George as the hope of the

436

PRECAUTION.

family, yet Francis must be the heir of its honors, and con-
sequently of its wealth.

The duke and his brother were not much addicted to
action, hardly to reflection ; but if anything could rouse them
to either, it was the reputation of the house of Denbigh.
Their ideas of reputation, it is true, were of their own forming.

The hour at length drew near when George expected a
suppl}?- from the ill-judged generosity of his mother ; it came,
and with a heart beating with pleasure, the youth flew to the
room of Francis with a determination to force the whole of
his twenty pounds on his acceptance. On throwing open his
door, he saw his brother evidently striving to conceal some-
thing behind his books. It was at the hour of breakfast,
and George had intended for a novelty to share his brother's
morning repast. They always met at dinner, but the other
meals were made in their own rooms." George looked in
vain for the usual equipage of the table ; suspicion flashed
upon him j he threw aside the books, and a crust of bread
and a glass of water met his eye ; the truth now flashed
upon him in all its force.

"Francis, my brother, to what has my extravagance
reduced you !" exclaimed the contrite George with a heart
nearly ready to burst. Francis endeavored to explain, but i»
sacred regard to the truth held him tongue-tied, until drop-
ping his head on the shoulder of George, he sobbed out —

" it is a trifle ; nothing to what I would do for you, my
brother."

George felt all the horrors of remoise, and was much too
generous to conceal his en-or any longer ; he wrote a circum-
stantial account of the whole transaction to Lady Margaret.

Francis for a few days was a new being. He had acted
nobly, his conscience approved of his motives, and of his
delicate concealment of them ; he in fact began to think there

PRECAUTION. 437

were in himself the seeds of usefulness, as his brother, who
from this moment began to understand his character better
attached himself more closely to him.

The eye of Francis met that of George with the look of
acknowledged affection, his mind became less moody, and his
face was sometimes embellished with a smile.

The reply of their mother to the communication of George
threw a damp on the revived hoj)es of the senior, and drove
him back into himself with tenfold humility.

" I am shocked, my child, to find that you have lowered
yourself, and forgot the family you belong to, so much as to
frequent those gambling-houses, which ought not to be suf-
fered in the neighborhood of the universities : when at a
proper age and in proper company, your occasional indul-
gence at cards I could not object to, as both your father and
myself sometimes resort to it as an amusement, but never in
low company. The consequence of mingling in such society
is, that you were cheated, and such will always be your lot
unless you confine yourself to associates more becoming your
rank and illustrious name.

" As to Francis, I see every reason to condemn the course
he has taken. Being the senior by a year, he should have
taken the means to prevent your falling into such company ;
and he should have acquainted me immediately with your
loss, in place of wounding your pride by subjecting you to
the mortification of receiving a pecuniary obligation from one
so little older than yourself, and exposing his own health by
a diet on bread and water, as you wrote me, for a whole
month. Both the general and myself are seriously displeased
with him, and think of separating you, as you thus connive
at each other's follies."

George was too indignant to conceal this letter and the
reflections of Francis were dreadful.

438 PRECAUTION.

For a short time he actually meditated suicide, as the only
method of removing himself from before the advancement of
George. Had not George been more attentive and affec-
tionate than formerly, the awful expedient might have been
resorted to.

From college the young men went, one into the army and
the other to the mansion of his uncle. George became an
elegant, gay, open-hearted, admired captain in the guards ;
and Francis stalked through the halls of his ancestors, their
acknowledged future lord, but a misanthrope ; hateful to
himself and disagreeable to all around him.

This picture may be highly wrought, but the effects, in
the case of Francis, were increased by the peculiar tone of
his diseased state of mind. The indulgence of favoritism,
nevertheless, always brings its own sad consequences, in a
greater or less degree, while it seldom fails to give sorrow
and penitence to the bosom of the parents.

PRECAUTION. 43 J

CHAPTER XLIII.

No little art and management had been necessary to make
the admiral auxiliary to the indirect plan proposed by his
friend to bring George and Isabel together. This, however,
effected, the general turned his whole strategy to the impres-
sion to be made on the heart of the young gentleman.

Sir Frederick Denbigh had the same idea of the virtue
of management as the Dowager Lady Chatterton, but he
undeistood human nature better.

Like a prudent officer, his attacks were all masked, and,
like a great officer, they seldom failed of success.

The young couple were thrown in each other's way, ana
as Isabel was extremely attractive, somewhat the opposite
to himself in ardor of temperament and vivacity, modest, and
sensible, it cannot be expected that the association was
maintained by the youth with perfect impunity. Within a
couple of months he fancied himself desperately in love with
Isabel Howell ; and, in truth, he had some reason for the
Bupposition.

The general watched every movement of his son with a
waiy and vigilant eye — occasionally adding fuel to the
flame, by drawing his attention to projects of matrimony in
other quarters, until George began to think he was soon to
undergo a trial of his constancy, and in consequence he
armed himself with a double portion of admiration for his
Isabel, in order to enable himself to endure the pei-secution ;
while the admiral several times endangered the success of
the whole enterj)rise by Aoluntet^v contributions to the hopes

440 PRECAUTION.

of the young man, which only escaped producing an oppo-
site effect to that which w^as intended, by being mistaken for
the overflowings of good nature and friendship.

After suffering his son to get, as he thought, sufficiently
entangled in the snares of Cupid, Sir Frederick determined
to fire a volley from one of his masked batteries, which he
rightly judged would bring on a general engagement. They
were sitting at the table after dinner, alone, when the general
took the advantage of the name of Miss Howell being acci-
dentally mentioned, to say —

" By the by, George, my friend the admiral said some-
thing yesterday on the subject of your being so much with
his daughter. I wish you to be cautious, and not to give
the old sailor offence in any way, for he is my particular
friend."

" He need be under no violent apprehensions," cried
George, coloring highly with shame and pride, " I am sure
a Denbigh is no unworthy match for a daughter of Sir Peter
Howell."

** Oh ! to be sure not, boy, we are as old a house as
there is in the kingdon, and as noble too ; but the admiral
has queer notions, and, perhaps, he has some cub of a sailor
in his eye for a son-in-law. Be prudent, my boy, be pru-
dent ; that is all I ask of you."

The general, satisfied with the effect he had produced,
carelessly arose from his seat, and joined Lady Margai-et in
her drawing-room.

George remained for several minutes musing on his father's
singular request, as well as the admiral's caution, when he
sprang from his seat, caught up his hat and sword, and in
ten minutes rang at Sir Peter's door in Grosvenor Square.
He was admitted, and ascending to the drawing-room, he
met the admiral on his way out. Nothing was further horn

PRECAUTION. 441

the thoughts of the veteran than a finess6 like the generars ;
and, delighted to see George on the battle-ground, he
pointed significantly over his shoulder towards the door of
the room Isabel was in, and exclaimed, with a good-natured
smile,

" There she is, my hearty ; lay her aside, and hang me if
she don't strike. I say, Geo^-ge, faint heart never won fair
lady : remember that, my boy ; no, nor a French ship."

George would have been at some loss to have reconciled
this. speech to his fatlier's caution, if time had been allowed
him to think at all ; but the door being open he entered,
and found Isabel endeavoring to hide her tears.

The admiral, dissatisfied from the besrinninof with the
tardy method of despatching things, thought he might be
of use in breaking the ice for George, by trumpeting his
praises on divers occasions to his daughter. Under all cir-
cumstances, he thought she might be learning to love the
man, as he was to be her husband ; and speeches like the
following had been frequent of late from the parent to the
child :

" There's that youngster, George Denbigh : now, Bell,
is he not a fine looking lad ? Then I know he is brave.
His father before him was good stuff and a true Englishman,
What a proper husband he would make for a young woman,
he loves his king an,d country so ; none of your new-fangled
notions about religion and government, but a sober, religious
churchman ; that is, as much so, girl, as you can expect ii;
the guards. No Methodist, to be sure ; — it's a great pity he
wasn't sent to sea, don't you think so? But cheer up,
girl, one of these days he may be taking a liking to you
vet."

IsabeJ, whose fears taught her the meaning of these
eloquent praises of Captain Denbigh, listened to these
19*

442 PRECAUTION.

harangues in silence, and often meditated on their import by
herself in tears. -

George approached the sofa on which the lady was seated
before she had time to conceal the traces of her sorrow, and
in a voice softened by emotion, he took her hand gently aa
lie said, —

" What can have occasioned this distress to Miss Howell
If anything in my power to remove, or which a life devoted
to her service can mitigate, she has only to command me to
find a cheerful obedience."

" The trifling causes of sorrow in a young woman," replied
Isabel, endeavoring to smile, " will hardly require such
serious services to remove them."

But the lady was extremely interesting at the moment.
George was goaded by his father's caution, and urged on by
his own feelings, with great sincerity, and certainly much
eloquence, he therefore proffered his love and hand to tliP
acceptance of his mistress.

Isabel heard him in painful silence. She respected hin ,
and dreaded his power over her father ; but, unwilling u)
^baudon hopes to which she yet clung as to her spring of
«xistef»ce^ with a violent effort she determined to throw her-
self on the generosity of her lover.

During her. father's late absence Isabel had, as usual,
since the death of her mother, been left with his sister, and
]y.\d formed an attachment for a young clergyman, a younger
B/j^n .of a baronet, and the present Dr. Ives. The inclination
had t)ee,n mutual ; and as Lady Hawker knew her brother
to be perfectly indifferent to money, she could see no possible
objection to its indulgence.

On his return, Ives made his proposals, as related ; and
although warmly backed by the lecommendations of the
aunt, he was refused. Out of delicacy the wishes of Isabel

PRECAUTION. 443

had not been mentioned hy her clerical lover, and the
admiral supposed he had only comf)li£d with his agreement
with the general, without in any manner affecting the hap-
})iness of his daughter by his answer. But the feelings
which prompted the request still remained in full vigor in
the lovers ; and Isabel now, with many blushes and some
jiesitation of utterance, made George fully acquainted with
the state of her heart, giving him at the same time to under-
stand that he was the only obstacle to her happiness.

It cannot be supposed that George heard her without pain
or mortification. The struggle with self-love was a severe
one, but his better feelings prevailed, and he assured the
anxious Isabel that fiom his importunities she had nothing
to apprehend in future. The grateful girl overwhelmed him
with thanks, and George had to fly ere he repented of his
own generosity.

Miss Howell intimated, in the course of her narrative, that
a better understanding existed between their parents than
the caution of the general had discovered to bis unsuspect-
ing child, and George was determined to know the worst at
once.

At supper he mentioned, as if in remembrance of his
father's injunction, that he had been to take his leave of Miss
Howell, since he found his visits gave uneasiness to her
friends. " On the whole," he added, endeavoring to yawn
careless' u, "I believe I shall visit there no more."

" Nay, nay," returned Sir Frederick, a little displeased at
his son's obedience, " I meant no such thing. Neither the
ndmiral nor myself has the least objection to your visiting
in moderation; indeed, you may marry the girl with all our
hearts, if you can agree."

" But we can't agree, I take it," said George, looking up
at the wall.

444 PRECAUTION.

** Why not ? what hinders 1" cried his father uriguard-
edly.

'♦ Only — only I don't like her," said the son, tossing off a
glass of wine, which nearly strangled him.

" You don't," cried the general with great warmth, thrown
entirely off his guard by this unexpected declaration
" and may I presume to ask the reason why you do not like
Miss Howell, sir ?"

" Oh ! you know, one never pretends to give a reason
for this sort of feeling, my dear sir."

" Then," cried his father with increasing heat^ " you must
allow me to say, my dear sir, that the sooner you get rid of
these sort of feelings the better. I choose you shall not
only like, but love Miss Howell ; and this I have promised
her father."

" I thought that the admiral was displeased with my
coming to his house so much — or did I not understand you
this morning ?"

" I know nothing of his displeasure, and care less. He
has agreed that Isabel shall be your wife, and I have passed
my word to the engagement ; and if, sir, you wish to be
considered as my son, you will prepare to comply."

George was expecting to discover some management on
the part of his father, but by no means so settled an arrange-
ment, and his anger was in proportion to the deception.

To annoy Isabel any further was out of the question ; to
betray her, base ; and the next morning he sought an
audience with the Duke. To him he mentioned his wish
for actual service, but hinted that the maternal fondness of
Lady Margaret was averse to his seeking it. This was true,
and George now pressed his uncle to assist him in effecting
an exchange.

The boroughs of the Duke of Derwent were i^presented

PRECAUTION. 445

by loyal tnembers of parliament, his two brothers being con-
temporary with Mr. Ben field in that honor ; and a request
from a man who sent six members to the Commons, besides
having a seat in the Lords in his own person, must be lis-
tened to.

Within the week George ceased to be a captain in the
guards, and became lieutenant-colonel of a regiment under
orders for America.

Sir Frederick soon became sensible of the error his wai-mth
had led him into, and endeavored, by soothing and indul-
gence, to gain the ground he had so unguardedly lost. But
terrible was his anger, and bitter his denunciations, when
his son acquainted him with his approaching embarkation
with his new regiment for America. They quarrelled; and
ias the favorite child had ne\er, until now, been thwarted or
spoken hai-shly to, they parted in mutual disgust. With his
mother George was more tender ; and as Lady Margaret
never thought the match such as the descendant of two lines
of dukes was entitled to form, she almost pardoned the
offence in the cause.

" What's this here ?" cried Sir Peter Howell, as he ran
over a morning paper at the breakfast table : " Captain Den-
bigh, late of the guards, has been promoted to the Lieutenant-
Colonelcy of the Foot^ and sails to-morrow to join that

regiment, now on its \Vay to America."

'• It's a lie, Bell ! — it's all a lie ! not but what he ought to
be there, too, serving his king and country ; but he nevei
would serve you so."

" Me ?" said Isabel, with a heart throbbing with the con
tending feelings of admiration for George's generosity, and
dehght at her own deliverance. " What 'lave I to do with
the movements of Mr. Denbigh ?"

" What !'' cried iier father in astonishment ; " aVt you to

446 PRECAUTION.

be his wife, a'n't it all agreed upon — that is, between Sir
Frederick and me, which is the same thing, you know — "

Here he was interrupted by the sudden appearance of the
general himself, who had just learLC the departure of his son,
and hastened, with the double purpose of breaking the intel-
ligence to his friend, and of making his own peace.

