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 http://www.archive.org/details/ladyofmanorbeing01sher
 
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 Riili/he,/ bv F.fferilstcn xSon.Welfin^tcn.Saio?i.Jiine/C^/&J?3.
 
 THE 
 
 BEING 
 
 A SERIES OF CONVERSATIONS 
 ON THE SUBJECT OF CONFIRMATION. 
 
 Intended for the Use of the Middle and Higher Ranks 
 
 OP 
 
 YOUNG FEMAILES, 
 
 BY 
 
 Author of ''LITTLE HENRY AND HIS BEARER; 
 
 Sfc. Sfc. 
 
 VOLUME I. 
 
 THIRD EDITION. 
 
 512aelUngton, Salop: 
 
 PRINTED BY AND FOR HOULSTON AND SON. 
 
 And sold at their Warehoase, fio, Paternoster-Row, London. 
 
 1829. 
 
 [Entered at Stationers' Hall.]
 
 ^ ' I THE 
 
 8fc. 
 
 3^ 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 ^ Introductory. 
 
 JlN one of the southern counties of England there is a 
 village beautifully situated within view of the sea, and 
 inhabited chiefly by persons of easy fortune and elegant 
 manners. And as the manor-house was, a few years 
 ago, the chief ornament of this village ; so the lady of 
 the manor, at that period, shone eminently and admira- 
 bly, above all her sex in that part of the country. Since, 
 however, there is much difference of opinion concern- 
 ing what may justly be called admirable in the female 
 character, some making the fashions of this world, and 
 others the principles of the Christian religion, the test 
 of true excellence ; I shall endeavour to give such a de- 
 scription of the lady in question as may enable the care- 
 ful reader to form a just estimate of her worth. 
 
 The lady of the manor was descended from a respect- 
 able, though not a noble, family. Her parents were pi- 
 ous, and endeavoured not only to make her acquainted 
 with the word of God, but also to regulate her life agree- 
 ably to the revealed will of her heavenly Father. In 
 the education of this lady, literary refinement had been 
 wisely blended with domestic usefulness, and the high- 
 est polish of manners and sweetest courtesies of life with 
 
 VOL. I. B
 
 2 THE LADY OF THE MANOR. 
 
 the most simple and moderate habits. She had married 
 early in life. Her husband was a military man, and one 
 whose piety did honour to his profession. With this 
 beloved companion she had visited several foreign coun- 
 tries, and not without improving the opportunities thus 
 afforded her of marking the various customs and man- 
 ners of mankind. But though highly favoured in her 
 husband, this lady had endured many afflictions : and, 
 after passing through many scenes of sorrow, she was 
 now left a widow, with only two children remaining out 
 of a large and lovely family. 
 
 By the death of several intermediate heirs, the hus- 
 band of the lady of the manor had, some "years ago, 
 unexpectedly entered into possession of the manor-house 
 situated in the village above mentioned, together with a 
 considerable estate in the neighbourhood. Thus this 
 excellent lady was introduced into a more exalted situ- 
 ation in society, a circumstance which afforded her op- 
 portunity for a larger display of Christian virtues than 
 a humbler sphere of action could have supplied. 
 
 It now became evident, that her industry and mode- 
 ration, her plainness of dress and her humility of car- 
 riage, were not the effect of a moderate fortune, but of 
 Christian principles ; since all these qualities remained 
 in their original simplicity, even after a change of cir- 
 cumstances appeared, in the eye of the world, to require 
 a change of habits. 
 
 But this excellent lady found other objects on which 
 to bestow the superfluities of her purse than those which 
 vanity would have pointed out; and, when called to 
 occupy an elevated station, her courteous manners bore 
 no marks of supercilious condescension, but seemed to 
 flow from the most perfect spirit of Christian meekness. 
 
 Though now possessing the means of visiting and be- 
 ing visited with marks of personal distinction, this lady 
 was still observant of the apostle's caution, and was a 
 ketper at hotne ; at the same time not forgetting to exer- 
 cise that kind of hospitality, which we And so epnestly 
 recommended by our Lord in St. Luke xiv. 12 — 14. — 
 Then said he also to him that bade him. When then mak- 
 est a dinner or a supper, call not thy friends, nor thy 
 brethren, neither thy kinsmen, nor thy rich neighbours ; 
 lest they also bid thee again, and a recompence be made
 
 THE LADY OF THE MANOR. 3 
 
 thee. But when thou makest a feast, call the poor, the 
 maimed, the lame, the blind: and thou shalt be blessed; 
 for they cannot recompense thee: for thou shalt be recom- 
 pensed at the resurrection of the just. 
 
 When the lady of the manor came into possession of 
 this additional property, she had already arrived at that 
 period of life when women can no longer strictly be call- 
 ed beautiful. But she still retained a graceful person, 
 together with an exceedingly animated and agreeable 
 countenance : and what was peculiarly admirable in eve- 
 ry part of her manners and deportment was, that she 
 never seemed to be taken up with herself, a circumstance 
 which preserved her from all those awkwardnesses w hich 
 continually appear in their carriage who are not able to 
 divest themselves of so unamiable a habit. This absence 
 of every thing like selfish feeling in the lady we describe 
 — and which, in a great measure, pervaded her whole 
 character, — was effected, no doubt, by the secret and 
 powerful influence of that Holy Spirit, whose office it is 
 not only to control our natural evil tempers, but really 
 and truly to regenerate the heart of sinful man. And 
 wonderful was the effect of this freedom from low pas- 
 sions in producing a peculiar dignity, composure, and 
 graciousness of carriage, which seemed to ennoble and 
 beautify her whole person. 
 
 A few years after her settling in the manor-house, this 
 lady, as I have before intimated, was left a widow ; yet 
 not a widow without hope, since she had every well- 
 grounded reason to believe, that, as her lamented part- 
 ner had long been led to place his trust in the merits of 
 his Redeemer, he was only removed from her to be ad- 
 mitted a little before her into that glory into which she 
 also hoped to be received in due time, through the same 
 blessed Saviour. Her grief therefore for his loss admit- 
 ted of every alleviation that religion could offer; and she 
 often looked upon his likeness in the military dress which 
 he had worn in the early days of their happy union, with 
 the sweet assurance that he was now arrived in that 
 blessed countrv where thei^e remaineth a rest for the peo- 
 ple of God. (Heb. iv. 9.) 
 
 For some years after the death of her husband, who 
 left her in full possession of his property during her life, 
 she had been chiefly occupied by the education of her
 
 4 THE LADY OF THE MANOR. 
 
 two sons, for whose instruction she procured a pious 
 and learned tutor; a man advanced in years, together 
 with whom she laboured in the formation of their minds 
 and manners, steadily using the means allowed and ap- 
 pointed by God, and looking in faith for his blessing 
 upon those means. 
 
 At the period when those events and conversations 
 took place which I mean particularly to enlarge upon in 
 the life of this lady, the two young gentlemen above 
 mentioned were travelling on the Continent with their 
 venerable preceptor, while she resided alone in the 
 mansion-house. 
 
 I date my narrative from a certain SundaV morning 
 early in the spring. A sharp and frosty air, which du- 
 ring the night had covered every branch and every blade 
 of grass with icicles, w^as now rendered more temperate 
 by the rays of the sun breaking through fleecy clouds. 
 
 At this time the coach of the lady of the manor set 
 out from the mansion-house for the church. The vil- 
 lage bells were ringing, and groups of cottagers were 
 seen issuing from their respective dwellings, and pass- 
 ing in different directions across the park, towards the 
 church, while better dressed and more genteel persons 
 appeared moving through the village street, as the coach 
 drove along — presenting all together a scene of order 
 and decency particularly suited to that holy day, the 
 numbers still thickening as they approached the iron 
 gates which led into the church-yard. 
 
 Thus frequently does the visible church in the present 
 day, and the mixed multitude who form its members, 
 supply the most lively picture which we can conceive of 
 that glorious period, when the mountain of the Lord's 
 house shall he established in the top of the mountains, and 
 shall he exalted above the hills; and all nations shall flow 
 unto it. (Isaiah ii. 2.) And the ransomed of the Lord 
 shall return, and come to Zion with songs and everlasting 
 joy upon their heads: they shall obtain joy and gladness, 
 and sorrow and sighing shall flee away. (Isaiah xxxv. 10.) 
 
 The public service was performed by a young clergy- 
 man, v.'ho had lately been presented to the living : a man 
 of true piety, and one who promised, through the divine 
 blessing, to become a successful labourer in the vine- 
 yard of his Lord.
 
 THE LADY OF THE MANOR. 5 
 
 This young man, whose name was Vernon, was much 
 esteemed by the lady of the manor, who particularly ad- 
 mired in him that humble and teachable spirit, which is 
 but too rarely observed (though particularly necessary) 
 about those who are appointed to act as instructors of 
 others. After service, as she was stepping into her car- 
 riage, Mr. Vernon came up to the door, and offered his 
 services to accompany her home, observing, that as she 
 had often asked him to dine with her on a Sunday, an 
 honour which he had in general found himself obliged to 
 decline, he would now, if agreeable, avail himself of her 
 friendly offer. She expressed herself as being always 
 glad to see him, and he in consequence took his place 
 in the coach opposite to her. 
 
 Mr. Vernon having generally found his Sunday duties 
 quite adequate to the entire employment of that sacred 
 day, had almost invariably declined every Sunday invita- 
 tion ; and as the lady of the manor had always admit- 
 ted his excuses with approbation, she was now not a 
 little surprised at this voluntary offer of his company. 
 But before the coach was well extricated from the crowd 
 at the church-door, he began to explain the occasion of 
 his present intrusion. He commenced by informing her, 
 that the bishop had given him private notice of his inten- 
 tion to hold a confirmation in the village, at no very dis- 
 tant period. He then proceeded to state, that it was his 
 own most anxious desire, with the divine assistance, to 
 avail himself of this opportunity to call the attention of 
 the younger part of the parish to those solemn truths 
 which had hitherto been evidently too much neglected 
 among them. He then opened to the lady his plans for 
 the effecting of this purpose, and informing her, that he 
 proposed to give lectures on the subject of confirmation 
 immediately after evening-service on the Sunday, and 
 also, during the summer, on every Thursday evening. 
 One part of his plan was, to receive the young men of 
 the parish into his own house, for private examination at 
 certain hours which he should appoint ; and another was, 
 to collect the young women of the lower orders for the 
 same purpose, in the house of the village schoolmistress. 
 ** But," added he, " there yet remains one description of 
 young persons, whose instruction I consider of infinite 
 importance to society in general; and vet such is my 
 B 3
 
 6 THE LADY OF THE MANOR. 
 
 youth and inexperience, that I should feel a particular 
 awkwardness in conversing with them : in short," conti- 
 nued he, " the thing would be impracticable to me." 
 
 " You mean," said the lady of the manor, *' I presume, 
 the young females of higher rank in your parish." 
 
 *' I do," said Mr. Vertion, *' and I feel that, if it were 
 even possible for me to overcome my reluctance to such 
 an undertaking, yet that, perhaps, it would be more pru- 
 dent to decline it ; especially," continued he, *' if I could 
 procure such a substitute as I desire." Here he paused, 
 and looked at the lady of the manor, who remained si- 
 lently expecting what he had further to propose. 
 
 Mr. Vernon then proceeded to declare his' wishes ; 
 which were, if possible, to engage the lady of the manor 
 to undertake this part of his duty for him, and to em- 
 ploy some of her leisure hours, until the period of the 
 confirmation should arrive, in giving religious instruc- 
 tion to the young ladies of the parish. 
 
 The lady of the manor was somewhat perplexed by 
 this request. She perceived however at once the pro- 
 priety of it. She foresaw also, that great good might be 
 thus accomplished, if God should bless the work. But 
 while she was disposed to consider the proposal as a 
 plain call of duty, her unaffected humility inclined her at 
 the same time to hesitate on the ground of her unfitness 
 for such an undertaking — and in this state of indecision 
 she remained a moment silent. 
 
 This interval Mr. Vernon employed in urging his re- 
 quest, and using such arguments as he thought most 
 calculated to influence a mind under the regulation of 
 Christian principles. At length, the lady replied, " I 
 ask only a short time for serious consideration, as well 
 as for seeking superior direction, and I will give you my 
 answer this evening." 
 
 The remainder of the time which Mr. Vernon spent 
 with the lady of the manor, and which was till evening- 
 service required his attendance, was for the most part 
 employed in conversing upon the nature of confirmation, 
 and enquiring into its origin ; for the purpose of ascer- 
 taining whether it ought to be considered as an ordi- 
 nance of Scripture, or merely as a ceremony of man's 
 appointment. Mr. Vernon said, that he had always 
 been led to suppose that the rite was derived from a cer-
 
 THE LADY OF THE MANOR. 7 
 
 tain passage in the Acts of the Apostles, informing us, 
 that after the inhabitants of Samaria had been baptized 
 and had received the word of God, the apostles St. Peter 
 and St. John were sent to lay their hands on these new 
 converts, that they might receive the Holy Ghost. — Now 
 when the apostles which were at Jerusalem heard that Sa- 
 maria had received the word of God, they sent unto them 
 Peter and John : who, luhen they were come down, pray- 
 ed for them, that they might receive the Holy Ghost. 
 Then laid they their hands on them, and they received the 
 Holy Ghost. (Acts viii. 14, 15, 17.) 
 
 The lady of the manor remarked, that she could not 
 collect from this text any thing relative to confirmation 
 of a nature so decisive as to enable her to say she con- 
 sidered the ordinance of divine appointment, or a duty 
 indispensable to Christians. *' We cannot, in short," 
 said she, ** put this ordinance on an equality with Bap- 
 tism or the Lord's Supper, neither ought we to condemn 
 those who reject it entirely." 
 
 " I believe," said Mr. Vernon, " that we may plead 
 the authority of the primitive church in its favour." 
 
 «* I require nothing to be said in its favour," replied 
 the lady of the manor : " I myself approve the custom, and 
 am convinced that it affords a precious opportunity of 
 drawing the attention of the youthful mind to serious 
 subjects at that period of life, when the world from with- 
 out pours in all its temptations, and finds too many 
 advocates in the evil tendencies of the heart. And I 
 am persuaded that under these views the rulers of the 
 church, in almost every period of its existence, have 
 either adopted this very ceremony of confirmation, or 
 appointed some other observance calculated to answer 
 the same purpose." 
 
 As soon as the lady of the manor had opportunity of 
 being alone after this conversation, she prayed earnestly 
 for the divine direction and assistance in an affair of such 
 importance — and shortly after Mr. Vernon had retired 
 from the sacred services of the day, he was gratified with 
 the following note from her hand. 
 
 *« My dear Sir, 
 
 *' I FEEL myself entirely unequal to the 
 work which you have appointed me ; yet if it is the plea-
 
 8 THE LADY OF THE MANOR. 
 
 sure of the Almighty to employ me on this occasion, 1 
 feel so entirely assured of his readiness to fit me for it, 
 that I will not hesitate to cast all my care upon him re- 
 specting- this matter. If therefore you still continue de- 
 sirous of my services, I promise you to use my utmost 
 endeavours to promote your wishes." 
 
 The note concluded by appointing the place and hour 
 when and where the lady wished to receive the young- 
 people ; to which she added a request that Mr. Vernon 
 would open the matter to the parents. 
 
 Mr. Vernon having carried this special point with the 
 lady of the manor, had no difficulty, either' with the 
 young ladies his parishioners, or with their parents, 
 since the lady of the manor was sincerely honoured and 
 beloved by every family in the parish ; and the young 
 ladies were quite impatient for the arrival of the ap- 
 pointed day, that should introduce them to the manor- 
 house.
 
 THE LADY OF THE MANOR. 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 Containing a gejieral Address to Young Persons on the 
 Importance of Confirmation. 
 
 On the appointed evening, between twelve and twenty 
 young ladies, all of whom had given in their names as 
 candidates for confirmation, assembled at the manor- 
 house. They were affectionately received by the lady 
 of the manor, who led them into her favourite room, 
 where a large table was set out with preparations for 
 tea ; intending, after this refreshment, to enter upon the 
 business which had called them together. 
 
 The apartment in which this party were assembled 
 was a library, fitted up with book-cases containing most 
 of the favourite authors of the lady of the manor : it was 
 also her work-room, in which she had neat cabinets, con- 
 taining materials for work of various kinds, with stores 
 of ready-made garments for the poor. The walls, in- 
 stead of being hung with looking-glasses and gilt orna- 
 ments, were decorated with a few fine old prints, the 
 designs of which were taken from sacred subjects. And 
 at one end of this room were five windows, three of 
 which were in front, and one on each side, descending 
 to the floor, and presenting, from their several aspects, 
 three distinct and very beautiful prospects. 
 
 From the front windows was seen a dingle of the park, 
 formed by two considerable eminences, on whose sloping 
 sides were lofty trees combined in picturesque groups. 
 In the depth of this dingle a small stream, that came 
 murmuring from the heights, collected itself into a clear 
 lake, which added not a little to the beauty of the sce- 
 nery; the prospect terminating with a remote view of 
 the ocean. From the window on the right hand was seen
 
 10 THE LADY OF THi; MANOR. 
 
 the ornamented part of the garden and shrubbery ; and 
 on the left, a kind of wilderness of flowering shrubs and 
 aromatic herbs, inclosed with a slight iron railing, in 
 which were many winding walks and garden-seats, in- 
 viting to study and contemplation — though both of these 
 views were somewhat artificial, yet neither of them was 
 without its peculiar charms. 
 
 The young ladies, while tea was preparing, had leisure 
 to admire this varied scenery, and to observe the last 
 rays of the departing sun, as it disappeared behind the 
 trees. Before the evening closed in, candles being light- 
 ed and the hissing urns placed upon the table, the lady 
 of the manor summoned her young visitors to «tea, and 
 requesting some of the elder ones to relieve her from the 
 charge of preparing it, she exerted herself to remove that 
 embarrassment which young persons are too apt to ex- 
 hibit on occasions when they should endeavour to make 
 themselves agreeable. She asked several questions, and 
 made many remarks, with little success : a simple nega- 
 tive or affirmative, with a corresponding grave and for- 
 mal deportment, was all that she could, for some time, 
 obtain from them. Not, however, quite disheartened by 
 these difficulties, she at length observed something in the 
 countenance of one of the younger ladies, whom we shall 
 call Sophia, of a nature particularly prepossessing. To 
 this young person she then addressed her discourse, and 
 receiving from her a calm and unembarrassed answer, 
 was enabled to support a conversation with her till the 
 ceremony of tea-drinking was over. 
 
 During this conversation the young Sophia (for she was 
 one of the youngest of the party) said nothing very bril- 
 liant or remarkable. But she spoke with good sense, 
 and without any awkward or aff'ected airs ; being guided 
 by the simple desire of doing or saying what was proper, 
 neither discovering any forwardness, nor seeking to shew 
 herself off to advantage : by which means she succeeded 
 in rendering herself far more agreeable than any of her 
 elders then present. And here, as in many other in- 
 stances, we see the lovely eftects of humility. Humility 
 becomes our fallen nature, and our blessed Saviour him- 
 self assum.ed this garb when he put on the nature of 
 man. For this blessed and holy One, being in the form 
 of God, thought it not robbery to be equal with God ; but
 
 THE LADY OF THE MANOR. 13 
 
 first evening of their meeting, by endeavouring merely 
 to impress them with the wisdom of seizing the present 
 moment for rehgious improvement, and not putting oflf 
 repentance to a future time. She then proposed, if 
 agreeable, to repeat a short story which she thought 
 much to the purpose of their present conversation : and 
 the young ladies expressing their satisfaction at this pro- 
 posal, the lady of the manor accordingly proceeded to 
 relate 
 
 The History of the Lady Caroline . 
 
 " My father," said the lady of the manor, *' inherited 
 a small estate in the immediate neighbourhood of the su- 
 perb mansion of the Earl of S . My father's pro- 
 perty, indeed, was so intermingled with the domains of 
 this nobleman, that it became, like the vineyard of Na- 
 both to the King of Samaria, a matter of great uneasi- 
 ness to the earl. But, as the house and grounds had 
 been long in our family, my father could not bring his 
 mind to part with them, although he indulged the taste 
 of the Earl in the decorations of his house, and the ar- 
 rangement of his grounds, in order to render his small 
 dwelling as little of an eye-sore as possible to the noble- 
 man and his visitors. 
 
 ** Our house was very old ; and, having formed part of 
 an ancient monastery, it was allowed, when repaired by 
 my father, to retain as much of its former character as 
 possible. Many of the gothic windows were filled with 
 stained glass ; the grotesque figures of carved wood 
 were still left in their ancient situations over the doors 
 and windows ; and the rude crosses were permitted to 
 retain their places on those parts of the roof on which 
 they had been originally fixed. The gardens also were 
 laid out in a style corresponding with the house ; and 
 the same taste was consulted in the arrangement of the 
 interior of the dwelling, at least as far as did not inter- 
 fere with the comfort of its inhabitants. 
 
 ** There was a room at the very top of the house, 
 which extended the whole length of the building. This 
 room was in fact only a garret, having a sloping roof, 
 with such windows jutting out from the roof as are fre- 
 quently seen in old buildings : these, however, were em- 
 VOL. I. c
 
 14 THE LADY OF THE MANOR. 
 
 bellished with much grotesque carving, while the higher 
 parts of them were decorated with panes of old painted 
 glass. My father made this room his study, furnishing 
 it with book-shelves and suitable desks, enriching the 
 wall between the book-cases with certain old prints, 
 bronze busts, and figures on pedestals ; which, together 
 with such samples of old chairs and tables as he was 
 able to collect, formed an assortment of furniture which 
 might well have suited the abbots and monks who for- 
 merly occupied the house. 
 
 " My father was as singularly attached to old books 
 as to old furniture ; in consequence of which his venera- 
 ble book-cases were seldom disgraced by modern works 
 in handsome bindings : and, as he undertook the lite- 
 rary part of my education, he failed not to endeavour to 
 inspire me with the same taste. 
 
 *' In this apartment, which I have thus minutely de- 
 scribed, I always spent several hours of every day. It 
 was in one of the above-mentioned windows, wliich pro- 
 jected from the roof, that ray chair and desk were 
 placed, and near to it my little shelf of books and work- 
 basket. 
 
 " I had no sister ; and my brothers being much older 
 than myself, and for the most part absent from home, 
 either at school or at college, I was from early childhood 
 much accustomed to be alone, and, in consequence, be- 
 came extremely fond of solitude ; althoragh, I am sorry 
 to say, that I did not often employ the opportunities af- 
 forded by this solitude to the best purposes. Thus I 
 spent many hours in my little cell, aS my father used to 
 call it, sometimes enjoying great happiness there, and at 
 other times enduring as much misery, in proportion as 
 ray mind was directed to proper subjects or otherwise. 
 But I have reason to think, that my indulgent parents 
 never suspected the cause of a certain oppression of spi- 
 rits, which, nevertheless, they must have occasionally 
 observed in me. 
 
 *' There are some persons, who can specify the day, 
 and even the hour, in which they first received religious 
 impressions : this however is not my case ; since I am 
 unable to remember the time when I had not some sense 
 of the importance of religion, and when my conduct and 
 feelings were not in some degree influenced by it. But
 
 THE LADY OF THE MANOR. 15 
 
 these impressions were extremely different at different 
 times: so that while I recollect certain periods of my 
 youth in which I felt my heart considerably drawn to- 
 wards heavenly things, I remember also many other 
 seasons in which I was ready to sacrifice every thing to 
 the world. 
 
 *' My parents seized the earliest opportunities of giving 
 me Christian instruction ; nor did they relax their efforts 
 of this kind, until they were separated from me by death. 
 They also took infinite pains to give me simple Chris- 
 tian habits; at the same time very anxiously setting me 
 the example of all that they wished me to be. My fa- 
 ther was a truly pious man, and a laborious parish- 
 priest ; while my mother was self-denying, humble, and 
 active in the performance of every Christian duty. 
 Under such parents, it would have been strange, if I 
 had not at least become acquainted with the leading 
 doctrines of Christianity, and acquired some religious 
 habits. But a real change of heart is a divine work, 
 and cannot be effected by the most careful or laborious 
 course of instruction. It is sometimes however very 
 difficult to distinguish in young persons the effect of 
 godly example and a pious education from those effec- 
 tual workings of the Holy Spirit, by which a vital change 
 is operated in the heart; more especially as, after this 
 change, the natural corruptions still continue to work 
 within, and sometimes with seemingly greater violence 
 than before, being put in motion by that subtile power 
 which worketh in the children of disobedience. On 
 these accounts I cannot undertake to say at what period 
 of my life I was first made really sensible of divine im- 
 pressions ; though, as I before said, I can remember de- 
 riving some pleasure from religious pursuits even in my 
 early youth. 
 
 ** I was very early taught to find satisfaction in visit- 
 ing the poor, in working for them, and reading to them. 
 My Bible was represented to me as an inexhaustible 
 source of sweet meditation, affording endless prospects 
 of peace and glory. My father also took great pains 
 in leading me to admire the beautiful works of creation, 
 and to consider them as so many earnests of what the 
 Father of all good has promised to provide for those 
 who love him, in the world to come : so that every tree
 
 16 THE LADY OF THE MANOR. 
 
 and every flower, the murmuring brooks and shady 
 woods, the star-light nights and sunny days, in my 
 young imagination were made to abound with sweet 
 promises and pleasant prospects of everlasting bliss ; 
 the door to which was already opened by a dear and 
 suff'ering Saviour. The effect of these cheering and 
 pious instructions, particularly during the first ten or 
 eleven years of my life, was at times so powerful as to 
 maintain a prevailing influence upon my mind ; under 
 which I was accustomed to enjoy so sweet a peace, that 
 my little cell appeared to me no other than a paradise, 
 of which I could truly say, Lor^d, it is good for me to be 
 here. (Matt. xvii. 4.) And thus it will ever be found, in 
 every situation of life — when we live near to God, and 
 conform ourselves in all things to the divine will, we 
 shall be happy ; but, whenever our will rises in opposi- 
 tion to the sovereign pleasure of the Almighty, our 
 peace will depart from us. 
 
 " I mentioned before, that my father's little estate 
 
 bordered closely upon the domains of the Earl of S . 
 
 The two houses were in such near neighbourhood, that 
 when occupying my usual place in my father's study, 
 which was, as I before described it, in the roof of our 
 house, I could from thence observe any one standing at 
 the door or windows of the mansion-house, distinctly 
 enough to discern in what manner such persons might 
 be employed. 
 
 " There was nothing intervening between the two 
 houses except a little grass-plot in the front of my fa- 
 ther's habitation, a narrow lane or coach-way, and a 
 very small part of the earl's pleasure-ground. More- 
 over, exactly opposite to my window there stood an 
 iron gate of slight construction, wliich formed so consi- 
 derable an opening among the trees as to leave my view 
 entirely unobstructed. 
 
 *' That part of the mansion-house which faced my 
 window was not the grand front of the house, but that 
 which contained some of the more private apartments; 
 and among the rest, those occupied by Lady Caroline, 
 the only daughter of the earl, her governess, and her 
 maid. On this side was also a portico, supporting a 
 large balcony, into which the young lady's^ rooms open- 
 ed, and upon which she often came out, when the
 
 THE LADY OF THE MANOR. 17 
 
 weather would admit, to read, to play upon her harp, 
 or to study her lesson. 
 
 " Lady Caroline was a few years older than mvself, 
 and, having a fine person, appeared to my young- and 
 foolish mind the model of all human perfection ; though 
 there was, perhaps, very little in her that was truly ad- 
 mirable : for it has since occurred to me, that her man- 
 ners, which I then thought so charming, were sometimes 
 haughty, cold, and distant, and at other times superci- 
 liously condescending. Self was mingled, or rather 
 predominant in every action ; and she perhaps never 
 moved or spoke in public, without studying effect. 
 Neither could any thing better have been expected in 
 the common course of things from this unhappy young 
 lady, whose education was of the most superficial kind, 
 and who was constantly surrounded by flatterers. She 
 was, however, handsome ; was possessed of many showy 
 accomplishments ; was richly and fashionably clothed ; 
 was never addressed but with the utmost respect; rode 
 in a coach ; and lived in a superb house — she was, there- 
 fore, to me not only an object of admiration, but, at 
 length, of the most vehement envy : which last sinful 
 feeling at times gained so much upon me, as very mate- 
 rially to interrupt my peace. Nevertheless, although I 
 knew this feeling to be wrong, I did not resist it; or, 
 rather, I did not use the means appointed by God for 
 the mortification of it, but allowed it to remain as a 
 thorn in my flesh, to the total destruction of my com- 
 fort. 
 
 *' Whenever the earl's family were absent from this seat, 
 which often happened, then, by employing my thoughts 
 less about Lady Caroline, I in a great measure recovered 
 my happiness, becoming, as I fancied, content with my 
 humble situation. On her return, however, my sup- 
 posed humility constantly disappeared : I became dis- 
 satisfied with myself and all about me ; thinking of little 
 else than this envied object, and even going so far as 
 sometimes to wish I could change places with her. 
 
 ** Had the Almighty granted my wish," continued the 
 lady of the manor, " how dreadful to me would have 
 been the consequences of my vain desire ! My heavenly 
 Father however dealt not with me according to my de- 
 serts ; but, while he made me feel my sin, he spared me 
 C 3
 
 18 THE LADY OF THE MANOR. 
 
 the righteous punishment of it. I will now, without 
 speaking so much of myself, proceed with the hi tory of 
 the beautiful and accomplished daughter of the Earl of 
 S . 
 
 " At the age of eighteen. Lady Caroline was taken out 
 of the hands of her governess, and introduced at Court. 
 Her appearance there, we heard, was brilliant, and her 
 success, speaking after the manner of the world, such, 
 that she obtained the heart of a young marquis, who 
 immediately offered her his hand, and was accepted. 
 What the merits of this young nobleman were, I am not 
 authorized to say, but it was determined, for family rea- 
 sons, that the marriage should not take place' until he 
 came of age, of which he then wanted some months. 
 
 ** While this marriage was in agitation, and the young 
 nobleman in attendance on his bride elect, the family 
 arrived in our neighbourhood, displaying before my eyes 
 all that could be imagined of worldly splendour and 
 worldly happiness; and it may well be supposed, that 
 the view of these things by no means added to my feli- 
 city. In the mean time, I was frequently invited to the 
 earl's house: and though my parents did not desire for 
 me such society as I mixed with there, yet they found it 
 extremely difficult altogether to withhold me from it. 
 
 "The Earl of S had three sons; the youngest of 
 
 whom, Mr. William, was destined for the Church. This 
 young nobleman, by the especial mercy of God, having 
 been placed at the University under the charge of a 
 pious tutor, was so effectually wrought upon by his in- 
 structions as to exhibit, even at that early and dangerous 
 period of life, many very decisive evidences of a renew- 
 ed heart. 
 
 "At the time of which I am speaking, all the sons of 
 the earl were at home; and I more than once witnessed 
 conversations of a very serious tendency between Mr. 
 William and his sister, one of which 1 particularly re- 
 njember. 1 was admitted, one morning, to sit with Lady 
 Caroline, and certain other young ladies of distinction, 
 in the dressing-room of the former. We were engaged 
 with our needles, when Mr. William entered, and, ad- 
 dressing his sister affectionately, asked permission to 
 read to us. Having received this permission, he was 
 hastening to select a book, when she called after him.
 
 THE LADY OF THE MANOR. 19 
 
 and implored him, with assumed earnestness, and an 
 affected shrug of the shoulders, not on any account to 
 bring a religious book. On hearing this, he turned back, 
 and taking a seat by her on the sofa, he spoke with much 
 warmth arid tenderness upon the uncertainty of life, and 
 the certainty of death; the reality of eternal punishment, 
 and the appointed way of escaping that punishment. 
 She heard him with impatience, attempting often to in- 
 terrupt him ; till at length, breaking out into a haughty 
 and contemptuous laugh, she uttered certain expressions 
 which but too plainly proved to me that this admired 
 young lady was in fact an intidel, a character, I fear, too 
 common among those who are lovers of pleasure, and de- 
 voted to the present world. This was one of the last in- 
 terviews which I had with Lady Caroline, and it left an 
 impression upon my mind of an exceedingly painful na- 
 ture. 
 
 *' It was soon after this, that the family removed to 
 town, confessedly with the purpose of preparing for the 
 intended marriage. On the morning of their departure, 
 I was sitting at my window, finishing some inglorious task 
 of plain work which required to be speedily concluded, 
 with an old edition of Baxter's Saint's Everlasting Rest 
 lying open before me — when the sound of carriages 
 caused me to lift up my head. I perceived a superb 
 phaeton, drawn by four horses, issuing out of the gates 
 of the mansion-house, followed by the earl's travelling- 
 carriage, the family-coach, and several out-riders. In 
 this phaeton was the young marquis, with Lady Caroline 
 sitting by his side. The young lady was dressed with 
 uncommon elegance, and the white plumes of her riding- 
 hat floating in the air, excited in my unsanctified imagi- 
 nation an idea of the utmost splendour, elegance, and 
 taste. Just catching a view of me, as I stood at my gar- 
 ret-window, she bowed with a condescending smile ; and 
 then pointing me out to her companion, I was saluted by 
 him in the same manner. All this took up only one mo- 
 ment; for the trees in an instant concealed every thing 
 from me but the w hite plumes of Lady Caroline's hat. 
 
 ' " 1 remained at my window till the gay party had pass- 
 ed ; then, turning round, and looking upon the mean 
 spot I occupied, the old book open before me, my task 
 of plain work, the old-fashioned furniture, grim busts.
 
 20 THE LADY OF THE MANOR. 
 
 and musty folios, by which 1 was surrounded — I burst 
 into tears, and sat down to work, considering myself as 
 the most neglected and hopeless of human beings ; when, 
 in reality, I had reason to think myself one of the most 
 peculiarly favoured. 
 
 " My mind was so filled with the thoughts of Lady 
 Caroline's happiness, that, for more than three months 
 from that time, I had no enjoyment of my own home, 
 or friends, or employments. I neglected to struggle 
 against this temptation ; I did not seek assistance from 
 above for that purpose ; and therefore I had no right 
 to expect I should receive strength proportioned to my 
 day. Notwithstanding I was at length delivei-ed from 
 this snare ; not indeed in the least degree by my own en- 
 deavours, but entirely through the goodness and mercy 
 of God. 
 
 ** In the mean time, injudicious people, such as are to 
 be found in all neighbourhoods, and from whom the best 
 and most careful parents find it difficult to preserve their 
 children, came, from time to time, to my father's house, 
 bringing reports of what the earl's family were doing in 
 town : telling of the superb entertainments they gave, 
 the admiration which the marchioness elect excited 
 wherever she appeared, the elegant clothes and jewels 
 which were in preparation for the wedding, and many 
 other matters of the same kind ; all of which served to 
 feed the flame of dissatisfaction which burned in my 
 breast. But, as I kept all these feelings carefully to my- 
 self, being secretly ashamed of them, my parents did 
 not think of removing me entirely out of the way of this 
 foolish kind of discourse; and finding their own minds 
 unaffected by it, they were probably not aware of the 
 injurious effects it produced upon me. 
 
 ** In this manner things went on till towards the end of 
 autumn, when, after expecting every hour to hear of the 
 marriage of Lady Caroline, news was one day brought 
 that she was dangerously ill, having caught cold at a 
 masquerade. Our next information was, that this cold 
 had brought on a violent fever. And, a few days after 
 wards, I was truly shocked to hear that the beautiful 
 object of my envy and admiration had ceased to breathe. 
 
 " I can give you no idea of my feelings on this affect- 
 ing occasion ; they were mingled emotions of terror, pi-
 
 THE LADY OF THE MANOR. 21 
 
 ty, and amazement. I had never conceived the possi- 
 bility of such an event as the death of this splendid object 
 of my envy ; and I now remembered with anguish the 
 contempt she had expressed for religion, with my still 
 more wicked murmurings against that God who had ap- 
 pointed my lot in a state of holy retirement, under the 
 charge of pious and tender parents. 
 
 ** During the interval between the death and the fune- 
 ral of poor Lady Caroline, I spent much time in my little 
 study, where I poured out my tears without restraint. 
 My parents knew not all that passed in my mind. They 
 thought my grief natural, and not to be blamed : there- 
 fore, leaving me to myself, they allowed this awful event 
 to have its full influence upon my mind. And, with God's 
 blessing, I believe that it was rendered really useful to 
 me ; since, from that time, my views of the importance 
 of religion became gradually more solid and operative. 
 
 *' At length, the day arrived, when the remains of poor 
 Lady Caroline were to enter the village. The funeral 
 was to take place at the family-seat ; and the morning 
 was ushered in by the tolling of the muflled bell. About 
 noon-day, the deep rumbling of wheels announced the 
 approach of the hearse and mourning-coaches. I was 
 at my window, standing on the very spot from whence 
 I had seen Lady Caroline for the last time. In this 
 place I stood, as it were unable to move, till the ap- 
 proaching sound became louder, and I could distinguish 
 through the trees, which were then leafless, the deep 
 black of the hearse, and the white plumes w ith which it 
 was surrounded. That hearse contained the remains of 
 what I had considered as the perfection of beauty, ele- 
 gance, and felicity ; and now I felt how utterly inade- 
 quate beauty, rank, and fashion are, to ensure the hap- 
 piness of an immortal being ! * Oh, Lady Caroline,' I 
 cried, in the bitterness of my feelings, ' had you been the 
 poorest, the most deformed, the most despised creature 
 upon earth, and had yet given evidence of a sacred change 
 of heart ; your friends would have had at this moment a 
 consolation, which nothing on earth can now give them.* 
 And, on this occasion, the cheerless words of the poet 
 recurred to my mind — 
 
 " ' How lov'd, how valued once, avails thee not. 
 To whom related, or by whom begot ;
 
 22 THE LADY OF THE MANOR. 
 
 A heap of dust alone remains of thee, 
 
 Tis all thou art, and all the proud shall be/ 
 
 *' The hearse approached, and the white plumes a^ain 
 waved in the very same place where those had once flou- 
 rished on the head of Lady Caroline, excitinc^ in my fool- 
 ish mind such strange ideas of prosperity, elegance, and 
 happiness. I watched the mournful train till it entered 
 the gates of the mansion-house, and, winding round to 
 the chief front, passed out of my view. I then fell on 
 my knees, and thanked God for all those particular cir- 
 cumstances in my situation, which I had hitherto de- 
 plored as misfortunes: — viz. my humble birth, my re- 
 tired situation, my homely dress, the necessity 1 was 
 under of working hard and living plainly ; and, above 
 all, for that greatest of all blessings, a pious education : 
 all which circumstances I was now led to consider as af- 
 fording such an earnest of the divine favour as I never 
 could be sufficiently thankful for." 
 
 Here the lady of the manor paused a moment, and 
 then said, " My dear young friends, may the history of 
 this young lady, who was cut off in the midst of the 
 highest prospects of earthly grandeur, afford you a sea- 
 sonable lesson, and lead you to rtmemhcr your Crtalor in 
 the days oj your youth, while the evil days come not, nor 
 the years draw nigh, when you will say, I have no plea- 
 sure in them."" (Eccles. xii. 1.) 
 
 The lady of the mauor then expatiated somewhat 
 largely upon the misery of those who die without having 
 been previously brought to the knowledge of God in 
 Christ, and experienced a real change of heart. — ** My 
 dear young friends," she said, " did you ever consider 
 what your loss would be, should you be so miserable as 
 to lose heaven? I remember," added she, " being for- 
 merly much struck with some passages on this subject in 
 my favourite book, Baxter's Saint's Everlasting Rest; 
 and, if you have no objection, I will read those passages 
 to you, sincerely hoping that, with God's ijlessing, they 
 may be rendered as profitable to you as they were to me. 
 
 '* * The glorious personal perfection which the saints 
 enjoy in heaven forms one distinguishing privilege, of 
 which the ungodly w ill be for ever deprived. They lose 
 that shining lustre of the body, surpassing the brightness
 
 THE LADY OF THE MANOR. 23 
 
 of the sun at noon-day. Though the bodies of the wick- 
 ed will be raised more spiritual than they were upon 
 earth, yet that will only make them capable of the more 
 exquisite torments. They would be glad, at that time, 
 if every member were a dead member, that it might not 
 feel the punishment inflicted on it ; or if the whole body, 
 as a rotten carcase, might lie undisturbed in the dust. 
 As a still more degrading privation, the ungodly will 
 want that moral perfection which the blessed enjoy, viz. 
 that holy frame of mind, that cheerful readiness to do 
 the will of God, and that perfect rectitude of soul, which 
 do especially characterize their high and holy state. 
 Instead of these, the unregenerate will manifest that per- 
 verseness of will, that loathing of good, that love to evil, 
 and that violence of passion, which possessed and actu- 
 ated them upon earth. It is true, their understandings 
 will be much cleared, by the absence of former tempta- 
 tions, and their experience of the vanity of former delu- 
 sions : but they will still exhibit the very same disposi- 
 tions, which once hurried them on to work all iniquity 
 with greediness. In a word, there will be a greater 
 difference between these miserable wretches and a glori- 
 fied saint, than there is between a loathsome mass of 
 corruption upon earth and the sun shining in the firma- 
 ment. Moreover, the impenitent will have no comfort- 
 able relation to God, nor any communion with him. As 
 they did not like to retain God in their knowledge, but 
 said imto him. Depart from us, for we desire not the 
 knowledge of thy ways ; so God will abhor to retain them 
 in his household. Little does the world know what a 
 loss that soul hath, who loses God. What a dungeon 
 now would the earth be, if deprived of the sun ! Or 
 what a loathsome carrion would the body become, if se- 
 parated from the soul ! Yet, all these are nothing to 
 the loss of God ! As the enjoyment of God is the hea- 
 ven of the saints, so the loss of God is the hell of the 
 ungodly.' " 
 
 The lady then turned to another part of the book, and 
 read these words : — 
 
 *• * The principal author of hell-torments is God him- 
 self. ' As it was no less than God whom the sinner had 
 offended, so it is no less than God who will punish him 
 for his offences. He hath prepared those torments for
 
 24 THE LADY OF THE M A.NOR. 
 
 his enemies. His continued an2:er will still be there de- 
 vouring them. The breath of his indignation will kindle 
 their flames. His wrath will be an intolerable burden 
 to their souls. If it were but a creature they had to do 
 with, they might better bear it. Woe to him that falls 
 under the strokes of the Almighty ! It is a fearful thing 
 to fall into the hands of the living God!' " 
 
 The lady of the manor having read these extracts from 
 the Saint's Rest, closed the book, and asked the young 
 ladies if they were willing to join with her in prayer — a 
 proposal with which they all most cheerfully complied. 
 
 Her prayer was very simple ; but, as it was particu- 
 larly adapted to the state of such young persons as are 
 brought by divine grace to see the necessity of renoun- 
 cing the present world, and entering upon a new course 
 of life, I shall insert it in this place. 
 
 The Prayer of the Lady of the Manor in Behalf of her 
 Young Companions f that it ivould please God to give 
 them serious Thoughts of Religion. 
 
 " O THOU High and Mighty One, who inhabitest 
 eternity, I do not presume to approach thy presence, 
 trusting in my own merits, or believing myself to be 
 other than one of the most vile and miserable of sinners. 
 But I come unto thee in the name, and through the me- 
 rits, of that blessed Saviour who gave up his life for the 
 redemption of mankind. Trusting in him, as a Mediator 
 at once willing and able to interfere in my behalf, and 
 ever ready to present my petitions before the throne of 
 the Almighty, I beseech thee, O my God, to have mercy 
 upon these young persons here assembled before thee. 
 As Job interceded for his children, lest they should have 
 sinned, (Job i. 5.) so now do I presume to supplicate for 
 these, my young friends, that holy fear of the Lord 
 which is the beginning of wisdom, and that true repent- 
 ance which is unto life. Impart to them, O Lord, I 
 earnestly pray thee, a deep sense of the importance of 
 eternal things, and the emptiness of all earthly concerns. 
 Make them to know, that thy day ivill come as a thief in 
 the night ; in the which the heavens shall pass away with 
 a great noise, and the elements shall melt with fervent 
 heat ; when the earth also, and the works that are therein,
 
 THE LADY OF THE MANOR. 25 
 
 shall he burned up : and influence them to that holy con- 
 versation and godliness which may prepare them for be- 
 ing found of thee in peace at that awful period. (2 Pet. 
 iii. 10, 11, 14.) 
 
 ** These are no longer in that state of infancy, wherein 
 it could be justly said of them. By reason of their tender 
 age they cannot perform the promises made for them in 
 their baptism. Should they now be surprised by death, 
 they must stand accountable to thee, O Lord, for the 
 things done in the body ; and, if they have not been cho- 
 sen out from the world, if they have remained strangers 
 to the holy nature and life of thy people, if they have not 
 received that holiness without which no man shall see the 
 Lord, (Heb. xii. 14,) if they have not been born again 
 — we know that they cannot enter the kingdom of God. 
 Hearken, therefore, O Lord, unto my prayer, and listen 
 to my humble supplications. Have mercy on this little 
 company, for whom thy Son died : take from them that 
 sinful levity and sensuality of heart, by which all unre- 
 generate persons are separated from thee ; and give them 
 strong and lasting impressions of the danger of off'end- 
 ing thee. May the work which they are now about to 
 undertake, even the renewal of their baptismal vow, be 
 executed, not only according to the prescribed form, 
 but in spirit and in truth : for thou art not a God dwell- 
 ing in temples made with hands ; neither art thou to be 
 worshipped with mens hands, as though thou couldst need 
 any thing; (Acts xvii. 24, 25,) but thou requirest the 
 service of the heart. Assist, therefore, O Lord, and 
 constrain these young persons to give thee their hearts. 
 Draw them, and they will run after thee. Bring them 
 into thy courts, and they will be glad and rejoice in thee. 
 (Canticles i. 4.) But, Lord, we know that of themselves 
 they cannot come ; nay, they cannot so much as wish to 
 come. They are by nature as the dry bones of those 
 who are slain with the sword. Send therefore thy Holy 
 Spirit to breathe upon these slain, that they may live. 
 (Ezek. xxxvii. 9.) Let thy mercy, O Lord, be magnified 
 upon them, and make them partakers of thy great sal- 
 vation. Now to God the Father, God the Son, and God 
 the Holy Ghost, be all honour and glory, world without 
 end. Amen. 
 
 *' Our Father," S^c. 
 
 VOL. I. D
 
 26 THE LADY OF THE MANOR. 
 
 The lady of the manor having tinished her address to 
 the Ahuighty, informed the young people, that she now 
 judged it time for them to depart to their respective 
 homes. She also exhorted them to be earnest in stu- 
 dying their Bibles, seeking God in prayer, and avoid- 
 ing worldly pleasures ; adding, that she hoped they 
 should meet again, with the Lord's permission, ou the 
 next appointed day : at'ter which, they took their leave, 
 all of them beino; much pleased with the manner in which 
 they had spent their evening, and some of them, through 
 the divine influence, considerably impressed by certain 
 parts of the conversation which had taken place.
 
 THE LADY OF THE MANOR. 27 
 
 CHAPTER III 
 
 Containing a brief View of the leading Doctrines of the 
 Christian Religion, and a Caution against mistaking 
 the outward Form of Religion far the inward and 
 spiritual Grace. 
 
 )) HEN the youDs: party met again at the laanor-house, 
 they appeared with more cheerful countenances, and 
 with considerably less embarrassment, than on the former 
 occasion. Two of the young party informed the lady of 
 the manor, that they had been studying Baxter $ Saint's 
 Rest since their last meeting. Others said, that they had 
 been engaged in reading their Bibles. And Miss Sophia 
 added, that she had found out the most delightful place 
 that could be imagined, wherein to sing hymns, and read 
 the Bible, without interruption. '•' It is. Madam," said 
 this amiable little ciirl, " the corner of a coppice near my 
 papa's garden, in which I am allowed to walk by myself; 
 and there is a brook which runs murmuring among the 
 trees, and many bees are there."' 
 
 The lady of the manor smiled with pleasure on the 
 young lady, as she described, with youthful animation, 
 the sweet place of retirement which she had chosen for 
 the indulgence of her meditations ; remarkins:, that she 
 hoped the time would come, when every thicket and 
 every forest, every mountain and every fruitful field, 
 would resound with the praises of the Lord. " For his 
 glory, '^ proceeded the lady of the manor, " shall cover the 
 heavens, and the earth shall be full of his praise." (Hab. 
 iii. 3.) 
 
 Thus cheerfully did the party continue to converse, till 
 the tea-equipage was removed ; immediately after which, 
 the lady of the manor, takius: down the Book of Pravers
 
 28 THE LADY OF THE MANOR. 
 
 of the Church of England from her book-case, and open- 
 ing to the Order of Confirmation, or laying on of hands 
 upon those that are baptized and come to years of dis- 
 cretion — she asked her youthful audience if they had 
 ever heard the service read 1 to which, the greater part 
 of them answered, that they had not. 
 
 The lady replied, " We will then, my dear young peo- 
 ple, begin this evening, by reading as much of this form 
 as will give you an idea of the general tendency of the 
 ordinance to which it relates. Yet, before I begin to 
 read, I must just remark, that confirmation, from its very 
 nature, supposes that the persons who are to be confirm- 
 ed have been already baptized. But as I shall have oc- 
 casion at a future time," continued she, *' to speak to 
 you largely on the subject of baptism, I shall here con- 
 tent myself with observing, that there exists in this coun- 
 try, and also in other countries of Europe, a denomina- 
 tion of Christians who do not approve of infant baptism. 
 It is not now necessary to allege what they say in favour 
 of their opinion ; I would here merely remark, that there 
 are, and have been, many of the excellent of the earth 
 among this denomination of Christians ; and, as the 
 point upon which our Church difi'ers from them is not 
 essential to salvation, we are bound to them, as to other 
 professing Christians, in the bonds of brotherly love, and 
 should be prepared to meet them cordially on all those 
 points in which our sentiments coincide with theirs. 
 But, to leave this matter, and proceed to the more im- 
 mediate business of the day. 
 
 ** I will first inform you, my dear young people," said 
 the lady of the manor, *' that the laying on of hands, in 
 which the ceremony of confirmation chiefiy consists, is 
 understood in diflferent ways, both in the Old and New 
 Testament. 
 
 ** In the first place, it is taken for the ordination and 
 consecration of priests and ministers, as well among the 
 Jews as Christians. 
 
 ** Secondly, it is sometimes used to signify the esta- 
 blishment of magistrates in their various ofiices. 
 
 *' But the sense in which laying on of hands is under- 
 stood in confirmation," proceeded she, " is clearly point- 
 ed out in Acts viii. 17 — Thei/ laid their hands on them 
 that were baptized, and they received the Holy Ghost.
 
