rmmr a I B RA HY OF THE U N I VLRSITY OF 1 LLI NOIS HZVd v.l DECISION. a Cale* BY THE AUTHOR OF CORRECTION, #c. Say, in this rapid tide of human ruin, Is there no rock on which man's tossing thought Can rest from terror, dare his fate survey, And boldly think it something to be born? Young. IN THREE VOLUMES. VOL. I. LONDON: PRINTED FOR LONGMAN, HURST, REES, ORME, AND BROWN, PATERKOSTER-ROW. 1819. £n*uSL. Po~+ Printed by Strahan and Spottiswoode, Printers-Street, London. r^3 in en PREFACE. and mine, not to interfere or attempt to turn you aside from your appointed path ; and now, my darling, go to your bed, think well on what has past this evening, and if to-morrow you still desire it, I will give you, in a few words, my sim- ple code of laws and faith." Emma rose to retire, but falling on her knees before her mother, so earnest- ly entreated her Christian blessing, ; that the almost agonised parent, breath- ing over her the warmest, purest; bene- diction, again entreated she would leave her, while yet she had strength to de- sire it. Emma withdrew in tears, but far hap- pier with the blessing of her heretic parent, than she had ever felt under that of any officiating priest. The night was spent by Lady Isabella in anxious and prayerful watchings : it 68 DECISION, was her first desire, to be directed aright in her conduct towards Emma, that she may neither omit to urge her to a pro- per consideration of divine truths, or use any undue influence circumstances may possibly give to her present argu- ments. She was perfectly aware of the duty and consideration, due to the father of her children, and did not doubt many members of the Catholic church were serious Christians, and accepted by him, in whose sight, forms, or the neglect of them, availeth nothing j yet her heart often breathed an earnest wish, that her family were travelling the same road, and using the same means to attain the desired end as herself. The scepticism, and c moral right,' which had grown up among the young people, was among the heaviest trials of Lady Isabella's life: it had aided greatly in bringing her to the condition she was now in ; and she felt would plant thorns in her dying pillow, if its growth DECISION. 69 should not be checked before that awful period. Thus it appeared a duty to arouse her child to a sense of her blind and fallen state, and then leave the event to Him, who doeth all things right. When, therefore, Emma again im- plored to be instructed in the Christian's faith, her mother clearly and simply de- scribed to her what she conceived to be the gospel-plan of salvation ; the duty and privileges of a believer : pointed out for her attentive perusal, some parti- cular chapters and passages of holy writ; at the same time recommending her, if she had courage to brave the abbe, to make the whole of it her study, and then act as conscience dictated. Though clogged with the peculiar te- nets of Scotch Presbyterianism, there was in Lady Isabella's code of faith a clearness, a beauty, and such a compre- hensive fulness, that Emma felt as one to whom sight was for the first time im- parted, and wondered how any one could 70 DECISION. adhere to the pompous blindness in which she had been educated. From this day, the Bible became her favorite study: she read it with the eager- ness of delight natural to a young and ardent mind, who, in the full pursuit of an object, fancies it has at once found that which will clear up all difficulty, and bring the desired object to view. Soon after this a young widow, who had, by the will of her husband, been left to the protection of Mr. Hammond, ar- rived from England, of which country she was a native. Tutored in the school of affliction Mrs. Selby knew to pour the balm of comfort into the wounded or sick mind, to smooth the pillow of afflic- tion, and rob solitude of its moroseness: she soon became warmly attached to the dying mother and her interesting child, and in return had in a few weeks created so warm an interest in their hearts, that by both she was entreated earnestly to return with them to Fitzallen. DECISION. 71 The hope of being serviceable to Emma, and the pleasing expression of Lady Isa- bella's eyes, shining brilliantly through their tearful eyelashes, proved irresistible, and Mrs. Selby made one of the mourn- ful cavalcade that conveyed the drooping sufferer to her home ; endeavouring to prepare her mind again to witness the agonies of death, the livid countenance, and clay-cold remains of a being she loved too well to wish a longer sojourn in this world of woe. Sir William, who really loved his wife with extreme tenderness, was shocked at the alteration a few short weeks had made in her appearance. Horace, too, again felt all his infant fondness for, and admiration of, his mother rekindle, and all that kindness could do to alleviate her pains, or sustain her weakness, was done by him. Isabel, ever affectionate, became a tender and attentive nurse, but carefully avoided all reference to subjects on which 7^ DECISION. she knew there existed a difference, either between her parents, or between them and herself; but to her active observ- ation, the mild, uncomplaining, saint-like aspect of her beloved mother presented a constant and useful lesson. The re- signation with which she saw her mother, yet a young woman, give up all thoughts of life; the constant peace she saw her possess ; the firm hope of everlasting happiness she heard her express, and the placid smile with which she saw her bear pain, were arguments that required all the sophistry, and all the favorite authors of her brother to overturn. Lady Isabella, after a long course of suffering, closed her earthly career on the bosom of her eldest daughter ; who laying the still beautiful remains on the pillow, contemplated them in an agony that burst the bounds of control, and her strong feelings overcoming her strength, soon reduced her to a state apparently DECISION. 75 but little farther from eternity than that of her mother. Mrs. Selby, by her mild reasoning, and plain good sense, soon prevailed on Sir William to part with the worthless Madame de Grullian, hoping that once out of the contagion of her baleful in- fluence, Isabel would recover the tone of her mind, and look to the strong for strength. But Mrs. Selby was mistaken in her calculations. Madame possessed no influence over the minds of her pupils j and Isabel had ceased to consider her- self at all under tutelage : her native urbanity, and compassion, alone dictated the sort of attentive kindness she conti- nued to show her unworthy preceptress. The mischief with Isabel lay in the course of reading she was pursuing, un- der the direction of Horace, his commu- nications, and her own crude conjectures, acting on strong passions, corrected only by a native good disposition. The variety of differences she found revealed reli- vol. 1. E 74> DECISION. gion split into, strongly tempted her to reject it altogether, and seizing on phi- losophical scepticism, boldly renounce what she was inclined to consider a jumble of errors, fanaticism, and superstition. Yet at times the light of truth would beam out, and claiming for itself a pre- eminence, threaten to overturn all the fine spun cobweb-systems of infidelity with which her mind was beclouded. Nothing could exceed the rage of the Abbe Dubois when he found that all his labour was likely to lose its reward with Emma, since, spite of his absolute pro- hibition, she had read for herself, and adopted many of her late mother's vile heresies: penance on penance ensued, and more terrible ones threatened, until both sisters trembled at[[the cruelties they were led to expect. Mrs. Selby became the chosen friend of Emma, and paid her long and frequent visits. During these, many hours were spent together, in which Emma compro- DECISION. 7«5 raised with her conscience, by hearing that read which she had no longer courage to consult herself. Horace was now become, to use a mo- dern phrase, a determined freethinker, dissipated, and extravagant. He was dis- contented with his home, his appoint- ment, and the tout ensemble of Fitzallen, or even Ireland itself. He wished to see the world, and to travel, as he expressed it, like a gentleman, and a man of spirit. Isabel frequently shrunk from his vio- lence ; at such times taking refuge with her favorite Voltaire, of whose numerous volumes she had read by far the greater part, consoling herself with the more se- ductive Rousseau ; amusing herself with her dogs, or playing chess with her in- dulgent and fondly loved father. She strove to forget her vexations, or gain philosophy enough not to feel them. Joseph Hammond was a relation and old friend of the family : he had long foreseen the consequences of careless e 2 76 DECISION. misconduct in the pecuniary affairs of \n< relative, and had in several instances made him rational offers of assistance, all of which had been rejected by the proud Milesian. His patient forbearance, and simplicity of manners, rendered him a butt for the empty senseless ridicule of Horace; from whose insults, his age, and the many services he had rendered the family, ought to have protected him ; but such shafts fell harmless, or returned with rebounding force to the bosom of him who sent them. This excellent man was fond of Emma, and longed for an op- portunity of snatching her from the op- pressor's rod under which her gentleness now bent her. Of Isabel, who really re- spected and esteemed him, he thought worse than she deserved ; often observing light and darkness could not dwell toge- ther : French infidelity, German blas- phemies, and a Christian spirit, could not dwell in the same heart. Thus stood the family of Fitzallen at DECISION. 77 the period this tale commences. Lady Isabella had been dead near two years. Horace was now twenty-two, Isabella twenty-one, and Emma nineteen. Flo- rence had entered on the monastic life in Italy, and the younger sons lived con- tentedly at home, doing as other people did. e 3 78 DECISION. CHAP. IV. Well, Horace," said Emma, the next day, " what think you of our good uncle's offer, — are you disposed to ac- cept it?" " To answer one question at a time, Emma, I think his offer like himself, little and mean. The man has no soul, Emma. If he had handsomely offered me an equal share in his concern, much as I de- tesfpelf-making dirty commerce, I would have done him the honour of accepting it ; but the eldest son of one of the oldest Milesian families, to become clerk to Joseph Hammond ! Zounds ! the very thought is chilling. Do you not find it so, Emma ?" " Why, Horace, did you make me fancy it a clerkship ? I was so pleased DECISION. 79 with his kindness ! But certainly you must not become clerk to any one •, no, not even to good uncle Joseph." " Who speaks of good uncle Joseph ?" demanded Isabel, as she entered the room with her favourite greyhound. " We were consulting, Miss FitzaUen," replied Horace, " whether your eldest brother should adopt a broad brim, a plain suit of brown, and worsted stock- ings," (regarding his own elegant apparel and fine silk stockings,) "and with it the sanctified phiz, drawling speech, wise saws, and eternal cant of this same good uncle's sect of imbeciles, in order to attain the high honour of clerk to the house of Joseph Hammond and John his son, in this blessed land of green sham- rock, or on the more liberal continent of America," " And which have you determined on ?" returned Isabel. " This high and mighty subject awaits your decision, fair Isabel. I confess my e 4 80 DECISION. own insufficiency. I have not head enough to determine on the disposal of so enormous a sum as two hundred pounds a-year : besides, the honour of reading a chapter in the Bible every day, and perhaps learning the famous catechism our old friend Maggy used to choke me and treat you with, to convince 'good uncle Joseph? what a good boy I'm grown." " The subject appears to afford you amusement, dear Horace," replied Isa- bel ; " but I should much like to know, how with a servant, two horses, my uncle's house as your own, and the in- come named, you can affect to consider yourself a clerk ?" " Zounds, Bella ! sure you are not metamorphosed into a commercial lady, or a hoarder of pounds, shillings, and pence. What the devil can you call it but a clerkship ? Am I not to write and cast accounts for the old fellow, and the deuce knows what, for a paltry sum that DECISION. 81 would not pay my groom ? And, after all, where is the equity, or the moral right of his possessing a power over me, or my actions ?" " I will answer your question by another, Horace. Where is the moral right of his offering you any provision at all, or what claim can you possibly have on him ?" " What claim on him, Bella ! do you ask the question ? Has it not been proved to a demonstration by that first of writers, the enlightened Paine, that the necessities of one man ought to be sup- plied from the abundance of another, by a fair and equitable division, that #11 men may enjoy the gifts of fortune and the produce of nature equally ? Has he not proved that all men are equal, — that high and low, rich and poor, are but the corruptions of civilised city ? Corrup- tions unknown among the enviable tribes of uncivilised uncorrupted natives of happy America, ,, rapidly replied Horace. * e 5 82 DECISION " Now, then," said Isabel, " allow rne to return your own chain of argument. Mr. Hammond offers to divide his wealth between himself, his son, and you, the two latter being poor. He also, equi- tably, and quite agreeably to moral right, would divide the labours by which this wealth is procured. Men are all equal, high and low ; but the corruption of so- ciety, ergo, the clerk and his master, are equal, so you need no longer fear being a clerk. Those corruptions are unknown in happy native America ; and your au- thor adds, but imperceptibly, in the United States. You are offered to reside in America. You said the decision was left to me. Here, then, you have it. Accept this equitable offer, — go to America, and may every success attend you." " But, my dear sister," said Emma, " you forget that by this sentence, you are banishing poor Horace, not only from his native country, but from every near DECISION. 88 connection ; and that, in all probability, for life*" " If so, my love, the country in which he lives will become as his native one ; and near connections may be formed there," replied Isabel. " Could you argue that way, if the case were your own?" demanded Emma. But an answer was prevented by Horace impatiently exclaiming, "Tush ! nonsense ! Country, and near connec- tions, as you call them, or any of those vulgar prejudices, have no weight with me. The mere accident of giving me birth, and bringing me into life, for which I am by no means obliged, would not cause me to love or respect two per- sons : it must be their conduct in after life that would gain this sentiment from me ; and just the same by every other connection. " The same may be said bycountry. What do I owe to Ireland for being born in it ? The bogs would have been as soft, k £ 6 84 DECISION. the turf as green, and the wild apples blossomed just as beautifully, if not one of [the mighty race of Fitzallen had ever been born in it ; and all the operations of nature will go on just as regular, when we are gone out of it." " What, then, means all those feelings we experience on the sickness, death, or even good or ill fortune of our family connections ?" demanded Emma. " They are all the mere prejudices of education," returned Horace : " preju- dices, which, with all the thick fog of vulgar error, now begin to pass away ; and, through the brilliant illuminations of reason, we may soon hope to see things gain their right estimation, and common sense assume the sway hitherto held by superstition and folly ; such as is the case among the free tribes, un- shackled by tyrant custom or fanati- cism." " But, Horace," resumed Isabel, " you have not yet said you will accept 4 DECISION. 85 Mr. Hammond's proposals ; and I feel anxious on the subject." " That is only a proof, Bella," returned her brother, " that you have not yet gained the dominion over error you ought to have done. We are all free-will agents, absolutely independent one of another. Whether I live in one hemi- sphere or another, is a matter of no con- sequence. If I consent to accept this old man's proposal, it will be merely be- cause I wish to spend a few years in the land of liberty, until the glorious fire, already kindled on the Continent,, shall have spread through Europe ; and rea- son, having then expelled superstitious weakness, we shall live the free, un- shackled, noble beings nature designed us to be." " I think, Horace," said Emma, " I have heard you say, that when those shackles, which depress the present state of society, shall be quite shaken off, and nature and reason have their proper 86 DECISION. ascendancy, we shall not only overcome every common prejudice, but sickness and death itself." " Certainly, nothing, as it has been clearly demonstrated, can be more un- natural than death. Why do men die, but simply because they sink under that which they ought to overcome ? What but tyrant custom causes a man with headache to go to his bed, drink drugs, and commit himself to the care of a pedantic ignoramus, that knows no more, of the grandeur of human nature, the power of reason over malady, or the moral right of man, always to hold him- self erect, than the chair he sits on T\ " And yet Horace/ ' returned Emma, *< I am inclined to think if you were ill, you would quickly consult some of those pedantic gentlemen. I have often heard Madame d£ Grullian say as much as you liave, and seen her shiver and shake with terror at a whitlow on her finger, and ask DECISION. 87 Dr. Dunlap a thousand times, if there was any danger.' ' " Pshaw, madame was a fool ; and faith, Emma, I think between her, Joseph Hammond, and Mrs. Selby, you are be- coming one too." " It would be happy for us all, I think, if the folly of Mrs. Selby were our wis- dom," said Emma. Before any reply could be made, Joseph Hammond en- tered the room, and abruptly addressed his nephew, with " Well Horace, thou thoughtest fit to come to thy father's house again, hast thou brought any better dispositions with thee ?" " Perhaps, sir, those I have are good enough." " They are good enough to bring thee to ruin." " That is my own concern, sir." " When I met thee yesterday at this house, thou wast sorely straightened, to all outward appearance, not knowing whither thou shouldst direct thy steps, 88 DECISION. or how thou shouldst procure a main- tenance." " Procure a maintenance! what the devil do you mean, sir ? are you talking to the son of your taylor ?" " I do consider the son of my taylor, friend Horace, to be very much thy supe- rior, and not quite so familiar with the personage thou art so fond of swear- ing by." m Faith, sir," fiercely replied the im- petuous Horace, striding with rapid movement across the spacious room, " you are enough to drive a man mad : I wish, sir, you would read a few liberal authors, and strive to become a little like the world, — one may then, possibly, endure you." " If to be like the world, Horace, is to be like thee or thy companions, the fewer of the sort the better," replied he. Then crossing the room to where Isabel sat, quietly caressing her dog, he addressed her with " What, Bella, child, DECISION. 89 but one pet ; what hast thou done with thy book ?" " Laid it aside, dear sir. I never wish for a book when in company with you : to improve my understanding is my grand aim > and your conversation will always afford the means of so doing." " O fie, tie, Bella ! I wish thou wouldst learn to speak the words of truth and soberness: thou dost borrow too much the phraseology of thy out- landish authors, and speak that thy heart does not agree to." * Indeed, sir," returned Isabel, " your caution for once misleads you : I know I am not without fault, but trust me, that of saying what I do not mean, is not among them. If I did not respect you, I may not perhaps say so ; but a syllable indicative of esteem you would never hear from Isabel Fitzallen." "Truly, child," returned the rather surprised Quaker, " thy countenance doth bear the stamp of honesty : I would 90 DECISION. fain believe that thou art desirous <>i knowing the truth ; but why waste thy precious time, Bella, in reading the labours of the sinful man, or in nursing this great dog ?" " I will tell you candidly, sir," rejoin- ed Isabel, all the openness of her natu- ral character painted on her beautiful face : " I have but little useful employ, and less means of obtaining useful con- versation. True, great numbers visit here, dine at my father's table, drink with his son, and trifle with his daughters ; but rational information they either do not possess, or they think it would be wasted at Fitzallen : the latter would appear the most natural, were it not that in every other house I meet the same unmeaning nonsense, the same vapid, uninteresting see-saw, y'cleped conversation. With the abbe I cannot talk : ask me not why ; but the thing is impossible. With my ever kind father I spend many hours alone ; but his mind is so fully engaged that he DECISION. 91 does not converse, as he plays at chess, which puts the matter out of question. Horace is from home a great deal, and Emma has many occupations ; thus you see I have few resources : from my books I gain new ideas, new information, amusement, society, and delight; from my dog, — shall I own my weakness ? the creature loves me, is grateful for my attentions, never scolds or raves, and positively appears more rational, fre- quently, than the * thinking creature man £■ in return I love it, and feel glad to have an object on which I can lavish kindness, unreproved. Now, sir, own I am not so very blame-worthy as you fancied." " Truly, friend Isabel, thy relation afflicts me," replied the Quaker, in a softened voice : " thou art in a fearful perplexity ; but doth not thy confessor recommend such books to thee as may assist thy mind, and confirm thee in the principles of religion ? And surely thy 92 DECISION. father's large library can afford thee more useful studies than German novels and French infidelity* What history hast thou read, I would ask j only that I greatly fear, history so called, is generally but the false colouring of very profane and wicked actions." " Oh, dear sir," rejoined Isabel, " I have read all the history the English, French, and Italian languages produce, and have not entirely neglected the Spanish." " Too much by twenty times, child," cried the astonished friend : " what a pity it is that thy head should have been so turned : thou shouldst have learn- ed only English and Latin. Throw thy books away, Isabel, and go to making clothes for thy poor tenants." " My dear sir," exclaimed his niece, her fine features in a glow, " I know not how to hold a needle or scissars." " Then Bella," calmly replied Mr. Hammond, " thou hast enough to do. Go DECISION. 93 and employ some tidy housewife to teach thee sewing ; and if thou shouldst add to it washing and ironing, it will not harm thee: then make thy house- keeper teach thee her art, thou wilt then find enough to do ; and my judgment de- ceives me if it be not, at no very remote period, the best part of thy knowledge." Having given this advice, he turned from her, to again question Horace, who had been talking to his groom from the window the whole of the time ; and Isabel's long silken lashes fell over her dark eyes as she mentally ex- claimed, " Alas ! how insufficient to be an adviser is this man : he can really do great actions, but I suspect the motive to be self-love. Ah, Horace, you are per- fectly right, * in doing actions appa- rently virtuous, man seeks not the ad- vantage of another, but the gratifications of his own pride and vanity ;' telle est la monde, telle est la veriu ! After all, phi- 94 DECISION. losophy is our only friend, our only good." " Come, Lara, my trite friend," said she aloud, as rising from her chair she called the dog, and went in pursuit of her father. " Again I ask thee, Horace," said friend Hammond, giving the young man no gentle tap on the shoulder, " whether thou wilt leave off blasphemy, and be- come a steady man of business?" " My first business, sir, will be to knock you down, spite of your age, unless you can find a more becoming use for your hands," replied the fiery Horace, turning round with fierceness toward the man of peace. " Thy philosophy, young man, stands thee but little service : a very small por- tion of religion would serve thee better, and teach thee to bridle thy bad temper, which savours much of sinfulness," re- turned Mr. Hammond. DECISION, 95 " 1 suppose, sir," said Horace haugh- tily, " if I were to accept your magnifi- cent offer, and do myself the honour of becoming your clerk, you would find it part of my duty, I believe that is the word, to hear one of those cursed bores of preachments every day, or as often as you may think fit : it won't do, sir, no, egad : you may get your clerks where you can, but pray do not think of a son of the house of Fitzallen." " I'll tell thee what, Horace, all this trumpery pride is as empty as thy poor head, and will never help to fill thy empty pockets : there's no choice for thee : work or starve is the word ; so now do which thou wilt : I give thee a week to consider. I am going home to my own family ; and Emma, when Eliza Selby comes there, if thou wouldst like to accom- pany her, truly thou art most welcome, and my wife Rebecca will tell thee so herself, if thou comest ; and now farewell. Kegp a clean conscience, child, serve God, and 96 DECISION. meddle not with history, or, worse again, with philosophy." So saying, the kind friend shook hands with Emma, and without noticing the sulky, haughty Horace, who sat tormenting a young cur that unfortunately had found its way into the room, stept into his own plain carriage, which just then drew up, and sought his quiet, peaceful abode. " Whew," whistled Horace, " there goes old square-toes, with ten times as much pride under that broad brim of his as a man of the world would carry under a fashionable shape. But tell me, Emma, you demure little thing, how comes it that you are in such high favour with the old gent. ?" " Precisely because I am what you call a demure little thing, I fancy," re- plied Emma. " You know I spent a con- siderable time at his house, with our dear mother, and there first became acquainted with Mrs. Selby ; and, to conf'r «i the truth, I am greatly attached to Mr. Ham- DECISION. 97 mond and his family, and feel that I owe much to them." " Attached! Emma: what, to the hope- fid John, I suppose ?" " There is much in John to admire, I assure you, Horace." " Oh ! very much, doubtless, for a young woman like you. Pray Emma, is it his conversation, with all its appropriate yea's, nay's, and verily ah's, the con- tour of his primitive phiz, the candle- like straightness of his fair locks, or the dashing cut of his sober brown, that you find cause of admiration in ?" " Particularly the first, I think," coolly replied Emma ; " but I have a grateful sense of his affectionate kindness to our dear mother, and no dislike to any thing you have named ?" " Faith, Emma, I believe you will be turning Quaker yourself, and then you may marry friend John, and become one of thv ober clan." " I may do many worse things than vol. i. • F 98 DECISION. the one you have suggested, my dear brother." " Which of the one's, Emma, Quaker- ism or marrying? two delectable things ; and so after all, you have made no farther advances in philosophy, reason, or even common sense, than to talk of gratitude, kindness, affection, and such stupid non- sense, or even to hear coolly the possi- bility of becoming connected with a Quaker by mere vulgar marriage." " I cannot think, Horace, that even you are careless enough of the calls of conscience, or the world's dread laugh, to wish your sister connected by any other ties, than those of vulgar marriage, to any man in the kingdom." " The calls of conscience, you talk of, I neither understand nor care about : the world's dread laugh, is, I think, far more likely to be exerted against mar- riage than the connections of taste and pleasure. Certainly, of all prejudices it is the most absurd j and of all ties the most DECISION. 99 galling. In France the thing is now quite out : they have, happily, thrown off this badge of weakness ; and England and Ireland will soon, I hope, follow her bright example. Indeed the superstitious idea of its being a sacred tie is already fast giving way ; and liberty, liberty is the word ; and reason the deity of every enlightened man and woman aigourd'hui; but, ma petite, I must leave you to your own cogitations, for there goes O'Neil, and I must try to squeeze something out of him." But O'Neil was not to be squeezed, coaxed, or scolded out of a farthing. He had, in the management of Fitzallen, grown rich, in proportion as its ostensible owner had become poor. O'Neil had given long leases, ground fines, &c; but Sir William appeared toget but little by it. Crossing his hands behind him, chewing comfortably the quid that rolled in his mouth, and seating himself on the bar-gate by which Horace stood, l- 2 100 DECISION. he waited with an air of unconcern, until a pause in his honour's soothing speech gave an opportunity of his replying with " I'll jist tell ye what maister Horace, 'tis jist blowing to the wind ye are, for by Jasus ye've drawn to the full more than half beyond what the estate yields, and every farm and tiniment on the place wants a wee thing or two in the way of keeping out the rain, propping up the walls, or something that's like it j so, d'y'e see, it was not in my power to let your good ould father, set aside the like of you, have a shillen. Myself does not know how long's the time ; not that I'd even object, but to do the thing genteely ; for 'tis an iligant family ye are all thegither." " But my good friend, O'Neil, what is to become of me, if you do not contrive to raise me some money." " Faith then, maister, it's more than myself can tell ye, and 'tis an iligant number of ye there are to find fortrns for j and 'tis, wjpll, let me just tell ye, if ye DECISION. 101 ran find bread, let alone any thing to go seeing foreign parts with/' " This is all nonsense, O'Neil : how were large families provided for out of it in the days of my forefathers ?" " Nonsense is it? well it becomes the. like of you to say that to like a me, when it's myself that keeps the cart on the wheels this many a day ; but ye' el see, ye'el see who it is that's talking non- sense, so good day to ye, maister." " Nay, nay, do not be going Q'Neil: you and I must talk this matter over further." " There's no need o' that, maister Ho- race : I told ye all t'other day, that jist by way of obliging you and the family, if you're father, the good ould man woud be for passing another fining down on the whole property, i'd be after seeing what could be done ; but theres not a shillen to be got out of any o' the tin- ants widout that, the thafes." So saying, and nodding sagaciously, f 3 1 OS DECISION. O'Neil walked away, and left Horace muttering curses on his insolence, and indignant at his familiarity. At the repeated solicitations of his son, Sir William at last sent to request a con- ference with his agent, desiring him at the same time to bring his accounts, that they may be audited and adjusted before his son left Fitzallen. Long enough be- fore that time comes, thought the saga- cious Irishman, if it's money from this he's waiting for to take him off. O'Neil sent word he w r ould first ate his dinner with his honour on Thursday ; and as for the accounts, why they'd be coming soon enough. " A rascal, said Horace, a peat bog is not blacker than his heart.'