" See here, Denbigh," exclaimed the admiral, pointing to
the paragraph, " what do you say to that ?"

" Too true — too true, my dear friend," replied the general,
shaking his head mournfully.

" Hark ye, Sir Frederick Denbigh," cried the admiral
fiercely ; *' did you not say that your son George was to marry
my daughter V*

" I certainly did, Sir Peter, and am sorry to say that, in
defiance of my entreaties and commands, he has deserted
his home, and, in consequence, I have discarded him for
ever.'*

" Now, Denbigh," said the admiral, a good deal mollified
by this declaration, " have I not always told you, that in
the army you know nothing of discipline ? Why, sir, if he
was a son of mine, he should marry blindfolded, if I chose
to order it. I wish, now. Bell had an ofifer, and dared to
refuse it."

" There is the barber's clerk, you know," said the general,
a good deal irritated by the contemptuous manner of his
t iend.

" And what of that. Sir Frederick ?" said the sailor
sternly ; *' if I choose her to marry a quill-driver, she shall
comply."

" Ah ! my good friend," said the general, willing to drop
the disagreeable subject, '• I am afraid we shall both find it
more difficidt to control the affections of our children thau
we at first imagined."

piiKnAurroN, 44-7

"You do, General Denbigli ?" Sriid the admiral, with a
curl of contempt on his lip ; and ringing the bell violently,
he bid the servant send his young lady to hi'ni.

On the appearance of Isabel, her father inquired with an
air of settled meaning where young Mr. Ives resided. It was
only in the next street, and a messenger was sent to him,
with Sir Peter Howell's compliments, and a request to see
him without a moment's delay.

" We'll see, we'll see, my old friend, who keeps the
best discipline," muttered the admiral, as he paced up and
down the room, in eager expectation of the return of his
messenger.

The wonderinof o-eneral orazed on his friend, to ascertain if
he was out of his senses. He knew he was quick to decide,
and excessively obstinate, but he did not think him so crazy
as to throw away his daughter in a fit of spleen. It never
occurred to Sir Frederick, however, that the engagement
with himself was an act of equal injustice and folly, because
it was done with more form and deliberation, which, to the
eye of sober reason, would rather make the matter worse.
Isabel sat in trembling suspense for the issue of the scene,
and Ives in a few minutes made his appearance in no little
alarm.

On entering, the admiral addressed him abruptly, by
inquiring if he still wished to marry that girl, pointing to his
daughtti-. The reply was an eager affirmative. Sir Peter
beckoned to Isabel, who approached, covered with blushes;
and her father having placed her hand in that of her lover,
with an air of great solemnity he gave them his blessing.
The young people withdrew to another room at Sir Peter's
request, when he turned to his friend, delighted with his
own decision and authority, and exclaimed,

" There, Fred. Denbigh, that is what T call being minded."

448 pcECArTiox.

The general had [lenetiatioii enough to see that the result
was agreeable to both the young people, a thing he had
long apprehended ; and being glad to get rid of the affair in
any way that did not involve him in a quarrel with his old
comrade, he gravely congratulated the admiral on his good
fortune and retired.

" Yes, yes," said Sir Peter to himself, as he paced up and
down his room, " Denbigh is mortified enough, with his joy,
and felicity, and grand-children. I never had any opinion of
their manner of discipline at all; too much bowing and
scraping. I'm sorry, though, he is a priest; not but what a
priest may be as good a man as another, but let him behave
ever so well, he can only get to be a bishop at the most.
Heaven forbid he should ever get to be a Pope ! After all,
his boys may be admirals if they behave themselves ;" and
he went to seek his daughter, having in imagination manned
her nursery with vice and rear admirals in embryo by the
half dozen.

Sir Peter Howell survived the marriage of his daughter
but eighteen months ; yet that was sufficient time to become
attached to his invaluable son-in-law. Mr. Ives insensibly
led the admiral, during his long indisposition, to a more cor-
rect view of sacred things, than he had been wont to enter-
tain ; and the old man breathed his last, blessing both his
children for their kindness, and with an humble hope of future
happiness. Some time before his death, Isabel, whose con
science had always reproached her with the deception prac
tised on her fatlier, and with the banishment of George fron
his country and home, threw herself at the feet of Sir Peter
and acknowledged her transgression.

The admiral heard her in astonishment, but not in anger.
His opinions of life had sensibly changed, and his great cause
of satisfaction with his new son removed all motives for regret

PRECAUTION. 449

lor anything but for the fate of poor George. With the
noble forbearance and tenderness of the young man to his
daughter, the hardy veteran was sensibly touched ; and his
tutreaties with Sir Frederick made his peace with a father
ah-eady longing for the return of his only hope.

The admiral* left Colonel Denbigh his blessing, and his
favorite pistols, as a remembrance of his esteem ; but he did
not live to see the reunion with his family.

George had soon learnt, deprived of hope and in the midst
of novelty, to forget a passion which could no longer be
prosperous; and two years from his departure returned to
England, glowing in health, and improved in person and
mannei-s by a more extensive knowledge of the world and
mankind.

460

PRSCAUIION.

GHAPTEE XLIY. .

During the lime occupied by the foregoing events, Francis
ijontinued a gloomy inmate of his uncle's house. The duke
and his brother George were too indolent and inactive in their
minds to pierce the cloud that mortification and deadened
affections had drawn around the real character of then
nephew ; and although he was tolerated as the heir, he was
but little loved as a man.

In losing his brother, Francis lost the only human *being
with whom he possessed any sympathies in common; and he
daily drew more and more into himself, in gloomy meditation
on his forlorn situation, in the midst of wealth and expected
lionors. The attentions he received were paid to his rank,
and Francis had penetration enough to perceive it. His visits
to his parents were visits of ceremony, and in time all parties
came to look to their termination with pleasure, as to the dis-
continuance of heartless and forced civilities.

Affection, even in the young man, could not endure,
repulsed as his feelings w^ere, for ever ; and in the course of
three years, if his attachments were not alienated from his
parents, his ardor had become much abated.

It is a dreadful truth, that the bonds of natural affection
can be broken by injustice and contumely; and it is yet
more to be deplored, that when from such causes we loosen
the ties habit and education have drawn around us, a
reaction in our feelings commences ; we seldom cease to love,
bu^ we begin to hate. Against such awful consequences it
IB one of the most solemn duties of the parent to provide iD

PftEOAUTION. <4^1

fceason ; and what surer safeguard is there, than to inculcate
those feehngs which teach the mind to love God, and in so
doing induce love to the whole human family ?

Sir Frederick and Lady Margaret attended the churdh
regularly, repeated the responses with much decency, toasted
the church next to the king, even appeared at the altai-s of
their God, and continued siimers. From such sowings, no
good fruit could be expected to flourish : yet Francis was
not without his hours of devotion ; but his religion was, like
himself, reserved, superstitious, ascetic, and gloomy. He
never entered into socialworship : if he prayed it was with
an ill-concealed wish to end this life of care. If he returned
thanks, it was with a bitterness that mocked the throne
"before which he was prostrate. Such pictures are i-evolting ;
but their originals have and do exist ; for what enormity is
there of which human frailty, unchecked by divine assistance,
raay not be guilty ?

Francis received an invitation to visit a brotner of his mo-
ther's at his seat in the country, about the time of the
expected return of George from America ; and in compli-
ance with the wishes of his uncles he accepted it. The house
was thronged with visitors, and many of them were ladies.
To these, the arrival of the unmarried heir of the house of
Derwent was a subject of no little interest. His character
had, however, preceded him, and a few days of his awkward
and, as they conceived, sullen deportment, drove them back
to their former beaux, with the exception of one ; and she was
not only amongst the fairest of the throng, but decidedly of the
highest pretensions on the score of birth and for'tune.

Marian Lumley was the only surviving child of the last
Duke of Annerdale, with whom had expired the higher
honors of his house. But the Earldom of Penlennyss, with
uuraerous ancient baronies, were titles in fee ; and together

452 PRECAUTION.

with his princely estates had descended to his daughter aa
heir-general of the family. A peeress in her own right, with
an income far exceeding her utmost means of expenditure,
the lovely Countess of Pendennyss was a prize aimed at by
all the young nobles of the empire.

Educated in the midst of flatterers and dependants sha
had become haughty, vain, and supercilious; still she was
lovely, and no one knew better how to practise the most win-
ning arts of her sex, when whim or interest prompted her to
the trial.

Her host was her guardian and relative ; and through his
agency she had rejected, at the age of twenty, numerous
suitors for her hand. Her eyes were fixed on the ducal
coronet ; and unfortunately for Francis Denbigh, he was, At
the time, the only man of the proper age who could elevate
her to that enviable distinction in the kingdom ; and an indi-
rect measure of her own liad been the means of his invita-
tion to the country.

Like the rest of her young companions, Marian was greatly
disappointed on the view of her intended captive, and for a
day or two she abandoned him to his melancholy and him-
self. But ambition was her idol ; and to its powerful rival,
love, she was yet a stranger. After a few struggles with her
inclinations the consideration that their united fortunes and
family alliances would make one of the wealthiest and most
powerful houses in the kingdom, prevailed. Such early sa
orifices of the inclinations in a woman of her beauty, youth
and accomplishments, may excite surprise; but where the
mind is left uncultivated by the hand of care, the soul un-
touched by the love of goodness, the human heart seldom
fails to set up an idol of its own to worship. In the Coun-
tess of Pendennyss this idol was pride.

The remainder of the ladies, from ceasing to wonder at the

PRECAtJTlOK. 453

manners of Francis, had made them the subject of theif
mirth ; and nettled at his apparent indifference to their soci-
ety, which they erroneously attributed to his sense of his
importance, they overstepped the bounds of good-breeding
in manifesting their displeasure.

" Mr. Denbigh," cried one of the most thoughtless and
pretty of the gay tribe to him one day, as Francis sat in a
corner abstracted from the scene around him, " when do you
mean to favor the world with your brilliant ideas in the
shape of a book ?"

" Oh ! no doubt soon," said a second ; " and I expect they
will be homilies, or another volume to the Whole Duty of
Man."

" Rather," cried a third, with bitter irony, " another canto
to the Rape of the Lock, his ideas are so vivid and full of
imagery."

"Or, what do you think," said a fourth, speaking in a voice
of harmony, and tones of the most soothing tenderness, " of
pity and compassion, for the follies of those inferior minds,
who cannot enjoy the reflections of a good sense and modesty
peculiarly his own ?"

This might also be irony ; and Francis thought it so; but
the tones were so soft and conciliating, that with a face pale
with his emotions, he ventured to look up and met the eye of
Marian, fixed on him in an expression that changed his death-
like hue into the color of vermillion.

He thought of this speech ; he reasoned on it ; he dreamt
on it. But for the looks which accompanied it, like the rest
of the party, he would have thought it the cruellest cut of
them all. But that look, those eyes, that voice, what a com-
mentary on her language did they not afford !

Francis was not long in suspense ; the next morning an
excursion was proposed, which included all but himself in its

4)54 pr«P'^Ut;k>Ni

arrangements. He was either too reserved or too proud to
offer services whicii were not required.

Several gentlemen had contended for the honor of driving
the counters in a beautiful phaeton of her own. They grew
earnest in their claims: one had been promised by its mis-
tress with an opportunity of trying the ease of the carriage;
another was deliofhted with the excellent training of her
horses ; in short, all had some particular claim to the dis-
tinction, which was urged with a warmth and pertinacity
proportionate to the value of the prize to be obtained. Ma-
rian heard the several claimants with an ease and indifference
natural to her situation, and ended the dispute by say-
ing—

''Gentlemen, as I have made so many promises from the
dread of giving offence, I must throw myself on the mercy
of Mr. Denbigh, who alone, with the best claims, does not
urge them; to you then," continued she, approaching him
with the whip which was to be given the victor, '* I adjudge
the prize, if you will condescend to accept it."

This was uttered with one of her most attractive smiles,
and Francis received the whip with an emotion that he with
difficulty could control*

The gentlemen were glad to have the contest decided by
adjudging the prize to one so little dangerous, and the ladies
sneered at her choice as they left the house.

There was something so soothing in the manners of Lady
Tendennyss, she listened to the little he said with such a
respectful attention, was so anxious to have him give his
opinions, that the unction of flattery, thus sweetly applied,
and for the first time, could not fail of its wonted effects.

The Communications thus commenced were continued. I
WAS so easy to be attentive, by being simply polite to one
unused to notice of any kind, that Marian found the fate of the

PRECAUTION. 455

young man in her hands almost as soon as she attempted to
control it.

A new existence opened upon Francis, as day after day
she- insensibly led him to a display of powers he was uncon-
scious until now of possessing himself. His self-respect
began to increase, his limited pleasures to multiply, and he
could now look around him with a sense of participation in
t'je delights of life, as he perceived himself of conscijuence to
this much admired woman.

Trifling incidents, managed on her part with consummate
art, had led him to the daring inference that he was not
entirely indifferent to her; and Francis returned the incipient
affection of his mistress with a feeling but little removed from
adoration. Week flew by after week, and still he lingered
at the residence of his kinsman, unable to tear himself from
the society of one so worshipped, and yet afraid to take a
step by making a distinct declaration which might involve
nim in disgrace or ridicule.

The condescension of the countess increased, and she had
indirectly given him the most flattering assurances of his
success, when George, just anived from America, having first
paid his greetings to his reconciled parents, and the happy
couple of his generosity, flew to the arms of his brother in
Suffolk.

* Francis was overjoyed to see George, and George de-
Ighted in the visible improvement of his brother. Still
i-'rancis was far, veiy far behind his junior in graces of mind
and body ; indeed, few men in England were more adapted
by nature and education for female society than was Colonel
Dt-nbigh at the period of which we write.

Marian witnessed all his attractions, and deei)ly felt their
influence; for the first time she felt the emotions of the
gentle passion ; and after having sported in the gay world,

456 PRECAUTION.

find trifled with*the feelings of others for years, the countess
in her turn became an unwilling victim to its power. George
met her flame with a corresponding ardor, and the struggle
between ambition and love became severe ; the brothers
unconsciously were rivals.