 THE LADY OF THE MANOR. 29 
 
 And thouo^h," added the lady of the manor, *' we do not 
 believe that the inward and spiritual grace of God always 
 and necessarily accompanies or follows the outward or- 
 dinances of religion ; yet of this we may rest assured, 
 that if we do not rightly profit by the means of grace, 
 it must be wholly owing to our own carelessness and 
 want of faith." 
 
 The lady of the manor then took up the Prayer-Book, 
 and began to read as follows. — 
 
 ** * Upon the day appointed, all that are to be then con- 
 firmed being placed, and standing in order before the 
 bishop, he,» or some other minister appointed by him, 
 sliall read this preface following : 
 
 ** * To the end that Confirmation may be ministered 
 to the more edifying of such as shall receive it, the 
 Church hath thought good to order, that none hereafter 
 shall be confirmed, but such as can say the Creed, the 
 Lord's Prayer, and the Ten Commandments, and can also 
 answer to such other questions as in the short Catechism 
 are contained : which order is very convenient to be ob- 
 served, to the end that children, being now come to years 
 of discretion, and having learned what their godfathers 
 and godmothers promised for them in baptism, they may 
 themselves, with their own mouth and consent, openly 
 before the Church, ratify and confirm the same, and also 
 promise, that, by the grace of God, they will evermore 
 endeavour themselves faithfully to observe such things, 
 as they, by their own confession, have assented unto.' " 
 (See Order of Confirmation.) 
 
 At the end of this address, the lady closed the Prayer- 
 Book, and spake thus. — " You may see, my dear young 
 people, from what I have just read, that our Church has 
 made what provision it could for the due preparation of 
 the candidates for confirmation, although these pious 
 precautions are but too frequently rendered null and 
 void, through the impiety and carelessness of parents 
 and sponsors." 
 
 The lady of the manor then proceeded to point out to 
 the young people, that it was of more consequence for 
 them to consider the great end and purport of this ordi- 
 nance of confirmation, than to dwell largely upon the 
 particulars of the form itself. ** This ordinance," con- 
 tinued she, " is a general call on young people to en- 
 D 3
 
 80 THE LADY OF THE MANOR. 
 
 quire into the state of their souls, and to ask themselves, 
 whether they are actually in such a situation as may af- 
 ford a reasonable hope of salvation, or whether they are 
 still living in that unrenewed state of mind, which is the 
 sure earnest of everlasting destruction 1 
 
 ** This question — namely, whether they are actually in 
 a state of salvation — is a question no doubt very often 
 proposed," added the lady of the manor, " by parents and 
 teachers to their children and pupils ; but it cannot be 
 satisfactorily answered by any young person who knows 
 not what it is to be in a state of salvation. For certain 
 it is, that no one can form a just judgment on this point, 
 unless he be acquainted with the leading doctrines of our 
 holy religion ; for want of which knowledge, many have 
 long wandered in the way of error, supposing that, by a 
 scrupulous attention to the forms prescribed by the pe- 
 culiar denomination of Christians to which they belong, 
 they are perfectly secure, while the heart and affections 
 have remained in that state of utter deadness towards 
 God, concerning which we are taught, that, while we con- 
 tinue therein, we are children of wrath, and heirs of hell." 
 
 Here the lady of the manor paused ; and the young peo- 
 ple looked at each other, like persons just waking as it 
 were from a deep sleep, without being able as yet to 
 comprehend by whom or what they were surrounded. 
 
 The lady of the manor, perceiving their confusion, pro- 
 ceeded to make this remark. — ** Religion," said she, *• is in 
 itself of so pure and spiritual a nature, and has so little 
 reference to that part of us which is corporeal, that it 
 constitutes the chief pleasure and delight of those spiri- 
 tual beings who inhabit the regions of everlasting bliss, 
 even that innumerable company of angels and archangels, 
 who surround the throne of God, and who rest not day 
 and night, saying, Holy, holy, holy. Lord God Almigh- 
 ty, which was, and is, and is to come. (Rev. iv. 8.) Not- 
 withstanding however the high and spiritual nature of 
 religion," continued she, *' it is necessary, for the pur- 
 pose of bringing its divine truths and sacred duties down 
 to the level of man's capacity while he remains in the 
 body, that certain forms of worship should be prescribed 
 in the Visible Church on earth, and that the time and 
 manner of certain ceremonious observances among every 
 denomination of Christians should be fixed and deter-
 
 THE LADY OF THE MANOR. 31 
 
 mined. Now, concerning these outward forms and modes 
 of things, there always will be some difference of opinion 
 among men ; and, in proportion as the religion of any 
 denomination or assembly of Christians loses its spiritu- 
 ality, they are invariably disposed to lay an increasing 
 stress upon its outward forms and ordinances, till, at 
 length, a set of superstitious observances and customs is 
 substituted in the place of spiritual worship. And hence," 
 continued the lady, " proceed all those violent contests 
 which we witness among the different sects of Christians 
 in the world, and for which no complete remedy will be 
 found until the spiritual nature of our religion is more 
 thoroughly understood and felt." 
 
 In this place, the lady having paused a moment, one of 
 the young people ventured, though modestly, to remark, 
 that such was her own state of ignorance with regard to 
 spiritual subjects in general, that she had no clear view 
 of what was really important, or what was not so, in re- 
 ligion. She had, she said, been brought up as a member 
 of the Church of England, had been a constant attendant 
 with her parents on divine service, and had hitherto been 
 in the habit of supposing every person to be wrong, who 
 differed in any point from the Established Church of 
 this country. 
 
 " I am, my dear Miss Emmeline," replied the lady of 
 the manor, ** a member of the same Church with yourself. 
 I was brought up in it, and am the daughter of a clergy- 
 man. But I do not continue in this Church from either of 
 these reasons, but because I believe its articles and liturgy 
 are agreeable to Scripture. At the same time, I plainly 
 see that there are many lesser points in which other de- 
 nominations of Christians may think differently from us, 
 and yet be members of that Universal Church, of which, 
 we trust, we form a part, and of which Christ himself is 
 the head. But," added she, ** I could not have thus made 
 up my mind upon this subject, had I not been enabled (I 
 trust by the teaching of the Holy Spirit) to discern what 
 is essential to religion, and what is not; and to under- 
 stand, that there are certain fundamental doctrines, 
 which cannot be rejected without rejecting Christ him- 
 self — which doctrines are wholly independent of the ex- 
 ternal forms and modes of divine worship." 
 
 The lady of the manor then proceeded to draw out a
 
 32 THE LADY OF THE MANOR. 
 
 simple statement of the leading doctrines of the Chris- 
 tian religion, requesting the most serious attention of her 
 young auditors. 
 
 ** We are called upon as Christians," said the lady of 
 the manor, *' to believe that there is one God, eternal, 
 omnipotent, and omnipresent ; and that in this one God 
 there are three persons — Father, Son, and Holy Ghost — 
 whose Godhead is one, whose glory is equal, and whose 
 majesty is co-eternal. By this one God were all things 
 made, both visible and invisible, and in him do all things 
 subsist— /ar in him we live, and move, and have our being. 
 We are also taught to believe, that every thing which was 
 created came perfect, and free from sin, out of the hands 
 of the Creator. Nevertheless, we are informed, that 
 some of the angels of God (by what means we cannot 
 tell) did actually fall from their first estate ; and that, be- 
 coming the enemies of God in consequence of that fall, 
 they have thenceforth sought to introduce ruin and dis- 
 order into all the works of the Almighty. These are the 
 evil spirits of whom we read so frequently in Scripture. 
 These are they, who, by their satanic arts, have brought 
 sin and death into the world ; and, having separated 
 man, by transgression, from his Creator, have thus fitted 
 him for becoming the inhabitant of hell, and the compa- 
 nion of devils. But this malice of Satan and his angels," 
 proceeded she, ** by v*'hich they hoped to obtain a mighty 
 victory over the Lord of Glory, has, instead of furnishing 
 them with a triumph, aff'orded an occasion of bringing 
 forward the character of the Godhead in such a new and 
 ravishing point of view, as will supply subjects of thanks- 
 giving and praise to all the redeemed tribes of mankind, 
 and all the glorious hosts of heaven, through the never- 
 ending ages of eternity. 
 
 *' Before the foundation of the world," continued she, 
 *' before the mountains were settled, before the hills ivere 
 brought forth, luhile as yet he had not made the earth, nor 
 the fields, nor the highest part of the dust of the ivorld, 
 (Prov. viii. 25, 26,) the Lord Jehovah, the glorious Three 
 in One, established that mighty scheme of salvation, ' by 
 which he decreed by his counsel, secret to us, to deliver 
 from curse and damnation those whom he chose in Christ 
 out of mankind, and to bring them by Christ unto ever- 
 lasting salvation as vessels made to honour.' (Articles
 
 THE LADY OF THE MANOR. 33 
 
 of the Church.) These chosen ones of the human race 
 are described in Scripture," added the lady, " to be as 
 numerous as the stars of heaven, and as the sand of the sea : 
 they are elsewhere spoken of, as being; clad in robes made 
 white with the blood of the Lamb, and clothed with the 
 righteousness of Christ ; whence we are taught to under- 
 stand somewhat concerning the method of their salvation, 
 the procuring cause of which is not their own works or 
 deservings, but the imputed merits of the Saviour. 
 
 " Furthermore, we learn from Scripture," continued 
 the lady of the manor, " the difterent parts which the se- 
 veral Persons of the Trinity have chosen to themselves, 
 in the glorious work of man's salvation : and though I 
 hope to discuss these subjects more at large with you, 
 my young friends, at some future time, yet I feel it ne- 
 cessary in this place to touch slightly upon them. 
 
 " And tirst, I would wish you to be strongly impressed 
 with this sweet and consoling thought — that each Person 
 of the glorious Trinity is equally interested and engaged 
 in the salvation of the redeemed ; and that, although they 
 have appropriated unto themselves different offices and 
 distinct parts in this divine work, yet, as acting with one 
 mind and will, they are all inseparably united in one and 
 the same glorious undertaking. First, God the Father 
 loved his people, before they knew how to choose the 
 good from the evil, and appointed his Son to die for them, 
 before the foundation of the world. Therefore the re- 
 deemed of the Lord are drawn out in love towards him, 
 because he first loved them. Secondly, God the Son 
 freely gave himself up to be the propitiation for our sins. 
 Lastly, God the Holy Ghost tits the redeemed for the 
 glory prepared for them, by carrying on in their hearts 
 the twofold work of regeneration and sanctification ; the 
 first of which is instantaneously eftected, while the latter 
 is commonly progressive. 
 
 *' And now," proceeded the lady of the manor, " hav- 
 ing given you a short view of these important doctrines, I 
 will endeavour to assist you in examining the state of your 
 souls, with reference to these fundamental points. Have 
 your hearts ever been drawn out in love and gratitude to- 
 wards your heavenly Father? Have you a becoming 
 sense of his wonderful mercy ? And are you aware of 
 the depth, the blackness, and the unpardonable nature
 
 34 THE LADY OF THE MANOR. 
 
 of that guilt, which required for its obUteration such an 
 inconceivable degree of love in your heavenly Father? 
 Are you sensible of the worth of that all-sulHcient sacri- 
 fice, which the Redeemer offered on your account? And 
 are you willing to take up your cross and follow him? 
 Finally, have you perceived within yourselves any tokens 
 of that divine influence, by which the Holy Spirit ope- 
 rates upon the hearts of the righteous ? Are your affec- 
 tions renewed or changed? Do you hate sin? and do 
 you loathe and disallow the evil which your corrupt na- 
 ture too often leads you to commit?" 
 
 The lady of the manor here paused a mon^ent ; and, 
 the young people remaining silent, she added, " I do not 
 mean, my dear young friends, to induce you to make your 
 confession to me ; but I would fain lead you to search 
 and try yourselves, to enter into the secrets of your own 
 hearts, and to begin, with the divine assistance, that most 
 salutary work of self-examination which is now especi- 
 ally necessary before you take upon you your baptismal 
 vow." 
 
 The lady of the manor then, taking up a small manu- 
 script which had lain before her on the table, "requested 
 the young ladies to listen to a story, *' which," said she, 
 "I consider as being particularly applicable to some, 
 parts of our discourse this evening." 
 
 The History of Louisa Harley, 
 
 Louisa Harley was descended from the younger branch 
 of a noble family. Her parents died while she was yet 
 a mere infant, and she was consigned at the same time to 
 the charge of a great aunt, who v/as also her godmother. 
 
 This lady, whose name was Staunton, was a widow ; 
 and, being in possession of a considerable jointure, she 
 was enabled to make a somewhat splendid appearance in 
 
 the little town of D , in which she resided. And 
 
 though she associated freely with all her neighbours, yet 
 her house was distinguished, above all others in the town, 
 by the handsome iron gates which opened into the paved 
 court before her door ; while her establishment was not 
 less distinguished by the rich liveries of her footmen. 
 
 Mrs. Staunton had been a widow for many years ; and 
 ever since the period of her widowhood, her mornings
 
 THE LADY OF THE MANOR. 35 
 
 had been almost invariably devoted, excepting for a few 
 months in the summer, to an attendance at the church 
 service, and her evenings as regularly occupied by cards; 
 for which last purpose, she met some or other of her 
 neighbours every afternoon, and remained with them till 
 between nine and ten o'clock at night. While thus en- 
 gaged, this lady had grown old without acquiring any 
 new ideas, and, in consequence, from the very force of 
 habit, becoming more and more bigoted to her old ones. 
 She had always been in the habit of praying in a build- 
 ing with a steeple at one end of it, in hearing the lessons 
 read by a person in a surplice, and the sermon preached 
 by one in a different garb ; and, from this custom, she 
 had learned to attach such amazing importance to these 
 unessential minutiae, that it would have been infinitely 
 easier to have argued her out of her belief of the divinity 
 of her Saviour, than to have convinced her that a build- 
 ing might afford every necessary convenience for divine 
 service, though it had neither a steeple nor bells. 
 
 As soon as Louisa Harley was intrusted to the care of 
 this lady, she was sent to one of the most eminent board- 
 ing-schools which the neighbourhood at that time sup- 
 plied ; where she remained till she had entered her 
 seventeenth year; at which time she was brought home, 
 and became an inmate of Mrs. Staunton's house. 
 
 The acquirements which this young lady brought with 
 her from school were far from extraordinary, although 
 she had profited as much by the very inferior instruction 
 which she had received as could have been reasonably 
 expected. But had she been favoured with a well-di- 
 rected education, there are perhaps few young people 
 who would have done more honour to her instructors 
 than Louisa Harley, who was formed by nature to excel 
 most of her sex in bodily and mental perfections — having 
 a tall and graceful person, a fine countenance, a blooming 
 complexion, together with a profusion of glossy auburn 
 hair; her mind being powerful, her imagination lively, 
 and her feelings such as, if properly cultivated, promised 
 to render her the ornament of her family. Unhappily, 
 however, this fine young creature had no director to 
 whom she could look up with sufficient confidence ; and, 
 in consequence, on being admitted as the constant inmate 
 of Mrs. Staunton's house, where she was daily condemned
 
 36 THE LADY OF THE MANOR. 
 
 to hear the dull and common-place conversation of the 
 very ordinary characters with whom her aunt associated, 
 she not only became restless and dissatisfied, but, in- 
 fluenced by the usual vivacity of youth, together with 
 the peculiar energy of her own character, she began to 
 plan for herself modes of action, by which she hoped to 
 obtain the happiness she naturally desired. Her first 
 effort was to disencumber herself of those formal reli- 
 gious observances in which her aunt endeavoured to 
 engage her, especially the daily attendance at morning- 
 service; for having no knowledge or feeling of religion, 
 she found nothing in the world so wearisome as sitting 
 for an hour at a time in an almost empty church, while 
 an old clergyman, who was nearly blind, deliberately 
 drawled over the public prayers. She therefore contri- 
 ved to excuse herself from day to day from this obser- 
 vance, and that with so much art and perseverance, that 
 her aunt at length gave up the point ; not omitting how- 
 ever at the same time to remark, though with a coldness 
 which entirely prevented the remark from having the 
 smallest influence, that Louisa was, like almost all other 
 young people, a contemner of religion, and consequent- 
 ly in a state of reprobation. 
 
 As Mrs. Staunton regularly attended prayers at half 
 after ten, and from the church went immediately to pay 
 morning-visits till dinner-time, Louisa, by procuring the 
 fore-mentioned exemption, obtained also the whole of 
 the morning to herself; which liberty she did not fail to 
 use in such a way as might be expected — in calling on 
 her young acquaintance in the town, sauntering with 
 them through the streets, or accompanying them to the 
 public walks ; a custom, by which she acquired such a 
 habit of dissipation, as speedily rendered her not less 
 dissatisfied wdth her aunt's dull evening parties round the 
 whist-table, than she had been with her daily attendance 
 at church. And, as the downward road is always smooth 
 and easy, she failed not to proceed very rapidly to fur- 
 ther and more open acts of rebellion against her aunt. 
 She began to form evening as well as morning parties for 
 herself, among her young companions; till, at length, 
 the greater part of her time was spent in one continued 
 round of that kind of petty dissipation, which most coun- 
 try towns can hold out to those who are not very nice
 
 THE LADY OF THE MANOR. 37 
 
 in their company. For example : she would engage her- 
 self to a commerce-table one evening; to a young party 
 for a game of blind-man's-buff another evening ; to see a 
 play in a barn on a third ; and to a little dance on a fourth. 
 Thus, weeks and months went round ; and though her 
 aunt sometimes complained, and sometimes expostulated, 
 yet Louisa generally contrived to obtain her acquies- 
 cence in these imprudences, by representations to this 
 purpose. — " Why, aunt, you know I cannot play at 
 whist; nor can I sit evening after evening with those 
 dull old ladies, of whom you are so very fond ; and 
 there is always the best company where I go. Mrs. Dal- 
 rymple, the surgeon's lady, will be there to-night; and 
 she has promised to take care of me, and to bring me 
 home ; and she will never lose sight of me, nor allow me 
 I am sure to do any thing improper for the whole world." 
 Now Mrs. Staunton was a lover of ease ; and it is always 
 more easy to give way to wilful young people than to 
 contend with them. In consequence of this, Louisa al- 
 ways obtained her desires on these occasions of dispute, 
 although Mrs. Staunton seemed to be not wholly satisfied 
 that she was acting right in submitting to her niece ; for 
 Miss Louisa Harley being the great grandaughter of an 
 earl, Mrs. Staunton suspected that the persons with whom 
 she permitted her to associate were not of a very suit- 
 able description for introducing her niece into life. 
 
 Thiugs were in this state, and Miss Louisa Harley in a 
 very fair way of entirely losing her reputation through 
 this want of decision in the conduct of her aunt, when 
 the rector of the parish, whom I have before described 
 as a very old man, being removed by death, the rectory, 
 which was a valuable one, was presented to a relation of 
 Miss Harley 's, a gentleman of the name of Holloway, a 
 married man, and one who had a numerous and respect- 
 able family. Immediately upon this gentleman's obtain- 
 ing the benefice, the large and venerable parsonage-house, 
 with its extensive gardens, were put into admirable 
 order; so that, within a few months, the new incum- 
 bent and his family had fixed themselves in their new 
 situation. 
 
 On the ground of their relationship and former acquain- 
 tance, Mrs. Staunton and Miss Harley paid their first 
 visit to Mrs. Holloway before she had made her appear- 
 
 VOL. I. E
 
 38 THE LADY OF THE MANOR. 
 
 ance at church, and, in consequence, before the rest of 
 the neighbours considered themselves authorized to pay 
 their compliments at the parsonage. But, early as this 
 visit was made after the arrival of the family, it was not 
 before the report of Mrs. Staunton's improper indulgence 
 of Louisa Harley's indiscretion had reached the ears of 
 Mrs. Holloway ; and, in consequence, although this lady 
 did not refuse to see her cousins when their names were 
 announced, there was a formality and coldness in the 
 reception she gave them, which very sensibly aflfected the 
 heart of Louisa, of whom I have before remarked, that 
 she was endued with a remarkable strength and quick- 
 ness of feeling. 
 
 Mrs. Holloway and her daughters were sitting at work 
 in a large old-fashioned parlour, when Louisa and her 
 aunt were introduced ; and though the young ladies arose 
 when they entered, they did not advance one step from 
 their seats to meet their cousin, nor were their counte- 
 nances (which at no time were particularly gracious or 
 animated) illuminated by the smallest tendency towards 
 a smile. The occasion of all this solemnity of manner 
 was, however, at length explained by Mrs. Holloway, 
 who, after several short coughs and expressive hems, 
 opened the subject which dwelt upon her mind, and, 
 though in a sufficiently genteel and obliging way, re- 
 peated what she had heard of the imprudence of Miss 
 Harley's conduct, and the injudicious indulgence allow- 
 ed her by her aunt: adding, at the same time, her own 
 opinion respecting the impropriety of allowing such liber- 
 ties to young ladies of family; and remarking, that it 
 would be utterly out of her power, and that of Doctor 
 Holloway, to permit their daughters to associate with 
 their cousin, unless she submitted to such restrictions as 
 her birth and rank in life required. 
 
 During this explanation and remonstrance, Louisa' 
 endured the most violent emotions of shame and vexa- 
 tion ; for a conviction of the propriety of all that Mrs. 
 Holloway said, flashed instantly on her mind: as 
 soon therefore as the lady ceased to speak, she looked 
 imploringly on her aunt, hoping that she would say 
 something which might make her behaviour appear in a 
 more favourable point of view. But poor Louisa was 
 disappointed in this hope. Mrs. Staunton without any
 
 THE LADY OF THE MANOR. 39 
 
 hesitation threw all the blame upon her niece, represent- 
 ing her as wholly unmanageable, and describing herself 
 as having used every means to inspire her with a juster 
 sense of propriety. 
 
 This assertion of Mrs. Staunton, which was but partial- 
 ly true, removins: every part of tlie blame from herself to 
 her niece, Mrs. HoUoway took occasion to represent to 
 Louisa, in the strongest terms, the great offence of dis- 
 obedience to elders, together with the shame and dis- 
 grace which almost inevitably follow this sin. Mrs. 
 Holloway's remarks, though harsh, were strictly true, and 
 in no other view to be condemned but because not al- 
 together directed as the circumstances of the case requi- 
 red. She had not recollected, that Louisa was an orphan ; 
 that Mrs. Staunton had probably mismanaged her educa- 
 tion ; and that, perhaps, she might have effected the 
 laudable purpose at which she aimed, in a way less 
 likely to give offence. But this lady, though a well- 
 meaning woman, was one of those severe characters who 
 pay no regard to the feelings of others ; and, having 
 always lived in situations which exposed her but little 
 either to the rubs of fortune or the allurements of plea- 
 sure, she could make no allowance for those who had 
 failed in their duty through the pressure of the one or 
 the enticements of the other. 
 
 With respect to religion, Mrs. Holloway had none 
 which could be properly called Christian ; for, although 
 she was a strict observer of forms, she was utterly unac- 
 quainted with the real nature and tendency of the doc- 
 trines of the Gospel. But, as I shall have occasion 
 hereafter to speak further concerning the religious prin- 
 ciples of this family, I will here leave tliis matter for 
 the present, and proceed with my story. 
 
 Mrs. Holloway having relieved her mind of the bur- 
 den which was upon it relative to the misconduct of her 
 young cousin, and believing that the blame of all which 
 had been amiss lay at the door of Louisa, immediately 
 changed her manner towards Mrs. Staunton, and began 
 to treat her with as much freedom and courtesy as she 
 generally used to any one, still retaining her reserve to- 
 wards Louisa— although, when she asked Mrs. Staunton 
 to partake of their family dinner, she condescended to 
 extend the invitation to Louisa; at the same time in-
 
 40 THE LADY OF THE MANOR. 
 
 forming her eldest daughter, that she depended on her 
 to amuse Miss Harley. 
 
 Miss HoUoway, who was some years older than Louisa, 
 was remarkably cold and formal. It was therefore no 
 great relief to Louisa to be obliged to follow this young 
 lady, during the remainder of the morning, up and down 
 stairs ; first, into her own apartments, where she was 
 condemned to look over a large folio of stiff drawings ; 
 and, afterwards, into a garden equally unentertaining, 
 where they wasted the weary hours till called to dinner 
 — after which, Louisa was obliged to listen to as many 
 comments on her conduct from her cousin, the father of 
 the family, as she had heard in the morning from his 
 wife. And as neither the one nor the other made an.y 
 allowance for her youth, her inexperience, or her want 
 of a proper guide, nor yet pointed out the means of her 
 acquiring that self-command, which, nevertheless, they 
 insisted upon as that which could not be dispensed with, 
 if she v.'ished in future to be received as a relation in 
 their family — it was no wonder that she returned home 
 in the evening much perplexed and distressed, and suf- 
 fering under such a dejection of spirits as she had never 
 felt before. 
 
 It is probable, however, that these painful impressions 
 might soon have worn off from the mind of Louisa, had 
 it not so happened, that the very next week was fixed 
 for Mrs. Staunton's annual visit into the country : for 
 this lady had always made a point of spending the three 
 summer months of every year in the country. It some- 
 times happened on these occasions, that she visited a 
 friend's house, and at other times took lodgings in a 
 farm-house. This present year, the farm-house was se- 
 lected as the most convenient place ; and she removed, 
 with her niece, her maid, and footman, to the lodgings 
 which had been prepared for her, a very few days after 
 her visit to Mr. Holloway's. 
 
 Had Louisa been in good spirits, she would have fancied 
 a thousand agreeablenesses in this change of place, and 
 have interested herself in all the rural transactions which 
 were carried on in her new situation. But she had not 
 yet forgotten the reproofs given her by her cousins ; and 
 perceiving them all to be just, she was oppressed with so 
 deep a sense of shame as nothing could enable her to
 
 THE LADY OF THE MANOR. 41 
 
 shake off; neither could she become in any degree re- 
 conciled to herself. 
 
 While her mind was in this state, several old-fashioned 
 religious books, which were lying in the window of the 
 parlour at the farm-hruse, drew her attention. These 
 were, Law's Serious Call, Nelson's Fasts and Festivals, 
 The Ladies' Calling, Fordyce's Sermons for Young Wo- 
 men, and other books of the same complexion, in which 
 the forms and duties of religion are set forth more plain- 
 ly than its doctrines. These she first took up for want 
 of other occupation, and presently became so much en- 
 gaged by them, as to feel an eager desire excited in her 
 heart to regulate her future conduct by the strict rules 
 laid down by their authors. " I have lost my character," 
 she said to herself, " :n the eyes of my relations, and I 
 will endeavour to retrieve it. I will, on my return to 
 D , exhibit such an example of strict attention to re- 
 ligion, discretion, and propriety, as shall utterly oblite- 
 rate my past follies from the mind of Mrs. HoUoway and 
 her daughters. I have fouLd (young as I am) nothing 
 but shame and mortification in the ways of pleasure : I 
 will now seek happiness In those of religion. I will re- 
 pent, and become pious. I will dress after the manner 
 of the excellent Miranda in Law's Serious Call; and I 
 will bestow all I can spare on the poor." 
 
 By the time Louisa had formed all these good resolu- 
 tions, she was, in her own opinion, truly converted, and 
 changed (if such a term may be allowed ) into an accom- 
 plished saint. Moreover, even during her short resi- 
 dence in the country, she multiplied her observances and 
 forms of devotion, until she became actually perplexed 
 and distressed with the self-imposed burden. In the 
 mean time, the three months which were destined for the 
 country passed away, and Mrs. Staunton and her niece 
 returned to the town. 
 
 When these ladies arrived from the country, they found 
 but little change among their old neighbours, excepting 
 that Dr. Holloway's family were become better known, 
 and had, in consequence of the handsome manner in which 
 they lived, and the neat and elegant entertainments which 
 they gave, acquired an influence in society, which tended 
 in some degree to reform the style of manners in the town. 
 Althousrh Dr. Holloway himself never joined in cards or 
 ~E 3
 
 42 THE LADY OF THE MANOR. 
 
 dancing, yet he permitted both to his family, and even 
 insisted that his lady and the young people should attend 
 the public assemblies, in order to act as a check, by their 
 presence, on any indecorums which might otherwise take 
 place. At the same time, he insisted, that they should 
 also be extremely observant of all the forms of religion, 
 and on no common occasion absent themselves from pub- 
 lic worship. 
 
 In consequence of this mode of conduct. Dr. Holloway 
 was become a great favourite in the parish, and was held 
 up as a pattern of all that was proper in a parish-priest: 
 for the views of people at that time were not so clear on 
 many subjects as they now are. Mrs. HoUowciy and her 
 daughters were also considered as bright examples of 
 Christian piety, on account of their occasional charities, 
 and scrupulous observance of the exterior forms of reli- 
 gion ; although they were as completely in the world as 
 it was possible for people to be. 
 
 This being the case, it was not thought singular, v, hen 
 the bishop of the diocese gave notice of his intention to 
 hold a confirmation in the doctor's parish, that the same 
 gentleman, who but lately had been giving his sanction 
 to public amusements of the most worldly kind, should 
 now exhort the youth of his flock to a serious prepara- 
 tion for confirmation — pressing upon them, from the pul- 
 pit, the duty of repentance ; and expaiiating, at the same 
 time, with apparent earnestness, on the iniportance of the 
 baptismal vow which they were about to take upon 
 themselves by the solemn rite of confirmation. Such as 
 did not understand the spiritual nature of religion could 
 not be supposed competent to form a just judgment of 
 these inconsistencies in the character of their pastor. 
 They therefore took all his exhortations in good part ; 
 while the parents and teachers pressed upon their chil- 
 dren and pupils a more close observance of forms of wor- 
 ship, to which partial change in their conduct they gave 
 the name of repentance : thus heaping error upon error, 
 and setting up self-righteousness in the place of humility. 
 
 It was just at this crisis, and when this work of self- 
 deception was at its height, that Miss Harley and her 
 aunt returned to their winter residence ; where Louisa 
 now found much cause of exultation, in the persuasion of 
 her having already carried to what she imagined a con-
 
 THE LADY OF THE MANOR. 43 
 
 siderable degree of perfection that work of repentance 
 and amendment of life, which her young companions were 
 just about to commence. For this young lady, finding 
 herself able to talk fluently upon the forms of religion, 
 and in a capacity to observe, in some degree, the duties 
 of self-denial and alms-giving, as well as certain stated 
 seasons of prayer and reading, she believed herself not 
 only fit for confirmation, but for heaven itself; it never 
 once occurring to her that more than this Mas necessary 
 in order to render the sinner meet for acceptance with 
 God. 
 
 This apparent change in Louisa's character was soon 
 observed by her neighbours, and presently obtained the 
 approbation of Dr. and Mrs. Holloway — although they, 
 after awhile, deducted a little from their praises of their 
 young cousin, upon finding that, with the enthusiasm 
 natural to her constitution, she had begun to carry her 
 religious observances and works of charity to a degree 
 which threatened to throw their own more discreet and 
 cautious proceedings into the shade. For whereas Dr. 
 and Mrs. Holloway made it their continual object to 
 unite the world and their religion together, Louisa, in the 
 height of her zeal, cast the world from her in disdain, 
 rejected all public amusements, and threw aside her 
 showy ornaments, seeming resolved, by her laborious 
 attentions to the poor, and her strict observance of every 
 religious duty, to seize upon heaven by violence. 
 
 For some weeks before confirmation, and for many 
 months afterwards, she refused to enter into company, 
 was seen duly at church on every occasion of public wor- 
 ship, and dressed with the utmost attention to economy, 
 in order to have the more to devote to the schools she 
 patronized, and to the poor widows whom she assisted. 
 
 It is proper here to remark, that many who have after- 
 wards been brought into a real and happy acquaintance 
 with God, have, like the young lady in question, previ- 
 ously endeavoured to secure their salvation by their own 
 exertions ; though it must, at the same time, be carefully 
 noted, that the true work of conversion never begins until 
 the sinner is brought to cast away his own righteousness, 
 and to seek that of the Saviour. But we shall ha\ e oc- 
 casion hereafter to point out that God the Spirit is the 
 Author of man's regeneration aud sanctification, and that
 
 44 THE LADY OF THE MANOR. 
 
 these sacred operations invariably commence in divesting 
 the sinner of self-confidence, and directing him wholly 
 to Christ. 
 
 As yet however there were no marks of such a change 
 having taken place in the views or feelings of Louisa 
 Harley. Her confidence in herself was never higher than 
 after she had become more strictly observant of external 
 duties. And although she knew the name of Christ, and 
 was become better acquainted than formerly with the 
 letter of the Scripture ; yet the Spirit had never revealed 
 the Lord Jesus to her as a Saviour, without whose assist- 
 ance she must utterly perish. Her religion, therefore, 
 was as yet nothing more than a form without life, nor 
 her profession any thing better than sounding brass or a 
 tinkling cymbal. — But to proceed with our story. 
 
 The confirmation above spoken of took place at the 
 time appointed ; and from that period, for more than a 
 year and a half, Louisa Harley maintained so fair a pro- 
 fession, that she was pointed out by many as an exam- 
 ple of all that was excellent in the female character: 
 while the modest simplicity of her dress, the smiling and 
 sparkling beauty of her countenance, together with her 
 uncommonly elegant and graceful person, tended not a 
 little to raise her in the general opinion. 
 
 In the mean time things were so ordered, that Louisa 
 was assailed by none of those powerful temptations which 
 usually serve to open the eyes of young professors to the 
 deficiency of their own strength. Her lively and active 
 spirit was much engaged in a round of charitable works : 
 and it so happened, that, although much adm.ired by 
 those of the other sex who had any knowledge of her, 
 yet no one in the town had hitherto appeared of suffi- 
 cient consequence to attract her attention. And thus, 
 though inwardly conscious that she was seldom seen 
 without being admired, the vanity which this admiration 
 excited had not been stimulating enough to discompose 
 or derange her usually calm and graceful deportment, 
 or even on any occasion to excite her spirits above their 
 ordinary pitch. In this manner she for a while main- 
 tained her serene and even course, as little aware of the 
 hidden evil lurking within, as the child v»'ho lays his 
 hand on the cockatrice' den. 
 
 At this period, the little town in which Louisa dwelt
 
 THE LADY OF THE MANOR. 45 
 
 was suddenly thrown into some degree of agitation, by 
 the arrival of a party of foot-soldiers ; and this accession 
 of the gay and the giddy became a signal for the revival 
 of those public amusements, which had lately consider- 
 ably languished. Louisa was now again solicited to join 
 the fashionable parties of the place: but it required 
 something more than the solicitations of her former com- 
 panions, or the flattering reports which they gave her 
 of their agreeable meetings, to tempt her to relinquish 
 that on which she had so long prided herself, and upon 
 which she had even built her views of future happiness, 
 namely, her renunciation of public amusements. She 
 therefore held back, and was, in consequence, much more 
 respected by the strangers then sojourning in the town, 
 than those females who pressed confidently upon their 
 notice. 
 
 Among the gentlemen who composed the officers of 
 this corps were two of whom I shall have some occasion 
 to speak in the course of my narrative. One of these 
 was a Captain Vivian, a genteel and agreeable young 
 man, and one who passed well in the world, being a per- 
 son of family and of some fortune, though otherwise an 
 ordinary character. The other, whom we shall describe 
 more largely, was a lieutenant, by name Cecil Gray, the 
 son of a lady of quality, who had married a respectable 
 gentleman, and early become a widow. This young man 
 had not a large fortune ; but he possessed many qualities, 
 in comparison with which the gifts of fortune, or even 
 the exterior charms of person and manner, are only as 
 dust in the balance. Cecil Gray was decidedly pious, 
 and had been so from his chilahood ; and, even in the 
 unpromising situation of a military man, he was enabled 
 to preserve that rare and beautiful consistency of cha- 
 racter, which they only possess who walk in the strength 
 of Him with whom there is no variableness nor shadow 
 of turning. 
 
 After having said thus much of this young man, it 
 would be but a poor finishing to the picture to add, that 
 his manners were not merely courteous, but highly po- 
 lished, and his exterior strikingly handsome, did not 
 these very circumstances afford an opportunity of shew- 
 ing the strength of that grace by which he was enabled 
 to resist the allurements of vanity, and to retain his
 
 46 THE LADY OF THE MANOR. 
 
 Christian simplicity in a situation of more than ordinary 
 exposure to the flatteries of the world. This young man 
 did not arrive at D — — till his brother oflicers, by a re- 
 sidence of some weeks had made themselves acquainted 
 with the physiognomies of most of those who were wor- 
 thy of regard in the town; and it happened, that the 
 very day after his arrival, as he was passing through an 
 obscure street in the suburbs, with Captain Vivian, he 
 saw Louisa Harley for the first time, who was walking 
 simply dressed, and with a basket in her hand, among 
 the shabby houses of the poor. 
 
 Captain Vivian having stopped to speak with a private 
 soldier under an old gateway, Cecil Gray, who was thus 
 left unoccupied, had opportunity of marking the young 
 lady, as she passed from one house to another; till 
 having at length accomplished her business, and turning 
 towards home, she approached the gateway which lay 
 in her road. 
 
 There was a remarkable ease and dignity, as I have 
 before said, in Louisa Harley's manner, and a sweetness 
 of countenance which could scarcely escape the eye of 
 a discerning observer. As soon as she had passed by, 
 and was not yet out of hearing, Cecil Gray enquired of 
 his companion her name, remarking that he had seldom 
 seen so fine a face, or a deportment more modest and 
 graceful. 
 
 It is not necessary to repeat Captain Vivian's reply ; 
 it being more to our purpose to describe the effect of 
 Cecil Gray's remark upon the mind of Louisa, who had 
 distinctly heard all he said, though it was not intended 
 that she should. The praise bestowed on her by this 
 elegant stranger was not without its effect: and she re- 
 turned home in such a state of elation, that when her 
 aunt put into her hand a card of invitation to spend the 
 next evening at Dr. Holloway's, she resolved to go, al- 
 though a few lines at the end of the formal card, added 
 by Miss HoUoway, suggested the idea that a little dance 
 was intended, as several of the military were ex)>ected. 
 
 Thus passed away all the good resolutions of Louisa 
 Harley, and thus she cancelled with little effort all those 
 shining merits upon which she had grounded so much 
 confidence; and all with the hope of again beholding 
 the young stranger upon whom her appearance had made
 
 THE LADY OF THE MANOR. 47 
 
 SO favourable an impression — manifestly proving that 
 she had acted throughout like the man who built his 
 house on the sand, and whose work being without foun- 
 dation, fell with the first blast of wind that assailed it. 
 
 I will not say that Louisa Harley had not some unplea- 
 sant feelings while taking out her long neglected orna- 
 ments in order to decorate herself, as she supposed, to 
 the best advantage for the evening party. But it may 
 easily be supposed, that these feelings partook more of 
 the nature of shame, and the fear of being charged with 
 inconsistency, after her many and vehement professions 
 of renouncing the world, than of any thing like real re- 
 gret ; since any degree of sincere regret would have led 
 her to reject the forbidden pleasure, before she had 
 tasted of its poisonous sweets. — But I leave these reflec- 
 tions, and proceed to give an account of the entertain- 
 ment at Dr. Holloway's. 
 
 When Mrs. Staunton and Louisa were ushered into the 
 capacious drawing-room at the rectory, they found it 
 filled with a large assembly of young and old persons, 
 among whom however Louisa could see none but the 
 gentleman whose voice she had heard speaking in her 
 praise under the archway. And she was not sorry, on 
 being led to a chair, to find herself seated close by this 
 gentleman and his companion Captain Vivian, both of 
 whom soon found means to be introduced to her. 
 
 Louisa Harley had naturally much penetration into 
 character ; but this evening, being blinded by vanity, and 
 agitated by various feelings, she did not distinguish the 
 different manners of the two gentlemen, who kept by her 
 side from her first entering the room; neither did she 
 remark that Mr. Cecil Gray did not join in the common 
 rattle with which Captain Vivian entertained her. 
 
 When tea was concluded, and the company began to 
 move in order to dance, Louisa's heart began to beat. 
 She had made a frequent and strong outcry against dan- 
 cing, even in the presence of many then in the room : yet 
 she now very much wished to dance, and hoped that Mr. 
 Gray would select her as a partner — but she was disap- 
 pointed. Captain Vivian asked her, and, after a mo- 
 ment's hesitation, she rose up with him. And now, what 
 with the exhilarating eff'ect of the music, and the eagerness 
 which many shewed to obtain her hand, together with
 
 48 THE LADY OF THE MANOR. 
 
 the compliments, direct and indirect, which she received 
 from others, Louisa Harley's spirits were exceedingly 
 elevated, especially as she hoped that Mr. Gray would 
 request to dance with her when she had performed her 
 present engagement — but she was again mistaken. When 
 the party, after two dances, sat down to rest, she looked 
 round, and not seeing Mr. Gray in the room, she com- 
 plained of heat, refused to dance any more, and stole 
 into another room where her aunt and certain other old 
 ladies were set down to whist. Thither she was followed 
 by Captain Vivian, and there, placing herself in a small 
 Settee near a bow window which opened into the garden, 
 she remained listening to the trilling discourse of that 
 gentleman, till Mr. Cecil Gray, who had been walking in 
 the garden, came up to the window, and addressing him- 
 self to Louisa, would have engaged her in conversation 
 of a somewhat more rational kind than that with which 
 his brother officer was endeavouring to amuse her, had 
 not her own exuberance of spirits converted all he said, 
 if not into folly, into something very far from sense ; vani- 
 ty still blinding her to the real character and taste of the 
 young man with whom she conversed. 
 
 It is the opinion of many, that the man who wears a 
 sword must be a man of little depth, whereas the experi- 
 ence of those who ought to know, has lately proved that 
 some of the excellent of the earth are now, as in old time, 
 numbered among those who devote their lives to the 
 service of their country ; and perhaps there is no situa- 
 tion in which true piety appears with such lustre, as 
 when it discovers itself amid all the unfavourable circum- 
 stances of a military life. 
 
 Had Louisa Harley known that such characters were 
 sometimes found in the army, she might perhaps have 
 been spared the mortification which she afterwards felt 
 in recollecting the levity which she betrayed in the pre- 
 sence of Mr. Cecil Gray. But those who deviate from 
 the way they approve, in order to secure some present 
 gratification, most frequently run into mistakes which 
 prevent the very end for which that deviation was made. 
 Had Louisa firmly adhered to the simple course she had 
 pursued for some months before, her chance of pleasing 
 Cecil Gray would not have been utterly destroyed, as it 
 was by the levity she displayed in his presence, when
 
 THE LADY OF THE MANOR. 49 
 
 abandoning the conduct she secretly approved, in order 
 to enjoy his society. 
 
 After the conversation at the windov»' before mention- 
 ed, Louisa saw no more of Cecil Gray. He did not ap- 
 pear at the supper-table, from which she arose fatigued 
 and dissatisfied with herself. 
 
 The next day Cecil Gray was asked by Captain Vivian, 
 how he liked Miss Louisa Harley ? 
 
 *' She is a lovely young woman," replied the lieutenant. 
 
 " This is a 2:reat deal for you to say, Cecil," remarked 
 the other. " You have long been seeking a wife. Where 
 can your choice rest better than in this place? " 
 
 " You mistake me,'' said INIr. Gray ; " I have never 
 had any thoughts of the kind." 
 
 " Are you then determined never to marry?" 
 
 " No," said Cecil Gray ; " I have made no resolution 
 of the kind. And, since you question me so closely, I 
 will plainly tell you, that I wish to leave all concerns of 
 this sort in the hand of Providence." 
 
 ** Very good," said Captain Vivian ; ** but what do you 
 expiect Providence to do more for you, than to put a love- 
 ly young woman of good family in your way ? And where 
 will you see any thing superior to Louisa Harley 1 " 
 
 " In no place, perhaps," said Cecil Gray ; " and yet I 
 should not dare to venture my happiness in her hands." 
 
 " And why not?" returned Captain Vivian. 
 
 Cecil Gray smiled ; but there was a sorrowful expres- 
 sion in the smile. He however remained silent, till Cap- 
 tain Vivian pressing him again, he replied, " To speak 
 the truth, I must have a serious wife, Vivian. I dare not 
 trust myself with a woman who does not answer this de- 
 scription." 
 
 *' Serious!" repeated the other, laughing, "what do 
 you mean by serious? Do you mean religious? I have 
 heard that Louisa Harley is the most religious young 
 woman in the town." 
 
 *' It may be so," said Cecil Gray ; ** but let us call an- 
 other subject. Miss Harley has my respect and admira- 
 tion ; and perhaps it would be presumptuous to suppose 
 that she would think of me were I to offer myself." Thus 
 the conversation ceased ; and from that time Cecil Gray 
 never mentioned Miss Harley in the presence of his bro- 
 ther-officers. 
 
 VOL. I. F
 
 50 THE LADY OF THE MANOR. 
 
 The detachment remained some months in D , but 
 
 Cecil Gray was not with them the whole time. It being 
 reported that the corps would probably soon go abroad, 
 he asked leave of absence, for the purpose of visiting his 
 mother ; after which he was ordered into the north, on the 
 recruiting-service, and did not rejoin his regiment while 
 it remained in England, nor for some time afterwards. 
 
 But to return to Louisa Harley. The day after the un- 
 fortunate assembly at Dr. Holloway's, she was in com- 
 pany where the remarkably fine character of Cecil Gray 
 was made the subject of discourse by a person who knew 
 his mother, and had been acquainted with him from a 
 child : and then, and not till then, was Louisa made sen- 
 sible of the folly and levity of her conduct on the prece- 
 ding day. She then recollected his disinclination to join 
 in the dance, and his repeated efforts to draw her into 
 rational conversation. She remembered also, with an 
 inconceivable degree of shame and vexation, the vanity 
 and lightness of her own behaviour, together with her 
 deviation from those rules of conduct which she had laid 
 down for herself and pursued for so many months with 
 increasing comfort and advantage. And recalling to 
 mind, amid these distressing recollections, the characters 
 of Law's Miranda, Richardson's Clarissa, and other fa- 
 bulous patterns of self-derived perfection, she could not 
 forbear asking herself, *' Why cannot I do as these did? 
 what is it that causes me to fall thus grievously when 
 tempted? or why cannot I conduct myself as Mr. Gray 
 does ? Why cannot I resist temptation as he does ? What 
 peculiar weakness is there in me, which causes me to 
 make such grievous falls whenever I am placed in a state 
 of trial ? " In this manner she often reasoned with herself, 
 till she found that Cecil Gray had actually left the town ; 
 when she again renounced all society, formed new rules 
 and regulations for her conduct, and made new efforts 
 to establish her own righteousness. 
 
 As long as this young lady's shame and depression of 
 spirits continued, all seemed to go on well: but the spi- 
 rits of youth are buoyant, and the sense of shame from 
 natural causes soon passes away. In a few weeks after 
 Cecil Gray's departure, Louisa Harley began to smile 
 again ; and as she no longer made the same efforts to con- 
 ceal herself from society, as during her dejected state of
 
 THE LADY OF THE MANOR. 61 
 
 mind, Captain Vivian found means not only to introduce 
 himself to the aunt, but even to ingratiate himself so far 
 with the niece, that, after a due period of courtship, she 
 consented to become his wife ; contrary to many resolu- 
 tions which she had formed, of never marrying a man 
 who was not decidedly religious. 
 
 But, as I have before said, Louisa Harley's religion 
 was a religion of form ; it had little to do with the heart. 
 There was no divine strength imparted by it to the mind 
 of its possessor; and though it might have some little 
 effect in influencing the conduct where the affections were 
 not concerned, it was utterly powerless when engaged in 
 a contest with the passions, leaving the character entirely 
 in its original state, the will unsubdued, the reason dark, 
 and the imagination without control. 
 
 The first six weeks of Louisa's marriage were spent with 
 her husband in her aunt's lodgings in the country, where 
 the new married pair beguiled the time with rural walks, 
 and other such pastimes. But at the end of this period 
 the regiment was suddenly ordered to the coast previous 
 to its embarkation for a foreign country, which proved 
 to be the East Indies ; in consequence of which Louisa 
 was at once plunged into all the hurry and confusion in- 
 cident to a military life. 
 
 And now the character of this young lady was called 
 to a new and severe test. There was little opportunity 
 in a crowded and noisy lodging at Portsmouth, for the 
 observance of any one of those forms of religion, to which 
 she had hitherto attended with so much accuracy. There 
 were indeed places of public worship in the town ; but 
 sometimes she had difficulty to learn the hours of divine 
 service, and at other times, when she was just prepared 
 to make her way through streets full of drunken sailors 
 to a remote church, she was not unfrequently prevented 
 by the coming in of her husband from the barracks with 
 a party of his friends, calling in haste for a barrel of 
 oysters or a mutton chop, and at the same time requiring 
 his wife to sit down at the head of her table and assist 
 in entertaining his companions. 
 
 Compared with this kind of life, even the cabin of an 
 East India-man was peaceful ; and Louisa was not sorry 
 when she found herself settled in such a cabin as a 
 crowded vessel could afford, in which all the convenient 
 
 LIBRARY '"---'^ — ^-
 
 62 THE LADY OF THE MANOR. 
 
 berths had been engrossed by passengers, before the 
 destination of the regiment was known. 
 
 During a live months' voyage from England to Bengal, 
 Mr. and Mrs. Vivian had opportunity of seeing more of 
 each other, than twenty years' residence in a quiet coun- 
 try town would have afforded them. 
 
 While under probation for the favour of Louisa, and 
 while the first fervour of his affection lasted, amid the 
 calm delights of their residence in the country, Captain 
 Vivian very cheerfully acquiesced in all the religious forms 
 which his wife thought it necessary to observe. But af- 
 ter their embarkation on board the East India-man, he 
 was never without an excuse as often as she pressed him 
 to the serious duties of reading or prayer. On these 
 occasions he regularly made his escape from the cabin, 
 generally indeed with a playful air, but sometimes with 
 a surliness of manner which excited considerable irrita- 
 tion in Louisa's mind, and led her frequently to address 
 him not only as an avowed enemy of religion, but as one 
 in a state of hopeless reprobation. These improper 
 attacks on her part made the subject of religion more 
 hateful to him than ever; for although he knew not what 
 true religion was, yet he knew well enough what it ought 
 not to be: so that when his wife assailed him upon the 
 subject, he frequently told her, that he believed he had 
 as much true religion as she had ; adding, that if her 
 piety did not teach her the duty she owed her husband, 
 he considered it as of very little use. 
 