* " If you think so, said Isabel, why do you not take the management of Fitzal- len into your own hands : you may surely be as useful here as at Mr. Hammond's." " Perhaps more so j but I never will drudge here or elsewhere. My birth and education entitles me to the life and DECISION. 103 habits of a gentleman ; and I neither can nor will stoop to any thing else." The expressive eyes of Isabel said plainly as eyes could speak, " men are all equal, high and low but the corrup- tions of society, what then mean you by stooping ?" but Horace, at that moment seeing an advantageous move for his knight, forgot his politics in the interest of a game of chess, while Sir William's " Excellent ! bravo Philidore !" recalled the wandering thoughts of the fair Isabel to discover the advantage neglect had given her brother. " An excellent lesson for us all," said Mrs. Selby, who was drawing at the table near them, on hearing Isabel's lamentations ; " it should teach us the necessity of steadiness and singleness of mind ; you, Miss Fitzallen, by distrac- tion have given your adversary a very decided advantage over you ; whilst I, by inattention to my pursuit, have spoiled F 4 104 DECISION. an object on which I had before be- stowed great pains." " 1 believe you are perfectly right, my dear madam," returned Isabel ; " but I have some how or other contracted an unfortunate habit of distraction which will probably continue my companion, toute la vie" " Comme vous voulez" my dear Isabel, if- you treat it as a friend it will most assuredly remain stationary or rather perhaps increase ; but if you put it from you as an enemy, never giving it encouragement, but constant checks, depend on it, you will find less and less of its company, until you have ceased to hold any acquaintance at all." " Well," replied Isabel, " the conse- quence of this same distraction at pre- sent is my being checkmated. Horace, I yield the palm to your superior abilities ; you can rate at O'Neil, argue with me, and play chess well, why will you not go into the army? The next step to DECISION. 105 understanding this game well, is being a good general, for which it prepares you. 5 ' " Tres bon ! so you contrive to com- pliment yourself by calling me an excel- lent master of the game, for having beaten you," replied Horace gaily, as he again placed his pieces, to resume with his father this interesting pursuit. " I think, Mrs. Selby," said Isabel, turning to that lady, " you were recom- mending singleness of mind ; now, per- haps, I do not understand the term properly, but it appears to me that the mind, by intently pursuing one object, would soon become cramped and narrow in the same way as the body, by being kept too long in one position, becomes contracted and deformed ; and to this I think my own distraction highly pre- ferable." " You mistake me altogether," replied Mrs. Selby ; " I said singleness, not inten- sity of mind ; the one differs widely from the other : by singleness I simply mean r 5 106 DECISION. the opposite of distraction, a steady pur- suit of the object in hand ; it is not the steadiness with which a body is kept in a position, but the length of time it is kept in that state, which contracts and de- forms it." " Is it to the intensity of study, my dear Mrs. Selby, you attribute that taint among men of liberal profession, which I would call the brand of their calling, and which causes them, by their convers- ation, quickly to discover to what class of the community they belong." " Doubtless it is owing purely to the constant pursuit of one object, and this is so generally acknowledged, that the danger among our young professional men rather seems, that they should run into the opposite extreme, and avoid every appearance even of science," re- plied Mrs. Selby. " Well, well," rejoined Isabel, " do not lament over this misfortune, you re- collect Theophrastus was discovered not DECISION. 107 n to be an Athenian by the very strict ad- herence he showed to the Attic dialect ; so a man not early formed to habitual ease and leisure betrays, in like manner, the effects of his education, by an unne- cessary display of behaviour, or an affec- tation of indolence." " I think," said Emma, " I would be delighted to mix more in English so- ciety, than we have hitherto done ; they have so greatly the advantages of educa- tion, and are generally possessed of so much rational conversation, the result of good common sense." " Thank you, dear Emma, in the name of my countrymen," replied Mrs. Selby ; " they certainly enjoy every ad- vantage, but we do not consider them as excelling in conversational talents, or even equalling the natives of your own green island." " Emma," said Horace, " who had overheard the latter part of the convers- ation, "forms her standard of perfection f 6 108 DECISION, from friend Joseph and his son Joh n ^ but, Emma, the latter no more deserves to be called an Englishman, than you a Scotchwoman, his mother being bond fide Irish ; but comfort yourself, ma belle, since a regiment of English soldiers are expected immediately to take up winter quarters in Cork ; you will then see the flower of the nation, and not only see them, but see them in the attractive pa- raphernalia of military accoutrement.." Emma did not think these same mili- tary accoutrements very attractive, but forbore to say so, especially as Isabel expressed great pleasure at hearing they had the prospect of English society for a whole winter. DECISION. 109 CHAP. V. Thursday came, and with it O'Neil re* membered his engagement at Fitzallen ; accordingly he took his place at the din- ner-table, affording, for the enquiring mind of Isabel, full scope for speculation. " What is this creature man," thought she, " who holds himself so high in the scale of existence ; a mere animal of cir- cumstance, twisted and wound about by the caprice of chance ; the most aspiring spirit, the loftiest mind, bends to superior force or cunning. Education the only difference in men ! impossible ! even the immortal Locke must have been mistaken in this case; had Mr. Hammond, Horace, the abbe, and O'Neil been born in one hour, educated and treated in every respect the same, would they have been 110 DECISION, alike ? — Is it education? Is it chance ? or is it circumstance, that gives to each dispositions so opposite? Could any thing have given to the abbe's haughty, severe, overbearing mind, the complacent mild simplicity of* Joseph Hammond ? or to the low, cunning, money-loving, vulgar O'Neil, the careless generosity, and noble frankness of my brother? Each have alike been the subject of prejudice and error, even though in different situations; yet all are differently affected by it. We must then be the creatures of chance, and not free-will agents." From reflections such as these she was aroused by the attentions due to her guests, in which Isabel never relaxed, though that guest were even the despised agent alone. Isabel was naturally ex- tremely proud, a disposition which, in- stead of being checked by timely and wise correction, had been fostered and nursed by herself, under the specious name of a noble mind, and by others DECISION'. Ill under a variety of similar deceptive ap- pellations, until it was become the great principle of action within her, and the in- fluencing motive of every thought, word, and deed : even the urbanity of her po- lished manners, and the apparent kind- ness of her heart, owed its existence to the same impure source. After the ladies were withdrawn, Horace enquired if O'Neil had brought the ac- counts, for the purpose of adjustment. " Is it after dinner ye'd be adjisting accounts* now Maister Horace; sure then, and its enough to boder the head wid the business all the morning, and to be rin- nin about from place to place, for the very showl of one, to try what's to be done for ye." The last sentence a little cooled the rising anger of Horace, who hoped the rapacious agent may yet be brought to comply with his wishes : but nothing was farther from the intentions of O'Neil; a man of low birth, and no education, 112 DECISION. beyond what could be gleaned from his parish priest, who to the other duties of his station, added that of teacher to the children of his flock, and some know- ledge of figures which his father had im- parted, he had from an under station succeeded in gaining the envied one of agent, on Sir William's coming into the estate. His patron's love of ease, ignor- ance of business, and openness to flattery, soon became apparent to O'Neil, and were as soon made subservient to his own purposes : by degrees he brought on the ruinous practice of fines, long leases, over-setting, and all the miseries of a rack-rent estate in Ireland ; though he was always obsequious on these occasions, his verbose arguments never failed of gaining the desired grant. Much w r assaid of the advantages arising from all this. But the good baronet could not help seeing that his servant grew rich and himself poor: to all the remonstrances DECISION. 113 of Joseph Hammond, his never failing re- ply was, " What can be done to help it? I do not understand business, and if I did, could not torment myself with it ; and another agent may do worse than poor O'Neil, who is always galloping over the estate, to make what he can from it." And so he was, but it was to make ex- actions, purchases, and seizures ; all to his own emolument. In granting leases O'Neil had general- ly taken the long ones himself, and given short under-leases to his tenants. The plan he had now inwiew, was to get a lease on the whole, at a small propor- tion of its value, by passing a fine of con* siderable ostensible amount, but which he well knew how to reduce to a reason- ble sum, or to a mere line of cyphers, which ever best should suit his purpose. From being a cringing obsequious ser- vant, he had gradually grown free, care- less, and now insolent. Horace had of late become tormenting and trouble- 114 DECISION. some to him, and to get fairly rid of him, O'Neil was inclined to forward a few hundreds ; but he would first be sure how it would be applied, that it might not be lavished on a favourite mistress, or hit at a gaming-table. Interest is seldom pursued but at some hazard: he who hopes to gain much, has commonly something to lose, and when he attacks superiority, if he fails to conquer, he will infallibly lose. This was the case with the trio at Fitzallen, the power of granting what they needed, gave the low O'Neil a superiority over Sir William and Horace ; while the hope of at last gaining his point gave to O'Neil the air and feelings of one rather suing for than granting a favour. On the subject of accounts he would say but little; the fact was, he dreaded the scrutinising eye of Horace, and determined to avoid it, by temporising. Thus they parted at a late hour, without coming to any clear ex- planation on either side, and Horace still DECISION. 115 remained undetermined what decision to come to, when an accident gave the cast- ing vote. The day before it was necessary to give friend Hammond an answer, Horace Fitzalien dined at the house of a gen- tleman in the neighbourhood ; among the company present were an English- man of high respectability, and a Scotch- man who had spent many years in Ame- rica, drank deeply into its spirit and po- litics, and now rendered himself disgust- ing by a display of what he called liberty of sentiment, magnanimity, and universal suffrage. He left his native mountains when very young, without money, with- out patronage ; in fact, with no other means of getting forward in the world than a decent education, prudence and an habitual industry : with these he had succeeded in establishing his fortune* and routing the few religious principles with which he left Scotland. It is gene- rally agreed that few men are made better bv affluence or exaltation, and 116 DECISION. that the powers of the mind when they are unbound and expanded by the sun- shine of felicity, more frequently lux- uriate into follies than blossom into goodness. Our trans-atlantic Caledonian was a proof of the truth of this. He appeared but to wait opportunity to let his folly evaporate in noisy volleys, that, like detonating balls, may stun, and even in- jure ; but never can please, or do any good. The constitution, the religion, the manners and customs of England, afforded a fine field for his volubility. The English guest, firm in his ad- herence to the purest of all constitutions, a zealous member of his most Christian church, and attached to the customs and forms of that country, in which a long line of respectable ancestors had sustain- ed the characters and reputations of good subjects, and steady Christians, could ill .brook these ebullitions of deistical noise, — especially feeling them generally di- DECISION. 117 < rected to himself. He at first coolly replied, by saying it was scarcely fair, as yet, to draw any comparison between England and America, the latter being quite an infant country. Macdonald replied with warmth 5 — Horace supported him, and a warm de- bate arose, which became general. There were not wanting those present who envied the success of Macdonald. Some there were who had known some- thing of him or his family, when in com- parative poverty. Whoever rises above those who once pleased themselves with equality, will have many malevolent gazers at his eminence. To gain, sooner than others, that which all pursue with the same ardour, and to which all consi- der themselves equally entitled, will be for ever a crime. Thus, the bold advocate for trans- Atlantic equality, and the panegyrist on the many means there open for the gain- ing of wealth, found those present, who 118 DECISION. > in the race of life being left far behind, revenged themselves by bitter remarks on upstart pride, conceit, forwardness, captiousness, &c. ; while others treated with contempt one who could not reason rationally, and would not be convinced. But Horace was among the few who ranged by his side, and defended his principles, or rather lack of principles. At a late hour, when wine added to the heat of the debate, Mr. Unwin, the Englishman, gave a reply so severe and sarcastic to some observation of Mac- donald's, that a challenge was instantly declared absolutely necessary, and was given on the spot. Mr. Unwin firmly refused to accept it, saying, he should ill support the prin- ciples he had declared to be his, by send- ing a fellow-creature, uncalled, into that presence he impiously denied, or falling himself by an act in direct opposition to those precepts he had made the study of his life. DECISION. 119 This was directly voted base coward- ice, want of spirit, meanness, and so forth ; but to all this Mr. Unwin was proof; and so clear and convincing were his arguments, that Horace alone, after some time, supported the duellist. This fracas broke up the party ; but Macdonald promised to breakfast with his new friend. And Horace returned home with his head full of America, her treasures, beauties, liberties, ex- emption from taxes, freedom of senti- ment, and equality. The two hours spent over a middle- day breakfast, confirmed all those floating visions ; and the new friends separated, leaving Horace fully convinced there was no other country fit for the habitation of a sensible man but America : unless, in- deed, France may be rendered so by her glorious revolution. The consequence of this was an imme- diate ride to Cork, and a visit to the counting-house of Joseph Hammond and 120 DECISION. son. The old gentleman was quietly seated before a large table, folding up a quantity of letters he had apparently been examining. He leisurely finished what he was doing, without taking any farther notice of the unusually volatile salutation of his nephew, than a slight nod of the head. Having completed his undertaking, and composedly placed them in the drawer of his table, he took off his spectacles, wiped them carefully, and placed them in their green shagreen case ; then lifting his plain browm wig, he wiped the bald head it covered, and replaced it again. All this while, Horace had been indus- triously beating his boot with the riding whip he held in his hand, as if to flog out of it that degree of patience he found himself deficient in, although the slow motions of the methodic Quaker called for a large portion. Seeing him perfectly disengaged, Horace began by saying, " Well, sir, DECISION. 121 agreeably to your desire, I have ridden over this morning, to talk over this mer- cantile affair." " Surely, friend Horace," replied Mr. Hammond, " thou art mistaken ; I did not desire that thou shouldst ride here to-day, to talk over any matter of com- merce. I do not know that thou under- standest any." ft You know, sir, I suppose, that you made some sort of a proposal for my entering into business, to which you re- quired a reply this morning ?" " I do know that I made thy father an offer of placing thee in my counting- house, and of giving thee a share in the concern, under certain conditions ; and that I desired of thee to send or bring thy decision at an early hour on third-day morning : but I did not desire thee to ride here at five o'clock in the day. I am now just going to my home and dinner." " Lord, sir ! would you have me get VOL. I. G 122 DECISION. up in the middle of the night to wait or, you ? I came the moment I had taken my breakfast, and ten long, heavy miles I found it." " Is thy horse lame, Horace ?" " What the deuce, sir, do you think I ride lame horses ?" " Thou hast not answered my ques- tion." " 'Twas not a question to be answer- ed. My horse lame, indeed ! No, sir j it would beat any horse in the country, either at a gallop, canter, or walk." " Why, then, didst thou not make it gallop, canter, or walk here, in a shorter time?" " In a shorter time, sir ! why, it was not forty minutes out of the stable, till we were at your door." " How, Horace ? not forty minutes ! Didst thou not say that thou earnest from thy home as soon as thou hadst taken thy breakfast ?" « Yes, sir." DECISION. 123 " At what hour didst thou eat that meal ?" " Somewhere about two." " Why, then, didst thou not come here before thy breakfast ?" " What ! before I was out of my room !" "Wast thou ill this morning, Horace?" * Why, not exactly. But I see what all this tends to : you think I ought to have been up, and out earlier. The case was just this : — I dined at Sir Patrick O'Farrel's yesterday ; there was a jovial party, and we sat rather late : the conse- quence was, I could not rise early. Besides, a friend breakfasted with me, which detained me a little. But here I now am, ready to receive my creden- tials, and embark for America." " Humph ! thinkest thou it will com- port with a man of business to get drunk at thy neighbour's house, — take up the wild opinions oi' a man thou never saw- est, — instantly call him thy friend, — g 2 124 DECISION. offer thyself to help him murder the ho- nest father of a large family, because he would not swear that the book of God was a book of lies, nor curse his king and country, — then lie in thy bed until the middle of the day, — rise, and with thy new friend, waste enough to provide a poor family with a meal, — and then cruelly injure thy poor beast, by riding him over ten miles of bad road, without consideration or mercy ? And this, Horace, is the fair representation of thy actions since yester-night." Horace remembered perfectly the con- ditions on which his uncle had promised to befriend him ; besides, his cooler rea- son convinced him he had been guilty of rudeness, and even violence, towards Mr. Unwin, who was a gentleman and a perfect stranger, therefore entitled to politeness from every one. He was also sorry that Mr. Hammond should have heard any thing of the foolish affair. These considerations kept him DECISION. 135 some time silent : when seeing Mr. Ham- mond rise, and begin to put on his great coat, Horace stammered out something between an apology and a defence ; and continued, that as his decision was in favour of America, lie should there be beyond the reach of such powerful temptation as his hospitable countrymen threw in his way. The friendly Quaker was pleased with even this appearance of contrition. It was a greater humiliation than his haughty nephew had ever before shown \ and he replied to it by an invitation to dinner ; adding, " Thou mayest leave thy ill-used horse in my stables here. My son's" servant is a trusty man, and will use him well ; and thou shalt go in my carriage, and I will bring thee back in the morning. " " But my groom, sir, what shall I do with him ?" " Thou mayest send him home; fori c 3 126 DECISION. will not have any of thy servants with mine." Much as Horace disliked this plan, he had nothing to do but submit, or affront. At another time, the latter would unhe- sitatingly have been his choice ; but now, the new-born desire of going to America, and the pride he felt, spite of his equalising principles, in going, in* terested in a house of the first respecta- bility, taught him the strange lesson of setting a bridle on his tongue, and a curb on his inclinations. He therefore dis- missed the groom, with orders to meet him there at twelve next morning, -* sent his own Bucephalus into the stable belonging to John, — and went to dine at his uncle's truly elegant man- sion and table, absolutely undrest, quite ridiculous, positively booted and spurred. Friend Hammond, not being perfectly aufait of dress and undress, was not aware of this dilemma, until he heard Horace lamenting it to Anne Hammond, a very DECISION. 127 lovely girl of seventeen, and the good merchant's only daughter, — a very good speculation, Horace would some- times say, if it were not for the unrea- sonable depth of her bonnet, which held him at greater distance than the freezing point of her civility. Anne, on this day, appeared even more than usually freezing. After enquiring for friends Isabel and Emma, to which was added, " and thy father, too, how is he ?" she took no farther notice of her handsome cousin, than to reply to any thing he addressed to her the repulsive sentence — " Didst thou speak to me ?" Yet coldness appeared not the native offspring of Anne's heart : to every one else present, she was kind, attentive, and affectionate. A very plain old man, who modestly took his place low at the table, was the object of Anne's most interested atten- tion. She appeared even to watch his looks, anxious that no mark of good-will e 4 128 DECISION. should be omitted, and in every respect exerted herself to render him happy. Dinner passed away, and the ladies withdrew, when drawing his large leather chair nearer the fire, stirring it up, and comfortably seating himself, the Quaker soon forgot his friends and himself in the luxury of an afternoon seista, from which he did not awaken until a servant, agreeably to the custom of the house, in- formed the gentlemen tea was in the drawing-room, when opening his eyes, he gratefully thanked God for health, and the advantage of sleeping when he chose, and then led the way to the drawing-room. Horace began to grow sadly weary : an evening in the quiet domestic family party of a Quaker was " insufferable, not to be borne, absolutely ennuyante, beyond the possibility of expression." In despair of any thing to amuse since music was forbidden, conversation such as he could not enjoy, and not a child DECISION. 129 cat or dog to tease, not even a parrot or a monkey to play with, and every body so provokingly content and happy, he was meditating a retreat to his bed, by pleading, what was not absolutely a pretence, fatigue, for he was completely weary of his aunt, her daughter, their guests, and all within their walls ; when Joseph Hammond crossing the room, and taking a chair by Horace, commenced the business on which they met, by say- ing, " I think, friend Horace, thou didst say it is thy wish to go to America ; dost thou mean in the concern of Hammond and Penn." u Certainly, sir, what else could I mean ?" " I know not what thou couldst mean, Horace ; but if thou didst mean to go to Philadelphia, thou shouldst have said so in time." " Surely, sir, I am to the very day !" " But men in business, Horace, must mind the very minute, I told thee at an g 5 130 DECISION. early hour, — thou canst not call five in the afternoon an early hour." " Good God, sir, what vexatious tri- fling this is. By Heavens I wish you would at once come to the point, — do vou mean to send me or not ?" " Anne, what report dost thou bear of the young man thou wentest to en- quire concerning," demanded Mr. Ham- mond of his daughter, without noticing the impatient exclamation of Horace. " That he is a very well-disposed youth, father, labouring hard to support a widow mother and sick sister ; and therefore meriting thy patronage," replied Anne, with feeling. " Didst thou see his mother, Anne?" returned her father. " I feared, father, to see her, because the excellent character many did give of her and her children touched my heart, and I feared to have my feelings worked on, which might perhaps blind my judg- ment." DECISION. 131 The father did not reply ; but her mo- ther, smiling with affection on her, said, " Thou art quite right, my dear Anne, in being careful not to mistake feeling for judgment 5 but now that thou hast made the enquiry and given thy report, I would that thou shouldst see this poor widow, who with her sick child may need that which thou canst spare from thine abun- dance." Anne gracefully thanked her mother, and promised to visit them on the morrow. Horace again began to weary, and rising from his chair, paced the room with quick and agitated steps. Rebecca Hammond, and her daughter and friend, regarded him with evident surprise, but forbore to speak ; until friend Joseph, rousing from a train of thought, called to him, " Come hither, friend Horace, I have been thinking what it seems best to do with thee. The young man thou didst hear me enquire about g 6 132 DECISIONS is the son of one I once knew ; but like thee, Horace, he became an infidel, cursed his God, and died : I will not pursue him farther. But remember, Horace, before he knew thy friend Voltaire, with whom he became acquainted in France, where business called him, he was an honest rnan, and a Christian. From that frantic infidel he learnt to blaspheme, learnt to call the twelve apostles, twelve scoun- drels, and their master a wretch ! Mark his end, he died in a gaol ! in want of every support for body or soul j for then, Horace, he found he had a soul. Do thou beware of the like state. His son, I am told, is not like him ; should this prove the fact, I intend to take him into my employ." Horace could with difficulty restrain himself from saying, " Well, sir, what is this to me ?" But there was a purity, a saint-like freedom from all vice, in the family and home of the Quaker, that even Horace was forced to respect, and DECISION 133 dared not violate, though he could riot ap- preciate it. — " This forenoon," continued Joseph Hammond, " I have been answer- ing the letters of my friend Robert Penn ; and did intend, if thou hadst been punc- tual, to have stated to him my intentions respecting thee, instead of which I have only said 1 should probably send out a young man by the next vessel, meaning the one thou didst hear me ask my daughter concerning. However, I have been considering, that it is most likely he should wish to stay at home. 1 may therefore employ him here ; and as it seems thy wish to go to America, I will send thee there by the first vessel which sails after the one which is now ready to go ; and in the mean time, let me recom- mend thee to change thy way of life, and make the book of thy study the Book of God, and the copy of thy imi- tation Him whom Voltaire calls 1 the wretch, 5 namely Chrisr. Remember,young man, thy present and eternal good de- 134 DECISION. pends on thy conduct in the next three years, shouldst thou be spared to see them ; and be careful that thou art never again as to day, too late, or thou mayest be like those who came and knocked, but the door was shut : thou knowest where to find the account, the mad French school has not quite driven from thy mind the lessons taught by thy suf- fering mother." As he concluded, Horace rose from his chair, wished the party good night, enquired the hour of breakfast, and re- tired, half inclined to think priestcraft and prejudice were not such bad things as d' Alembert and Diderot had described them ; and that it would take greater time to overturn Christianity than Dami- laville and Voltaire had exultingly predicted. On parting from the worthy merchant, the next day Horace again sought his new friend, who, delighted at the thought of having made a proselyte by the force DECISION. J 35 of his arguments, or beauty of his paint- ing, proceeded to describe in rapturous strains, the freedom of sentiment, the liberty of thought, the philanthropy and the unshackled state of the Americans ; but particularly of the native tribes up the country, among whom he declared it his intention to settle on his return ; and hoped his dear friend Horace might be prevailed on to follow the same plan of living, according to the dictates of nature alone. Horace was well disposed to admire all his friend uttered, and did not think it impossible that a life of savage free- dom may indeed be the most consonant to the designs of nature. Macdonald accompanied Horace to Fitzallen, who introduced him to his father and sisters, as the friend with whom he intended crossing the Atlantic. " Then you have indeed determined on going," said Emma, in softened ac- 136 DECISION. cents, " 1 have hoped, even to the last, you would remain in Ireland." " Did you, ma petite" returned her brother ; " it is really melancholy how all our hopes are disappointed ; but I ex- pect you will be leaving this land of su- perstition, and following me to the blest abode of freedom and plenty." " If all that is charming in climate or scenery, or delightful in society, can tempt the lovely Emma from her native land, she will assuredly adorn your transatlantic abode," said Macdonald. ij Emma shrunk from the daring gaze of insolence, as she thought, " if this is a sample of all that is delightful in society, may I ever be spared from it." During dinner, Macdonald used all his efforts to win the good opinion of Sir William and Isabel ; but Sir William was out of spirits. Spite of all his heresy, his philosophy, and his equality, which nobody could less bear from an inferior, DECISION. 