Had George for a moment suspected the situation of the
feelings of Francis, his very superiority in the contest would
have induced him to retreat from the unnatural rivalry.
Had the elder dreamt of the views of his junior, he would
have abandoned his dearest hopes in utter despair. Francis
had so long been accustomed to consider George as his
superior in everything, that a competition with him would
have appeared desperate. Marian contrived to keep both
in hopes, undecided herself which to choose, and perhaps
ready to yield to the first apphcant. A sudden event,
however, removed all doubts, and decided the fate of the
three.

The Duke of Derwent and his bachelor brother became
so dissatisfied with the character of their future heir, that
they as coolly set about providing themselves with wives as
they had performed any other ordinary transaction of life.
They married cousins, and on the same day the choice of
the ladies was assigned between them by lots ; and if his
grace got the prettier, his brother certainly got the richest ;
under the circumstances a very tolerable distribution of for-
tune's favors.

These double marriages dissolved the charm of Francis,
and Lady Pendennys.s determined to consult her wishes ; a
httle pointed encouragement brought out the declaration of
George, and he was accepted.

Francis, who had never communicated his feelings to any
one but the lady, and that only indirectly, was crushed by
the blow. He continued in public until the day of their

rn EC ACTION. 457

union ; was present, composed and silent ; but it was the
silence of a mountain whose volcanic contents had not
reached the surface. The same day he disappeared, and
every inquiiy after him proved fruitless ; search was baffled,
and for seven years it was not known what had become of
the general's eldest son.

George on marrying resigned his commission, at the
earnest entreaties of his wife, and retired to one of her seats,
to the enjoyment of ease and domestic love. The countess
was enthusiastically attached to him ; and as motives for the
indulgence of coquetry were wanting, hor character became
gradually improved by the contemplation of the excellent
qualities of her generous husband.

A lurking suspicion of the cause of Francis's sudden
disappearance rendered her uneasy at times ; but Marian
was too much beloved, too happy, in the enjoyment of too
many honors, and of too great wealth, to be open to the
convictions of conscience. It is in our hours of pain and
privation that we begin to feel its sting : if we are prosper-
ous, we fancy we reap the fruits of our own merit ; but if
we are unfortunate, the voice of truth seldom fails to
remind us that we are deserving of our fate: — a blessed
provision of Providence that often makes the saddest hours
of our earthly career the morn of a day that is to endure for
ever.

General Denbigh and Lady Margaret both died within
five years of the marriage of their favorite child, although
both lived to see their descendant, in the person of the
infant Lord Lumley.

The duke and his brother George were each blessed with

offspring, and in these several descendants of the different

branches of the family of Denbigh may be seen the different

personages of our history. On the birth of her youngest

20

458 PRECAUTIOX.

child, the Lady Marian, the Countess of Pendennyss sustained
a* shock in her health from which she never wholly reco-
vered : she became nervous, and lost most of her energy both
of mind and body. Her husband was her solace ; his tender-
ness remaining unextinguished, while his attentions increased.

As the fortune of Ives and Isabel put the necessity of a
living out of the question, and no cure offering for the accep-
tance of the first, he was happy to avail himself of an offer
to become domestic chaplain to his now intimate friend, Mr.
Denbigh. For the first six years they were inmates of Pen-
dennyss Castle. The rector of the parish was infiim, and
averse to a regular assistant ; but the unobtrusive services
of Mr. Ives were not less welcome to the pastor than to his
parishioners.

Employed in the duties which of right fell to the incum-
bent, and intrusted with the spiritual guardianship of the
dependants of the castle, our young clergyman had ample
occupation for all his time, if not a sufficient theatre for his
usefulness. Isabel and himself remained the year round in
Wales, and the first dawnings of education received by Lord
Lumley were those he acquired conjointly with Francis from
the care of the latter's father. They formed, with the inter-
val of the time spent by Mr. Denbigh and Lady Pendennyss
in town in winter, but one family. To the gentleman, the
attachment of the grateful Ives was as strong as it was
lasting. Mrs. Ives never ceased to consider him as a self-
devoted victim to her happiness ; and although a far more
brilliant lot had awaited him by the change, yet her own
husband could not think it a more happy one.

The birth of Lady Marian had already, in its consequences,
begun to throw a gloom round the domestic comforts of
Denbio-h, when he was to sustain another misfortune in a
Eepnration from liis fiiends.

PRECAUTION. 45!|

Mr., now Dr. Ives, had early announced Tiis firm intention,
whenever an opportunity was afforded him, to enter intn
the fullest functions of his ministry, as a matter of duty

Such an opportunity now offered at B , and the doctor

became its rector ab(>ut the period Sir Edward became pos-
sessor of his paternal estate.

Denbigh tried every inducement within his power to keep
the doctor in his own society. If as many thousands as his
living Avould give him hundreds could effect it, they would
have been at his service ; but Denbigh understood the
character of the divine too well to offer such an induce-
ment : he however urged the claims of friendship to the
utmost, but without success. The doctor acknowledged the
hold both himself and family had gained upon his aftections,
but he added —

" Consider, my dear Mr. Denbigh, what we would have
thought of one of the earlier followers of our Saviour, who
from motives of convenience or worldly-mindedness could
have deserted his sacred calling. Although the changes in
the times may have rendered the modes of conducting them
different, . necessarily the duties remain the same. The
minister of our holy religion who has once submitted to the
call of his divine Master, must allow nothing but ungovern-
able necessity to turn him from the path he has entered on ;
nnd should he so hr forget himself, I greatly fear he would
plead, when too late to remedy the evil, his worldly duties,
his cares, or even his misfortunes, in vain. Solemn and
arduous are his obligations to labor, but when faithfully
he has discharged these duties, oh ! how glorious must be
his reward."

Before such opinions every barrier must fjill, and the
doctor entered into the cure of his parish without further
opposition, though not without unceasing regret- on the

i\i\0 PRECAUTION..

tmrt of his friend. Their intercourse was, however, main-
^lined by letter, and they also frecjuently met at Lumley
Castle, a seat of the countess's, within two days' ride of the
doctor's parish, until her ihcreasing indisposition rendered
journeying impossible ; then, indeed, the doctor extended
Lis rides into Wales, but with longer intervals between his
visits, though with the happiest effects to the objects of his
journey.

Mr. Denbigh, worn down with watching and blasted
hopes, under the direction of the spiritual watchfulness of
the rector of B — ^, became an humble, sincere, and piou«
OhristiaiL

PBKOAUTION. 461

CHAPTER XLV.

It has been already mentioned, that the health of Lady
Pendennyss suffered 9, severe shock, in giving birth to a
daughter. Change of sceae was prescribed as a remedy for
her disorder, and Denbigh and his wife were on their return
from a fruitless excursion amongst the northern lakes, in
pursuit of amusement and relief for the latter when they
were compelled to seek shelter from the fury of a sudden
gust in the first building that offered. It was a farm-house
of the better sort ; and the attendants, carriages, and
appearance of their guests, caused no little confusion to its
simple inmates. A fire was lighted in the best parlor, and
every effort was made by the inhabitants to contribute to
the comforts of the travellers.

The countess and her husband were sitting in that kind of
listless melancholy which had been too much the companion
of their later hours, when in the interval of the storm, a
male voice in an adjoining room commenced singing the
following ballad, the notes being low, monotonous, but
unusually sweet, and the enunciation so distinct, as to rende
every syllable intelligible :

Oh ! I have Hved in endless pain.
And I have lived, alas I in vain,

For none regard my woe —
No father's care conveyed the truth,
No mother's fondness blessed my youth.

Ah ! joys too great to know —

Ib2 PRECAUTION".

And Marian's love, and Marian's pride,
Have crushed the heart that would have died.

To save my Marian's tears —
A brother's hand has struck the blow
Oh 1 may that brother never know

Such madly sorrowing years 1

But hush my griefs — and hush my song,
I've mourned in vain — I've mourned too loD^

When none have come to soothe —
And dark's the patli, that lies before,
And dark have been the days of yore,

And all was dark in youth.

Tlie maids employed around the person of their comfort-
less mistress, the val^t of Denbigh engaged in arranging a
dry coat for his master — all suspended their employments
to listen in breathless silence to the mournful melody of the
song.

But Denbigh himself had started from his seat at the
first notes, and he continued until the voice ceased, gazing
in vacant horror in the direction of the sounds. A door
opened from the parlor to the room of the musician ; he
rushed through it, and there, in a kind of shed to the-
building, which hardly sheltered him from the fury of the
tempest, clad in the garments of the extremest poverty,
with an eye roving in madness, and a body rocking to and
fro from mental inquietude, he beheld seated on a stone,
the remains of his long lost brother, Francis.

The language of the song was too plain to be misunder
stood. The truth glared around George with a violenc
that dazzled his brain ; but he saw it all, he felt it all, and
rushing to the feet of his brother, he exclaimed in horror;
pressing his hands between his own, —

"Francis — my own brother — do yoi? not know me?"

PRKCAUTIOX. 4G3

The maniac regarded him with a vacant gaze, but the
oice and the person recalled the compositions of his more
reasonable moments to liis recollection ; jmshing back the
hair of George, so as to expose his fine forehead to view, he
contemplated him for a few moments, and then continued
ty sing, in a voice still rendered sweeter than before hy his
fciint impressions :

His raven locks, that riehlj curled,
His eye, that proud defiance hurled.

Have stol'n my Marian's love 1
Had I been blest by nature's grace,
With such a forni, with such a face,

Could I so treacherous prove ? ^

And what is man — and what is care-
That he should let such passions tear

The bases of the soul ?
Oh ! you should do, as I have done —
And having pleasure's summit won.

Each bursting sob control !

On ending the last stanza, the maniac released his brother,
and broke into the wildest lau^fh of madness.

" Francis !-^0h ! Francis, my brother," cried George, m
bitterness. A piercing shriek drew his eye to the' door he
had passed through — on its threshold lay the senseless
body of his wife. The distracted husband foi-got everything
in the situation of his Marian, and raising her in his arms,
he exclaimed, —

" j\[arian — my Marian, revive — look up — know me."

Francis had followed him, and now stood by his side,
gazing intently on the Hfeless body; his looks became more
soft — his eye glanced less wildly — he too cried, —

** Marian — My Marian."

464 PRECAUTION.

There was a mighty effort j nature could endure no more,
he broke a blood-vessel and fell at the feet of George. They
flew to his assistance, giving the countess to her women; but
he was dead.

For seventeen years Lady Pendennyss survived this shock :
but having reached her own abode, during that long period
she never left her room.

In the confidence of his surviving hopes, Doctor Ives and
his wife were made acquainted with the real cause of the
grief of their friend, but the truth went no further. Denbigh
was the guardian of his three young cousins, the duke, his
sister, and young George Denbigli ; these, with his son,
Lord Lumley, and daughter. Lady Maiian, were removed
from the melancholy of the Castle to scenes better adapted
to their opening prospects in life. Yet Lumley was fond of
the society of his father, and finding him a youth endowed
beyond his years, the care of his parent was early turned to
the most important of his duties in that sacred office ; and
when he yielded to his wishes to go into the army, he knew
he went a youth of sixteen, possessed of principles and self-
denial that w^ould become a man of five-and-twenty.

General Wilson completed the work which the father had
begun ; and Lord Lumley formed a singular exception to the
character of most of his companions.

At the close of the Spanish war, he returned home,
and was just in time to receive the partinj^ breath of his
mother,

A few days before her death, the countess requested that
her children might be made acquainted with her history and
misconduct; and she placed in the hands of her son a letter,
with directions for him to o])en it after her decease. It was
addressed to both children, and after recapitulating'generally
the principal events of hei- life, continued :

PRECAUTION. 465

*'Thu6, my chiUi«n, you perceive the consequences of
indulgence and hardness of heart, which made me insensible
to the Eud"erings of others, and regardless of the plainest dic-
tates of justice. Self was my idol. The love of admiration,
which was natural to me, was increased by the flatterers who
surrounded me ; and had the customs of our country suffered
royalty to descend in their unions to a grade in life below
their own, your uncle would have escaped the fangs of xny
baneful coquetry.

'' Oh ! Marian, my child, never descend so low as to prac-
tise those arts which have degraded your unhappy mother.
I would impress on you, as a memorial of my parting affec-
tion, these simple truths — that coquetry stands next to the want
of chastity in the scale of female vices ; it is in fact a kind of
mental prostitution ; it is ruinous to all that delicacy of
feeling which gives .added lustre to female charms ; it is
almost destructive to modesty itself. A woman who has
been addicted to its practice, may strive long and in vain to
regain that singleness of heart, which can bind her up so
closely in her husband and children as to make her a good
wife or a mother ; and if it should have degenerated into
habit, it may lead to the awful result of infidelity to her mar-
riage vows.

*' It is vain for a coquette to pretend to religion ; its prac-
tice involves hypocrisy, falsehood, and deception — everything
that is mean — everything that is debasing. In short, as it
Is bottomed on selfishness and pride, where it has once pos-
sessed the mind, it will only yield to the truth-displaying
banners of the cross. This, and this only, can remove the evil ;
for without it she, whom the charms of youth and beauty
have enabled to act the coquette, will descend into the vale
of life, altered, it is true, but not amended. She will find the
world, with its allurements, clinging around her parting years,
20*

466 PRECAUTION.

in vain regrets for days that are flown, and in mercenary
views for her descendants. Heaven bless you, my children ,
console and esteem your inestimable father while he yet
remains with you; and place your reliance on that Heavenly
Parent who will never desert those who seek him in sincerty
and love. Your dying mother, " M. Pendenxyss."

This letter, evidently written under the excitement of deep
remorse, made a great impression on both her children. In
Lady Marian it Avas pity, regret, and abhorrence of the fault
which had been the principal cause of the wreck of her jno-
ther's peace of mind ; but in her brother, now Earl of Pen-
dennyss, these feelings weie united with a jealous dread of
his own probable lot in the chances of matrimony.

His uncle had been the supposed heir to a more elevated
title than his own, but he was now the actual possessor of as
honorable a name, and of much larger revenues. The great
wealth of his maternal grandfather, and the considerable
estate of his own father, were, or would soon be, centred in
himself; and if a woman as amiable, as faultless, as affection
had taught him to believe his mother to be, could yield in
her situation to the lure of worldly honors, had he not great
reason to dread, that a hand might be bestowed at some day
upon himself, when the heart would point out some other
destination, if the i*eal wishes of its owner were consulted ?