 It may be supposed that Louisa, who was naturally 
 sweet tempered, had been considerably provoked before 
 she began to reproach her husband with s^o much bitter- 
 ness as to draw upon herself such unqualified censure: 
 but the false views of religion which she had so long en- 
 tertained were precisely such as administer most largely 
 to the natural pride of man's heart, rendering him un- 
 charitable to his fellow-creatures, and abundantly more 
 prone to condemn than to conciliate his opposers. He 
 that has just views of religion knows his own depravity ; 
 and if he is made to differ from anotiier, he knows to 
 whom alone the glory is due: so that without taking any 
 •credit to himself on any occasion, his heart is habitually 
 drawn out in love toward the sinner he reproves, even 
 while he shrinks with horror from the pollution of sin.
 
 THE LADY OF THE MANOR. 53 
 
 In this uncomfortable manner did these youn^ people 
 pass their time, during the first few weeks of their resi- 
 dence on board ship. 
 
 In the mean while, the vessel was tossed about in the 
 Bay of Biscay by adverse winds. At length, however, 
 entering into a finer climate, the female passengers were 
 enabled to appear more frequently in public, and the 
 society on board became more lively. 
 
 Louisa Harley's mind, as we have before remarked, was 
 always strongly affected by the passing scene ; and on 
 this occasion she became so entirely occupied by her new 
 companions, that, before she was aware of any change in 
 her habits, she had for a considerable time omitted all 
 her usual forms of devotion : nor can it be told how long 
 this omission might have escaped her own observation, 
 had not her husband one day awakened her to some com- 
 punction, by complimenting her upon the change which 
 had taken place in her character, assuring her, that she 
 was become infinitely more agreeable since she had ceas- 
 ed to be a religious persecutor. This remark, though not 
 intended to produce such an effect, occasioned some lit- 
 tle revival of her pious feelings : but it was of no dura- 
 tion, the lively company by which she was surrounded 
 very soon engrossing her attention again; insomuch that 
 upon her landing in India, she was as eager to partake 
 of its pleasures and gaieties as any person attached to 
 the regiment. 
 
 As Fort- William, which is the station for troops at 
 Calcutta, was completely full when the regiment arrived 
 in India, it was immediately put in boats on the Hoog- 
 ley, and sent up the country to a beautiful situation in 
 the province of Behar, called Ghazepoor. This station 
 is surrounded by fields of roses, whose delightful odours 
 perfume all the neighbouring country during the season 
 of their bloom. 
 
 Ghazepoor stands on a high bank of the Ganges. In 
 this place, over an extensive plain, are scattered many 
 bungalows for officers and other gentlemen resident in 
 the station, with several ranges of barracks for soldiers. 
 The country around is generally flat, abounding in corn 
 plantations, beautifully diversified with groves of mangoe 
 and tamarind, together with fine specimens of the pepul, 
 a tree which is held sacred bv the superstitious nativesi
 
 54 THE LADY OF THE MANOR. 
 
 on account of a remarkable trembling and rustling among 
 its leaves, which continues even during those intervals 
 when not the smallest breath of air is observed to agitate 
 the leaf of any other plant. 
 
 When arrived at this station, Captain Vivian speedily 
 procured a handsome house, where he established his fa- 
 mily in the utmost luxury which his ample pay would af- 
 ford. He supplied himself with carriages of various de- 
 scriptions, entertained as many as thirty servants, and 
 furnished his house not merely as the resident of a day, 
 but as one who had the probable certainty of finishing 
 his course upon earth in that place of his sojourn. 
 
 I have no doubt but that ray reader will be*anxious to 
 know how Louisa conducted herself in this new situation, 
 and whether her former religious profession produced 
 any effect on her present conduct, now that she was ex- 
 cluded from all the ordinary means of grace : for there 
 was no place of worship at that time in Ghazepoor, nor 
 for hundreds of miles round ; and few perhaps of the 
 English inhabitants of the place had even so much as a 
 copy of the word of God in their possession. 1 am sorry 
 to say, and yet it is perhaps no more than might be ex- 
 pected, that Mrs. Vivian, although she not unfrequently 
 expressed her regret at the want of a place of public wor- 
 ship, acquiesced nevertheless very quietly in that defici- 
 ency — and, what is still more, so thoroughly was she en- 
 gaged by the new mode of life upon which she had en- 
 tered, that for some time she never felt the need of those 
 religious observances which had once formed the occu- 
 pation of her life. 
 
 It may hereafter be made to appear still more plainly 
 than has hitherto been done, that Louisa had never yet 
 discovered in what true religion consists, nor had ever 
 been made sensible of its real influence ; and that hence 
 she was enabled to rest contented without those empty 
 forms, from which she had in vain endeavoured to obtain 
 satisfaction. Thus much however is certain, that, after 
 her arrival in India, and on being introduced to a situa- 
 tion in which she Mas absolutely excluded from the ap- 
 pointed means of divine worship and instruction, she 
 yielded without a struggle to existing circumstances, be- 
 coming altogether as lax in her priv^iie as she was com- 
 pelled to be in her public habits of devotion : and being
 
 THE LADY OF THE MANOR. 55 
 
 at the same time attracted by the new objects which 
 surrounded her, as well as amused by the novel forms of 
 Indian life, she shortly became as complete a votary of 
 the world, as any of those ladies of her acquaintance 
 who had never taken up a religious profession. 
 
 Her husband speedily observed this change in her ha- 
 bits, though he refrained from making any remarks upon 
 it; because, as her religion had formerly proved a source 
 of discord between them, he feared to revive the recollec- 
 tion of circumstances which had left no other than dis- 
 agreeable impressions on his mind. He was, however, 
 not a little delighted to see her set free from what he call- 
 ed her superstitious prejudices, and discovering a state 
 of mind more conformable to the maxims of the world. 
 
 As the mode of life adopted by European ladies in In- 
 dia is but little understood in England, we shall here give 
 a description of the manner in which Mrs. Vivian passed 
 her time at the period of which we are speaking. She 
 resided in a large house, elegantly furnished according to 
 the prevailing custom of the country, the floors of the 
 apartments being covered with fine matting, and the 
 walls adorned with glass shades for lamps, or burnished 
 sconces. 
 
 In her new residence more than thirty native servants 
 were always ready to obey her call, and every variety of 
 carriage was provided to carry her abroad, either before 
 sun-rise in the morning, or in the evening at the hour of 
 sun-set. It was seldom, however, that Mrs. Vivian used 
 her carriages in a morning ; because, although she rose 
 early, she generally spent the hours while her husband 
 attended his duty, in studiously and tastefully arraying 
 herself for appearing at breakfast : at which early meal 
 a large party of officers seldom failed to attend, being as 
 much attracted by the lively conversation of the lady of 
 the house as by the hospitable and elegant repast with 
 which the table was set forth. 
 
 In this manner, and in such company, Mrs. Vivian 
 wasted the only hours of the day, which in those burn- 
 ing climates can well be devoted to active duties. And 
 when the heat became oppressive, which generally hap- 
 pens during the greater part of the year about nine 
 o'clock, she withdrew to her own apartments, where, 
 extended on a sofa, she idled away the remainder of the
 
 66 THE LADY OF THE MANOR. 
 
 morning in giving directions to her tailors, looking over 
 her clothes, or reading some amusing book. At one 
 o'clock she was called again into company, this being the 
 hour of luncheon ; and it was considered as an extraor- 
 dinary thing if several strangers did not drop in about 
 that time. The hours of the afternoon were again devot- 
 ed to lounging, sleep, and dressing ; after which, Mrs. 
 Vivian took the air in one of her carriages, generally fi- 
 nishing the day in some large public party, among whom 
 she shone forth superbly dressed, with a bloom superior 
 to that of every other lady present, being naturally hand- 
 some, and from her recent arrival in that country still 
 bearing on her lips and cheeks some remains of that 
 freshness, which a few years' residence in India infalli- 
 bly destroys. 
 
 Thus passed the first twelvemonth of Mrs. Vivian's re- 
 sidence in India, during the greater part of which she ap- 
 peared to be in one continued dream of pleasure. But 
 as the novelty of the scene wore away, and as she became 
 accustomed to her many attendants, her numerous car- 
 riages, and her variety of superb dresses, an inexpressi- 
 ble degree of listlessness and languor, increased by the 
 depressing effect of the climate, succeeded to the high 
 flow of spirits she had so long experienced. And in ad- 
 dition to this, a prospect being now held out to her of 
 becoming a mother, she suddenly withdrew herself from 
 company, pleading her health as an excuse ; when with 
 the same enthusiasm of character which marked her on 
 all occasions, she devoted herself to making the most 
 elegant preparations for the reception of the expected 
 little stranger. 
 
 As Louisa did not insist upon her husband confining 
 himself with her, and as she was cheerful whenever he 
 met her at home, he did not interfere with this new ar- 
 rangement, especially since she made it appear to him 
 that it was necessary to her health : and thus she was 
 left at full liberty to indulge this new dream of happi- 
 ness, which became the more dangerous, inasmuch as it 
 was so much more interesting than the one from which 
 she had just awoke. 
 
 There is nothing more affecting than to see the unre- 
 generate warmly pursuing one unsubstantial appearance 
 of happiness after another, and, though subject to con-
 
 THE LADY OF THE MANOR. 57 
 
 tinual and certain disappointment, again and again re- 
 newing the pursuit in new directions, untaught by expe- 
 rience, and wholly incapable either of comprehending the 
 reason of those failures which are constantly experienced, 
 or of drawing from them any profitable instruction. But 
 to return to Louisa. 
 
 The child so earnestly desired, and so carefully pro- 
 vided for before its birth, at length arrived. It was a 
 daughter, and was singularly lovely. 
 
 Examples of great human beauty are rare ; but when 
 they do appear, they afford the most attractive sample of 
 the divine power and workmanship : for what are the fi- 
 nest inanimate beauties of creation, when compared with 
 the intellectual glory of the human eye, the exquisite 
 proportion of human features, together with the delicate 
 and varying tints and turns' of ^Ae human face divine! 
 
 In the infant Louisa all these charms were united. 
 Whether she was seen reposing in her cradle in innocent 
 sleep, or hanging on her mother's breast, her exquisite 
 beauty excited the admiration of all who beheld her ; so 
 that the pride and maternal love of Mrs. Vivian were 
 equally gratified by the possession of such a child. 
 
 But, not to dwell too long on this subject, I will brief- 
 ly say, that from the time of this dear infant's birth Mrs. 
 Vivian became wholly captivated by its lovely aspect and 
 its endearing behaviour. She now almost entirely shut 
 herself up in her nursery ; and if at any time she went 
 out in her carriage or open palanquin, her baby was 
 upon her lap. She carried it about the house in her 
 arms ; she slept with it in her bosom ; she dressed and 
 fed it with her own hands; and, in fact, it seemed to 
 absorb her every faculty. 
 
 From the time of her ceasing to go out with her hus- 
 band, he had acquired the habit of visiting alone, and of 
 going much into gentlemen's parties ; and, though he 
 was not unkind to his wife, yet her company became less 
 and less necessary to his happiness. Mrs. Vivian how- 
 ever, being wrapped up in her child, did not so much 
 regret this neglect, since it had the effect of more and 
 more endearing the little infant to her heart, who was at 
 all times ready to greet her with its gentle smiles, ex- 
 tending its little arms towards her, and joyfully spring- 
 ing to her bosom.
 
 58 THE LADY OF THE MANOR. 
 
 Louisa was living in a foreign land, in which she had 
 as yet formed no friendships : she had not even a ser- 
 vant of her own country to speak to ; and her husband 
 was constantly abroad. Thus every circumstance con- 
 spired to attach her more and more to her captivating 
 companion ; while she sweetly yielded to that in which 
 she suspected nothing wrong, and gave up her undivid- 
 ed heart to the little fair one. 
 
 Thus one year and a half passed away, and the lovely 
 baby was just able to walk after its mother, and to make 
 some of its little feelings known in such lisping accents 
 as mothers only understand, when one evening, after 
 Mrs. Vivian's return from her airing, which sh6 had tak- 
 en as usual in her open palanquin with the child on her 
 lap, and during which she had been particularly delight- 
 ed with the endearing manner of the infant, she was sud- 
 denly alarmed at the hour of going to rest by certain in- 
 dications of fever about her darhng, the danger of which 
 she too well understood. 
 
 She sent in haste for medical assistance. Remedies 
 were instantly applied ; but they had no effect in stop- 
 ping the swift and deadly march of the disease, which 
 proceeded with such dreadful rapidity, that in less than 
 eight-and-forty hours the little beloved one breathed its 
 last, and left its mother inconsolable. Behold here the 
 time and the occasion, which were to prove whether 
 there was aught of real religion in Louisa Vivian or not. 
 She was entering the furnace of affliction — a fiery fur- 
 nace, in which the stoutest human heart could not but 
 fail; and it now became evident that she had no source 
 of consolation within herself, but that her soul was left 
 without an anchor whereon to rely during the storm 
 which assailed her. 
 
 For some weeks after the death of her infant, her grief 
 was violent, and almost frantic : but as her husband him- 
 self felt very deeply the loss of his child, he shewed the 
 utmost indulgence to her feelings, and really treated her 
 with all the tenderness of which he was capable. But 
 when week after week passed away, and she still refused 
 all comfort, he became displeased'; and arguing with her 
 according to the common modes of worldly comfort, he 
 pleaded, that, severe as their trial was, it was nothing 
 more than the ordinary lot of parents, who seldom have
 
 THE LADY OF THE MANOR. 59 
 
 the satisfaction of seeing all their children grow up to 
 maturity, and that it behoved her to bear this affliction 
 with fortitude, as a duty she owed both to him and to 
 society : adding, that he hoped she would endeavour to 
 shake off her grief, and go out among her friends. 
 
 These common-place arguments, however kindly in- 
 tended, rather irritated than soothed the bereaved mother, 
 who, with a blameable insensibility to the intended kind- 
 ness of her husband, very vehemently opposed the idea 
 of enterins: ao:ain into the world ; assurincr him that she 
 
 9 9 _ _ ' 9 
 
 had never known happiness since she had forsaken reli- 
 gion and a stricter mode of life for earthly pleasures, 
 and that she was now resolved never to enter again into 
 gay society. 
 
 Captain Vivian reasoned with her upon what he termed 
 the folly of this resolution, adding, that he could not see 
 the necessity of such extreme strictness as she had for- 
 merly practised, and assuring her, that, if she did not 
 endeavour to overcome her excessive melancholy, and 
 make his house more agreeable to him than it had lately 
 been, he should certainly be driven from home to seek 
 his happiness elsewhere. 
 
 A vehement charge of cruelty on the part of his wife, 
 and a pathetic call upon her departed infant, was the 
 only reply which Captain Vivian received to this last 
 remark. And as this charge was repeated whenever he 
 made any attempt to persuade her to overcome her ex- 
 cessive grief, he soon ceased to expostulate; and, not 
 being in the habit of putting any restraint upon his own 
 feelings, he thenceforward absented himself as much as 
 possible from home, leaving his unhappy wife to the full 
 indulgence of her wretched feelings. 
 
 They who have never been in foreign countries in a 
 time of affliction can have little idea what sensations of 
 deep abandonment are sometimes experienced in such 
 circumstances. Louisa had made no friends among the 
 ladies in the station — her husband was now continually 
 absent from her — her servants were of another nation, 
 and spoke, an unknown language. Thus was this un- 
 happy woman left through many a long and languid day 
 to the full contemplation of her sorrows ; till, at length, 
 weary of herself and of all the w orld, she determined once 
 again to try religion as a source of comfort — when, re-
 
 60 THE LADY OF THE MANOR. 
 
 memberins: those emotions of self-approbation and satis- 
 faction ^vhich she had enjayed on tirst turning her miud 
 to serious subjects, and not knowing' that youth, and 
 health, and the absence of actual atHictions, had much 
 to do with those frames and feelings, she fancied that it 
 might be possible, by a similar course of duties, to pro- 
 cure to herself a return of the same agreeable sensations. 
 No sooner had she conceived this idea, than her actions 
 received a new spring, and, with the zeal natural to her 
 character, she began to arrange for herself a new set of 
 devotional forms and observances. And, inasmuch as 
 there were no established modes of worship in the can- 
 tonments, she had the wider latitude for exercising her 
 own invention in prescribing to herself a set of rules and 
 customs which she judged would be equivalent to those 
 public ordinances which it was now no longer in her 
 power to attend. 
 
 For a while she found her thoughts somewhat diverted 
 from her loss by these newly imposed duties, which led 
 her to imagine, that by them she should presently make 
 such a merit with her God, that it would become an act 
 of justice in him to afford her consolation. 
 
 Thus she laboured to work out her own happiness; 
 while all her hopes arose, not from what her God could 
 and would do for her, but from what ^he could do for 
 him. She had as yet no faith ; she knew not what it 
 was: and in consequence, after havinq; laboured awhile 
 in this way, rendering herself and her religion agaia 
 very unpleasant to her husband, she at length became 
 weary of her fruitless efforts; and, confessing to herself 
 that all her observances were mere vanities unable to 
 reach the heart, she suddenly relinquished them in dis- 
 gust, sinking again into a state of deep dejection, in 
 which no object had power sufficient to fix her attention 
 but the remembrance of the little angel whom she had 
 lost. 
 
 During the period while her mind was taken up with 
 her religious duties. Captain Vivian had more than once 
 attempted to reason her out of the new mode of life 
 which she had adopted; but his arguments had only 
 given occasion to new quarrels, since she insisted, that 
 in all her observances she did no more than her duty, 
 and that she could entertain no reasonable hope of do-
 
 THE LADY OF THE MANOR. 61 
 
 mestic happiness till he should become her companion in 
 these exercises. 
 
 In consequence of these disagreements, he generally 
 left her to herself, till she began to relax a little in the 
 severity of these forms ; when he again took occasion to 
 press her to go out with him, and so far prevailed, that 
 for several days together she accompanied him to his 
 friends' houses, where she not only appeared cheerful, 
 but was more than once betrayed into a degree of gaiety 
 which, in her situation, almost bordered on levity — some- 
 times laughing immoderately, and at other times appear- 
 ing far from insensible to the admiration which her fine 
 appearance always excited. 
 
 To those who have made but few observations on hu- 
 man nature, the character of Louisa Vivian may perhaps 
 appear one of almost impossible inconsistency ; while 
 others, who have been deeper observers, or who have 
 been much in the habit of looking into their own minds, 
 will acknowledge, that there is no inconsistency of which 
 our nature is not capable ; and that, in fact, there is no 
 character truly established and consistent but that which 
 is influenced and upheld by the immediate power of God 
 himself: according to that which is written. They that 
 wait itpo?i the Lord shall renew their strength ; they shall 
 jnount up with wings as eagles; they shall run and not 
 he weary, they shall walk and not faint. (Isaiah xl. 31.) 
 But to return to my narrative. 
 
 Captain Vivian had hoped that the spirits of his wife 
 would have been essentially benefited by her going into 
 company. But in this view he was mistaken : for, on af- 
 ter reflection, she considered every expression of mirth 
 which had escaped her, as an injury to the memory of 
 her infant ; and this idea operated so strongly upon her 
 mind, and occasioned such a return of deep dejection 
 every morning after being in company, that she at length 
 informed her husband, that it was her determination to 
 go out no more, but to remain at home, and reflect with- 
 out interruption on the happiness she had lost, ** For," 
 added she, " if by going from home, 1 am enabled to 
 throw ofi' my sorrows for a few hours, the sense of them 
 afterwards returns upon me with an additional weight 
 which I am unable to bear." 
 
 This declaration on the part of Mrs. Vivian, which 
 
 VOL. I. G
 
 62 THE LADY OF THE MANOR. 
 
 Avas made one clay with peculiar emphasis at the moment 
 when he was going out to evening parade, made her hus- 
 band extremely angry ; insomuch that he said aloud, as 
 he descended the steps of the verandah to mount his 
 horse, '* Well, take your own way, I shall speak to you 
 no more upon these subjects. If you do not choose to go 
 out with me, I must make up my mind to it ; and this 
 evening I shall go to the mess, where I hope to enjoy 
 the society of Cecil Gray." 
 
 ''Cecil Gray ! " repeated Mrs. Vivian. " Is he arrived 
 in this country?" 
 
 " Yes," replied her husband ; " and I should have 
 told you so before, had I thought any thing ih the world 
 could have interested you beyond the sphere of your own 
 private feelings." Thus saying, he spurred his Arab 
 horse, and flew over the plain with a swiftness which ren- 
 dered it difficult for his panting sais to keep up with him. 
 
 *'A/j/ own private feelings ! '' repeated Louisa, who 
 was sitting in the verandah when her husband left her. — 
 " Ml/ own private feelings ! And has the father of my 
 departed infant ceased altogether to participate in these 
 feelings ! Oh, my Louisa," added she, ** child of my 
 heart ! sweetest companion of my solitary hours ! art 
 thou so soon, so very soon forgotten ! has the memory 
 of thy enchanting smiles, thy infantine charms, thy ex- 
 traordinary beauty, thy dovelike glances, already perish- 
 ed with thee in the tomb ? Oh, my baby ! my baby ! 
 thy father may forget thee, but thy mother, thy misera- 
 ble mother, will lose the remembrance of thee only with 
 her life." So saying, she leaned her head against one 
 of the pillars of the verandah, while her fast flowing 
 tears fell on the polished floor. 
 
 How long she had remained in this attitude she knew 
 not, nor could she have retraced the many sad trains of 
 thought which had passed through her mind during that 
 interval, when suddenly her attention was arrested by 
 the quick step of some one hastily approaching, and at 
 the same minute, lifting up her tearful eyes, she saw 
 Cecil Gray, who, a moment afterwards, ascended the 
 verandah, and accosted her with a warmth and strength 
 of feeling, which plainly indicated that he was acquaint- 
 ed with, and participating in, her sorrows. 
 
 At the sight of this young man, whose appearance
 
 THE LADY OF THE MANOR. 63 
 
 and manner had once very considerably interested her, 
 and of whose arrival with the regiment she had not heard 
 an hour before, she suddenly started from her attitude 
 of sorrow, and hastily wiping away the tears from her 
 eyes, welcomed him with somewhat of her former 
 sprightliness ; and then, sinking again into sorrow, she 
 said, *' Oh, Mr. Gray, how full of vain delight I was 
 when I last saw you ! I was then an entire stranger to 
 sorrow ; but now I am completely miserable ! " 
 
 *' Miserable /" repeated he — ^* miserable, my dear Ma- 
 dam ! You use a very comprehensive word ; it argues 
 an entire w ant of comfort : how can I suppose it appli- 
 cable to your situation ?" 
 
 Mrs. Vivian then entered into a lively and touching 
 account of her severe bereavement ; after which she de- 
 scribed, w ith her usual strength of expression, the state 
 of her mind under the present affliction, which was that, 
 she said, of a person incapable of receiving comfort. 
 
 The countenance of the young man displayed an ex- 
 pression of no common sympathy, while she thus paint- 
 ed her unhappy state to him : and when she had ceased, 
 he spoke to her of religion, assuring her, that there was 
 no affliction which could befal man, under which religion 
 had not provided a suitable consolation. 
 
 " Religion ! " repeated Mrs. Vivian, with a deep sigh 
 — **yes; I have heard of the consolations of religion ; I 
 am no infidel ; I do not question the power of God, nei- 
 ther do I doubt but that there are some blessed indivi- 
 duals who have found happiness in religion : but I have 
 tried it repeatedly, and have never derived from it that 
 boasted peace, of which you speak. I will sincerely 
 confess to you, though I have not done so much to my 
 husband, because I am unwilling to strengthen his pre- 
 judices, that although I have been unremitting in my en- 
 deavours (during my affliction) to obtain the consolations 
 of religion, they have been w holly without effect ; inso- 
 much that I am ready now in despair to renounce all my 
 groundless expectations, and to yield myself up to hope- 
 less grief." 
 
 Cecil Gray looked earnestly at her, while she continu- 
 ed to speak, his countenance being still expressive of the 
 deepest commiseration ; for when he recollected the hap- 
 py and beautiful Louisa Harley, and considered that the
 
 61 THE LADY OF THE MANOR. 
 
 time ouce was, when, had she possessed true piety, he 
 should have preferred her above all her sex, it was not 
 without the deepest sense of pity, that he could now 
 behold her a prey to hopeless sorrow, and a subject of 
 unbelief — he resolved therefore to be sincere with her in 
 pointing- out where she had always failed in her religious 
 views, and how she had missed of that peace which she 
 so earnestly desired. 
 
 " You speak. Madam," said he, " of religion, and 
 assure me that it has failed to afford yon comfort : do 
 you feel quite assured, permit me to ask, that you have 
 sought this comfort in a right way?" 
 
 Mrs. Vivian looked up at him, (for he was 'still stand- 
 ing, leaning against one of the pillars of the verandah, 
 forgetting, in the warmth of his feelings, to take the seat 
 tendered him by a native servant,) requesting him to re- 
 peat his question before she replied, and to accompany 
 it with some explanation. 
 
 *' Are you thoroughly assured. Madam," said Cecil 
 Gray, " that you know what religion is?" 
 
 That so polite a man as Cecil Gray should ask her 
 such a question, startled Mrs. Vivian. Had any person 
 made this enquiry, whom she could have supposed to be 
 an ignorant and vulgar enthusiast, she would not have 
 been surprised. But Mr. Gray being a man of high 
 birth, and of the first character as a gentleman and a 
 Christian, she was greatly astonished at such a question 
 — to which, however, she replied by describing to him 
 the advantages which she had possessed in early life of 
 being made acquainted with religion, and pointing out 
 the minute exactness with which she had at one time at- 
 tended to all the forms and external observances enjoin- 
 ed by the Church. She spoke also of the serious im- 
 pression she had received previous to confirmation, giv- 
 ing him such a view of her religious life as made him 
 perfectly acquainted with the real state of her mind. 
 
 After listening calmly till she had ceased to speak, he 
 addressed her thus — *' You say, my dear Madam, that 
 you have not found that comfort from religion which you 
 expected ; that it has afforded you no support under af- 
 fliction ; and that you are even now ready to give it up 
 in despair. I ask you, on what ground you expected that 
 comfort, and why you thought yourself entitled to it?"
 
 THE LADY OF THE MANOR. 65 
 
 "Because," said she, with increasing; wonder, ** be- 
 cause I have been always led to understand, that reli- 
 gion is able to afford comfort in affliction ; and I have 
 heard and read of many who have been enabled by it to 
 pass through the most severe trials with cheerfulness." 
 
 *• But who are those," said Cecil Gray, " who experi- 
 ence these consolations ? Have you ever considered this 
 point, my dear Madam? or have you ever enquired, 
 whether you are of that blessed number?" 
 
 Mrs. Vivian hesitated ; upon which Cecil Gray, per- 
 ceiving how entirely at a loss she was, and not doubting 
 but that she was utterly ignorant of the first principles of 
 religion, proceeded without hesitation to enter into such 
 an explanation of them as he trusted might, with the 
 divine assistance, throw some degree both of light and 
 comfort on her dark and afflicted mind. He first spoke 
 to her concerning the acknowledged attributes of the 
 Deity — his omnipotence, his omnipresence, his fore- 
 knowledge, his justice, his mercy, and his holiness — 
 whence he proceeded to point out that striking peculi- 
 arity of the Godhead which is revealed in Scripture, 
 namely, the Trinity-in-Unity ; together with the nature 
 and offices of these glorious persons, and especially the 
 part taken by each in man's salvation. 
 
 ** The word of God," continued this pious young offi- 
 cer, "discovers to us the way of salvation laid down in 
 the covenant of grace, manifesting to us what the ever- 
 blessed Trinity therein purposed, and what, in the fulness 
 of time, was accomplished for fallen man's restoration. 
 It shews the believer, how God the Father, who foresaw 
 the fall of man before the foundation of the world, 
 (brought about by the malice of Satan,) provided for him 
 a Saviour, who should have power to overcome his spi- 
 ritual foes, and to present him before the bar of divine 
 justice, clothed in unblemished and spotless righteous- 
 ness. It points out also how God the Son, the second 
 person in the Godhead, coequal, and coeternal with the 
 Father, undertook to become the Saviour of mankind, 
 and to endure the utmost weight of the divine anger 
 against sin, in order that he might bring the sinner to 
 glory. And finally," proceeded Cecil Gray, " it shews 
 the nature and offices of the Holy Spirit, the third per- 
 son of the ever-blessed Trinity, by whom the redeemed 
 G 3
 
 66 THE LADY OF THE MANOR. 
 
 are convinced of sin, and taught their need of a Saviour, 
 having their dead souls regenerated and quickened by 
 his iniinite power. Thus," continued the young man, 
 ** these three glorious persons are equally engaged in 
 one mighty work, more wonderful, more honourable to 
 God, and better calculated to display the goodness, 
 mercy, holiness, and justice of the Almighty, than the 
 creation of millions of planets, or tens of millions of 
 blazing stars." 
 
 " And now. Madam," continued Cecil Gray, ** I return 
 to the question, which I put to you at first — Who are 
 those who experience the consolations of religion? Not 
 those, I answer, who attend to the mere outward forms 
 and external rites of religion ; but those who have been 
 convinced of sin, of righteousness, and of judgment, by 
 the Holy Spirit. They who have been led by him into 
 clear views of their own utter depravity, and their abso- 
 lute need of a Saviour ; they whose understanding has 
 been opened to comprehend the covenant of grace, and 
 the work of the eternal Trinity ; they who are convinced 
 that there is righteousness and strength, comfort and 
 joy, grace and glory, laid up for them in Christ; they 
 who are willing to rest on him and trust in him, renoun- 
 cing all self-confidence — these are they, who, being- 
 united to Christ by faith, who, being regenerate by grace, 
 and become the children of God, have a right, by the 
 terms of the everlasting covenant, to all the privileges 
 and consolations of religion ; to feed upon the promises, 
 and to rest in the full and sweet assurance, that their 
 light affliction, which is but for a moment, worketh for 
 them afar more exceeding and eternal weight of glory. '^ 
 (2 Cor. iv. 17.) 
 
 While Cecil Gray was still speaking, a sudden shower, 
 common in those climates, which had for a few minutes 
 beat against the steps of the verandah, passed rapidly 
 away, when the dark clouds breaking from above, and 
 suddenly dispersing, exhibited a beautiful and brilliant 
 rainbow, extending over the whole horizon, and present- 
 ing the glorious type of that blessed covenant oi mercy, 
 with which the Lord encompasses his people. 
 
 The sudden splendour of light shed upon the ground 
 from the glowing heavens, drew the attention of Cecil 
 Gray, who, unconsciously looking up for the cause of it.
 
 THE LADY OF THE MANOR. 67 
 
 saw with admiration this magnificent though natural dis- 
 play of divine glory; when instantly directing the eye 
 of his attentive companion to the heavenly arch, he 
 pointed out this beautiful emblem of the everlasting co- 
 venant, formed of the seven primitive colours, blended 
 so softly together, that no discord, no harshness appear- 
 ed among them, but all united in forming one glorious 
 and harmonious whole, including the visible horizon in 
 its ample embrace, and shedding sv/eet surprise, toge- 
 ther with a sense of security, on a.ll beholders. *' Thus," 
 said he, " does the blessed covenant, of which this hea- 
 venly arch is the acknowledged type, assure those who 
 look upon it with the eye of faith, of final deliverance 
 from every evil, and, above all, from that flood of wrath 
 which, in the last day, shall overwhelm the ungodly ; 
 transfusing peace and gladness through the mourner's 
 heart, and conveying the assurance of support and con- 
 solation under the most severe affliction." 
 
 Louisa, when thus called upon, looked up ; but her 
 eyes presently filling with tears, she again dropped them, 
 though with an expression so much softened from that 
 which she had displayed at the commencement of their 
 discourse, that Cecil Gray was encouraged to proceed in 
 the same manner in which he had begun, venturing to 
 promise her consolation so soon as she should be able to 
 receive that view of heavenly love, which he (though in 
 a manner the most imperfect) had endeavoured to set 
 before her. 
 
 •* How sweet it is," he added, " to have a conviction 
 that we are the objects of divine love and compassion, 
 and to feel an assurance, whatever our trials and af- 
 flictions may be, however great our weakness and folly, 
 however numerous our failures and short comings, that 
 we shall undoubtedly be enabled to bear all through 
 Christ strengthening us, that we shall be upheld through 
 all, and carried at last triumphantly above all into a state 
 of everlasting glory ! The prophet says, Neither fear ye 
 their fear, nor be afraid ; sanctify the Lord of hosts him- 
 self; and let him he your fear ; and he shall be for a 
 sanctuary.'' (Isa. viii. 13, 14.) 
 
 In this manner Cecil Gray continued to converse with 
 Mrs. Vivian, being led to speak more at large to her on 
 these topics than he might otherwise have done, from a
 
 68 THE LADY OF THE MANOR. 
 
 conviction that she stood in need of comfort, and hvJ no 
 friend to whom she could open her mind on these most 
 solemn subjects — and he was still conversing with her, 
 when Captain Vivian appeared advancing on horseback 
 over the plain. This gentleman being seen by them for 
 some time before he joined them, Mr. Gray took occa- 
 sion to speak of him with affection, saying, that he was 
 his first acquaintance in the regiment, and adding, that 
 nothing would give him more pleasure, than to witness 
 a serious change passing upon his mind with respect to 
 the infinitely important subjects on which they had been 
 conferring. 
 
 " Could 1 but hope," answered Louisa, " for a conti- 
 nuance of your friendship for Captain Vivian, I should 
 have some prospect of better things for him ; since your 
 conversation has this evening convinced me that I have 
 never yet understood the true nature of religion, and that 
 the very means which I have hitherto used to engage my 
 husband in serious pursuits, have been only calculated to 
 render all such pursuits the more hateful in his sight." 
 
 Captain Vivian, who had been in pursuit of Cecil Gray 
 for the last two hours, and had at length traced him to 
 his own house, sprang from his horse at sight of his 
 friend ; and finding him not disinclined to spend the 
 evening with him, and Mrs. Vivian in a disposition to be 
 pleased, he gave up all thoughts of the mess, and listen- 
 ed with more complacency than could have been expect- 
 ed to the communications of his friend, which, if not al- 
 ways wholly spiritual, was so little blended with earthly 
 matters, that it could not be supposed to possess many 
 charms for a man of the world. But Captain Vivian 
 was sincerely attached to Cecil Gray ; and on this ac- 
 count he bore much from him which he probably would 
 not have endured from another man. 
 
 From this period Mrs. Vivian rejoiced to see her hus- 
 band constantly associated with Mr. Gray ; and, as her 
 own views of religion became more clear and enlarged, 
 she became daily more reconciled to the afflictive dis- 
 pensation with which it had pleased the Almighty to ex- 
 ercise her. She saw, by faith, that the happiness of her 
 beloved infant had been ensured by its early death ; that 
 it had been saved from many afflictions, and perhaps 
 from much guilt, by being called at the commencement
 
 THE LADY OF THE MANOR. 69 
 
 of its earthly course into the presence of its Saviour : 
 and the view which was now given her of the divine love 
 enabled her to look upon this severe trial as a means 
 employed by her heavenly Father to awaken her from 
 the death of sin, and effectually to prepare her heart for 
 the reception of the heavenly seed. She was also made 
 to see, that she had hitherto rested entirely in the exter- 
 nals of religion, placing all her dependence upon her 
 own good works ; in consequence of which she had ut- 
 terly fallen short of all the blessings and comforts which 
 are provided for those who are reconciled to God, 
 through the Son of his love. 
 
 Thus, by the divine blessing, before many months had 
 passed, so entire a change was effected in the mind of 
 Mrs. Vivian, as enabled her to meditate upon the past 
 with resignation, and to contemplate the future with 
 hope and joy. 
 
 It was now more than a year since Mrs. Vivian had 
 committed to the dust that beloved infant which had 
 once formed the delight of her life ; and several months 
 had elapsed since the conversation above related took 
 place. That conversation had been particularly blessed" 
 to her ; and there was reason to think, that, from that 
 period, a decided change had taken place in her cha- 
 racter and religious feelings. In the mean while, her 
 views became daily more clear and encouraging ; of 
 which she gave evidence by the maintenance of a con- 
 duct that so entirely reinstated her in the regard of her 
 husband, as obliged him more than once to remark, that 
 she was now more lovely in his eyes than when he first 
 saw her in all the bloom of early beauty. 
 
 Captain Vivian was a man of the world, and of an or- 
 dinary mind : nevertheless it pleased the Lord to give 
 his wife no small influence over him, which influence she 
 had indeed at one time lost by the indiscretion of her 
 conduct, but which she presently recovered, when, by 
 the power of a pure and holy faith, she was made sen- 
 sible that it was her duty to please and obey him, and 
 to make her religion amiable in his eyes by the sweet- 
 ness and humility of her deportment. One thing she 
 ardently coveted for him ; this was the friendship of 
 Cecil Gray : and she had great pleasure in observing 
 the readiness of this young ofi^icer to forward her views
 
 70 THE LADY OF THE MANOR. 
 
 of this sort, by never withdrawing- himself on any occa- 
 sion when Captain Vivian sought his society. 
 
 Being thus restored to the affections of her husband, 
 and finding daily more delight in religion, Mrs. Vivian 
 had now arrived at such a state of mind as was much to 
 be preferred to any thing she had experienced through- 
 out her whole life, even during that part of it which she 
 remembered with most pleasure, when she had enjoyed 
 the presence of her lovely and beautiful infant ; for even 
 then her satisfactions were mixed with many anxious 
 feelings, while every change of countenance in her cap- 
 tivating baby served to awaken the most painful appre- 
 hensions. But her comforts were now of a less incon- 
 stant and perishable nature : her will was subdued, and 
 her affections sanctified. 
 
 The fine cool period of the year was now succeeded 
 by the sultry season. Louisa had hitherto enjoyed good 
 health, having experienced no other disadvantage from 
 the climate than that which is commonly felt by Euro- 
 peans, namely, an extreme degree of langour during cer- 
 tain portions of the year. It was therefore not to be 
 wondered at, if neither she nor her friends had any ap- 
 prehension of an event, which we shall presently have 
 occasion to relate. 
 
 Since the change in her conduct before mentioned. 
 Captain Vivian had remained much at home, seeming 
 never more happy than when spending his time in the 
 company of his wife. Accordingly it happened one 
 evening, there being no parade at which his presence 
 was required, that returning early from his public duties, 
 he gave her his hand, and invited her to take the air. 
 It was then cool, there having fallen much rain during 
 the day. He led her out upon the plain, and uncon- 
 sciously took a direction towards the burying-ground, 
 which lay not very distant. 
 
 What parent can behold the place where his infant 
 sleeps, cradled on the cold earth, in that long and deep 
 repose which is not to be disturbed till the morning of 
 the resurrection, without some feelings of sorrow : and 
 though those feelings may be sweetly mitigated, and 
 their very nature changed, by an assurance of the ever- 
 lasting happiness of the little beloved one, yet there will 
 remain, on all such occasions, a certain sentiment of
 
 THE LADY OF THE MANOR. 71 
 
 tender regret which can never be wholly overcome. 
 Such were the feelings of Mrs. Vivian, as she turned 
 her eye towards the burying-ground before her, and 
 saw the moon arising in cloudless majesty beyond the 
 lofty trees which grew within the wall of that sacred 
 inclosure. 
 
 Captain Vivian, aware, of her feelings, and taking hold 
 of the hand which rested on his arm, endeavoured to 
 bring forward some of the arguments which he had heard 
 her use to prove the present happiness of their little 
 daughter; and, although he managed those arguments 
 unskilfully, there was yet a kindness in the effort which 
 touched the heart of his wife, and constrained her to 
 assure him that she was perfectly resigned, through the 
 divine assistance, to what the Almighty had ordained 
 with respect to their dear child ; and that she looked 
 back upon her rebellious conduct on the occasion of her 
 infant's death with shame and horror. Then passing 
 from that painful subject, she proceeded to describe the 
 revolution which had taken place in her religious feel- 
 ings; when recurring to her former views on that point, 
 she acknowledged that she was now fully aware that her 
 conduct to him on board ship, and since that period, had 
 often been extremely perverse, and strangely calculated 
 to make him hate rather than love religion. She con- 
 cluded by requesting him not to set down her misconduct 
 on those occasions to her excess of religion, but to her 
 actual and absolute want of it. 
 
 His answer was exceedingly affectionate. He confess- 
 ed, that if she had formerly in some degree strengthened 
 his prejudices against religion, she had lately, by the 
 sweetness of her manner, taught him to respect and 
 love it. 
 
 Thus they continued to converse till it was time to re- 
 turn home — and this evening Captain Vivian proposed, 
 that they should join in prayer ; a proposal which he had 
 never before made to any one in his life. But whether 
 this proposal was made from courtesy to his wife, or 
 from motives of piety, cannot well be determined. At 
 any rate, it was a proof how much more the gentle na- 
 ture of true piety is likely to prevail over the stubborn 
 will of the unconverted man, than the unbending rigour 
 of the self-sufficient formalist.
 
 72 THE LADY OF THE MANOR. 
 
 In this manner closed the last serene and peaceful 
 evening of Louisa's life. She went to bed with an easy 
 mind, and, apparently, in excellent health : but before 
 sunrise the next day she was taken with an epidemic 
 disorder, at that time prevalent in India, and although 
 every assistance was given which art could supply, a 
 very short period terminated her life. Mrs. Vivian was 
 sensible only at intervals during her illness ; but during 
 one of these short intervals she expressed much grati- 
 tude to her Almighty Father for that course of affliction 
 by which he had withdrawn her from the world, giving 
 her at the same time both leisure and inclination for se- 
 rious meditation. ' 
 
 She died in perfect assurance of happiness, and giving 
 all the glory from first to last to the Lord her God — to 
 him who had loved and chosen her before the foundation 
 of the world — to him who had purchased that glory for 
 her to which she was speedily departing — and who had 
 fitted her by his grace for the full enjoyment of it. 
 
 The farewell she took of her husband w^as inexpressi- 
 bly touching ; and her last request to him was, that he 
 would cultivate the friendship of Cecil Gray — a request 
 which was reported to the young gentleman by a person 
 then present, and which, as the last request of Louisa 
 Harley, could not fail to produce its intended eflect upon 
 one who had invariably felt for her a sincere and friend- 
 ly regard. 
 
 The funeral of Mrs. Vivian was attended by all the offi- 
 cers of the regiment, and a deep solemnity was for some 
 time shed over the whole cantonment by her death : for 
 who could count their lives secure, when beauty, youth, 
 and health were so unexpectedly cut off? 
 
 Immediately after her funeral, Cecil Gray entered Cap- 
 tain Vivian's bungalow, and took the afflicted husband 
 to his own house, where he offered him an apartment. 
 These young men from that time became almost in- 
 separable ; though it was not till some years after- 
 wards that Cecil Gray found in Captain Vivian a friend 
 and companion in whose society he could really take 
 pleasure. 
 
 Captain Vivian never forgot the last conversation 
 which he had held with his beloved wife ; and he was 
 often heard to say, that some expressions which she
 
 THE LADY OF THE MANOR. 73 
 
 then used, were such as first gave him (under the 
 divine blessing) any right idea of the true nature of 
 religion. 
 
 When the lady of the manor had concluded the affect- 
 ing history of Louisa Harley, she took occasion to point 
 out the lesson which ^vas to be drawn from it, namely, 
 that we should carefully beware of allowing ourselves to 
 rest in the exterior forms of religion, without endeavour- 
 ing to obtain the spirit and substance thereof. " At 
 the same time," said she, ** we should not neglect the or- 
 dinances ; because since it is appointed of God that we 
 should seek the divine blessing through the use of cer- 
 tain means, we have a right to expect them through 
 those means rather than through any other channel. In 
 this respect, we ought to take warning and example from 
 the history of Naaman the Syrian, who, after having been 
 directed by the prophet to wash in Jordan and be clean, 
 exclaimed in anger — Are not Abana and Pharpaj', rivers 
 of Damascus, better than all the waters of Israel? may I 
 not wash in them, and be clean ? So he turned, and went 
 away in a rage. And his servants came near, and spake 
 unto him, and said. My father, if the prophet had bid thee 
 do some great thing, wouldest thou not have done it? 
 how much rather then, ivhen he saith to thee. Wash, and 
 be clean? Then went he down, and dipped himself seven 
 times in Jordan, according to the saying of the man of 
 God: and his flesh came again like unto the flesh of a 
 little child, and he ivas clean. (2 Kings v. 12 — 14.) In like 
 manner, as the Lord directed Naaman to seek health in 
 the waters of Jordan, so he directs us to seek salvation 
 in the use of certain appointed means. To neglect there- 
 fore these means, becomes an act of unbelief and disobe- 
 dience ; and they who act thus, have as little reason to 
 expect the divine blessing as the contrary description of 
 persons, who, like Louisa Harley, make a merit of ob- 
 serving the means of grace, without looking beyond the 
 form and exterior of religion. Let us then, my young 
 people," continued the lady of the manor, " finish this 
 evening's conference by earnestly praying that the Al- 
 mighty will enable us to fulfil all our religious duties, and 
 especially that which is now before us, not only as mere 
 formalists, but in such a manner as may approve us in His 
 
 VOL. I. H
 
 74 THE LADY OF THE MANOR. 
 
 sight who seeth not as man seeth ; for man looketh on the 
 outivard appearance, hut the Lord looketh on the heart.'' 
 (1 Sam. xvi. 7.) 
 
 Prayer of the Lady of the Manor for Sincerity, 
 
 *' O ALMIGHTY and heavenly Father, we, who now 
 approach the footstool of thy throne, know that thou art 
 the Searcher of all hearts, and that thou understandest all 
 the imaginations of the mind. We know, also, the tenden- 
 cy of our nature to satisfy our consciences with the mere 
 semblance of that which is right, and that we are conti- 
 nually inclined to draw^ nigh unto Thee with' our mouth, 
 and to do thee honour with our lips, while our hearts are 
 carried far from thee ; our fear of thee being only such 
 as is taught by the precepts of men. 
 
 *' O cleanse and purify the thoughts of our hearts, by 
 that which alone can cleanse them, even by the inspira- 
 tion of thy Holy Spirit, through which only the love of 
 God is shed abroad in the heart, and the heart of stone 
 converted into an heart of flesh. O grant, that our ser- 
 vice may not be the eye-service of men-pleasers ; but 
 may we engage in it with fear and trembling, and in 
 singleness of heart, as the servants of that dear Saviour 
 who shed his blood for us upon the cross. 
 
 '* And O heavenly Father, assist us to lament and be- 
 wail, in bitterness of heart, and deep contrition of soul, 
 the many hypocritical and formal services which we have 
 already presumed to offer thee. How often, how very 
 often, have we profaned thy holy temple, and the courts 
 of thine house, by our irreverent behaviour, our wander- 
 ing affections, and our shameful disregard of thy most 
 blessed and all-glorious name ! How often have we knelt 
 before thee at the season of morning and evening devo- 
 tions, while our thoughts were occupied upon temporal 
 concerns, and greedily going after vanity ! How often 
 have we used the words of God as mere formalists, and 
 solely to establish our characters with men ! And finally, 
 how often, how very often, have we condemned others for 
 these things, when we ought rather to have stood self- 
 condemned, and w ithout excuse before God, for our own 
 exceeding sinfulness and the hypocrisy of our heart. 
 
 '' And now, even now, O Lord, while we are confess-
 
 THE LADY OF THE MANOR. 75 
 
 ing our coldness and hypocrisy before thee, even now 
 we have reason to lament and deplore the deadness of 
 our best affections, and the wanderings of our thoughts. 
 O Lord, have mercy, have mercy upon us ! Our very 
 prayers are polluted with sin, and our tears of repent- 
 ance have need to be washed in a purer stream. But 
 there is one who ever intercedeth for us, even Christ, 
 our .brother in the flesh — that dear Saviour, who, when 
 he had sufi^ered the punishment due to our sin, ascend- 
 ed mto heaven, where he ever liveth to offer up his pure 
 and prevailing prayer on our account. We will there- 
 fore lie at the foot of thy cross, O blessed Jesus, cast 
 down and self-condemned, yet not without hope, know- 
 ing that our Redeemer is mighty, and that he will plead 
 our cause. Although we are utterly vile, yet will we 
 not despair ; though our prayers have hitherto been the 
 prayers of hypocrites, and our best works but filthy rags, 
 yet will we greatly rejoice in the Lord, and our soul 
 shall be joyful in our God ; for he will clothe us with 
 the garments of salvation, and cover us with the robe of 
 righteousness, even as a bridegroom decketh himself with 
 ornaments, and as a bride adorneth herself with jewels. 
 *' Now to God the Father," &c. 
 
 When the lady of the manor had concluded her prayer, 
 she dismissed the young people, expressing her hope that 
 they might speedily meet again.
 
 76 THE LADY OF THE MANOR. 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 Q. JVhat is your Name? 
 
 A. 
 
 Q. Who gave you this Name ? 
 
 A. My Godfathers and Godmothers in my Baptism, 
 wherein I was made a Member of Christ, a Child of God, 
 and an Inheritor of the Kingdom of Heaven^ 
 
 Ji- HE candidates for confirmation being again gathered 
 round the lady of the manor, she opened the conversation 
 
 in the following manner. 
 
 " My dear young people, as the Catechism of the 
 Church of England is appointed by our Church to be 
 committed to memory before confirmation, I think it may 
 not be amiss to make this form of words the basis of our 
 examination. I shall thus be led on to take the several 
 doctrines of our holy religion into consideration each in 
 its proper place ; and by having this well known form of 
 words to recur to, you will be better enabled, in after 
 life, to bring to your recollection our several conversa- 
 tions in their due order. But, before I attempt to enter 
 upon an explanation of the Catechism of our Church, I 
 think it right to say, that I do not consider it as a com- 
 position altogether faultless. I am, as I before said, a 
 member of the Church of England, strongly attached to 
 its liturgy, and pleased with many of its forms ; to which 
 may be added, that I look upon its doctrines, in all 
 essential points, as being perfectly conformable to Scrip- 
 ture. But, inasmuch as nothing human is infallible, 
 there are, in my opinion, some smaller matters in the 
 constitution of our Church, which perhaps might be 
 amended : although, as the flaws in a beautiful piece of 
 workmanship are often suftered to remain through the
 
 THE LADY OF THE MANOR. 77 
 
 fear of injuring the whole in attempting to improve a 
 part, it has been judged most prudent by many excellent 
 members of our Church, to leave these lesser matters as 
 they are, rather than, by attempting a reform, to endan- 
 ger the whole fabric. The Church of England, however, 
 notwithstanding the few spots which appear in its bril- 
 liant disk, must needs be considered as a luminary of 
 distinguished lustre ; and the time I hope is coming, 
 when those clouds of darkness, ignorance, and party- 
 spirit, which have overshadowed, for some years past, 
 our whole horizon, will be completely dissipated by the 
 bright blaze of its glory. 
 