137 Horace was his eldest and iiis darling son ; and at this moment, all the father swelled at his affectionate heart : he felt himself declining ; the probability was, he should see that son no more, by whom lie would fain have been supported at that awful moment, " When some kind friend the parting soul requires." These reflections for some time kept him serious, and rendered the presence of Macdonald, whom he considered the im- mediate cause of his son's decision in favour of America, almost painful. Isabel was too good a pupil of the new school to regret her brother's de- termination, or feel offended with what enraged or choked the abbe ; the light and indecorous manner in which his friend took occasion to speak of religion, or even virtue, which he boldly pronounced to be the shadow of a dream. But the native delicacy of her mind was not yet gone, and the bold stare, loud voice, and fulsome compliments of Macdonald* 138 DECISION. added to a licentiousness of manner and conversation, displeased and even dis- gusted her so much, that the polite and elegant Isabel became haughty, repul- sive, and severe. To Mrs. Selby he scarcely spoke, observing to Emma, in an audible whisper, " there was too much of the Christian about her, — he had long since cut that vulgar error." Emma simply replied, " it was very ( evident," and felt happier at seeing her sister make a movement to withdraw, than she had done during dinner. " Surely, my dear Miss Fitzallen," said Mrs. Selby, when they were alone, " if this is the philosopher, the free- thinker, I have heard you describe as the most perfect work of nature, your ideal standard of perfection falls very far be- neath what I should attach to that appella- tion:— this man seems scarcely a ra- tional being." " O, name not the wretch," replied Isabel, " a mere insult to the name of DECISION. 139 a philosopher, a very sad pretender to what he does not understand : lie a free- thinker ! he a man of capacious soul ! oh, no, the thing is impossible. " " Yet, Isabel, he is an open enemy to revealed religion, has read the French Encyclopedia that you admire so much, and in his early days held some corres- pondence with Diderot. I heard him tell your brother, he thought Voltaire quite correct, and displaying a wonderful degree of penetration, when in his letter to M. d'Argrice, he exults in the ap- proaching fall of the church of England ; extols the English truths of Hume; and asserts, that in London Christ was spum- ed. So you see, Isabel, he has read Vol- taire, and understands him: what else do you require ?" " Require, my good friend! that he should be a man of sense : good reading will not give good sense, though to select the one, may display something of the other. His quotation of the passage you 140 DECISION*. name does him some credit; even yon must allow its truths : your church daily sinks, the light of knowledge daily in- creases, revealed religion gets into dis- repute, and natural religion hourly gains new converts : this, even you will not deny." " Indeed, Isabel, I will deny it posi- tively : that there is at present a melan- choly hubbub made by some infatuated, misled persons, cannot be doubted ; but that the church of England sinks, is, I assure you, a mistake : on the contrary, it increases daily ; and if you and I live to be old women, we shall see the good cause (the Christian's good cause) more flourishing than it has ever been." " And pray what good thing do you expect for the church of France?" " As a Protestant, dear Isabel, and an enemy to despotic power, though 1 lament the excesses into which they ap- pear running in that ill-fated country, I should rejoice to see the blind super* DECISION. 141 stitions of their religion cleared away, more liberty of conscience, and less papal and monarchical power exerted : and such, I hope, will be the case after the first effervescence of liberty rage has subsided." " In fact, my dear Mrs. Selby, you would Anglicise them all, and make good dowdy Protestant Christians, and sober, well-affected subjects, who pay their taxes, say their prayers, and eat their beef and pudding sans grondez. Well, I dare say the good souls would be all very happy, especially ifj for pastime, they had baby-clothes to make for the poor ; but as I know not how to hold my needle, come, like a rational being, and teach me your last new lesson on the harp." " Willingly, dear Isabel, not despair- ing of one day seeing you a rational being and a good Christian;" replied Mrs. Selby, as she drew the harp forward and prepared to tune it. 142 DECISION. CHAP. VL I he dreary month of December arrived, and with it came the regiment of dra- goons, for winter quarters in Cork. There are few things which throw a greater de- gree of hilarity into the appearance even of a considerable city, excite more joyous feelings, or call forth greater cheerfulness, than the arrival of a regi- ment of soldiers ; — men and horses in their gay trappings, each emulous of ad- miration, banners flying, and music play- ing, all is bright display and careless gaiety. This is succeeded by the various letters of introduction, and the round of civilities; — almost every family feel them- selves bound to show respect towards the defenders of their country and liberties : so "that the introduction of a regiment DECISION. 1 into winter quarters, forms in many fa- milies, as it did in that of Fitzallen, an important epoch in the lives of the younger branches. The day after their arrival, Captain Escott presented himself at Fitzallen, bearing credentials from several respect- able English and Irish families. The Baronet received him with all the polite- ness of the vielle cour ; and his son, with all the careless ease of the new school. But there was a something beyond polite- ness, — a friendliness, which, without words, spoke to the heart in the farewell, and the invitation Escott received to join the family dinner-table the next day, and as often as inclination or conve- nience rendered it pleasant. This kind- ness met a kindred feeling, and the young Captain pressed the hand he held with an affection almost filial. As he was about to depart, Horace, turning towards him, cheerfully said, " If among you there should be a good fellow 144 DFXISI0N'. or two wanting amusement, do pray bring them with you, Captain j but re- member, such as you may introduce to ladies ; for I have sisters worth seeing, and we have among us une veuve tres belle* So prenez garde, mon ami" Escott gaily replied and rode off, his head full of Fitzallen ; and wondering if the girls resembled most their father or brother. The Baronet was profuse in his com- mendations of the new acquaintance, and Horace pronounced him to be a fine dashing fellow, a spirited youth, and evidently un homme bien nee. " But, my good friend," said Mrs. Selby, " how can the last qualification be any recommendation to a man of your public, patriotic spirit. To lower the bien nee's, is le rage at present, is it not ? how else is equality to be brought about ?" " Faith, madam, difficult as the un- dertaking is, it will be easier to equalise DECISION. 145 the fortunes of men, than the under- standings or tongues of women," replied Horace, mortified at the sarcasm con- tained in Mrs. Selby's question. " C'est tres vrai, mon ami," coolly re- joined Mrs. Selby, as she quitted the room to dress for dinner, at which* the redoubtable Captain was expected. Strangers were no novelty at the table of Fitzallen, but a well-bred, handsome English officer was ; and Isabel felt all the desire natural to her age, to look, say, and do her best that day, — and when thus prompted, few could excel Isabel Fitzallen. To Emma all were alike, one grand object occupied her mind, almost to the exclusion of every thing else, and to this darling subject, officers were rather objectionable than to be invited ; but in the present case, she expected neither pleasure nor pain from their com- pany, and scarcely bestowed a thought on what caused many an anxious one to her high-spirited sister. VOL. I. H 146 DECISION. Captain Escott was accompanied by a tall, finely formed, sensible looking man, whom he introduced as Lieutenant Bel- lamy, adding, * I could not resist your hospitality, Mr. Fitzallen, in favour of my cousin, who, I flatter myself, will be found to inherit the qualifications neces- sary for gaining admission on your own terms." Horace gaily replied, " Indeed, my good sir, my terms are very easy ones, every gentleman and man of sense ho- nours me by making Fitzallen his home, and such, I am sure, are the sentiments of my father." Bellamy bowed with an expression, that said, " if such be the case, I am at home ;" but as yet he had not spoken, and Mrs. Selby was beginning to doubt his ability to do so, when Isabel entered the room, in all the ease and grace of regal dignity, splendidly beautiful ; yet splen- did is a term that scarcely applied to the style of Isabel's beauty, it was command- DECISION. 147 ing, dignified, full of information, yet soft, sweet, and benign. It was a remark of Mrs. Selby's, that she needed but to be a sincere Christian, to give a most perfect idea of angelic beauty, illumined by the heavenly presence. The ceremony of introduction past, the two officers appeared almost struck dumb from surprise, as their eyes wan- dered from sister to sister, or were fixed on the mild countenance of the young widow. For some time, Isabel was at a loss to which of her stranger guests to give the preference : there were present several gentlemen, men of abilities and inform- ation, with whom Captain Escott could converse freely during dinner ; and as their party was increased to an immense size in the evening, the usual Irish cus- tom of sitting after dinner was consider- ably abridged by the gentlemen ; and Isabel soon decided on which of the Englishmen to bestow her smile.. h 2 148 DECISION. Bellamy was a scholar in the strict sense of the word, but a mere pedant : his education had been arduous, not ele- gant ; and his knowledge of the worlds previous to his entering the army, very confined. His ambition was to be dis- tinguished as a man of letters ; and hav- ing made himself master of some very abstruse points, he was perpetually thrusting them into conversation, and obtruding his remarks and discoveries upon those, whom he at the same time believed unable to judge of his pro- ficiency ; but from whom he could not fear contradiction, and generally gained the meed of vacant wonder, the ap- plause of fools, and frequently the food of pedants. It cannot be doubted but pe- dantry is a fault into which many really sensible students may run, sometimes betrayed by the natural recurrence of the mind to its common employment, by the pleasure every man receives from the recollection of pleasing images^ DECISION. 149 and the desire of dwelling upon topics on which he knows himself able to speak with justness. And this, in some degree, was the case with Bellamy, who, confined to a college until within the last year of his life, did not recollect, or did not know, that all discourse of which others cannot partake, is not only an irksome usurpation of the time de- voted to pleasure and entertainment, but what never fails to excite very keen resentment ; — an assertion of superiority, and a triumph over less enlightened un- derstandings. Thus it was, that though Bellamy was in fact a sensible man, he seldom pleased on early acquaintance ; nor was his company ever sought but by those few, whom a more thorough know- ledge had made acquainted with the vir- tues of his heart, and goodness of his disposition. There appears to prevail among men of letters an opinion, that all appearance of science is particularly hateful to the H 3 1 .50 DECISION* opposite sex, and that therefore whoever desires to be well received in female so- ciety, must qualify himself by a total rejection of all that is serious, rational, or important ; must consider argument or criticism as perpetually interdicted ; and devote all his attention to trifles, and all his eloquence to compliments. From whatever cause this erroneous opinion is drawn, certain it is that a little observ- ation would convince those superior beings, that however low the state of female literature might have been a century back, there is now no longer any danger that the scholar should want an adequate audience among ladies ; and it being always safer to err in favour of others than ourselves, much is seldom hazarded by appearing to excel, if pedan- try be carefully avoided. Captain Escott, in every respect the opposite of his cousin, seemed fully aware of this : no man could talk more ration- ally ; no man could trifle more agreeably. DECISION* 151 To trifle agreeably, is a secret which schools cannot impart ; that gay negli- gence, and happy vivacity, which charm down resistance whenever they appear, are never attainable but by an early in- troduction into elegant life, and an association with well-bred females. True it is, that to trifle well, is not a proof of great information or fine intellect : but it is by no means an argument that the trifler isd eflcient in either. The Honourable George Escott entered the army at an early age, his sole posses- sions an honourable name, and a commis- sion ; to which may be added a flow of animal spirits, and a disposition inclined to view all objects on their bright side. With the famous maxim of the Greek moralist, " the majority are wicked," he was totally unacquainted, and would probably rather have reversed it, had he given a maxim on the subject. However, those who have passed through half the life of man, may now wonder that any h 4 I&8 DECISION should require to be cautioned against corruption ; they will on recollection find, that their conviction has been pur- chased by many disappointments and vexations, which earlier knowledge would have spared them : but virtue presented singly to the imagination, or the reason, comes so recommended by its own graces, and so strongly supported by arguments, that the young unsophisticated mind won- ders how any can be bad.* Ignorant of the force of passion or interest, and un- mindful of the arts of seduction, the con- tagion of example, the gradual descent from one crime to another, or the in- sensible depravation of the principles by loose conversation, it naturally expects to find integrity in every bosom, and ve- racity on every tongue ; never having learnt that the heart of man is by nature " desperately wicked" Credulity is the common and interesting fault of inexpe- rience, and he who is spontaneously sus- picious, may be justly charged with a DECISION. 153 superabundant share of radical corrup- tion ; for from whom can he haye takea the measure of his judgment, but from himself? George Escott came into the world, or, in other words, entered the army with all the confidence of a spirit unacquainted with superiors, and all the benevolence of a mind not yet irritated by opposition, alarmed by fraud, or embittered by cruelty. He loved all, because he ima- gined himself a general favourite ; every exchange of salutation procured new ac- quaintances, and every new acquaintance ripened into new friendships. Hitherto experience had only given occasional checks to this hilarity of mind, and form- ed in nature's happiest model $ and en- dowed with all the graces of polished 3 if e, he looked and felt of favoured mor- tals the most favoured ; talked sober sense with Mrs. Selby, lamented the de- generacy of the times with the old, laughed with the gay, complimented the h 5 154 DECISION. vain, repeated serious poetry or soft sen- timent with Emma, reasoned, compared, and drew metaphysical conclusions with Isabel, shaped her pencil, or turned over the leaves of her music-book. '« Tell me," said an old lady with four awkward clumsy daughters, " who is that fine looking English officer ? is he any body one may venture to patronise ? tor really, do you know, these English are dreadful rakes, and great fortune- hunters." " Indeed !" replied Mrs. Selby ; " then let me advise you to be careful : but which do you mean, the tallest, now speaking to Baron Clare ?" " It was not him I meant, my dear, though its a very fine young man he is, but the other ; the creature, he is too handsome and obliging to be admitted among one's girls, without caution, and an Englishman too : but you did not tell me who he is." " He is a Captain Escott, of the DECISION. 155 regiment of dragoons, who are quar- tered at Cork. You now know as much as myself of this formidable countryman of mine, and more of them in general, for never until now did I hear them called fortune-hunters > but it must arise from the constant connection between this country and that j all maladies, you know, are infectious." " I declare," said the prudent mother, without noticing the reproach in Mrs. Selby's speech, " there he is, speaking to my Eliza, I must go and see after them." " Telle est la monde/' 9 thought Mrs. Selby, as the old lady bustled away, and Captain Escott, as if possessing a kindred fear, quitted his station by the red-faced Eliza, and found a place on the sofa oc- cupied by Emma and Mrs. Selby. " Tell me, my fair countrywoman," said he, addressing the latter, " do I see a just specimen of the natives of green Erin this evening, in the motley group before h 6 156 DECISION, i me ? or is there not a more than usual display of beauty and talent ?" " Of that, Captain/' returned Mrs. Set- by, " I am not qualified to judge: in the very few opportunities this evening has afforded me of making observation, I have not discovered more talent than it is usual to find in all large companies. As to beauty, I think you have a very just specimen of what may be found in this part of Ireland. 5 ' " Impossible, my dear madam; no other house can produce so much beauty, elegance, or talent, as that now coming towards us," exclaimed Escott, as Isabel crossed the room to where they sat. " My father wishes me to sing, my dear Mrs. Selby ; do pray come yourself, or prevail on your friend Emma, and sing a second for me," said she, with a smile of ineffable sweetness. v " With pleasure, dear Bella," said DECISION. 157 Emma, " if you wish it, but almost any one does better than I do in a crowd." " Do you sing, Captain?" asked Mrs. Selby, " if so, do pray oblige me, and sing second to the sweetest voice and most correct ear you ever accompanied." " Nothing would afford me greater pleasure; but bold indeed must the man be, who would venture after your eulo- gium, without first having heard the fair songstress." " Well, well," said Isabel, " it appears very much as if I should have to sing a solo while you all are disputing your various merits, or determining who is to honour me by playing second, unless, Eliza, you are as usual complying and natural, not waiting to be pressed." Mrs. Selby smilingly rose to accom- pany her friend, and Escott, offering Emma his arm, followed them to the instrument. In speaking of the voice and ear of Isabel, Mrs. Selby had not more than done her justice ; to sweet- 1,58 DECISION. ness was joined compass, strength, and judgment, such as few could boast, and scarcely any excel. But Isabel was not fond of singing, there was too much of display and show-off in it to suit the proud dignity of her feelings ; she could not condescend to receive the vapid praise, or enjoy the empty triumphs for which others strove. Captain Escott stood rapt in fixed attention : he was enthusiastically fond of the " harmony of sweet sounds," sung well, and possessed an accurate taste ; but it was the chaste dignity, the composed ease, and calm self-collectedness of the musician, that charmed him. He had been accustomed to hear fine amateur performers, but it was always accompa- nied with so much maniere, so much fashion and the world, that he had almost sickened of it. But here the case was reversed : Isabel sung to please her father ; she sung well, because there was nothing mediocre about her j but here DECISION. 159 was no wish to engage attention, to win applause, to be stunned with bravos and bravissimos; complimented, caressed, and flattered : — in short, there was nothing of the world in it, it was like her charac- ter, all originality, and Captain Escott fancied he could have looked and listened for ever with unsated delight. His surprise and rapture were not lost on Isabel, who, though careless to gene- ral applause, felt gratified by that of a man, with whom she felt a wish to stand well, inexplicable even to herself. " Is she not beautiful ?" said Horace, breaking from a long argument with Lieutenant Bellamy on the abuse of kingly power, and slapping Escott on the shoulder. " As the fabled Houri," exclaimed Escott ; " but, Fitzallen, it was cruelty thus taking one by surprise: you had ' sisters worth seeing/ Heavens, man, you should have said angels worth adoring." " Ah, ha, ha, Captain, that's excel- 160 DECISION. lent ; but a word in your ear, Escott \ I know nothing about these same angels you speak of, unless indeed you literally mean handsome women ; then, faith, I think Fitzallen may boast her share, and you may adore and welcome; but remem- ber, no marrying, a woman is lost, for ever lost after that, at least in Britain : on the continent, they manage these things better." tt Were you ever in France, Fitzal- len ?" demanded Escott, thoughtfully. " Never/' returned Horace ; " but I admire, nay venerate it, as a country that has produced the most enlightened, most sublime geniuses ; men whose bril- liant talents will yet illuminate all Europe, and rescue them from the ig- noble bondage they are now so glorious- ly struggling to free themselves from." " That France has produced many great men," replied the Captain, " can* not for a moment be doubted ; but the subject which first caused my question, 14 DECISION. 16 1 was the apparent approbation you gave to the conduct of married ladies on the continent ; conduct ■which I am certain a man of your sense or delicacy would shrink from, were you to become an eye- witness of it, and such, as I sincerely hope, will never become prevalent, or be countenanced in the British empire." " I see, Escott, you are not yet divest- ed of your English prejudices: the Darby and Joan system is yet in high favour with you ; and the easy politesse of our more polished neighbours, une peu de- gout ante " " When polish, my dear sir, rubs off all the native beauty of an object, leaving to view nothing but deformities, how- ever brilliant they are rendered, they are deformities still, and to the eye of taste must be even more than une peu degoutante. Let me assure you, that to read the flowing accents of " pure pas- sion," " free unfettered love," " heart uniting with heart," and so forth ; and 162 DECISION. to witness their shameless indecencies, and open neglect of the most sacred duties; their bold innuendoes, their dou- ble entendres, and wilful forgetfulness of every domestic tie, are tw T o things wonderfully different in their effects, on the heart, feelings, and taste of a man of sense or refinement." " But, Escott, these sacred duties and domestic ties you talk of, are, after all, cursed bores, shackles impossible to be endured, that must render a man's home hateful ; it is therefore a mark of supe- rior sense to break them as fast as possi- ble, and revel free as air in dear delight- ful liberty." " Answer me one question, Fitzallen, has your own home ever appeared hate- ful to your father or yourself?" " What ! Fitzallen hateful ! Fll thank you, my dear fellow, to show me its like for happiness and pleasure ; and as to ray father, notwithstanding the prayers of Monsieur PAbbe, insure him but DECISION. lGS this, and he will never ask another heaven." " I thought as much," rejoined the Captain, " and yet these sacred duties and domestic ties, that you denounce so heavily, have all been faithfully ob- served here, I am persuaded." " Why, yes ; but then my mother had ten thousand Scotch prejudices about religion, and the Lord knows what, beside the constant residence of this eternal Abbe, which served as bugbears to children, to keep all in prime order ; but as to all your Lady Bountiful duties, the girls know no more about them than Hottentots." " I don't know what you mean by Lady Bountiful duties, but the duties of nature, those of a rational Christian, I know they understand. Fitzallen, you may travel the Continent over, and live and die in France, without seeing such a beautiful example of all I mean, as your sisters now present : observe the i64 DECISION. tender attention of Isabel to her father, that affectionate smile is worth a world of French badinage : now mark the soft- ness of Emma's eyes, the kindness with which she listens to that gouty old baron, who is entertaining her with a sickening history of his gout, asthma, lumbago, &c. &c. I these are the duties that render home delightful, and these are the duties known in Britain alone, and the result of pure, natural, rational religion." From this disquisition the clearing of .the rooms from their " motley crowd," and the approach of their fair mistress, disturbed our young philosophers ; and Escott, pleased with the sort of half conquest he had gained over the mere unlearned pupil of reason, and per- fectly satisfied that his own enlightened view of rational religion, freed from the mists of prejudices and errors, that priest- craft had enrapt it in, was the ultima- tum of all human enquiry, and the acme DECISION. 165 of philosophical perfection, felt so hap- py and expressed himself so delightfully, that Isabel retired with the full convic- tion that he was just what he thought himself, formed to be admired, and created to be loved, the happy reverse of his equally handsome cousin, and the perfection of good breeding. Escott entreated permission to join the breakfast-table of the ladies before he set off in the morning : which having gained, he bid bon soir with graceful ease, and retired to dream of Isabel under the hospitable roof of her father. Late as it was before she slept, Emma sought the council of her friend Eliza. Some expressions of Bellamy, on the sub- ject of faith, had struck her as new and interesting ; but she had become latterly fearful of her own judgment, and cau- tious how she admitted new opinions. Mrs. Selby, whose clear unclouded sense of revealed religion fitted her for the offices of guide and counsellor, was 166 DECISION. made the depositary of every thought, wish, hope, and fear. " I must repeat my old advice, my dear," said Mrs. Selby, — " steer your course as clear of metaphysical differences as it is possible : such distinctions often puzzle the judgment, distract attention from the true interests of religion, and do an infinity of mischief. Let the ques- tion that now agitates your soul be de- termined only by the words of Divine truth : by them your judgment may be convinced, and your heart improved ; and their beautiful simplicity will never lead you into the mazy labyrinths of polemical disquisitions, unless you for- sake the plain and simple path of true religion in search of them." Emma affectionately thanked her friend, promised to be guided by her advice, and then sought her pillow, where, in the light slumbers of unbroken health and youth, her difficulties and doubts were soon forgotten*. DECISION. 167 ** Why," said Isabel, as she entered iier little breakfast-parlour the next morning, " my darling Emma, did you give Captain Escott permission to break- fast with us ? — a thing so contrary to our usual custom, which prohibits all male creatures the ingress and egress of this room, my poor Lena alone ex- cepted," patting the head of her favour- ite greyhound, who had followed its kind mistress into the room. " Indeed," replied Emma, " I found it impossible to resist the poor fellow's request, especially when I recollected it was the only chance he had of any so- ciety, but that of his queer cousin ; and to a gay young man, who does not spend that time in reading, a solitary breakfast may not be palatable." " True, Emma," said Mrs. Selby j " you therefore, of course, did not forget to invite Lieutenant Bellamy ; for, omit- ting to do so, will be condemning him to an absolute dejeune seule, which, if I have lG$ DECISION. any insight into his character, will be a much greater favour than bringing him here, by giving him an opportunity of conning over all his abstruse, and, I am afraid I must say, absurd argumentation. Oh, how I hate long arguments !" " What ! is that my gentle sister be- come severe and hating !" exclaimed Isabel, " and hating argument, too ! You, who used to sit with fixed features, and immovable attention, listening to all the long pros and cons of Madame and Monsieur PAbbe, friend Hammond, our good papa, and sainted mother !" " With such arguments as those used by the last, dear Isabel, it were impossible to weary. But, alas ! alas ! those I gene- rally hear, are either little else but mere declamation, or far beyond the depth of my understanding. ,, The entrance of Escott put an end to the conversation ; and at the end of an immoderately long breakfast, Isa- bel thought the admission of an object so DKClSlOtf. 169 calculated to adorn society as the Cap- tain, might give to her morning room a charm she sometimes felt it wanted, but could never become intrusive. Escott entreated a repetition of the song he had heard the last evening, " now that the world was shut out." Isabel cheerfully complied, on con- dition he would take a second ; and delighted with his taste, voice, and man- lier, one song followed another, until a *ort of friendly chit-chat conversation rendered the quartetto more perfectly acquainted, than all the formal meetings and partings of a life could do with- out it. " O cruel !" cried Escott, looking at a time-piece on the table, "thus fly the golden sands that compose our happiest moments, while the leaden ones of misery creep slowly by! But thus it is, dear ladies ; and thus, according to the old allegory, pleasure and pain tread on the heels of each other. This delightful VOL. 1. I 170 DECISION. morning has been among the highest pleasures of my life, — so shut in from the world, so intellectual, and so sweet ! May I hope, dear Miss Fitzallen, that you will in pity admit an humble sup- pliant occasionally, of a morning or evening, without the folly and empty etceteras of company or visiting, to a taste of sweet converse, and pure unsullied bliss ?" Isabel's heart fluttered as she gave a smiling reply. To the admiration, the flattery, and the humble assiduities of men, Isabel had long been accustomed : it was given her in large portions, coldly received, or haughtily rejected. But there was in the manners and sentiments of Escott, a certain inexpressible some- thing that found a correspondent feeling in her hitherto uninterested heart. He had not flattered her by his words, — scarcely complimented her ; and after the first half-hour, had not appeared to notice her person. He had even in 12 DECISION. 