Pendennyss was modest by nature, and humble froni prin-
ciple, though by no means disti'ustful ; yet the shock of dis-
covering his mother's fault, the gloom occasioned by her
'■'eath and his father's declining health, sometimes led him
into a ti-ain of reflections which, at others, he would have
fervently deprecated.

A short time after the decease of the countess, Mr. Den-
bigh, finding his constitution fast giving way, under the

PRECAUTION. 407

wasting of a decline he had been in for a year, resolved to
finish his days in the abode of his Christian friend, Doctor
Ives. For several years they had not met ; increasing duties
and infirmities on both sides having interrupted their
visits.

By easy stages he left the residence of his son in Wales,
and accompanied by both his children he reached Lumley
Castle much exhausted; here he took a solemn and final
leave of Marian, unwilling that she should so soon witness
again the death of another parent, and dismissing the earl's

equipage and attendants a short day's ride from B , they

proceeded alone to the rectory.

A letter had been forwarded acquainting the doctor of his
approaching visit, wishing it to be perfectly private, but not
alluding to its object, and naming a day, a week later than
the one on which he ariived. This plan was altered on per*
ceiving the torch of life more rapidly approaching the socket
than he had at first supposed. His unexpected appearance
and reception are known. Denbigh's death and the depar-
ture of his son followed ; Francis having been Pendennyss's
companion to the tomb of his ancestors in Westmoreland.

The earl had a sh linking delicacy, under the knowledge of
his family history, that made him anxious to draw all eyes
from the contemplation of his mother's conduct ; how far the
knowledge of it had extended in society he could not know,
but he wished it buried withh-r in the tomb. The peculiar
manner of his fathei's death would attract notice, and might
recall attention to the prime cause of his disorder ; as yet all
was veiled, and he wished the doctor's family to let it lemain
so. It was, however, impossible that the death of a man of
Mr. Denbigh's rank should be unnoticed in the prints, and the
care of Francis dictated the simple truth without comments,
as it appeared. As regarded the Mo&eleys, what was more

468 PRECAUTION.

natural than that the son of Mr. Denbigh should also be Mr,
Denbigh /

In the presence of the rector's family no allusions were
made to their friends, and the villagers. and the neighbor-
hood spoke of them as old and young Mr. Denbigh.

The name of Lord Lumley, now Earl of Pendennyss, was
known to the whole British nation ; but the long retirement
of his father and mother had driven them almost from the
recollection of their friends. Even Mi-s. Wilson supposed
her favorite hero a Lumley. Pendennyss Castle had been
for centuries the proud residence of that family ; and the
change of name in its possessor was forgotten with the cir-
cumstances that had led to it.

When, therefore, Emily met the earl so unexpectedly the
second time at the rectory, she, of course, with all her com-
panions, spoke of him as Mr. Denbigh. On that occasion,
Pendennyss had called in person, in expectation of meeting
his kinsman, Lord Bolton ; but, finding him absent, he could
not resist his desire to visit the rectory. Accordingly, he
sent his carriage and servants on to London, leaving them at
a convenient spot, and arrived on foot at the house of Dr.
Ives. From the same motives which had influenced hini
before — a wish to indulge, undisturbed by useless ceremony,
his melancholy reflections — he desired that his name miglit
not be mentioned.

This was an easy task. Both Doctor and Mrs. Ives had
called him, when a child, George or Lumley, and were
unused to his new appellation of Pendennyss; indeed, it
rather recallt-d painful recollections to them all.

It may be remembered that circumstances removed the
necessity of any introduction to Mrs. Wilson and h^r party ;
and the difficulty in that instance was happily got rid of.

The earl had often heaid Emily Moseley spokep pf hy

PRECAUTION. 4(J9

his friends, aiad in tlieir leiters tliey frequently mentioned
her name as connected with their pleasures and" employments,
and always with an affection Peiidennj^ss thought exceeding
that which they manifested for their son's wife ; and Mrs
Ives, the evening before, to remove unpleasant thoughts, had
given him a hvely descripiion of her person and character.
The earl's curiosity had been a little e>^cited to see this
paragon of female beauty and virtue ; and, unlike mosj
cuiiosity on such subjects, he was agreeably disappointed bv
the examination. He wished to know more, and made iute
rest with the doctor to assist him to continue the incognito
with which accident had favored him.

The doctor objected on the ground of principle, and the
earl desisted ; but the beauty of Erriily, aided by her cha-
racter, had made an im[)ression not to be easily shaken off,
and Pehdennyss returned to the charge.

His former jealousies were awakened in piopoition to his
adnnration ; and, after some time, he threw himself on the
mercy of the divine, by declaring his new motive, but with-
out mentioning his parents. The doctor pitied liim, for he
scanned his feelings thoroughly, and consented to keep silent,
but laughingly declared it was bad enough for a divine to be
accessoiy to, much less aiding in a deception ; and that he
knew if Emily and Mrs. Wilson learnt his imposition, ho
would lose giound in their favor by the discovery.

" Surely, George," said the doctor with a laugh, " you
don't mean to marry the young lady as Mr. Denbigh ?"

" Oh, no ! it is too soon to think of marrying her at all,
replied the earl with a smile ; " but, somehow, I should like
to see what my reception in the woild will be as plain Mr.
Denbigh, unprovided for and unknown."

"No doubt, my lord." said the rector archly, "in pro-
portion to your meiits, very unfavorably indeed; but thcD

470 PRECAUTION.

your humilit) will be jfinally elevated by the occasional
praises I have heard Mrs. Wilson lavish on your proper cha-
racter of late."

" I am much indebted to her partiality," continued the
earl mournfully ; then throwing off his gloomy thoughts he
added, "I yvonder, my dear doctor, your goodness did not
s t her right in the latter particular."

" Why, she has hardly given me an opportunity ; delicacy
and my own feelings have kept me very silent on the sub-
ject of your family to any of that connexion. They think, 1
believe, I was a rector in Wales, instead of your father's
chaplain ; and somehow," continued the doctor, smiling on
his wife, "the association with your late parents was so
connected in my mind with my most romantic feelings, that
although I have delighted in it, I have seldom alluded to it
in conversation at all. Mrs. Wilson has spoken of 'you but
twice in my hearing, and that since she has expected to
meet you; your name has doubtless recalled the remem-
brance of her husband."

" I have many, many reasons to remember the general
with gratitude," cried the earl with fervor ; " but doctor,
do not forget my incognito : only call me George ; I ask no
more."

The plan of Pendennyss was put in execution. Day after
day he lingered in Northamptonshire, until his principles and
character had grown upon the esteem of the Moseleys in the
manner we have mentioned.

His frequent embarrassments were from the dread and
shame of a detection. With Sir Herbert Nicholson he had a
narrow escape, and Mrs. Fitzgerald and Lord Henry Staple-
ton he of coui'se avoided ; for having gone so fai-, he was
determined to iicrseveie to the end. Egerton he thought
knew him, and he disliked his character and roanneis.

PUECAI'TION-. 47?

When Chattertoii appeared inost attentive to Emily, tii .
candor and good opinion of that young nobleman made tlie
earl acquainted with his wishes and his situation. Penden-
nyss Wiis too generous not to meet his lival on fair grounds.
His cousin and the duke were requested to use their united
influence secretly to obtain the desired station for the baron.
The result is known, and Pendennyss trusted his secret to
Chatterton; he took him to London, gave him in charge to
Dervvent, and returned to prosecute his own suit. Ilis note
from Bolton Castle was a ruse to conceal his character, as
he knew the departure of the baronet's family to an hour,
and had so timed his visit to the earl as not to come in
collision with the Moseleys.

" Indeed, my lord," cried the doctor to him one day,
" your scheme goes on swimmingly, and I am only afraid when
your mistress discovers the imposition, you will find youi
rank producing a, different effect from what you have appr^t
bended."

472 PRECAUTION.

CHAPTER XLYL

But Dr. Ives was mistaken. Had he seen the sparkling
eyes and glowing cheeks of Miss Moseley, the smile of satis
faction and happiness which played on the usually thought-
ful face of Mrs. Wilson, when the earl handed them into his
own carriage, as they left his house on the evening of the
discovery, the doctor would have gladly acknowledged the
failure of his prognostics. In truth, there was no possi-
ble event that, under the circumstances, could have given
both aunt and niece such heartfelt pleasure, as the know-
ledge that Denbigh and the earl were the same person.

Pendennyss stood holding the door of the carriage in his
hand, irresolute how to act, when Mrs. Wilson said —

" Surely, my lord, you sup with us."

"A thousand thanks, my dear madam, for the privilege,"
cried the earl, as he sprang into the coach ; the door was
closed, and they drove off.

" After the explanations of this morning, my lord," said
Mrs. Wilson, willing to remove all doubts between him and
Emily, and perhaps anxious to satisfy her own curiosity, " it
will be fastidious to conceal our desire to know more of yoo.
movements. How came your pocket-book in the possessioi
of Mrs. Fitzgerald ?"

"Mrs. Fitzgerald!" cried Pendennyss, in astonishment
*'I lost the book in one of the rooms of the Lodge, and sup-
posed it had fallen into your hands, and betrayed my dis-
guise by Emily's rejection of me, and your own altered eye.
Was 1 mistaken then in both 2"

PRECAUTION. 473

Mrs. "Wilson now, for the first time, explained their real
grounds for refusing his offers, which, in the morning, she
had loosely mentioned as owing to a misapprehension of his
just character, and recounted the manner of the book falling
into the hands of Mrs. Fitzgerald.

The earl listened in amazement, and after musing with
liimself, exclaimed —

" I remember taking it from my pocket, to show Colonel
Egerton some singular plants I had gathered, and think 1
first missed it when returning to the place where I had then
laid it ; in some of the side-pockets were letters from Marian,
addressed to me, properly; and I naturally thought they had
met your eye."

Mrs. Wilson and Emily immediately thought Egerton the
real villain, who had caused both themselves and Mrs. Fitz-
gerald so much uneasiness, and the former mentioned her
suspicions to the earl.

" Nothing more probable, dear madam," cried he, " and
this explains to me his startled looks when we first met, and
his evident dislike to my society, for he must have seen my
person, though the carriage hid him from my sight."

That Egerton was the wretch, and that through his
agency the pocket-book had been carried to the cotiage, they
all now agreed, and turned to more pleasant subjects.

" Master ! — here — master," said Peter Johnson, as he stood
at a window of Mr. Benfield's room, stirring a gruel for the
old gentleman's supper, and stretching his neck and strain-
ing his eyes to distinguish objects by the light of the lamps
— " I do think there is Mr. Denbigh, handing Miss Emmy
from a coach, covered with gold, and two footmen, all dizen-
ed with pride like."

The spoon fell from the hands of Mr. Benfield. He rose
briskly from his seat, and adjusting his dress, took the ai-*«

474 PRECAUTION.

of the steward, and proceeded to the drawing-room. While
these several movements were in operation, which consumed
Bome time, the old bachelor relieved the tedium of Peter's
impatience by the following speech : —

" Mr. Denbigh ! — what, back ? — I thought he never could
let that rascal John shoot him and forsake Emmy after all;
(here the old gentleman suddenly recollected Denbigh's mar-
riage) but now, Peter, it can do no good either. — I remem-
ber, that when my friend the Earl of Gosford " — (and again
he was checked by the image of the card-table and the
viscountess) " but, Peter," he said with great warmth, " we
can go down and see him, notwithstanding."

" Mr. Denbigh !" exclaimed Sir Edward, in astonishment,
•when he saw the companion of his sister and child enter the
drawing-room, "you are welcome once more to your old
friends : your sudden retreat from us gave us much pain ; '
but we suppose Lady Laura had too many attractions to
allow us to keep you any longer in Norfolk." -

The good Baronet sighed, as he held out his hand to the
man whom he had once hoped to receive as a son.

"Neither Lady Laura nor any other lady,- my dear Sir
Edward," cried the earl, as he took the baronet's hand,
" drove me from you, but the frowns of your own fair daugh-
ter ; and here she is, ready to acknowledge her ofience, and,
I hope, to atone for it."

John, who knew of the refusal of his sister, and was not a
ittle displeased with the cavalier treatment he had received
at Denbigh's hands, felt indignant at such improper levity in
a married man, and approached with —

" Your servant, Mr. Denbigh — I hope my Lady Laura is
well."

Pendennyss understood his look, and replied very gravely—

" Your servant, Mr. John Moseley — my Lady Laura is, or

PRECAUTION. 475

certainly ought to be, very well, as she has this moment
gone to a rout, accompanied by her husband."

The quick eye of John glanced Irom the earl to his aunt,
to Emily; a lurking- smile was on all their features. The
heightened color of his sister, the flashing eyes of the young
nobleman, the face- of his aunt, all told him that something
uncommon was about to be explained ; and, yielding to his
feelings, he caught the hand which Pendcnnyss extended to
him, and cried,

" Denbigh, I see — I feel — there is some unaccountable
mistake — we are — "

" Brothers !" said the earl, emphatically. " Sir Edward —
dear Lady Moseley, I throw myself on your mercy. I am
an impostor : when your hospitality received me into your
house, it is true you admitted George Denbigh, but he is
better known as the Earl of Pendennyss."

" The Earl of Pendennyss !" exclaimed Lady Moseley, in a
glow of delight, as she saw at once through some juvenile
folly a deception which promised both happiness and rank
to one of her children. "Is it possible, my dear Charlotte,
that this is your" unknown friend ?"

" The very same, Anne," replied the smiling widow, " and
guilty of a folly that, at all events, removes the distance
between us a little, by showing that he is subject to the
failings of mortality. But the masquerade is ended, and I
hope you and Edward will not only treat him as an earl, but
receive him as a son."

"Most willingly — most willingly," cried the baronet, with
great energy ; "be he prince, peer, or beggar, he is the
preserver of my child, and as such he is always welcome."

The door now slowly opened, and the vererable bacheloi
appeared on its thresnold.

Pendennyss, ^ who had never forgotten the good will

476 PRECAUTION.

manifested to Lim by Mr. Benfield, met him with a look of
pleasure, as he expressed his happiness at seeing him again
in London.