 "The opening of our Church Catechism," continued 
 the lady of the manor, *' is perhaps one of the most ob- 
 scure passages which has crept into our prayer-book, as 
 hath been acknowledged by some of our most respecta- 
 ble divines. Whatever the opinions of its compilers 
 may have been, this passage is so v/orded as to mislead 
 its readers, and that upon a point of vital importance, 
 namely, the subject of regeneration : because, though 
 baptism is the outward and visible sign of the new birth, 
 yet it is not necessarily connected with it — insomuch 
 that many are baptized, who are not regenerated ; while 
 many, we trust, are regenerated, who have never receiv- 
 ed its outward sign and visible seal. But," proceeded 
 the lady of the manor, *'as I shall have occasion to 
 speak more largely upon this subject in its proper place, 
 I shall leave it at this time for matters more suited to 
 the present state of your acquaintance with divine 
 things." 
 
 Having premised thus much, the lady of the manor 
 addressed herself to the youngest in the room, and said, 
 '• ' What is your name ? ' " 
 
 The young lady answered, " Sophia." 
 
 Here the lady of the manor made this remark : — " You 
 observe, my young people, that, in the reply to this 
 question, * What is your name"?' the Christian name 
 only is mentioned. The giving of a name in baptism has 
 nothing to do with religion : it is merely a custom, and, 
 in my opinion, an unexceptionable one, though, I believe, 
 not approved by some denominations of Christians. I 
 have, however, upon record, an instance in which this 
 custom was turned to a good purpose ; and, as the little 
 H 3
 
 78 THE LADY OF THE MANOR. 
 
 anecdote may perhaps furnish some amusement, I will 
 read it to you, if I can speedily lay my hands upon it. 
 So saying, she arose, and, opening a drawer in an Indian 
 cabinet which stood in the room, brought out from seve- 
 ral manuscripts one to which the date, marked on the 
 cover, enabled her instantly to refer. 
 
 "This little volume," said she, as she turned over the 
 leaves, " contains the journal of a voyage made by me in 
 the East Indies, upon the Ganges, in the cool season of 
 the year 17 — , from the higher provinces to Calcutta, 
 and likewise of my return two years afterwards." 
 
 The lady then selecting the passages she intended to 
 lay before the young people, read as follows.^ 
 
 " November 18. Our boats came to anchor at an 
 early hour. It was a beautiful evening, cool and refresh- 
 ing, inviting us to take the air. We chose a shady path, 
 under a high wood of bamboos, which trees much re- 
 semble the tall willows often seen in England by the side 
 of running waters. In one or two places, the long shafts 
 of these lofty trees having fallen across the footway, and 
 resting upon the opposite trees, formed a beautiful ca- 
 nopy over the head of the passenger ; the leaves and 
 tender branches, hanging gracefully from the principal 
 stem, being easily agitated by the slightest breath of 
 air. 
 
 " As we advanced into the wood, still wandering fur- 
 ther and further from the shore, where all was bustle 
 and noise, the scene seemed to acquire new charms. 
 The rustling of the breeze among the long slender 
 branches and polished leaves of the bamboo, the moan- 
 ing of the ring-dove, together with the distant view of 
 topes of corn-fields and thatched cottages, which, from 
 time to time, we caught through the openings of the 
 wood, excited altogether many delightful ideas, though 
 not unmixed with grief to think that a country, thus 
 beautifully formed by the hand of God, should for so 
 many ages past have been the seat of a false religion, 
 and that generation after generation should have suc- 
 ceeded each other in these sweet regions, uninterrupted- 
 ly polluting themselves with the grossest idolatry, and 
 the most abominable practices. 
 
 ** Through this forest of bamboo we proceeded, till we
 
 THE LADY OF THE MANOR. 79 
 
 came to a village embosomed iii the wood. There we 
 saw many pretty thatched cottages standing in little 
 compounds, or yards, hedged round with a kind of 
 prickly fence, having their mossy roofs overgrown with 
 a certain creeper bearing large gourds, or pumpkins. 
 Passing still forward, we came to a tope of mangoes, 
 inclosed by walls of mud. In the centre of this grove, 
 which, from the thick foliage of the mangoe-tree, was 
 extremely dark, stood the tomb of a supposed Hindoo 
 saint, and near it a large heap, or tumulus, formed of 
 little elephants of clay, which we understood to have 
 been brought thither as offerings to the dead. 
 
 ** Near this tomb sat an old man of a most disgusting 
 appearance, a votary of the supposed saint, one who 
 lived on the charity of the poor villagers, being consider- 
 ed by them as a person of extraordinary sanctity, al- 
 though exhibiting in his person the strongest evidences 
 of ignorance and superstition. We endeavoured to enter 
 into conversation with this miserable being ; but he 
 seemed to look upon us with dread and abhorrence. He 
 would answer none of our questions, and appeared only 
 anxious to hinder us from polluting the tomb, or the lit- 
 tle elephants of clay, by our unholy touch. 
 
 " We stayed in this gloomy grove, till the sudden ap- 
 proach of evening made it necessary for us to hasten 
 back ; there being in this latitude but little twilight." 
 
 The lady of the manor then turning to another part of 
 her little manuscript, made another selection, which she 
 read as follows. 
 
 ^^ January 14, (two years after the time before speci- 
 fied,) returning up the Ganges, we stopped early one 
 evening near the house of a pious indigo-planter, for 
 whom we had brought a letter. The house was scarcely 
 half a coss distant from the village near the bamboo 
 grove, in view of the tope and its gloomy tomb. We 
 were kindly received in this house, and before our even- 
 ing-meal we were taken to walk in the garden, where 
 our Christian friend had a school of Hindoo children 
 assembled under a shed. At the door of this shed sat 
 an old man decentiv clothed, who made his salani in a 
 manner so marked, that we could not avoid looking at
 
 80 THE LADY OF THE MANOR. 
 
 him with considerable curiosity, insomuch that we pre- 
 sently recollected having seen him before, though we 
 could not call to mind on what occasion. 
 
 ** On our asking his history, our host informed us, that 
 he was the very old man who formerly lived under the 
 tope, and that he had been converted to Christianity by 
 the labours of a certain missionary who had visited that 
 neighbourhood; in consequence of which, our friend 
 had taken him into his family, in order to protect him 
 from the persecution of his neighbours. 
 
 " So interesting an event as the conversion of such a 
 man led me to ask many questions, one of which was 
 concerning the old man's name. To this our ^lost made 
 the following remarkable answer. 
 
 " ' This old man,' said he, * was formerly known by the 
 name of Rambuksh ; but when baptized he became 
 anxious to receive a new name. We told him that the 
 bestowing of a name was no part of the sacrament of 
 baptism ; but he replied, " Give me a new name, and 
 one which shall (with the divine help) remind me of my 
 obligations as a Christian." We therefore complied 
 with his request, admiring the motive from which it pro- 
 ceeded.' " 
 
 The lady of the manor then, laying aside her Httle 
 manuscript, added this remark on the story she had just 
 read. — '* It would be well for us," said she, *' if, like this 
 poor heathen, whenever we hear our Christian names, 
 we were to think of the obligations which we were laid 
 under at the period when such names were given us ; 
 which obligations you, my dear young people, are now 
 about to ratify before the assembled Church." 
 
 Miss Emmeline here remarked, that she had never be- 
 fore entertained the idea that good thoughts could thus 
 be conveyed to any person's mind merely by the sound 
 of a name which had no meaning, or at least the mean- 
 ing of which the owner of the name was not acquainted 
 with. 
 
 The lady of the manor answered, that as it is the pro- 
 perty of the bee to gather honey from every flower, so 
 should it be the aim and object of a Christian, to render 
 every circumstance of life profitable to edification, ac- 
 cording to the injunction of the apostle — Whether there'
 
 THK LADY OF THE MANOR. 81 
 
 fore ye eat or drink, or whatsoever ye do, do all to the 
 glory of God. (I Cor. x. 31.) 
 
 The lady of the manor then addressing herself to Miss 
 Louisa, requested her to repeat the answer to the second 
 question in the Catechism, to wit, " Who gave you this 
 name ? " 
 
 The young lady replied — " * My godfathers and my 
 godmothers in my baptism, wherein I was made a mem- 
 ber of Christ, a child of God, and an inheritor of the 
 kingdom of heaven.' " 
 
 *' The few lines which you have repeated, my dear 
 young friend," said the lady of the manor, when Miss 
 Louisa ceased to speak, " might afford matter for vo- 
 lumes of explanation. Indeed, there is so much to be said 
 upon them, that I hardly know where or how to begin. 
 I will, however, endeavour, in all my explanations, to keep 
 as close as possible to the order of things suggested by 
 the Church Catechism. But, as the duty of sponsors, and 
 the nature of the sacrament of baptism, will come more 
 fully under view in the course of our examination of this 
 Catechism at another time, when I trust you will be more 
 capable of entering into the subject, I shall leave the dis- 
 cussion of this matter for the present, simply however 
 stating, that it may certainly be proved, not only from 
 experience, but also from Scripture, that the outward and 
 visible signs of the sacrament of baptism are not neces- 
 sarily accompanied by the inward and spiritual grace; 
 and consequently, that those persons who believe they 
 must needs be saved because they have been baptized, 
 are giving way to a very dangerous error. On this ac- 
 count, I again say, that I am inclined to disapprove the 
 answer which you have just repeated from our Catechism, 
 because it undoubtedly leads to the confirmation of this 
 erroneous opinion. And though, perhaps, some would 
 urge, that this answer might be easily justified, because 
 baptism never can be said to be duly administered, ex- 
 cepting when the inward and spiritual grace attends the 
 outward and visible sign, (and this was no doubt the idea 
 of those holy men who composed this form of words,) ne- 
 vertheless, as this Catechism is commonly put into the 
 hands of such as are ignorant of spiritual matters, and apt 
 to rest in forms, I again repeat, that I fear much injury 
 has been done by this incautious sentence. And here I
 
 82 THE LADY OF THE MANOR. 
 
 beg you, my young people, carefully to bear in mind, that 
 in order to render a vile condemned sinner and child of 
 wrath ' a member of Christ, a child of God, and an in- 
 heritor of the kingdom of heaven,' something more is 
 necessary than the mere external washing by water in 
 baptism. 
 
 " Having thus, I trust, set your minds right upon this 
 subject, I will proceed, my dear young friends, to explain 
 to you these three things. — First, what is meant by being 
 a member of Christ ; — Secondly, what it is to be made a 
 child of God; — and Thirdly, what is signified by beco- 
 ming an inheritor of the kingdom of heaven. 
 
 ** But, in order thoroughly to understand ai^d value the 
 privileges procured for us by the death of Christ, and 
 our spiritual union with him, we must obtain some ac- 
 quaintance with our state by nature, and be made sen- 
 sible that we are naturally members of Satan, children of 
 the devil, and heirs of hell. 
 
 ** And now," proceeded the lady of the manor, " as 
 you have always shewn yourselves pleased with any little 
 narrative which I have thought proper to bring forward, 
 instead of entering into a discussion with you upon these 
 subjects, which might perhaps appear dry and uninte- 
 resting, I will, if you please, read a very affecting story 
 which I procured from an old lady of high rank, with 
 whom I became acquainted many years ago, when resi- 
 ding a few months in the ancient city of Canterbury." 
 
 The young ladies were only restrained by politeness 
 from expressing their pleasure on hearing so agreeable a 
 proposal ; nevertheless, smiles and dimples embellished 
 every countenance when the lady of the manor, drawing 
 a small matmscript from her work-box, began to read as 
 follows. 
 
 " * It is now more than forty years,' said the old lady 
 before mentioned, * since I went to pay a long visit to the 
 
 Dowager Lady N , who, with her servants, resided 
 
 alone, in an ancient family mansion, in one of the most 
 beautiful parts of the County of Kent. 
 
 " ' This mansion, which had been erected in the reign 
 of Queen Elizabeth, stood in a hollow, on the borders of 
 a lake, and inclosed in a well-wooded park ; the trees 
 being arranged, according to the fashion of former days.
 
 THE LADY OF THE MANOR. 83 
 
 in long and majestic avenues, which, stretching in diffe- 
 rent directions from the house, were terminated by lodges 
 and gateways. These lodges, like the portals of Solo- 
 mon's Temple, looked towards the four points of the com- 
 pass, to wit, the east, the west, the north, and the south. 
 
 ** * The mansion, which was very large, was furnished 
 altogether after the fashion of elder times, and exhibited, 
 as might be supposed, a variety of objects abounding 
 with entertainment to a young and inquisitive mind. 
 Accordingly, when not engaged with the lady of the man- 
 sion, 1 commonly employed myself among these various 
 grotesque objects; and soon became intimately acquaint- 
 ed with every tapestry hanging, ivory cabinet, embroi- 
 dered quilt, filagree screen, and painted or sculptured 
 representation of the human face divine scattered through- 
 out the wide halls, galleries, and chambers of this 
 ancient dwelling. 
 
 *' * But, among all these curiosities of art, and these re- 
 presentations of the noble, the beautiful, and the brave of 
 past ages, no one object had so much power to fix my 
 attention, and excite my lasting admiration, as a certain 
 family picture on a large scale, which hung in a remote 
 chamber. This picture represented a lady in all the per- 
 fection of beauty, holding an infant in her arms, and pre- 
 senting him to his father, (a young man of a fine appear- 
 ance,) who was in the act of advancing to receive him ; 
 his countenance being lighted up with such an expression 
 of mingled love and joy as is seldom so happily expressed 
 upon canvas. 
 
 ** * The figure of the infant,' proceeded my old friend, 
 * is still impressed upon my memory in colours so lively, 
 that I seem to behold it now before me. I still can re- 
 collect how skilfully the artist had arranged the yellow 
 and silky hair of early infancy, in order to display to the 
 best advantage the polished brow and glossy eyebrow 
 beneath ; and how entirely he had preserved that soft and 
 dovelike expression of the eye, which is not seldom to be 
 seen in babyhood, but which is never to be met with in 
 after life, excepting perhaps in those persons who through 
 the influence of grace are brought into that state of 
 which infancy is the lovely and animated emblem. Thus 
 had the art of the painter contrived to commemorate the 
 joy and pride of these two happy parents in their bloom-
 
 •4 TBE LADY OF THE HAXOK. 
 
 iig bo^. Yei, as I aftcrwds fsud, vIms Mttde «c- 
 vitk ^e kktoiy of tkk luuir, codM dwse 
 bai« foKsees mh»i was to be the Aitare fertime 
 cUM, tber ni^it nsscHnfaly hav« cawiedl dMs« 
 Hid ■Kttbcn wWese sad lot ii kas bees to stretch 
 ««l tbe taider iodis of tbcir firsl-bora oo tbe coM bed 
 «r d«9»ii^ and to nspress ^ke iMrtiii« kiss •■ tbe pale 
 hnm mad duelled basd of bua wbo bad ooee bcco tbe 
 dciiebt of dKsr cv«s aod Ak jo^ of tbcir beaits. 
 
 **~* Mt adMra]^ of tbisbcairtiM poitiait,* coHtiwKd 
 tbe old faidr, * was so strmgH «od coastaathr exciled, 
 &at I coold oot leCtaia ^«iAa^ of it to Ijuiy K 
 
 tbe cUi a oidM aafT iaterest wbbb it had 
 
 Ibatbas fixed 
 ia die boose; 
 &e stofj attacbed to it is so cunoos, tbat I mast aot 
 satb&ctioo of beana^ it. Tbe persons 
 ■' boiift. portraits are there preseated, wex« kaovni to mj 
 femiiy; aadeverr iaiportaatparticBlaroftbariiresis so 
 pe tftjji* faMfiar to »e, that, widi Ae a was taace of some 
 lettos fitaa om of &e paides, wkkh I have by me, I 
 fisd it so dificait spatter toMabe]poa acqaaiated 
 Ibcir wbale Aaaslioas aad awfid bi^boiy.^ 
 I easexH/ eoaCiMed tibe old bidv, ' cai^t at this 
 
 ~ aad,beB^ posited bTL&dvN ^,I&iied 
 
 tbe wboie to wiitin^.' ^ 
 
 Tkf Hittmy ^ tke mMe 
 
 Hie aohfe UaaSkf of L ," said Ibe Coantess of 
 
 acbed tbe aenidi of Aesr poircr and 
 
 tbe latter part of tbe iciga of Cbaiies 
 
 Ado^ibas, mho was at tbat period 
 
 OM of ibe first wits of Ae day, as 
 
 able pofifiriaa^ aad as perfect a geat lr ■ l a as 
 
 tbca boast; for, akboagb 
 
 ibe eres of those 
 oaly ■! ■ diiiiiaii. yet tmlj oorreci aad 
 
 Eari bda^ aot less 
 be as
 
 THE LADY OF THE MANOR. 85 
 
 frequently laid aside his courtly manners as he did his 
 robes of honour; making it abundantly manifest, that, 
 as he was capable of rendering himself an acceptable 
 companion to the most refined and elegant characters of 
 the day, so in like manner he could accommodate his 
 conversation, on occasion, to the taste of the lowest and 
 most profane part of mankind. 
 
 ** The Earl of L • married early in life. His lady 
 
 was of a noble family, an heiress, and a woman of no 
 common beauty, but possessing a haughty and infidel 
 spirit too much resembling that of her husband, whose 
 defects she looked upon with an eye of the greatest indul- 
 gence, so long as they did not interfere with her own 
 peculiar humours, or in any degree tend to the abridg- 
 ment of her satisfactions. 
 
 '• Such," continued Lady N , " were the lady and 
 
 gentleman on whose portraits you have bestowed so large 
 a share of your attention ; and it must be confessed, that, 
 had the qualities of their hearts been answerable to their 
 external perfections, the world could seldom boast of a 
 pair so excellent. The lovely infant, whom you see in 
 the arms of the lady, was their only son, the noble, the 
 misguided, and the guilty youth, whom we will call Al- 
 tamont, and whose remarkable history will make up the 
 chief part of what I am about to relate. 
 
 ** This boy was still in his cradle, at the period of the 
 death of King Charles the Second ; and, as the face of 
 public affairs then underwent an entire change, the Earl 
 
 of L • withdrew from court, with his family, and from 
 
 that period resided upon his estates, of which he had 
 several in different parts of the kingdom; this ancient 
 mansion, with its noble park and environs, in which I 
 now dwell, being one of the number. 
 
 *' The mode of life, and the state of manners, in the 
 country at that time were very different from what we 
 now witness. Many more servants were then kept in 
 every noble family ; and the line of separation between 
 the superior and the inferior was much broader in those 
 days, than the present state of society and public feeling 
 will admit. In consequence of this, the children of the 
 higher ranks were not only brought up in great pride, 
 but were taught to consider their inferiors as creatures 
 intended to be entirely subservient to their pleasures, 
 VOL. I. I '
 
 86 THE LADY OF THE MANOR. 
 
 *' The state of literature at that time was also exceeding- 
 ly low and corrupt, as must appear from a perusal of 
 the fashionable publications of the day. The poets and 
 romance writers of that period were so ambitious of form- 
 ing themselves upon the model of the ancient heathen, 
 as indiscriminately to copy their perfections and their 
 defects ; in consequence of which, their works were filled 
 with such images of impurity as were a reproach to the 
 age in which they lived. But, monstrous as it may ap- 
 pear, gross and indelicate wit, together with the open 
 contempt of religion and religious characters, were then 
 not only tolerated, but considered as marks of extraor- 
 dinary gentility. 
 
 ** I have before said, that Lord L was a wit, as well 
 
 as an infidel; and that his lady had no feelings which 
 might induce her to counteract the evil influence of her 
 husband's principles. It was therefore to be expected, 
 that the utmost moral disorder should pervade the whole 
 of their extensive household, and that their son would of 
 course be trained up in an entire absence of all virtuous 
 principle. This was indeed the case with the youth in 
 question ; and, though a tutor was provided for him in 
 the person of my lord's domestic chaplain, and although 
 this chaplain was an inoflfensive well-meaning man, yet so 
 little authority was given him over his noble pupil, that 
 very little good could be expected to result from his in- 
 structions. 
 
 " Thus the early days of this noble youth passed with 
 little profit to himself, his time being divided between the 
 society of his father's gamekeepers and the conversation 
 of his grooms — with the exception indeed of a few odd 
 hours which were now and then given to his studies; 
 during which however such a progress was made as 
 plainly proved what his acquisitions might have been 
 under the influence of a stricter discipline. 
 
 *' At the accustomed period, he was removed from un- 
 der the tuition of the chaplain, and entered as a noble- 
 man in the University of Oxford. In this place, being 
 left much to himself, and having a great command of 
 money, his wicked habits became more rooted and diflfu- 
 sive; notwithstanding which, having a remarkably fine 
 person, an easy and elegant address, together with the 
 faculty of readily adapting his conversation to the taste
 
 THE LADY OF THE MANOR. 87 
 
 and humour of his auditors, his faults were not followed 
 by that disgrace and entire loss of reputation which 
 might have been expected. 
 
 ** During the time that Altamont spent at Oxford, there 
 was in the same college a young man descended from the 
 younger branch of a noble family — a youth who had been 
 brought up with the utmost care and tenderness by a 
 widowed mother, in great privacy, and in habits the most 
 pure and simple. It happened, that Altamont, on some 
 occasion which I do not at this moment recollect, was 
 enabled to lay this young man, whose name was Frede- 
 rick Beauclerk, under an obligation, of which the grateful 
 youth never lost the recollection. And as Altamont, 
 while in the university, was enabled to conceal from 
 young Beauclerk the most atrocious parts of his charac- 
 ter, and to gloss over his more venial errors with that 
 peculiar ease, grace, and address, by which, as I have 
 before said, he was distinguished above all his compa- 
 nions, he contrived to retain the affections, and in some 
 degree to acquire the esteem, of this young man, who, 
 though pure and pious, had little knowledge of the world ; 
 and who, with respect to religion, had a more correct 
 idea of its duties than of its doctrines. 
 
 " Altamont also felt more for Frederick than for any 
 young man with whom he had ever been acquainted. 
 The unaffected elegance of his manners had first attract- 
 ed him ; while his warm and pure attachment connected 
 with his unfeigned humility were calculated to nourish 
 as much of a sentiment of pure regard as could be sup- 
 posed to exist in a breast so impure as that of Altamont. 
 
 ** Frederick Beauclerk had a sister, who, with all the 
 elegant simplicity of her brother, possessed no common 
 share of personal beauty. Altamont became acquainted 
 with this young lady when paying a visit to his friend 
 during the long vacation which took place a short time 
 before these young men left the university. It happened, 
 that Amelia was precisely the model which Altamont had 
 formed to himself of female loveliness ; it will not there- 
 fore be wondered at, if she had power (though without 
 design) to fix the regards of this young man so perma- 
 nently as to induce him to seek her in marriage, and to 
 make her his wife. For, as this young lady was of a 
 noble family, and her fortune by no means contemptible.
 
 88 THE LADY OF THE MANOR. 
 
 no objection was made to this connexion by the Earl of 
 
 L ; while his lady vainly hoped that marriage would 
 
 correct all that was amiss in the character of her son — 
 for the repeated and free demands which Altamont had 
 already made on his parents' purse had touched this 
 lady in a part where she was capable of the most lively 
 emotions. Accordingly, the marriage took place; and 
 the young people were established in a country-house, 
 possessed by the Earl, in one of the most beautiful coun- 
 ties of England, and about one hundred miles from the 
 metropolis. 
 
 ** And here," said Lady N , " if we could drop our 
 
 curtain, and close the scene, as is commonly done on the 
 stage when the writer has united his profligate hero with 
 some faultless model of female perfection, all would be 
 well : but truth compels us to proceed, in order to point 
 out the natural and unavoidable consequences of this ill- 
 assorted union. 
 
 " In the sweet retirement of which I speak, while the 
 charms of Amelia were still new, and the bloom of hope 
 had not as yet faded from her cheek, all passed tolerably 
 well; though no doubt, from the very earliest period of 
 their more intimate union, certain notices of the moral 
 depravity of her noble husband must have been given to 
 Amelia : but as youth is unapprehensive, and more espe- 
 cially in those cases where the heart is tenderly attached, 
 doubt and distrust found no easy admission into her 
 bosom. 
 
 " Not many months had elapsed before a promise was 
 given of an increase of their family ; and Amelia's health 
 being delicate, it was found necessary that she should 
 cease to accompany her husband in his usual walks and 
 rides. On this occasion, so interesting to every tender 
 and affectionate husband, the first symptoms of unkind- 
 ness appeared in Altamont. After complaining of the 
 solitude to which he was reduced by the indisposition of 
 his lovely wife, he shortly began to arrange for himself 
 plans of amusement in which she had no part. 
 
 " At first his vv'anderings from the sphere of duty were 
 less eccentric; but speedily afterwards, giving the rein 
 to his evil inclinations, he plunged again into the same 
 excesses in which he had allowed himself at the univer- 
 sity. His absences from home became longer, and were
 
 THE LADY OF THE MANOR. 89 
 
 more frequently repeated; and though his gentle and 
 pious wife always received him with kindness on his re- 
 turn, yet he soon ceased to have pleasure in her company, 
 since her very excellencies served only to reproach him 
 for his neglect and infidelity. 
 
 " The occasion however of his son's birth awakened 
 for a little time his better feelings, and arrested him in 
 the mad career of his ruinous vices. During the short 
 period in which he remained at home after this event, he 
 behaved towards his wife in so affectionate a way as 
 served to cheer her mind with happier prospects. He 
 also bestowed many caresses on his infant son ; and more 
 than once expressed a hope that this child might be a 
 better man than his father. But, shortly afterwards, 
 again becoming weary of retirement, he suddenly took 
 leave of his wife and son ; and, pretending indispensable 
 business, repaired to town. 
 
 " It is not my intention," said Lady N , " to enter 
 
 into a full detail of all the guilty practices of this unhappy 
 young man : suffice it to say, that, soon after his arrival 
 in the capital, he connected himself so closely with 
 wicked associates, and involved himself so deeply in 
 gambling debts, that, in order to disencumber himself of 
 the painful embarrassments occasioned by these impru- 
 dences, he allowed himself to be persuaded to accom- 
 pany a certain young nobleman of his acquaintance to 
 Paris ; having previously raised a sura of money from 
 those persons who make it their business to supply 
 young heirs at an enormous interest, in order to enable 
 him to enter upon a new course of folly in the profligate 
 court in which he was about to appear. 
 
 *' From Boulogne-sur-Mer, and not till he had reached 
 that place, he wrote to his wife. His letter was short; 
 nevertheless, as it contained some expressions of tender- 
 ness for herself and her infant, it was long treasured up 
 and remembered by her, being the last token of regard 
 received from him on whom her young affections had 
 been placed. 
 
 *' From Boulogne, Altamont and his young companion. 
 
 Lord D , proceeded to Paris, were they had letters 
 
 of introduction to the English ambassador; in conse- 
 quence of which they were presently introduced to the 
 kinsr, and other members of the royal family. 
 I 3
 
 90 THE LADY OF THE MANOR. 
 
 " From a letter written by this misguided young man," 
 
 proceeded Lady N , " about the time here referred 
 
 to, his family became acquainted with certain circum- 
 stances relative to his residence in France which they 
 would not otherwise have known ; which letter you shall 
 hear, though it is not altogether necessary to this history. 
 
 ** ' My days,' wrote this unfortunate man, ' glide away 
 in this gay capital in an endless variety of amusements. 
 I find in this place that which effectually cheats me of 
 myself, and banishes those importunate reflections which 
 would intrude themselves when in England. It is impos- 
 sible to reflect, or to indulge an uneasy thought, in the 
 society of the charming females of this capital. They 
 have the faculty of making all things yield to the impres- 
 sions they are desirous of eff"ecting. In England, I could 
 be melancholy with the gay, sullen with the good-hu- 
 moured, and morose with the gentle and amiable : but 
 here it is quite otherwise; the ladies of Paris carry all 
 before them, and make of me what they will. It is cer- 
 tain that the follies they make me commit will not bear 
 reflection ; but who reflects in Paris ! 
 
 " ' I have been at Versailles, and have partaken of all 
 the pleasures of the court. The king was gracious ; and 
 I was, of course, in high favour with every one. What 
 a magnificent thing is this palace of Versailles ! What 
 an idea of regal pomp does it excite in every beholder ! 
 where the very force which is put upon nature in its su- 
 perb gardens fills the mind with high conceptions of the 
 riches and power of those by whom the woods and forests, 
 yea, the very elements, have been made to submit them- 
 selves to the caprice of man. For in this place, at the 
 command of his Majesty, a thousand streams of water 
 rush from various points into the mighty reservoirs in 
 which they are collected ; whence, bursting forth again 
 from the mouths of lions, dragons, tigers, and crocodiles, 
 of bronze or marble, they rise up in mighty fountains to- 
 wards the heavens, or gently glide over pebbled channels, 
 or through shadowy bosquets, into the lakes which are 
 seen in the distant perspective. In these gardens are 
 collected all the gods of the pantheon ; and, in fact, these 
 venerable personages meet the eye at every turn both 
 within and without the royal habitation. 
 
 ** * I never believed that I could have derived so much
 
 THE LADY OF THE MANOR. 91 
 
 benefit from my classical studies as I did on this occasion 
 of ray visit to Versailles. Every apartment in the royal 
 suite is denominated after some of the divine personages 
 of antiquity, as \vell as enriched with their ii|jures and 
 emblems; insomuch, that could an ancient Roman be 
 suddenly raised from his tomb, and brought hither, he 
 would assuredly believe himself on Olympus. Here is the 
 Hall of Plenty ,'^ the Hall of Venus, thie Hall of Diana, the 
 Hall of Mars, and the Hall of Peace. And in the great 
 gallery, which, by the bye, is the finest thing I ever saw, 
 the late king, Louis the Fourteenth, is represented by 
 various allegorical figures, under which he appropriates 
 to himself the characters and attributes of Deity ; and 
 where, among other extravagant actions, we behold him 
 hurling his thunderbolts in the person of Jupiter. 
 
 *' * When the court is at Versailles, I am generally with 
 it. In Paris my mornings are commonly spent at the 
 Palais-Royal, and my evenings either at the theatre or in 
 the assemblies of our great ladies. We dance, dress, 
 talk, and play : and thus our time passes. 
 
 " * W^hen I am weary of Paris, and Paris is weary of 
 me, I return home — but till then adieu.' 
 
 '* You will perhaps be able to obtain some little idea 
 from this letter," proceeded Lady N , " of the man- 
 ner in which this young nobleman spent the two first 
 years of his residence abroad : during which time he re- 
 ceived many letters from his parents, his wife, and Mrs, 
 Beauclerk, but made no reply to any one of them ; not, 
 as he afterwards confessed, that he had actually resolved 
 never to write to them again, nor to see them any more, 
 but because his conscience continually smiting him with 
 his unkindness and disobedience, made it too painful 
 for him to think of those connexions so long and in so 
 feeling a manner as to engage him in writing a letter. 
 He was indeed without excuse for his conduct, though 
 he was too proud to confess himself to blame. His af- 
 fections were now also diverted into other channels; 
 while the false wit and brilliancy of the French ladies, 
 with whom he daily conversed, had so entirely pervert- 
 ed his taste, that he ceased to recollect with any sort 
 of approbation the delicate and natural charms of his 
 once beloved Amelia. 
 
 ** I have before remarked, that this young man was
 
 92 THE LADY OF THE MANOR. 
 
 utterly ignorant of the olivine principles of Christianity, 
 having been brought up in practical infidelity respecting 
 revealed religion. But had he been educated in the wilds 
 of Africa among professed heathens, and never seen the 
 Word of God, or heard the name of Christ, these circum- 
 stances would have afforded no excuse for his conduct : 
 since in every human breast the judgment and the con- 
 science cannot but plead strongly against such shameful 
 breaches of moral duty as Altamont was guilty of —for, 
 as St. Paul observes, in speaking of the heathen. When 
 the Gentiles, which have not the law, do by nature the 
 things contained i?i the law, these, having not the law, are 
 a law unto themselves : which shew the ivork qf the law 
 written in their hearts, their conscience also bearing wit- 
 7iess, and their thoughts the mean ivhih accusing, or else 
 excusing one another. (Rom. ii. 14, 15.) 
 
 " Notwithstanding however this utter neglect on the 
 part of her husband, his wife still continued to address 
 him by letter, in a manner the most tender, repeatedly 
 inviting him to return, or offering to join him in Paris, 
 promising him that he had nothing to fear from her re- 
 proaches, and assuring him that his presence alone would 
 be sufficient to efface the memory of all that was past. 
 Thus she endeavoured to draw him back to his duty by 
 the gentle cords of love : but he cast aside her affectionate 
 communications as things of no value; nor did they pro- 
 duce the slightest impression, till, after having been sepa- 
 rated from her for more than a year and half, a letter was 
 put into his hand, announcing the death of his infant 
 son. On this occasion, Altamont experienced some few 
 slight awakenings of contrition and tenderness, and for 
 a moment felt almost inclined to return to England. 
 But these emotions were transitory : he had now become 
 the slave of depraved pleasures, to which he was bound 
 by chains too strong to be broken by his own enfeebled 
 powers. In the mean time Frederick Beauclerk, the 
 brother of his wife, had been making the tour of Europe, 
 in company with his tutor, an elderly clergyman and a 
 truly pious man. He had extended his travels into 
 Greece, and was now returning home through Paris. 
 On his arrival in that capital, he called upon the English 
 ambassador, from whom he heard that Altamont was in 
 the country, being then at Versailles, where the royal
 
 THE LADY OF THE MANOR. 93 
 
 family were engaged in the celebration of some great 
 national event. Frederick Beauclerk expressed a vehe- 
 ment desire to see his old friend, at the same time hinting, 
 that he feared all was not well between him and his 
 sister. 
 
 *' Persons in exalted situations of life are generally more 
 cautious in retailing reports relative to private individuals 
 than those of lower condition : for although the great 
 have like passions with other men, yet the constant re- 
 straints of polished life, in which they are educated, do 
 undoubtedly accustom them to refrain more generally 
 from that interference in other people's concerns, which 
 is the frequent occasion of disputes and heartburnings 
 in ordinary life, and which sometimes renders the com- 
 pany of underbred persons extremely irksome to those 
 who have been brought up in more refined society. 
 Agreeably to this remark, the ambassador entered no 
 further into the affairs of Altamont than I have before 
 related, making no remark by which the curiosity of 
 Beauclerk respecting his sister's present situation could 
 be satisfied ; but very obligingly telling him, that, as he 
 was himself going the next day to Versailles, he should 
 have great pleasure in taking him in his train, in order 
 to supply him with an opportunity of seeing his friend, 
 and witnessing a little of the humours of the court. 
 
 "Frederick Beauclerk accepted this obliging offer 
 with eagerness, and immediately returned to his hotel, 
 in order to prepare for his appearance next day in the 
 royal presence. 
 
 ** In the mean time, Mr. Osborne, the worthy tutor of 
 young Beauclerk, had received private letters from Mrs. 
 Beauclerk, in which the conduct of Altamont was repre- 
 sented in its true colours. This lady had refrained from 
 addressing her son on this subject, fearing to irritate 
 him, and dreading lest, in his resentment, he should say 
 something to Altamont which might lead to evil conse- 
 quences. In this letter, Mrs. Beauclerk, after speaking 
 of her daughter's trials, blamed herself for not having 
 sufficiently studied the character of Altamont before she 
 consented to their marriage. * But 1 confess not only 
 my weakness, but my sin ; I was dazzled by the high 
 birth, the noble prospects, and striking exterior of the 
 man who sought my daughter. I departed from the pure
 
 94 THE LADY OF THE MANOR. 
 
 and simple conduct of a Christian on this occasion; and 
 I take the afflictions which have followed as the punish- 
 ment of my offence. But Oh, my daughter, my Amelia, 
 how shall I make up to thee the sufferings that have 
 flowed from my negligence ! ' 
 
 " The venerable tutor bad scarcely concluded the pe- 
 rusal of this letter, when his pupil entered, in a state of 
 stronger excitement than he had ever before observed 
 about him. 
 
 *' * I have seen his Excellency,' said Frederick, * and I 
 am going with him to-morrow to Versailles, to see Alta- 
 mont, who is now there.' 
 
 '* * I could wish,' replied the tutor, * that you would 
 give up all thoughts of this visit, Mr. Beauclerk. The 
 court of France is full of dangers to a young man. Re- 
 member your Christian profession, and do not throw 
 yourself in the way of temptation,' 
 
 *' * But Altamont?' said Frederick; * I must see him! 
 Why has he left my sister? What is he doing here? If 
 I find, Mr. Osborne, if I find that he has injured Ame- 
 lia,' — 
 
 ** * If you find that he has injured your sister, Mr. 
 Beauclerk,' repeated the tutor, interrupting him, * what 
 then? — what will you do in that case?' 
 
 *' Frederick reddened and hesitated. 
 
 " * What will you do? ' repeated Mr. Osborne. * Re- 
 collect that you are the servant of Him of whom it is 
 written, Vengeance is mine; I will repay,' 
 
 *' * I will return to my sister, INIr. Osborne,' said Frede- 
 rick; * I will return to my sister, and be her comforter.' 
 
 ** * The Lord assisting you,' replied the tutor. 
 
 ** * But I must see Altamont,' said Frederick. * I must 
 try what the persuasions of a friend will do.' 
 
 " * I dare not advise this interview,' returned Mr. Os- 
 borne; * let we see the young man myself ; allow w?e to 
 be the interpreter of your sentiments ; recollect that all 
 human wisdom consists in the exclusion of self-depend- 
 ence.' 
 
 *' Frederick was silent. His gentle spirit was vehe- 
 mently agitated ; and he withdrew from the presence of 
 his tutor, perhaps to give way in retirement to the ex- 
 pression of his feelings. 
 
 ** The subject was not renewed until the next morning,
 
 THE LADY OF THE MANOR. 95 
 
 when the young man thus addressed his tutor : — * I can- 
 not,' said he, * overcome my desire of attending the am- 
 bassador to Versailles. But yet,' added he, ' if you, Sir, 
 demand this sacrifice of me, I must make it.' 
 
 " Mr. Osborne was silent, and shook his head. 
 
 ** * My tutor, my friend, my father,' continued Frede- 
 rick, *do not lay your commands upon me in this matter. 
 I have never yet wilfully disobeyed you, and I desire 
 never to do so, nor in any degree to shake off your au- 
 thority, till you relinquish it in the presence of my mother. 
 What I owe you is past the power of words to describe! 
 I believed myself to be pious, before my acquaintance 
 with you : I was preserved, without doubt, through the 
 course of my youth by a kind Providence from open 
 vice, and enabled to lead a comparatively blameless life. 
 But it was you, my friend, who, through the divine 
 blessing, brought me acquainted with the high and holy 
 doctrines of our blessed religion ; it was you who pointed 
 out to me the nature of sin and my need of a Saviour; 
 and who, for the last few years of my life, amid the va- 
 rious scenes which we have visited together, have per- 
 severingly laboured to elucidate and impress these 
 doctrines and principles on my mind. My obligations to 
 you are therefore such as never, never can be repaid ; 
 and the duty I owe you is that of a son to the best and 
 wisest of parents. Therefore if you command me not to 
 goto Versailles, I shall certainly submit my will to yours. 
 Nevertheless, I ardently desire to see and converse with 
 Altamont ; I feel it a duty to endeavour, at least, to re- 
 claim this friend of my youth, and if possible to lead him 
 back to his country, his parents, and his wife.' 
 
 ** Mr. Osborne was silent : scarcely knowing in what 
 manner to proceed. While he still deliberated, Frede- 
 rick left the room ; and the good man withdrew to his 
 apartment, to spend the evening in prayer for his belov- 
 ed pupil, under strong apprehensions concerning the 
 result of a meeting between the young men. 
 
 " Such," said Lady N , " is the account which Mr. 
 
 Osborne himself gave of this transaction. 
 
 *' At the appointed hour, Frederick Beauclerk, duly 
 equipped for his appearance in the royal presence, joined 
 the train of the ambassador, and accompanied the party 
 to Versailles.
 
 90 THE LADY OF THE MANOR. 
 
 '* Versailles is distant about ten miles from the barriere 
 of Paris ; the road lying through woods and along a fine 
 terrace on the banks of the Seine. 
 
 " When arrived at the royal palace, the evening had 
 already closed in, and the court was filled with equi- 
 pages and companies of the royal guard. When entered 
 within the walls, Frederick Beauclerk followed the suite 
 of the ambassador up an immense staircase into an ex- 
 ceeding long gallery, occupied on each side by the apart- 
 ments of the principal persons of the court. From 
 this long gallery the party proceeded into the royal 
 apartments, which were all brilliantly illuminated, and 
 furnished with the utmost magnificence. , 
 
 '* The first of these apartments was for the royal guard, 
 consisting of young noblemen of the first families of the 
 realm. From the guard-chamber the party proceeded 
 into the halls before mentioned by Altamont, where the 
 figures and emblems of the ancient heathen deities were 
 multiplied and arranged with a degree of splendour, 
 which dazzled the eye as much as it shocked the taste 
 of the pious Beauclerk. 
 
 " These apartments led into others, forming a suite of 
 immense extent; many of them being hung. with the 
 finest specimens of the tapestry of Gobelin, or otherwise 
 adorned with carvings, gildings, and paintings. 
 
 " The most remote of these apartments opened into a 
 gallery, said to be one of the finest in Europe, being 
 above two hundred feet in length and thirty in breadth, 
 and lighted by seventeen large windows, opposite which 
 immense mirrors reflected and multiplied all the glittering 
 furniture of the gallery. On the present occasion this 
 superb chamber was illuminated by innumerable lamps, 
 which displayed in the strongest point of view the bright 
 and impressive figures painted upon the ceiling. 
 
 " The party advanced along this gallery to the further 
 end, where spacious folding-doors being thrown open, 
 displayed another grand apartment, in which the ladies 
 of the court were assembled in the presence of their 
 queen, none of them being seated but those whose 
 proximity to princely rank allowed them that privi- 
 lege. 
 
 *' It was not permitted to Frederick, or others of the 
 suite of the ambassador, to enter this apartment: they
 
 THE LADY OF THE MANOR. 97 
 
 therefore remained in the irallery, while his Excellency 
 went forward into the royal presence. 
 
 ** Frederick Beauclerk being thus left by the ambassa- 
 dor, and being at the same time a stranger to those 
 about him, had full leisure to contemplate the surround- 
 ing objects, and to meditate upon the motives which had 
 impelled him to seek an interview with Altamont in such 
 a scene as that before him. 
 
 " For a few moments, the blaze of innumerable lights 
 in all directions, the sound of a remote band of music, 
 the various resplendent figures passing and repassing 
 before him, every object being doubled upon his sight 
 by the vast mirrors with which the gallery was enriched, 
 together with the thousand old and new ideas associated 
 with the place which crowded upon his mind — all this 
 prevented an orderly arrangement of his thoughts, and 
 occasioned a sort of temporary delirium. The mind of 
 Frederick Beauclerk, however, by the divine blessing, 
 had for a considerable time been brought under the ge- 
 neral control of truth and reason ; in consequence of 
 which, he was presently enabled to divest the present 
 scene of its adventitious ornaments, and to consider it 
 with nearly the same feelings as those with which he was 
 afterwards accustomed to meditate upon it, when certain 
 unhappy circumstances had left him little else to do than 
 to contemplate the past and prepare for the future. 
 Many sentences of Holy Writ (remembered often before, 
 but felt particularly now) came at this time with force 
 to his mind — passages in which the state of monarchs on 
 earth, and the various circumstances of royal life, are 
 set forth in their truest colours, by him who is the Cre- 
 ator of kings, and in a manner from which even kings 
 themselves, if so disposed, might draw instructions cal- 
 culated to make them wise unto salvation. 
 
 " While the mind of Beauclerk was thus occupied, 
 his eyes were frequently bent towards the state-apart- 
 ment, near the doors of which he was standing. The 
 cupola of this apartment was painted in the brightest 
 colours, representing the Genius of France, seated in a 
 car on an azure sphere supported by a cloud, and crown- 
 ed with glory ; while multitudes of allegorical personages, 
 among w hich appeared Love, Peace, and Pleasure, were 
 grouped around the principal figure. 
 
 VOL. I. K
 
 98 THE LADY OF THE MANOR. 
 
 *• The pious mind of this young man was again hurt 
 at these repeated allusions to mythological subjects in 
 the palace of a king calling himself Christian ; while the 
 ideas which these figures suggested were such, that, upon 
 turning his eyes from the ceiling to the lower parts of 
 the room, he less wondered than he should otherwise 
 have done at the air of levity and vanity which shed it- 
 self over the whole assemblage of those courtly dames 
 who filled the royal apartment. 
 
 *' In the centre of these, on a magnificent sofa, sat the 
 ladies of the royal family ; their right and left being oc- 
 cupied by such as held the privileged rank of duchesses, 
 who alone are permitted to sit in the preseace of the 
 queen. The rest were standing in groups, in different parts 
 of the apartment. The dresses of this noble assembly 
 sparkled with gold and silver, while their necks and arms 
 were adorned with jewels. There were also present some 
 gentlemen ; but the king himself had not yet arrived. 
 
 " While Frederick was looking intently upon this royal 
 and noble company, a murmur of voices running along 
 the gallery reached his ear, when turning hastily round, 
 he was made to understand that his Majesty was ap- 
 proaching. Presently the extensive door-ways at the 
 further end of the gallery began to fill, upon w hich those 
 within retreated to the right and the left. The king 
 himself soon appeared : his air was majestic, and royalty 
 sat upon his brow. He was followed by a number of 
 gentlemen superbly dressed ; among whom Frederick 
 soon distinguished the husband of his sister, his former 
 companion and friend, the person for whose sake he 
 had accepted this invitation to Versailles, and the man 
 whom he had so earnestly desired to see. 
 
 *' The king drew near ; but Beauclerk ceased to behold 
 him. He had no longer any eyes but for Altamont, who, 
 advancing in the royal train, excelled all those by whom 
 he was accompanied in the manly elegance of his per- 
 son, as well as in his noble, but unstudied, deportment. 
 As the king approached along the gallery, the figure 
 of Altamont became more conspicuous. The glow of 
 conscious superiority and self-satisfaction flushed his 
 cheeks ; his fine hair was gracefully disposed, so as to 
 expose to view his fair and spacious forehead, and 
 attached behind with a knot of ribbon : his dress was
 
 THE LADY OF THE MANOR. 99 
 
 remarkably splendid ; a variety of the richest perfumes 
 exhaled from his person ; and a glittering sword hung 
 by his side. The king passed on, and Altamont followed ; 
 but being engaged in conversation with one w ho walked 
 by his side, he did not observe Beauclerk, until the king 
 having entered the queen's apartment, the latter took 
 occasion to step forward, and laying his hand upon his 
 arm, cried out, ' What, Altamont, have you forgotten me ? ' 
 
 " At the sound of Frederick's voice, Altamont turned 
 hastily round, and starting, recoiled a few steps, as if 
 he had beheld a serpent. 
 
 ** * Have you forgotten me, Altamonf?' repeated Fre- 
 derick, astonished at this movement of his former friend ; 
 
 * you perhaps did not expect to see me here?' 
 
 ** * I certainly did not,' replied the other. * I thought 
 you were in Italy.' 
 
 *' * Or perhaps you hoped I was got back to England,' 
 returned the other, flushing high with a resentment he 
 had no power at that moment to control, * that I had 
 hastened home to comfort and protect your wife.' 
 
 ** ' This is neither a time nor place for the discussion 
 of these private matters,' returned Altamont. 
 
 *' * Every time, and every place,' retorted Frederick 
 Beauclerk, ' may serve a brother to plead the cause of 
 an injured sister.' 
 
 ** * Injured ! ' repeated Altamont ; * and is it to you that 
 I must give an account of my actions?' 
 
 *' * Yes,' returned the other, * it is to me that you must 
 account for your desertion of Amelia.' 
 
 ** * I am ready then,' replied Altamont, haughtily, * to 
 give you such account at any time and place you may 
 appoint. But w hat man, excepting a coward,' added he, 
 
 * would endeavour to make the world a party in his 
 private quarrels? Meet me to-morrow at sunrise, in the 
 forest of St. Germaine, where I go to hunt with his Ma- 
 jesty, and you shall have every satisfaction you may 
 desire.' Thus speaking, he proceeded into the queen's 
 apartment, leaving Frederick to make such reflections on 
 the precipitancy and rashness of his conduct, and on the 
 insults to which he had exposed himself, as one might 
 be supposed to make, who, together with a high sense 
 of honour, was fully impressed with the Christian duty 
 of forgiving injuries.
 
 100 THE LADY OF THE MANOR. 
 
 " Short as this conversation was between Altamont 
 and Frederick, it did not pass unobserved by some of 
 those many busy persons who are to be found in every 
 public assembly ; and Altamont was more than once ad- 
 dressed to this purpose by certain of his pretended 
 friends : — ' And who, Monsieur, was that little gentleman 
 who dared to address you in a manner so free as that 
 we have witnessed, in the presence of his Majesty? and 
 to call you to account, as we understood, for your con- 
 duct to his sister?' 
 
 *' On these occasions, Altamont gave himself sundry 
 airs of insolence and independence, using some contemp- 
 tuous words respecting Frederick Beauclerk, a,nd throw- 
 ing out certain expressions of defiance, which were 
 commended by those about him as being perfectly proper 
 and suitable to his character as a gentleman. 
 
 *' All these circumstances, which I have taken some 
 time to relate as they passed in the royal apartments at 
 Versailles, occasioned no manner of derangement in the 
 amusements of the evening. Every thing passed on in 
 the usual routine; Altamont was as gay, as brilliant, and 
 as much admired, as ever; and if he had any feelings of 
 remorse or regret, they were not sufficiently strong to 
 affect his outward appearance in the smallest degree. 
 
 *' Not such was the case of the warm-hearted and 
 affectionate Beauclerk. It is difficult to convey an idea 
 of the conflict which he endured at the moment when 
 Altamont turned his back upon him. His breast was at 
 that instant agitated with a variety of strong emotions: 
 offended friendship, resentment, and pity, all contended 
 within him. But, among all these painful feelings, that 
 of self-reproach was abundantly the keenest. — *I have,' 
 thought he, ' drawn upon myself the resentment of Al- 
 tamont by my hasty and injudicious address at such a 
 moment and in such a place. I came to sooth the hus- 
 band of my sister, and if possible to lead him back to 
 his duty by the pleadings of friendship: but, instead of 
 this, I have injured the cause of my Amelia, disgraced 
 my character as a Christian, and provoked my brother- 
 in-law to insult me publicly: and all this by my precipi- 
 tancy — a precipitancy too against which I was warned 
 by my tutor. Oh, Altamont ! Oh, Amelia ! ' he inwardly 
 exclaimed ; * 1 have injured you, I fear, past repair.'
 