171 some things dared to differ in opinion, — pointed out trifling faults in her drawings, and altered the marginal remarks of a book of Tasso she had lately marked. Yet there was in his attentions a charm, a newness, a manly open candour, and a certain identifying of himself, to the ex- clusion of the world, with Isabel, that was irresistible in its effects on her warm in- genuous feelings. She felt, as she ex- pressed it to Mrs. Selby, higher com- mendation to be corrected by Captain Escott, than to be applauded as faultless by any other man in creation. Lieutenant Bellamy, who had been walking over the domain with Horace, came to remind his cousin of their mili- tary duties ; and the officers took their leave, bearing with them the general good opinion of the family, and Mrs. Selby's earnest prayers, — that as well as agreeable amiable men, they might be made true Christians. " An alteration that would indeed be, 1 2 17& DECISION. but not an amendment, I much fear," replied Isabel. " Your true Christians are such bigotted unhappy creatures, that really, Eliza, they, generally speaking, act as an antidote rather than a recom- mendation to the doctrines they preach." " Yet I think, Isabel, you have known happy Christians, or, at least, those who, by the force of religion, were enabled to support calamity with firmness, and even hopeful resignation." " I have, indeed, my dear friend ; and among them shone pre-eminently my blessed mother. Yourself, perhaps, may rank next ; but, Eliza, neither of you are fair samples of your genus, — you are both too highly cultivated ; and yet, even in you there are many warps, twists, and shades of prejudice; — nay, do not shake your pretty wise head, it is so ; and all the difference existing be- tween you and myself is caused by it. Your revealed religion sends four-fifths of the human race to perdition, for fol- DECISION. 173 lowing the impulses planted in them by their Maker, as if he created beings with passions and feelings he did not give them the power to subdue, and then cast them into eternal torments for yielding to their force. Your Protestants do not even allow them absolution by penance : now natural religion, the religion of reason and sound sense, spares all from this hor- rible fate. Surely, Eliza, our Maker is too truly good, too merciful, too exalted a being, to create creatures for the sole purpose of condemning them to eternal misery. Oh, no, no ; vice brings its own punishment, and virtue its own reward. The business of life is to act our parts on its grand stage with becoming propriety, as lovers of virtue, and fear not ye split, divided, distracted, contradictory believers in revealed, or rather unrevealed religion, but our deaths shall be happy, and whatever comes after, blissful. — Do pray, my dear Eliza, talk to the Captain about it." 1 3 174 DECISION. " Thank you, dear Isabel ; if I find any doubts arise on the subject before I see him again, I will. But I still hope to see you and him, if I continue to know him, sincere Christians, after the plain gospel meaning of the word. You are both too amiable and too sensible long to continue in such gross errors," returned Mrs. Selby, as the three friends separated to pursue their various employments* with what appetites they may. DECISION. 17'5 CHAPTER VIL On the next Sunday, Isabel was sur- prised by seeing her sister prepare to go out, at the moment Mrs. Selby was giving orders for her carriage, to be brought round immediately, to take her to church, " Well, dear Mrs. Selby," said Isabel, " I almost envy the credulity and happy confidence with which you attend your church. There certainly are some cases where * ignorance is bliss/ " " And in such," returned Mrs. Selby, " it were * folly to be wise. ' But I am not willing to allow my * happy con- fidence* to be the result of ignorance j au contraire, it is the fruit of unbiassed Scriptural knowledge, such as a serious calm study of the Book of inspiration may be expected to fill the mind of an unprejudiced enquirer with." i 4 I7& DECISION* " If such be the case, how is it that there are such an infinity of opinions on the same Book, and that your church is so divided, subdivided, torn, and dis- tressed by contending sects and secta- rians, who appear to bear an animosity to each other, great as ever filled the oppos- ing bosoms of his holiness the Pope, and the degenerate retrograde monk Luther," demanded Isabel. But before a reply could be given, Emma entered the room equip- ed for the carriage, and in her hand a bible, and the book of common prayer used in the English church. " Where are you going, dear Emma, and what are those two books ?" enquired her sister. " I am going to the Protestant church with Eliza, and these are the books ne- cessary ;" calmly replied Emma. Isabel turned her dark expressive eyes on fylrs. Selby with a look that needed not the aid of words to make itself deeply felt. It was composed of doubt, fear for a sister's happiness, almost anger, that DECISION. 177 any one should interfere between that sister and her God j with no small por- tion of contempt for the desire of making proselytes, which she fancied discover- able in this action of her friend. Mrs. Selby's clear eye and unclouded countenance calmly bore the scrutiny. She replied by opening the book before her, and pointing with her finger to the words, " Search the Scriptures " then turning over the leaves, to " Forsake not the assembling yourselves together" Isabel understood the appeal, and turning from the interdicted volume, she impres- sively said, " Beware, my beloved sister, that in escaping Scylla you do not perish by Charybdis. Aware of the vengeance you are drawing on your head, how can you reflect upon your Christmas con- fession ?" " I do not intend to make it," replied the trembling Emma, " and shall visit Mrs. Hammond just then to avoid it." " If the perusal of your bible, and 1 5 178 DECISION. the Protestant creed will teach you no- thing better than deceit, burn them both; —be not the thing you dare not appear to be : the stake, the gibbet, or the axe should be raised in vain to deter you be- fore yon venture to adopt a creed of prejudice and fanaticism, by renouncing that of the mother church. I do not wish to deter you from a free enquiry ; but let reason, or if you prefer the word conscience, alone direct and influence your choice," firmly rejoined the enthu- siastic and indignant Isabel, as she quit- ted Mrs. Selby's room, mortified that her sister should weakly attempt, by a species of fraud, to obtain information on a sub- ject she had not courage to own or to defend. From Fitzallen to Cork not one word was spoken by either. Lady Emma sat with her hands before her eyes, as if to shut out all sight of external objects, that she might commune more freely with her soul : while Mrs. Selby's upcast eye and DECISION. 179 solemn countenance, discovered the men* tal exercises that fully occupied her every thought. As the carriage stopt before the door of the church, Emma cast one look at it, then shuddering, again covered her eyes. Mrs. Selby took her hand, — " Now, Emma, decide : your path lies before you ; let me not influence in a case where God alone should be your director: un- less you are fully convinced of the errors of the Catholic church, enter not this sa- cred pile," " O !" gasped Emma, " I am even more than convinced : one terror alone assails me — that I am quitting one set of errors, to embrace others still greater." " From your soul, Emma, this is your only doubt or fear? ' " My very only one." " Then cast that aside, and enter hum- bly, but boldly, not doubting but He who has thus begun a good work, will carry it on in you." i 6 180 DECISION. Emma appeared to catch the spirit of her friend, and descending from the carriage, entered a Protestant church, breathing a fervent prayer for the guid- ance, direction, and wisdom of the Di- vine Spirit. Nor was the prayer in vain ; He who hath said, " Ask and ye shall receive," heard the humble petition, saw the conflict, and pitied the distress of her soul : and Emma left the church, strengthened, confirmed, and, as she then thought, established in her determination to abjure the errors of the Romish faith. The simplicity of the service, strong- ly contrasting itself with the imposing magnificence to which she had been accustomed ; the clear deep tones of the clergyman's voice, as he read in his mother tongue the most beautiful prayers that ever were composed ; the responses of a serious congregation, devoutly join- ing in the service ; the organ's solemn peal, united with the human voice in sing- ing the morning hymn j and the excellent, DECISION. ISt appropriate, and impressive discourse that followed; all struck on the heart of Emma with the force of Divine power, as plain unvarnished truth, the true spirit of de- votional exercise. It was so unlike the censer, the incense, the bell, the candles, the variety of ceremonies, and the ob- scure Latin prayers, and short sermon, to which she had hitherto bowed, that she felt as if translated into the pure region of uncreated bliss, by worship so every way different, and with it exhortations to read that book, she had so often been told was beyond her comprehension, and intended only for the heads of the church. Mrs. Selby was too fervent in her own devotions to notice Emma, nor did she think it proper to ask her any questions on the road home. The deep broken sigh, the short struggling breath, and convulsive shudder of her silent compa- nion, reached the ear of this kind judici- ous friend 5 but not a word on either side 182 DECISION. was spoken on the stairs. As they parted, a mutual pressure of the hand spoke feel- ings too sacred for common language, and each sought retirement, as a friend before whom they could pour out their strong, but widely differing feelings. " Where," said Horace at dinner, '" were you this morning, Emma. Bella- my came from Cork for the sole purpose of explaining to you a beautiful passage of Euripides ; in the translation of which, he says, you are mistaken. But, by the by, Emma, how long have you been a Grecian ?" " Just as long as I have been desirous of Bellamy's explanations, of which I know no more than of Greek; both are equally unintelligible and uninteresting. I recollect his making some remark on a few lines of a translation from Euripides; but I dare say they are very good, Mrs. Selby obliged me with them." " O ho !" exclaimed Horace, " it is you, my fair divinity, is it, that are the DECISION. 183 Greek scholar ? Upon my soul, I believe you will be keeping terms, taking out a degree, awl becoming a fine orthodox divine yourself, when even I may, per- chance, become converted." " A consummation most devoutly to be wished," replied Mrs. Selby; "but, in the mean time, I must disown the trans- lation; though to be able to make it, would give me infinite pleasure. It was done by a very young friend, and may be as faulty as your more classic lieutenant represents it, for aught I know : the merit of my young friend lay in his mo- dest freedom from every kind of pedantry, and willingness to oblige." " Very excellent qualifications those," said Sir William, " but such as Bellamy will never be distinguished for; he may have good sense, but it is hidden by a disgusting degree of pedantry, which renders his company irksome." " Dear sir, be careful what you say," laughingly exclaimed Horace ; " he 184 DECISION. is tout-a-fait pris with your youngest daughter, and will doubtless lay his pro- posals in form at both your feet, as soon as he can compose a speech for the occasion of an hour's length, and rare sublimity." " If I did not know your propensity to rattle, Horace, such an assertion would give me pain," replied his father. " Then, my good sir, you may be in pain forthwith, for, badinage apart, Bel- lamy never ceased raving of Emma's eyes, hair, figure, grace, disposition, sweetness, and the Lord knows what, as well as how he became acquainted with those qualifications, which I cannot divine. The other morning, again yes- terday, when I saw him in town, and this morning, he had fifty arguments, each supported by a thousand others, to prove she was " of nature's work the very best ;" which all ended with a downright declaration of love, which I very handsomely informed him was misapplied, since I was not Miss Emma, DECISION. 185 who was a young lady very inclined to think for herself." " If this is seriously the case/' re- joined Sir William, " it is necessary to say there exists some invincible barriers, two of which are sufficient — he is an Englishman and a Protestant." At that instant the eyes of the two sisters met ; in each was an expression that neither could understand, but the effects were different. Isabel became pale as statuary marble : Emma became con- fused, blushed, hesitated, and at last softly muttered, "Do not be alarmed, dear sir; the Lieutenant is decidedly disagreeable to me, and I faithfully promise never to marry a man, whose views of religion differ from my own." Instantly Isabel's features recovered from the inward feeling that had blanch- ed them ; her eyes sent forth a glance that would have searched the inmost soul of her sister, while her whole coun- tenance said, " in loving or hating, in 186 DECISION. choosing or rejecting, avoid the meanest of all subterfuges, — a deceitful play on words." But the fond father was satisfied, and Horace, after a few sneering observ- ations on prejudice, bigotry, cant, pur- blind folly, &c. addressed Mrs. Selby, asking her, if she had met Captain Escott and his cousin on her way from Cork, as he supposed they would be returning about that time. Mrs. Selby said she had not observed them, but was surprised to hear neither of them were at church: she understood it r was a military law that soldiers and officers should attend divine service, and certainly thought it a wise and ne- cessary provision. Horace was not au fait of such sub- jects, but thought it was not necessary. "Isabel," continued he, " did you fatigue yourself with entertaining the Captain this morning, for not a word have you spoken since his departure ?" " Silence is not always a proof of DECISION. 187 fatigue, dear Horace," returned Isabel, rt it is possible to enjoy silence even with a full heart," " A full heart! hey, Bella, you do not, I hope, envy la petite Emma her con- quest, though it may be mortifying; but do not flatter yourself with having stolen the heart, head, or wits of Escott. I can assure you, in your absence he is in full possession of all these, nor does he ever mention your name; and yesterday at Lord Hallaren's, when called upon to giveiiis favourite lady as a toast, you were not her, no, it was some eternal Smith or Brown, — oh ! faith no, it was his old nurse, who he swore was the dearest old woman in existence, — quelle betesse." " In whom, Horace, you or the Cap- tain ?" " The Captain, to be sure, not to give the beauteous Isabel Fitzallen." " 1 have greatly mistaken the cha- racter of Captain Escott, if he would so prostitute the name of any female he 188 DECISION. respected, as to make it a jest for a set of half- tipsy young or old men," replied Isabel, with dignity. " Hey, dey, Citoyeness" cried Ho- race, " a little touch of the old aristo- crat hobby-horse that ; prostitute her name, indeed ! I'll thank you to show me how he could evince more respect for it, than by putting it into the possession of the finest choicest spirits in the king- dom. 5 ' *' By not naming it," returned Isabel, as she rose to quit the room. f* t O, how I adore a high spirit/' said Horace, taking her hand to lead her to the door, " be ever thus, my noble Citoyeness, and reason will have gained a votary to do her honour ; for you, Emma," said he, turning to her, M what must be said to poor Bellamy ?" u That he is not d mon gout," replied she with a smile, and passed on. The evening in some degree dragged heavily : on the mind of each of the ladies a DECISION. 189 weight hung that extended its influence to their speaking faculties ; nor were they enough at ease with each other, to retire as usual sans ceremonie to follow their own pursuit. On a Sunday evening the gentlemen never quitted the delights of the bottle, but for the delights of bed, when absolutely necessary \ thus some hours remained to be spent in the way most agreeable to themselves. Isabel sat with a volume of Boileau in her hand, but her thoughts were ab- stracted, and her eyes frequently turned with a painful expression on Emma. It was not that Isabel blamed her sister for renouncing the Roman church, or even adopting the creed of the Protestant, provided she was clearly convinced of its freedom from error, or superiority over every other : but Isabel feared she was only rejecting one set of prejudices and embracing another, equally false and blind, for which she had not the excuse of parental duty, habit and education : 1 90 DECISION. besides, the weakness displayed in her circumlocution and evasion wounded the strong mind of Isabel, who still feeling the early impression made by Fox's Martyrs, and the Lives of the Saints, thought those were the only senti- ments, the decided professor of either faith should feel. Hitherto she had seen but one thing in which the Protestant church was superior to her own, namely, the free use of the Bible ; but even here objections arose — its divisions and con- tentions — that rilled her with horror : were they not the fruits of this liberty ? She shuddered to think they were ; and was confirmed, that of two evils, an adherence to her present mode of faith was the best ; besides, her reason told her that modes of faith were nugatory ; and had not even one of the English church showed this his opinion. For modes of faith let senseless bigots fight, His can't be wrong whose life is in the right. And Voltaire, the rich exquisite Voltaire, said— alas ! what did he not say to prove DECISION. 191 both wrong. Oh, why would not all the world content themselves with rational natural religion : this was the religion of Captain Escott, and who could be better? Such were the cogitations of Isabel, until Mrs. Selby broke in upon them, by asking if she found Captain Escott as agreeable a companion, upon farther ac- quaintance, as at first he appeared. Isabel replied, that no man she had ever met with would bear a comparison with him ; and went on to describe, in glowing colours, the unspeakable extent of his information; his inexhaustible fund of knowledge ; his perfect acquaintance with languages, ancient and modern ; his love of polite literature, as well as thorough acquaintance with science: his manner, conversational talent, knowledge of the world, even the graces of his fine person, were subjects of praise to Isabel, who hitherto had professed a contempt for such recommendations. " One thing," said Emma, " I think VJ% DECISION. you cannot agree in, your political prin- ciples, there must be a marked dif- ference." It is a subject," returned Isabel, on which we have said nothing ; but the Captain applauds the efforts the French are making to shake off their yoke ; and with a man so highly gifted, so well informed as he is, there can be little fear of encountering much preju- dice : it is an ample field, giving room for the full exercise of judgment ; and may therefore well bear some little va- riation of opinion." "In that respect I must differ from you," said Mrs. Selby, " a person who thinks at all on the subject, must decidedly ap- prove or disapprove ; and I cannot think that where the dispositions or sentiments of two people agree in every thing else, they can disagree in this almost master feeling." " Then do you think Captain Escott tine pen democratique ?" asked Isabel, DECISION. 193 u for you have often thought me so, and I assure you our sentiments do agree exactly." Mrs. Selby smiled archly, as she re- plied, " perhaps they do; but look well to it, nothing is more easy than self-decep- tion ; in the mean time I will not think so meanly of your favourite, as to sup- pose it possible he should receive the pay and wear the colours of his country, unless his heart were engaged to defend and support her, a feeling I trust com- mon to every British soldier j and which ought to be echoed by every subject of the best king that ever graced a throne, and the purest constitution on the face of the globe." " How I love that amor patriae of yours," said the generous Isabel, " though I cannot partake in it as re- lating to England j trust me, were you Irish, you would feel keenly as I do the wounds of this country : and to whom does she owe her misery, poverty, un- VOL. I. K 194 DECISION. willing enforced subjection, and con- stant incitement to rebellion, — to whom but to that country of which you speak so affectionately. Wild Irish, uncivilized Ireland, rebellious subjects, dangerous people — it is such - they denominate a country more beautiful than they can imagine, and a people whose noble ge- nerosity, bold spirits, and enthusiastic gratitude, extends far, far beyond the extent of their narrow capacities to com- prehend, or even to fancy in a remote degree. No, my country, I cannot love thy enemies, therefore cannot love Eng- land." " Do you think, dear Isabel," asked her friend, " you could ever be induced to marry an Englishman ?" The question was unexpected, and brought into play a sort of undefinable feeling, which caused a mental reserva- tion in the anathemas Isabel felt inclined to utter against the oppressors of her country. Open to conviction, and ab- DECISION. 195 honing even the shadow of any thing that differed from honest truth, she blushingly replied, it was a question she had never asked herself; so many things sometimes tended to make exceptions not only al- lowable but praiseworthy, that she could not determine. Emma said nothing, but she thought it would be no difficulty for her to de- termine : her heart was too truly Irish ever to connect itself with an English- man, were he even the brother of her dear Eliza. But self-confidence is no proof of strength : Emma knew not her own heart, or the principles that influ- enced its determinations. Mrs. Selby, who had asked the question merely to try its effect, looked with marked meaning in the blushing face of Isabel, as she said, " My dear Isabel, I shall yet see you love happy England, and judge with less prejudice between the sister countries : but remember the advice you gave this morning on the K 2 196 DECISION. next highest subject, — do not abjure one set of errors, for others even worse." " Thank you, dear Eliza, I will strive to keep this in mind: were all your coun- try such as you are, it is impossible to say what might happen ; for though you are dreadfully illiberal, and have some shocking blind prejudices, it all becomes you so well, and you shake your wise head and lecture so gracefully, that I cannot help loving you ; a strong proof this, that the inherent virtues of the soul assimilate and acknowledge their coun- terpart wherever they meet, let them be clouded soever much by prejudice, difference of opinion, or constitutional feeling." ." Ah, Bella, Bella, all this high-sound- ing, sentimental trash is very fine, but it is very like the book that was sweet in the mouth, but bitter in the stomach j it may be bought now at a very cheap rate, emulous of the fame gained by your favourite Rousseau. The same kind DECISION. 197 of squeamish, namby pamby intellectual food, is now serving up iu every shape and form, suited to every taste and every pocket, from Isabel Fitzallen to the poorest creature on her wide spread- ing domain : but whether on hot-pressed paper, Morocco bound, and richly gilt, in the finely turned periods and highly seasoned morsels of the most superior among the shadowy French school j in the covert but sure poison of Hume, in the glaring absurdities of Godwin, or the immoralities of a farthing ballad, howled by an Irish mendicant ; still it is the same sentiment uttered by Vol- taire, " if twelve ignorant men could establish Christianity, surely we may more than overthrow it :" still it utters his exclamation, " Crush the wretch," (ecrasez I'infame/) still it urges the adepts to be more united in the war they wage against Christianity. Talk not, my sweet Isabel, of liberty ; this bondage of sin and Satan, these liaisons, which 1 k S 198 DECISION. defy you to understand and respect, are worse than even Egyptian bondage or African slavery. Rouse, then, your strong mind, use your fine abilities, be no more the minion of words and empty phrases, or the tool of infidels ; but dare to be what you are created for, a Christian. The most rational and most liberal, most unfettered, and most exalted state a human being can reach, is to be a sincere follower of Christ ; be that, my friend, and call yourself Catholic or Protestant, which your conscience shall direct." During this long harangue, Isabel sat with her eyes intently fixed on the face of her friend, over whose usually mild interesting countenance, a degree of enthusiasm and ardour was spread, that gave to it an expression almost seraphic ; and Isabel all but fancied her inspired, or a spirit from the regions of bliss, charg- ed with a heavenly mission. Her clear strong sense pointed its -truth, and her heart inwardly owned DECISION. 199 there was such a thing as vital religion — true Christianity, and its possessors were among the happiest, the best of mankind. But pride struggled with the conviction; no, she could not yield her high-raised self-consequence ; she was, she must, she would be in herself independently equal to do and to become whatever has been known or thought of as excellent. With these contrary contending feelings, the big tears trembling in her eloquent hu- mid eye, she tried to defend herself against the charge of infidelity, thanked Mrs. Selby for the interest she felt in her happiness, promised to think of all she had said, and affectionately and gracefully bid her good night ; then re- tired, and by two hours study of her favourite authors, among whom ranked high, the then young and fascinating Madame de Stael, she again wound herself in the web of deism, sentiment, and doubt. k 4 x £00 DECISION. Emma, dissolved in tears, continued long with her friend, and felt but one source of happiness, the clear light that was breaking on her mind. DECISION 201 CHAP. VIII. So you sail in a fortnight, Horace," said Sir William to his son with a voice a little agitated, " I still think you should have continued in Ireland at least. — But no matter, I know you hate control, and hope you will be happy." " Happy, sir, as in this miserable' state of existence it is possible to be, and certainly more so in the land of freedom than in this unbearable, de- graded, woe-worn country, sinking under the weight of its own burthen." " I don't know," interrupted the Ba- ronet, " what has given to the rising generation optic powers of such differ- ent force to their forefathers 5 but this I do know well, it is in their own opi- k 5 £0& DECISION. nion only they are improved ; in that of others, they are degenerate in happiness, respectability, religion, virtue, and con- tent : never to myself, or to my prede- cessors, did it appear that Ireland was « miserable, burdened, sinking, unbear- able,' or that America was the only land a man could live in. No, we loved green Erin, and testified that love by abiding with her, and were content to hear that convicts were sent to America, and that the wretched and discontented sometimes followed to earn their bread by the sweat of their brow, and die, be- fore hard labour had reduced their wild bit of ground to any thing like cultiva- tion." " My dear father, 5 ' hastily replied Horace, " all the evil arises from this very cultivation ; here all is worked to its highest pitch, nay more, quite worn out ; no room for exertion, no room for mind, for intellectual discoveries'; every thing is tied down, bound with the cords DECISION. 20$ of custom, habit, human order, and a thousand fetters, that the enlightened mind still struggles to throw ©f£_ longing to feel its own strength, its own exten- siveness, its own great powers of action, unfettered, uncontrolled. In Europe this is as yet impossible, but the time is fast arriving when things shall have gained their proper state, and philosophy tri- umph over slavish fear, misnamed re- ligion." Sir William piously marked himself with the sign of the cross as he ejaculated, "the blessed Virgin defend us from such blas- phemous ridiculous rant : this comes of Protestant religion, and college, Marie be praised I have no more Protestant chil- dren." While Monsieur Y Abbe, who had long since consigned Horace to perdition without a single regret, turned up his eyes in silent indignation, wondering at the forbearance of Heaven so much greater than his own, who, had the power k 6 204 DECISION. been his, would have annihilated the daring heretic on the spot. " But my own father," said Isabel, in her subduing tone of voice, " you must surely allow that great advances have been made, in the last half century, in all the arts and sciences in Europe. Philosophy, ethics, and moral religion, have also greatly increased ; and the hu- man mind may certainly hope, from the progress now making to attain perfec- tion, to know how to choose the good and reject the evil." " All, my dear girl, mere ' leather and prunella/ as old as the Fall. Satan's old address, * Ye shall be as gods, choosing good from evil/ dazzled Eve \ the same dazzles you now, newly vamped up, and published under the name of rational religion, liberal way of thinking, and so forth. Beware, my child, for the Serpent yet lives." So saying, the old man kissed her Idecision. #05 lovely cheek, committed her to the care of her patron saint, and quitted the room with the abbe and his younger sons. Among the visitors this morning were Captain Escott, Lieutenant Bellamy, and Mr. Macdonald : the former, as usual, gay, insinuating, unassuming, delighting and delighted, — attentive to all, but de- voted to Isabel. Like herself, he was qualified to talk on every subject, except sacred ones ; yet on this they both de- lighted to dwell. Escott shrunk from the name of Atheist, and did not quite admire that of Deist ; though, properly understood, he thought them the first of human beings : but he was professedly a rational Christian, he said, adoring God as a being full of mercy and love, who demanded no more of his creatures than to enjoy themselves, and be grateful, — a Being who had created " this round world," adorned it with unspeakable beauties, and peopled it with a " lovely race," capable of tasting £06 DECISION. the highest intellectual enjoyments, who were but " a little lower than the angels," and had powers within themselves suffi- cient to acquire wisdom, to practise virtue, and to attain happiness, by indus- try in cultivating their natural faculties, and moderating their passions by self- command ; that by self-improvement their minds would brighten incessantly, until they should overcome the infirmities and puerilities of age, living and dying in the full enjoyment of the bountiful gifts of nature. He did not denv the Bible, or the possibility, nay probability, of a future state of blessedness ; but in the first he discovered many errors, and gave to many other parts his own philosophical explanations ; and the last, allowing its Certainty, must indubitably be open to all who lived in the practice of virtue, or repented of their faults : a Being so good could not create creatures to de- struction. DECISION. 