" I never have forgotten your goodness in sendmg honest
Peter such a distance from home, on the object of his
visit. I now regret that a feeling of shame occasioned my
answering your kindness so laconically :" turning to Mrs
Wilson, he added, " for a time I knew not how to write a
letter even, being afraid to sign my proper appellation, and
ashamed to use my adopted."

" Mr. Denbigh, I am happy to see you. I did send Peter,
it is true, to London, on a message to you — but it is all
over now," the old man sighed — " Peter, however, escaped
the snares of this wicked place; and if you are happy, I
am content. I remember wlien the Earl of — "

" Pendennyss !" exclaimed the other, " imposed on the
hospitality of a worthy man, under an assumed appellation,
in order to pry into the character of a lovely female, who
was only too good for him, and who now is willing to forget
his follies, and make him not only the happiest of men, but
the nephew of Mr. Benfield."

During this speech, the countenance of Mr. Benfield had
manifested evident emotion : he looked from one to another,
until he saw Mrs. Wilson smiling near him. Pointing to
the earl with his finger, he stood unable to speak, as shf>
answered simply, —

" Lord Pendennyss."

" And Emmy dear — will you — will you marry him ?'
cried Mr. Benfield, suppressing his feelings, to give utteranc(
to his question.

Emily felt for her uncle, and blushing deeply, with great
Ii-ankness she put her hand in that of the earl, who pres^'td
it with rapture again and again to his lips.

PRECAUTION. 477

Mr. Benfield sank into a chair, and with a heart softened
by emotion, burst into tears.

" Peter," he cried, struggling with his feelings, " I am
now ready to depart in peace — I shall see my darling
Emmy happy, and to her care I shall commit you."

Emily, deeply aftected with his love, threw herself into
his arms in a torrent of tears, and was removed from them
by Pendennyss, in consideration for the feelings of both.

Jane felt no emotions of envy for her sister's happiness ;
on the contrary, she rejoiced in common with the rest of
their friends in her brightening prospects, and they all took
their seats at the supper table, as happy a group as was
contained in the wide circle of the metropohs. A few more
particulars served to explain the mystery sufficiently, until a
more fitting opportunity made them acquainted with the
whole of the earl's proceedings.

" My Lord Pendennyss," said Sir Edward, pouring out a
glass of wine, and passing the bottle to his neighbor : " I
drink your health — and happiness to yourself and my
darling child."

The toast was drunk by all the family, and the earl
replied to the compliments with his thanks and smiles, while
Emily could only notice them with her blushes and tears.

But this was an opportunity not to be lost by the honest
steward, who, from, affection and long services, had been
indulged in familiarities exceeding any other of his master's
establishment. He very deliberately helped himself to a
glass of wine, and drawing near the seat of the bride-elect,
with an humble reverence, commenced his speech as
follows :

" My dear Miss Emmy : — Here's hoping you'll live to be
a comfort to your honored father, and your honored mother,
and my dear honored master, and yourself, and Madam

478 PRECAUTION.

Wilson." The steward paused to clear nis voice, and profit-
ed bj- the delay to cast his eye round the table to collect
the names ; " and Mr. John Moseley, and sweet Mrs.
Moseley, and pretty Miss Jane" (Peter had lived too long
in the world to compliment one handsome woman in the
presence of another, without the qualifying his speech a
ittle).; " and Mr. Lord Denbigh — earl like, as they say he
now is, and" — Peter stopped a moment to deliberate, and
then making another reverence, he put the glass to his lip^;
but before he had got half through its contents, recollected
himself, and replenishing it to the brim, with a smile
acknowledging his forgetfulness, continued, " and the Rev.
Mr. Francis Ives, and the Rev. Mrs. Francis Ives."

Here the unrestrained laugh of John interrupted him ;
and considering with himself that he had included the
whole family, he finished his bumper. Whether it. was
pleasure at his own eloquence in venturing on so long a
speech, or the unusual allowance, that affected the steward,
he was evidently much satisfied with himself, and stepped
back behind his master's chair, in great good humor.

Emily, as she thanked him, noticed a tear in the eye of
the old man, as he concluded his oration, that would have
excused a thousand breaches of fastidious ceremony. But
Pendennyss rose from his seat, and took him kindly by the
hand, and returned his own thanks for his good wishes.

" I owe you much good will, Mr. Johnson, for your two
journeys in my behalf, and trust I never shall forget the
manner in which you executed your last mission in particu-
lar. We are friends, I trust, for life."

" Thank you — thank your honor's lordship," said the
steward, almost unable to utter ; " I hope you may live
long, to make dear little Miss Emmy as happy — as I know
fihe ought to be."

PRECAUTION. 479

"But really, my lord," cried John, observing that the
steward's affection for his sister had affected her to tears,
" it was a singular circumstance, the meeting of the four
passengers of the stage so soon at your hotel."

Moseley explained his meaning to the rest of the company,

" Not so much so as you imagine," said the earl in
reply ; •" yourself and Johnson were in quest of me. Lord Henry
^Hapleton was under an engagement to meet me that evening
at the hotel, as we were both going to his sister's wedding — I
having arranged the thing with him by letter previously ;
and General M'Carty was also in search of me, on busi-
ness relating to his niece, the Donna Julia. He had been
to Annerdale House, and, through my servants, heard I was
at an hotel. It was the first interview between us, and not
quite as amicable a one as has since been had in Wales.
During my service in Spain, I saw the Conde, but not the
general. The letter he gave me was from the Spanish
ambassador, claiming a right to require Mrs. Fitzgerald from
our government, and deprecating my using an influence to
counteract his exertions" —

" Which you refused," said Emily, eagerly.

" Not refused," answered the earl, smihng at her warmth,
while he. admired her friendly zeal, " for it was unnecessary:
there is no such power vested in the ministry. But I ex-
plicitly told the general, I would oppose any violent measures
to restore her to her country and a convent. From the
courts, I apprehended nothing for my fair friend."

"Your honor — my lord," said Peter, who had been
listening with great attention, " if I may presume just to ask
two questions, without oftence."

"Say on, my good friend," said Pendennyss, with an
encouraging smile.

" Only " continued the steward — hemming, to give propel

480 PRECAUTION.

Utterance to his thoughts — " I wish to know, whether you
stayed in that same street after you left the hotel — for Mr,
John Moseley and I had a slight difference in opinion about
it."

The earl smiled, having caught the arch expression of
John, and replied —

" I believe I owe you an apology, Moseley, for my cavalief
treatment; but guilt makes us all cowards. I found you
were ignorant of my incognito, and I was equally ashamed
to continue it, or to become the relater of my own folly.
Indeed," he continued, smiling on Emily as he spoke, "I
thought your sister had pronounced the opinion of all reflect-
ing people on my conduct. I went out of town, Johnson,
at day -break. What is the other query?"

" Why, my lord," said Peter, a little disappointed at find-
ing his first surmise untrue, " that outlandish tongue your
honor used — "

" Was Spanish," cried the earl.

"And not Greek, Peter," said his master, gravely. "I
thought, from the words you endeavored to repeat to me,
that you had made a mistake. You need not be disconcerted,
however, for I know several members of the parliament of
this realm who could not talk the Greek language, that is,
fluently. So it can be no disgrace to a serving-man to be
ignorant of it."

Somewhat consoled to find himself as well off as the
representatives of his country, Peter resumed his station n
silence, when the carriages began to announce the return from
the opera. The earl took his leave, and the party retired to
rest.

The thanksgivings of Emily that night, ere she laid hei
head on her pillow, were the purest offering of mortal inne-
cence. The prospect before her was unsullied by a cloud,

PHECAUIION. 481

Shiid she poured out Iier heart in tlie fullest confidence of
pious love and heartfelt gratitude.

As early on the succeeding morning as good-breeding
would allow, and much earlier than the hour sanctioned by
fashion, the earl and Lady Marian stopped in the carnage of
the latter at the door of Sir Edward Moseley. Their recep
tion was the most flattering that could be offered to people
of their stamp ; sincere, cordial, and, with a trifling exception
in Lady Moseley, unfettered with any useless ceremonies.

Emily felt herself drawn to her new acquaintance with a
fondness which doubtless grew out of her situation with her
brother ; which soon found reasons enough in the soft, lady-
like, and sincere manners of Lady Marian, to justify her
attachment on her own account.

There was a very handsome suite of drawing-rooms in
Sir Edward's house, and the communicating doors were
carelessly open. Curiosity to view the furniture, or some
such trifling reasons, induced the earl to find his way into
the one adjoining that in which the family were seated. It
was unquestionably a dread of being lost in a strange house,
that induced him to whisper a request to the blushing Emily,
to be his companion ; and lastly, it must have been nothing
but a knowledge that a vacant room was easier viewed than
one filled with company, that prevented any one from follow
ing tbem. John smiled archly at Grace, doubtless in appro-
bation of the comfortable time his friend was likely to enjoy,
in his musings on the taste of their mother. How the dooi
became shut, we have ever been at a loss to imagine.

The company without were too good-natured and well
satisfied with each other to miss the absentees, until the
figure of the earl appeared at the reopened door, beckoning,
with a face, of rapture, to Lady Moseley and Mrs. Wilson.
Sir Edward next disappeared, then Jane, then Grace — then

482 PEECAUTION.

Marian; until John began to think a tete-a-tete with Mi
Benfield was to be his morning's amusement.

The lovely countenance of his wife, however, soon relieved
his ennui, and John's curiosity was gratified by an order to
prepare for his sister's wedding the following week.

Emily might have blushed more than common during this
interview, but it is certain she did not smile less ; and the
earl. Lady Marian assured Sir Edward, was so very different
a creature from y/hat he had recently been, that she could
hardly think it was the same sombre gentleman with whom
she had passed the last few months in Wales and West-
moreland.

A messenger was dispatched for Dr. Ives and their friends

at B , to be witnesses to the approaching nuptials ; and

Lady Moseley at length found an opportunity of indulging
her taste for splendor on this joyful occasion.

Money was no consideration ; and Mr. Benfield absolutely
pined at the thought that the great wealth of the earl put
it out of his power to contribute in any manner to the
comfort of his Emmy. However, a fifteenth codicil was
framed by the ingenuity of Peter and his master, and if it
did not contain the name of George Denbigh, it did that of
his expected second son, Roderick Benfield Denbigh, to the
qualifying circumstance of twenty thousand pounds, as a
bribe for the name.

" And a very pretty child, I dare say, it will be," said the
steward, as he placed the paper in its repository. " T don't
know that I ever saw, your honor, a couple that I thought
would make a handsomer pair Hke, except — " Peter's mind
dwelt on his own youthful form coupled with the smiling
graces of Patty Steele.

" Yes ! they are as handsome as they are good !" replied
bis master. " I remember now, when our Speaker took hii

PRECAUTION. ISS

third wife, the world said that they were as pretty a couple
as there was at court. But my Emma and the earl will be a
much finer pair. Oh ! Peter Johnson ; they are young, and
rich, and beloved ; but, after all, it avails but little if they b
not good."

" Good !" cried the steward in astonishment ; " they ar
8 good as angels."

The master's ideas of human excellence had sufi'ered
heavy blow in the view of his viscountess, but he answered
mildly, ^

" As good as mankind can well be."

4S4 PRECAUTION.

CHAPTER XLYIL

The warm weather »had now commenced, and Sir Edward,
tmwilliiig to be shut lip in London at a tiiYie the appearance
of vegetation gave the country a new interest, and accus-
tomed for many years of his life to devote an hour in his
garden each morn, had takf;n a little ready furnished cottage
a shprt ride from his residence, with the intention of frequent-
ing it until after the birthday. Thither then Pendennyss
took his bride from the altar, and a few days were passed by
the newly married pair in this little asylum.

Doctor Ives, with Francis, Clara, and their mother, had
obeyed the summons with an alacrity in proportion to the
joy they felt on receiving it, and the former had the happi-
ness of officiating on the occasion. It would have been easy
for the wealth of the earl to procure a license to enable them
10 marry in the drawing-room ; the permission was obtained,
but neither Emily nor himself felt a wish to utter their vows
in any other spot than at the altar, and in the house of their
Maker.

If there was a single heart that felt the least emotion of
regret or uneasiness,, it was Lady Moseley, who little relished
the retirement of the cottage on so joyful an occasion; but
Pendennyss silenced her objections by good-humoredly.
replying —

" The fates have been so kind to me, in giving me castles
and seats, you ought to allow me, my dear Lady Moseley, the
only opportunity I shall probably ever have of enjoying love
An a cottage."

PRECAUTION. 485

A few days, however, removed the uneasiness of the good
matron, who had the felicity within the week of seeing her
daughter initiated mistress of Annerdale House.

The m^orning of their return to this noble mansion the earl
presented himself in St. James's. Square, with the intelligence
of their arrival, ^nd smiling as he bowed to Mrs. Wilson, he
continued— T

" And to escort you, dear madam, to your new abode."

Mrs. Wilson started with surprise, and with a heart beating
quick with emotion, she requiied an explanation of his
words.

" Surely, dearest Mrs. Wilson — more than aunt — my mo-
ther— you cannot mean, after having trained my Emily through
infancy to maturity in the paths of duty, to desert her in the
moment of her greatest trial. I am the pupil of your hus-
band," he continued, taking her hands in his own with reve-
rence and affection ; "we are the children of your joint care,
and one home, as there is but one heart, must in future con-
tain us."

Mrs. Wilson had wished for, but hardly dared to expect
this invitation. It was now urged from the right quarter,
and in a manner that was as sincere as it was gratifying.
Unable to conceal her tears, the good widow pressed the
hand of Pendennyss to her lips as she murmured out her
thanks. Sir Edward was prepared also to lose his sister ;
but unwilling to relinquish the pleasure of her society, he
urged her making a common residence between the two
families.

" Pendennyss has spoken truth, my dear brother," cried
she, "recovering her voice ; '• Emily is the child of my care
and my love — the two beings I love best in this world are
now united — but," she added, pressing Lady Moseley to her
J)()Sora. " my heart is large enough for you all ; you are of

486 PRECAUTION-.

my blood, and my gratitude for your affection is bcwndless.
There shall be but one large family of us ; and although our
duties may sepai'ate us for a time, we will, I trust, ever meet
n tenderness and love, though with George and Emily I will
take up my abode."