 THE LADY OF THE MANOR. 101 
 
 " Thoughts of this description so entirely occupied 
 the mind of Frederick Beauclerk from the moment of his 
 short interview with Altamont, that the courtly pageant 
 which passed before him during the rest of the evening 
 had no power to arrest his attention for a moment ; and 
 he impatiently waited an opportunity to disengage him- 
 self from the suite of his Excellency the ambassador, for 
 the purpose of repairing to a lodging which his servant 
 had prepared for him in the town. There, having laid 
 aside his court-dress, and assumed a more ordinary habit, 
 he waited till the first dawn of day ; when mounting his 
 horse, and desiring that none should attend him, he rode 
 directly towards St. Germaine. 
 
 " The road from Versailles to St. Germaine is for the 
 most part straight as an arrow, and inclosed between 
 rows of trees. Such a road could not easily be missed, 
 even by one who, like Frederick, was an entire stranger 
 to the country, and in a state of the utmost mental agi- 
 tation : accordingly, he arrived at St. Germaine about 
 sunrise. Having delivered his horse to the care of the 
 first innkeeper whom he could find, he proceeded through 
 that part of the town which led to the palace and the 
 forest; which last is at a small distance from the for- 
 mer. 
 
 " The palace of St. Germaine," remarked Lady N 
 
 in this part of her narrative, " is the place in which 
 James the Second, of England, resided for some years 
 before his death, and wherein he died. It is of an ir- 
 regular form, built round a court, ornamented with towers 
 and cupolas at each corner. It is an extensive edifice, 
 containing three stories; the two lower stories project- 
 ing considerably beyond the upper one, and having an 
 open gallery above them surmounted by an iron rail 
 running round the whole circumference of the building. 
 Up to the level of this gallery, the palace is of stone ; 
 above which it is curiously formed of small bricks and 
 plaster of a dark lead colour. The windows of the pa- 
 lace are numerous, but small. In one of the fronts is a 
 large clock; and on the roof of the palace is a wooden 
 cupola containing a bell. The whole appearance of this 
 royal fabric is gloomy though majestic, calculated to 
 carry the mind back to other times and days long past. 
 Two of its fronts face an area of the street; the third, 
 K 3
 
 102 THE LADY OF THE MANOR. 
 
 a garden; and the fourth, a beautiful lawn scattered 
 over with Linden trees. 
 
 "The high towers of the palace cast a long shade 
 towards the west, the sun being yet upon the verge of 
 the horizon when Frederick Beauclerk approached it. 
 The young man passed round the two fronts of the edi- 
 fice towards the street, and entered by an iron gate 
 upon the lawn before mentioned. Through this lawn he 
 passed on, till he came out on a beautiful terrace, whence 
 the river Seine appeared winding through a rich valley 
 till it lost itself in a long range of woods in the distance. 
 From this terrace the noble arches which support the 
 aqueduct on the heights of Marly may be seen rising 
 above the town on one side, while the distant towers of 
 St. Dennis, with the hills about Paris and St. Cloud, are 
 distinctly visible on the other. 
 
 *' But the unhappy young man of whom we are speak- 
 ing," proceeded Lady N , " had little leisure to 
 
 contemplate these beauties. His mind was occupied on 
 other subjects : and no sooner did he find himself alone 
 in this solitary scene, than he solemnly and seriously 
 devoted himself anew to the Father of mercies, humbly 
 imploring the divine assistance and direction, and ear- 
 nestly soliciting such a degree of grace as might thence- 
 forward lead him to renounce all dependence upon self. 
 
 " While thus engaged, he passed along the terrace till 
 he came within view of a stone gateway opening into the 
 forest. Having passed this gateway, he speedily found 
 himself at the entrance of the w ood ; whence several 
 roads branched oft', and, winding away, presently lost 
 themselves among the trees. There, while considering 
 through which of these paths he should direct his steps, 
 his ears were saluted by the sound of horns; presently 
 after which several men on horseback appeared in the 
 garb of huntsmen, who rode towards him, and passed 
 on, being followed by many dogs. These being nearly 
 out of sight, a French lacquey, clothed also in green, 
 came up to him, and having enquired his name, said, 
 * Monsieur, you are the gentleman then to whom I have 
 an errand. My master awaits you in a retired part of 
 the wood not far distant.' 
 
 " * Lead the way,' said Beauclerk, * and I w ill follow. 
 And now,' added he to himself, * under the influence of
 
 THE LADY OF THE MANOR. 103 
 
 divine grace, I will endeavour to make some reparation 
 for the offence of which I was last night guilty.' 
 
 ** The lacquey, in obedience to the request of Frede- 
 rick, immediately shot into the wood through a winding 
 and obscure path, and having proceeded a considerable 
 time, making his way througli brakes and bushes still 
 wet with dew, he conducted Beauclerk at length into a 
 more open part of the forest, where a tree having been 
 felled lay across the glade. There Frederick saw seve- 
 ral young men assembled in the costume of the royal 
 hunt ; among whom he soon discerned Altamont, who was 
 leaning carelessly against the trunk of the tree before 
 mentioned, and caily conversing with his companions. 
 
 ** At sight of Beauclerk he started up from his loun- 
 ging attitude and stood erect, looking fixedly and inso- 
 lently upon him as he approached, and scarcely deigning 
 to notice his salutation. The countenance of Altamont 
 bore strong evidence of the disorders of the past night, 
 and it was apparent from the wildness of his eye that he 
 was still under the influence of intoxication. 
 
 " ' Well, Sir,' said he, addressing Beauclerk, who 
 was now come up close to him, ' what is your business 
 with me? I am now at leisure to give you a hearing.' 
 
 " * My first business,' replied Frederick, calmly, * is to 
 apologize to you, my Lord, for having yesterday been 
 led by the ardour of my feelings to intrude myself upon 
 you at an inconvenient moment. I am sensible of having 
 acted most improperly in so doing, and not less so in 
 having spoken with so much heat ; and I take this the 
 first opportunity which presents itself of making my 
 apology.' 
 
 *' As the Christian motives which induced Frederick 
 Beauclerk to use the words of humility and apology 
 where those only of defiance were expected, were totally 
 inexplicable to Altamont and his companions, they failed 
 not to attribute his conduct at this crisis to cowardice: 
 insomuch that Altamont drew up his lip with an expres- 
 sion of contempt and scorn, while the young Frenchmen 
 murmured the word * poltroon' in whispers sufficiently 
 audible to be heard by every individual present. Not- 
 withstanding which provocations, Frederick was enabled 
 to proceed with composure, and to address his brother 
 with an air of unfeigned gentleness — reminding him of
 
 104 THE LADY OF THE MANOR. 
 
 their former friendship, and their near connexion ; and 
 earnestly requesting a private interview. 
 
 " * Is not the present place sufficiently private. Sir?' 
 returned Altaniont. 
 
 *' Frederick made no reply; but looked at the two 
 young: noblemen who stood by. 
 
 ** • These gentlemen are my friends,' said Altamont. 
 * There is nothing you can say which they may not hear.' 
 
 " * If it must be so,' replied Frederick, ' I must then 
 submit to this intrusion, and avail myself of the present 
 opportunity to intreat you, my brother, to return to your 
 country, and to that wife who no doubt perpetually 
 mourns the absence of her husband.' 
 
 '* x\ltamont replied, with scorn, that he would not 
 allow any interference between himself and his wife. 
 
 " Frederick pleaded the privilege of a brother. 
 
 " Altamont answered, that no brother, or other rela- 
 tion, should interfere in his aifairs, unless he could prove 
 himself his superior in strength of arm; and thus saying, 
 he laid his hand upon his sword, (for at that period, in 
 France, no gentleman appeared abroad without a sword,) 
 with an air of defiance and insolence, which could not 
 but excite the applause of the by-standers. 
 
 " Frederick calmly observed, that he came to reason 
 with a brother, and not to contend with an enemy. 
 
 ** Altamont told him, that fine-turned periods were 
 but the subterfuge of cowardice, and that religion was a 
 very convenient protection for a man who dared not fight. 
 
 '* Frederick flushed high upon this, and his hand for a 
 moment rested upon the hilt of his sword ; but recollecting 
 himself, he removed it. 
 
 *' He had now further insults to bear from Altamont 
 and his companions : the end of which was, that he grew 
 warm, and, being thrown off his guard, made use of some 
 expressions which so irritated Altamont, that he angrily 
 drew his sword, compelling him in self-defence to do the 
 same ; though his Christian principles still so strongly 
 prevailed, that his weapon was used only in protecting 
 himself, without the least attempt to injure his adversary. 
 The unequal contest however was soon decided ; and 
 Altamont had the momentary satisfaction (if satisfaction 
 it were) of seeing his meek and unoffending foe extend- 
 ed bleeding upon the ground.
 
 THE LADY OF THE MANOR. 105 
 
 " On this occasion, however, Altamont shewed that 
 he was not past feeling : for no sooner did he behold his 
 early companion bleeding, and apparently dying, than, 
 being sobered instantly by the sight, he threw himself on 
 his knees by his side, endeavouring to stop the blood, 
 and dismissing his companions in all directions for as- 
 sistance. Feeling however some degree of alarm for his 
 personal safety in case of Frederick's death, as soon as 
 he heard the steps of his returning servants, he arose, 
 and leaving Beauclerk senseless upon the ground, he 
 plunged into the thickest part of the wood ; intending 
 there to remain concealed till he should hear the end of 
 this disastrous affair. 
 
 *' In the mean time, Mr. Osborne (who had been ex- 
 tremely uneasy ever since the departure of his pupil) 
 found his mind at length so violently agitated as obliged 
 him to hire a carriage and follow Frederick to Versailles ; 
 where finding his servant, and being informed by him 
 that his master had gone in the direction of St. Germaine, 
 he followed him thither, tracing him, with great dith- 
 culty and by dint of many enquiries, to the very forest ; 
 where meeting with the lacquey, who was at that moment 
 returning with a surgeon whom he had brought from the 
 town, he arrived in company of these persons at the 
 spot where his beloved pupil lay stretched upon the 
 bare earth fainting and covered with blood. 
 
 *' The wound however having been examined and bound 
 up, and certain cordials administered, it was found that 
 there existed no danger of immediate death. This be- 
 came a source of unspeakable comfort to Mr. Osborne, 
 who was extremely anxious that some interval for reflec- 
 tion might be allowed to his amiable pupil, and that he 
 might not be hurried away into the eternal world imme- 
 diately from scenes in which his passions had been 
 vehemently excited. The good man also blamed him- 
 self beyond measure for not having used all his influence 
 to restrain his pupil from tempting those dangers to 
 which he had so rashly exposed himself; though he had 
 been far from looking forward to a catastrophe so speedy 
 and dreadful as that which he was here called to witness. 
 But regrets, and tears, and anguish, were now utterly in 
 vain. 
 
 *' The unfortunate young man was lifted gently from
 
 106 THE LADY OF THE MANOR. 
 
 the cold ground, and carried to the town ; where lodgings 
 bein^ procured, he was immediately put to bed, and 
 every assistance furnished which might administer either 
 to his bodily ease or his spiritual consolation. 
 
 ** Although the wound given by Altamont was the ul- 
 timate cause of the death of Frederick Beauclerk, yet 
 his life was protracted for more than twelve months ; 
 during which time he was enabled to give a full and 
 accurate account of his visit to Versailles, and the events 
 which followed. He attributed his misfortune to self- 
 presumption in supposing himself able to endure trials 
 to which he was not called : and being thus humbled and 
 self-abased through the influence of the Holy Spirit, he 
 was favoured with the most clear and consolatory views 
 of redeeming love. Before his death, he expressed him- 
 self as having heartily forgiven the man by whom he had 
 been thus cruelly injured ; thanked his tutor for his 
 paternal kindness ; prayed for the peace of his afflicted 
 sister; and in this frame of mind yielded up his life into 
 the hands of the great Father of spirits. His remains 
 were committed to the dust near the place in which he 
 died. 
 
 *' But the disasters of this unfortunate family (unfor- 
 tunate as it respects this world and its concerns, though, 
 we trust, highly favoured and peculiarly blessed with 
 respect to their spiritual interests) did not end with the 
 death of Frederick. The dreadful event of her brother 
 dying by her husband's hands was related to Amelia: 
 and her cup of woe being thus filled up, she shortly 
 afterwards fell into a disorder which terminated her life. 
 
 ** I forgot to mention in its proper place, that Mrs. 
 Beauclerk had attended her son in France ; whence she 
 scarcely returned in time to watch the progress of that 
 disease which speedily brought her daughter to the 
 grave. Thus this afflicted parent proved the dreadful 
 eflfects of that departure from simple Christian principles, 
 which she had candidly avowed in her letter to Mr. 
 Osborne. 
 
 *' Amelia was buried in a vault with her infant in the 
 parish-church belonging to the house in which she had 
 resided ever since her marriage; the church itself being 
 situated in a retired part of the pleasure-grounds, encom- 
 passed with forest-trees of magnificent growth.
 
 THE LADY OF THE MANOR. 107 
 
 ** To this shado^^'y retreat the afflicted mother, who 
 had taken a small house in the village after the death of 
 her children, very frequently repaired ; having caused 
 a marble monument to be erected in the church to 
 the memory of her daughter and her infant, presenting 
 figures as large as life, correctly copied from a portrait 
 in which the mother was drawn looking down upon her 
 lovely infant who lay sleeping on her breast. Certain 
 impressive texts of Scripture descriptive of the hopes of 
 the departed were inscribed beneath the figures, with 
 the name, the age, and the day of the departure of each : 
 and at the bottom were placed these words — 
 
 " La notre Amelie." 
 
 ** The name, age, and day of the death of Frederick 
 Beauclerk were also engraven on a tablet in a part of 
 this monument, together with the place of his sepulture ; 
 but without any reference to the circumstances of his 
 death. 
 
 ** In the mean time, Altamont, the author of all these 
 complicated woes, pursued his mad career in different 
 cities of Europe, to which he successively repaired after 
 his fatal rencontre in the forest of St. Germaine. We 
 do not presume to say, that he felt no remorse for the 
 injuries which he had inflicted, or that the memory of 
 those amiable persons whose deaths he had undoubtedly 
 occasioned did not sometimes embitter his gayest hours 
 — certain however it is, that, whatever he might feel, his 
 conduct was not at all affected by those feelings, but 
 that he continued to trouble society by his thoughtless 
 and profligate behaviour, till being involved in debts on 
 all sides, and not knowing where to obtain further sup- 
 plies, he heard with no small satisfaction the report of 
 his father's death; upon which he hastened home to 
 secure his inheritance. 
 
 " Being arrived in England, where he appeared as the 
 head of an ancient and respectable family, and where he 
 was happily separated from some of his worst connex- 
 ions, Altamont conducted himself for a few months in 
 such a manner as inclined liis friends to hope that a 
 happy change had been efi'ected in his sentiments. And 
 here I would remark, that on this occasion his worldly 
 acquaintance were very probably led to hazard many
 
 108 THE LADY OF THE MANOR. 
 
 wise conjectures on the subject of his ajDparent amend- 
 ment, imagining, as irreligious people often do, that 
 repentance would come of course with years and expe- 
 rience — it being the common opinion of strangers to re- 
 ligion, that a man may and must repent whenever he is 
 made to see and feel the impropriety of his conduct. 
 And perhaps if we consider repentance to consist merely 
 of that regret which arises in the mind from having done 
 something which a man ought not to do — a feeling which 
 generally proceeds either from the dread of punishment 
 or of some other inconvenience to which his misconduct 
 may expose him — such a repentance may indeed be pro- 
 duced by ordinary motives, and a man may in this sense 
 be considered as able to repent whenever he may find 
 it convenient and reasonable so to do. But that repen- 
 tance which is unto life, whereby a sinner is made to see 
 and feel the burden of his sin, being grieved and hum- 
 bled before God on account of it, not so much for the 
 punishment to which it has made him liable, as because 
 thereby the divine law has been violated, the Lord him- 
 self dishonoured and offended, and his own soul polluted 
 and defiled — this kind of repentance depends not upon 
 a man's own exertions, but is an unmerited grace freely 
 bestowed, and a divine work wrought upon him by the 
 Spirit of God. They, therefore, who suppose that they 
 may repent at any time, are egregiously mistaken, and 
 that in a point of the highest importance to their ever- 
 lasting welfare. But to return to my history. 
 
 *' As I have before said," continued Lady N , 
 
 ** Altamont conducted himself with so much decorum du- 
 ring the first few months of his residence in England, that 
 the most pleasing expectations were entertained by his 
 mother, who was still living, as well as by several others 
 of his friends, that he would become a totally altered cha- 
 racter. But after a while, becoming weary of his new 
 honours and possessions in the country, he removed to 
 town ; where, to shorten my story, he again entered into 
 bad company of both sexes, by which means his vast 
 property was speedily so much injured, as induced him 
 to have recourse to gambling in order to repair it. 
 
 " At length, after a long course of various fortune, the 
 wild and wicked career of this young man was arrested 
 by a quarrel with a young nobleman in a gambling-house.
 
 THE LADY OF THE MANOR. 109 
 
 which was desperately terminated by Altamont himself, 
 who, in the height of an ungovernable passion, drew his 
 sword, and stabbed his adversary to the heart. 
 
 *• Immediately after having committed this dreadful 
 action, he made his escape through an open window into 
 a private street ; and having eluded his pursuers, he ar- 
 rived in disguise at the house in which his beloved wife 
 had lived and died, trusting that he might confide in the 
 fidelity of two old servants who kept the mansion, which 
 had been forsaken ever since the death of its late noble 
 and unfortunate occupant. He knocked at the door at 
 a late hour, and was received in the most respectful 
 manner by his two dependents, who, on hearing the 
 statement of his distressing case, very warmly engaged 
 to use every possible means for his concealment — and 
 herein for some time they succeeded, although many 
 persons were dispersed in different directions to appre- 
 hend this unhappy man, for the purpose of bringing him 
 to justice. 
 
 "At length, however, these officers of justice arrived 
 in the very place where the miserable Altamont was con- 
 cealed ; and entering his house, the wretched man with 
 some difficulty escaped their observation by flying into 
 the shrubbery, from whence he made his way into the 
 church by a small door which he contrived to burst open 
 and fasten after him. 
 
 " This happened just at the going down of the sun, 
 when its last rays, penetrating the branches of the sur- 
 rounding trees, glanced obliquely into the church, and 
 rested upon the monument of Amelia. As Altamont, 
 after fastening the door, advanced into the chancel, 
 where the monument was situated, unconscious of what 
 was next to meet his eye — at sight of the marble figures 
 he started and stood still. In an instant recognizing the 
 lovely features of his late wife, he gazed for a moment 
 with a feeling of sudden and newly awakened emotion 
 on this silent representation of one who was once the 
 object of his tenderest affection. Then dropping his 
 regards, his eyes fell upon the figure of the sleeping 
 infant : the beauty of the child was not less remarkable 
 than that of the mother, and the dimpled figure wanted 
 nothing but life and colour to render it inexpressibly 
 attractive. The eye of Altamont fell still lower ; first 
 VOL. I. L
 
 110 THE LADY OF THE MANOR. 
 
 upon the passages of Scripture, and then upon the last 
 pathetic expression — 
 
 " La notre Amelie." 
 
 Unable to bear this, he turned away, exclaiming in an 
 agony — * Oh, that I had never, never seen that sun, 
 whose brilliant beams shine on this spot but to augment 
 and mock my woe ! Oh, that I had never been born !* 
 Thus exclaiming, he quitted the church, resolving for a 
 moment to deliver himself up to his pursuers. But the 
 dread of public shame again taking possession of his 
 mind, he retreated into the thickest part of the woods. 
 Whence, being favoured by the increasing gloom of the 
 evening, he crossed over the country, and walking all 
 night escaped to a sea-port in the north. There, how- 
 ever, believing himself out of the reach of danger, and 
 consequently becoming less careful about concealment, 
 he was recognized, seized, and delivered over to the 
 officers of justice, at the moment when embarking for a 
 foreign country. 
 
 ** It was during the solitude of this night," proceeded 
 
 the Lady N , "after his dreadful visit to the church, 
 
 that Altamont first experienced any thing like proper 
 feeling respecting his past conduct. To use his own 
 words : * I was that night like a man just awaking from 
 a long tit of delirium or intoxication, and suddenly find- 
 ing himself surrounded by the wreck of all that was once 
 dear and precious to him destroyed by his own hand 
 in the paroxysms of his madness. Through the reflec- 
 tions which that memorable night urged upon me, my 
 sense of guilt was every moment rendered more intense ; 
 till my feelings became so intolerable, that, had I not 
 been restrained by the fear of something still more ter- 
 rible beyond the grave, I should certainly at that time 
 have put a period to my life.' 
 
 " In this happy country," continued Lady N , 
 
 " nobility is no protection against the strong arm of the 
 law ; but the most dignified criminal is as liable to pu- 
 nishment as those of the lowest rank. Altamont was 
 apprehended, and shortly committed to the confinement 
 of a solitary cell, there to remain until his trial. His 
 mother and other friends indeed obtained permission to 
 supply him with some few conveniences and comforts in
 
 THE LADY OF THE MANOR. Ill 
 
 his gloomy prison, which could not have been extended 
 to a poorer man : nevertheless, the law had its course, and 
 this wretched man was condemned to many hours each 
 day of darkness and solitude, which were rendered inex- 
 pressibly dreadful to him by the remembrance of a life 
 full of crime together with a horrible presentiment of all 
 the future consequences of his guilt. 
 
 ** And now," said Lady N , '* I am come to what 
 
 I consider the most interesting period in the life of this 
 hitherto miserable young man. I am come to that part 
 of his history which is indescribably precious, as afford- 
 ing the most remarkable display I have ever met with of 
 the power of religion in restoring peace to the most 
 wretched, purity to the most polluted, and honour to the 
 most degraded of mankind. 
 
 *' It was some weeks after this wretched man had been 
 committed to prison, as he sat one night by the light of 
 a small lamp at the foot of his bed, meditating even to 
 madness upon the distressing situation into which he had 
 brought himself by his crimes — when suddenly the bolts 
 by which his door was fastened on the outside were 
 drawn back, the lock was turned, and at the same mo- 
 ment a venerable clergyman entered the cell, who, re- 
 spectfully approaching, addressed him to the following 
 purpose. 
 
 " ' My name, my Lord, is Osborne. You may have 
 heard of me, although I have hitherto been personally 
 unknown to you. I have obtained admittance here, in 
 order, with the divine permission, to point out to you 
 that consolation which is provided for all who are willing 
 to receive it.' 
 
 "* Osborne!' repeated Altamont; *I recollect the 
 name ; and if you. Sir, are the man I take you for, you 
 ought to hate me.' 
 
 " 'You have injured me, it is true,' said Mr. Osborne. 
 * But so far am I from hating you, that I do most sin- 
 cerely sympathize with you, and am anxious to administer 
 to you every consolation in my power, if you are not un- 
 willing to accept my services.' 
 
 " * You can have no possible motive but kindness,' 
 returned Altamont with a sigh, *in visiting such a one 
 as myself in such a place as this ; and I am in conse- 
 quence obliged to you : — notwithstanding which,' added
 
 112 THE LADY OF THE MANOR. 
 
 he with a bitter smile, * when you speak of administering 
 comfort to a man in my condition, I must either beUeve 
 that you are sporting with me, or that you suppose your- 
 self to be endowed with supernatural powers.' 
 
 *' * My Lord,' said Mr. Osborne, 'do you suppose me 
 capable of sporting with your feelings'? — the feelings of 
 a man in your situation?' 
 
 " * No,' said Altamont, * I cannot suppose it. But,' 
 added he, ' with respect to the comfort you promise me, 
 may I be allowed to ask you the following questions — 
 Can you recal the dead to life? — can you give me back 
 my wife, my friend, my child? — can you restore my pol- 
 luted honours, and my unsullied fame? If you, can do 
 all this, Mr. Osborne, you may then talk to me of con- 
 solation; and I will listen to you with delight.' 
 
 " ' It would be presumptuous in me, my Lord, in the 
 highest degree presumptuous,' said Mr. Osborne, ' to say 
 that I can do any thing for you in my own proper 
 strength ; and yet, if the Almighty would dispose you to 
 hearken to me, I should not despair of pointing out the 
 means of restoring unto you tenfold all that you have lost.' 
 
 " ' I presume,' replied Altamont, * that you have some 
 fanciful meaning lying hid under these encouraging pro- 
 mises. Many well-meaning persons, I believe, are ena- 
 bled to draw comfort from these mystical subjects. But 
 as far as I am concerned, I have little opinion of religion, 
 or what it can do for me. At any rate,' he added with 
 a smothered sigh, ' it is now too late, Mr. Osborne, for 
 me to think of these things : my state is decided ; and I 
 must bear it with what heart I may.' 
 
 " * How, my Lord,' said Mr. Osborne, ' how can it be 
 too late? Does the sick man say, I have no need of a 
 physician; it is too late; do not call him?' 
 
 ** ' The sick man, Mr. Osborne!' repeated Altamont; 
 * compare me rather to the dying man. My days are 
 numbered ; there is no hope left for me.' Here the un- 
 happy young man fixed his eyes on the pavement of his 
 cell; and, folding his arms, remained for a while in the 
 attitude of deep despair. 
 
 " * But why should you count yourself past hope, my 
 Lord ? ' said Mr. Osborne. * Are you not still in the land 
 of prayer and repentance ? ' 
 
 ** * Alas ! ' said Altamont, shuddering, * you do not
 
 THE LADY OF THE MANOR. 113 
 
 consider my state. Have you forgotten the forest of St. 
 Germaine? Have you forgotten Amelia? I have been 
 an incorrigible offender; a man of blood. I know that 
 I have so daringly and repeatedly provoked God, that 
 there is no longer any mercy for me. If I could but hope 
 that I should cease to be after death, then, then, indeed, 
 I might be able to look forward to the end of life with 
 resignation.' 
 
 *' * But, my Lord,' said Mr. Osborne, * I am not aware 
 of any passage in Scripture where it is signified that a 
 man's sins unfit him for salvation. On the contrary, the 
 Christian religion is adapted to the state of sinners, yea, 
 and to their state only ; nor can it possibly be service- 
 able to characters of any other description.' 
 
 '''Allowing it to be so,' said Altaraont, 'and that 
 many sinners have been saved by it, yet it never can 
 have been intended for such as I am.' 
 
 " ' On what account? ' replied Mr. Osborne. 
 
 " * On account of my aggravated offences,' returned 
 Altamont, gravely, and in accents of fixed dejection. ' I 
 have considered the matter deeply, Mr. Osborne. A 
 man in my situation has many hours for reflection. I 
 have seen things in a very different light since I have 
 been in this place, and I have been made to know and 
 feel that my faults are past forgiveness.' 
 
 " ' Nevertheless,' said Mr. Osborne, ' you allow that 
 the Christian religion is adapted to the circumstances of 
 sinners in general.' 
 
 " ' I do,' said Altamont. 
 
 " ' The point then on which we appear to differ,' con- 
 tinued Mr. Osborne, ' is this ; namely, what sort of 
 sinners may be benefited by this religion? You seem 
 to think that the Christian religion may assist slight of- 
 fenders; and I am well assured that it extends to all 
 cases. It is here, my Lord, that we differ; and so im- 
 portant is the point in dispute between us, that I may 
 venture to affirm, that the man who entertains such an 
 opinion as you have just expressed, is not a Christian at 
 all.' 
 
 " ' I am not an infidel,' replied Altamont, ' although I 
 have no clear or correct notions upon the subject of re- 
 ligion, and though I believe myself to be beyond the 
 reach of any thing it can do for me.' 
 L 3*^
 
 114 THE LADY OF THE MANOR. 
 
 " * You have fallen into two important errors,' returned 
 Mr. Osborne ; * and it is absolutely necessary that you 
 should be set right on these points, in order to your 
 entertaining any reasonable hope of being benefited by 
 religion. 
 
 ** * The first of these is the distinction which you make 
 between great and little sins — a distinction not authorized 
 by Scripture, which expressly afhrms, that he who offends 
 in one point is guilty of all. I do not mean hereby to 
 hint that a man does not contract a heavier load of guilt 
 by repeated and atrocious crimes than he whose faults 
 are less injurious to society: but I argue that in the 
 eyes of a pure and holy God the slightest breach ^of the 
 divine law brings in the offender as guilty of death ; and 
 that consequently such a person stands condemned, and 
 is to all intents and purposes as utterly lost and undone 
 as the worst of criminals. 
 
 " * A second error into which you have fallen,' conti- 
 nued Mr. Osborne, * is this : you have miscalculated the 
 immense price paid for souls, and are consequently un- 
 aware of this glorious truth, that heavy as your sins may 
 be, the ranso^i paid for your redemption is infinitely 
 greater than they are, yea in the same degree that the 
 blood of Christ is more precious and costly than the life 
 of any individual among men. Take your Bible, my 
 Lord, and seek the teaching of the Spirit. Under his 
 influence study the character, the dignity, the high de- 
 scent, the godlike attributes, the divine purity, and the 
 almighty power of the Saviour, till you are constrained 
 to doubt no longer of his ability to save you, though 
 your sins are confessedly of the deepest and darkest 
 dye.' 
 
 " Altamont was silent, and Mr. Osborne thus proceed- 
 ed — * It is for want of such views of the Saviour, that 
 the sinner is often reduced to despair, when, overwhelmed 
 Avith a view of his sins, he imagines that their magnitude 
 and multitude place him beyond the reach of hope. Let 
 us suppose, my Lord, that the king's son should now 
 come forward, offering to stand in your place, and to 
 bear your punishment, in order to procure your enlarge- 
 ment: and let us further suppose that the assembled 
 legislative powers of the country were to accept the 
 offer, and permit him to undergo that punishment. If
 
 THE LADY OF THE MANOR. 115 
 
 after the conclusion of such a transaction, you were re- 
 quired to stand forth and plead your cause; I ask, on 
 what ground would you urge your claim to a free pardon? 
 Would you rest your hope upon such an extenuation of 
 your offences as you might be able to bring forward ; or 
 upon the voluntary sufferings of him who had paid the 
 penalty incurred by your transgressions'?' 
 
 • "* Undoubtedly,' said Altamont, looking up, 'upon 
 the latter plea.' 
 
 " * Your concern then,' said Mr. Osborne, * is to look 
 to the merits and death of your Saviour, and to plead 
 these as the ground of your salvation. And in propor- 
 tion as your views of the Redeemer's merits become 
 more distinct and clear, your confidence in his power 
 to save you will increase ; till, through the divine help, 
 you be brought to see and feel this consolatory truth, 
 that, deplorable as your situation is, and flagrant as 
 your offences have been, your case is not yet past 
 hope.' 
 
 " Altamont again looked up, and said, 'You are a 
 good man, Mr. Osborne ; you would not come hither to 
 deceive me: do you then seriously think that there re- 
 mains any ground of hope for me?' 
 
 " * I do,' said Mr. Osborne : * otherwise, I had spared 
 myself the anguish of witnessing your present circum- 
 stances. But though I hold out hope to you, considering 
 the state of despair in which I found you as calculated 
 to ensure your everlasting destruction, yet I dare not 
 conceal, that I look upon your past character and con- 
 duct with horror: to which I will add, that you must be 
 brought to an infinitely deeper sense of sin than you now 
 experience, before I presume to apply the consolations 
 of religion to your case any further than I have already 
 done.' Thus speaking, the old gentleman, who had evi- 
 dently been much agitated during the whole of this con- 
 versation, arose, and took his leave, promising to repeat 
 his visit on the morrow. 
 
 ** The next day, about the same hour, Mr. Osborne 
 again procured admittance to Altamont ; but at first saw 
 nothing in the manner of the young man to encourage 
 him, any further than a faint expression of pleasure at 
 his re-appearance. 
 
 ** * You are come again to the abodes of misery, Mr.
 
 116 THE LADY OF THE MANOR. 
 
 Osborne,' said Altamont. ' I thank you for your kind- 
 ness : I hardly dared to expect it.' 
 
 " * Have you considered what I yesterday laid before 
 you?' said Mr. Osborne. 
 
 " ' I have,' said Altamont. * But my mind is still per- 
 plexed, and lost in wonder. Where have I been till now ? 
 I have lived like one in a dream ; or as one whose senses 
 were bound up under a spell. What have I been pur- 
 suing through life? W^hat is it which has absorbed all 
 my faculties, employed my thoughts, and allured my af- 
 fections? What has hitherto hindered my entertaining 
 these views of my God and my Redeemer, which now 
 seem to break in upon me as light on midnight dark- 
 ness?' 
 
 "*What has hindered you?' replied Mr. Osborne; 
 * what but sin? — sin, which darkens the mind, perverts 
 the faculties, and corrupts the whole man.' 
 
 '* Mr. Osborne then entered into a discourse of con- 
 siderable length, upon the nature of sin, and the change 
 which took place in the human disposition and character 
 at the fall. First he took a view of man, as he was 
 when newly created, and before he had undergone the 
 dreadful change effected by sin. 
 
 *' * The body of man was at that time, no doubt,' said 
 he, * exceedingly perfect and beautiful. He was then an 
 upright, holy, happy creature, unacquainted with evil, 
 holding uninterrupted communion with his Maker, to 
 whom he looked up with those feelings of ineffable love 
 and sweet dependence, with which an infant regards its 
 tender mother. All the thoughts of his mind whether 
 waking or sleeping, and all the desires of his soul, were 
 then unpolluted, and wholly conformed to the will of his 
 Creator. His understanding was not then clouded by 
 misapprehension and ignorance ; his perceptions were 
 then clear, and his judgment unbiassed. No bitter en- 
 vyings or repinings at that time troubled his unperturbed 
 spirit, which was perpetually ascending to heaven in 
 prayer, in praise, and in adoration ; or pouring itself 
 forth in expressions of holy love towards his fellow-crea- 
 tures.' 
 
 " * Such was man, such was our father Adam,' conti- 
 nued Mr. Osborne, ' before he admitted the poison of 
 sin into his nature. But after alienating himself from
 
 THE LADY OF THE MANOR. 117 
 
 his Maker by disobedience, his nature underwent an 
 entire change : body and soul immediately became cor- 
 rupt ; not partially corrupt, but actually, thoroughly, 
 entirely, altogether sinful, insomuch that we, -vvho are 
 his offspring, are incapable of one good thought, or of 
 one right and proper feeling towards our Creator.' 
 
 ** Here Altamont, interrupting Mr. Osborne, said, 
 * Your doctrine. Sir, surprises me. What ! is not man 
 capable of one single correct feeling towards his Maker? 
 What then. Sir, becomes of the dignity of our nature 1 — 
 that dignity in which I once prided myself, though now 
 so miserably fallen 1 ' 
 
 '* * Where, indeed, is that dignity gone?' said Mr. Os- 
 borne. * When Adam fell, his glory departed ; and there 
 remained to man nothing more than the name of honour. 
 But to leave these considerations, which may lead us 
 from our purpose, permit me, my Lord, to press upon 
 you the scriptural evidence of this doctrine of man's 
 depravity and its consequences.' 
 
 *' Mr. Osborne then referred to the following passages 
 of Scripture : — viz. And God saw that the wickedness of 
 man was great in the earth, and that every imagination of 
 the thoughts of his heart ivas only evil continually. (Ge- 
 nesis vi. 5.) And God said, This is the token of the cove- 
 nant which I make between me and you and every living 
 creature that is with you, for perpetual generations. 
 (Genesis ix. 12.) What is man, that he should he clean? 
 and he which is horn of a ivoman, that he should be 
 righteous? Behold, he putteth no trust in his saints; 
 yea, the heavens are not clean in his sight. How much 
 more ahominahle and filthy is man, which drinketh ini- 
 quity like wafer? (Job xv. 14 — 16.) Behold, I was 
 shapen in iniquity; and in sin did my mother conceive 
 me. (Psalm li. 5.) There is not a just man upon earth, 
 that doeth good, and sinneth not. (Eccles. vii. 20.) From 
 within, out of the heart of men, proceed evil thoughts, 
 adulteries, fornications, murders, thefts, covetousness, 
 wickedness, deceit, lasciviousness, an evil eye, blasphemy, 
 pride , foolishness : all these evil things come from within, 
 and defile the man. (Mark vii. 21 — 23.) 
 
 "On finishing his quotations, Mr. Osborne turned to 
 Altamont, and said, ' You do not deny the authority 
 of Scripture, my Lord ; what do you think of these
 
 118 THE LADY OF THE MANOR. 
 
 texts ? do they agree with your experience and observa- 
 tions?' 
 
 " * I know not what to say,' returned Altamont ; * I have 
 seen much that is evil in human nature, but I have known 
 much also that is amiable.' 
 
 *' * We are not now speaking,' returned Mr. Osborne, 
 * of characters whom we believe to have been influenced 
 by religion, because such characters have received a new 
 principle of action, and a corrective of their natural de- 
 pravity ; such persons, therefore, must be set aside in 
 our arguments, and we must speak only of man as he 
 appears when uninfluenced by religion. And I ask you, 
 my Lord, what is your experience concerning such men ? 
 Does its testimony tend to confirm, or to contradict the 
 words of Scripture ? ' 
 
 ** Altamont hesitated a moment, as if deeply reflect- 
 ing; and, in fact, during this short interval, his thoughts 
 had rapidly passed over many scenes of former days 
 with which his memory was now heavily burdened. At 
 length, he replied : * I can remember no one instance, 
 among those of my former acquaintance,' said he, * who 
 were uninfluenced by religion, which forms any exception 
 to the testimony of Scripture respecting man's natural 
 depravity. And when I look into my own heart, as I 
 did last night when left alone, I can see nothing else 
 there but extreme selfishness connected with every other 
 evil passion.' 
 
 " * I rejoice to hear this,' said Mr. Osborne. 
 
 ** ' Rejoice ! ' returned Altamont. 
 
 "'Yes,' said the other; * inasmuch as I feel an as- 
 surance that flesh and blood have not revealed this to 
 you, but the Spirit of God. Man is naturally unacquaint- 
 ed with the evil of his heart : he opens his eyes slowly 
 and unwillingly to the conviction of sin, even when it is 
 forced upon him by a power which he cannot resist.' 
 
 " Mr. Osborne then entered more largely and fully 
 upon the subject of man's natural depravity ; during 
 which discussion, Altamont was enabled to make the 
 following observations. 
 
 ** * In reviewing my past feelings,' he said, ' I cannot 
 recollect experiencing one single sentiment respecting 
 my Creator which could be called pious. If ever I 
 thought of the Supreme Being, which I seldom did in
 
 THE LADY OF THE MANOR. 119 
 
 the early part of my life, it was with a kind of shuddering 
 reluctance and aversion, as of one who would some time 
 or other call me to account for such of my actions as my 
 conscience disapproved. With respect to my fellow- 
 creatures, I considered them in no other light than as 
 they might be made to contribute to my pleasures. 
 While as for those who interfered with my satisfactions, 
 I pursued them with a rancour, that has at length re- 
 duced me to the state in which you now behold me — 
 to this dungeon, to these chains, to death, and to despair.' 
 
 *' ' No, no,' said Mr. Osborne, ' I trust not to despair; 
 there is hope for the most atrocious sinner through the 
 blood of Christ, through the merits of that Saviour who 
 looked down from the cross upon his murderers and said, 
 Father, forgive them, for they know not ivhat they do. 
 
 *' * There is a plan formed by Infinite Wisdom', con- 
 tinued the venerable man, * for the salvation of sinners, 
 so wonderful in its nature, so comprehensive in its extent, 
 so marvellous in its effects, that he who looks upon it with 
 the eye of faith though he were dead yet shall he live.' 
 
 *' Here Mr. Osborne was led into a particular explana- 
 tion of the plan formed for man's salvation, by the in- 
 comprehensible and blessed Trinity; upon which he 
 entered with this important remark — to wit, that so much 
 of the inscrutable counsels of the Almighty is revealed to 
 each individual as is necessary for the well-being of that 
 individual. 
 
 ** • The blessed and holy Scriptures,' continued he, 
 * discover to us the existence of a divine Trinity-in-Unity, 
 revealing at the same time to the diligent enquirer, the 
 distinct office which each of the three divine Persons of 
 the Godhead has appropriated to himself in the work 
 of man's salvation. 
 
 ** Mr. Osborne then proceeded to observe, that the fall 
 of man had necessarily been foreseen by the all-wise 
 Creator, one of whose attributes involves the most per- 
 fect foreknowledge of every event that shall take place 
 in time or through eternity ; and that the glorious plan 
 of man's salvation had been the result of this foreknow- 
 ledge — a plan by which the redeemed wHl finally be 
 raised to a state of inconceivable glory and happiness, 
 as the adopted sons of God. * By God the Father, (to 
 use the phraseology adopted by the Church established
 
 120 THE LADY OF THE MANOR. 
 
 in this country,)' continued Mr. Osborne, * the redeemed 
 ** are predestinated to life according to his everlasting 
 purposes." (nth Article of the Church of England.) 
 By God the Son the punishment of their offences has 
 been endured, and their souls redeemed at a price infi- 
 nitely more precious than that of silver and gold. While 
 by God the Spirit the heir of salvation is called, regene- 
 rated, and sanctified. Thus man, who is by nature a 
 member of Satan, a child of wrath, and an heir of hell, 
 is rendered a member of Christ, a child of God, and an 
 inheritor of the kingdom of heaven.' 
 
 "Mr. Osborne perceiving that the unhappy young 
 man continued to listen to him with increasing interest, 
 went on to enlarge upon the three points above mention- 
 ed : namely, on man's being made, through grace, a 
 member of Christ, a child of God, and an inheritor of the 
 kingdom of heaven. * They who are living in sin,' said 
 Mr. Osborne, ' are truly and entirely separated from God, 
 and, as you but now expressed yourself, are even in the 
 habit of looking upon him with a kind of shuddering 
 aversion and horror — but, on the contrary, when man 
 becomes regenerate, and receives Christ by faith, he is 
 then taken into an ineffable connexion with his Redeemer, 
 which is nearer, more close, and more endearing, than 
 that which subsists between a parent and child, being 
 as intimate and complete as that w hich is maintained be- 
 tween the head and members of the same body. Before 
 the fall of man, indeed, our first parents naturally lived 
 in close communion with God — but this communion 
 ceased when man became a sinner; nor can it be renew- 
 ed, till the individual is led back by faith to his offended 
 God through the medium of a Saviour. 
 
 ** * It was through grace, and with a view to the pro- 
 mised Saviour, that the saints of old, Abel and Noah, 
 Moses, Abraham and Isaac, David and Samuel, were 
 enabled to approach their God, and were received into 
 a state of divine communion with him. But the Chris- 
 tian, being favoured with a much clearer degree of 
 light, partakes of a closer union with his Saviour than 
 even the saints of old : insomuch that they who live by 
 the faith of the Son of God, become, as I before re- 
 marked, so many members of that one mystical body, 
 of which Christ is the head. Accordingly we find the
 
 THE LA.DY OF THE MANOR. 121 
 
 apostle thus addressing the Corinthian converts — For as 
 the body is one, and hath many members, and all the 
 members of that one body, bein^ many, are one body: so 
 also is Christ. For by one Spirit are we all baptized into 
 one body, whether we be Jews or Gentiles, whether we be 
 bond or free ; and have been all made to drink into one 
 Spirit. For the body is not one member, but many. Now, 
 therefore, ye are the body of Christ, and members in 
 particular. (I Cor. xii. 12, lb, 14, 27.) 
 
 ** ' Those persons, therefore,' continued Mr. Osborne, 
 * who in this sense become members of Christ, will be 
 admitted to all the privileges enjoyed by their glorious 
 Head. From this their living Head will proceed nourish- 
 ment to every limb, imparting the principle of life to 
 those who were aforetime languishing and dying; while, 
 as the parts of one body with their blessed Redeemer, 
 they will enjoy a communication of his perfections, and 
 become one spirit with their Lord and Master. By him 
 they will be delivered through life from the power of 
 sin, and from its nry being at the hour of death. Yea, 
 his tender care will follow their remains into the grave, 
 as the Lord accompanied Israel into Egypt; and from 
 thence he will finally raise them to reign with himself in 
 everlasting glory. 
 
 *' * But inasmuch as the head cannot suffer without 
 the members suffering likewise, it is required of the be- 
 liever in this world to take up the cross, and follow the 
 suffering Saviour: and of you, my Lord,' added Mr. 
 Osborne, ' you who have indeed been the chief of sin- 
 ners, this will especially be required, if you hope to 
 partake of those glorious privileges of which I speak — 
 that you should humble yourself in the dust — that you 
 should welcome your present trials as means of awaken- 
 ing you, with the divine assistance, from your dream of 
 sin — that you should acknowledge the justice of your 
 punishment, and even thank the Almighty that bars, 
 and bolts, and chains, have been employed to restrain 
 you from further outrages. It is moreover requisite, 
 that you should earnestly entreat of God that these 
 chastisements may be blessed to the salvation of your 
 soul : since, w ithout his benediction, temporal afflictions, 
 however severe they may be, or however long continued, 
 must prove only the beginning of sorrows.' 
 
 VOL. I.' M
 
 122 THE LADY OF THE MANOR. 
 
 " Mr. Osborne here concluded his second visit. Re- 
 turning however the next day, and repeating his visits for 
 many days together, he found at length reason to hope 
 that his endeavours to serve this miserable young man had 
 not been without success. 
 
 *' Altamont seemed indeed to be much agitated, and 
 even overwhelmed with despair, until the time of his trial. 
 In court, however, whither Mr. Osborne accompanied 
 him, he appeared humble and resigned, attempting no 
 defence, and receiving his sentence with the meekest 
 submission. After that time, his mind became consider- 
 ably more composed : so that on Mr. Osborne's first 
 visit to him after his return to his cell as a condemned 
 man, he addressed him with affection, and said, ' Oh, 
 my friend ! my best friend ! what would my case have 
 now been, had not the Lord in mercy commissioned you 
 to visit me here ?' 
 
 '* ' You take my visits then as an earnest of divine 
 mercy?' said Mr. Osborne. 
 
 *' ' I do,' said Altamont ; ' I have long done so. Your 
 coming hither was the first circumstance that awakened 
 me from despair. Before that period I had always been 
 in the habit,' continued he, * of looking upon the dealings 
 of the Almighty with respect to his creatures with a de- 
 gree of prejudice which embittered my whole mind, and 
 made me consider every untoward event which befel me 
 as a mark of the divine displeasure. But when you were 
 enabled to make me understand the real state of the 
 case, assuring me that my heavenly Father had planned 
 the means of my salvation ere yet the world was made, 
 (as I now humbly trust he hath done,) I immediately felt 
 my mind relieved ; seeing every thing in a new point of 
 view, and discovering that the consequences of my crime, 
 my confinement, my deprivations, my shame, and my 
 very chains, might all ultimately tend to the promotion 
 of my everlasting happiness. 
 
 *• * Oh, Mr. Osborne,' continued Altamont, ' had 
 these views been given me in my early years, how 
 happy a man should I have been! Amelia had still 
 been living — I had still possessed such a friend as 
 Frederick — My son too, perhaps many sons, had been 
 hanging on my knees— my honour had been untarnish- 
 ed, and my conscience clear of those innumerable
 
 THE LADY OF THE MANOR. 123 
 
 crimes, the remembraoce of which now oppresses my 
 soul.' 
 
 " Mr. Osborne replied : * Blame not your parents, 
 blame not your tutors, my Lord; but blame yourself. 
 Every man in this privileged country has light enough, 
 if he will use it. Remember the words of an apostle — 
 Ltt no man sayichen he is tempted, I am tempted of God: 
 for God cannot he tempted with evil, neither tempteth he 
 any man. But every man is tempted, when he is drawn 
 away of his own lust, and enticed,' (James i. 13, 14.) 
 
 ** * Mr. Osborne,' said Altamont with energy, ' mistake 
 me not : I blame no one, much less my God. My pa- 
 rents loved me ; I have made an evil return for their 
 love. I am fully and deeply sensible of my misconduct 
 towards them : I am vile in my own eyes. But the man- 
 ner in which I have been brought to my present ex- 
 perience convinces me, that, if the doctrine of redeeming 
 love were more universally taught, it would do more to 
 reform the human race, than all the moral discourses 
 which ever have been, or ever shall be delivered from 
 our Christian pulpits. What,' said he, * what was it that 
 first broke my stubborn heart, but this view of my God ? 
 What was it but this which made me feel my own vile- 
 ness, my ingratitude, and the enormity of my crimes? 
 And has this God, I said to myself, whom I have dreaded 
 and avoided from my early childhood, been engaged in 
 preparing such a plan of salvation for my soul ere the 
 beginning of time, as may render me everlastingly happy, 
 without implicating that justice which, of all the divine 
 attributes, is held in most abhorrence by the sinner? 
 
 blessed then be that justice, which is now as much 
 bound to save me, as it once was to destroy me ; since 
 
 1 accept the offers of mercy made me through Christ 
 not only with thankfulness but with exultation, fully 
 persuaded that perfect justice can never condemn him 
 whose ransom is already paid. I still, however, expect 
 some heavy moments, INlr. Osborne,' continued Altamont ; 
 'and surely I deserve them: notwithstanding which, I 
 am enabled to cast all my care upon Christ, with a hum- 
 ble confidence that I shall not be confounded.' 
 
 ** Mr. Osborne gave Altamont his hand ; it was the 
 first time he had done so, and a starting tear accom- 
 panied the action. * My son,' said he, * let us join in
 
 124 THE LADY OF THE MANOR. 
 
 prayer: yea, let us join in thanks^^ivings to the Father 
 of all mercies, for his especial grace vouchsafed unto 
 you.' 
 