207 Such was the creed of this fascinating young man, — a creed but too genera), and but too specious, flattering alike the self-sufficiency, the vanity, and the inherent rebellion to all that savours of the cross, the pain, the self-denial, or the humility of Christianity. A more dangerous companion for the highly -gifted, but perverted Isabel, it was not possible to have found. Open infidelity disgusted her, revealed religion she could not understand. But Captain Escott met her own ideas ; and in the beautiful language of a glowing imagina- tion, and highly-cultivated mind, dazzled, charmed, and enchanted her, by a flow of eloquence she was totally unused to ; until, in this " mist of words," Isabel confidently mistook the shadowy artificial figure of sophistry, for the white-robed vestal truth. Lieutenant Bellamy was, as usual, deep in argument, if that can be called argu- ment which meets with no opposition. SOS DECISION. Emma and Mrs. Selby were his auditors. For the first, neither argument or Lieu- tenant Bellamy had any charms ; and the last, though polite and attentive, chose not to enter on ground of which she was not perfect mistress. It appeared evident, that he was an- xious to render himself agreeable to Emma and her friend ; but certainly no poor man ever took a worse method of attaining a desired end. There are few ladies to whom dry dull reasoning on abstract points, or long metaphysical de- ductions, are pleasing ; and still fewer beautiful girls of nineteen, who under- stand a word of such things. Exterior circumstances, combining with some innate feelings, had called Em- ma's reasoning faculties into active use, and produced convictions in her mind that now operated forcibly against the logical Lieutenant and all he said ; but seeing he persevered, notwithstanding evident signs of weariness from his little audience, 12 DECISION. 209 she quietly resumed her drawing, leaving to Mrs. Selby the pleasure of replying, and to the pedant the pleasure of talking to his " heart's content." The loud declamatory tone of Mae- donald disturbed, in some degree, the fixed attention of Isabel to the explana- tion Captain Escott was giving her of a passage in a German play which she could not understand. Macdonald was railing against kings and parliaments, in all the violence of democracy and the language of infidelity. Horace joined in unison ; and even the lost, abstracted Bellamy, could withhold from noticing them no longer. He took up the opposite side of the question, and soon the debate became loud and high 5 when Captain Escott, finding conversa- tion with Isabel no longer possible, joined the disputants ; and showing himself per- fect master of the subject, soon reduced the noisy Macdonald to comparative silence. He then strove to rouse the last 210 DECISION. feelings that die in the heart of a Scotch- man, his national ones, by comparing Scotland with many other countries, and giving its character a preference. He spoke warmly of the bravery, hardihood, independence, and morality of its sons, and strove to prove the last the parent of their other virtues. Their loyalty and attachment to the houses of Bruce and Stuart, he represented in the strongest light, endeavouring to make it appear a disgrace to his country to be disaffected or sceptical. But Macdonald was a Highlander, and had now become a denizen of Ame- rica. He therefore inherited all the vices, with very little of the morality of his own country, on which was grafted, and had now become incorporated, the wild shoots of trans-atlantic freedom and equality. To convince such a man was impos- sible ; but he succeeded in restoring harmony, and convincing Isabel that, DECISION. 211 hi every point of view, he stood un- equalled. Something like a general conversation had now taken place of dispute, when, to the surprise of all present, and of none more than Emma, the primitive son of Joseph Hammond was announced. He came with a message from his father, im- porting a desire to see Horace, which having delivered, he took possession of a seat between Emma and Mrs. Selby, and to all appearance, forgot that any one else was in the room. " Well, friend Emma," said he, " I hear thee wast at the steeple-house, with friend Eliza, on first day ; is it true P 4 ' " Perfectly," replied Emma, laco- nically. " And wilt thou tell me, if thou wert satisfied with what thou heardest ?" " If I understand you," answered Emma, " the question is, was I satisfied with what I heard ? to which I reply, jthe ear is never satisfied." 212 DECISION. " Then I will ask thee another ques- tion more easily answered; didst thou prefer it to the worship thou hast been accustomed to ?" " Yes, very much." " And wilt thou always go there ?" " Yes, unless I discover faults in it 1 have not yet seen.'* The young Quaker's fine eyes bright- ened as he was about to reply ; when the fixed stare and loud laugh of Macdonald prevented him. " Why, where did you come from ?" at last vociferated Macdonald " I came from Cork, but thou, I think, appearest to have come from a mad- house," quietly replied John. " Ah, ah, ah ! from Cork, and what do you call yourself?" " I call myseif a man." " A man, egad, do you ? Why what then do you call a fine, free fellow like me?" " T call thee an empty noisy fool." DECISION. £18 This was a greater freedom than the fine, free fellow relished, and his attack became so rough, that Escott expressed a fear that he would be too many for Hammond. " Oh, fear it not," said Isabel, " he is armed in the panoply of his own sect, and so blessed with firmness of mind, that all this heavy artillery will play round him, more harmless than squibs and crackers round the figure of Guy Fawkes :" and so it proved \ the cool, simple, plain sense of John, was more than equal to Macdonald's gunpowder vociferation ; and to the delight of Emma soon made a retreat desirable. Even Ho- race began to think he carried things too far, and felt no regret at the parting bow. The two officers reluctantly arose to quit society, that both began to experience a pleasure in hitherto unfelt, amid the variety to which they had been exposed. There was to be a general review the next day, and as the weather was still *il4 DECISION mild and open, Captain Escott ventured to hope the ladies would be present, as well as at a ball to be given in the even- ing, for which he presented tickets, soliciting the honour of Isabel's hand. A weather-conditioned promise was given for the morning by all the parties, and an unconditional one for the evening by the sisters. Mrs. Selby declined, on the plea, that such places no longer possessed attractions for her \ the Captain politely forbore to combat this, to him, silly excuse, but still hoped for the hap- piness of her company there. Scarcely were they departed when Lady Donovan, in all the bustling im- portance of fashionable life, arrived to announce to her " sweet friends" the delightful prospect of a review and ball, " both," said she, " thought of and planned in a moment ; the most charm- ing thing in the world \ nobody will have time to get a thing from Dublin, and every body is dying to do so : oh, I do DECISION. 215 so love these unexpected things. Butiny dear girls you will go, I have interest to provide you with tickets, though the thing is to be extremely select, only — I don't know how many, but very few tickets." " Five hundred, I believe, Ladv Dono- van," said Isabel, " we shall not put your interest or friendship to the trial, being already provided with tickets and part- ners ; but feel equally grateful for your offer." Lady Donovan stretched her eyes in amaze, y provided with tickets ! why the ball was not dreamt of until late last night j and all the world have been busy in soli- citing this morning and canvassing for admission : and not a creature, not even myself, have got supplied yet. How could you have succeeded ?" " With infinite ease, my dear madam : we sat here, and had merely to accept what was pressed as a favour on us, by friends of my brother's, who were this morning visiting us." 216 DfeCISIOtf. " Well, I can only say you are ex* tremely fortunate ; but, however, these same friends of your brother's cannot have anticipated me, in requesting you will dress and sleep at their house j so oblige me, by coming after the review, dine, dress, and return at night, after that to stay as long as convenient, only remembering the longer the more agree- able. Mrs. Selby, you clearly under- stand, I hope, that my invitation always includes you ; it is impossible with that young look ever to fancy you any thing but a girl, so come and live with me, that I may learn to consider you in the character of a grave matron." Mrs. Selby returned a polite reply, and promised to accompany Isabel and Emma to Cork : " although," continued she, " as it is not my intention to go to this ball, I shall return in the evening." But at that instant, meeting an intreating supplicating glance from Emma, she added, " unless I should take advantage DECISION. 217 of my female privilege, and alter my mind, in which case you will, I hope, be content to keep me all night." " Aye, aye, child," returned Lady Donovan, " do pray alter your mind, and come ; I shall introduce you to my son and daughter : poor Delphine was a widow very young, like yourself, but we persuade her to enjoy the world a little ; indeed it would be very hard on me, if neither of my daughters mingled in life ; poor Theodosia, after her terrible loss never could ; but she has fixed her des- tiny, and oh, it is a cruel one." This, awakening the best feelings of her really affectionate but pleasure- loving heart, for some moments choked her utterance, and filled the soft blue eyes of Emma with compassion's pearly dew, while lucid rays of pure feeling shot from the dark orbs of Isabel, as, with a strong effort of self-command, she turned the general attention O a book of fine engravings of Grecian architec- vol. 1. L 218 DECISION. ture Captain Escott had that morning brought her ; and Lady Donovan soon took her leave, promising to meet them on the ground to-morrow. " How is it to be accounted for," said Emma, in the evening, " that such strange contrarieties often inhabit the same bo- som ? Lady Donovan is a devotee, and a lover of the world ; an affectionate mother, and careless of her children's happiness ; proud to excess, yet humble enough to seek the eclat of fashion ; fond of her home, yet never so happy as in a crowd anywhere else." " One sentence, my sweet sister, ac- counts for it all, she is a creature with- out one fixed principle, — a creature of impulse. You bid me to-day, dear Eliza, point out the being / Tcnexv to be im- proved by philosophy ; it is Frederic Dunmore, the youngest surviving son of this reed-shaken woman ; I remember him, of all unstable mortals the most so 5 trifling, evanescent, wasting his fine facul- DECISION. 219 ties in pursuits, worse than catching flies on a window, or following the course of a butterfly. True, he was not cruel, nor absolutely vicious, but his folly spared nor friend nor foe j all, all suffered from the pointed, sometimes carelessly poison- ed shafts of his madly scattered arrows." " A character but too general, my dear Isabel : but what is he become now, and how was a change effected ?" " To reply to these two questions, 5 * returned Isabel, " will lead me into a long detail of circumstances, not unin- teresting in themselves, and as they flatter some of your prejudices, may per- haps be found not very tedious. " Angelina de Courcy was the beau- tiful and unportioned orphan of an officer of distinguished rank, who fell gloriously defending his country's cause, in an attack made on the fortress of which he was commander. With his dying breath, he bequeathed to his friend, General Delville, his lovely unprotected wife and l 2 220 DECISION, her helpless infant, imploring him, by all the ties which unite a Christian and a soldier, to guard from insult or injury these objects, far dearer than life, whose interests now held his fluttering soul Bound to earth : he intreated that they might be placed in a situation of more safety than a camp, and sent to Europe as early as possible. " General Delville promised the dying hero all and more than his oppressed heart would allow him to utter, sent for a clergyman, smoothed his rough pillow, and offered up a silent prayer, that his agonies might be short; and so they were, but oh, how dreadfully severe* how in : creased by the unexpected appearance of his distracted wife. " The report of the attack, and the fall of several officers, reached the quiet retreat where De Courcy had placed his soul's best treasures. Delphine knew her husband's bravery and mar- tial enthusiasm too well to doubt DECISION. 221 his being * where the war-hounds howled the loudest :' in imagination she already saw him lie covered with a thousand wounds among the ' red heaps of carnage/ Catching her infant to her aching heart, with dry eye and burning brain she sought the fortress, and from thence the hut that sheltered her dying husband. At the sound of her loved voice, his soul seemed arrested on its flight to heaven ; again and again she franticly kissed his clammy forehead, his quivering lip ; and again and again she implored Heaven to spare her hus- band or take them both ; but it could not be, the noble De Courxy breathed his last in the wild hut of a wandering Arab, pillowed by the fondest bosom ever pos- sessed by faithful woman. " Delphine was by birth an Italian, by religion a Catholic ; General Delville was an Englishman, and a Protestant : but all that a fond father could have done for a beloved daughter, height- l 3 222 DECISION. ened by esteem and compassion — that did your countryman for the wretched widow, sheltering her in his own house, and watching for two long years with fatherly solicitude over the opening mind of the infant Angelina, and the incohe- rent wanderings of its heart-broken mo- ther, whose tender frame and delicate feeling mind had bent beneath the aw- ful stroke, and never oould recover its tone. " At the end of that time the regi- ment, or rather its poor remains were recalled - 9 and after bringing them to England, the good general obtained per- mission to conduct his interesting charge to the mansion and arms of her parents and brothers. They received her with kindness and thanked him % gratefully ; but soon took occasion to observe her bereavement was a just punishment from offended Heaven, for a child of the holy house of Fiarelli having married an Eng- DECISION, S23 lishman and a heretic, who fought in the cause of a heretic nation. 5 ' ff Say what you can, Eliza, to support religion* the bare fact that it narrows the mind, contracts the soul, and con- demns the feelings, is argument stronger against it, than any its friends can pro- duce in favour of it." " If that were proved to be a fact, it certainly would make against it ; but I am clearly convinced the very opposite are the effects of true piety," replied Mrs. Selby. " How so ?" rejoined Isabel ; " these Fiarellis were at the very head of the church, and reckoned among them car- dinals, pontiffs, and a pope. Good God, that such people could receive the vener- able Delville coolly; could blame their poor unhappy child, for residing so long with one out of the pale of the church ; and finally advise, that, in order to ap- pease offended Deity, she should dedicate herself and infant to the service of God, L 4f 224 DECISION. by taking the vows of a strict religious- house. " The General rightly judged that any interference on his part would be deemed an outrage, and was therefore silent: but when the podr distracted one, turning her large vacant black eyes upon him, into which a ray of recollec- tion seemed just then to dart, pushed her child towards him wildly, eagerly saying, * she is yours/ then pressing a minia- ture of De Courcy, that she always wore next her chilled heart, to the ruby lips of Angelina, she added, ' he gave you to him, you are his/ — the good man could withhold no longer, but catching her in his arms, he exclaimed, ' she is mine, and I swear, dear, unfortunate Delphine to protect her, and be a father to her/ " A ray of light — of happiness glanced across Delphine's lovely face ; it was the last, perhaps the brightest of her short life .j with it the strings of life burst, and DECISION. 225 the next morning saw her but little al- tered : yet that heart had ceased to beat, those eyes were sealed in death, and her spirit had rejoined its kindred one in peace. •• General Delville then proposed bringing, the little Angelina with him to England, and educating her with his own children ; but this was violently opposed by all the Fiarellis, who would not for a moment hear of her being reared out of the church, or in a heretic country. " A promise that she should not be- come a nun but by her own free choice, and that she should spend some time occa- sionally with him in England, was all this generous friend could obtain, and with it he strove to be satisfied, justly thinking, that as far as respected the child they had acted with propriety. " "Well, years rolled round, and the little orphan became a Signora of ex- quisite beauty. You look a Jittle incre- l 5 226 DECISION, dulous, Eliza, but such was this world- worn Countess, when at seventeen she came on a visit to her first protector. She had been educated in a convent, was mistress of every showy accomplish- ment, and told her beads, repeated Pater- nosters and Ave-marias with wonderful celerity, believed all the dogmas of her creed, and thought herself a Very saint. " Such as she was, the youngest son of General Delville soon became vio- lently enamoured of her, and Angelina, in return, gave him the whole of her young heart. " Edgar Delville, at twenty, possessed what Angelina will not at any age, — fixed principles of mind and action : thus, though he loved passionately, he would not marry Angelina, unless she would agree, that any family they might have should be educated in the Protes- tant faith, and that she herself should give the Scriptures a candid reading, hear what any sound divine should say DECISION. 227 on the subject, and then make her elec- tion ; doubtless in his heart believing that her election would favour his pecu- liar prejudices : and so in all probability they would, since it were only exchang- ing those of her confessor, for the more pleasing ones of her lover. But happily this versatility was prevented by some grand signor of an uncle, who just then came from Italy, and positively declared his niece should never marry a Protestant, though every grace and vir- tue under heaven were combined in him : nor could all the tears, entreaties, or rhetoric of the lovers, move him one jot. " Finding the uncle inexorable, and not choosing to claim his father's inter- ference in right of guardian, Edgar quitted England, until she should be- come of age, and obtain the right of choosing for herself. " Angelina was distracted, had a fe- ver, looked on recovering more beautiful than ever, captivated the rich Earl of l 6 228 DECISION, Donovan, thought 'twas useless to pine for an absent lover, when one of the true church was by, and became Countess of Donovan before Edgar had been 3ix months out of England. For nineteen years she continued to dance, dress, visit, laugh in public, and weep in private, re- commend all her friends to marry, and groan under the tyranny of her own hus- band every hour. " At that period he fell in a duel, and dying intestate, left his widow and six children nearly dependent on her eldest son, then just eighteen, and adding to his father's vices, that of covetousness. She felt as such a character must feel, severely, nay bitterly j but it was rather sorrow at being obliged to live in Ire- land on a confined income, than grief for her husband. In this dilemma, her old friends the Delvilles again stepped for- ward to her succour. The old gentle- man was dead, but his eldest son was so like him, that she used to say it must be DECISION. 988 some sort of magic, which had preserved the father in the person of the son. By his advice and management, things were placed in such a position as to secure the widow a moderately handsome fortune \ and during her son's minority, an increase for him of considerable consequence. With this she gave parties a la fresco, masque- rades, dejeunes, petits soupers, soirees, and conversaziones, and all the south of Ireland were amazed at her brilliancy. " By and by the earl became of age, and did his mother the honour of allow- ing her to reside in his house, take the head of his\table and bear his ill-temper. His sisters shared this felicity, to which was added, the overbearing, command- ing, superiority of an elder brother, who fancied he had a right to controul the world. " Frederic Lord Dunmore was then what I have already described ; his for- tune enabled him to live alone, and in some degree assist his sisters* Theyounger 230 DECISION. brother was in the army, under the Del- ville patronage. " About four years since, Delphine, the eldest daughter, after as much puff- ing as a quack medicine, became, on the acquaintance of one month, the wife of a worn-out debauchee of forty. O, Eliza, I am disgusted with the sex when I think of that man, and of the present Earl of Donovan. I sicken to think hu- man nature can descend so low, and my own sex to encourage such a life, by marrying them." " 1 thought the earl was rich, hand- some, and a lover of yours, my dear Isabel," said Mrs. Selby. " O name not the wretch," replied the indignant Isabel ; " rich he certainly is ; and if a perfect figure, and the finest features, with every vice stamped on them, can be handsome, he is that like- wise ; but little knew he the heart — no, he cared nothing about the heart of the woman he sought, when he supposed DECISION. £31 Isabel could accept the hand or submit to the embrace of degenerate profligacy. In that, and some other instances, my be- loved father has kindly given me the decision, and allowed me to reject un- reservedly, an indulgence he never shall have cause to repent/' " If that decision is made in your own strength, dear Isabel, it is made in weak- ness ; but if in the superior strength of Divine assistance, it is a decision worthy of you, and one, I pray, you may be en- abled to adhere to," said Mrs. Selby, with tears blinding her mild eyes. " Then since you are in a praying mood, good night, my dear enthusiast, and remember I think my own indivi- dual strength of mind will enable me to make and keep every decision of vir- tue," replied Isabel gaily, as Mrs. Selby shaking her head, quitted the room. 23% DECISION* CHAP. IX. Well, my dear Eliza," said Isabel, as the carriage drove from Fitzallen, " during our ten miles ride, I will en- deavour to finish the long story of yester- day, if you are not already weary of the melange it presents." Mrs. Selby assured her young friend that she felt interested, and anxious to become acquainted with Lord Dunmore. " If that be the case," resumed Isabel, " I will take up the relation at Del- phine's marriage; she became the Viscountess Loftus with due eclat, and set off on a tour through France, Switzerland, and Italy, accompanied by Theodosia, who, by the by, was the best of the family. In search of all she mar- ried for— pleasure and admiration ; — nay, DECISION. 238 Emma, let not that azure eye of yours chide me, I maintain it was all she be- came Lady Loftus for. Well, after sicken- ing with the sweets of France, they went on to see what Theodosia only had taste to admire, the wild beauties of Switzer- land. There, in the beautiful valley of Chaumonie, they met with Lady Dono- van's former lover, Edgar Delville, per- forming the important part of travelling tutor to his only son. An acquaintance was soon commenced, and though there could be no similarity of taste or senti- ment among the gentlemen, they agreed to form one party in their journey through Italy, guided by that fatality which governs all our motions, and de- cides our most momentous undertakings. " The young Edgar found an unspeak- able pleasure in conversing with and im- proving the mind of Theodosia, who to an uncommon degree of personal beauty added an innocence and naivete, seldom • geen. To wander over, the mountains, or £34 DECISION. linger in the valleys with Edgar; to collect alpine shrubs, and learn from him their names and classification; to visit with him the huts of the shepherd ; to listen to him while he conversed with them, or hang in rapt attention on his voice, while he read or recited the best English or Italian poets, became the de- light of the innocent Theodosia. Her let- ters to her mother were full of Edgar ; and that mother warned her not of her danger, — saw it not, — thought it not, " Theodosia drew with a masterly hand, and it was the fond employ of Edgar to hang over her pencil, watch its progress, and add to its perfections by his judicious observations. In Italy he taught her architecture, taught her poetry, taught her to love all the fine arts, and above all taught her to return his ardent passion with a warmth not inferior to his own. His father, Colonel Delville, had watched this passion with almost agony ; but wanting that resolu- DECISION. 235 tion for his darling, which, twenty-five years before, he had found for himself, could not determine to separate them, until separation would have been in vain. " The Fiarelli were in arms again, but it was useless, the young people boldly avowed their affection, and determined to brave every opposition. The Colonel again brought forward the terms he had formerly found too severe ; but Theo- dosia willingly subscribed to them, — her Edgar was perfection, and the religion he professed must be wise and good. " Thus passed the first year of their ac- quaintance : the whole party then came to Ireland. Never shall I forget Edgar Del- ville, for such a man any thing may be pardoned. Well, not forgetting the trick her mother once played him, and dread- ing Theodosia's constancy, the fondest of all fond fathers proposed that his son should accompany a cousin, who was going into Greece, and give their at- tachment the trial of a twelvemonth's ab- 236 DECISION. sence. Both thought it hard, but neither feared for themselves, or their dearer self. Poor Theodosia, she tied with trem- bling hands a charmed amulet round his neck, returned his warm embrace with equal warmth, committed him to the care of the Virgin, and saw him de- part without any secret foreboding that they should meet no more : but so it was, the year passed round, and full of confidence, and more attached than ever, Edgar set sail for England, and Theo- dosia watched each passing cloud, — each breeze of wind made her shudder ; and every ray of sunshine warmed her heart. Alas, alas ! let me hasten to the end. " The house they then lived in stood on the coast, and commanded an exten- sive view of the sea. From her usual post of observation, Theodosia one day descried a sail, and love whispered all her fond heart could wish ; yet it blew dreadfully, and the vessel appeared tossed on every wave. Dark evening came on, DECISION. £37 and Theodosia became miserable ; when the sound of distress guns was plainly heard : every aid was promptly given, but in vain, — within sight of shore the vessel went down, and every soul perished. *.• The next day, the body of poor Edgar was found : washed on the rock against' which they had split : he was brought on shore ; a plait of Theodosia's long hair was fastened round his arm, and her miniature lay next his heart ; — - but that hand was stiff, that heart was cold, and nearly as stiff and cold became the unhappy Theodosia. It was long before she shed one tear, or spoke one- word, and when she did, it was only to declare her resolution . of withdrawing from the world for ever. Much was said against this by all but the father of Edgar and her second brother. The former, broken-hearted himself, only en- treated she would come to him a short time first ; and, unpleasant as it was to the mourner, it was Edgar's father who 238 DECISION. made the request, and for him she could not do too much. " Accompanied, therefore, by Fre- deric, she set out for Sussex, clothed in the deepest habiliments of widowhood : but, alas! though she so easily forgave him, Colonel Delville could not speak pardon to his own heart ; he accused himself of being the murderer of Edgar, and the destroyer of Theodosia. For several months she remained with him, soothing his broken heart, and ' admi- nistering consolation to his wounded mind. " It was during this painful period, that Lord Loftus paid the penalty of dis- sipation and vice by death, and Lady Donovan's youngest son died of a rapid fever in the West Indies ; the account of which came the same week that Elvira, the most interesting child in the creation, died of an inflammation, caused by eat- ing ice at one of her mother's over- heated assemblies, when she ought to DECISION. £39 have been in bed. This accumulation of woe, together with the advice and so- ciety of the Delvilles, set Frederic to do what he had never done before, think; thought was followed by conviction, and conviction by decision. Frederic saw and lamented the folly of his "past life, not with the whinings of a silly girl, the gloomy upcast eye of a conventicler, or the waspish spleen of exhausted desire : but with a firm philosophic manliness, that taught him the grandeur of human nature had been debased by the vacant unsatisfying pursuits of his past life, and presented to his just opened eyes, the ample page of nature as a study, and the pursuits of literature and philosophy as a business ; while his heart learnt to pay the tribute of grateful enjoyment to the beneficent Giver of all. " At this critical moment Colonel Delville died ; I know not the particulars of his death, but they were such, Fre- deric says, as must have taught a lesson 240 DECISION. of patient suffering to the most depraved : it is a subject on which he feels too much to talk, of course but little is known. " Theodosia, after closing those eyes so dear to her, felt the world a cheerless blank, and again announced her deter- mination *of taking the veil. Her brother accompanied her to Italy, where she im- mediately commenced her noviciate. While there, he succeeded to the splen- did fortune of his great uncle, Lionardi Fiarelli, and returned to spend it in Ire- land, rescuing his mother from the grow- ing tyranny of Lord Donovan, by placing her^ with unlimited powers, at the head of his household. Lady Loft us likewise generally resides with him, though she has a house and establishment of her own, and can but ill brook what she terms his religious philosophy. " I should tell you there are yet two other sisters, one of whom resides with an aunt, the sister of her unfortunate grandfather j the other has been on a 15 DECISION. 