"I hope your house in Northamptonshire is not to be
vacant always," said Lady Moseley to the earl, anxiously.

" I have no house there, my dear madam," he replied ;
" when I thought my§elf about to succeed in my suit before,
I directed a lawyer at Bath, where Sir William Harris resided
most of his time, to endeavor to purchase the deanery, when
ever a good opportunity offered: in my discomfiture," he
added, smiling, " I forgot to countermand the order, and he
purchased it immediately on its being advertised. For a
short time it was an incumbrance to ine, but it is now applied
to its original purpose. It is the sole property of the Coun-
tess of Pendennyss, and I doubt not you will see it often and
agreeably tenanted."

This intelligence gave great satisfaction to his friends, and
the expected summer restored to even Jane a gleam of her
former pleasure.

If there be bliss in this life, approaching in any degree to
the happiness of the blessed, it is the fruition of long and
ardent love, where youth, innocence, piety, and family con-
cord, smile upon the union. And all these were united in
he case of the new-married pair ; but happiness in this
vrorld cannot or does not, in any situation, exist without
Hoy.

The peace of mind and fortitude of Emily were fated k
eceive a blow, as unlooked for to herself as it was unex-
pected to the world. Bonaparte appeared in France, and
Europe became in motion.

From the moment the earl heard the intelligence his own

PKKCAUTION. 487

course was decided. His regiment was the pride of the
army, ^nd that it would be ordered to join the dflke he did not
entertain a doubt.

Emily was, therefore, in. some little measure prepared for
the blow. It is at such moments as our own acts, or events
affecting us, get to be without our control, that faith in the
justice and benevolence of God is the most serviceable to tl e
Christian. When others spend their time in useless regrets
he is piously resigned : it even so happens, that when others
mourn he can rejoice.

The sound of the bugle, wildly winding its notes, broke on
the stillness of the morning in the little village in which was
situated the cottage tenanted by Sir Edward Moseley. Al-
most concealed by the shrubbery which surrounded its piazza,
stood the forms of the Countess of Pendennyss and her sister
Lady Marian, watching eagerly the appearance of those
whose approach was thus announced.

The carriage of the ladies, with its idle attendants, was in
w^aiting at a short distance ; and the pale face but composed
resignation of its mistress, indicated a struggle between con-
flicting duties.

File after file of heavy horse passed them in military pomp,
and the wistful gaze of the two females had scanned them in
vain for the well known, much-beloved countenance of the
leader. At length a single horseman approached . them,
viding deliberately and musing : their forms met his eye, and
111 an instant Emily was pressed to the bosom of her hus-
band.

" It is the doom of a soldier," said the earl, dashing a tear
from his eye ; " I had hoped that the peace of the world
would not again be assailed for years, and that ambition and
jealousy would yield a respite to our bloody profession ; but
cheer up, my love — hope for the best— your trust is not in

488 PRECAXTTION.

the things of this hfe, and your happiness is without tii6
power of mati."

"Ah! Pendennyss — my husband," sobbed Emily, sinking
on his bosom, " take with you my prayers — my love — every-
thing that can console you — everything that may profit you.
I will not tell you to be careful of your life ;. your duty
teaches you that. • As a soldier, expose it ; as a husband
guard it ; and return to me as you leave me, a lover, the
dearest of men, and a Christian."

Unwilling to prolong the pain of parting, the earl gave his
wife a last embrace, held Marian affectionately to his bosom,
and mounting his horse, was out of sight in an instant.

Within a few days of the departure of Pendennyss, Chat-
terton was surprised with the entrance of his mother and
Catharine. His reception of them was that of a respectful*
child, and his wife exerted herself to be kind to connexions
she could not love, in order to give pleasure to a husband
she adored. Their tale was soon told. Lord and Lady
Herriefield were separated ; and the dowager, alive to the
dangers of a young woman in Catharine's situation, and
without a single principle on which to rest the assurance
of her blameless conduct in future, had brouglit her to Eng-
land, in order to keep off disgrace, by residing with hei
child herself.

There was nothing in his wife to answer the expectations
with which Lord Herriefield married. She had beauty, bu
with that he was already sated ; her simplicity, which, by
having her attention drawn elsewhere, had at first charmed
him, F^s succeeded by the knowing conduct of a deter-
mined follower of the fashions, and a decided \voman of the
world.

It had never struck the viscount as iin])Ossible that an
artless and innocent (;iil \vt>u1d fall in Une with hi< fiided

PRECAUTION. 489

and bilious face, but the moment Catharine betrayed the
arts of a manager, he saw at once the artifice that had been
practised ; of course he ceased to love her.

Men are flattered for a season with notice that has been
unsought, but it never fails to injure the woman who prac-
tises it in the opinion of the other sex, in time. Without a
single feeling in common, without a regard to anything but
self, in either husband or wife, it could not but happen that
a separation must follow, or their days be spent in wrangling
and misery. Catharine willingly left her husband ; her hus-
band more willingly got rid of her.

During all these movements the dowager had a difficult
game to play. ,It was unbecoming her to encourage the
strife, and it was against her wishes to suppress it ; she
therefore moralized with the peer, and frowned upon her
daughter.

The viscount listened to her truisms with the attention of
a boy who is told by a drunken father how wicked it is to
love liquor, and heeded them about as much ; while Kate,
mistress at all events of two thousand a year, minded her
mother's frowns as little as she regarded her .smiles ; both
were indifferent to her.

A few days after the ladies left Lisbon, the viscount pro-
ceeded to Italy in company with the repudiated wife of a
British naval officer ; and if Kate was not guilty of an offence
of equal magnitude, it was more owing to her mother's pie
sent vigilance than to her previous care.

The presence of Mrs. Wilson vvas a great source of con-
eolation to Emily in the absence of her husband ; and as
their longer abode in town was useless, the countess declining
to be presented without the earl, the whole family decided
upon a return into Northamptonshire.

The deanery had been furnished by order of Pendennyss
21*

4^0 PRECAUTION.

immediately on his marriage ; and its mistruss hastened to
take possession of her new dwelling. The jimusement and
occupation of this movement, the planning ol little improve-
ments, her various duties under her increased responsibilities,
kept Emily from dwelling unduly upon the danger of her
husband. She sougiit out amongst the first objects of her
bounty the venerable peasant whose loss had been formerly

supplied by Pendennyss on his first visit to 13 , after

the death of his father. There might not have been the
usual discrimination and tempoial usefulness in this instance
which generally accompanied her benevolent acts ; but it
was associat^e^ with the image of her husband, and it could
excite no surprise in Mrs. Wilson, although it did in Marian,
to see her sister driving two or three times a week to relieve
the necessities of a man who appeared actually to be in want
of nothing.

Sir Edward was again amongst those he loved, and his
hospitable board was once more surrounded with the faces
of his friends and neighbors. The good-natured Mr. Haugh-
ton was always a welcome guest at the hall, and met, soon
after their retuin, the collected ftimily of the baronet, at a
dinner given by the latter to his children and one or two of
his most intimate neighbors —

'' My Lady Pendennyss," cried Mr. Haughton, in the
cou.rse of the afternoon, " I have news from the earl, which
I know it will do your heart good to hear.''

Emily smiled at the prospect of hearing in any manner
of her husband, although she internally questioned the
probability of Mr. Haughton's knowing anything of his
movements, of which ber daily letters did not apprise her.

Will you favor me with the particulars of your intelli-
gence, sir ?" said the countess.

"" He has arrived safe witli his legiment near Brussels ; ]

PRECAUTION. 491

heard it from a neighbor's son who saw him enter the house
occupied by Wellington, while he was standing in the crowd
without, waiting to get a peep at the duke."

" Oh !" said Mrs. Wilson with a laugh, " Emily knew that
ten days ago. Could your friend tell us anything of Bona-
parte? we are much interested in his movements just now,"

Mr. Haughton, a good deal mortified to find his news
sale, mused a moment, as if in doubt to proceed or not;
but liking of all things to act the part of a newspaper, he
continued —

" Nothing piore than you see in the prints ; but I suppose
your ladyship has heard about Captain Jarvis too ?"

" Why, no," said Emily, laughing ; " the movements of
Captain Jarvis are not quite as interesting to me as those of
Lord Pendennyss — has the duke made him an aide-de-camp ?"

*' Oh ! no," cried the other, exulting at his having some-
thing new : ^' as soon as he heard of the return of Boney,
he threw up his commission and got married."

*' Married !" cried John ; " not to Miss Harris, surely."

" No ; to a silly girl he met in Cornwall, who was fool
enough to be caught with his gold lace. He married one
day, and the next told his disconsolate wife and panic-stricken
mother that the honor of the Jarvises must sleep until the
supporters of the name became sufficiently numerouis to risk
them in the field of battle."

" And how did Mrs. Jai'vis and Sir Timo's lady relish the
news ?" inquired John, expecting something ridiculous.

" Not at all," rejoined Mr. Haughton ; ** the former
sobbed, and said she had only married him for his bravery
and red coat, and the lady exclaimed against the destruction
of his budding honors."

" IIow did it terminate?" asked Mrs. Wilson.

" Why, it seems while they were quarrelling about it, the

492 PRECAUTION.

War-Office cut the mat*'"- short by accepting his rtsignatiori.
I suppose the command,=.i -in-chief had learned his character;
but the matter was warmly contested : tliey even drove th
captain to a declaration of his principles."

'• And what kind of ones might they have been, Haugh
ton ?" said Sir Edward, drily.

" Republican."

" Republican !" exclaimed two or three in surprise.

" Yes, liberty and equality, he contended, w^ere his idols,
and he could not find it in his heart to tight against Bona-
parte."

" A somewhat singular conclusion," said Mr. Benfield,
musing. "I remember when I sat in the House, there was
a party who were fond of the cry of this said liberty; but
when they got the power they did not seem to me to suffer
peoj)le to go more at large than they went before; but I
suppose they were diffident of telling the world their minds
after they were put in such responsible stations, for fear of
the effect of example."

" Most people like liberty as servants but not as masters,
uncle," cried John, with a sneer.

" Captain Jarvis, it seems, liked it as a preservative against
danger," continued Mr. Haughton; "to avoid ridicule in his
new neighborhood, he has consented to his father's vvishes,
and turned merchant in the city again."

" Where I sincerely hope he will remain," cried John, who
since the accident of the arbor, could not tolerate the unfor
lunate youth.

" Amen !" said Emily, in an under tone, heard only by hei
brother.

" But Sir Timo — what has become of SirTimo — the good,
honest merchant ?" asked John.

"He has dropt the title, insists on being called plain Mr

PRECAUTIOX. 493

Jarvis, and lives entirely in Cornwall, His hopeful son-in
law has gone with his regiment to Flanders ; and Lady Eger-
ton, being unable to live without her father's assistance, is
obliged to hide her consequence in the west also."

The subject became now disagreeable to Lady Moseley,
and it was changed. Such conversations made Jane more
eserved and dissatisfied than ever. She had no one respect-
able excuse to offer for her partiality to her former lover, and
when her conscience told her the mortifying fact, was apt to
think that others remembered it too.

The letters from the continent now teemed with prepara-
tions Jpr the approaching contest ; and the apprehensions of
our heroine and her friends increased, in proportion to the
nearness of the struggle, on which hung not only the fates
of thousands of individuals, but of adverse princes and
mighty empires. In this confusion of interests, and of jar-
ring of passions, there were offered prayers almost hourly
for the safety of Pendennyss, which were as pur« and ardeni
as the love which prompted them.

494 PRECAUTION.

CHAPTER XLYIII.

Napoleon had commenced those daring an 5 rapid move-
ments, which for a time threw the peace of the world into
the scale of fortune, and which nothing but the interposition
of a ruling Providence could avert from their threatened suc-
cess. As the - — -th dragoons wheeled into a field ^ihead}'
deluged with Enghsh blood, on the heights of Quatre "Bras,
the eye of its gallant colonel saw a friendly battalion falling
beneath the sabres of the enemy's cuirassiers. The woi'd was
passed, the column opens, the sounds of the quivering bugle
were heard for a moment above the roar of the cannon and
the shouts of the combatants ; the charge, sw^eeping like a
whirlwind, fell heavily on those treacherous Frenchmen, who
to-day had sworn fidelity to Louis, and to-morrow intended
lifting their hands in allegiance to his rival.

'* Spare my life in mercy," cried an officer, already dread-
fully wounded, who stood shrinking from the impending blow
of an enraofed Frenchman. An Eno;lish drao;oon dashed at
the cuirassier, and with one blow severed his arm from his
body.

" Thank God," sighed the wounded officer, sinking beneath
the horse's feet.

His rescuer threw himself from the saddle, and raising the
fallen man inquired into his wounds. It was Pendennyss,
and it was Egerton. The wounded man groaned aloud, as he
saw the face of him who had averted the fatal blow ; but it
was not the hour for oxplnnations or confessions, oiIkt liuin

PRKCAUTION,

41)

tho3e with which the dying soldiers endeavored to make tlieir
tardy peace with their God.

Sir Henry was given in charge to two shglitly wounded
British soldiers, and the earl remounted : the scattered troops
were rallied at the sound of the trumpet, and again and
again, led by their dauntless colonel, were seen in the thickest
of the fray, with sabres drenched in blood, and voices hoarse
with the shouts of victory.

The period between the battles of Quatre Bias and Wa-
terloo was a trying one to tlie discipline and courage of tlie
British army. The discomfited Prussians on their flank had
been routed and compelled to retire, and in their front was
an enem)% brave, skilful, and victorious, led by the greatest
captain of the age. Tlie prudent commander of the English
forces fell back with' dignity and reluctance to the field of
Waterloo; here the mighty struggle was to terminate, and
the eye of every experienced soldier looked on those eminen-
ces as on the future graves for thousands.

During this solemn interval of comparative inactivity the
mind of Pendennyss dwelt on the aflfection, the innocence, the
beauty and worth of his Emily, until the curdling blood, as
he thought on her lot should his life be the purchase of the
coming victory, warned him to quit the gloomy subject, for
the consolations of that religion which only could yield him
the solace his wounded feelings required. In his former cam-
j)aigns the earl had been sensible of the mighty changes of
death, and had ever kept in view the "prejtarations necessary
to meet it with hope and joy; but the world clung around
him now, in the best aflections of his nature, and it was only
as he could pictui-e the happy reunion with his Emily in a
future life, that he could look on a separation in this witii'
out despair.