 " From that time Altamont was much in prayer, both 
 vs'hen Mr. Osborne was present, and when he was left 
 alone: but as Mr. Osborne spent much of his time in 
 the cell of this penitent prisoner, he found many oppor- 
 tunities of assisting him in this important duty, as well 
 as of conversing closely with him concerning the affairs 
 of his soul. Altamont had, as might be expected, many 
 heavy and desponding hours, when the remembrance of 
 his crimes agitated and harassed him : and Mr. Osborne 
 was not sorry to observe the frequent return of these 
 painful feelings. Nevertheless, the condemned man 
 never discovered any inclination to dispute the divine 
 will ; but even on these trying occasions he would sub- 
 missively say, * If I perish, the will of God be done ; I 
 have more than deserved it.' There were seasons, how- 
 ever, when brighter prospects opened before him : and 
 at such times he would speak with so much warmth and 
 vivacity of the redeeming love of God, as plainly proved 
 that these things had been revealed to him by a divine 
 Teacher. ' For such a one as I am,' said Altamont at 
 one of these seasons, * to be made a child of God and an 
 inheritor of the kingdom of heaven ! O ! wonderful mer- 
 cy ! O ! the miraculous interposition of divine power ! ' 
 *' Mr. Osborne took this occasion to enlarge upon the 
 privileges of a child and heir. * We all,' said he, ' have 
 known the comforts of a father's house, the sweets of 
 home, and something of that entire confidence which a 
 child reposes in its parent. But we are told, that the 
 tenderest love of an earthly parent, my son, is nothing 
 when compared with that which our heavenly Father 
 exercises towards his children. We read this touching 
 description of the paternal love of the Almighty to his 
 people, in the prophet Isaiah — Can a woman forget her 
 sucking child, that she should not have compassion on the 
 son of her womb? Yea, they may forget, yet will I not 
 forget thee: (Isaiah xlix. 15.) An earthly parent may 
 change ; human beings are subject to forgetfulness, 
 to resentment, to misapprehension, to partiality, often 
 unreasonably preferring one child to another — even a 
 mother may forget the infant that daily hangs at her
 
 THE LADY OF THE MANOR. 12^ 
 
 breast —but, with the Father of lights, there is no vari- 
 abltness, neither shadow of turning. (James i. 17.) All 
 those to whom the Father hath been reconciled through 
 the blood of Christ, may rest assured of his everlasting 
 love, and feel a humble confidence that he will never 
 leave nor forsake them. Having through faith become 
 children of God in this world, they shall assuredly be 
 counted heirs of everlasting glory in the world to come; 
 as the apostle most encouragingly speaks — If we are 
 children, then heirs of God through Christ. (Gal. iv. 7.) 
 
 *' * And O ! ' continued Mr. Osborne, * if we consider 
 the privileges which these words include, it is only won- 
 derful that our whole minds are not occupied by the 
 glorious prospect which opens before us through the 
 dying Saviour. But sin — the sin which is ever present 
 with us — darkens our brightest prospects, and damps 
 our best hopes, and will continue so to do until sin and 
 death are swallowed up in victory.' 
 
 ** In this manner Mr. Osborne continued from time to 
 time to converse with the young man, very frequently 
 launching out in the praises of redeeming love, — till the 
 last awful day arrived, which was to close the earthly 
 career of the once admired and envied Altaraont. 
 
 ** I forbear to enter into the particulars of these 
 dreadful scenes: suffice it to say, that Mr. Osborne at- 
 tended him to the last, and engaged with him in prayer 
 upon the very scatfcld. His deportment to the conclu- 
 ding moment of his life was calm and resigned : he ac- 
 knowledged the justice of his sentence, and recommended 
 his soul to the divine mercy, pleading with his latest 
 breath the merits and death of his adorable Saviour. 
 He then shook hands with Mr. Osborne; when, in one 
 transitory glance, he expressed more of love and grati- 
 tude towards him than volumes could have unfolded. 
 
 ** A person who stood near the unfortunate youth at 
 the time of his execution, thus describes his appearance. 
 — He was dressed in black ; his face being no otherwise 
 changed from what it had been in the days of youthful 
 pride, excepting that it was extremely pale, and his 
 cheeks somewhat sunk. His fine hair was parted on his 
 forehead, and tied in a knot behind, in the manner he 
 had been accustomed to wear it. The expression of his 
 countenance was, however, singularly altered ; insomuch 
 M 3
 
 126 THE LADY OF THE MANOR. 
 
 that they who expected to read therein the malignant 
 passions of the murderer, were astonished to behold 
 there the evidences of deep contrition and calm resigna- 
 tion, mingled with the most touching expressions of 
 humble confidence in God. 
 
 " Thus, in the case of Altamont, we see an instance 
 of the mighty power of God in effecting that new cre- 
 ation by which a child of wrath is made * a member of 
 Christ, the child of God, and an inheritor of the king- 
 dom of heaven.' 
 
 *' Lady N concluded her narrative by saying, 
 
 that many particulars of these memoirs, especially the 
 prison conversations, had been drawn from private let- 
 ters, written at the time when the events took place; 
 whence the simple facts were enriched with particular 
 circumstances and descriptions, which otherwise must 
 have speedily descended into oblivion." 
 
 Here the lady of the manor closed her manuscript ; 
 and, as the evening was now far advanced, she requested 
 her young people to join her in prayer. 
 
 A Prayer for tliost divine Influences of the Holy Spirit, 
 by which the Sinner is made a Member of Christ, a 
 Child of God, and rendered fit to become an Inheritor 
 of the Kingdom of Heaven. 
 
 " O ALMIGHTY LORD, the ever blessed and incom- 
 prehensible Jehovah, we approach thee in the name and 
 through the merits of that adorable Saviour by whose death 
 we have access within the vail. We confess that we were 
 all born unholy and unclean, children of wrath and heirs 
 of hell; and we are persuaded, that we must for ever 
 have remained in that deplorable state, had not redeem- 
 ing love undertaken our deliverance. Thou, O Father, 
 hast predestinated thy chosen ones unto eternal life, 
 * according to thine everlasting purposes before the foun- 
 dation of the v.'orld.' Thou, O Son, hast paid down our 
 ransom in thine own person upon the accursed tree. 
 And thou, O Holy Ghost, art continually exerting thy 
 |;)lessed and prevailing influence in calling, in regenera- 
 ting, and in sanctifying, the wandering sheep of the great 
 Shepherd's flock. O Holy Spirit, deign, for our Redeem- 
 er's sake, to favour us with thine abidinc: influence : make
 
 THE LADY OF THE MANOR. 127 
 
 US new and contrite hearts ; lead us to Christ; empty us 
 of self; sanctify our affections; cleanse and purify our 
 thoughts ; make us new creatures in deed and in truth, 
 and thus prepare us for that glory which is prepared for 
 all the redeemed. We are the clay, and thou, O Lord, 
 art our potter : O make us holy vessels, fit for our Fa- 
 ther's house. We are sensible that no human exertions 
 are sufficient to change our vile natures; but that the 
 creation of a new heart must be of God, anci of him 
 only. Bestow then upon us, O Lord, this first best gift; 
 unite us to Christ as our living Head ; make us to be 
 children of God on earth, in order that in the life to 
 come we may have our portion with the possessors of the 
 kingdom of heaven : and in the mean time give us grace 
 humbly, heartily, and constantly, to resign ourselves, 
 our souls, and bodies, into thy keeping, being assured 
 that they who trust in thee shall never be confounded. 
 
 " Now to God the Father, God the Sou, and God the 
 Holy Ghost, be all glory, and honour, and praise, from 
 this time forth for evermore."
 
 128 THE LADY OF THE MANOR. 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 Q. What did your Godfathers and Godmothers pro- 
 mise for you at your Baptism ? 
 
 A. They did promise and vow three Things in my 
 Name, First, that I should renounce the Devil and all 
 his Works, the Pomps and Vanities of this wicked World. 
 
 JlT was the fourth evening of the assembly at the ma- 
 nor-house, when the lady of the manor thus addressed 
 the young people. — *' What, my dear young friends, is the 
 third question and answer in the Church Catechism?" 
 
 One of the young people immediately repeated the 
 following words. — 
 
 '* * Q. What did your godfathers and godmothers 
 promise for you in your baptism? 
 
 ** * A. They did promise and vow three things in my 
 name. First, that I should renounce the devil and all his 
 works, the pomps and vanities of this wicked world.' " 
 
 Here the lady of the manor interrupted the young 
 speaker, saying, ** You have now, my dear, repeated as 
 much of the answer as we shall have leisure to explain 
 this evening; we will therefore postpone the rest to a 
 further occasion. We are now come to that vow which 
 was made for you at your baptism, and which you are 
 about to take upon yourselves in the presence of God and 
 the Church. Hear what the address of the Bishop will 
 be to you upon this subject. — ' Do ye here, in the pre- 
 sence of God and of this congregation, renew the solemn 
 promise and vow that was made in your name at your 
 baptism, ratifying and confirming the same in your own 
 persons, and acknowledging yourselves bound to believe 
 and to do all those things which your godfathers and 
 godmothers then undertook for you ? ' To which every
 
 THE LADY OF THE MANOR. 129 
 
 one of you must audibly answer, ' I do.' (See Order of 
 Conjirmation.) 
 
 ** Now, my dear young people," proceeded the lady, 
 " I call upon you to consider the amazing importance of 
 the undertaking which you have before you. And I am 
 sorry to intimate, that of the multitudes who take upon 
 themselves this solemn obligation there is perhaps not 
 one in a hundred who ever afterwards give it a single 
 serious thought. This remark I make, not to encourage 
 a spirit of censoriousness, which every Christian must 
 hold in abhorrence; but, once for all, to induce you not 
 to follow the world, but to judge and act according to 
 the will of God and the tenor of Scripture. If you fol- 
 low the world, you are not of God. If you run with the 
 multitude, with the multitude you will be condemned. 
 For wide is the gate, and broad is the way, that kadeth 
 to destruction, and many there be which go in thereat : 
 because strait is the gate, and narroiv is the way which 
 leadeth unto life, and few there be that find it. (Matt. vii. 
 13, 14.) Wherefore come out from among them, and he 
 ye separate, saith the Lord, and touch not the unclean 
 thing ; and I will receive you, and will be a Father unto 
 you, and ye shall be my sons and daughters, saith the 
 Lord Almighty:' (2 Cor. vi. 17, 18.) 
 
 The young ladies looked seriously on hearing this re- 
 mark, but no one spoke : upon which the lady of the 
 manor proposed that they should immediately proceed 
 to an examination of the baptismal vow, the first part of 
 which is the renunciation of the devil and all his works. 
 — " What we learn from Scripture concerning this evil 
 one," said she, *' is, that he is an apostate angel, the im- 
 placable enemy and tempter of the human race, and es- 
 pecially hostile to believers, whom he desires to devour. 
 He is called Abaddon in Hebrew, and Apollyon in 
 Greek, that is, the destroyer. He is also denominated 
 the angel of the bottomless pit, the prince of this world, 
 the prince of darkness, a deceiver, a liar, a murderer, a 
 tormentor ; a being whose works are all that is opposed 
 to good, and all that is hateful to God. We are taught 
 to believe," proceeded she, " that the chief aim and 
 object of this evil spirit is to exalt himself, and to de- 
 press the Deity; and that one of the chief means by 
 which he works the destruction of man, is, by inducing
 
 130 THE LADY OF THE MANOR. 
 
 him to exalt the idol self even to the throne of the Al- 
 mighty." 
 
 In this place, one of the young ladies, namely, Miss 
 Anna Maria, remarked, that she had heard a friend say 
 that Satan had not the same power in these days which 
 he formerly possessed. 
 
 " My dear young lady," replied the lady of the manor, 
 " one of the great arts of this grand deceiver, is, so to 
 withdraw himself occasionally from our observation, that 
 at the very time when he is perhaps carrying on those 
 operations which are most effectually destructive of our 
 happiness, he may excite in us a doubt even of his ex- 
 istence. It is wonderful with what nicety this arch de- 
 ceiver adapts his temptations to the circumstances of 
 the tempted. They who travel into foreign countries, 
 and there strictly observe the state of the people among 
 whom they sojourn, will not only have occasion to mar- 
 vel at the power of Satan abroad, but will also become 
 better judges of what he is doing at home. From the 
 constant change of habits to which travellers are liable, 
 and which naturally serves to emancipate them from the 
 bands of custom and prejudice, they must (if they are so 
 happy as to live under the influence of pious principles) 
 unavoidably become impartial and clear-sighted obser- 
 vers of all that is amiss in their own land as well as in 
 distant countries; whence they will be constrained to 
 acknowledge, that although the arts of Satan may be 
 more apparent in heathen lands, yet that there is per- 
 haps no country on earth in which his influence operates 
 in a more marvellous manner than in our own enlightened 
 nation." 
 
 On hearing this assertion. Miss Anna Maria, and one 
 or two of the elders of the party, looked earnestly and 
 enquiringly at the lady of the manor; when she thus 
 proceeded to prove the truth of the assertion she had 
 made. 
 
 " In those gloomy regions of midnight darkness," said 
 she, " which the light of the Gospel has as yet been 
 unable to penetrate — such as the burning plains of Af- 
 rica, the wilds of America, the Eastern Archipelago, the 
 islands of the Pacific Ocean, together with those parts 
 of the East still unvisited by the Christian missionary — 
 in all these places Satan appears with little disguise;
 
 THE LADY OF THE MANOR. 131 
 
 governing the people, as it were, in his own name, and, 
 through the instrumentality of numberless abominable 
 idols, exacting the performance of many bloody and ob- 
 scene rites. In these dark corners of the earth, the enemy 
 of mankind requires no elegant arts to set forth his abo- 
 minations; but holds communication with wizards and 
 witches in his own proper character, keeping men's 
 minds in a state of absolute thraldom through their su- 
 perstitious observance of omens, and prodigies, and 
 frightful dreams. In countries a little raised above this 
 extreme of blindness and ignorance — such, for instance, 
 as the Mahometan countries — he finds it necessary to 
 assume some kind of cloak, for the purpose of partially 
 hiding his cloven foot. In such places he puts on the 
 profession of morality, while he perverts the reasoning 
 powers of man to the vilest purposes ; putfing up his 
 servants with the pride of intellect and human learning, 
 yet leaving them as entirely the children of hell as he 
 found them. In Roman Catholic countries, he allows 
 a nearer approach to the truth — making use of names 
 honoured and loved by all Christians; calling in the 
 assistance of sacred harmony, magnificent architecture, 
 exquisite statuary, and impressive painting, with all the 
 pomp of splendid robes and solemn processions ; exhi- 
 biting the Scripture emblem of the prayers of the saints 
 ascending in fragrant clouds to the arched roofs of their 
 temples, accompanied with the most imposing appear- 
 ances of sanctity and devotion : in a word, the wolf 
 there assumes the whole garb and semblance of the lamb. 
 And here I cannot but remark, how amazing has been 
 the skill and cunning of Satan, in first raising up, and 
 then upholding the Roman Catholic system, that unpa- 
 ralleled system of delusion, by which the progress of 
 Christianity has been strangely retarded for nearly two 
 thousand years ! 
 
 ** But even this amazing effort of diabolical skill is sur- 
 passed by the manoeuvres he now employs," proceeded 
 the lady, ** in retarding the progress of that divine light 
 which has dawned on our own country for several cen- 
 turies, and which, we trust, will gradually diffuse itself 
 through the surrounding nations. One of these manoeu- 
 vres of our arch enemy," continued the lady, " and not 
 one of the least refined, is that withdrawing of himself
 
 132 THE LADY OF THE MANOR. 
 
 into the back-ground, which we noticed before: inso- 
 much that his very existence is become a question with 
 irreHgious persons in this country ; while even the more 
 pious are not seldom heard to assert, that his power is 
 greatly diminished in these latter ages of the Church. 
 Satan is aware that we are now too much enlightened 
 to be led away with stories of witchcraft, and evil omens ; 
 the time for these things, at least with us, is wholly past 
 by. The enemy has, therefore, changed his ground of 
 attack : so that, instead of employing a system of 
 terror in order to render men subservient to his will, 
 he now allures them to his purpose by vanity, self-love, 
 and other secret motives, which prove equally if not 
 more abundantly successful. I will not say much of the 
 allurements of pleasure in this place, because I trust that 
 none here will ever think of putting themselves in the 
 way of what are called public amusements ; though I 
 think it right, in this connexion, simply to remark, that 
 public amusements and exhibitions are now brought to 
 a degree of perfection which renders them a very pow- 
 erful engine in the hand of Satan for the destruction of 
 men's souls. Our theatrical amusements particularly, 
 which were formerly grossly indelicate, are now set forth 
 with a kind of mock sentiment, the fallacy of which few 
 young persons can detect; but which, when admitted 
 into the mind, never fail to fill it with false views of 
 right and wrong, exciting a thousand delusive feelings, 
 and effectually drawing the heart from God. 
 
 " Another art of Satan in this Christian and refined 
 country," continued the lady of the manor, ** where in- 
 numerable individuals and societies are exerting them- 
 selves in the cause of religion, is that of not openly 
 opposing any of these, but of destroying their effect by 
 sowing discord among them, and employing one set of 
 well-meaning persons in weakening the hands and mar- 
 ring the usefulness of another. And here," said the 
 lady of the manor, " I must finish my review of these 
 works of our infernal enemy, by pointing out what I 
 consider his master-piece of cunning; namely, the ad- 
 dress with which he hath upheld, for so many ages, the 
 credit and honour of the ancient writings of the heathen 
 world. It is no doubt by this and the consequent con- 
 tempt poured upon the sacred writers, that the Roman
 
 THE LADY OF THE MANOR. 133 
 
 Catholic system has been so long maintained on the 
 Continent, as evidently appeared to me some years ago 
 when visiting France ; where I saw with surprise, that 
 the statues and emblems of the ancient heathen divinities 
 occupied every palace and public place, while those of 
 even their saints were thrown comparatively into the 
 shade. And I cannot question, but that the impiety of 
 our English youth may, humanly speaking, be traced 
 very frequently to the same source. For what else can 
 we expect, when our infant sons are compelled to devote 
 many hours daily to the study not only of the philoso- 
 phers and historians of Greece and Rome, but also to 
 those productions of their most licentious poets, which 
 cannot be understood without an accurate knowledge of 
 their abominable mythology, to the no small neglect of 
 the New Testament, and the almost utter omission of the 
 Old, in their original languages? 
 
 " While Satan is able," continued the lady of the ma- 
 nor, "to carry this point thus triumphantly, although it 
 is now nearly two thousand years since the revelation of 
 the Christian system, I think we must not presume to say 
 that his power is greatly diminished." 
 
 The lady of the manor, requesting the further attention 
 of the young ladies, informed them that she should then 
 proceed to consider the next part of the clause in the 
 Catechism: — namely, " The pomps and vanities of this 
 wicked world." " My dear young people," said she, 
 after a moment's consideration, " it is perhaps difficult 
 to define what are pomps and vanities; because those 
 things which are proper and merely decent in one situ- 
 ation of life, may be called pomps and vanities when 
 found in another: T have, however, by me a little narra- 
 tive which was communicated to me by a friend, in 
 which these matters are so well and accurately defined, 
 that I shall satisfy myself by reading this story to you, 
 without entering into any further discussion on the sub- 
 ject." 
 
 The Two Cousins. 
 
 In a certain village in one of the midland counties of 
 England there formerly resided a gentleman and lady, 
 who, having no child for some years after their marriage, 
 
 VOL. I. N
 
 134 THE LADY OF THE MANOR. 
 
 and expectint^ never to enjoy that blessino^, adopted the 
 orphan daughter of a sister — a little girl, who, at the 
 time she entered her uncle's family, was not more than 
 two years of age. 
 
 This child, whom we will call Maria, although an or- 
 phan, was not portionless, having about one thousand 
 five hundred pounds settled upon her; a part of the 
 interest of which her uncle was so kind as to allow to 
 accumulate as long as she remained under his roof, de- 
 ducting only what was barely sufficient to repay him 
 for her board. 
 
 As soon as Maria was received into the family, plans 
 were formed for her education and training — plans upon 
 the whole extremely good, but which not being tempered 
 with paternal tenderness, bordered rather upon too great 
 strictness; not however so much as to render them inju- 
 rious to the permanent good of the child, although her 
 present comfort was sometimes unnecessarily affected by 
 them. 
 
 Notwithstanding this needless severity, Maria loved 
 her uncle and aunt; and as no indiscreet visitor or ser- 
 vant was allowed to interfere between the child and her 
 protectors, Maria, whose natural disposition was mild 
 and accommodating, never supposed that her situation 
 was in any way different from that of most other chil- 
 dren. 
 
 When Maria had been in this family about three years, 
 it pleased God to gratify her uncle and aunt with what 
 they had long earnestly desired. A little daughter was 
 born to them, who became the distinguished darling of 
 the whole family. 
 
 The birth of Matilda rather increased than diminished 
 the difficulties of Maria, inasmuch as she was required 
 in various ways to submit to the humours and whims of 
 the growing favourite : for although Matilda was not in- 
 dulged in the commission of gross improprieties, yet her 
 lesser faults were so winked at by her parents, as to 
 allow her ill humours to cause her cousin needless vex- 
 ation on a thousand little occasions. 
 
 In the mean time, Maria was told, when Matilda was 
 unreasonable, that she must excuse her on account of her 
 youth, and endeavour to please her because she was a 
 child. Thus was the proper order of things continually
 
 THE LADY OF THE MANOR. 135 
 
 inverted in this family, by making the elder submit to the 
 younger; an arrangement which, as might have been 
 expected, proved decidedly injurious to Matilda; while, 
 through the divine blessing, Maria continually improved 
 under the constant exercise of petty acts of self-denial. 
 They who love to observe the dealings of the Almighty 
 towards his children, will be particularly struck with the 
 manner in which he renders the ordinary events of life 
 subservient to their good, preparing them for glory under 
 circumstances apparently the most adverse to such pre- 
 parations. 
 
 The absence of pleasurable incidents during the youth 
 of Maria at first tended to make her thoughtful ; whence, 
 through the leadings of the Holy Spirit, she was gradu- 
 ally brought to the consideration of religious subjects. 
 And by the divine blessing, in proportion as she became 
 more sensible of the painful circumstances attending her 
 situation under her uncle's roof, she felt such an increas- 
 ing desire for spiritual comfort and divine communion, 
 as gradually tended to the production of that peace to 
 which otherwise she must have remained a stranger. 
 She was even made to see, amid all the little disagreable- 
 nesses of her situation, that she had received such solid 
 benefits from her uncle and aunt as she could never be 
 sutficiently grateful for. She perceived that the educa- 
 tion which they had given her was indeed a useful one, 
 and that the very discipline to which they had made her 
 submit would probably enable her to support with more 
 patience those trials, which in the ordinary course of 
 things she had to expect in future life. Thus the reflec- 
 tions which these subjects excited, were made in a spirit 
 of charity and thankfulness ; and certain it is, that no 
 one can meditate on the inconveniences and troubles of 
 their own life in such a spirit, unless divinely assisted so 
 to do. 
 
 Maria remained in her uncle's family till she had at- 
 tained her twenty-fifth year, at which time she was seen 
 by a young gentleman lately established in the law in a 
 neighbouring town, to whom she appeared with so many 
 attractions as speedily determined him to solicit her un- 
 cle's permission to visit her. 
 
 Mr. Charles Hunter, for such was the name of the 
 young man who had attached himself to Maria, was one
 
 136 THE LADY OF THE MANOR. 
 
 of the younger sons of a genteel family in the neighbour- 
 hood. His patrimony was about one hundred pounds 
 per annum, together with a handsome house in the town 
 where he resided. Added to this, his profession, at the 
 period when he sought Maria's hand in marriage, pro- 
 duced him about one hundred and fifty pounds a year. 
 
 After Mr. Charles Hunter had made his mind known 
 to Maria's uncle, and it was found that he was not dis- 
 agreeable to her, and that his character upon the whole 
 stood higher than that of the generality of young men, 
 a council was called by the families on both sides, when 
 all parties being agreed upon the propriety of the mar- 
 riage, calculations were made upon the income which 
 the young people would possess ; and which, on a rea- 
 sonable computation, was found to be about three hun- 
 dred and twenty pounds a year, together with a handsome 
 house ready furnished. It was therefore unanimously 
 decided by the old people that this might do, as Mr. 
 Hunter had a growing profession in his hands. 
 
 The next consideration was, what establishment should 
 be fixed upon for the young people. In all these con- 
 sultations, Maria, if present, presumed to give no opinion, 
 not knowing how far money would go in housekeeping ; 
 and Mr. Charles Hunter, being equally inexperienced as 
 herself, had almost as little to say. 
 
 Consequently the old people had every thing their own 
 way ; and it was natural to suppose that, on occasions 
 of this kind, those who had known the expence of main- 
 taining a family, might be trusted not to involve their 
 children in difficulties. But old Mrs. Hunter, being a 
 woman of family, and much in bondage to the pomps 
 and vanities of this world, was more taken up, in ordering 
 her son's establishment, with views of family conse- 
 quence, than with the real comfort of her children ; inso- 
 much that, while considering what kind of figure she 
 should wish her son and daughter-in-law to make in the 
 
 town of K , she lost sight of their income and of 
 
 what that would allow. 
 
 Her manner of speaking was generally to this efl^"ect, 
 or something very like it. — " Charles's drawing-room is 
 well furnished ; every thing in it is handsome ; nothing 
 is wanting but a mirror between the windows. There 
 must be a mirror : the room will not do without a mirror.
 
 THE LADY OF THE MANOR. V6l 
 
 And the best bed-room requires a carpet: there must 
 absolutely be a carpet over a great part of the room. 
 Another dressing-table and glass will also be wanted ; 
 those which now stand there are not the thing at all. 
 If any of my son's noble clients should come to town, 
 and he should think it necessary to offer them a bed, 
 the room, as it now is, would be quite insutficient. My 
 daughter-in-law must have two maid-servants — a cook, 
 and a housemaid — it would be impossible to do with 
 less ; and to these must be added a footboy, to wait at 
 table, and open the door to company. My son will 
 have no business, if he does not make a respectable 
 figure in the town, particularly as a married man. A 
 professional man, who does not keep up a creditable 
 appearance, will never be employed : this is universally 
 acknowledged. My son must also keep a horse; Mr. 
 Charles Hunter cannot do without a horse." 
 
 In this manner the old lady very fluently proceeded; 
 and being what the world calls a clever woman, that is, 
 one who had much to say on every subject that interested 
 her, she easily carried every thing her own way. The 
 mirror was bought, the carpets, the dressing-table, and 
 various other needless articles not worthy of note; by 
 which all the ready money of the young couple was 
 swallowed up, together with several lesser sums which 
 had been received as marriage presents from the friends 
 of the respective parties. A cook, a housemaid, and 
 a footman, were hired and established in their several 
 places a short time previous to the marriage. Maria's 
 uncle and aunt in the mean time (though generally es- 
 teemed prudent persons) remained passive spectators of 
 these imprudent proceedings, while they could not but 
 foresee the consequences of this sinful accommodation 
 to the world. 
 
 Thus do many persons, who in their baptismal engage- 
 ment have undertaken to renounce the pomps and vani- 
 ties of this wicked world, not only pursue these vanities 
 themselves through a long life, but take an acting part 
 in plunging the young people over whom they have any 
 influence into the same destructive course. And this 
 may be said not only of those who are manifestly devoted 
 to the world, but even of such as believe themselves 
 pious, yea, and who are deemed such in religious society. 
 N 3
 
 138 THE LADY OF TKE MANOR. 
 
 Leaving however these reflections, we will proceed with 
 our narrative. 
 
 All these preparations being- made, the marriage took 
 place : when, after a few weeks, Maria found herself 
 quietly established in her new house, while her husband 
 was again busily engaged in his professional duties. 
 And now, being left to herself in a situation totally new 
 to her, the young bride presently found occasion for the 
 exercise of all those Christian graces, which had hitherto 
 lain almost concealed beneath the pressure of that severe 
 discipline to which she had been so long subjected in 
 the house of her uncle. By the divine blessing she was 
 made fully sensible of the awful responsibility of her si- 
 tuation; and believing the Holy Scriptures to be the 
 only true and infallible guide to a Christian course of 
 life, she spent much of her present leisure in studying 
 her Bible and praying over it. She also about this time 
 had opportunity of frequently hearing a truly pious 
 minister, through whose instrumentality her views of 
 religion were rendered more distinct and clear ; in con- 
 sequence of which she formed a more accurate and 
 exalted idea of her duties as a wife. 
 
 And here let it be remarked, that, as much leisure is 
 often within the reach of young women after their mar- 
 riage, before they become liable to the cares and burdens 
 of a small family, it would be highly commendable in 
 them to spend a portion of that leisure in studying the 
 duties of the new and important situation into which they 
 have entered, often shutting themselves up in their clo- 
 sets, as Maria did, to meditate and pray over the sacred 
 Scriptures, drawing from that Holy Volume their rules 
 of life, and, like the holy women of old, gathering mate- 
 rials thence, not for that outward adorning of plaiting 
 the hair, and of wearing of gold, or of putting on of 
 apparel; but the hidden man qjf the heart, in that which 
 is not corruptible, even the ornament of a meek and quiet 
 spirit, which is in the sight of God of gi-eat price. (I 
 Peter iii. 3, 4.) But, alas ! this is a time in which women ' 
 for the most part thmk they may give themselves up to 
 dress and vanity, to the pursuit of pleasure and the en- 
 joyment of company ; which unhappy course they fre- 
 quently follow, till some severe affliction — loss of health, 
 alienation of their husband's affections, or confusion and
 
 THE LADY OF THE MANOR. 139 
 
 embarrassment in their affairs — occurs to awaken them 
 from their dream of folly. 
 
 Maria, however, by the blessing of God, acted a diffe- 
 rent part. She had some visitors at first, whose com- 
 pliments she returned with as much expedition and as 
 little loss of time as possible. After which, as I before 
 said, she availed herself of the leisure which followed 
 in studying her new duties with all the seriousness they 
 required ; neither relying upon her own strength, nor 
 confiding in her own judgment, but with earnest prayer 
 and a continual reference to Scripture. 
 
 She found it at first irksome to look into the minutia; 
 of family management ; and watching over the conduct 
 of her servants was quite a severe trial to her. But the 
 Scripture speaketh decidedly upon this subject — Let him 
 that ruleth, do it with diligence: (Rom. xii. 8.)— the 
 duty therefore being a clear and positive one, with two 
 or three struggles she brought herself to the conscien- 
 tious performance of it : after which the difficulty became 
 daily less. 
 
 The family accounts of every article, and how much 
 might conveniently be expended upon them, became the 
 next subjects of her consideration: and here it may be 
 observed, that what an experienced housekeeper would 
 have settled in half an hour, was to her the work of half 
 a morning. But she had as yet no child ; her household 
 was small ; and she perceived the necessity of acquiring 
 some facility in the management of these matters before 
 any increase of family could possibly take place to aug- 
 ment her difficulties. As the wise man says. To every 
 thing there is a season, and a time to every purpose under 
 the heaven; (Eccles. iii. 1;) Maria accordingly found 
 that the present time brought with it certain tasks whicli 
 ought to be performed, and which, if omitted till other 
 duties should call her attention, might perhaps throw 
 her whole life into confusion. And herein this young 
 woman was enabled to form a correct judgment: since 
 it is certain, that not only in her peculiar case, which 
 was that of entering upon the duties of married life and 
 those of the mistress of a family, but in the case of 
 every individual dwelling upon the face of the earth, 
 at all seasons, and in every conceivable situation, the 
 passing hour must needs bring with it some portion of
 
 140 THE LADY OF THE MANOR. 
 
 work to be immediately performed, and which, if neg- 
 lected, will more or less diminish the peace, the comfort, 
 or the credit of some succeeding hour. Through the 
 redeeming love of our compassionate Lord, we believe 
 indeed that all the effects of his people's errors will here- 
 after be totally done away ; when, clothed in the gar- 
 ment of salvation, they shall rejoice for evermore in the 
 presence of God, in that blessed land where the tears 
 are wiped from every eye — but we have no promise of 
 being freed from the consequences of our ill conduct in 
 the present world ; for it is written. He that soweth ini- 
 quity shall reap vanity: (Prov. xxii. 8:) and again. He 
 that goeth forth and weepeth, bearing precious seed, shall 
 doubtless come again with irjoicing, bringing his sheaves 
 with him. (Psalm cxxvi. 6.) 
 
 I will venture to repeat this remark, on account of its 
 vast importance. From the time that the infant first 
 draws its breath, until that awful period when the soul 
 forsakes its breathless body, each flitting moment brings 
 with it a certain obligation to the performance of some 
 particular exercise — some unhappy temper is to be re- 
 strained ; some important lesson to be learned ; some 
 new faculty to be acquired ; or some latent power to be 
 brought into use. x4nd they who daily endeavour to 
 execute the present task appointed by the all-wise Cre- 
 ator, looking up to him in simple dependence upon his 
 promised assistance, will seldom find that overwhelming 
 accumulation of duties, or that perplexing hurry of 
 business, of which so many complain: for the yoke of 
 the Almighty in itself is easy, and his burden light; as 
 all his faithful servants have found in all their generations. 
 Our duties are generally set before us one by one; and, 
 commonly speaking, the means of performing those du- 
 ties are supplied at the same time. A mother has seldom 
 more than one child at a birth ; and, before her family 
 becomes large, abundant leisure, and space, and oppor- 
 tunity, are given her to mould her first-born child, with 
 the divine blessing, into a faithful and powerful instru- 
 ment for the management of the rest, as well as into a 
 lovely pattern by which its juniors may be naturally and 
 sweetly led forward from one degree of excellence to 
 another. But the careless or indolent parent or house- 
 keeper, she who has failed in youth to fit herself for
 
 THE LADY OF THE MANOR. 141 
 
 future duties, and who in her early married state has 
 neglected the performance of her little daily tasks of 
 instruction and correction, or of personal labour and 
 inspection, will certainly find herself at length plunged 
 into an abyss of cares and troubles, from which she can 
 never expect to be extricated till she has reached the 
 close of a wretched and wearisome life. 
 
 But to return to Maria. By considering her duties, 
 looking into the concerns of her family, and forming 
 minute calculations, she perceived, in a very few wrecks, 
 that they were living beyond their income by at least as 
 much as a hundred a year. The discovery alarmed her : 
 she made fresh calculations again and again ; but the 
 result was always the same. She became in consequence 
 very uneasy. She formed little plans of retrenchment 
 in the kitchen and in the parlour, such as she hoped 
 might escape her husband's notice. But when the ser- 
 vants (particularly the housemaid, who was the person 
 of least use in the family) perceived what their mistress 
 was about, they opposed and thwarted her in every 
 possible way, becoming not only more lavish but per- 
 versely wasteful. 
 
 At the same time, poor Maria found herself less well 
 than usual, and subject to many little uneasy feelings 
 which, had they been much regarded, would have led 
 her to new personal indulgences. She considered how- 
 ever that if she did not now exert herself, her husband's 
 affairs would certainly become perplexed ; and that 
 whereas they were now happy in each other, they might 
 become miserable merely through the pressure of pecu- 
 niary difficulties. She therefore gave way no further to 
 her feelings than absolute necessity required. On being* 
 very much overcome, she would perhaps lie down for 
 half an hour; and when a little refreshed, she would 
 rouse herself, and go on with her usual employments. 
 And so far was she from finding herself the worse for 
 these exertions, that she even reaped considerable be- 
 nefit from them: her unpleasant feelings were thereby 
 prevented from growing upon her, while she retained 
 that activity which many young women lose by improper 
 indulgence after marriage. 
 
 In the mean time, Mr. Hunter began to be sensible as 
 well as his wife that they were living beyond their income ;
 
 142 THE LADY OF THE MANOR. 
 
 and this idea preying on his mind affected his temper, 
 as was very evident when he came out of his oiSice to his 
 meals. Nevertheless, with a kind of inconsistency more 
 frequently to be remarked, perhaps, in men than in 
 women, although he spoke of economy as generally ne- 
 cessary, he violently opposed every particular application 
 of it, and was manifestly disconcerted whenever there 
 was a less handsome dinner than usual. All this time 
 he never conferred freely with his wife on the subject of 
 their affairs ; which would have yielded a proof of con- 
 fidence peculiarly acceptable to her. And now poor 
 Maria saw her happiness passing gradually from her, 
 while increasing earthly cares were rapidly consuming 
 that tender love which had so lately subsisted between 
 herself and her husband. 
 
 At this time, several circumstances tended to increase 
 her uneasiness : and one especially, which was of a 
 nature to have given her the utmost pleasure had it not 
 been for the state of their finances. She perceived the 
 prospect of an approaching addition to her family: but 
 she was backward to reveal this circumstance to her 
 husband, because, although he had never opened his 
 mind to her upon the subject of his affairs, she was no 
 stranger to his troubled thoughts on that subject. An- 
 other thing which added to her trouble at this time, was 
 the visit of a married sister of Mr. Hunter's, who, after 
 witnessing some of her brother's ill humours, ventured 
 to condole with her sister-in-law on the unkindness of 
 her husband, and to drop certain hints which, had they 
 been hearkened to, would have greatly increased the un- 
 easiness of Maria. But this excellent young woman, 
 though much hurt at the intimations occasionally thrown 
 out by this false friend, was restrained by her heavenly 
 Father, as she afterwards had reason to think, from 
 speaking freely to her visitant on this delicate subject. 
 On the contrary, this affectionate and prudent wife was 
 led to apply, under these severe trials, not to her fellow- 
 creatures, but to that throne of grace where real help may 
 always be found. At length two little plans for meli- 
 
 orating their circumstances were presented to her mind ; 
 and though these ideas seemingly originated in a natural 
 way, and in the common course of things, she nevertheless 
 was taught to discover in them the good hand of God.
 
 THE LADY OF THE MANOR. 143 
 
 One day, when much dejected, and after earnest 
 prayer, a letter was brought her from a very respectable 
 and rich elderly lady, whom she had known from her 
 childhood, requesting that she would procure lodgings 
 
 for her in the town of K ; adding, that she should 
 
 be willing to pay handsomely for good accommodations, 
 should keep regular hours, and see little company. It 
 struck Maria at once, that, if she could procure Mr. 
 Hunter's consent to accommodate this lady, it would be 
 a means of adding seventy or eighty guineas annually to 
 their income : and further, that, if she could by any ex- 
 ertion do without their housemaid, who was an imper- 
 tinent and extravagant person, the hundred pounds 
 annually which was deficient would be more than made 
 up. No sooner were these views presented to the mind 
 of Maria, than she felt a load removed from her heart ; 
 upon which she resolved to communicate her thoughts to 
 Mr. Hunter on these subjects, when he should come in 
 to tea after the business of the day. 
 
 I shall not enter into every particular of the conversa- 
 tion which followed between Maria and her husband ; it 
 would take up too much of our time. Suffice it to say, 
 that she opened her whole heart to him on this occasion : 
 first stating to him her strong sense of the evil of living 
 beyond their income, which they were then actually 
 doing ; and then pointing out to him the two remedies 
 which had been brought to her mind. 
 
 He heard the first part of her discourse with intense 
 anxiety and in deep silence : but when he understood 
 the whole of her plans for remedying the evils which she 
 had pointed out, and of which he was as fully aware as 
 herself, he broke out into a violent fit of anger, allowing 
 some strong and contemptuous expressions to escape 
 him, by ^^hich it appeared that he did not entertain a 
 very high opinion of the understanding of women in 
 general. "If you choose," said he, "to work like a 
 common servant, you are at liberty to do so ; only do 
 not, I pray you, appear before my visitors in a coloured 
 apron. But as to taking in a lodger," he added, " I 
 wonder how a woman of common sense can suggest so 
 absurd an idea. Little as you seem to suspect it, such 
 a step would entirely destroy my credit as a professional 
 man," — and here he repeated that erroneous maxim
 
 144 THE LADY OF THE MANOR. 
 
 which is so continually in the mouths of worldly persons, 
 " A professional man, who does not make a figure in 
 the world, will never be employed." 
 
 *• My dear Mr. Hunter," answered Maria, " I have 
 often heard that remark made before ; but I cannot help 
 thinking on these subjects in a way very different from 
 that which the world has adopted. I believe that the 
 hearts of all men are in the hand of the Almiahty, and 
 that he can give us favour even in the eyes of our ene- 
 mies, if he pleases, as he once gave the Children of 
 Israel favour in those of the Egyptians. The Almighty 
 can and will withhold or bestow success on you as a 
 professional man just in the degree he pleases, after all 
 your own efforts and exertions. He is our best advocate 
 in the hearts of men. Let us not therefore, by worldly 
 wisdom, take our cause out of his hands, or, by doing 
 any thing in the least dishonourable to him, forfeit his 
 favour and protection. If he has not given us the means 
 honestly and justly of making a handsome figure in the 
 world, does it not become us to submit humbly and 
 cheerfully to his holy will? Can we not perceive, that 
 he is only bringing us by unexpected circumstances to 
 give up those yomps and vanities of the present world 
 which we in our baptismal covenant pledged ourselves 
 to renounce? and the sooner we submit to his appoint- 
 ments, the sooner our trials will be at an end." 
 
 '* But," answered Mr. Hunter, whose mind was just at 
 that moment in a very improper state, *' I suppose, when 
 you took upon you your baptismal vow, you did not un- 
 dertake to renounce all the decencies of life. I should 
 be obliged to you to inform me, if you know of any man 
 of my rank in life, or of a family of such respectability 
 as mine in this country, who supports himself by letting 
 lodgings ? " 
 
 " Possibly," replied Maria, meekly, " I may not know 
 a gentleman of your profession, and of so good a family, 
 in circumstances so straitened as yours now are. But, 
 at any rate, my dear Mr. Hunter, must we not submit to 
 the appointments of God, and the dispensations of Pro- 
 vidence ? It is certain, that, if we do not exert ourselves 
 in some way, either to diminish our establishment, or to 
 augment our income, care and sorrow will shortly take 
 place of the happiness we lately enjoyed, while we shall
 
 THE LADY OF THE MANOR. 145 
 
 only have ourselves to blame for acting decidedly wrong-, 
 and indulging our pride at the expence of our comfort." 
 
 The warmth with which Maria spoke these last words 
 drew a very vehement retort from her husband. But 
 this excellent youns: woman, convinced that she was 
 right, and not intimidated by his harshness, was enabled 
 thus to reply: " There is no fatigue, my dear Mr. Hun- 
 ter, which I would not undergo to save you and myself 
 from worldly solicitude and pecuniary difficulties — diffi- 
 culties which might induce you, as they have done many 
 others, to depart from your integrity. I am young, and 
 as well able to exert myself as most other women. I am 
 ready to perform what I have undertaken ; that is, to 
 do with one female servant, and to give up my drawing- 
 room and best bed-room, until such time as God may 
 see fit, by an increase of your income, to remove the 
 necessity of these measures. All these things," added 
 she, smiling, " I hope, with your permission, to perform 
 not only cheerfully, but with a far more cheerful heart 
 than I have lately possessed ; humbly trusting that I 
 shall be favoured herein with the divine assistance, which 
 I have very sincerely and earnestly implored in the name 
 of our blessed Saviour." 
 
 Mr. Hunter looked eagerly at her while she spoke : 
 then turning away, he sat for a considerable time with 
 his eyes fixed upon the fire, apparently stupid, but in 
 fact deeply considering every word which she had utter- 
 ed ; while a stroug feeling of pride and worldly prejudice 
 was contending in his mind with a sense of duty. He 
 admired his wife, and loved her at that moment more 
 than ever; while the entire absence of any thing like 
 selfishness on this occasion made him more than half 
 ashamed of himself and of his own conduct — for what 
 privation had he proposed to undergo ? or what sacrifice 
 had he thought of making? Indeed, he had not at that 
 time the piety of his wife ; and it is certain that self- 
 denial can be reasonably expected from the Jrue Chris- 
 tian alone. 
 
 In this manner he had sat for a quarter of an hour or 
 more, when Maria drawing a sigh, which at the same 
 time she seemed endeavouring to suppress, he looked 
 up, and saw her busy with her needle, while the tears 
 dropped fast upon her work — tears which she had for- 
 VOL. I. o
 
 14f> THE LADY OF THE MANOR. 
 
 borne to wipe away, as not wishing to draw his attention 
 to them. Maria had never attempted to excite his feel- 
 ings by those childish arts which are often practised by 
 our sex, such as an affected sensibility, or making the 
 most of any little uncomfortable feelings to which our 
 frail nature is liable ; therefore her tears, shed on such 
 an occasion, had their full effect, and conquered in a 
 moment the pride and prejudice of her husband. He 
 rose hastily from his seat, and seizing her hand — *' O 
 my beloved wife!" he said, "you have conquered: I 
 consent to all you propose. Only forgive my hasty 
 conduct and brutal expressions, and you shall do all 
 you desire. I acknowledge your discretion, I feel your 
 value, and you are dearer to me than ever." 
 
 Joy and gratitude nwv became the predominant feelings 
 of Maria's heart, and all her husband's harsh expressions 
 were at once forgotten. The next morning, happy in 
 thinking that she was following the dictates of her hea- 
 venly Father's will, she not only wrote to offer the old 
 lady the best accommodations her house could afford, 
 but also informed the housemaid that she might consi- 
 der herself in one month at liberty to take her departure. 
 All this she managed without a reference to her husband ; 
 wisely resolving, with her usual prudence, to avoid the 
 chance of irritating him again by unnecessarily touching 
 on these subjects. In a few days she had a favourable 
 answer from the lady ; who, for the offered accommoda- 
 tions, engaged to pay eighty guineas annually, a sum 
 which Maria thought extremely handsome. The lady 
 was to bring a servant with her ; and Maria contrived to 
 convert a little servants'-hall into a kitchen for her use. 
 
 In the mean time, the housemaid, being very imperti- 
 nent, was paid her month's wages, and dismissed. Thus 
 every thing was arranged to Maria's satisfaction, and 
 peace restored to her mind. It was therefore with a 
 light and happy heart that she began to labour with 
 her own hajuls, after the departure of her housemaid, in 
 order to make up the dehciency occasioned by her 
 absence — and she now would certainly have been sur- 
 prised to find that health and pleasure were added to 
 sweeten these new employments, had she not already 
 been taught by experience that the ways of duty are the 
 ways of peace.
 
 THE LADY OF THE MANOR. 147 
 
 At Christmas, the old lady above mentioned took pos- 
 session of her apartments, with which she was well 
 satisfied. And 5lr. Hunter expressed no mortification 
 on the occasion : for, in fact, his external comforts were 
 not in the least affected by the residence of a quiet old 
 lady in that part of his house, which had hitherto been 
 seldom used ; and especially since he still possessed his 
 handsome diniog-room, where Maria was always ready 
 to receive him, neatly dressed, and adorned with a 
 thousand Christian graces. 
 
 The winter passed very sweetly with Mr. Hunter and 
 his wife, and in the spring they were favoured with the 
 birth of a fine little girl. Mr. Hunter's profession in the 
 mean time was gradually becoming more productive ; 
 but so gradually, that had not the economical alterations 
 proposed by Maria been put in practice, the family 
 would certainly have been involved in great difficulties, 
 before they could have felt the advantage of their im- 
 proving affairs. 
 
 When Maria had sent her nurse away, after the birth 
 of her little girl, she began to feel a real inconvenience 
 from having only one servant. She therefore exerted 
 herself to the utmost, and spent most of her time in the 
 nursery ; which, however fatiguing, had this advantage, 
 that it endeared her the more to her child, and initiated 
 her at once into the whole science of nursing and ma- 
 naging an infant. Finding, however, the difficulty very 
 great, and discovering, when they came to calculate 
 their outgoings at the end of the quarter after the 
 birth of their little girl, that they could bear the ex- 
 pence of such an arrangement, she hired a young ser- 
 vant, who was to assist in every thing that was required, 
 and especially to carry the baby abroad into the air. 
 In order moreover the better to enable her hus- 
 band to bear this expence, Maria made her wedding- 
 bonnet last her another year ; in addition to which, 
 she practised several little modes of private economy, 
 which she trusted would escape Mr. Hunter's observa- 
 tion. 
 
 Thus passed away their time till Midsummer. Maria 
 in the mean while, becoming every day more dear to her 
 husband, was gaining, step by step, certain points on 
 which her heart was set, and which, having nothing of
 
 148 THE LADY OF THE MANOR. 
 
 self connected with them, were not likely to grow into 
 causes of offence. 
 
 When their income was most straitened, she had not 
 indeed thought it right to give much away; because she 
 feared that they might not be able to pay their trades- 
 men's bills. But even then she had endeavoured to 
 open a little fountain of charity, by exercising the most 
 rigorous self-denial, and giving what she earned thereby 
 to the poor. She often went without sugar to her tea, 
 and other little private comforts of a like kind, for this 
 purpose. But as they advanced into easier circum- 
 stances, she enlarged her charities ; till at length she suc- 
 ceeded in persuading her husband to put a certain sum 
 every month into a poor's-box, so that they might al- 
 ways have something ready to answer calls of charity. 
 
 Thus economy, rightly practised, produced its natural 
 fruits of liberality and freedom from care : while Mr. 
 Hunter, feeling himself at ease in his circumstances, was 
 the better enabled to retain his integrity as a professional 
 man ; in consequence of which his reputation became 
 from day to day more solidly established. 
 
 Whenever Mr. Hunter now looked into his private af- 
 fairs, he could not fail to observe the effects of his wife's 
 prudent management ; and this led him very frequently 
 to consider how he might shew his affection to her in 
 such a manner as she would most approve. 
 
 Having one day received a debt which he had entirely 
 given up, he went to a bookseller's, and bought an ex- 
 cellent Family Bible, with notes ; which, on taking home, 
 he presented to her with an intimation th^t he intended 
 every evening to read to her a portion of that volume. 
 He meant by this to do her a pleasure ; for as yet he had 
 no higher motive : and he did not lose his reward — she 
 was manifestly made very happy by it. 
 
 In this manner, becoming more and more comfortable, 
 as the ways of husband and wife became more and more 
 conformed to the will of God, the pomps and vanities of 
 this wicked world, which are the bane and destruction 
 of the peace of thousands and tens of thousands, being 
 excluded, Mr. and Mrs. Hunter spent the first year and 
 half of their marriage, during which time they had seen 
 none of their relations except the sister before mentioned ; 
 for Maria's uncle and aunt never left home, and Mr.
 
 THE LADY OF THE MANOR. 149 
 
 Hunter's family had taken a house for three years in 
 Bath. But in the middle of the second winter, an old 
 lady, one of the heads of the Hunter Family, one from 
 Avhom the family had some expectances, and whose 
 influence was consequently great among them, came 
 from a distant part of the county to pay a circular visit 
 among her relations. 
 
 This lady, whom we shall call Mrs. Josephina Hunter, 
 paid her first visit to the family at Bath ; where having 
 collected the opinions of certain individuals concerning 
 the proceedings of Charles and his wife, she arrived at 
 
 K about the beginning of the year, with the full 
 
 purpose of putting every thing to rights which might 
 appear to her to be amiss in the family of her cousin. 
 She arrived in the mail-coach about tea-time, finding 
 Charles and Maria sitting before a cheerful fire — Maria 
 making a frock for her infant, and Mr. Hunter reading 
 his Bible aloud. Although they had the use only of one 
 parlour, every thing appeared neat and orderly about 
 them ; and the tea-equipage which they were then using, 
 if not splendid, was convenient and genteel. 
 