241 long visit to the family of Mr. Delville, whose son is Major of the regiment now in Cork, and which will account to you for Lady Donovan's interest in, and knowledge of, all that conceits the- dragoons." " What kind of characters are the two sisters in England," asked Mrs, Selby, whose glistening eyes bore testimony of the sentiments excited by Isabel's re- lation. " Indeed, dear Eliza, I cannot decide ; Amelia, the one I best know, is, I think, a pretty piquante little girl, with no de- cided character ; Honoria de Courcy, as she is called, is a Protestant Christian, very pious, very prejudiced, very plain, and very unlike any one but her dear old maiden aunt, with whom she walks about culling simples, visiting the sick, praying with them, nursing and clothing their dirty brats, and all that sort of non- sense, for which the old school were so famous." VOL. I. M 242 DECISION. " But you do not know her?" said Emma, " and she who drew this charac- ter for you, is one on whom you cannot depend ; but I see one at yonder window who does know her, and who will not draw caricatures, even to please young and beautiful ladies." As she spoke, the carriage drew up, and the three friends alighted amidst a host of beaux and belles, who were just coming out of the splendid apartments assigned to Lady Loftus. Lord Dun- more met them on the stairs, and his mother instantly appearing, introduced him to Mrs. Selby. A large party were waiting, among whom were the Earl of Donovan, and his still handsome sister Lucy Loftus. A review in December is a cold thing : though the day was fine, and the gen- tlemen attentive, Mrs. Selby and Emma shivered with cold, and were glad to second a proposal for going home. To Isabel there was an object near, whose DECISION. £48 growing influence over her feelings, she would not, even to her own heart, allow j but whose gay passing smile, and ele* gant rapid evolutions, gave to a cold December morning all the warmth and colouring of May, and from whose pre- sence she felt it almost pain to retire, at the suggestions of Lady Donovan, who offered as an excuse to the evidently re- luctant Isabel, the early hour of dinner, and size of her party. Isabel blushed, as she met the expressive eye of Mrs. Selby, and entreating no apology might be made on her account, ordered her carriage into town, with that dignified sweetness so peculiarly her own. In the drawing-room before dinner, they were joined by Captain Escott, Major Delville, and several other officers. To Mrs. Seiby's prepossessed mind, all Major Delville said or did seemed fraught with wisdom and goodness 5 when, therefore, he united with others m 8 244 DECISION. in soliciting her to accompany them to the ball, her resolution began to give way : " but," said she in reply to the Major, " surely you do not recommend this manner of spending an evening as rational or profitable ?" " The word rational," replied the Major, smiling, " is become of doubt- ful import ; its meaning in the new and old nomenclature being widely different : the same may be said of profitable, and an evening may be killed in many a worse way than at a ball, which, divested of its accompaniments, is an innocent amusement." Mrs. Selby looked disappointed, as she rejoined faintly, " perhaps so, but I do not understand why people dislike their time so much, as to wish to kill it." " O, my dear madam, how very little of the world you must know then : why time is the greatest foe a fashionable man or woman has, and a bugbear, not equal- DECISION. 245 ed even by religion : but I strongly sus- pect you are not very fashionably idle, always in a bustle, or complaining of ennui" said the Major archly. " Thank God ! not fashionable at all," ejaculated Mrs. Selby ; " therefore cer- tainly an unfit object for a ball-room, but perfectly calculated to enjoy a quiet evening alone." "Nay, nay," replied Major Delville ; " after such a declaration, I shall feel mortified and disappointed, if you per- sist in not going ; and for a reason di- rectly selfish, etiquette obliges me to be there. And as I do not (pray do not smile) dance or sing, or any of those fine things, what is to become of me, without a creature to speak to ? Now, if you would go, I flatter myself by hoping some small part of the evening, at least, may be pleasantly, nay, according to the old reading, rationally spent." « Will you tell me, Major, why M 3 246 DECISION. you do not dance, when men twenty years your senior constantly do so ?" " At the bar of your judgment, I may venture, perhaps, without fear of being voted a Methodist quiz, to state my rea- sons simply, though this is an indulgence I could hope from but few young and lovely women. " Mrs. Selby blushed and bowed, and Major Delville continued : — " There are few sights that appear to me more inconsistent or disgusting, than a tall stout soldier, tripping on * the light fantastic toe/ in the mazy intricacies of a dance, and a little lady-like petit- maitre, carrying arms. Dancing I con- sider a pleasant exercise for children, an agreeable relaxation for youth ; but too trifling for middle age, and folly at a more advanced period. Thus you see, in every way, I am excluded, being nearly forty, ergo middle-aged, a tall stout sol- dier, used to active service, ergo disgust- ing in a dance. DECISION. 247 " Well, my dear madam, you have given such a patient ear to part of my objections, that I feel inclined to trespass on you with the rest ; but gardez vous, for it is horribly outree, almost innouie, in these days of modern philosophy and liberality." " Pray let me hear," said Mrs. Selby : "lam anxious to know what fur- ther you can possibly have to object." " Well, then, in one word, — I do not think it the pursuit of a Christian of forty. I have an old-fashioned habit of looking forward to eternity ; and to do this more profitably, I follow the almost obsolete custom of spending some time every night in devotion, and the study of my Bible. What would be the feelings with which I should come to this duty, after heating and wearying myself with dancing, for which no better excuse could be offered than the poor one, — of doing as other people do? That is, plainly 1 following the multitude to do evil.* m 4 248 DECISION. " Beside this, I have felt some severe domestic afflictions ; and the thought that perhaps some dear one may be writhing in agony, or dying of weakness, while I was exhausting my strength in folly, would unhinge my joints, and rob my limbs of their elasticity. I see you think this a species of morbid sensibi- lity, a sort of overstrained refinement ; but, I assure you, it is not. An adored sister died at the moment when, if my engagement had been kept, her brother, instead of hovering round her dying pillow, would have been gaily dancing with health and beauty ! Let me be grateful that this pang is spared me, though my darling was in perfect health late as this, on the night she quitted this transitory scene. And I have a friend who, at the time a melancholy event oc- curred that robbed two valued friends of life, and buried his sister in a living tomb, was intoxicated in this giddy whirl of vain amusement." DECISION. 249 For a moment, Major Delville's feel- ings choked his utterance ; but quickly recovering himself, and seeing Mrs. Selby's eyes swimming in tears, he cheer- fully added, " Forgive me, dear Mrs. Selby, those selfish melancholy retro- spects. In giving you my objections to an exercise generally taken, I have become too egotistic ; and thus most probably wearied, where I would fain have pleased." A general movement prevented reply ; but as the Major led Mrs. Selby to the door, he whispered, " Show me your par- don, by sacrificing a little this evening of your own comfort to add to my gratifi- cation.' J She smiled an assent, and glided quickly on. " Thank you a thousand times, my sweet friend," cried Emma, as Mrs. Selby was making some alteration in her dress, " for this kindness ; though, I be- M 5 250 DECISION. lieve, it is Major DelvilJe to whom thanks are due. It was his rhetoric, Eliza, not my entreaties, that prevailed. But so it is : a sensible pleasing man possesses more influence than a host of Emmas." " Or Elizas either, and you speak from experience. Is it not so, my dear sister ?" said Isabel, who entered the room, ra- diant in beauty and happiness, while Emma was speaking. " Indeed, Isabel, had not you and Eliza been so fully occupied with your respective military friends, you would have seen and pitied my situation, sitting two long hours between a deaf sputter- ing old man, and that insufferable pedant, Bellamy.'' " At all events, sweet girl, you would not suffer from silence," said Mrs. Selbv > " but a apropos of Bellamy, Emma, you are to dance with him, I think. With all his pedantry, depend on it he is, as your brother said, tout-dn-fait pris, and DECISION. 251 you will surely get an offer in form ; so pray keep your father's objections in mind." " Never fear," replied Emma ; " for, rest assured, that were he to commence such a subject, he would find it necessary to enforce it by arguments drawn from the lives of the Heathen deities, — then from the Egyptians, — then from the Romans, Spartans, Grecians, and Cartha- ginians, — then from the ancient Celts, Gauls, Huns, Goths, and Britons ; from whence he would descend gradually to the modern inhabitants of Europe, Asia, Africa, and America, — when I should drop my courtsey with c'est assez, monsieur, and disappear as I now do/' So saying, she gaily ran down stairs, as Isabel rather thoughtfully uttered, " Sweet, innocent, interesting creature ! long, long may she be spared the pangs of owning a passion her reason, religion, and duty make war against V* " Not only long, but ever may you m 6 %52 DECISION. both be spared it !" returned Mrs. Selby. " I would not shade that lovely brow to- night, or I should say, beware how you listen to or admire a certain elegant, fascinating Captain, where reason, reli- gion, and duty would interpose between you." " I am fully aware, my kind friend, that until I can shake off the prejudices, by which I am hampered, this must be the case ; and, in the mean time, indulge only that degree of friendship which twa minds, perfectly in unison, must feel for each other, however the cruelty of fate may interpose between them." " May I ask, dear Isabel, is this your own reasoning, or the Captain's ?" " O, I assure you, quite my own: Cap- tain Escott has never breathed a syllable beyond friendship, such as a brother might feel. Sometimes, I think, he looks, more ; but perhaps it is only fancy. But allons nous, I hear the carriage is drawing up ; and let me, in return of kindness* 16 DECISION. %53 warn you, dear Eliza, against a certain Major, who, having buried his first love, is, according to his own declaration, a settled bachelor." " Then, whence arises the necessity of warning, Isabel?" " That you might not make him tell fibs, to be sure," returned Isabel, play- fully, as she gave her hand to Captain Escott, who was waiting to lead her to the carriage. Mrs. Selby thought the rapture that sparkled in his brilliant countenance, very far exceeding even the fondest at- tentions of a brother. Our party was rather late, and the rooms by this time crowded. Major Delville and his young friend with some difficulty pioneered their path, and succeeded in procuring seats. Dancing soon commenced; and Lady Donovan having fixed herself at a card- table, in whose mysteries she was quickly absorbed, Mrs. Selby found &54 DECISION. herself left to the almost exclusive so^ ciety of Major Delville, whose observ- ations on the passing figures, their characters, pursuits, and connections, with some amusing anecdotes of the neighbouring families, with whom he appeared intimately acquainted, rapidly w 7 inged the fleeting moments, and she was surprised to find the first two dances over, and seats again in requisition, be- fore she would have thought the first half finished. Something of this escaped her as Isabel, Emma, and Lady Loftus, with their partners, advanced. " So," said Major Delville, in return* " it really is : there are many more ways of killing time, even in a ball-room, than by dancing : now the query is, which (to use your own phrase) is the most rational, dancing or trifling?" " Is this to reproach me, Major, for withdrawing your thoughts from more serious objects \ or for being persuaded DECISION. 255 to add to a number, my better judgment decided against?" " Neither the one or the other, dear madam, since it is something more sin- cere than compliment to say, no pleasure can be greater than that I feel even while trifling with you ; and little as I have hitherto seen of you, I will venture to answer for your being a decided cha- racter." " Do not venture to answer for uncer- tainties, Major, but answer my questions respecting one with whom you must be better acquainted, Captain Escott." " Of Captain Escott !" repeated the Major, in some surprise ; " what would you know of him ?" " All I can ; but particularly I would know his moral character, his family con- nections, and his fortune : his temper, I think easily understood, and his disposi- tion must be good." " It is excellent, and his temper posi- tive perfection : as for his moral charac- 256 DECISION. racter, with the world it stands high, and is, I firmly believe, perfectly free from radical vice. Family connections he has very few : the fruit of a most inaus- picious marriage union, and the only child of a widowed mother, who idolizes him, he neither seeks nor is sought by the few distant and high relations he may claim in right of a father, unknown to him but by name. There are some par- ticulars in the early life of his father, over which forgetfulness is now spread- ing her mantle, but it requires the v/aters of oblivion to wash it from the page of family history. Fortune he has not any, beyond the command of a company, a martial spirit, and unsullied integrity." " With these," interrupted Mrs. Selby, " he can never be poor. But tell me, is the blot on his father's escutcheon an in- delible one, one that must reflect discre- dit on his posterity ?" " By no means, it was purely domes- tic 5 and some persons perhaps may not DECISION. 257 blame so severely as I do, the indiscre- tions of an over-indulged youth. 5 ' Mrs. Selby thought she could discern in this palliated mode of expression, a desire to waive further explanation, and in some degree the nature of the blot. Yet not perfectly satisfied, she resumed, " You do not, I think, speak confident- ly of his moral character ; that qualifying noun, the * world,' implies so much doubt, and appears so much like some- thing left behind." " You are wonderfully anxious about this young man, my fair friend : may I ask, have you known him long ?" " I have known him only since your regiment has been in this place : but he is so sensible, so well informed, so gay and fascinating, that to see him, and feel interested for him, is just the same thing." " Have you found it so?" enquired the Major, with a penetrating glance. <« Indeed I have, and every time J s.oe &58 DECISION. him that interest becomes stronger/ 3 re- plied Mrs. Selby, with a composure and calmness so perfectly natural, that the suspicions which a moment before had been excited in the breast of Major Del- ville vanished, as he cheerfully resumed: — " Escott is undoubtedly all you describe, and more, extremely amiable ; his mo- rals too, in the general acceptation of the word, are unimpeachable 5 but you know already, that according to many, I have prejudices ; one of them is, that every man should regularly at- tend public worship at church ; this Escott thinks ridiculous, and talks very finely about worshipping God by enjoying the beauties of nature, and obeying him, by receiving gracefully his gifts. For God is paid when man receives. To enjoy is to obey. The immoral and infidel couplets of this, in some respects, fine poet, are a curse to such as poor Escott, who, with all his good qualities, is a DECISION. Q59 polished sceptic ; not denying a fu- ture state of existence, but decking it out in his own fanciful garb, and cover- ing it with the dazzling starry mantle of night. Hence comes my hesitation in calling him a moral character : for how can that man's morals be good, who, de- nying revealed religion, has no bounds to his passions, but what a sense of his own dignity, and a desire of standing well in general opinion, may raise. Poor are such barriers against temptation, and miserable are those who are not, like Es- cott, bountifully endowed with good sense and the best dispositions, improved by an excellent education. Mais tenez vous, here he comes with your beautiful exalted-looking friend: if Miss Fitzallen's mind agrees with her face, she must be Of all great Nature's works the fairest of the fair, excelling in majestic grandeur of beauty, all the daughters of our fair and faulty m other." " Who speaks of fair and faulty mo« 260 DECISION. thers," said Lord Dunmore, who now made his first appearance in the room ; " not Delville, surely, who boasts as a mother, the most saintly picture of hu- man nature the world ever produced." Delville bowed to the tribute paid his mother's virtue, as he asked " What had detained his lordship to so late an hour ?" " The old story, letter-writing: it was a strange time, you will think, Miss Fitz- allen, to employ in such a purpose, but pleasure is still pleasure, whether found in writing to an invalid sister, or in the circle of beauties who grace this room \ and an unconnected man (a sigh follow- ed the words) may surely, without the charge of selfishness, choose his path to happiness." " Then your philosophy does not en- able you to find it in every path, I may conclude," returned Isabel. " Pardon me, fair Isabel, I have said nothing to warrant such a conclusion ; decision. 261' though doubtless there are paths, in which the very opposite of happiness could only be found. " " But this is a track far from the one I would expect to find a calm philoso- pher, such as Lord Dunmore, pursuing.*' " I fear, dear Miss Fitzallen, if you knew me better, you would discover I have but little title to the appellation of calm philosopher, with which you honour me." " I have an idea, that a far higher title than the one my sister bestows, may, with more justice, be applied to you," whispered Emma, as her eyes fixed on a small crucifix that fastened her bracelet. " Thank you, sweet Emma," return- ed Lord Dunmore in the same low tone, " that were indeed to deserve highly ; but I have much, very much to subdue, before I can lay a decided claim to such a character." Low as the tone was in which these 20§ DECISION. words passed, they were heard by the attentive Mrs. Selby, who seeing him immediately lead Emma to join the dancers, asked Major Delville, " if his friend was not rather a Christian than a philosopher ?" " If you mean by philosopher, such a thing as either of those now crossing yonder card-room," said the Major, directing her observation to Horace Fitz- alien, Macdonald, and the Honourable Charles St. Legere, " I reply he is ; but if you mean to give the word its legiti- mate explanation, I must hesitate in de- ciding, because it appears to me, that one is intimately connected with the other." " I must hear you farther on this sub- ject another day, Major; in the mean time, I rejoice to hear from good autho- rity, that Lord Dunmore is not fashion- ably sceptical or rationally religious." At this moment they were joined by- Horace and his two companions. Horace DECISION. 263 was in exuberant spirits, laughed, talked* and quizzed, with gay good-humour ; played off his conceited friend St. Legere with brilliant wit and humour, parried all Macdonald's satirical strokes with such infinite grace* and looked altogether so handsome and so full of mirth, that Mrs. Selby could not help regretting deeply, that the perfect features and en- chanting smile, which now delighted her and his fond sisters, should so often be distorted by passion, disfigured by vio- lence, and clouded by self-willed oppo- sition : she fancied, as she often had done, what a different creature he might have been made w T ith judicious manage- ment, and united parents : she remem- bered the unexampled sweetness and patience of the heart-broken, pious Lady Isabella, and tears rose to her eyes, as she offered up a mental prayer, that the son his sainted mother loved so well, might yet become an ornament and bless- ing to society j that when his character 264 DECISION. should become more decided, it might be that of* a Christian. Major Delville observed the cloud that shaded her softly pencilled brow, and pressing her hand as he led her to the carriage, and casting his eyes toward Captain Escott, who was tenderly and anxiously enveloping the fine form of Isabel in a large India shawl, softly said, " I understand now the cause of your enquiries ; but fear nothing : he is the very soul of honour, and will not tempt to deceive." DECISION. $65 CHAP. X. " Good morning, Horace," said Sir William to his son, as he returned from his morning prayers, and found Horace lingering over a late breakfast, with a new democratical pamphlet in his hand ; " it is four days since I have seen you, is it the way you are taking to reconcile us to your continued absence, by making your occasional ones longer?" " Four days, sir, is it," yawned Horace, " faith I did not know how long it was ; but you live at such a wretched distance from town, that a man may as well be- come post carrier at once, as attempt living here and seeing his friends there, for he must absolutely exist on the road." VOL. I. N 266 DECISION, " How is this shrinking from labour consistent with colonizing, which will re- quire unremitting labour, hey, Horace ?" " Faith, sir, I shall never colonize $ Philadelphia will satisfy me, and leave ploughing and sowing to the labour-loving sons of care, who prefer it, or whose talents will not place them above it." " Not colonize ! why, Horace, the last time I saw you, you were at the crisis of a colonizing fever." " True, sir, and the crisis having passed, the fever subsided, and left me able to talk of Philadelphia with calm- ness." " So much the better; and if the American fever altogether subsided, it would be better still. But what did our good relation, Joseph Hammond, want with you?" " Egad, sir, that is what I could not discover then, or tancy since : all I could collect was, a sort of implied wish, that I were safe in his American counting- MCISIOK. 267 house ; though what the deuce he thinks I am to do there, I cannot divine. O, I think I see myself perched upon a high stool, behind a desk, with brass rod and drab curtain, a pen behind my right ear, and a huge ledger open before me, in which I am gravely labouring to dis- cover an error of one farthing. Trade, Dr. to Sundries. Oh, what a climax of vulgar stupidity. Verily, friend Joseph, if thou dost expect all this, thou art doomed to disappointment. One thing else I discovered, that he had taken a stub- born dislike to my friend Macdonald, because he found an error in Trade Dr. to Sundries, or Sundries Dr. to Cash, or some of their cursed counting-house non- sense. But the end of it is, that he will dine here to-day, and wishes, after din- ner, to enter into some arrangements with you and myself about the manner in which I am to reside there." " I understood, Horace, that it was settled you were to reside in his house." N 2 268 DECISION, " Well, sir, so I may, but there wiii need a set-out, horses and a carriage. To buy liveries, and to procure a few- things of this sort, absolutely indis- pensable, I shall sell my horses here im- mediately. But as that prosing broad- brim will be here with his confounded early hours just directly, and neither you nor I can say a word about money without O'Neil, I will go in search of him, and bring him to dinner if possible." if Do, my dear Horace ; though its very close he is just now, with respect to the cash." " O, never fear, 1*11 bring him round." So saying, Horace quitted the room at one door, as his father by another went in search of the abbe, and his youngest son. Sir William had been so many years accustomed to repose all his cares, hopes, and fears in the abbe, to be du rected by his judgment, and follow im- plicitly his advice, that he had now lost DECISION. 269 the will as well as power of guiding him- self, and scarcely ventured to think, and never to act, but through the medium of the abbe or O'Neil -> he now sought to know of the former what should be required of the latter, and if the car- riage, horses, liveries, &c. named by Horace, were indeed " indispensables." From his infancy, Horace had been the aversion, the detestation of the abbe. To contradict and punish the little here- tic, and to utter anathemas against the daring infidel, were equally gratifying to the embittered bigotted spirit of the priest. He always spoke of and considered him as devoted to perdition, given over to the hardness of his own heart, and running a career which, even in this life, must end in infamy and certain ruin. Sir William and his daughters were often admonished, and frequently made to do penance, for their sinful love of this child of Satan. Fitzallen was fully aware of all this $ n 3 270 DECISION. but so great was become his habit of sub- jection, that even on the subject of this darling son he constantly applied to his confessor. Next to seeing him become a Catholic, there was nothing so agreeable to Mon- sieur PAbbe, as that Horace should quit Europe. The consequence of this was his forwarding every plan suggested for that purpose ; and even to allow that perhaps a carnage might be necessary in Philadelphia, to a young man so accus- tomed to all the elegancies of life as Horace was. But, in general, he thought the privilege of walking knee-deep in snow or mire, more than such a heretic set as the Americans deserved. Satisfied with this sort of acknowledg- ment, and again endeavouring to soften the priest's ire on account of Emma's fre- quent absences from prayers, which the abbe declared, and the father believed to be a sin of the first magnitude, though neither of them suspected the change DECISION. 271 gradually working in her soul, Sir William retired to his library, to await the coming of Joseph Hammond or O'Neil, with as much composure as the circumstances attending it would admit of. As Horace had predicted, the drab carriage and sober attelage of friend Hammond was early seen entering the Gothic gate-way that led to Fitzallen ; and Sir William rose from his easy chair to meet him, with feelings of grateful respect. " How dost thee do, friend William ?" said the good merchant, holding out his hand. " I thought perhaps thou wouldst have found thy way to Hammond House by this time. Thou didst not use to wait for invitations, William, dost thou do so now?" " Not at all, I assure you ; but I find that I am weaker than I was aware of. My son's leaving home has often been talked of; but to know him really about to quit Europe, probably for years, — n 4 &l% DECISION. and to feel myself every day growing" older, and seeing my affairs not quite what I could wish, has unhinged me a little. But, however, I hope to get stronger, and to see him return rich ; and my affairs, no doubt, will all work round again, — all will be very well again, by and by." " Thou dost hope very much, friend, ■ — more than I see reason for thy doing. At thy age and mine, men do not often increase in strength, — that is, in bodily strength ; but if thy mind be led to seek strength from the strong, thou needest not to fear the decay of thy outward man, or the near approach of death : and thou mayest leave thy children in sure hands, — hands that cannot fail, or become weak." ** I dare say you are right, my good sir ; but at little more than fifty, I can- not believe my usual energy will not return, especially as I have no complaint of any sort or kind*" DECISION. 273 M Except an unwillingness to own thy- self mortal, — I fear thou mayest com- plain of that. But where are thy two sons, Horace and William ?" " Horace is somewhere about the do- main, and William gone to pay some morning visits ; but both of them will join us at dinner." " Paying morning visits ! Could a boy of fifteen be no better employed than in wasting his time, and dissipating his mind, by such an idle, useless habit as this ? I am afraid, friend, thou wilt ruin this boy as thou hast Horace." " Horace, sir, owes what you call his ruin to my yielding to his mother's en- treaties, and allowing him to be brought up out of the pale of the true church. This error has been avoided in my younger son ; and I am at a loss to know what fault can be found with him by any reasonable man." " What dost thou mean to do with him ?" n 5 £74t DECISION- " What would you mean by t do with him f " " I mean, in what way dost thou intend to provide for him ?" " In the way every gentleman ought, — from my own estate, certainly." " Thou hadst better enable him to earn an estate of his own ; for neighbour O'Neil lays claim to a large share of thine already, and the probability is, that he will, in a few years, seize the whole as his own." " O, you are mistaken quite, I assure you. When I have adjusted O'Neil's accounts, it will be found that very little is due to him, — very little, indeed ; and I'll be adjusting them very soon now." Mr. Hammond shook his head, incre- dulously ; but was prevented reply by the sudden and noisy entrance of Horace, and half-a-dozen huge pointer dogs. " Here, whew, whew, Graceful, Beauty, Glutton, come forward and show your- selves," shouted Horace. " Would it DECISION. 275 not be terrible," continued he, " to sell those darlings? Oh, they are perfect jewels of dogs, — the best breed in Bri- tain. So I am just thinking I'll take them with me : in such a game country, they will be an absolute treasure. And faith, I believe it will be better to take the pack of hounds : I shall want them, and they are most excellent." As he made a pause, to consider the advantage of taking fifty hounds and six pointers across the Atlantic, Mr. Ham- mond coolly asked, " Canst thou get any thing for them in Ireland, young man ?" " Lord, sir ! why they are worth a for- tune. There is not a man of property in the country, that would not gladly buy them at my own price." " Then sell them, Horace ; for thou needest fortune more than thou dost need dogs." " Egad no, sir ; they must go all, — every one of them." n 6 276 DECISION. " Will thy dogs live seven or eight weeks without eating ?" " Good God, what a stupid question. To be sure they must be fed every morn- ing \ and perhaps it may be necessary to let the steward know what an increase of family he has to expect. I shall do so to-morrow morning ; for go they must, that's decided. " " It doth not appear so to me. I have promised to give thee and one servant a passage to Philadelphia, and to maintain thee and thy servant during the passage : but no vessel of the house of Penn and Hammond shall freight fifty-six dogs ; neither shall their property go to feed them on the passage, or in America." " After all, sir, you are the devil of a churl," muttered Horace, who knew his man too well to attempt persuasion or argument, and whose desire of going was now strong enough to make him yield to the will of another ; a rare thing DECISION. £77 in the turbulent life of Horace Fitzallen. After a short interval spent in moody silence, Horace again whistled his * dar- lings/ and withdrew with less clamour than he had entered. In the drawing-room Emma met her respected friend, of whose being in the house she was not aware Emma ex- pressed her pleasure with the almost childish naivete that distinguished her artless character, and looked so truly gratified, that friend Hammond, yielding to the impulse of the moment, pressed her affectionately to his warm heart, and as the big tear dimmed the mild lustre of his eyes, ejaculated, " let me but see thee, my child, a follower of the truth, a sincere Christian, and I shall go down to my grave in peace, whenever it may please the Master to summon me hence." Emma clasped her hands together, and raising her clear blue eyes to heaven, fer- vently breathed a prayer that he might live to see her become what it was the 9Tl% DECISION. will of Heaven she should be. A deeply uttered " Amen" was the only sound that met the human ear: but it was enough ; and from that moment Joseph Hammond, with the mystic confidence that strongly characterises the excellent sect to which he belonged, spoke of and considered Emma as " a brand plucked from the burning." Of her, it is true he seldom spoke, but her welfare lay near his heart, and occupied many of his thoughtful hours. Mrs. Selby and Isabel were not unin- terested observers of this little scene : to the former, it imparted a solemn feeling of prayerful gratitude almost overpower- ing, but sweet : to the latter, a senti- ment made up of doubt and surprise, to which was added a slight tincture of con- tempt, for what she considered the de- sire of proselytism in the one, and vacil- lating weakness in the other ; both of which were disgusting to the strong but warped mind of Isabel, and withheld her DECISION. 