The vicinity of the enemy admitted of no rchixation in

4,/6 PRECAUTION.

the strictest watchfulness in the British lines: and the
comfortless night of the seventeenth was passed by the earl,
and his Lieutenant Colonel, George Denbigh, on the same
cloak, and under the open canopy of Heaven.

As the opening cannon of the enemy gave the signal for
the commencing conflict, Pendennyss mounted his charger
with a last thought ou his distant wife. With a mighty
struggle he tore her as it were from his bosom, and gave
the remainder of the day to duty

Who has not heard of the events of that fearful hour, on
which the fate of Europe hung as it were suspended in the
scale ? On one side supported by the eftbrts of desperate
resolution, guided by the most consummate art ; and on the
other defended by a discipline and enduring courage almost
without a parallel.

The indefatigable Blucher arrived, and the star of
Napoleon sank.

Pendennyss threw him self from his horse, on the night of the
eighteenth of June, as he gave way by orders, in the pursuit, to
the fresher battalions of the Prussians, with the languor that
follows unusual excitement, and mental thanksgivings that
this bloody work wa'i at length ended. The image of
his Emily again broke over the sterner feelings of the battle,
like the first glimmerings of light which succeed the awful
darkness of the eclipse of the sun : and he again breathed
freely, in the consciousness of the hjippiness which would
await his speedy return.

• " I am sent for the colonel of the th dragoons," said

a courier in broken English to a soldier, near where the ear
iay on the ground, waiting the preparations of hie attendants
"have I found the right regiment, my friend?'

"To be sure you have," answered the man, without
'.coking up from his toil on his favorite niiimal, " you might

PRECAUTION. 497

liave bracked us by the dead Frenchmen, 1 should think
So you want my lord, my lad, do you ? do we move again
to-night ?" suspending his labor for a moment in expectation
of a reply.

" Not to my knowledge," rejoined the courier ; " my
message is to your colonel, from a dying man. Will you
point out his station ?"

The soldier complied, the message was soon delivered,
and Pendennyss prepared to obey its summons immediately.
Preceded by the messenger as a guide, and followed by
Harmer, the earl retraced his steps over that ground on
which he had but a few hours before been engaged in the
jdeadly strife of man to man, hand to hand

How different is the contemplation of a field of battle
during and after the conflict ! The excitement, suspended
success, shouts, uproar, and confusion of the former, prevent
any contemplation of the nicer parts of this confused mass
of movements, charges, and retreats ; or if a brilliant advance
is made, a masterly retreat eftected, the imagination is
chained by the splendor and glory of the act, without
resting for a moment on the sacrifice of individual happiness
with which it is purchased. A battle-ground from which
the whirlwind of the combat has passed, presents a dif-
ferent sight ; it offers the very consummation of human
misery.

There may occasionally be an individual, who fiom
tation, distempered mind, or the encouragement of chimeri-
cal ideas of glory, quits the theatre of life with at least the
appearance of pleasure in his triumphs. If such there be in
reality, if this rapture of departing glory be anything more
than the deception of a distempered excitement, the subject
of its exhibition is to be greatly pitied. To the Christian,
dying in peace with both God and man, can it alone be ceded

498 PRECAUTION.

in the eye of reason, to pc ur out his existenc 3 with a smile on
his quivering lip.

And the warrior, who falls in the very arms of victory,
after passing a life devoted to the world ; even, if he sees
kingdoms hang suspended on his success, may smile indeed,
may utter sentiments full of loyalty and zeal, may be the ad-
miration of the world, and what is his reward ? a deathless
name, and an existence of misery, which knows no termination.

Christianity alone can make us good soldiers in any cause,
for he who knows how to live, is always the least afraid to die.

Pendennyss and his companions pushed their way over
the ground occupied before the battle by the enemy ; descend-
ed into and through that little valley, in which yet lay, in
undistinguished confusion, masses of the dead and dying of
either side ; and again over the ridge, on which could be
marked the situation of those gallant squares which had so
long resisted the efforts of the horse and artillery by the
groups of bodies, fallen where they had bravely stood, until
even the callous Harmer sickened with the sight of a waste
of life that he had but a few hours before exultingly con-
tributed to increase.

Appeals to their feelings as they rode through the field
had been frequent, and their progress was much retarded by
attempts to contribute to the ease of a wounded or a dying
man ; but as the courier constantly urged speed, as the
only means of securing the object of their ride, these hal"-
were reluctantly abandoned.

It was ten o'clock before they reached the farm-house,
where, in the midst of hundreds of his countrymen, lay the
former lover of Jane.

As tlie subject of his confession must be anticipated by
the reac^r, we will give a short relation of his life, and of
those acts which more materially affect our history.

PRECAUTION. 499

Henry Egerton had been turned early jn the world, likft
hundreds of his countrymen, without any principle to
counteract the arts of infidelity, or resist the temptations of
life. His father held a situation under government, and
was devoted to his rise in the diplomatic line. His mothei
was a woman of fashion, who lived for effect and idle com-
petition with her sisters in weakness and folly. All he learnt
in his father's house was selfishness, from the example of
one, and a love of high life and its extravagance from the
Other,

He entered the army young, and from choice. The
splendor and reputation of the service , caught his fancy ;
and, by pride and constitution, he was indifferent to personal
danger. Yet he loved London and its amusements better
than glory ; and the money of his uncle, Sir Edgar, whose heir
he was reputed to be, raised him to the rank of lieutenant
colonel, without his spending an hour in the field.

Egerton had some abilities, and a good deal of ardor of
temperament, by nature. The former, from indulgence and
example, degenerated into acquiring the art to please in
mixed society ; and the latter, from want of employment,
expended itself at the card table.

The association between the vices is intimate. There
really appears to be a kind of modesty in sin that makes it
ashamed of good company. If we are unable to reconcile a
favorite propensity to our principles, we are apt to abandon
the unpleasant restraint on our actions, rather than admit
the incongruous mixture. Freed entirely from the fetters
of our morals, what is there that our vices will not prompt
us to commit? Egerton, like thousands of others, went on
from step to step, until he found himself in the world, free
to follow all his inclinations, so he violated none of tb*
decencies of life.

500 PRECAUTION

When in .Spain, in his only campaign, he was accidentally,
as has been mentioned, thrown in the way of the Donna
Julia, and brought her off the ground under the influence
of natural sympathy and national feeling ; a kind of merit
that makes vice only more dangerous, by making it some-
times amiable. He had not seen his dependant long before
her beauty, situation, and his passions decided him to effect
her ruin.

This was an occupation that his figure, mannei*s, and
propensities had made him an adept in, and nothing was
further from his thoughts than the commission of any other
than the ciime that, according to his code, a gentleman
might be guilty of with impunity.

It is, however, the misfortune of sin, that from being our
slave it becomes a tyrant ; and Egerton attempted what in
other countries, and where the laws ruled^, might have cost
him his life.

The conjecture of Pendennyss was true. He saw the face
of the officer who interposed between him and his villanous
attempt, but was hid himself from view. He aimed not at
his life, but at his own escape. Happily his first shot suc-
ceeded, for the earl would have been sacrificed to preserve
the character of a man of honor ; though no one was more
regardless of the estimation he was held in by the vii'tuous
than Colonel Egerton.

In pursuance of his plans on Mrs. Fitzgerald, the colonel
had sedulously avoided admitting any of his companions into
the secret of his having a female in his care.

When he left the army to return home, he remained
until a movement of the troops to a distant part of th
country enabled him to effect his own purposes, without
incurring tjieir ridicule ; and when he found himself obliged
to abandon his vehicle for a refuge in the woods, the f^ar of

PRECAUTION. 5()rl

detection made him alter his course; and under the pretends
of wishing to be in a battle about to be fought, he secretly-
rejoined the ai*my, and the gallantry of Colonel Egerton was
mentioned in the next despatches.

Sir Herbert Nicholson commanded the advanced guard,
at which the earl arrived with the Donna Julia ; and like
6very other brave tnan (unless guilty himself) was indignant
at the villany of the fugitive. The confusion and enormities
daily practised in the theatre of the war prevented any close
inquiries into the subject, and circumstances had so enveloped
Egerton in mystery, that nothing but an interview with the
lady herself was likely to expose him.

With Sir Herbert Nicholson h^ had been in habits of
intimacy, and on that gentleman's alluding in a conversation
in the barracks at F— — to the lady brought into his quar-
ters before Lisbon, he accidentally omitted mentioning the
name of her rescuer. Egerton had never before heard the
transaction spoken of, and as he had of coui-se never men-
tioned the subject himself, was ignorant \^ho had interfered
between him and his views ; also of the fate of Donna Julia ;
indeed, he thought it prbbable that it had not much improved
by a change of guardians.

In coming into Northamptonshire he had several views ;
he wanted a temporary retreat from his creditors. Jarvis
had an infant fondness for play, without an adequate skill,
and the money of the young ladies, in his necessities, was
\)ecoming of importance ; but the daughters of Sir Edward
Moseley were of a description more suited to his taste, and
their portions were as ample as the others. He had become
in some degree attached to Jane ; and as her imprudent
parents, satisfied with his possessing the exterior and requi-
site recommendations of a gentleman, admitted his visits
freely, he determiAed to make her his wife.

502 PRECAUTION.

When he met Denbigh the first time, he saw that chance
had thrown him in tlie vay of a man who might hold his
character in his power. He had never seen him aii Penden
nyss, and, it will be remembered, was ignorant of the nam<
of Julia's friend : he now learnt for the first time that it was
Denbigh. Uneasy at he knew not what, fearful of some
exposure he knew not how, when Sir Herbert alluded to
the occurrence, with a view to rebut the charge, if Denbigt
should choose to make one, and with the near-sightednesf
of guilt, he pretended to know the occurrence, and under th(
promise of secresy, mentioned that the name of the officef
was Denbigh. He had noticed Denbigh avoiding Sir Her-
bert at the ball ; and judging others from himself, thought i<
was a wish to avoid any allusions to the lady he had broughl
into the other's quarters that induced the measure ; for he
was in hopes that if Denbigh was not as guilty as himself,
he was sufficiently so to wish to keep the transaction from
the eyes of Emily. He was, however, prepared for an
explosion or an alliance with him, when the sudden depar-
ture of Sir Herbert removed the dansfer of a collision.
Believing at last that they were to be brothers-in-law, and
mistaking the earl for his cousin, whose name he bore,
Egerton became reconciled to the association ; while Pen-
dennyss, having in his absence heard, on inquiring, some of
the vices of the colonel, was debating with himself whethet
he should expose them to Sir Edward or not.

It was in their occasional interchange of civilities that
Pendennyss placed his pocket-book upon a table, while he
exhibited the plants to the colonel : the figure of. Emily
passing the window drew him from the room, and Egerton
having ended his examination, observing the book, put i
in his own pocket, to return it to its owner when thej uex
met.

ruF.CACTiox. 503

The situation, name, and history of Mrs. Fitzgerald were
never mentioned by the Moseleys in public ; but Jane, in
the confidence of her affections, had told her lover who the
inmate of the cottao-e was. The idea of her being kept
there l>y Denbigh immediately occurred to him, and although
he was surpri^;ed at tlie audacity of the thing, he was deter-
mined to profit by the occasion.

To pay this visit, he stayed away from the excursion on
the water, as Pendennyss had done to avoid his friend, Lord
Henry Stapleton. An excuse of business, which served for
his apology, kept the colonel fiom seeing Denbigh to return
the book, until after his visit to the cottage. His rhapsody
of love, and offers to desert his intended wife, were nothing
but the common- place talk of his purposes ; and his pre-
sumption in alluding to his situation with Miss Moseley,
proceeded from his impressions as to Julia's real character.
In the struggle for the bell, the pocket-book of Denbigh
accidentally fell from his coat, and the retreat of the colonel
was too precipitate to enable him to recover it.

Mrs. FitztT-erald was too much alarmed to distinguish
nicely, and Egerton proceeded to the ball-room with the
indifference of a hardened offender. When the arrival of
Miss Jarvis, to whom he had committed himself, prompted
him to a' speedy declaration, and the unlucky conversation
of Mr, Holt brought about a probable detection of his gaming
■pvoi)ensities, the colonel determined to get rid of his awkward
s ! nation and his debts by a coup-de-main. He accordingly
sloped with Miss Jarvis.

What portion of the foregoing narrative made the dying
confession of Egerton to the man he had so latelv discov(?red
to be the Earl of Pendennyss, the reader can easily imagine.

/>04 PRECAUTION.

CHAPTER XLIX.

The harvest had been gathered, and the beautiful vale
of Pendennyss were shooting forth a second crop of verdure.
The husbandman was turning his prudent forethought to the
promises of the coming year, while the castle itself exhibited
to the gaze of the wondering peasant a sight of cheerful-
ness and animation which had not been seen in it since the
days of the good duke. Its numerous windows were opened
to the light of the sun, its halls teemed with the faces of its
happy inmates. Servants in various liveries were seen glid-
ing through its magnificent apartments and multiplied pas-
sages. Horses, grooms, and carriages, with varied costumes
and different armoiial bearings, crowded its spacious stables
and offices. Everything spoke society, splendor, and activity
without ; everything denoted order, propriety, and happiness
within.

In a long range of spacious apartments were grouped in
the pursuit of their morning employments, or in arranging
their duties and pleasures of the day, the guests arid owners
of the princely abode.

In one room was John Moseley, carefully examining th«
properties of some flints which were submitted to his exami-
nation by his attending servant; while Grace, sitting at his
side, playfully snatches the stones from his hand, as she
cries half reproachfully, half tenderly —

" You must not devote yourself to your gun so incessantly,
Moseley ; it is cruel to kill inoffensive birds for your amuse-
ment only "

PRECAUTION. 505

" Ask Emily's cook, and Mr. Haughtcn's appetite," said
John, coolly extending his hand towards her for the flint —
" whether no one is gratified but myself. I tell you, Grace,
I seldom fire in vain."

" That only makes the matter worse ; the slaughter you
commit is dreadful."