 Mrs. Josephina was received respectfully by Maria, 
 and affectionately by Charles, who had known her when 
 he was a child, and had always been taught to look up 
 to her as to one of the most judicious and prudent women 
 in the world. 
 
 Mrs. Josephina was very gracious to Maria; while it 
 was very evident that she observed every thing about her 
 with a keen and scrutinizing eye, although as yet she 
 ventured not to find fault with any thing, but conversed 
 about her journey, and the situation of their friends in 
 Bath. •* Your sisters look well, Charles," she said, 
 ** and, I am happy to say, are vastly improved in their 
 style of dress : they are now as well-dressed girls as any 
 in bath." 
 
 "Indeed!" said Mr. Hunter: "I had been led to 
 understand that they were become serious, and were 
 regularly attendant upon such as are termed decided 
 preachers." 
 
 ** All which is very true," replied Mrs. Josephina. 
 *' But you don't hold it sinful, I presume, to dress in a 
 way fit to be seen ! I do not perceive wherefore per- 
 sons, when they become religious, are to become com- 
 O 3
 
 160 THE LADY OF THE MANOR. 
 
 plete sluts and slovens. I know indeed that some hig^h 
 professors think so : but I never could find any thing to 
 that purpose in the Bible. Different people, however, 
 do certainly read with different eyes." 
 
 This was the first symptom of an attack. But Mr. 
 Hunter not taking up the adverse side, the matter drop- 
 ped. 
 
 During tea-time, the lady in the drawing-room rang 
 for her servant; upon which Mrs. Josephina coloured, 
 but said nothing till the bell rang again, when she asked 
 Maria if she had any visitors in the house? To which 
 Maria answering " No," the matter rested ; till about an 
 hour afterwards the bell ringing again, she said, "What 
 is that bell I hear so continually?" 
 
 "It is the lady's bell," replied Maria, calmly; "a 
 lady who occupies our dra\ving-room." 
 
 *' O then you have a visitor in the house?" said Mrs. 
 Josephina, affecting surprise, and looking at Mr. Hun- 
 ter; " I thought you said you had none !" 
 
 He coloured, and not being prepared to answer, Maria 
 replied, and said, *' We have found it necessary, our 
 income not answering our expences, to let our drawing- 
 room and best bed-room to a very respectable lady, an 
 old friend of mine." 
 
 Mrs. Josephina affected amazement ; we say affected, 
 because she had heard the whole history of the lodger, 
 at Bath; and therefore could not now feel any surprise 
 at what she knew so well before. " You certainly," said 
 she, " must know your own affairs best, Mrs. Charles 
 Hunter ; but surely it is rather going out of your line of 
 life to let lodgings, and to be at the beck and call of 
 every person you take into the house. And indeed, 
 Charles," (turning to him,) " I shculd think it a most in- 
 judicious step in your situation. Do you not know that 
 a professional man who does not make a respectw'ble 
 tigure in society will never be employed ? And surely 
 nothing can be more degrading than to let out your house 
 in lodgings!" 
 
 While she continued to hold forth in this manner, Mr. 
 Hunter shewed strong symptoms of that false shame, 
 which, wherever it is observed, gives courage to the ene- 
 my, and often enables the children of this world to ob- 
 tain a temporary triumph over the sons of God. He
 
 THE LADY OF THE MANOR. 151 
 
 remained perfectly silent, and, colouring up to the eyes, 
 directed her by his looks to address herself to his wife; 
 at the same time getting up and desiring to be called 
 when supper was ready, he returned to his office. 
 
 Maria was now left alone to all the violence of Mrs. 
 Josephina's attacks ; but her own mind being immoveably 
 made up on these subjects, she was perfectly indiflferent 
 to all that was said to her, feeling nothing but a Christian 
 solicitude to avoid using any expression which might 
 increase the old lady's irritation. For a length of time 
 she accordingly allowed her to expatiate on the subject 
 in dispute : when hoping that she had nearly exhausted 
 all that could well be urged on the matter, she calmly 
 explained to her visitant the motives of her conduct in 
 letting those apartments ; taking all the blame upon her- 
 self, and observing that she considered it an important 
 Christian duty, to avoid, if possible, running in debt, and 
 to accommodate herself in every particular to the will of 
 God, as indicated in his dealings towards her. 
 
 " If it is the will of the Almighty," continued Maria, 
 " that we should be straitened in our circumstances; it 
 is certainly our duty to submit to his good pleasure, and 
 to bring down our habits to that rule which he has marked 
 out for us. With all the exertions we have hitherto made, 
 we have not as yet found at the end of each quarter that 
 we have more than four or five guineas in hand ; and had 
 we continued to live as we first set out, we should already 
 have been nearly two hundred pounds out of pocket. Set- 
 ting aside therefore our present peace, which has been 
 greatly increased by our determination to submit to cir- 
 cumstances, we consider ourselves bound, as we must 
 answer to God, to use such means as. we lawfully and 
 innocently may for the provision of our family ; and how- 
 ever little we may possess, we wish to be grateful for that 
 little, as being more than we have any right to expect." 
 
 *' Indeed," said ■Mrs. Josephina,. " I do not understand 
 that at all. You are, I believe, of a very respectable fa- 
 mily, and Mr. Charles Hunter is remarkably well de- 
 scended. The Hunters are as old a family as any in the 
 country ; and though you boast of your management, 
 yet I must plainly tell you, that your style is much below 
 that of any part of the family with which I have ever 
 been acquainted."
 
 152 THE LADY OF THE MANOR. 
 
 ** My dear Madam," replied Maria, " I do not presume 
 to dispute that point. I know that Mr. Hunter's family 
 has long been a respectable one. But let us consider 
 from whence do honour and promotion proceed. — They 
 come neither from the east, nor from the west, nor from 
 the south: hut God is the judge ; he putteth down one, 
 and sttteth up another. (Psalm Ixxv. 6, 7.) When the 
 Almighty withholds the means by which individuals or 
 families are supported, it is surely an indication that he 
 would have such individuals or families, at least for a 
 time, to descend a little in the scale of society. Are we 
 not in his hands as clay in the hands of the potter"? and 
 ought we not to submit with cheerfulness to every ap- 
 pointment of our heavenly Father?" 
 
 Mrs. Josephina had allowed Maria to run on thus far 
 in explanation of her conduct and principles, because she 
 knew not how to prevent it ; Mrs. Hunter manifesting 
 an earnestness in her manner which hardly permitted an 
 interruption. As soon however as she ceased to speak, 
 the old lady took up the argument precisely where she 
 had laid it down, without making the smallest reference 
 to any thing which Maria had alleged. — " Mr. Hunter's 
 father," she said, " you know was once sheriff of the 
 county. To be sure he has had losses since that time, 
 as well as a large family to maintain : notwithstanding 
 which they have always lived in a most respectable man- 
 ner ; and I doubt not but that, had you kept up your 
 husband's credit in this place, he would have had far 
 more success in his professional career than he now ap- 
 pears to have." 
 
 In this manner she proceeded, till Mrs. Hunter, hearing 
 her infant cry, made an apology, and ran up to the nur- 
 sery. There taking the child in her arms and kissing 
 its polished cheek, at the same time addressing it in the 
 soothing accents of a mother's love, she presently lost all 
 recollection of the cold and worldly discourse of her 
 troublesome relation. Maria expected not to derive 
 much comfort from the society of Mrs. Josephina, but 
 she certainly had not anticipated so violent an attack 
 upon her peace as she now experienced. 
 
 In the present state of society in England, where the 
 enemies of Christ are no longer permitted to torture the 
 bodies of the faithful, they are obliged to vary their mode
 
 THE LADY OF THE MANOR. 153 
 
 of attack : and since the laws present a strong bulwark 
 in defence of the people of God, their opposers are com- 
 pelled to aim their shafts wholly against the peace and 
 comfort of their minds. But inasmuch as there is so 
 wide and marked a space between the children of God 
 and the children of this world, that the envenomed ar- 
 rows of the latter, however well directed, have little power 
 to reach -the former at the distance at which they stand ; 
 persecutors have nothing left but to engage on their 
 sides, if possible, such persons as occupy a place between 
 both parties — those who may be connected with the 
 faithful by ties of blood, or nearness of neighbourhood, 
 or in some other way. Through the medium of these, 
 the worldly man frequently attacks and wounds the 
 faithful servants of God ; and by their assistance occa- 
 sions injury to them which he would otherwise have no 
 means of effecting. Mrs. Josephina was aware of her 
 little influence with Maria : she saw^ that their modes of 
 thinking were so diametrically opposite, that Maria was 
 not to be touched by any argument which she could 
 employ. But she still conceived hopes that through the 
 influence of her husband she might be able to bring her 
 to that mode of conduct which she herself approved; 
 and accordingly she determined that her next argument 
 with the wife should be tried in the presence of her 
 husband. 
 
 The subject of dispute was not renewed at supper, and 
 the next morning before breakfast Maria was sent for by 
 the old lady who occupied her apartments. It seems 
 that this lady was afllicted with a disorder, which, al- 
 though it did not threaten her immediate death, was of 
 a nature so alarming as to convince her that her conti- 
 nuance in this world could not be long. And on fresh 
 symptoms of this disorder appearing, she sent to request 
 the presence of Mrs. Hunter, in order not only to thank 
 her for her past kindness, but also to say, that as in all 
 human probability her life would speedily come to a 
 close, it would afford her much comfort to be assured 
 that she should not be compelled to quit her present 
 comfortable and peaceful abode till that solemn time 
 should arrive — and she earnestly solicited Maria to give 
 her this assurance. Maria replied, that as far as in her 
 lav she might depend upon not being disturbed; and
 
 154 THE LADY OF THE MANOR. 
 
 having thus satisfied the old lady, she hastened to make 
 breakfast for her husband and their guest. 
 
 The whole of that day passed off with so little that 
 was unpleasant on the part of Mrs. Josephina, that Maria 
 began to hope nothing disagreeable would again occur 
 in the way of argument between herself and her visitant. 
 This however was a vain hope ; for the very next day at 
 dinner-time the old lady renewed her attack, and that 
 with a degree of warmth altogether unaccountable to 
 Maria. For she was not aware of the strong prejudice 
 entertained by worldly persons against the plain and 
 simple principles and scriptural modes of conduct adopt- 
 ed by the children of God. 
 
 It seems that the old lady had spent her morning in 
 visiting some former acquaintances and family connexions 
 in the town ; among whom she had heard the character 
 and conduct of Mrs. Charles Hunter talked over — the 
 matter of the lodger and the dismission of the house- 
 maid discussed and examined — with various conjectures 
 thrown out concerning the motives of Maria's conduct 
 in these particulars ; her neighbours attributing that to 
 caprice, humour, covetousness, and singularity, for which 
 the word prudence would have naturally and honourably 
 accounted. 
 
 After a morning thus spent, it is not to be supposed 
 that Mrs. Josephina returned in the best possible humour 
 to her cousin's house. She had been wounded, and that 
 in the most tender point — the imaginary honour of her 
 family : and she entered the house in a state of the high- 
 est dissatisfaction. She however refrained from giving 
 utterance to her discontent, otherwise than by certain 
 dark hints and inuendoes which she threw out from time 
 to time until the dinner was removed, and the door shut 
 upon the servant. She then turned to Mr. Hunter, and 
 said, " Charles, I have been out this morning among my 
 old friends and neighbours, and am returned home un- 
 easy, as you have, no doubt, perceived. I am very low, 
 I own it, and it may be a weakness : but I cannot divest 
 myself of long estabhshed feelings." Here the old lady 
 sighed, and rubbed her eyes with a handkerchief. 
 
 "I hope that you have heard no bad news, cousin 
 Josephina?" said Mr. Hunter. 
 
 " No, Charles," replied Mrs. Josephina. ** I have
 
 THE LADY OF THE MANOR, 155 
 
 heard nothing with which I was not in some degree 
 acquainted before. But notwithstanding this, I have 
 been much hurt." 
 
 Mr. Hunter looked at Maria, as if for an explanation 
 of what he heard, and then at his cousin, being im- 
 patient for what she had further to produce. 
 
 ** It is not many years ago that your father, Charles, 
 was sheriff of this county," proceeded the old lady : '* he 
 was returned, Mr. Hunter, as I think, in the year 1775, 
 or some time thereabout." 
 
 " But what of that, my good cousin"? what has that 
 to do with your having been cruelly wounded and hurt 
 this morning?" said Mr. Hunter, smiling. 
 
 ** What has that to do, Mr. Hunter, with my being 
 cruelly wounded and hurt?" repeated Mrs. Josephina, 
 turning hastily towards her cousin, her face swelling 
 with smothered passion : *' and do you really ask me 
 such a question? Do I remember the time when the 
 representative of our family entered this town in his 
 coach and four, at the head of all the respectable gen- 
 tlemen of the county? and is it to be supposed that I 
 should have no feeling for the degradation of his son? 
 In no house have I been this morning, where the subject 
 of your letting lodgings was not discussed. Mr. Charles 
 Hunter, let me tell you, if you do not know it already, 
 that you have afforded discourse for all the town and 
 neighbourhood by your extremely injudicious conduct." 
 
 As soon as Mr. Hunter perceived the tendency of this 
 long preamble, he became violently irritated; first, by 
 the folly of his cousin, and secondly, at finding himself 
 and his concerns the subject of so much ridiculous tittle- 
 tattle. At length, however, being pressed by Mrs. Jo- 
 sephina, and feeling angry with himself for not being able 
 to rise entirely above these foolish attacks of persons 
 whose judgment he despised, he vented his dissatisfac- 
 tion by throwing all the blame of what had been done 
 upon his wife, declaring that his judgment had never 
 approved any of these plans of retrenchment which the 
 world so strongly condemned. 
 
 Maria made no reply to this charge of her husband's, 
 but by giving him a look, in which he might read how 
 much she felt his ungrateful treatment. She arose soon 
 after, and withdrawing to her child's apartment, there
 
 156 THE LADY OF THE MANOR. 
 
 spent some hours in weeping over her beloved infant, 
 for whose sake she was prepared with pleasure to make 
 far greater sacrifices than those which she had already 
 made. When she went down to tea, Mr. Hunter was 
 gone out; and Mrs. Josephina was also absent, ha- 
 ving made an appointment to drink tea with a neigh- 
 bour. 
 
 At supper the party met again ; but the husband and 
 wife did not meet in so cheerful a manner as they were 
 wont to approach each other. The traces of tears were 
 left on the features of Maria, and Mr. Hunter hated him- 
 self for having occasioned them, but was still withheld by 
 pride from making the reparation which he owed her. 
 In consequence, he appeared sullen and discontented, 
 and sat silent till Mrs. Josephina remarked that there was 
 to be a public dinner the next day at the principal inn. 
 He took no notice of her remark, seeming to be entirely 
 occupied by what he had on his plate. Mrs. Josephina 
 was not, however, to be put off so easily when she had 
 any particular point to carry, as was now the case. She 
 waited till her cousin had swallowed all that was on his 
 plate ; and then said, " Charles Hunter, there is a public 
 dinner to-morrow at the Elephant-and-Castle ; and your 
 
 father's friends. Lord H and Sir Theophilus D , 
 
 will both be present. These are connexions which you 
 ought to cultivate." 
 
 Mr. Hunter directed his wife to replenish his plate, 
 without opening his mouth or raising his eyelids ; having 
 used for the occasion some one of those many significant 
 gestures which Englishmen find convenient for family 
 purposes, when they happen to be sulky. And hav- 
 ing gained his point, he began to eat with apparently 
 renewed appetite, taking no notice whatever of Mrs. 
 Josephina's discourse. 
 
 The indefatigable old lady was not, however, discon- 
 certed by this apparent ill-humour, but returning to the 
 charge as soon as the rattle of the plates and knives and 
 forks would permit, she said, " Charles, you will assu- 
 redly go to the Elephant-and-Castle to-morrow ! You 
 owe it to your family, to keep up these old and honour- 
 able connexions." 
 
 ** I hate public dinners," said Mr. Hunter, without 
 looking off his plate.
 
 THE LADY OF THE MANOR. 157 
 
 "What have your likings and dislikings, cousin Hunter, 
 to do with the point in question t " returned Mrs. Joseph- 
 ina. "A professional man must do many things which 
 he does not like, if he wishes to get on in the world." 
 
 An eloquent soliloquy then followed concerning the 
 line of conduct to be pursued by a young man who has 
 his way to make in any genteel profession, which would 
 probably have been protracted to a still greater length, 
 had it not been interrupted by Mr. Hunter, who, having 
 finished his supper, threw down his knife and fork, and 
 declared that he would not be such a slave to the world 
 as his relations would have him to be, were he thereby 
 to become the tirst professional man in the county. A 
 very hot and unpleasant argument followed upon this, 
 between INIrs. Josephina and Mr. Hunter, which was 
 only concluded by the parties separating for the night. 
 
 The next morning Mr. Hunter arose in no better hu- 
 mour than that in which he had retired to his chamber 
 the night before. Nevertheless it now appeared that his 
 cousin's arguments had not been destitute of influence, 
 although he had opposed them with so much violence : for 
 just as he was going down to breakfast, he said some- 
 what rudely to his wife, "I shall not dine at home to- 
 day;" adding, "let every thing be got ready for my 
 dressing about three o'clock." 
 
 At thft breakfast-table Mrs. Josephina again referred 
 to the conversation which she had heard abroad con- 
 cerning her cousin's family retrenchments, confessing 
 with a sigh that she was seriously afflicted by seeing a 
 Hunter reduced to let lodgings. 
 
 "Well then. Madam," said Mr. Hunter, rising from 
 his unfinished breakfast, "if it is so, your feelings shall 
 be no longer wounded, for Mrs. Hunter shall this day 
 give her lodger notice to depart. " Then addressing him- 
 self to his wife, he said, "Maria, you hear what I say, 
 and you will act accordingly." So saying, he quitted 
 the room, shutting the door after him with a violence 
 which resounded through the whole house. 
 
 Poor Maria sat for some moments immoveable and lost 
 in thought, till she was roused from her unpleasant re- 
 flections by Mrs. Josephina, who, being full of exulta- 
 tion, thus addressed her: — "Well, I must say, Mrs. 
 Hunter, that I do highly commend my cousin Charles 
 VOL. I. p
 
 158 THE LADY OF THE MANOR. 
 
 for the resolution which he has taken ; and now that we 
 are alone, I must use the liberty of a friend and near 
 relation to speak my mind to you upon several particu- 
 lars, which I have more than hinted at before." 
 
 Maria made no reply ; for indeed at that moment she 
 dared not trust herself to speak, lest she should utter 
 some intemperate expression. 
 
 *' My near connexion with your husband, Mrs. Charles 
 Hunter, and the regard I have for him, must plead my 
 excuse," continued Mrs. Josephina, *' for the freedom I 
 use. You are young ; you have seen but little of the 
 world ; you know not how every thing which people do 
 is talked over and discussed ; and of what consequence 
 it is that they who have their way to make in life should 
 not do any thing which they would not wish all the 
 world to know." 
 
 Maria looked up and sighed, but still remained silent, 
 reflecting with anguish on the happy hours which she 
 had enjoyed with her husband before the worldly senti- 
 ments of Mrs. Josephina had crept in to interrupt their 
 domestic peace. 
 
 *• You do not speak, Mrs. Charles Hunter," said Mrs. 
 Josephina. " You are off'ended with my freedom ; you 
 do not see it in a right point of view. " 
 
 Maria at length spoke, and said with much gentle- 
 ness, "Your near connexion with our family. Madam, 
 and the regard which Mr. Hunter has for you, entitle 
 you to use here all freedom of speech, and I have no 
 right to be offended at any thing you may say ; not- 
 withstanding which, I could have wished, my dear 
 Madam, that you had made yourself acquainted with 
 our afi'airs before you had given your opinion." 
 
 " And pray," said Mrs. Josephina, " what makes you 
 suppose that I am not acquainted with your affairs ? I 
 have talked them thoroughly over with Mr. Charles 
 Hunter's mother. I know your income precisely, and 
 also your prospects ; and this I also know, that if you 
 do not risk a little, you will never get forward in the 
 world. You must live in a suitable way. It is abso- 
 lutely necessary not to let the world see that you are in 
 the least straitened : you must make a certain appear- 
 ance ; your husband should frequent public meetings ; 
 you yourself ought to be seen oftener abroad ; you
 
 THE LADY OF THE MANOR. 159 
 
 should pay more attention to your dress ; you ought not 
 to be seen two seasons in the same head-dress ; nor al- 
 low yourself to be surprised by a visitor with your child 
 in your arms." 
 
 Here Mrs. Josephina paused ; but Maria made no an- 
 swer for a few moments, being at a loss how to blend re- 
 spect and firmness in her reply. At length she spoke to 
 this effect. — " My dear Madam, I have been long silent, 
 because I desired to hear all you had to say ; and now 
 I must request your attention to the simple statement 
 which I am about to make of the principles on which, 
 with the divine blessing, I have hitherto endeavoured to 
 act. In my baptism it was undertaken for me by my 
 sponsors, that 1 should renounce the pomps aud vani- 
 ties of this wicked world; and when,! took upon myself 
 this baptismal vow at my confirmation, I pledged myself, 
 in my own person, really and truly to give up and reject 
 the same. Such being the case, how can I, as a Chris- 
 tian, from any worldly motives or desires of aggrandize- 
 ment, allow myself those indulgences of dress and com- 
 pany, &c. which are beyond the reach of my fortune, 
 and which I cannot obtain but at the risk of involving 
 my husband's credit, and destroying his peace of mind ?" 
 
 Mrs. Josephina appeared for a moment to be some- 
 what embarrassed by the solemnity of Maria's manner; 
 but shortly recovering her self-command, and recurring 
 to her old principles, she replied, " You take this mat- 
 ter up too seriously, Mrs. Charles Hunter ; as if I were 
 proposing something to you contrary to religion. It is 
 very true that we do at our baptism renounce the pomps 
 and vanities of this world, and those pomps and vanities 
 are very wicked things, and great snares to many, par- 
 ticularly to persons in the higher ranks of society ; and 
 indeed to the poorer sort — for to see the dress of the 
 poor in these days, so different to what it was in my 
 youth, is certainly very offensive. But, my dear Mrs. 
 Charles Hunter, I cannot see what these things have to 
 do with our present argument. Would you say that 
 every respectable female who does not let her best apart- 
 ments to a lodger, and who does not make her best bon- 
 net last two summers, is giving way to the love of those 
 pomps and vanities of which you speak, and infringing 
 her baptismal vow ? "
 
 160 THE LADY OF THE MANOR. 
 
 Maria replied, with a smile which she could not re- 
 strain, although thoroughly discomposed, *' I should, of 
 course, my dear Mrs. Josephina, he very absurd," she 
 said, " if I were to draw out one rule of living or one 
 mode of dress for every individual ; because T am fully 
 aware, that what is improper in one line of life and in 
 one situation would be no more than decent and neces- 
 sary in another." 
 
 ** Certainly," replied the old lady, «' every one will 
 allow that a person may exceed in point of show and ex- 
 pence, and this extreme is to be condemned equally with 
 the other, as I but just now hinted in the case of the 
 poor, and of servants in general, who in these<lays dress 
 quite above their station. But if some fall into the ex- 
 treme of dress and show, that is no reason why others 
 should run into the other extreme, and sink below their 
 rank in society. A lady should always endeavour to ap- 
 pear like a lady, and never allow^ herself to fall into the 
 dress and modes of ordinary life." 
 
 Maria was silent upon this remark, and Mrs. Joseph- 
 ina proceeded to ring new changes upon the word pru- 
 dence ; the opinion of the world ; the necessity of doing 
 as others do, and appearing as others appear ; of dress- 
 ing a little according to the fashion ; and of mixing a 
 little freely with society : till Maria, being wearied of 
 the long and fruitless argument, answered her much to 
 the following purpose ; after which she withdrew to her 
 own apartment. — " My dear Madam, are we to have no 
 other motives of action than the desire of pleasing the 
 world? are we not immortal creatures? and does not 
 the happiness of our future existence through a long 
 eternity depend upon the manner in which the years of 
 this short life are spent? If in this present state of 
 being we are made regenerate and sanctified, if through 
 the love of our heavenly Father we are accepted in 
 Christ, and renewed in heart and affections through the 
 influences of the Holy Spirit, we may then rest assured 
 of everlasting happiness ! because he that has begun the 
 work of our redemption will assuredly carry it on until 
 the end. Now this being the case, wherefore should 
 we desire the vain ornaments and transient distinctions 
 of this present life ? We ought rather, with the saints 
 of old, to desire a better country, that is, a heavenly
 
 THE LADY OF THE MANOR. 161 
 
 one : leaving the vanities of life, we should be anxious 
 to seek his favour, who is the Lord our God, and that 
 city which he hath prepared for them that love him, 
 I cannot imagine, my dear Mrs. Josephina, a Christian 
 female taking delight in fashionable dresses, splendid 
 equipages, or showy furniture, let her situation be what 
 it may ; these things must ever be condemned by our 
 baptismal vow. But," added Maria, *' these vanities 
 are not the only things thus condemned: the instant 
 when I covet such things, or aim at such a mode of li- 
 ving as the Almighty has put out of my reach by lawful 
 means, that moment I infringe my vow. I consider that 
 there is no honour or dignity inherent in any family, 
 by which one man is naturally exalted above another. 
 At the pleasure of the Lord the diadem is removed, and 
 the crown is taken off: he that is low is exalted, and he 
 that is high is abased. If the Lord exalts me, he will, 
 I trust, give me grace to bear my honours meekly : and 
 on the other hand, if he brings me down, if he removes 
 ray means of supporting a certain rank in society, I 
 must as a Christian submit cheerfully to his divine will; 
 for the Lord giveth and the Lord taketh away, and 
 blessed be the name of the Lord. I cannot afford to 
 keep two good servants ; I must therefore make up the 
 deficiency by my own labour. We found, when we oc- 
 cupied our whole house, that we could not discharge our 
 debts ; we therefore gave up a part of our house, and 
 had a redoubled enjoyment of what remained ; we were 
 free from debts, and were very happy. O how shall I 
 learn to exchange that peace for the corroding cares at- 
 tending pecuniary difficulties?" 
 
 Here Maria remembering the peace she had lost, be- 
 gan to shed tears; but seeing Mrs. Josephina preparing 
 to speak, she resumed her discourse, resolving at once 
 to say all she had on her mind. ** Whatever your opi- 
 nion may be, my dear Madam, and however successful 
 you may have been in convincing Mr. Hunter, my senti- 
 ments on these subjects remain as they were. I consider 
 the Almighty as the fountain of honour; and when he 
 chooses to remove the means of elevation from any fa- 
 mily or individual, such persons have no right to consi- 
 der themselves injured, or to count themselves any way 
 superior to those into whose condition they may have 
 P 3
 
 162 THE LADY OF THE MANOR. 
 
 fallen. What am I, or what is my father's house, other- 
 wise than what the Lord has made us ? and if it pleased 
 him to exalt us for some generations, he has now a right 
 to bring us down to a level with those we once counted 
 beneath us. But perhaps," added she, " to speak to the 
 case in point, there has been no real lowering of our si- 
 tuation. When we first set out in life we fell into the 
 prevailing error of fancying ourselves greater than our 
 situation and means entitled us to be; and in conse- 
 quence rendered those retrenchments necessary which 
 would not have been so had we at first made a just es- 
 timate of our rank in life and our means of supporting 
 that rank. I consider the high thoughts which indivi- 
 duals entertain of themselves and of their families, a^ one 
 of the reigning evils of the present period. In these 
 days all are pressing forward into the rank of those just 
 above them: every young man when entering into life 
 is anxious to live in the same style in which his father 
 lives, after having made his fortune by a long course of 
 labour and privations; and every daughter must enjoy 
 all that indulgence and ease which her mother, perhaps, 
 only began to taste when nearly worn out by a long life 
 of family care. 
 
 *• From these principles," continued Maria, " are form- 
 ed the many extravagant wives, careless daughters, and 
 selfish mothers, with which society now abounds. And 
 through the influence of these principles our streets are 
 filled with young women who think it a disgrace to be 
 employed at home; and with mothers who think it a 
 hardship to take care of their own children." 
 
 The earnestness with which Maria spoke, had left 
 Mrs. Josephina not a moment to introduce a word ; and, 
 on ceasing to speak, she hastily left the room, and ran 
 up stairs to lock herself in her own apartment, where, 
 bursting into tears, she again gave way to an agony of 
 grief. ** Oh ! how truly," said she, *' is it written, that 
 a man's foes shall be they of his own household ! " Af- 
 ter a time, however, her sorrow having in some degree 
 spent itself, she was broujrht, through the gracious care 
 of Him who had led her from her youth up, to a candid 
 and impartial examination of her whole conduct through- 
 out this contest with Mrs. Josephina, as well as before 
 the period of her arrival — when He who searcheth all
 
 THE LADY OF THE MANOR. 163 
 
 hearts made her sensible that these present trials were 
 rendered necessary, in order to remove all confidence in 
 her own prudence, and to bring her to a more decided 
 dependence on the divine assistance and direction. And 
 the assurance which was at that time vouchsafed her, 
 that she was in the hands of a tender Father, and that 
 all events would work together for her good, gradually 
 restored her to her accustomed tranquillity ; upon which 
 she disposed herself cheerfully to arrange every thing 
 according to her husband's pleasure for his proposed 
 visit. 
 
 iNlr. Hunter just made his appearance in time to dress 
 for the public dinner to which he was going, and then 
 hurried away without speaking to his wife. Notwith- 
 standing, however, this unkind behaviour, Maria, having 
 invited a good-humoured neighbour to join the dinner 
 party and talk to Mrs. Josephina, was enabled to ap- 
 pear with some composure at the head of her table. 
 The rest of the day passed off tolerably well; Mrs. Jo- 
 sephina, who was perhaps aware that she had gone 
 great lengths in her interference with the family arrange- 
 ments of her cousin, endeavouring to appear more than 
 ordinarily accommodating. At eleven o'clock, the neigh- 
 bour took her leave, when Mrs. Josephina and Maria 
 withdrew to their apartments: the servants also were 
 dismissed to their rest, and Maria alone sat up for her 
 husband. He did not appear till twelve. Maria was 
 prepared to receive him cheerfully ; but when at length 
 he knocked at the door, she was shocked to observe 
 that he had drank so freely, as scarcely to know what 
 he said. She silently lighted him up stairs, where, 
 throwing himself on his bed, he soon fell asleep. 
 
 Maria, being thus again left to her own sorrowful me- 
 ditations, spent some hours partly in weeping, and part- 
 ly ill prayer to God that it would please him to convince 
 her husband of the error of which he was guilty, by his 
 smful accommodation to the maxims of the world. At 
 length, being thoroughly exhausted, she sat down upon 
 a low stool at the foot of the bed, near the cradle of her 
 sleeping infant, and laying her head upon a pillow, she 
 presently fell into a deep and refreshing sleep. 
 
 In the mean time, Mr. Charles Hunter awoke: and 
 being come to himself, he remembered all that had pass-
 
 164 THE LADY OF THE MANOR. 
 
 ed the day before with shame and self-abhorrence. He 
 arose, and opening the curtains of the window, admitted 
 light enough into the room to discover his child sleep- 
 ing in its cradle, and his beloved wife reposing by its 
 side, her head resting on the foot of the bed in a deep 
 sleep, while the traces of tears were still left on the 
 cheek which was visible, although a sweet composure 
 was shed over her whole face. Mr. Hunter was not 
 destitute of feeling ; he loved and honoured his wife 
 beyond every other person in the world, and was tenderly 
 attached to his child. It was impossible for him to be- 
 hold these beloved objects thus situated, and to recol- 
 lect his conduct on the past day, without feeling a degree 
 of remorse and anguish greater than he had ever before 
 experienced ; and indeed such was the overpowering na- 
 ture of his feelings on this occasion, that he stood gazing 
 in silence upon his beloved wife until she awoke — when, 
 throwing himself upon his knees before her, he confess- 
 ed all his faults, and entreated her forgiveness, assuring 
 her that, with the divine assistance, he never again would 
 allow a third person to interfere between them. He 
 promised also, with God's help, that he would endeavour 
 to reject for ever all worldly motives of conduct, and 
 simply to seek the blessing of God in a Christian course 
 of life. 
 
 From that period Mrs. Josephina had no power to dis- 
 turb the peace of Maria's mind, although her visit was 
 prolonged for some time. When she saw that her cou- 
 sin Charles was resolved to adhere to his former plans of 
 family management, she ceased to contest the matter 
 under his roof; though abroad she consoled herself 
 among her acquaintance, by representing Mrs. Charles 
 Hunter as a very odd woman, whose influence over her 
 husband would in the end destroy his respectability in 
 society, and sink him entirely into low life. 
 
 One year after the departure of Mrs. Josephina, the 
 lady who had occupied the drawing-room and best apart- 
 ment in Mr. Hunter's house died : and having found both 
 spiritual and temporal relief from the attentions of Ma- 
 ria, she left by her last will three hundred pounds to the 
 family as a testimony of her regard ; a circumstance 
 which was very little expected by Maria or Mr. Hunter. 
 About this time also there was a considerable increase
 
 THE LADY OF THE MANOR. 165 
 
 in Mr. Hunter's business ; and not long after a distant 
 relation leaving them a few hundred pounds, their income 
 was so much improved, that even Maria did not think 
 it necessary to receive a new inmate into the house. 
 They had now been married nearly four years, and had 
 two children ; they were also, by the economy and in- 
 dustry of Maria, free from debt ; besides which they 
 were in receipt of such an income as enabled them to 
 live without care in the manner in which they had first 
 set out. Thus, by meeting every dithculty as it arose, 
 this prudent wife had prevented that accumulation of 
 troubles which so often takes place in families where 
 persons are improvident. The present season however 
 had its peculiar employments and adequate duties. iNIa- 
 ria's eldest child w as three years of age, and it was time 
 to think seriously of forming her temper and habits. 
 The tender mother, having entirely given up the world 
 for herself and her children, now devoted her undivided 
 attention to the great work of leading her little one for- 
 ward in the paths of righteousness. But as the present 
 narrative is not intended to display a system of educa- 
 tion, we shall pass over some of the following years of 
 Maria's life, in which the greater part of her lime was 
 devoted to her children, and proceed to that period when 
 her eldest daughter had attained her twelfth year, and 
 when, with the divine blessing upon her mother's careful 
 and prudent management, she was become a very impor- 
 tant assistant to that tender parent in the education of 
 her little brothers and sisters, of which there were five 
 younger than herself. ]Mr. Hunter's family had been for 
 sonjc jears returned fioni Bath, and now resided in the 
 town with him : and although they did not in every 
 point agree with Maria, yet she knew how to mix so 
 much sweetness and family love with the characteristic 
 steadiness of her whole deportment, that they could not 
 but love and respect her more and more, from year to 
 year. 
 
 In the mean time, Maria's cousin, of whom we spoke 
 in the beginning of our story, had married a young cler- 
 gyman of some family and fortune: and although Mrs. 
 Charles Hunter had never seen her since her marriage, 
 she had always kept up a friendly connexion with her by 
 letter. At length it appeared that their early intimacy
 
 166 THE LADY OF THE MANOR. 
 
 was to be renewed : for by the death of the rector of the 
 parish in which Mr. Hunter resided, the living became 
 vacant ; and was at length presented to Mr. Croft, the 
 gentleman who had married Matilda. 
 
 Mr. and Mrs. Hunter entertained Mr. Croft when he 
 came to be inducted into his living, as a near relation. 
 And immediately upon his return, Maria received a let- 
 ter from her cousin, requesting her to execute a variety 
 of commissions, and to make a number of preparations 
 previous to the arrival of herself and family at the parso- 
 nage-house, which was an excellent oldfashioned dwell- 
 ing. 
 
 The coming of Mr. and Mrs. Croft was preceded by 
 several boat loads of furniture, the town lying convenient 
 for water carriage : and Maria took the trouble of having 
 every thing arranged in the places specified in Mrs. Croft's 
 letters, in such a manner, and with such exactness, that 
 when the family arrived, they found a clean and well or- 
 dered house, instead of an unfurnished dwelling littered 
 with packages. It was late in the evening, when Mr. 
 and Mrs. Croft with their children and servant reached 
 the town : and in the morning, Maria leaving her little 
 substitute to keep order in the school-room, (a task 
 which she could perform on occasion with much satis- 
 faction to her mother,) hastened to pay her respects to 
 the newly arrived family. Her heart beat as she ran up 
 stairs into the breakfast-room, with anxiety to see the 
 companion of her childhood. She was received affec- 
 tionately by her cousin ; and, after she had kissed the 
 children, four of whom crowded round her, and spo- 
 ken to Mr. Croft, she had time to look about her, and 
 recollect herself. The party having been tired with their 
 journey, had risen at so late an hour, as not yet to have 
 finished their breakfast. Mr. Croft's family consisted of 
 a boy of about ten years of age, another of five, and two 
 girls of intermediate ages. These children were not ab- 
 solutely unsightly, but there was no particular trait ob- 
 servable in their countenances at this time, except that 
 of a stupid untaught curiosity, which they expressed by 
 a fixed stare at their stranger cousin. Mrs. Croft had 
 an anxious and melancholy countenance, though she 
 endeavoured to appear cheerful and pleased at the arri- 
 val of her cousin. Many family matters and enquiries
 
 THE LADY OF THE MANOR. 167 
 
 about old and new friends employed the attention of the 
 elder part of the company till the children had finished 
 their breakfast; which was no sooner concluded than all 
 quiet was at an end ; for Master William, the eldest sou, 
 upon swallowing his last mouthful of bread and butter, 
 began his daily occupation of teasing his parents by in- 
 cessant questions and demands. — " Mamma," said he, 
 ** which is to be my room ? " 
 
 ** It shall be settled by and by, my dear," replied his 
 mother ; " have I not told you so several times before ?" 
 
 ** May I have the little room at the top of the stairs? " 
 proceeded the boy. 
 
 ** By and by it will be settled," said his mamma. 
 
 *• But can't it be done now ? " said the boy ; ** do let 
 me have the room at the top of the stairs; I don't like 
 the other." 
 
 " Be quiet now," said his mother, trying to carry on 
 some discourse with her cousin, and making to herself 
 a merit of bearing patiently, as a part of the necessary 
 evils of life, those importunities which she ought to have 
 put an end to by the exercise of parental authority. By 
 this time the boy was got up, and had taken his station 
 behind his mother's chair, against which he was drum- 
 ming v.ith his knee, repeating every moment certain 
 words to this effect, *' Mamma, mamma, I say, mamma, 
 which room am I to have? Now, mamma, can't you tell 
 me? I want to put up my pictures." 
 
 In the mean time the two little girls had risen from 
 their places at the table, the younger of which had seat- 
 ed herself directly opposite to Maria, on v/hom she was 
 looking with a fixed and vacant gaze, while she picked 
 her teeth with her fingers. The elder at the same time 
 being engaged in unpacking her mamma's work-basket, 
 scattered the contents upon the table, in order to look 
 for something of her own which she had lost. While 
 the youngest boy was balancing himself upon the win- 
 dow-sill, the window being open ; threatening every mo- 
 ment to tilt into the street, at the hazard of his life. 
 
 All this time, Mrs. Croft either did not or would not 
 notice what was passing, although, being annoyed by the 
 tremulous motion of her chair, and the incessant de- 
 mands of her son who stood behind it, she more than 
 once attempted to push him back ; but he as often re-
 
 168 THE LADY OF THE MANOR. 
 
 turned to his post with a pertinacity which seemed to 
 gather strength from his mother's weak opposition. At 
 length however the importunities of WilHam becoming 
 altogether intolerable to the indolent mother, she called 
 to his father, who was reading a newspaper, and said, 
 ** My dear, I wish you would set William something to 
 do, for he makes me quite nervous." Then turning to 
 her cousin, she said in a whisper, every word of which 
 was well understood by the boy in question, " You must 
 not judge of William by what you now see in him, the 
 dear boy has been quite unsettled by the bustle and con- 
 fusion in which we have all been involved for some 
 weeks past; he will be quite another thing when he gets 
 to his books." 
 
 The mother had scarcely finished this apology for her 
 son's conduct, when the boy made another necessary 
 by a fresh attack upon his mother respecting his room, 
 and a renewal of his drumming upon the back of her 
 chair. 
 
 Mr. Croft sat still, regardless of his wife's repeated 
 requests that he would find William something to do, 
 till he had finished the perusal of a protracted debate; 
 then suddenly jumping up, and intimating that he was 
 about to explore the garden and outhouses, he was 
 immediately followed out of the room by all the chil- 
 dren, 
 
 Mrs. Croft called her daughters back ; adding, that 
 she had some employment for them within. But, as it 
 suited not the young ladies to hear her, they did not 
 return ; and Maria, although she lamented their dis- 
 obedience, certainly felt herself relieved by their ab- 
 sence. 
 
 In the mean time the two cousins were left to enter- 
 tain each other. The conversation between Mrs. Croft 
 and Mrs. Hunter consisted of one continued complaint 
 concerning the miseries of human life on the part of the 
 former, and expressions of amazement on the part of the 
 latter. 
 
 Mrs. Croft first spoke of the pecuniary difficulties in 
 which she and her husband had been involved ever since 
 their marriage ; and from which, she said, they were not 
 yet extricated, nor likely to be so, even by the good 
 living of which they had just come into possession. •' For
 
 THE LADY OF THE MANOR. 169 
 
 you know, cousin Maria," said Mrs. Croft, **that we 
 Diust live up to our income ; it will be expected of us by 
 the town ; and how are we to pay our debts 1 " 
 
 *' Debts ! " repeated Mrs. Hunter. 
 
 ** Yes," said the other. " We began life with so small 
 an income, and children came so fast, that we found it 
 impossible to avoid incurring considerable debts. We 
 had only four hundred a year for the first three years. 
 Mr. Croft was obliged to keep a horse and a man-ser- 
 vant; it was impossible to do without a cook and 
 house-maid ; and to these a nurse-maid was added as 
 soon as William was born — for you know I could not 
 nurse the child myself; that was quite out of the ques- 
 tion. I had also very indifferent health after my mar- 
 riage ; and there is nothing in the world so fatiguing as 
 carrying about a great heavy child." 
 
 "It is certainly fatiguing," said Mrs. Hunter; ** so 
 much so, that I used, when I could not afford to keep a 
 servant expressly for the child, very often to relieve my- 
 self by sending the servant to walk out with the infant 
 while I did the household work." 
 
 Mrs. Croft stared as if she had never heard any thing 
 like this in her life before, and said, '• You always had 
 an extraordinary fine constitution ; but few mothers can 
 bear such fatigue." 
 
 The conversation next turned upon education ; when 
 Mrs. Croft declared herself totally unequal to any la- 
 bours of that kind. *' Children," said she, '* you know, 
 are so very tiresome. William is a well-disposed boy, 
 but he is so fatiguing: and indeed so are all children. 
 ^But Mr. Croft hates schools ; and certainly they are very 
 expensive: though I should not like to have a governess 
 in the house." She finished by a long and pathetic 
 lamentation on the cares, difficulties, and pains, of a mar- 
 ried life ; to which Mrs. Hunter knew not what answer to 
 make. At length she smilingly said, " My dear cousin, 
 we must not indulge ourselves in these complaints in the 
 hearing of strangers, lest we should lead our neighbours 
 to think we have been unfortunate in marriage." 
 
 What answer Mrs. Croft might have made to this 
 speech Mrs. Hunter did not know ; for the bursting in 
 of the whole brood of neglected and rude children, fol- 
 lowed by their father, who was grumbling at some mis- 
 
 VOL. I. Q
 
 170 THE LADY OF THE MANOR. 
 
 demeanour of William's, and threatening a horse-whip, 
 (which however he failed to apply,) put an end to all 
 conversation. 
 
 Mrs. Hunter hoped that when the family should be 
 more settled in its new situation, it would assume a more 
 comfortable and orderly appearance. But day after day 
 she witnessed the same scenes of turbulence on the part 
 of the children, and of murmuring on that of the mo- 
 ther ; and she was sorry, at length, to be convinced that 
 her cousin had neglected the duties of a wife and mo- 
 ther, and had omitted her little daily tasks of economy, 
 personal labour, and mental exertion, until her difficul- 
 ties were become so complicated as to leave very little 
 hope, humanly speaking, of her ever being able to sur- 
 mount them. The world also exercised a strong con- 
 trol Over her ; as indeed is usually the case with all in- 
 dolent minds. She was a great gossip in a quiet way ; 
 and in consequence she heard much of the common sub- 
 jects of discourse in the town. And as it is natural for 
 us to think of what we hear, it was not wonderful that 
 she thought much of dress and appearance, and had no 
 power to resist the allurements of these, either for her- 
 self or her children : notwithstanding all which, she 
 seemed to have some desire to be thought religious — she 
 even thought herself so in some good degree, and spoke 
 of her children as of young people who had a consider- 
 able share of piety. Maria perceived her difficulties, 
 and pitied that weakness which she attributed to the 
 softness and tenderness of her early education. She was 
 careful however not to exult over her, as we too natu- 
 rally do over those who appear not to have succeeded so 
 well in the world as ourselves : on the contrary, she was 
 continually forming plans and contrivances to assist her. 
 But no assistance given to the indolent can be effectual. 
 Maria frequently invited one or other of her cousin's 
 daughters to her house, where she gave them every in- 
 struction in her power, and kept them as long as their 
 parents would spare them. But all she did for them 
 abroad was undone at home by the listless and worldly 
 spirit of the mother: till Maria was at length obliged to 
 give up her generous efforts of assisting her cousin, lest 
 she should injure her own lovely family by too frequent 
 evil communication.
 
 THE LADY OF THE MANOR. 171 
 
 The end of these two families was such as might be 
 expected. The young Crofts grew up to be common- 
 place men and women : the girls were pert and useless, 
 possessing very inferior attainments ; and the boys turned 
 out mere men of the world ; so that none of them afforded 
 any comfort to the declining years of their parents. 
 While the lovely family of the virtuous and active Maria 
 arose up to call their parents blessed ; and their chil- 
 dren's children were brought up upon their knees. 
 
 The lady of the manor here closed the history of Maria; 
 when all her young auditors exclaimed with one voice, that 
 they thought it a very interesting and profitable story, 
 and hoped that when they married and had families they 
 should remember Maria and be the better for her 
 example. 
 
 " And so," said the lady of the manor, " you are de- 
 termined not to be the better for this story till you are 
 married ! " 
 
 ** How can we profit by it now ?'* said one or two of 
 the young people in a breath. *' We have no husbands, 
 no children, no servants, to manage now." 
 
 ** You have not, it is true, my dear young friends," re- 
 plied the lady of the manor, *' any of these things. But, 
 like Maria, each of you have some specific duties which 
 cannot be properly performed without renouncing the 
 pomps and vanities of this world. All of you have pa- 
 rents, whose interests and pleasure it is as much your 
 duty to consult and promote, as it was Maria's to study 
 those of her husband. Many of you press hard upon 
 your parents' purses to provide you with new and fa- 
 shionable dresses, trinkets, and amusements. And those 
 among you whose parents are rich, by the indulgence of 
 fancied wants and vain pursuits, are robbing the poor of 
 what might be given in charity. There is no situation, no 
 age, no rank, my dear young people, which can justify a 
 female in pursuing the vanities of dress and appearance." 
 
 Here the lady of the manor, looking at her watch, was 
 surprised to find that the usual hour for the young ladies 
 returning home was considerably passed, She therefore 
 broke off her discourse somewhat abruptly ; adding, that 
 she had much more to say on the very fertile subject oi 
 the pomps and vanities of this wicked world, but that, as
 
 172 THE LADY OF THE MANOR. 
 
 the evening was so far advanced, she must postpone the 
 remainder of her discourse till their next meeting. She 
 then knelt down to prayer, the young people gathering 
 round, and joining her in that devotional act with much 
 apparent humility and sincerity of heart. 
 
 Prayer of the Lady of the Manor on the Renunciation 
 of the Pomps and Vanities of this wicked World. 
 
 " O THOU high and mighty one, who inhabitest eter- 
 nity, thou glorious and mysterious Three in One, whom 
 we adore, look down with pity upon us thy poor depen- 
 dent creatures who are now assembled at the footstool of 
 thy throne. We do not presume to approach thee in 
 our own names, or confiding in our own merits ; for we 
 are indeed vile and abominable — creatures of unclean 
 lips, and utterly unworthy. But we draw nigh unto thee, 
 depending upon the merits of our Saviour, on whom 
 alone we place all our hope of acceptance. For his 
 sake, therefore, O Lord, grant us that favour which we 
 are at this time more especially led to supplicate at thy 
 hand. We are, O Lord, aware of the peculiar weakness 
 of our sex in its liability to be attracted by the empty 
 pomps and vanities of this world — we own our attach- 
 ment to these worthless things ; we confess their power 
 over our hearts ; and we desire to be set free from their 
 contemptible and degrading influence. We know, O 
 Lord, that without thy assistance we shall be utterly 
 incapable of breaking their yoke from off our necks, or 
 of renouncing in any degree their dominion over us : and 
 although we are convinced that by gaining the whole 
 world, and losing our own soul, we should be nothing 
 profited — but on the contrary rendered everlastingly and 
 unspeakably miserable — yet such is the power of sin 
 over our hearts, that all resistance to it must prove 
 utterly ineffectual, if help is not given us from on high. 
 W^e therefore humbly beseech thee, O heavenly Father, 
 to grant that we may not be numbered among the vain, 
 the gay, and the sinful daughters of the world ; but 
 that, being separated from these, we may devote the 
 days of health, of youth, and freedom from care, not to 
 the vain pleasures and pomps of this world, but to the 
 acquirement of such habits, and the attainment of such
 
 THE LADY OF THE MANOR. 173 
 
 knowledge, as may make us useful members of society, 
 and faithful servants of thy dear Son, in whatsoever 
 situations it may please thee, O Lord, to establish us. 
 ** And now to God the Father," &c. 
 
 Q 3
 
 174 THE LADY OF THE MANOR. 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 Second Conversation on the Pomps and Vanities of this 
 wicked World. 
 