279 from testifying the interest her attached heart really felt for a fondly loved sister. Dinner passed in almost silence - y each one present felt a weight of care or thoughtf ulness, that precluded free ut- terance, and gave to conversation the constrained appearance of brief question and reply. O'Neil, usually talkative arid free, was withheld by certain plans and calcula- tions, that to him were of consequence as important as those of the first mathe- matician in the world to its abstracted discoverer. Horace had not yet forgotten his dis- appointment, and sat, with his fine arched brow contracted, in sullen ill humour ; and that face, whose perfect contour seemed formed for the expression of every virtue, now shadowed forth only hateful and malevolent passions, The withdrawing of the ladies was the signal for commencing the business on which they had met. Mr. Hammond enquired of Horace 280 DECISION. what sum of money he thought it neces- sary to take with him from Europe, at the same time recommending economy ; and reminding him that all his wants, or necessary wants rather, would be amply supplied in the house of Robert Penn, be- side an allowance of two hundred pounds per annum : that on his good conduct depended his future welfare. He was rich, and had but two children ; it was his desire to consider Horace as a third; but, concluded he, in a firm voice, " I would have thee and thy father to understand clearly, that I will adopt no infidel, no blasphemer, no daring scoffer at religion, or abuser of the mild Christian king and constitution by which Britain is now governed. If at the end of three years thou art this, or any of this, thou and I, or thou and my successors, should I have left this world, will have no farther con- nection for ever : but shouldst thou prove the opposite of all this, then thou shalt be admitted into the firm on the same *5 DECISION. 281 terms my son is. Art thou well satisfied, Horace ?" Horace proudly bowed his head. There was, notwithstanding his liberality, a something in this speech of Joseph Hammond that wounded the unsubdued rebellion of his spirit, and clashed dread- fully with his democratic deistical prin- ciples : the blood mounted to his forehead, as he gnawed his under lip, with con- tracted brows, and badly concealed rage flashing from his half closed eye. Mr. Hammond read all his opposing feelings with a glance, and with true Christian forbearance pitied, and was si- lent. He then conversed with Sir Wil- liam and O'Neil on the embarrassed circumstances of the Baronet. O'Neil talked largely of his own unheard of exertions to make the utmost of the domain. " But somehow or other the master, God bless him, and his children, tuk so much, that it was clane out of his power to make both ends meet widout 282 DECISION. fining, and if the master wud jist pass a* fine over the whole, it wud set all right and straight, and he saw no other way ; sure that was jist asy enough for any jantleman." Sir William, supported by the abbe, was firm in his refusal, and O'Neil, with all his art, found it difficult to preserve any thing like temper, when close pressed by Mr. Hammond to advance only five hundred on account of Horace. He did not intend to use this small sum for his nephew, whose outfit he had taken on himself, but penetrating the base de- signs of O'Neil, and not doubting but in the end he would triumph, he foresaw a time when, trifling as itwas,this sum might be all that remained of a once flourishing patrimony. Provoked at what he thought a mean dispute for a sum not worth accepting, Horace arrested himself in the hasty strides he was making a cross the ample dining-room, and pulling the bell with DECISION. 283 violence, sent a servant for his pocket- book. On the man's return, he advanc- ed towards the table, and taking from it a number of bills, spread them before O'Neil, saying haughtily, " Before you determine, sir, on paying the princely sum proposed, have the goodness to ex- amine those accounts, they are per- fectly correct, and must be paid imme- diately, and by you" O'Neil glanced over them, and with an exclamation of horror, declared that all that could be got from the Fitzallen property would not pay them. " It is your concern, sir, 5 ' coolly said Horace, as turning on his heel he re- sumed his ambulating cogitations. Sir William pressed his hands on his eyes, to shut out sight and sounds that cut him to the heart, and leaning forward on the table, spoke not a word. The abbe uttered a bitter philippic against spendthrift heretics, and then left the room, as if to shelter his petit person 284 DECISION. from the withering frown with which the towering Horace menaced him.. Return- ing for a minute, he addressed his patron in French, commanding him not to pass the fine O'Neil demanded, or make any arrangement for paying the debts of that lost young man. " Otez de mon vue, miscreant," roared the enraged Horace, and the little man, perfectly obedient, withdrew in haste. " This anger is unbecoming of thee, Horace," said Joseph Hammond, with perfect calmness j " compose thyself, and sit down by me, that thou mayest give me any information I may require on the subject of thy debts, which I dare say we shall find ample means of honestly paying." Poor Horace, though ruined by indul- gence, had never been treated with con- siderate kindness. A heart, in which all the kindly charities had once glowed, was quickly touched by the mild, dis- passionate manner of the good quaker ; DECISION. 285 the crimson of his flushed countenance quickly fled, and a tear quenched the Are of his flaming eye, as taking the offered seat, he gratefully pressed the hand reached out to take the offensive bills. Their amount was indeed enormous, and for the reasons before named Mr. Hammond would not undertake their liquidation, but appointed a time to meet O'Neil on this and other money- matters, a meeting O'Neil would gladly have avoided. For Sir William or his son, O'Neil was more than a match : the one loved ease, the other hated business. But for the penetrating industry, and straight-forward honesty of Joseph Ham- mond, his principles had no pendant, and his art was unequal ; his refuge, there- fore, lay in breaking his appointment. Seeing nothing further was to be done, and having made up his own mind as to the plan of action proper to be pur- sued, friend Hammond bid his relations 286 DECISION., good night, and retired, to enjoy that unbroken repose which a conscience at peace with God and man, sound health, and weariness, the consequence of ac- tivity, can best bestow. In the morning, Mr. Hammond enquir- ed of Mrs. Selby if she did not intend to return shortly to Hammond House, adding, that the loss of her society there was sensibly felt. Mrs. Selby replied, that it was her in- tention to return in a very few days, and that she should bring Emma with her. " Emma," continued she, " wishes for your council and instruction on some points, where I feel incompetent to ad- vise farther." " I believe, friend Emma," said the old gentleman, seriously, " thou knowest. I wish thy eternal happiness, even more than thy temporal welfare, and that where either is concerned, thou wilt find me a willing, and as far as I am able to be so, a good adviser." DECISION. 287 Emma, in broken accents, assured him of her perfect reliance on his good will, and said, that some circumstances connected with her mother's death, made her desirous of pouring out her whole heart to him. " There thou art wrong, child ; pour out thy whole heart but to One, and let that be before the only one capable of understanding and directing thee uner- ringly." Some farther conversation passed, and Mrs. Selby and Emma promised to leave Fitzallen in two days, about which time Horace was expected to sail. Hitherto Isabel had not spoken, but at this moment her favourite greyhound, who had been lying quietly at her feet, rose, and putting his paws on her shoul- ders, pushed his cold nose against her throat. " My poor fellow/' said she, pat- ting him, as her beautiful eyes filled with tears, " my faithful friend, you will not forsake your mistress, just when her for- 288 DECISION. titude is put to the test, by a separation from the second dearest object of her heart." Emma raised her eyes, the pale cheek and quivering lip of her sister struck her to the soul : hastily rising, she threw her arms round Isabel's neck, exclaiming, t* Forgive me ! oh forgive me my selfish- ness, dear Bella : how could I for a mo- ment think of leaving you to lament the loss of your brother alone : ah ! no, I will not go from you, indeed." Isabel kissed her cheek as she replied: " the weakness is past, it was but a transient pang ; you will go, dear Emma; it is right, I know you ought to go, therefore you must ; but again I warn you, do not, to escape the rock, be swal- lowed by the whirlpool." " Emma must and ought to go," said Mrs. Selby, " but there is no such obli- gation on me ; and I can, Isabel, if you are not weary of me, continue some time longer your guest." r>EcisiON. £89 Isabel bowed proudly as she decidedly declined, adding, " you know I am not, cannot be weary of you ; neither am I, nor can I be inadequate to any exertion I may be called on to make. Early as- sociations attached me strongly to Ho- race, but it is a tie of mind, not person ; and by the strength of reason, our minds will unite their energies, though the V/'oad Atlantic rolls between us. Make no sacrifices for me, dear madam ; strong in my own principles, I shall find my powers equal to my need." Mrs. Selby apologised for her apparent unkindness, the mere result of forget- fulness ; and again urged to be permit- ted to remain : but the proudly wounded Isabel, with that firmness on which she prided herself, steadily forbad any alter- ation of the first plan. Mr. Hammond, who had quitted the room, now returned, to bid its occupants farewell, " and," said he to Isabel, « tell thy brother when he comes down, that vol. i. o 290 DECISION, a merchant should rise at a reason able hour, that is five hours before noon. I wanted to have seen him this morning, but do thee desire him to come to me by one o'clock to-morrow ; and do not thee look so pale, child ; I will take care that thy favourite brother be well pro- vided. Wilt thou come with thy sister to my house ? I have seen thee happy there : come, Isabel, and we will try ^S we cannot make thee love Christianity better than French frippery and German infidelity.* ' This was an unfortunate conclusion, it awakened all Isabel's contempt for the desire of converting. By a powerful effort mastering her strong feelings, she thanked him in a voice of the most per- fect sweetness for all his kindness, but said that her reason and fixed principles held her, at present, near her father. At some future period, she would gladly visit Hammond House, to whose inha- bitants she sent the most affectionate re- DECISION. £91 membrances ; and friend Hammond de- parted, grieving more than ever over her bad education, French politics, and German morals. o 2 292 DECISION CHAR XI. During the three days that intervened between Mr. Hammond's departure and that of Horace, Major Delville and Cap- tain Escott were much at Fitzallen, which appeared to contain for each an object of attraction possessing magnetic force. Isabel talked with calmness of her brother's voyage, and professed to enter- tain no apprehension for his perfect safety : yet every gust of wind that blew through the long galleries and vaulted corridors of the old mansion, chased the colour from her cheek and lips, arrested the half-uttered sentence, and commu- nicated a pang to her heart, unfelt on any former occasion. The nights too were dark, and the road to Cork, which DECISION. 293 had ever been considered particularly good and perfectly safe, Isabel now dis- covered was boggy in some places, in others full of large stones, over which a horseman might probably meet a speedy death, and subject to constant attacks from the discontented peasantry; the pea- santry Isabel had always with so much warmth defended : and that revengeful spirit she had so often dignified as the manly resentment of an oppressed peo- ple, now became her terror and constant anxiety. She expressed these fears to Major Del- ville with so much sweetness and inte- rest, that Escott thought he would glad- ly pass the fancied dangers a whole long winter to obtain only a small portion of the concern testified for his friend. Clear- sighted in other respects, he was here blind, nor once ventured to flatter him- self, that were he out of the question, Isabel would think no road so safe or perfect. This consideration impressed on o 3 294 DECISION, his fine features an expression of sorrow mingled with uneasiness, which meeting the observant eye of Isabel, she hastily rose from the sofa on which she was sitting with the Major and Mrs. Selby, and advancing towards him, enquired, in a voice that expressed every thing but indifference, if he were unwell. " Unwell !" he repeated, raising his eyes to her's, " No ; but unhappy." There was something in his eyes that spoke volumes. Yet actuated by an irresistible impulse, Isabel held out her hand, as in the most subduing tones of her melting voice she replied, " Ah, say not you are unhappy, that would be too much." Captain Escott caught her hand in rapture as fervently pressing it to his lips, and drawing her to a seat beside him, he uttered in a low emphatic voice, " This, this alone can insure my happiness. 5 * Isabel withdrew her hand, and becom- ing deadly pale, softly replied, " You are DECISION. 295 English, and a Protestant, — insuperable objections 5 therefore say no more, think no more on such a theme." Then reaching her portfolio, and striving to speak cheerfully, and smile with deathy lips, she continued, " You promised yesterday to make some cor* rections in this Athenian ruin for me ; do it now, while I go see for my father." * l Are you weary, or afraid of me, dearest Isabel?" asked Escott, in a re- proachful voice. " Neither ; but if your philosophy serves you no better than this, I shall become afraid of that," replied Isabel, as she hastened from him to recover in soli- tude that tranquillity she began to fear was lost to her for ever. That Captain Escott was daily becoming dearer to her than was consistent with the calmness of friendship, she could no longer hide from herself. Her father's prejudices against English Protestants she knew too well, to hope he would make an excep- o 4 %96 DECISION, tion in favour of her growing idol. Pla- tonic friendship, exalted love sacrificing its own felicity to that of the beloved object, Werter, St. Preux, Julie, &c. &c. floated in indistinct confusion through her brain, working it almost to phrenzy. She returned to the room in which Cap- tain Escott was still gazing at the draw- ings, because they were hers, with an en- thusiasm on her fine countenance, that gave to every perfect feature an expres- sion which astonished Mrs. Selby, who had neither heard or noticed any part of the short agitating conversation which had before passed. " Must you really return to Cork to dinner ?" asked Mrs. Selby, as they rose to depart. " It is but too true," returned Major Delville, yet still he continued to linger, had some question to ask, some doubt to solve ; while Isabel, agitated and restless, sat down before her drawing-book : but on turning over its leaves, every one pre- DECISION. 297 sented some sketch of her own face or figure so exquisitely like, that to mistake was impossible. Raising her beaming eyes, she met those of Escott, fixed on her with a sad, but enchanting expression. " I did not before know you excelled in portraits, Captain," said Isabel. " I do not," replied he, "one only did I ever attempt, and that was one no pencil could equal, but which is traced in burning characters on a heart that loves too well." " This, dear Escott," replied Isabel firmly, placing her hand in his extended one, " suits well enough to common minds ; but minds such as yours and mine, seeing what is right, should know how to do it. Farewell, 1 shall have yet to fear the dark for you, unless you go immediately. To-morrow, — poor Ho- race : — but avaunt, I will not be weak." Escott kissed her hand, and very un- willingly said farewell, yet was he sooth- ed by the interest she felt in his safety 5 o 5 £98 DECISION. and the hope that he was not altogether indifferent to her. At dinner Mrs. Selby looked even un- usually happy ; but to the eye of Isabel, rendered penetrating by the feelings of her bosom, there appeared less of that saint-like calmness which had distin- guished her friend, and a sort of turbid gaiety usurped its place. Isabel's face so plainly revealed her thoughts, that Mrs. Selby, blushing, shrunk from the clear eye fixed on her, and opening a note at that moment presented her, she found it to contain an intima- tion from friend Hammond, that his car- riage should be at Fitzallen by twelve in the morning, to bring as many as chose to come to Hammond House. Not a word was spoken by any of the party, until the servants were withdrawn, when Sir William hoped Mrs. Selby would not leave them until the new year, for in- deed he could not bear the idea of losing her just now. DECISION. 299 Mrs. Selby replied, it was her inten- tion to extend her visit some short time, if dear Isabel would pardon an arrangement made without thought, and accept her company. Whether it was that Isabel's resolves were softened, or that she began to sus- pect her friend of having a reason of her own for continuing, is uncertain, but she no longer opposed it ; on the contrary, expressed her gratification with the gracefulness natural to her. At a late hour in the night, while Isabel yet lingered over her favourite French authors, and every other mem- ber of the family was sleeping, a thun- dering noise at the great gates, and the quick passing of footsteps to her bro- ther's room, quickly apprized the wake- ful Isabel that the expected hour was now come ^ and hastening along the gallery, she found all in active prepara- tion. Horace, busily employed in giving orders, told her the vessel was even then o 6 300 DECISION. under weigh : he was to meet her at a port within a mile of Fitzallen : then, added he, " there's an end of me, Bella : hey for high life and liberty. Did I tell you unky paid the debts, and gave me a cool thousand this morning : decent enough that of the old boy. Well, my handsome Bella, farewell," continued he, kissing her cheek ; " take care of your- self, and above all, do not get your ener- gies tied up by stupid prejudices : live while you live, and if there is a hereafter, why, girl, let it care for itself: and bear in mind, whenever you have courage to free yourself from Monsieur 1' Abbe's cursed trash, and this land of fines and taxes, my house and hand are open to you.' 5 So saying he sprang from her, entered his father's room, hastily shook him by the hand, and passing into that of Emma, kissed her fair round cheek as she placidly slept ; and flying over the stairs, was in the carriage in a moment, and within an hour launche/l on the bosom of the great deep. DECISION. 801 ♦ The strong feelings of Isabel would no longer brook controul ; throwing herself on the bed, she wept in unbridled agony. The early days when Horace manfully fought her little battles, faced the en- raged abbe, pleaded her cause, wiped her streaming eyes, and led her to the tender Maggy, all rose in remembrance. " And still the same," thought she. " His last words promised home and kindness : ah ! who shall supply his place : one indeed there is who would fill this heart entirely, but that way I am forbidden to look. Oh hateful prejudice, oh detestable tyranny over the mind which, unfettered, should own no laws but those of nature ; and this is religion," continued she, as a bitter smile passed over her lips. "Oh ! from such delusion may I ever be free! yes, to what am I now sacrificing my own peace, and that of a being dearer than self, but to a prejudice narrow, rigid, senseless : and shall I submit to this ? impossible ! yet I have promised not to disturb my father's 802 DECISION. quiet, and I shall show even Eliza her- self, that my rational religion, deism she calls it, will do what revealed never did • — teach its follower generously to pre- fer the peace of another to her own." In ruminations such as these Isabel passed the hours, until the grey morning began to streak the east ; when mounting to an upper turret window, she strained her eyes to catch a glimpse of the ship that bore her brother from his native shores. The white sails still glittered through the grey mist for a few minutes, • — then were lost in distance. The tears flowed fast from her eyes, as the faint shadow became less and less, until, like a mere speck on the broad expanse of ocean, she lost it for ever ; " and thus," cried Isabel, " flies all that makes life dear, or renders its contradictions or woes bearable." The cold east wind drove her from the window to the shelter of her room* *5 DECISION. 303 where, laying her throbbing temples on a pillow, she fell into a feverish, uneasy sleep. Alarmed at her unusual silence, Mrs. Selby softly entered the room ; and see- ing her on the outside of the bed, still undrest, with swollen eyes and convulsed features, she softly covered the sleeping sufferer, and guessing the cause of her disorder, left her with a mental prayer, — that He who alone could do so, would turn these strong feelings into their right and useful channel. At the appointed hour, " punctual as lovers to the moment given," appeared the sober coachman and equipage of Joseph Hammond. Emma went to take leave of her sister, who had not yet left her room 5 and in answer to her affectionate enquiries and adieus, received a silent strict embrace* followed by a deeply-uttered emphatic " beware /" — then motioning with her hand to be left alone, Isabel again sunk SOI DECISION. into a train of perplexing reasonings, which, though metaphysically argued, were deduced from false premises, and therefore only led her farther into the maze of error, and labyrinth of so- phistry. " Will you not come down stairs, my sweet Isabel ?" asked Mrs. Selby, enter- ing her room at two o'clock. " Do pray oblige me, — it will amuse you. Besides, our military friends will be here directly ; so do exert yourself and come. Remem- ber, you have a great deal of dinner com- pany to-day, and must shake off this languor, and get your good looks by that time." Isabel smiled faintly as she replied, " You know, dear Eliza, that personal vanity makes no part of my sins. I have never any thing to confess on that score : if I ever had any, it would now depart." " Nay, nay, Isabel ; why this de- jection : you are not accustomed to be sad." DECISION. 305 %( No, my dear, nor am I sad now ; but one cannot always live in a dream. I know not what lies before me ; but I am undoubtedly entering life with gloomy prospects, without a mother, — a father, that I fondly love, but whose prejudices place an insurmountable barrier between us j — the only brother with whom I could associate, becoming the inhabitant of another hemisphere ; — my only sister embracing a set of opinions, a faith on which its warmest advocates cannot agree, — a church whose breaches make gulfs that swallow up all its happiness or good, and leave dangerous pit-falls for the young beginner in its intricate road. Thus standing alone in society, I may wrap my mantle round me, and proudly, calmly look down on the busy, shuf- fling, unimportant atoms that compose it. From the fondest dearest tie a wo- man can form, the only one that renders existence pleasing, by filling up the frightful chasm that yawns betwixt one's 306 DECISION. heart and a foolish world, with tender feelings and fond emotions, I am abso- lutely prohibited — forbidden even the thought or distant wish." " I will not attempt to misunderstand you, dear Isabel. Though I do not on the last point think quite as you do, still I see you have many trials before you, choose which way you will ; but there is a Power in whom you may find power and strength more than equal to your day. It is the property of a Christian to magnify the power of God, — to have high thoughts of it ; and therefore it is his privilege to find safety in that power : there is no longer any doubt of our power, for omnipotency supports us, and the everlasting arms are under us." " All this, Eliza, forms part of the many prejudices that make my misery. I have no doubt of my own strength. If I have trials, I have firmness : if I la- ment the unconnectedness of my situ- ation, it is not with the puerile fretfuines* DECISION. 307 of a sickly girl, but with the resolution of firm philosophy." " I would rather hear you say, with the faith of a Christian. But, alas ! this self-dependence proves indeed the ab- sence of faith, which is an humble self- denying grace ; makes the Christian in Jiimself nothing, but all in God, and even if as through fire. This I hope to see you brought to at last." " Thank you, Mrs. Selby ; one of a family is sufficient, and Emma is on the high road of proselytism." " There," said Mrs. Selby, placing her tenderly on a sofa in the morning room, " lay your aching head there, and answer me two questions. The first is, did it ever come into your head to fancy that at some future day, your cousin Ham- mond may become your sister's hus- band?" " Ridiculous ! — never : though it would be but of a piece with (forgive me) those kind of Christian absurdities 308 DECISION. you very good people are remarkable for." " Well, we will not dispute that. But now, tell me again, do you not think Lord Dunmore would be an exception to the prohibition you were speaking of this morning ?" " Not at all, for two reasons : First, he is a Protestant, having abjured the errors of the old Roman church : this would be my father's objection. The second is, he has loved already, madly, passionately loved. You remember a sister, Major Delville mentioned died suddenly ; this sister was engaged to, loved, and is now mourned by Dunmore : this would be my objection. I shall give a first heart, and I must receive such a one, or not have any. Did Delville never name these particulars to you ?" " Never ; it is surprising, is it not?" " Why I think not : they are painful subjects which speak of death and dis- appointment. Pray, Eliza, in return for DECISION. 309 my civility, tell me did it ever come into your good little head, to suppose you might one day become Mrs. Major Delville ?" A deep blush suffused Mrs. Selby's fair face, which was painfully heightened by the man in question being that instant announced. There could not well be a stronger contrast than the two friends presented : the tall majestic figure of Isabel, wrapped in a shawl, reclining on a sofa, every fine feature sunk and shaded by the most touching sadness, not a tint of colour in her cheek or lips, and her long dark eye*- lashes falling on the pale cheek, shadow- ing the full humid eye, in which pleasure was wont to dance, excited a feeling the very opposite of that caused by the deeply blushing, smiling, happy-looking, little Eliza. " I would give a great deal to know what this delicate recumbent beauty could have said, to clothe your fair cheek 310 DECISION. in so rich a livery," said Major Delviiie, playfully taking the young widow's hand. " Shall I repeat it, Eliza?" asked Isabel, smiling. " Were I to say yes, you would refuse me, dear Isabel; for what when alone could cause a blush, though but in joke, cannot bear repeating in company." " Then we will not press for it," said Captain Escott. " Come, dear Miss Fitzallen, to yonder window with me ; I want you to admire the finest winter view you ever saw." Isabel gave him her hand, and he led her to the adjoining room, where, in his own beautiful language, he pointed out the beauty of the scenery, now glittering in icicles, on which the sun reflected all the rainbow's various hues. From this he directed her view to the calm bosom of the ocean, now scarcely rippled by the gently blowing wind. He described the delight he had felt during his first DECISION. 