" Oh !" cried John, with a laugh, " the ci-devant Captain
Jarvis is a sportsman to your mind. He would shoot a month
without moving a feather ; he was a great friend to," throw-
ing an arch look to his solitary sister, who sat on a sofa at a
distance perusing a book, " Jane's feathered songsters."

" But now, Mosely," said Grace, yielding the flints, but
gently retaining the hand that took them, " Pendenyss and
Chatterton intend driving their wives, like good husbands, to
see the beautiful waterfall in the mountains ; and what am I
to do this long tedious morning ?"

John stole an enquiring glance, to see if his wife was very
anxious to join the party — cast one look of regret on a beau-
tiful agate that, he had selected, and inquired —

" Do you wish to go very much, Mrs. Mosely ?'*

" Indeed — indeed I do," said the other, eagerly, " if— **

"If what?"

" You will drive me ?" continued she, with a cheek slightly
tinged with color.

" Well, then," answered John, with deliberation, and
regarding his wife with aflfection " I will go on one condi-
tion."

" Name it !" cried Grace, with still increasing color.
. " That you will not expose your health again in going to
the church on a Sunday, if it rains."

" The carriage is so close, Mosely," answered Grace, with
a paler cheek than before, and eyes fixed on the carpet, " it
is impossible I can take cold : you see the earl, and countess,
22

606 PRECAUTION.

and aunt Wilson never naiss public worship, when possibly
within their power."

" The earl goes with his wife ; but what becomes of poor
me at such times !" said John, taking her hand and pressing
it kindly. " I like to hear a good sermon, but not in bad
weather. You must consent to oblige me, who only live in
your presence."
1 Grace smiled faintly, as John, pursuing the point, said —

" What do you say to my condition ?"

" Well then^ if you wish," replied Grace, without the look
of gaiety her hopes had first inspired, " I will not go if it
rain."

John ordered his phaeton, and his wife went to her room
to prepare for the trip, and to regret her own resolution.

In the recess of a window, in which bloomed a profusion
of exotics, stood the figure of Lady Marian Denbigh, playing
with a half-blown rose of the richest colors ; and before her,
leaning against the angle of the wall, stood her kinsman the
Duke of Derwent.

"You heard the plan at the breakfast table," said his
Grace, " to visit the little falls in the hills. But I suppose
you have seen them too often to undergo the fatigue 1"

" Oh no ! I love that ride dearly, and should wish to ac-
company the countess in her first visit to it. I had half a
mind to ask George to take me in his phaeton."

" My curricle would be honored with the presence of Lady
^ Marian Denbigh," cried the duke with animation, " if she
would accept me for her knight on the occasion."

Marian bowed an assent, in evident satisfaction, as thp
duke proceeded —

" But if you take me as your knight I should wear your
ladyship's colors ;" and he held out his hand towards the
budding rose. Lady Marian hesitated a moment — ^looked out

PRECAUTION. 507

at the prospect — up at the wall — turned, and wondered
where her brother was ; and still finding the hand of the
duke extended, while his eye rested on her in admiration, she
gave him the boon with a cheek that vied with the richest
tints of the flower. They separated to prepare, and it was
on their return from the falls that the duke seemed uncom-
monly gay and amusing, and the lady silent with her tongue,
though her eyes danced in every direction but towards her
cousin.

" Really, my dear Lady Mosely," said the dowager, as,
seated by the side of her companion, her eyes roved over the
magnificence within, and widely extended domains without-^
" Emily is well established indeed — better even than my
Grace."

" Grace has an affectionate husband," replied the other,
gravely, " and one that I hope will make her happy."

" Oh ! no doubt happy !" said Lady Chatterton, hastily :
" but they say Emily has a jointure of twelve thousand a
year — by-the-by," she added, in a low tone, though no one
was near enough to hear what she said, " could not the earl
have settled Lumley Castle on her instead of the deanery V*

" Upon my word I never think of such gloomy subjects as
provisions for widowhood," cried Lady Mosely : " you have
been in Annerdale-House — is it not a princely mansion V^

" Princely, indeed," rejoined the dowager, sighing : " don't
the earl intend increasing the rents of this estate as the leases
fall in 1 I am told they are very low now !"

" I believe not," said the other. " He has enough, and is
willing others should prosper. But there is Clara, with her
little boy — ^is he not a lovely child 1" cried the grandmother,
rising to take the infant in her arms.

*' Oh ! excessively beautiful I" said the dowager, looking
the other way, and observing Catharine making a movement

508 N PJIECAUTION.

towards Lord Henry Stapleton, she called to her, " Lad)
Herriefield — come this way, my dear — I wish to spealj
to you."

Kate obeyed with a sullen pout of her pretty lip, and en-
tered into some idle discussion about a cap, though her eyes
wandered round the rooms in listless vacancy.

The dowager had the <5urse of bad impressions in youth to
contend with, and labored infinitely harder now to make her
daughter act right, than formerly she had ever done to make
her act wrong.

" Here ! uncle Benfield," cried Emily, with a face glowing
with health and animation, as she approached his seat with
a glass in her hands. " Here is the negus you wished ; I
have made it myself, and you will praise it of course."

" Oh ! my dear Lady Pendennyss," said the old gentleman,
rising politely from his seat to receive the beverage : " you
are putting yourself to a great deal of trouble for an old
bachelor like me ; too much indeed, too much.",

" Old bachelors are sometimes more esteemed than young
one," cried the earl gaily, joining them in time to hear this
speech. " Here is my friend, Mr. Peter Johnson ; who
knows when we may dance at his wedding 1"

*'My lord, and my lady, and my honored master," said

Peter gravely, in reply, bowing respectfully where he stood,

waiting to take his master's glass — " I am past the age to

think of a wife : I am seventy-three coming next 'lammas,

1 counting by the old style."

^ "What do you intend to do with your thre^ hundred a
year," said Emily with a smile, " unless you bestow it on
some good woman, for making the evening of your life com-
fortable V

, " My i^dy — hem — my lady," said the steward, blushing:
^^-I had a little thought, with your kind ladyship's consent, a

PRECAUTION. 50D

I have no relations, chick or child in the world, what to do
with it."

" I should be happy to hear your plan," said the countess,
observing that the steward was anxious to communicate some-
thing.

" W^iy, my lady, if my lord and my honored master's
agreeable, I did think of making another codicil to master's
will in order to dispose of it."

" Your master's will," said the earl laughing ; " why not
to your own, good Peter 1"

" My honored lord," said the steward, with great humility,
** it don't become a poor serving-man like me to make a will."

" But how will you prove iti" said the earl, kindly, willing
to convince him of his error ; " you must be both dead to
prove it."

" Our wills," said Peter, gulping his words, " will be
proved on the same day."

His master looked round at him with great affection, and
both the earl and Emily were too much struck to say any-
thing. Peter had, however, the subject too much at heart
to abandon it, just as he had broken the ice. He anxiously
wished for the countess's consent to the scheme, for he would
not affront her, even after he was dead.

" My lady — Miss Emmy," said Johnson, eagerly, " my plan
is, if my honored master's agreeable — to make a codicil, and
give my mite to a little — Lady Emily Denbigh."

" Oh ! Peter, you and uncle Benfield are both too good,"
cried Emily, laughing and blushing, as she hastened to Clara
and her mother.

"Thank }ou, thank you," cried the delighted earl, follow-
ing his wife with his eyes, and shaking the steward cordially
by the hand ; " and, if no better expedient be adopted by us,
you have full permission to do as you please with your mpney.

510 PHECAUTION.

"Peter," said his master to him in a low tone, "}ou
should never speak of such things prematurely ; now 1
remember when the Earl of Pendennyss, my nephew, was
first presented to me, I was struck with the delicacy and pro-
priety of his demeanor, and the Lady Pendennyss, my niece,
too ; you never see anything forward, or — Ah ! Emmy, dear,"
! said the old man, tenderly interrupting himself, " you are too
good to remember your old uncle," taking one of the fine
peaches she handed him from a plate.

" My lord," said Mr. Haughton to the earl, " Mrs. . ves and
myself have had a contest about the comforts of matrimony ;
she insists she may be quite as happy at Bolton Parsonage
as in this noble castle, and with this rich prospect in view."

"I hope," said Francis, " you are not teaching my wife to
be discontented with her humble lot — if so, both hers and
your visit will be an unhappy one."

" It would be no easy task, if our good friend intended
any such thing by his j*»3ts," said Clara, smiling. " I know
my true interests, I trust, too well, to wish to change my for-
tune."

" You are right," said Pendennyss ; " it is wonderful how
little our happiness depends on a temporal condition. When
here, or at Lumley Castle, surrounded by my tenantry, there
are, I confess, moments of weakness, in w^hich the loss of
my wealth or rank would be missed greatly ; but when on ser-
vice, subjected to great privations, and surrounded by men su-
perior to me in military rank, who say unto me — go, and I go
— come, and I come — I find my enjoyments intrinsically
the same."

"That," said Francis, " may be owing to your Lordship's
tempered feelings, which have taught you to look beyond
this world for pleasures and consolation."

"It has, doubtless, an effect," said the earl, " but there is

.^^

PRECAUTION. 511

no truth of which I am more fully persuaded, than that our
happiness here does not depend upon our lot in life, so we
are not suffering for necessaries — even changes bring less
real misery than they are supposed to do."

"Doubtless," cried Mr. Haughton, "under the circum-
stances, I would not wish to change even with your lordship
— unless, indeed," he continued, with a smile and bow tc
the countess, " it were the temptation of your lovely wife."

"You are quite polite," said Emily laughing, "but I have
no desire to deprive Mrs. Haughton of a companion she has
made out so well with these twenty years past."

" Thirty, my lady, if you please."

" And thirty more, I hope," continued Emily, as a servant
announced the several carriages at the door. The younger
part of the company now hastened to their different engage-
ments, and Chatterton handed Harriet ; John, Grace ; and
Pendennyss, Emily, into their respective carriages; the duke
and Lady Marian following, but at some little distance from
the rest of the party.

As the earl drove from the door, the countess looked up
to a window, at which were standing her aunt and Doctor
Ives. She kissed her hand to them, with a face, in which
glowed the mingled expression of innocence, love, and joy.

Before leaving the Park, the party passed Sir Edward ;
with bis wife leaning on one arm and Jane on the other, pur-
suing their daily walk. The baronet followed the carriages
with his eyes, and exchanged looks of the fondest love with
his children, as they drove slowly and respectfully by him ;
and if the, glance which followed on Jane, did not speak
equal pleasure, it surely denoted its proper proportion of
paternal love.

"You have much reason to congratulate yourself on the
happy termination of your labors " said the doctor, with a

512 PRECAUTION.

smile, to the widow ; " Emily is placed, so far as human fore-
sight can judge, in the happiest of all stations a female can
be in : she is the pious wife of a pious husband, beloved, and
deserving of it."

" Yes," said Mrs. Wilson, drawing baclc from following
the phaeton with her eyes, " they are as happy as this world
will admit, and, what is better, they are well prepared to
meet any reverse of fortune which may occur, as well as to
discharge the duties on which they have entered. I do not
think," continued she, musing, " that Pendennyss can ever
doubt the affections of such a woman as Emily."

" I should think not," said the doctor ; " but what can
excite such a thought in your breast, and one so much to the
prejudice of George 1"

"The only unpleasant thing I have ever observed in
him," said Mrs. Wilson gravely, "is the suspicion which
induced him to adopt the disguise in which he entered our
family."

" He did not adopt it, madam — chance and circumstan-
ces drew it around him accidentally ; and when you consider
the peculiar state of his mind from the discovery of his
mother's misconduct — his own great wealth and rank — it is
not so surprising that he should yield to a deception, rather
harmless than injurious."

" Dr. Ives," said Mrs. Wilson, " is not wont to defend
deceit."

" Nor do I now, madam," replied the doctor with a
smile : " I acknowledge the offence of George, myself, wife,
and son. I remonstrated at the time upon principle ; I said
the end would not justify the means ; that a departure from
ordinary rules of propriety was at all times dangerous, and
seldom practised with impunity."

" An4 you foiled to convince your hearers," cried Mis.

PRECAUTION. 513

Wilson, gaily; "a novelty in ypur case, my good rec-
tor."

" I thanlc you for the compliment," said the doctor ; '* 1
did convince them as to the truth of the principle, but the
earl contended that his case might make an innocent excep-
tion. He had the vanity to think, I believe, that by con-
cealing his real name, he injured himself more than any one
else, and got rid of the charge in some such way. He is
however, thoroughly convinced of the truth of the position,
by practice ; his sufferings, growing out of the mistake of
his real character, and which could not have happened had
he appeared in proper person, having been greater than he
is ready to acknowledge."

" If they study the fate of the Donna Julia, and his own
weakness," said the widow, " they will have a salutary
moral always at hand, to teach them the importance of two
•cardinal virtues at least — obedience and truth."

"Julia has suffered much," replied the doctor; "and
although she has returned to her father, the consequences of
her imprudence are likely to continue. When once the bonds
of mutual confidence and respect are broken, they may be
partially restored, it is true, but never with a warmth
and reliance such as existed previously. To return, however,
to yourself, do you not feel a sensation of delight at the
prosperous end of your exertions in behalf of Emily 1"

" It is certainly pleasant to think we have discharged our
duties, and the task is much easier than we are apt to
ouppo^e," said Mrs. Wilson ; " it is only to commence the
foundation, sc that it will be able to support the superstruc-
ture. I have endeavored to make Emily a Christian. I
have endeavored to form such a taste and principles
in her, that she would not be apt to admire an improper
Buitor and I have labored to prepare her to discharge her
22*

514 PRECAUTION.

continued duties through life, in such a manner and with
such a faith, as under the providence of God will result in
happiness far exceeding anything she now enjoys. In all
these, by the blessing of Heaven, I have Gucceeded, and
had occasion offered, I would have assisted her inexperience
through the more delicate decisions of her sex, though in no
instance would I attempt to control them."

" You are right, my dear madam," said the doctor, taking
her kindly by the hand, " and had I a daughter, I would
follow a similar course. Give her delicacy, religion, and a
proper taste, aided by the unseen influence of a prudent
parent's care, and the chances of a woman for happiness
would be much greater than they are ; and I am entirely
of your opinion — * That prevention is at all times better
than cure.' "

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