31 1 voyage ; the pleasing awe its apparently unbounded expanse filled his opening mind with ; the rapture of first seeing land again; the joy with which he felt the ground beneath him was really steady ; and the happiness of looking forward to a re-union with the dear ones left be- hind. He then went on to admire the bountiful hand of nature, who had thus endowed us with all the capabilities of re- fined enjoyments, and richly adorned all its works with beauties, " unspeakable beauties/' continued he, " that must ex- cite in the feeling breast the highest gra- titude, the purest love, the most un- bounded adoration, for a Being thus beneficent, thus mindful of our enjoy- ments. O ! as far may I be removed from the cold unhappy sentiments of an atheist, as from the miserable cant of a dull conventicle ! Who, in common sense, can fancy this grand spectacle before us, yonder glorious orb setting in rays of purest gold, or that more distant twink- 312 DECISION. ling luminary, now seen, now lost in the yet unextinguished light, can be the work of a blind deity, ycleped Chance, or that of a stern-judging, severe being, watch- ing over the creatures of his hand, merely to find occasion for condemning them to everlasting misery : giving them passions, - feelings, intense desires, and forbidding all enjoyment of them ; thus mocking them with an appearance of superiority, when, in fact, they alone, of all creation, are born for severity and punishment? Forbid it, every grateful sentiment ! for- bid it, every remembrance of moments passed as this, every hour devoted to love and friendship ! Sensibility, affection, nature in the fairest of her works, all, all speak the existence of a God — a God all benevolence, all munificence, all love and mercy." As Escott concluded his last sen- tence, he turned to look at the being to whom it had been addressed. Isa- bel was hanging on his words with BECISIOK* 313 undisguised interest, her upraised eyes, half open lips, pale, but beautiful coun- tenance, over which a soft shade of ten- der enthusiasm was cast; and the contour of her perfect figure, on which the last trembling rays of the setting sun fell in gleamy uncertain brightness, struck on his warm imagination as the most beautiful object ever created; and yield- ing to the feeling, he caught her in his arms, exclaiming, as he pressed her to his bosom, " Who shall look at thee, and say there is no God, thou most perfect of all his perfect works, beloved, adored, exalted Isabel ?" Isabel freed herself from his ardent grasp, as she faintly said, " Cease, cease this language ; you know it wrong — re- member what I told you yesterday*" " O dearest Isabel/' replied the im- passioned Escott, " your fond father cannot, will not be inexorable : say but you love me, and I will live on that vol. i» p 314 DECISION. sweet assurance, until brighter prospects gild the horizon." " I can, I must say nothing, but that my father will prove immoveable, and that reason forbids our indulging one feeling beyond pure friendship, — that in its highest, sweetest degree may be ours, and with it be content, nay happy." At this moment Mrs. Selby came in search of Isabel ; the increasing darkness hid the perturbation of her countenance ; and during the conversation which fol- lowed, Major Delville kindly talked so much himself, that Captain Escott's ta- citurnity passed unnoticed. The dinner hour brought a large com- pany, and Isabel strove to look and talk with her usual unembarrassed sweetness; but the effort succeeded but ill to the eye of affection : languor and uneasiness were but too visible : Captain Escott felt wretched, Mrs. Selby regarded her with uneasiness; but Sir William, to whose existence Isabel was as the vital spark, DECISION* 315 saw his darling's hectic cheek and qui- vering lip with emotion that scarcely brooked controul ; and as she passed in her way to the drawing-room, eagerly caught her burning hand, and entreated she would instantly have medical advice, and not weary herself by striving to en* tertain her friends, but, leaving them to Mrs. Selby, retire directly. Isabel smilingly whispered an assurance that she should be quite w T ell when away from the heat and noise of the dining- room ; and passed on, not daring to raise her eyes to those that anxiously sought to catch one glance at the door. The evening passed happily : there were those present who, ever willing to display their personal and acquired charms, exerted their powers for that purpose ; not sorry that the elegant mis- tress of the house refused to eclipse them. Once, indeed, on being pressed to sing by those who, being neither burthen- ed mammasnorshow-offmisses, knew how p 2 DECISION. to prefer taste and science to noise and glare, she was about to comply, when Escott, staying her on her seat, whisper- ed, " Nay, dearest girl, not to-night; do not further exhaust yourself for those who know not how to appreciate your value, — for my sake do not, indeed I cannot bear to hear you to-night." " Ah, self, self," smiled Isabel, as she gracefully declined, pleading an intense head-ache in excuse for her unusual silence. Escott continued to hover round her ; his conversation, ever pleasing, only sa- voured a little more than usual of senti- ment and sensibility ; and Isabel could see no reason why she should not at least enjoy his society, if she were for- bidden to love him, or rather forbidden to acknowledge it, for love him she already did, with all the powerful feelings of her strongly agitated heart. They were sit- ting apart, after many of the guests had made their parting bows and courtesies, DECISION. 317 engaged in discussing a topic to each equally interesting — the different shades and gradations of the human mind, when Mrs. Selby, leaning on the arm of Major Delville, came towards them. " Help me, my dear Isabel," said she, " to persuade this stubborn man to re- main at Fitzallen to-night; it is now mid- night, and he persists in saying they must return to town." " Not for the world !" exclaimed Isa- bel •, " allow me, Major, to be command- ing officer on this occasion : indeed in common charity you must do so ; for I did not sleep last night from apprehen- sion ; do not, therefore, condemn me to another night of watchfulness." " Such an argument, dear Miss Fitz- allen, added to those of your sweet friend, and a few my own heart offers, must prove irresistible ; so if my Captain here has no cogent objections to offer, we accept your hospitality." " O, man, man," playfully returned p 3 318 DECISION. Isabel, " true to yourselves to the last, in every thing the same self; ■ a few my own heart offers/ — there, there lies the deciding argument.'* Major Delville in the same strain strove to defend himself and sex, but Isabel would not hear him, and taking Captain Escott's arm, she walked to a distant window, to observe once more the ocean. The night now blew cold and stormy, and as she opened a part of the deeply-seated casement, the distant sound of dashing waves beat hollow on her ear : hastily closing it, she softly uttered with a deep shudder, " Ah, my poor Horace, what may be your fate on such a night !" Escott drew her closer to him as he whispered, " This favoured brother can- not love you as I do, Isabel : what perils would I not endure to obtain but a small share of this anxiety, some little interest in this dear, this noble heart." Isabel's head sunk on his shoulder as DECISION. 319 she scarcely breathed, " Ah, doubt it not, dear Escott, you are but too, too interesting to my heart already." Escott was all rapturous gratitude, and the next hour flew unheeded, when Mrs. Selby, a little more conscious of passing moments, reminded them it was now morning. p 4 320 DECISION, CHAP. XII. 1 hree months rapidly sped their flight on the airy wings of love and pleasure* Letters had been received from Horace, eloquent in praise of all he had yet seen and heard. His voyage proved pleasant, his reception friendly, and the family of Hobert Penn he described as charming, prejudice considered ; and felicitated himself on being really in the land of freedom. Emma still continued at Hammond House a loved and valued guest, daily improving in those Christian graces and acquirements, for which she now ap- peared a sincere enquirer : her hesitation had subsided, and a decision was made in favour of Protestantism, but not that of the established church. From the DECISION. 321 time of her mother's long visit in the family of Mr. Hammond, the simplicity and uniform benevolent piety of their sect had haunted the ductile mind of Emma : the contrast between that, and the glare and pomp of the church in which she had been educated, struck her with greater force than any argu- ment that could have been offered. From thence she read the Old and New Testament without note or comment, printed or verbal: the consequence was, a thorough conviction of the errors of the Roman church, and a clear insight into all the avenues leading to infidelity, that Madame de Grullian had pointed out as the pleasant paths of a virtuous life, and over whose thorny foundation her favour- ite authors had strewed the intoxicating: flowers of taste and literature. But still many doubts as to the forms of wor- ship used by different descriptions of Pro- testants perplexed and disturbed her; but three months scjoicr at Hammond r 5 322 DECISION'. House decided this point, and establish- ed her wavering faith in favour of the simple primitive customs of the Quakers. This change in her opinions, and the determinations produced by it, was com- municated to Sir William by letter from his daughter, concluding by a hope that he would give her his paternal blessing, and consent to the request contained in an accompanying letter from Mr. Ham- mond. This request was no other than that, in consequence of Emma having renounced the errors of the Roman church, and embraced the pure prin- ciples of Friends from conviction, it was the desire of himself, his wife Rebecca, and his son and daughter, that she should for the future reside entirely with them, considering it her settled home, until she should by marriage provide herself with one more eligible. These stunning letters were received by Sir William on the same day that an application of a painful and unexpected DECISION. 323 nature was made him from another quarter. The effects of two such blows in one day, were nearly fatal to the bi- gotted, but fond father; and confined him to his bed, almost without sense or motion. From the evening on which Isabel had confessed to Escott the place he held in her affections, his visits had been daily, and his manner and attentions those of an accepted lover : yet Isabel forbade him applying to her father, or thinking of any tie, beyond the sweet one of perfect friendship. Alas ! with all her strong and fine understanding, how little knew Isabel of the human heart! how far was she from suspecting, that under this Platonic mask, she was nur- turing in herself and lover the most ardent love, that thus covertly indulged became [a passion of the very soul ! how far from thinking, that the purest, warm- est, most self-denying affection of the female bosom, is that perfect friendship, p 6 324 DECISION. which she fancied so distinct from a warmer sentiment ! Thus deceiving and deceived, an attachment every day strengthened between two hearts, formed to beeome the bliss or misery of each other. Isabel every morning awoke to watch the moments, until he who filled her every thought should appear; and re- tired to rest at night, but to think over and dream of all he had said or looked. With Escott, every pursuit was flat and sickly, every business fatiguing, which did not include his adored Isabel : books, if not perused with her, were stupid ; his pencil, which heretofore was delightful, without her magic touch, her vivifying influence, became dull and heavy : the very charms of nature were cheerless, unless seen and admired by that eye, which alone, he thought, could estimate their beauties properly. The duties of his station alone retained their former hold on his time and attention $ DECISION. S C Z5 in his profession he was still active, re- gular, and exemplary ; but the necessary attention to this important business given, and the hours devoted to it passed, swift as his horse could carry him, Cap- tain Escott found himself at Fitzallen, and the first heartfelt " dear George !" " beloved Isabel !" repaid them all the hours of anxiety passed since last they parted. Thus happily flew the months of January, February, and March, and Isabel's mind was no longer fluctuating or enquiring ; every sentiment, thought, and opinion was become that of her lover: with him she talked of adoring the God of nature ; with him she denied the God of justice ; with him she professed to honour a pardoning God ; and with hira she denied the necessity of pardon. That " A God all mercy, is a God unjust'' formed no part of their creed. Their deity (the favourite word) was a being pleased by seeing his creatures. 326 DECISION. enjoy themselves, merciful to their faults, and unmindful of the frailties of nature. Major Delville, on his first introduction to Mrs. Selby, was pleased with the un- affected sweetness of her person and manner: a further acquaintance con- vinced him, that this sweetness was the consequence of true and deeply-seated piety. She had been early tutored in the se- vere school of affliction ; but if the ex- uberance and playfulness of youth were gone, their places were filled by a sub- missive meekness, an even placid cheer- fulness. With true Christian humility, she considered her own acquirements trifling, while she valued highly the smallest approach to superiority in an- other. Firm in her Christian faith, exem- plary in the constant and quiet discharge of her duties, loved by the poor, re- vered by the middle class, and known by the rich, she steadily pursued that path, which the better part she had DECISION. 327 chosen pointed to, as leading to the reward laid up for the meek and lowly. Such a character could not fail of effect on Major Delville : in youth, almost boyhood, he had been attached to an amiable girl, the choice of his own heart and the approved of his parents : in a long evening walk taken with him, she caught cold, which fixing on her lungs in spite of care, physicians, Bristol air and water, her lover's fond attentions, or her widowed mother's despair, in three months brought her to the tomb. She died in Delviile's arms, her last quiver- ing breath blessing and praying for him. From that time until now he had never thought of marrying, and often said, there was a fatality in his family that would forbid the wish, even if his best affec- tions were not buried with his lost Eliza. But his knowledge of Mrs. Selby was doomed to overturn these bachelor-like ideas : the more he saw of her, the more S%8 DECISION. he esteemed and admired her, but was slow to acknowledge, even to his own con- science, that he again loved. To ride with Captain Escott, who had long been a favourite, to talk to him of Isabel, and strive to alter the high romantic tone of his mind, served for some time as an excuse for frequently visiting Fitzallen. But Major Delville was not a man that could long deceive himself; in the best and truest sense of the term, he was a Christian soldier : it was not the bare negative qualities of not being a swearer, a gambler, a drunkard, or a dissipated man, that distinguished him ; but the constant active practice of religion in public and in private, testifying an adherence to its precepts, and respect to its appearance : thus, every man in his regiment, however ignorant when lie joined it, was taught to read the word of inspiration, and then supplied with the means of doing so. It would have DECISION. 329 been difficult to have found a private in that regiment, whose jacket-pocket did not contain his well read, thumbed, and valued Bible ; and after days, and many well tried battles, proved that our country possessed in the Major and his faithful band, a valiant, as well as religious, defence. Major Delville soon discovered that his happiness was once more in female keeping - 9 his attention became more pointed, his manner more tender, and the familiar appellation of Eliza, which the Major acknowledged to be that of a loved and long lost friend, succeeded to dear madam, or Mrs. Sslby. Mrs. Selby's former marriage had been an affair managed and directed entirely by an imperious father. At seventeen, she was taken from the school-room, and married by bargain to a man whom her utmost efforts could never make her more than esteem. Her father and husband died shortly after each other, leaving hes; 330 DECISION. handsomely provided for, under the guardianship of Joseph Hammond, in whose kindness she had for three years enjoyed perfect tranquillity. But it was not possible, at twenty-four, to receive the marked and undivided attentions of such a man as Major Delville, without finding her tranquillity endangered ; and the Major, who waited for some proof of re- ciprocal regard before he declared him- selfi began to fancy it was not vanity that told him he was necessary to the fair Eliza's peace, when an accident dis- covered to her his sentiments. Captain Escott's and Isabel's love of nature in all her varied forms, often led them to long, and sometimes moon-light walks. On a fine evening, late in February, Mrs. Selby had accompanied them in one of the latter ; and was slowly returning, when they unexpectedly encountered Major Delville in the avenue leading to ^he house. Flinging himself from his m DECISION. 331 horse, he-" hastily seized Mrs. Selby by the hand, and passing his other arm round her waist, hurried her on, exclaiming, " O, for my sake — for your own sake, my beloved Eliza, hasten home : let me not again lose '^the creature I doat on by the cruel night air, — not again be re- duced to the lonely thing I was until I knew and loved you, sweetest Eliza !" Though disturbed, pleased, and agi- tated, Eliza did not quite lose her pre- sence of mind ; but, leaning against the arm that drew her forward, she begged to be allowed to take breath. " In the mean time,'* said she, " you, my good friend, may recover your senses, and perhaps speak more rationally." " Forgive me," returned the Major, " if the sudden shock of seeing you creeping a snail's pace, on this cold even- ing, over damp frosty walks, threw me for a moment off my guard, and roused my feelings to agony. But, dear Eliza, trifling in me would be ridiculous, and 332 DECISION. 1 am mistaken if you are not greatly su- perior to it ; so now sit down by this fire, which is, beyond a doubt, more suitable to the season than the romantic wander- ings of our young lovers, and listen to an honest avowal of simple disinterested love, from a man many years your senior, but who, feeling your merits, and appre- ciating the sweets of domestic happiness, would fain share it with the only being who has taught him to hope that felicity for many, many long years." Mrs. Selby heard this and much more in silence. Her heart, rebel to the reso- lution she had taken of remaining single, pleaded for him j but her former mar- riage had been inauspicious. Her guar- dian would object to his profession ; and that profession, though in itself honour- able, was nearly a prohibition to mar- riage. How could she venture to bind up her happiness in one whose life de- pended on ' a bullet's chance ?' " These thoughts passing in quick sue- decision. 833 cession through her mind, paled her cheek, and gave to it a cast of care and agitation, which the Major mistaking, entreated she would speak — would say, if indeed he w r ere doomed to disappoint- ment, — if his addresses were disagree- able, or if any impediment existed that time or assiduity might remove. A burst of tears relieved her oppressed spirits ; and before the evening closed,-— an evening not interrupted by Isabel or her lover, who, when together, appeared to forget the globe sustained a third per- son, Major Delville had satisfied himself of the interest he held in Mrs. Selby's af- fections, and drawn from her all the ob* jections a heart tenderly alive to the warmest impression and the strictest pro- priety, could suggest or conjure up to affright itself. At some he laughed, — at others reasoned ; but soon succeeded in persuading her he was by far the best judge of what would constitute their mutual happiness. And Mrs. Selby \6 334 Decision. yielded to the hope of enjoying domestic bliss, in as perfect a state as this sublunary existncee will admit, with the chastened delight of one, who remembering the sharp tooth of early disappointment and sor- row, gratefully holds, with a trembling hand, the cup of present joy, always bearing in mind that uncertainty is legibly written on all earthly posses- sions. Each day added to the sweet assurance, that her heart was given to one in every way calculated to guide and improve it. His firm and well-stored mind, his uner- ring rectitude, his deep sense of the truths of religion, and his manly undis- guised tenderness, gave her a bright pro- mise, on which she rested with the confidence of a sincere and attached heart. Mr. Hammond, the Major knew, must be applied to pro forma ; but Mrs. Selby, not once doubting that he would raise many objections to her marrying a "man DECISION. S35 of war and bloodshed," would not mock him by asking advice she did not intend to follow, or allow Major Delville to ask that consent of him which he had no right to withhold. The Major urged their union before his regiment left their present quarters, to which Mrs. Selby consented, only stipu- lating that it should be immediately on the eve of departure. She was surprised that a circumstance well known in the city of Cork and its neighbourhood, and which no pains was taken to conceal, should not be named by her guardian or his family at all, and but slightly by her friend Emma. It was however determined to let things take their course in that quarter. Happy in themselves, they did not seek for causes of dissatisfaction in others. " Why, my dear Isabel, do you not allow Captain Escott to apply to your fa- ther ?" said Mrs. Selby to her friend 33G DECISION. Isabel : " he surely must see the attach- ment that exists between you; and his not naming it to you is, in my opinion, and in that of Major Delville, a tacit con- sent to your union." " Ah, dear Eliza, hold not out a pros- pect so flattering. My father's silence or blindness is wonderful \ yet, depend on it, nothing like consent is implied in it. No, Eliza ; the happiness of wedded love is for you. My dear George and his Isabel, must be content with the pure intellectual intercourse of perfect devoted friendship : from that the prejudice of a narrow mind, the bigotry of priestcraft, misnamed religion, or the meaner consi- deration of a narrow income, cannot debar us. And while I can hear his loved voice, — listen to his exalted senti- ments, ■ — catch the expression of his more than expressive eyes, — read there his entire love, his matchless heart, and feel it all my own — I envy not even you, DECISION. 337 my happy smiling friend, who seem born to prove Shakspeare knew nothing about the matter when he declared, * The course of true love never did run smooth.' " " You forget, dear girl, that I may yet meet with difficulty enough to defend our immortal bard from one, who though he^ cannot controul my actions, I would not willingly offend. But to recur again to your own ' true love :' do you not think it doing your lover an injustice, not to permit him to try the influence of his powerful rhetoric, and persuasive fasci- nating address, on your dear father, who, though a little misled by the abbe, is fonder of you than of any earthly thing ; and would not, I think, hesitate to sacrifice to your happiness even his darling pre- judices : at least, it is your duty to make the effort." " Every thing, Eliza, but prejudice will yield to reason. Remember, in pre- judice I include priestcraft j but this VOL. I. Q 33S DECISION. strengthens by opposition, and gains force in proportion as its means are cut off. No ; I again repeat, we must be content to remain as we are." " But, dearest Isabel, that is impos- sible. What will become of you when the regiment quits Cork ? This is, April, and in May — Oh think, Isabel, of your regret, when you reflect you have not made one effort to gain your affec- tionate father ! I could almost doubt the strength of your attachment for poor Escott." " No, Eliza ; that, even you, sceptic as you are with respect to my principles, dare not doubt. I suspect it will yet be welf tried; but poverty, imprisonment, racks, torture, and all the horrors of the inquisition, will be unable to shake it : while I retain one single trait of memory or feeling, it will be his, for whom I would encounter a world in arms." " Yet you refuse to encounter your lather's anger." " You know not the sentiment that DECISION, SS0 induces me to refuse. It is not fear ; even the greatest of all fears, that of losing the dear society of my beloved George : it is a sentiment of the purest, most self-denying friendship. However, I will show you that reason, not entetement, guides the helm for me : my father shall be spoken to. So now peace, thou rail- er ! though I like not des choses faites d la hate. 9 ' - ■. " & occasion presse, mon ami," replied Mrs. Selby, as kissing her pale cheek she quitted the room, pleased with having gained a point on which she had set her heart. Major Delville held a conversation to the same effect with Captain Escott during their ride that day, who, in the eagerness all feel to believe what they wish, was soon convinced that the friendly, fatherly cordiality Sir William had uniformly testified toward him, the smile with which he had heard him address Isabel in the language of fez q 2 340 DECISION. vent love, and the constant opportuni- ties he had afforded them of nursing an attachment visible and well known to their large circle of acquaintance, was a tack, but plain avowal, that he meant to receive him as a son-in-law, malgre his Protestantism, his commission, and his English birth and principles. This was the Major's firm opinion ; for lie could not believe that any man would be so weakly careless of his daugh- ter's peace, as thus to give encourage- ment to the unremitting assiduities of a most dangerously attractive man, if he intended to forbid her loving or being united to him. A military dinner detained the lovers in town the day after this conversation. Sir William likewise dined from home ; and Mrs. Selby and Isabel were sitting- alone, when the now almost stranger, Joseph Hammond, entered the room. He was disappointed by not finding Sir William at home ; but said he would DECISION* 341 wiite his most particular business the next day. After sitting some time in a silence unusual to him, he turned abruptly toward Mrs. Selby with, " So, Eliza, I hear thou art gone a gadding after the ways of the world, and art grown weary of the sober life thou leddest in my family : 1 pray thee answer, is it true ?" " I think, sir, I can most conscien- tiously reply, that I am not fonder of the ways of the world now, than when I resided in your family, and that I am not weary of a sober life." " Why then dost thou not return ?" " Because, sir, while you retain Emma, my stay here is desirable to Isabel and her father." " Is that thy only reason ?" " My only one." " Is it not true then, that thou hast given thy affections, and art about soon to give thyself in marriage to one of those hired legal murderers, who infest Q 3 342 DECISION. our streets and disturb our peace by their noisy instruments and unchristian dress and appearance ?" " If by this you mean Major Delville, sir, I reply it is true that I have given him my heart, and have promised him my hand ; a promise which I hope to fulfil." " If thou hast given to an unholy man that which God alone should possess, namely thy heart, say no more thou art not gone a gadding after the ways of the world. I am truly sorrowful on thy account, Eliza; for I did once think thou wert running w 7 ell. Greatly would it have rejoiced me to see thee follow the pious example of thy friend Emma, who, when the unholy man, called neighbour Bellamy, came after her, and would fain have persuaded her to love him, sent him away, saying, verily she loved more the man of peace than the man of war, the ways of wisdom than the w r ays of sin." An expression of the most unqualified 14 DECISION. 343 contempt sat on the fine features of Isabel, as she said, " Say you that of Emma Fitzallen, sir ?" " I do, Isabel, and wish I could say the same of thee and neighbour Eliza." Mrs. Selby felt the change from friend to neighbour, as she calmly replied, " you appear, sir, to have an idea that all soldiers must be men living in open sin : that many are of this character, I am willing to allow; but Major Del- ville is not, I think, the only pious Christian officer to be found in the Bri- tish service ; nor his regiment the only one who never break the peace, or disturb the streets. In marrying Major Delville, I marry a man active in the faithful discharge of his duties as an officer, a Christian, and a friend : with such a man, I think my chance of happiness fair as mortal can expect." " I see his gaudy coat hath dazzled thy eyes, and his worldly conversation led thy heart astray : I can only say, I 344 DECISION. wish thee well, Eliza. Whenever this man doth wish to see me on the business of thy fortune, if thou wilt let me know the time, I will be ready to give him the information he desires." " You will likewise, I trust, sir, give me your blessing on our union ?" « " I hope, Eliza, a higher blessing than mine will be given thee ; but it is contrary to my principles, as a man and a friend, to encourage war or warlike men. I am a man of peace ; but truly I do wish thee well." So saying, and declining Isabel's cor- dial invitation to stay dinner, he depart- ed, leaving her astonished at his unusual manner, and more than ever disgusted with prejudice, which spite of ail the good qualities she knew him to possess, rendered him stern, unjust, and mis- judging. The evening passed in peace, and Isabel retired to sleep sweetly ; little imagining how many wretched weary DECISION. 345 hours she should drag on, before sweet sleep again visited her eyelids. In many instances that we do not know what lays before us, is our greatest blessing, and Isabel proved it so more than once in her variously tried and eventful life. Sir William returned to breakfast with his daughter, she was well, and looked beautiful : her father, in more than usual spirits, chatted with and joked her on the mischief she did among men's hearts; " but," added he, " it will be your turn next, my handsome Bella ; well, give me the man I could name for a son, and I care not how soon you marry." For the first time in her life, the words refused to part from the lovely lips of the candid, open Isabel : hope togk pos- session of her heart, it could be no other than her adored George ; and instead of asking, " who is the man I shall give you?" she pressed her father's hand to her lips in agony, without speaking. Sir William retired with his confessor, 346 decision. and another hour brought Captain Escott and the Major. " No, my own Isabel," replied the Captain to her doubts, " your father cannot, will not refuse you to my pray- ers : my love for you will inspire me with irresistible pleading. O ! when suing for such a prize, can I fail of energy that must insure success ; beside, I know he loves me. 5 ' " None," replied the ardent Isabel, " can help but love thee : but oh those prejudices, and that wily abbe, as if thy re- ligion were not that of reason, nature, God. Yet go, my best-loved, dearest friend, my father now expects you : and oh may every prosperous fate go with thee." " Dearer far than life, it is thee I go to ask," said the Captain, straining her to his beating heart. Again and again she bid him go, and again held him, as in fear : at last break ing from his arms, she flew to her ora- tory, and what for months she had DECISION. 347 neglected or despised, her rosary and pray- er-book. Two long hours crept on leaden feet, when from her window Isabel saw her lover ride rapidly through the postern gate : the despair painted on his haggard face, of which she caught one glimpse, told the fatal tale. As if turned to mar- ble, she neithel' wept or moved — some time after she saw Delville take the same road, and heard an indistinct noise as of some one speaking to her ; but the soft voice of Eliza was insufficient to awaken or move her. An hour after one more powerful came : a frightened gassoon, opening the door near which she sat the statue of despair, howled in a discordant voice, " Ohoon, then, and the master is stone dead, all the life's out of him, Ohoon." " Sir William ill?" said Mrs. Selby. " Augh then, sure 'tis not ill at all, at all, but 'tis dead quite he is." Still Isabel spoke not, but with glaring dry eyes, and marble features, flew to 348 DECISION. her father's room, accompanied by Mrs. Selby, where on the floor lay the lifeless Baronet, by his side two open letters, and on the table before him the gloves and watch of Captain Escott ; and from an opposite door appeared the abbe, followed by several attendants. END OF THE FIRST VOLUME. 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