 JL HE young people being met together once more at the 
 manor-house, the lady of the manor thus addressed 
 them : — 
 
 " My dear young friends," she said, '* since you did 
 not seem to feel the case of Maria, as being a married 
 woman, so exactly adapted to your own present situa- 
 tions as I could wish, I shall this day entertain you with ' 
 a story upon the same subject, namely, the renunciation 
 of the pomps and vanities of this wicked world, which, 
 as it refers to a very young and unmarried person, will 
 I trust be found more applicable to your own cases. 
 
 *' It may appear to you, from the history of Maria, 
 that her self-denial was the less praiseworthy because it 
 was necessary to the well-beino; of her family. I am 
 now going to bring before you an instance in which eco- 
 nomy and self-denial were practised, I will not say from 
 higher motives than those of Maria, but from motives in 
 which self-interest could have no part, and in a sphere 
 of life in which self-denial seldom forms a feature of the 
 character." The lady of the manor then unfolded her 
 manuscript, and read as follows. 
 
 The Economy of Charity. 
 
 Lady Harriet Mowbray, a daughter of the Earl of 
 
 G , was left a widow, at the age of thirty-five, with 
 
 two sons and four daughters. Her circumstances were 
 good : but in order to increase the fortunes of her 
 younger children, though they were not unhandsomely
 
 THE LADY OF THE MANOR. 175 
 
 provided for by their father, she gave up her town-house 
 immediately after the death of her husband, and retired 
 to a beautiful country-house, which was in the posses- 
 sion of the family, in one of the most picturesque coun- 
 ties of England. In this retirement, with her six children, 
 their governess, and tutor, she passed her time in such 
 a way as a prudent worldly character might be expected 
 to do : in paying some attention to the improvement of 
 her children, in cultivating an acquaintance with a few 
 reputable families in the neighbourhood, in performing 
 occasional acts of charity, and in making filagree screens 
 and boxes of card-board. 
 
 The names of Lady Harriet's daughters were, Jane, 
 Celia, Dorothea, and Fanny ; and Miss Hartley was the 
 governess appointed to take the charge of these young 
 ladies. Her sons were Robert and Gerard. In addi- 
 tion to this family, there was a niece of Lady Harriet, 
 a young lady who, having lost her parents, was received 
 into her aunt's family to be educated with her cousins. 
 She was one year younger than Dorothea, the third daugh- 
 ter of Lady Harriet, and bore so strong a family resem- 
 blance to her young relations, that she commonly passed 
 among them as a fifth sister. The name of this young 
 lady was Margarita ; and although deprived of her 
 parents, she was in other respects well provided for, 
 having a very sufficient property settled upon her. 
 
 Having now introduced my readers to some of the per- 
 sonages who are to make the principal figures in my his- 
 tory, I proceed to describe their modes of life and usual 
 habits. 
 
 Lady Harriet rose late, and those who visited her in a 
 morning generally found her sitting in her drawing-room 
 in an elegant dishabille, having a table before her scat- 
 tered over with specimens of gilt and coloured papers, 
 half-finished drawings, the latest pamphlets and novels, 
 pencils, pens, card-paper, and crayons : all of which 
 gave a certain air ofje ne scai quoi to the apartment, and 
 afforded occasion to many persons to say, **What an 
 accomplished woman is Lady Harriet Mowbray ! " 
 
 In summer-time the windows of this drawing-room were 
 always thrown up, their upper compartments being shad- 
 ed by Venetian blinds : and the view from these windows 
 was so remarkably beautiful as to give a peculiar charm
 
 176 THE LADY OF THE MANOR. 
 
 to the apartment; \vhile the odour of many fragrant 
 flowers, placed in vases in different parts of the room, 
 and the warbling of various birds on the trees without, 
 were calculated to furnish as delightful a feast to some 
 of the other senses, as those which were here provided 
 for the gratification of the eye. The objects seen from 
 the window were, a lawn, which sloped down to a large 
 and noble piece of water, encircled by trees, many of 
 which were exotic ; and beyond these, certain woody 
 knolls, intersected by small valleys, marked to the eye 
 by their deeper shade. A blue upland in the remotest 
 distance finished this exquisite picture. 
 
 A very great degree of sense, judgment, wit, beauty, 
 and sprightliness, was certainly not necessary to set off 
 a lady of high rank, elegantly dressed, and desiring to 
 make herself agreeable in a situation like this; especially 
 as most of her visitors were common characters, and as 
 Lady Harriet could, often did, speak very eloquently on 
 the subject of maternal tenderness, &c. &c. It is not to 
 be wondered at, therefore, if she was held forth in the 
 neighbourhood as the very prototype of La bonne mere 
 de Madame Genlis, although it often happened, that she 
 did not see her children during more than an hour in the 
 morning, and in an evening only for that interval when 
 they were permitted to be present in the dining-room and 
 drawing-room ; leaving them in the mean time to an in- 
 experienced governess, who, although mistress of some 
 accomplishments, had not the smallest idea of forming 
 the mind, directing the principles, or even making the 
 best of her pupils' time in an ordinary way. With re- 
 spect to religion. Miss Hartley knew nothing but its most 
 common forms ; and as to neatness, order, and economy, 
 this director of youth had as little notion of these good 
 qualities as of algebra or conic sections. With such a 
 head, we may imagine that the school-room and sleeping- 
 apartments belonging to these young ladies exhibited no 
 very striking specimens of accurate arrangement : but as 
 the young people were profusely supplied with books, 
 paper, materials for drawing, toys, and trinkets, every 
 place which they occupied was scattered with these ar- 
 ticles, many of them in a torn and dilapidated state, and 
 not a few utterly destroyed. 
 
 If we consider that what children are with respect to
 
 THE LADY OF THE MANOR. 177 
 
 their bocks and toys, they will probably hereafter become 
 uith regard to their more important possessions, and that 
 the same unprincipled carelessness which renders them 
 incapable of arranging a cabinet, or taking- care of a 
 drawing-box, will hereafter disqualify them for managing 
 an estate or ordering a family — in this view of the case, 
 instead of making vain and foolish excuses for their care- 
 lessness, we ought to set ourselves strenuously to correct 
 it, and to subdue the disposition from which it proceeds. 
 It is impossible indeed for the most pious and careful 
 parent to change the heart of a young person, or to make 
 him a lover of God who by nature is a child of wrath : 
 this must be the work of a more pow erful hand than that 
 of man. But decent, orderly, and economical habits 
 may be induced by the parent or teacher; and surely, 
 when grace is given, these will smooth the way to the 
 acquirement of those humble, Christian modes of con- 
 duct, and that scriptural self-denial, without which the 
 Christian character displays a degree of inconsistency 
 discernible to every eye. But leaving these reflections, 
 I shall now proceed to that period of my history when 
 the eldest daughter of Lady Harriet had attained her 
 thirteenth year, and Fanny, the youngest child of the 
 family, her ninth. 
 
 At this period these young people, when dressed for 
 company and in their best mood, presented so pretty a 
 family group, that Lady Harriet insisted upon having 
 them all exhibited in a large painting, to be placed over 
 the chimney-piece of the great dining-room : and as the 
 artist executed his work with some taste. Lady Harriet 
 was not a little pleased with the performance ; especi- 
 ally as she herself appeared, in a conspicuous part of 
 the picture, to much advantage in her favourite charac- 
 ter of La bonne mere. These children were all extremely 
 fair, had beautiful light hair, together with that air of 
 ease and superior breeding which is rarely discoverable 
 among persons in low life; because young people being 
 extremely imitative, how carefully soever they may be 
 educated in inferior society, they will unavoidably copy 
 the ordinary manners of those with whom they converse. 
 But inasmuch as coarse manners are not a necessary ac- 
 companiment of humble life, we may hope that, as reli- 
 gious feeling makes its way in society, a better style
 
 178 THE LADY OF THE MANOR. 
 
 of manners may also prevail among the lower orders ; in 
 which case we shall see elegance united with indigence, 
 and the shepherdess of a fanciful Arcadia actually inha- 
 biting the rustic cottage in our own neighbourhood. 
 
 But notwithstanding the apparent elegance and deli- 
 cacy of these young people, the two elder, especially, 
 were ordinary characters, and the youngest a little spoil- 
 ed favourite : while Dorothea, who had more mental en- 
 ergy than her sisters, displayed that energy in a thou- 
 sand caprices, by which she continually risked the anger 
 of her governess, the censures of her mother, and the 
 displeasure of her sisters. But as none of these things 
 gave occasion to the adoption of such measures as might 
 have effectually corrected her evil habits, she regarded 
 every body about her with utter contempt, pursuing her 
 own devices in that way which most pleased or best 
 suited her at the moment. Margarita, who differed, as 
 I before said, from her cousins so slightly in appearance 
 as always to pass with strangers as one of the family, 
 (though on a closer inspection there was much greater 
 animation in her eyes, and much more spirit in her 
 general physiognomy,) made her way with the rest as 
 well as could be expected ; being sometimes the compa- 
 nion of Dorothea's whims, and sometimes an imitator 
 of her more demure sisters. 
 
 Nevertheless, as Miss Hartley was unable to persuade 
 herself that Lady Harriet could possibly love her niece 
 as well as her own children, and as this young lady's 
 attentions to each individual were always duly weighed 
 and measured by what she conceived to be Lady Harri- 
 et's feelings towards that individual, she made a point 
 of laying every misdemeanour of her pupils to the door 
 of Margarita ; so that, whenever Lady Harriet had oc- 
 casion to find fault. Miss Hartley never failed to fix the 
 blame on Miss Margarita, though in a manner so artful 
 and wily, that Lady Harriet seldom observed this ma- 
 noeuvre. If a book was torn, Miss Hartley would say, 
 ** I think that was the book Miss Margarita was reading 
 last." If any trinket was lost or broken, Miss Hartley 
 would say very quietly, " Did I not see you with it, Miss 
 Margarita, the other day?" 
 
 Lady Harriet on these occasions would not seldom say, 
 " Margarita is a very careless girl ; I shall be much
 
 THE LADY OF THE MANOR. 179 
 
 displeased if she does Dot henceforward take more 
 care." 
 
 The treatment which little Margarita had to endure 
 was, in fact, not very severe, but it had nevertheless, 
 from its continual pressure, a considerable effect on 
 her character, which was decidedly more serious than 
 that of her cousins; and as she advanced in years this 
 thoughtfulness increased. 
 
 About the time of which we are speaking, an elderly 
 lady, an aunt of Lady Harriet's, and one who, from her 
 residence at Windsor, was much acquainted with what 
 was going forward at court, came to pay a long visit at 
 Mowbray-hall ; for such was the name of Lady Harriet's 
 residence. This lady had many intimate acquaintances 
 among the pious people of that day. Sunday-schools, 
 and works of the same tendency, were at this period just 
 coming as it were into fashion ; or rather, I should say, 
 that at this period there appeared the dawn of that light 
 which we trust will still increase until it shall have at- 
 tained unto the glory of a perfect day. A little before 
 this old lady (by name Lady Susan King) left Windsor, 
 Her Majesty Queen Charlotte had expressed a wish for 
 a practical book on the proper method of distributing and 
 regulating charity, and had desired that excellent woman, 
 Mrs. Trimmer, to write and publish a work on this sub- 
 ject. A work, entitled The Economy of Charity , was ac- 
 cordingly written and published pursuant to the desire 
 of Her Majesty ; and this having just made its appear- 
 ance in the great world, had afforded much subject of 
 discourse, not only to those ladies of the first circles who 
 really had it at heart to do the most extensive good, but 
 also to those who particularly wished to be thought chari- 
 table and humane. Among the first of these two descrip- 
 tions was Lady Susan ; it therefore cannot be wondered 
 at if the economy of charity and other subjects suggested 
 by this little work supplied many topics of conversation 
 to Lady Susan during her visit. Now Lady Harriet, 
 though neither possessing the piety nor the benevolence 
 of her aunt, was at once too polite and too anxious to be 
 in the fashion, not to endeavour to appear deeply inte- 
 rested in the subject. To do her justice, however, we 
 may also add, that she had some pressing desire to do 
 good among her poor neighbours ; and there was some-
 
 180 THE LADY OF THE MANOR. 
 
 thing wonderfully agreeable in the idea of doing a vast 
 deal of good at a very little expence. But this lady never 
 took into consideration that the very ground-work of a 
 system for doing good with little money, must be formed 
 on the idea that time, thought, and ingenuity are to be 
 exercised, in order to render such plans of economy in 
 any good degree effectual : for had she considered this, 
 she would no doubt have shrunk at once from a system 
 which demanded a still greater sacrifice than that of 
 money. However, as I before said, this newly published 
 work, this book which was written at the express request 
 of Her Majesty, afforded much subject of discourse at 
 Mowbray-hall during Lady Susan's visit. And as one 
 good thing frequently leads to another, Lady Susan took 
 this occasion to speak to her niece on several other sub- 
 jects having a particular reference to charity, self-denial, 
 and other duties of a like nature. Lady Susan on one 
 occasion began her discourse by speaking of the true 
 source of charity, which she maintained was self-denial- 
 Whence she proceeded to remark, that, with respect to 
 her own sex, the love of dress, or the ardent desire of 
 ornamenting their own persons, v.as the passion which 
 dried up the fountain of charity in the larger number of 
 female hearts. 
 
 *' Fy ! Lady Susan," said Lady Hariiet, " thus to dis- 
 parage our sex ; are there not many fine gentlemen about 
 town, and even in the country, who are quite as fond of 
 dress as the ladies'?" 
 
 ** There is no general rule without many exceptions," 
 remarked Lady Susan ; " but the love of dress is consi- 
 dered as contemptible in the other sex, you must allow, 
 Lady Harriet, and men are in general ashamed of it. On 
 the contrary, when a young woman is found to have no 
 taste for adorning her person, she is universally con- 
 demned." 
 
 " And very properly so," returned Lady Harriet, ** for 
 of all things on earth nothing is so detestable as a slo- 
 venly female." 
 
 *' I fully agree with you in that remark," said Lady 
 Susan, *' and on that very account I dislike a woman who 
 is fond of dress; for the private habits of such persons 
 are almost invariably slatternly." 
 
 ** 1 am very glad, ray good aunt," replied Lady Harriet,
 
 THE LADY OF THE MANOR. 181 
 
 •* that it was not a gentleman who made that remark i 
 whatever man had dared to utter it, would assuredly 
 have incurred the utmost extent of my displeasure." 
 
 The old lady smiled, and replied, ** No gentleman of 
 course would be so impolite as to use any such freedom 
 in your presence." 
 
 " But, dear Lady Susan, do you make this remark 
 from observation ? do you really believe it to be true?" 
 returned Lady Harriet. 
 
 ** In our rank of life, my dear niece," said Lady Susan, 
 ** where every lady is provided with a waiting-maid, this 
 effect of the love of dress is not so easy to be observed. 
 A young lady who has a number of attendants to correct 
 her deficiencies of neatness, may be habitually slatternly, 
 and yet appear only to be politely and elegantly careless. 
 But be assured, on descending into lower life, we should 
 find, that the finest ladies abroad are commonly the most 
 slovenly at home ; and that the female who is most ela- 
 borately adorned in her drawing-room is frequently the 
 most negligent in her private apartments." 
 
 *' A new idea this, Lady Susan," said Lady Harriet; 
 *' I must consider the doctrine a little before I insert it 
 in my creed." 
 
 Lady Susan took no notice of this remark or the iron- 
 ical manner in which it was uttered, but proceeded to 
 lament the increasing love of dress in the present age. 
 *' When I was a child," said she, " that is, forty or fifty 
 years ago, the usual dress of a cottager was a striped 
 woollen jacket and petticoat ; a blue apron ; a check 
 handkerchief; short sleeves, by which the arm was left 
 bare for hard work ; the hair tightly combed up under 
 a clean mob cap ; and a flat felt hat. But now, the 
 grandaughters of the good women who wore the dress I 
 have described, appear in printed cotton gowns, with 
 long sleeves, the ends of which are dipped into every 
 thing about which their hands are employed ; their long 
 hair in curl-papers ; dirty muslin caps ; and straw bon- 
 nets with faded ribbons — and to go a little higher, the 
 servant whose station would formerly have entitled her 
 to a brown stuff gown and clean check apron, now ap- 
 pears in such mode and fashion of dress as her master's 
 daughter would in time past have thought quite suthcient 
 for her Sunday appearance. If we go higher still, the 
 VOL. I. R
 
 182 THE LADY OF THE MANOR. 
 
 little tradesman's wife dresses as the Squire's lady would 
 formerly have done; the lady of the Squire imitates the 
 Viscountess; the Viscountess the Duchess; and the 
 Duchess the Princess. Thus the rage for personal or- 
 nament universally prevails, producing in every rank of 
 society evils of less or greater magnitude. The love of 
 dress in the lowest ranks," continued Lady Susan, *'and 
 in those somewhat above the lowest, is productive per- 
 haps of more gross vice than any other passion whatever. 
 There are no lengths of sin to which the daughters of 
 the poor are not continually led by this inducement. 
 Much has been said, much has been written on this sub- 
 ject ; but as yet the evil continues to rage with increas- 
 ing violence, to the subversion of order and happiness, 
 and will continue so to do, till the higher classes make 
 a stand and render the love of ornament contemptible 
 and disgraceful by the display of a better taste. The 
 effects of the love of dress," continued the old lady, " in 
 young females of the middle classes and of moderate 
 fortunes are not so grossly immoral, it is true, as among 
 the lowest classes ; that is, it does not produce abso- 
 lutely criminal conduct, or bring the parties to open 
 shame. But I am sorry to see, that even in the middle 
 classes of society, young females are in general so much 
 occupied by dress, that the greater part of their time, 
 their thoughts, and the whole of their pocket-money, are 
 sacrificed to it. The love of dress makes them selfish 
 in the extreme ; not only rendering them careless of the 
 poor, but often leading them to press their parents be- 
 yond what is convenient in affording them the means of 
 indulging this passion. Those precious hours which 
 might be so usefully employed in the service of God, 
 and those powers of mind which are capable of a pro- 
 gressive improvement to all eternity, are all sacrificed 
 by them to this one silly desire, not merely of putting 
 on a suitable appearance, or of making a respectable 
 figure in the world, but of ornamenting, varying, and 
 new modelling their clothes, without any reference to 
 that which is pure, that which is lovely, or that which 
 is of good report. And I wish," continued Lady Susan, 
 " that truth would permit me to say, that young or sin- 
 gle women only are liable to this kind of folly : but nei- 
 ther age, nor inconvenient circumstances, nor natural
 
 THE LADY OF THE MANOR. 183 
 
 deformity, are sufficient to render women rational on 
 these subjects. How often have we reason to deplore the 
 selfishness of mothers of families displayed on these 
 occasions ! and how often do we see the love of dress 
 indulged at the expence of a husband who is perhaps 
 wearing out his constitution in exertions to provide a 
 comfortable maintenance for his household ! " 
 
 •* In the still higher classes of life," continued Lady Su- 
 san, " we may trace the ruin of families too often to that 
 female vanity which is displayed in the love of dress, 
 where the lady expends what would almost maintain her 
 household, at the milliner's and jeweller's ; not to calcu- 
 late the mischief she does by her example, and the en- 
 couragement she gives to the same vanity in all her 
 dependents." 
 
 " Well but, my dear aunt," said Lady Harriet, ** what 
 would become of our tradesmen and manufacturers, if 
 you could persuade all our young people to lay by their 
 pocket-money, instead of spending it upon their own 
 pretty persons? what a strange revolution would your 
 system make in the state of the nation ? " 
 
 Lady Susan, smiling with much good-humour, thus re- 
 plied : ** Dear niece, far be from me the wish to injure 
 my country, or to hurt a single individual of its inhabit- 
 ants. On the contrary, I would not desire the females of 
 the present age to spend one farthing less with their 
 tradespeople ; but I would wish those who have more than 
 is requisite for themselves, to devote their surplus in 
 clothing the widow and the fatherless : and I ask you, 
 my dear niece, if I have fifty pounds to spend with my 
 mercer, does it much matter to him, or to the interest of 
 trade in general, if I spend it in coarse cloth instead of 
 cambric, or in ordinary prints instead of superfine ? " 
 
 " O, but," said Lady Harriet, ** there are all my dear 
 friends the milliners in Bond-street, and elsewhere, Ma- 
 dame Blonde and Madame la Fleur, with a thousand 
 others ; besides all the pretty little dress-makers and 
 sempstresses about town ; what is to become of them ? " 
 
 *' Why," returned Lady Susan, *' if the same money is 
 to be spent by our young ladies, though on difi'erent ob- 
 jects, according to my new plan, we must engage some 
 of these hands, which are thus thrown out of employment, 
 either in working for the poor, or instructing them in
 
 184 THE LADY OF THE MANOR. 
 
 reading and needle-work. Remember, ray dear niece, 
 that I am not advising our young ladies to lay by their 
 money, but to employ it in a new channel." 
 
 "Very good!" said Lady Harriet, smiling; '* excel- 
 lent, indeed ! Well, I heartily wish that you and the phi- 
 lanthropic Mrs. Trimmer may be able, between you, to 
 make The Economy of Charity a favourite study of our 
 young people ; and if you will provide for the little dress- 
 makers and my dear Madame la Blonde, I shall make no 
 objection to this new order of things. But 1 think you 
 should begin by establishing some sumptuary laws, and 
 by fixing upon some form of dress from which no varia- 
 tion must on any account be allowed." 
 
 Lady Susan courteously listened, while her niece con- 
 tinued to this effect : — " But, my dear aunt, you must 
 permit me, as the mother of four unmarried daughters, 
 to request that this new attire may be very becoming. 
 Let us have something very picturesque, I beseech you. 
 Do not dress us all like Quakers, I very earnestly entreat 
 you. Think what my sufferings would be, if compelled 
 to introduce my daughters at court in quilled mobs and 
 night-gowns of Gros de Naples de Tourterelle." 
 
 Lady Susan made no answer, no doubt thinking that 
 she had already said enough, as her auditor was in that 
 kind of mood which inclines persons to turn every thing 
 they hear into ridicule. And when she left Mowbray- 
 hall, which was shortly afterwards, she perhaps went 
 away persuaded that she might have spared herself the 
 expence of presenting The Economy of Charity to Lady 
 Harriet, which she had done on her first arrival in the 
 country, having previously taken care to have it bound in 
 such a manner as might not disgrace her niece's elegant 
 work-table. But the Holy Bible saith. Cast thy bread on 
 the waters, and after many days thou shaltfind it. And 
 this, as will after appear, was the case with the excellent 
 Lady Susan. 
 
 We now, however, proceed with our history of The Eco- 
 nomy of Charity. — After Lady Susan had left Mowbray- 
 hall, this volume lay on Lady Harriet's table in her draw- 
 ing-room till her bookseller sent her an assortment of new 
 novels from town. On which occasion it was thrown upon 
 an elegant little book-case in the same room ; where it pro- 
 bably might have remained for some time, if Master Ro-
 
 THE LADY OF THE MANOR. 185 
 
 bert, wanting some amusement, and having no better at 
 hand, had not taken it into his head, one afternoon, to 
 reach it down from the shelf; when, having turned over 
 its leaves for some time, he bethought himself of drawing 
 the semblance of a cat precisely over the place where his 
 aunt's name was written. This piece of unmannerly wit 
 having been observed by his sister Dorothea, she carried 
 the book up in high glee into the school-room, and handed 
 it round to the whole party, unchecked by Miss Hartley, 
 who was by no means attached to Lady Susan, whose 
 sentiments, she said, were very uncommon, and quite out 
 of date. 
 
 When Master Robert's wit had afforded merriment to 
 his sisters for about a week, it became as much out of date 
 as The Economy of Charity itself, and the book which con- 
 tained this inimitable sample of the young gentleman's 
 refined satire was again forgotten and thrown aside into 
 a cupboard in the school-room, which contained a he- 
 terogeneous assortment of broken toys, torn books, and 
 cracked slates. 
 
 Some time after this, during the interval of a deep snow 
 which confined the young people for many days to the 
 house, little Margarita, who was commonly made account- 
 able for every thing of any consequence that was lost in 
 the school-room, was one day searching for some stray 
 article in this grand repository of rubbish, when she was 
 led to open this book of which we have spoken so fre- 
 quently ; and being attracted by the story of a poor wo- 
 man, therein related, who brought her child to school in 
 a dress entirely composed of patches, she put the book 
 by, and from that time for many days devoted every spare 
 moment to the reading of it; her young mind, by the 
 divine blessing, being quite occupied with the ideas it 
 suggested. 
 
 Margarita was at this time about twelve years of age ; 
 a period when the mind often opens rapidly, and when 
 children often begin to think and act for themselves. 
 *' What book is that, Miss Margarita," said Miss Hartley, 
 one day, to the little girl, " which you are puzzling over 
 there from morning till night ? " 
 
 " The Economy of Charity, Ma'am," replied Margarita. 
 
 " The Economy of Charity !'' repeated Miss Hartley : 
 ** what nonsense ! The most economical way of being 
 R 3
 
 186 THE LADY OF THE MANOR. 
 
 charitable is, in my opinion, to keep every thing for our- 
 selves. Charity bep^ins at home, they say ; and so does 
 economy : the person therefore who takes the best care 
 of himself is the one, I should think, who best under- 
 stands the economy of charity." So sayings she laughed 
 heartily, and was joined by all her pupils except Mar- 
 garita, who simply answered, as she turned over the 
 leaves of the book, " No, Ma'am, that is not the meaning 
 of it : The Economy of Charity is about the way to do 
 good without spending money." 
 
 " Yes, yes," said Miss Hartley, renewing her laughter, 
 ** 1 understand it — doing good without spending money : 
 we can all comprehend this secret — doing good to our- 
 selves, and keeping our money in our pockets into the 
 bargain." 
 
 *' But, Ma'am," said Margarita, *' it is dedicated to the 
 queen !" 
 
 '* Well, and so it should be," replied Miss Hartley. " I 
 am sure, if I w ere a queen, I would patronize that book." 
 
 From this time, as often as Margarita took up the book 
 in question, she became the object of Miss Hartley's jests : 
 but she had been so much used to be laughed at by IMiss 
 Hartley, that her merriment now aftected her the less. 
 Dorothea was the only one of her cousins to whom Mar- 
 garita was in the habit of speaking with confidence. 
 Dorothea was sometimes good-tempered, though full of 
 levity; and although she would often join in a laugh 
 against Margarita, yet she generally took her part when 
 in distress. It was therefore natural for her to impart 
 to this her young companion the new ideas which The 
 Economy of Charity had suggested ; and accordingly, the 
 first day when the weather would permit them to walk 
 out, she thus addressed her. — '* I wish, Dorothea," said 
 she, " I wish you would read that book." 
 
 " What book I " said the other. 
 
 *' I mean Mrs. Trimmers book : The Economy of Cha- 
 rity.'' 
 
 «* O ! the book Robert calls the Cat-Book?" said Do- 
 rothea. 
 
 *' Yes," replied Margarita, smiling ; " you cannot think 
 how pretty it is. There are so many nice stories in it; 
 and I have been thinking I should like to do the same.'* 
 
 " What do you mean ?" said Dorothea.
 
 THE LADY OF THE MANOR. 187 
 
 " O, I mean," replied Margarita, " that I should like 
 to do the same things as the ladies in that book." 
 
 ** What things'?" said Dorothea. 
 
 ** I mean," said Margarita, " to save money, and take 
 care of my things, that I may do good." 
 
 Dorothea stared with all her might ; (for genteel young 
 ladies sometimes stare, or, at least, young ladies of gen- 
 teel famihes ;) and then, uttering a loud laugh, she call- 
 ed to her governess, who was a little before, saying, 
 ** Hartley, I say. Hartley, do you know what Margarita 
 says 1 — she wants to save her money to do good, like the 
 ladies in The Economy of Charity.'" 
 
 *' The economy of nonsense," repeated Miss Hartley ; 
 " I am sick of the very name of that book. I beg. Miss 
 Margarita, that we may hear no more of it : I believe I 
 shall burn it the next time that I can lav my hands upon 
 it." 
 
 ** I will take care that you shall not lay your hands on 
 it, then," muttered Margarita. 
 
 "Que marmottez vous la Mademoiselle?" said Miss 
 Hartley. 
 
 ** Nothing, nothing," said Dorothea, good-humouredly, 
 placing her hand on her cousin's mouth, and drawing her 
 a little back, adding these words : "Come, now, Marga- 
 rita, don't be angry with me ; for I am sure you are. I 
 only wanted to tease you a little : and now, to make it 
 up, I will hear all you have to say." 
 
 " Well, I was going to tell you," said the little girl, 
 '* that I want to save some of my money, in order to do 
 good with it : and I think that I could very soon save 
 enough to put some poor little girl to school." 
 
 " To school ? " said Dorothea ; " to what school ? Do 
 
 you mean the boarding-school at S , where the two 
 
 Miss Dalzels are?" 
 
 *• No, no," said Margarita, " to be sure I do not ; that 
 is a school for gentlemen's daughters : I mean such a 
 little school as Mrs. Green's, at the lodge in the park. 
 Mrs. Green receives only four-pence a week for each scho- 
 lar. I enquired of the house-maid, and she told me so : 
 and four-pence a week only comes to seventeen shillings 
 and four-pence a year. Why, Dorothea, I spent twice that 
 
 sum when I was last at I , in buying my wax doll, 
 
 which Robert broke ; and mv doll's cradle, and the set of
 
 188 THE LADY OF THE MANOR. 
 
 tea-things which Fanny threw down on Celia's birth-day ; 
 and some other little things which I have lost." 
 
 *' But I don't see any use in putting children to such a 
 school as Jenny Green's," said Dorothea. " What can 
 they learn there?" 
 
 **0, 1 don't know," said Margarita : *' but Mrs. Green 
 teaches them something, I dare say." 
 
 ** But four-pence a week ! " returned Dorothea ; *' who 
 will thank you for paying four-pence a week for them ? 
 It is so very little, any body can pay four-pence a week, 
 if they want their children to go to school." 
 
 *' O ! but The Economy of Charity says, that some 
 poor people cannot pay even four-pence a week for their 
 children's schooling, though they would like them to be 
 taught." 
 
 *' Don't say, * The Economy of Charity,' Margarita," 
 replied Dorothea, " say, * The Cat-Book.'' " 
 
 *' I do not care what you call the book," replied Mar- 
 garita, reddening, '' nor do I mind your laughter; I still 
 say, that I should like to put a little child to school." 
 
 ** I am sure I don't want to hinder you," replied Doro- 
 thea. " But of this I am certain, that old Dame Green 
 cannot teach the children any thing worth learning." 
 
 " Now, Dorothea," replied Margarita, " if you will per- 
 suade Miss Hartley, the next fine morning, to take us a 
 walk to the end of the park, towards Mrs. Green's, I will 
 forgive you all your laughter." 
 
 *' Well, I will," said Dorothea : '' so now be in a good 
 humour, Margarita ; for, to tell you the truth, you look 
 very cross." 
 
 *' No, not cross," replied the other ; '' only I am think- 
 ing about putting this child to school." 
 
 Thus ended the conversation ; for at that moment Mas- 
 ter Robert shook a bough of a high shrub, that was co- 
 vered with small icicles, over the two little girls, which 
 made them run up for protection to the party before. 
 
 A few days after this, on occasion of a hard frost and 
 sunny morning, Margarita reminded Dorothea of her pro- 
 raise to solicit Miss Hartley to take them to the end of the 
 park. The young lady, accordingly, being seated by Miss 
 Hartley, began cautiously to bring the matter about : 
 for she had found out by long experience, that crooked 
 ways commonly answered better with her governess than
 
 THE LADY OF THE MANOR. 189 
 
 straight-forward dealings. And thus this young lady was 
 early taught to practise dissimulation by the capricious 
 temper ot her tutoress. — " It is a fine day, Miss Hartley," 
 said she ; " you must take us a very long walk this 
 morning." 
 
 *' No, indeed," said Miss Hartley ; "don't mention such 
 a thing. I shall perish with cold, if I go an inch fur- 
 ther than the lone: south wall of the kitchen-oarden." 
 
 On hearing this. Miss Dorothea pouted out her lips, 
 threw dow n her work, and began to beat the legs of the 
 table with her feet as if she had been practising upon a 
 drum with them. 
 
 '* Sit still. Miss Dorothea," said Miss Hartley. 
 
 ** I cannot sit still," said the young lady. *' I want to 
 take a long walk. I shall not be quiet to-day. If I do 
 not take some means to tire my feet they will not be still." 
 
 " How ridiculous !" said Miss Hartley. 
 
 *' It's very true, notwithstanding," said Miss Dorothea; 
 ** I must walk, or I shall be on the fidgets all day." 
 
 Miss Hartley again expressed her dissatisfaction : on 
 which, Dorothea contrived to give the table such a jerk 
 as nearly to overset it ; and actually did so far succeed 
 as to throw all that was upon it on her sisters' laps. At 
 this the young ladies laughed heartily ; and as Miss Hart- 
 ley joined in the laugh, Dorothea gained her point, and 
 the walk into the park was determined upon. 
 
 As soon as the little party were out of the shrubbery 
 and had entered the park, Dorothea and Margarita sepa- 
 rating themselves a little from the rest of the party, Mar- 
 garita congratulated her cousin upon the skill with which 
 she had carried her point ; after which she began to open 
 to her the little plans she had formed about her poor child. 
 — " I have thought of a child," she said. *' It is the poor 
 w Oman's daughter who w eeds in the shrubbery ; old Mar- 
 tha Law ley the widow, you know ; who is so civil when 
 we go by, and courtesies so very low. She has one little 
 grandchild, who stands by her and carries away the weeds, 
 little Rachel Careless ; I asked her name one day. She 
 is a pretty little girl ; but I don't think she can read. You 
 know w horn I mean, Dorothea, you have seen her a thou- 
 sand times. She wears a little old straw hat; you must 
 have seen her." 
 
 " To be sure I have," said Dorothea : " do you think I
 
 190 THE LADY OF THE MANOR. 
 
 have no eyes ? I have seen her ten thousand times ! But 
 you call her little, she is nearly as big as yourself." 
 
 " Well, that will not signify," said Margarita. 
 
 "Think of my tilting the table over," said Dorothea. 
 " Did you not laugh when you saw all the things sliding 
 down so nicely ? I only wish Miss Hartley's china ink- 
 stand had been upon it. O ! with what glee should I 
 have seen it go smash upon the floor ! She is so proud of 
 that inkstand ! " 
 
 Margarita made no direct answer to Dorothea's last 
 speech; although she heard it with her ears, it made no 
 impression on her understanding ; for it had happened, 
 or rather I should say, it had been so ordered by Pro- 
 vidence, that this same Economy of Charity so filled this 
 little girl's mind with the desire of discovering if she 
 could not do some good to the poor, that just at this 
 time she could neither talk nor think of any thing but 
 what had some reference to this subject. — *'I have got 
 eleven shillings left," she said, " of the present Lady Su- 
 san made me ; and I shall have a guinea at Christmas — 
 you know my aunt Mowbray always gives us a guinea 
 apiece at Christmas ; and I will lay it out in a frock for 
 Rachel Careless." 
 
 *' You are mad, Margarita ! quite mad ! " said Doro- 
 thea, laughing ; " raving mad ! " And so saying, she 
 took up a handful of decaying leaves which were lying 
 by the foot-path, and showered them all over her cou- 
 sin ; adding, ** I wish they were so many penny-pieces 
 to help forward your Economy of Charity ! " 
 
 ** Thank you. Miss Dorothea," said Margarita, laugh- 
 ing and running away. " I shall have pence enough for 
 what I want, without wishing the leaves of the trees to 
 be turned into money." 
 
 The little party continued their course to the utmost 
 extent of the park, under groves of trees which were then 
 leafless, but which in the summer afi'orded a shade im- 
 pervious to the hottest rays of the mid-day sun ; and 
 over spacious lawns, across which the timid deer viewed 
 them from a distance; not to speak of sundry dells and 
 dingles, glades, and bowers, in which the fairy queen 
 might be supposed to spend the moonlight nights of 
 summer, amid enchanted walls and glittering palaces. 
 
 The party at length arrived at the most distant part
 
 THE LADY OF THE MANOR. 191 
 
 of the park, where a gothic lodge and gateway, at the 
 end of a noble avenue, afforded a pleasing variety to the 
 prospect. One of the doors of the lodge opened into 
 the park, and the other into the public road. 
 
 Mrs. Green was busy among her little children ; pre- 
 senting with her spectacled nose, her toothless mouth, 
 and little mob-cap, an object of no small merriment to 
 the tittering Dorothea. The old lady was however very 
 proud of her visitors, bringing forward her best scholars 
 and most gaudy samplers for their examination. The 
 books the old lady used, were the Horn-Book and the 
 Bible, with Watts's Hymns and Catechisms ; and it ap- 
 peared that many of her little pupils could read with 
 considerable readiness. 
 
 "And all this for four-pence a week!" said Miss 
 Dorothea, laughing. *' All this, Mrs. Green, for four- 
 pence a week ! " 
 
 "Yes, Madam," said Mrs. Green: "except when I 
 teach marking. I then add two-pence more." 
 
 "What! "said Miss Dorothea, "don't you charge 
 more than two-pence a week for teaching the children to 
 make parrots with cherries in their mouths, and Adam 
 and Eve, and the serpent? why you give more for the 
 money than any body I ever met with ! " 
 
 The old woman smiled and courtesied, not seeing 
 through the polite sarcasm of her elegant visitors. 
 
 " And, pray, what do you charge for teaching man- 
 ners? " said Miss Hartley ; " I remember hearing of a 
 school in Worcestershire, where two-pence a week was 
 charged for instructions in that branch of polite know- 
 ledge." 
 
 " Madam," said the old lady, who now began to see 
 that her visitors were laughing at her, " though I am a 
 poor woman, yet I try to make my children behave pro- 
 perly, because I consider good-manners as the best 
 ornament of every rank." 
 
 Miss Hartley blushed, for she felt herself reproved, 
 although the old woman had meant no reproof: so call- 
 ing her young people to her, she hastily walked away. 
 
 The same evening Margarita obtained permission from 
 Lady Harriet to put Rachel Careless to school. The 
 favour was asked by Margarita with some fear and trem- 
 bling: but it was immediately granted by Ladv Harriet,
 
 192 THE LADY OF THE MANOR. 
 
 who bestowed as little consideration on the subject as 
 if the child had asked her for a new doll: for being 
 deeply engaged at the moment the request was made 
 with a new novel, she answered, '* Do what you like, 
 only don't trouble me ; and, I beseech you, keep off the 
 sofa, for, really, I believe that you have found out the 
 secret of perpetual motion." 
 
 There was in the family of Lady Harriet, an old house- 
 keeper of the name of Hill, a woman of considerable 
 merit and respectability; and, lest I should make my 
 story too long, I shall tell you, in few words, that little 
 Margarita, having obtained leave to do what she chose 
 in this affair, applied for assistance to Mrs. Hill, from 
 whom she effectually obtained all she wished. She car- 
 ried her purse to this worthy person, informed her of the 
 plan that had occupied her thoughts, and, putting the 
 money into her hand, asked her advice how it might be 
 best employed for the little girl's benefit. Mrs. Hill 
 counted the money. It amounted to eleven shillings. 
 
 *' When do you expect to get any more money, Miss 
 Margarita ? " 
 
 *' O, I don't know," said the little girl ; *' sometimes 
 I have a great deal, and sometimes 1 have none : but I 
 think I shall have a guinea at Christmas." 
 
 " Well, then," said Mrs. Hill, *' I will tell you what 
 we will do. We will reckon that this money is to last 
 you one quarter of a year. We will put by four shillings 
 and four-pence for the quarter's schooling, and we will 
 take the rest of the money to buy the little girl a decent 
 dress." 
 
 " O," said Margarita, *' I dare say my aunt will give 
 me leave to give her some of my old clothes." 
 
 " My dear," said the housekeeper, " your old clothes 
 are always given to your maid ; you therefore cannot 
 take them from her in justice, because when she was 
 hired they were promised to her. But, if this were not 
 the case, your clothes are not fit for a poor child ; every 
 one ought to be clothed according to their station. 
 What you wish to give her must therefore be bought 
 for her : and as you will have six shillings and eight- 
 pence left, I will engage to procure for you, with that 
 money, every thing the child may want to make one 
 suit, excepting a pair of shoes ; and we must wait a
 
 THE LADY OF THE MANOR. 193 
 
 little for these, unless I can buy, from your brother's 
 servant, an old pair of Master Gerard's, and have them 
 mended up for her." 
 
 '* I have just recollected," said Margarita, at this mo- 
 ment flushing high with joy, ** that I have got a new 
 half-crown in my drawing-box ; I will fetch it in a mo- 
 ment ; will that do?" 
 
 ** Yes, yes," said Mrs. Hill, " that will be a great 
 help ; now we shall do." 
 
 "And will you procure materials for the clothes, dear 
 Mrs. Hill?" said the little girl, *' and shall I make 
 them ? " 
 
 '•' I will purchase them, and cut them out," said the good 
 housekeeper, '* and get them made for you this time, 
 because you want them in haste ; but after that, when 
 others may be occasionally wanted, it will be pleasant 
 employment for you to make your little girl's clothes 
 yourself: for every young lady should know how to 
 work and cut out for the poor. You will find this to be 
 very agreeable work ; and it is delightful to see ladies 
 of quality thus employed." 
 
 ** But cannot I help to do something now?" said Mar- 
 garita. 
 
 *' O yes," said Mrs. Hill, " you may make your little 
 girl a work-bag, and a housewife, and a pincushion ; and 
 you must p;et her a spelling-book, and a Bible, and a pair 
 of scissars, and a thimble." 
 
 Margarita was all joy to find her scheme going on so 
 prosperously. She delivered all her money to Mrs. Hill, 
 begging her to manage it for her ; and running up stairs, 
 she soon found an old Bible and spelling-book in the repo- 
 sitory of rubbish before mentioned, or, to speak more pro- 
 perly, in the repository of wasted and torn articles. And 
 having obtained leave to take them, she delivered them to 
 Mrs. Hill to paste and mend up as well as she could. Af- 
 ter which, the dear child was benevolently led to search 
 the cupboard again ; and finding certain bits of satin and 
 of printed calico, the former of which had been put by 
 among her treasures for a doll's hat, and the latter for a 
 patch-work bedquilt for the same lady ; she set joyfully 
 to work for the purpose of preparing the articles judged 
 necessary for the little girl to take to school. Mrs. Hill 
 had accomplished all she had undertaken before Marga- 
 VOL. I. s
 
 194 THE LADY OF THE MANOR. 
 
 rita was quite ready with her part ; for not being accus- 
 tomed to employ herself in a useful or industrious way, 
 she was very long in effecting that which a more active 
 person would have completed in a few hours. However, 
 at the end of the week, little Rachel was dressed and sent 
 to school. 
 
 I am certain that my reader will not be surprised to hear 
 that, when the first quarter was out, Margarita's purse w as 
 sufficiently replenished, either by the usual presents she 
 received from her aunt, or from chance remittances from 
 one or other of her friends, to enable her to carry on her 
 charitable design with respect to little Rachel. And in 
 a short. time she began to receive in her own person the 
 reward of this laudable action, to which she had no doubt 
 been divinely led : for, from the habit of considering how 
 she was to supply the wants of Rachel Careless, she ac- 
 quired the habit of general carefulness. Whatever might 
 be given to her in common with the other young people 
 for the use of her doll, she instantly examined with a view 
 to little Rachel. If it was a bit of muslin, she would say 
 to herself, "This will make Rachel a cap ; I will get Mrs. 
 Hill to cut it out, and I will make it : " if it was a riband, 
 ** O ! this will do to fasten Rachel's scissars to her side : " 
 or if it was a bit of silk, " Rachel wants a new pincush- 
 ion." And as her means of doing good increased, she was 
 led to enlarge her objects of charity ; so that after a while 
 she made a complete set of pincushions, housewives, and 
 work-bags, for all the children in Mrs. Green's school ; 
 and Mrs. Hill was so kind as to walk with her to deliver 
 them. 
 
 In the mean time, that careful spirit which she had first 
 exercised towards the poor, now extended itself to her 
 own little possessions and clothes ; and this so insensibly 
 that she was not herself readily aware of it. Her frocks 
 were no longer torn whenever they were put on : her shoes, 
 bonnets, and gloves, looked fresh and new, when those be- 
 longing to her cousins were completely spoiled. The co- 
 lours, brushes, and pencils, in her paint-box, were neither 
 wasted nor mislaid ; and as for toys and trinkets, she 
 had lost all desire for them. Insomuch that when taken 
 with her cousins to a toy-shop, on accompanying Lady 
 Harriet in her coach to the neighbouring town, if allowed 
 to spend money, she would invariably spend it in such a
 
 THE LADY OF THE MANOR. 195 
 
 way as would most profit the poor: for even in a toy- 
 shop some useful things may be found, such as knives, 
 scissars, &c. 
 
 Thus passed away several years : and in the mean time 
 Lady Harriet either would not or did not ol)serve these 
 peculiarities in Margarita's character; while her cousins 
 and Miss Hartley, though they sometimes laughed at her, 
 for the most part left her to herself so long as she did 
 not interfere with them. 
 
 At the end of this time. Lady Harriet took a house in 
 tosvn for a few months every year, with the express pur- 
 pose of introducing her daughters at court and into so- 
 ciety. Jane was introduced the first year, and was said 
 to be an elegant young woman, though not thought so 
 handsome as her mother had been. Celia's turn came 
 the next year, but this young lady did not obtain so many 
 suffrages from the public even as her sister Jane, being 
 a young person of a very ordinary and uninteresting cha- 
 racter. While in town, the younger children were kept 
 much in tlie back-ground : but Miss Hartley being then 
 considered more as a companion to them than a govern- 
 ess, they had much liberty allowed them in private. Lady 
 Harriet still however continued to charge herself with the 
 superintendance of their dress, and to order what she 
 chose them to w ear : for she maintained, that very young 
 women seldom, if left to themselves, know how to dress 
 themselves fit to be seen. However, she directed her 
 steward to allow them a certain sura every quarter for 
 their pocket-money, shoes, and gloves, with other trifles. 
 The sum she fixed upon for this purpose was five guineas 
 a quarter ; which, considering their situation in life, was 
 not extravagant. Lady Susan happened to be visiting in 
 their house in town when the first quarterly payment was 
 made : and on this occasion, she took an opportunity of 
 speaking to the young people on the duty of spending 
 their money to good purpose. 
 
 In the opening of her discourse she referred them to the 
 twenty-fifth chapter of St. Matthew. — When the Son of 
 man shall come in his glory, and all the holy angels with 
 him, then shall he sit upon the throne of his glory : and 
 before him shall be gathered all nations ; and he shall sepa- 
 rate them one from en other, as a shepherd divideth his sheep 
 from the goats: and he shall set the sheep on his right hand,
 
 196 . THE LADY OF THE MANOR. 
 
 but the goats on the left. Then shall the King say unto 
 them on his right hand^ Come, ye blessed of my Father, 
 inherit the kingdoinpreparedforyoufrom thefoundation of 
 the world : for I was an hungred, and ye gave me meat: I 
 was thirsty, and ye gave me drink : 1 was a stranger, and 
 ye took me in : naked, and ye clothed me : I was sick, and 
 ye visited 7ne : I was in prison, and ye came unto me. Then 
 shall the righteous answer him, saying. Lord, when saw 
 we thee an hungred, and fed thee? or thirsty, and gave thee 
 drink? when saw ive thee a stranger, and took thee in ? or 
 naked, and clothed thee ? or when saw we thee sick, or in 
 prison, and came unto thee? And the King shall answer 
 and say unto them, Verily I say unto you, Inasmuch as ye 
 have done it unto one of the least of these my brethren, ye 
 have done it unto me. Then shall he say also unto them 
 on the left hand. Depart from me, ye cursed, into everlasting 
 fire, prepared for the devil and his angels: for I was an 
 hungred, and ye gave me no meat : I was thirsty, and ye 
 gave me no drink: I was a stranger, and ye took me not 
 in : naked, and ye clothed me not : sick, and in prison, and 
 ye visited me not. Then shall they also answer him, say- 
 ing. Lord, when saw we thee an hungred, or athirst, or a 
 stranger, or naked, or sick, or in prison, and did not mi- 
 nister unto thee? Then shall he answer them, saying. 
 Verily I say unto you. Inasmuch us ye did it not to one of 
 the least of these, ye did it not to me. And these shall go 
 aivay into everlasting punishment : but the righteous into 
 life eternal. 
 
 These verses, which I have given you at length, though 
 a somewhat long quotation, in order to spare you the 
 trouble of looking for them in your Bible, have a literal as 
 well as a figurative sense. But Lady Susan, without re- 
 ferring to the spiritual sense, took occasion from them to 
 notice the obligation lying upon all men to do good to the 
 poor. She also observed, that now it was in their power 
 to do good, as she hoped it had always been their wish ; 
 whence she proceeded to point out, that in order to do 
 good with this money now placed in their hands, two things 
 were necessary : first, personal economy, or the practice 
 of self-denial ; and secondly, that prudence which would 
 enable them to put what they give to the poor to the best 
 advantage ; " because," said she, ** a single sixpence, pro- 
 perly bestowed, may be rendered more useful than twenty
 
 THE LADY OF THE MANOR. 197 
 
 pounds indiscriminately lavished on idle and improper 
 characters. There is no rank in life," continued Lady 
 Susan, ** in which economy, or the proper use of money, 
 is not a valuable science. And the higher a person's 
 situation in life may be, the more important is this know- 
 ledge : inasmuch as a poor person by want of economy 
 can only injure himself and his family ; while a person 
 in higher life may injure many families by the absence of 
 economy." 
 
 On hearing this discourse, some of the young ladies 
 shrugged up their shoulders ; and Jane said, "Indeed, my 
 dear aunt, if we are to do much good with the money now 
 in our hands, we must study a very close economy indeed : 
 for, to tell you the truth, I do not expect, out of these five 
 guineas now in my hand, to have a single guinea left at 
 the end of a week." 
 
 *' That I am sure you will not, Jane," said Celia. " No, 
 nor if you were to have twice the sum." 
 
 *' Please to understand, young ladies," said Lady Susan, 
 ** that where persons are resolved in the expenditure of 
 their money to consult their wishes and not their real 
 wants, no sum of money, however large, can ever prove 
 sufficient for them. But in order to become a strict and 
 proper economist, the individual should first form an ac- 
 curate idea of what is really necessary for him, taking into 
 consideration his rank and situation in society ; and having 
 ascertained this point, he ought to make it a matter of 
 conscience not to exceed it." 
 
 ** My dear aunt," said Dorothea, *' I must tell you that 
 you lose your labour in speaking upon these subjects to 
 my sisters Jane and Celia ; they hate economy, and I am 
 sure will never practise it if they can help it : but my 
 cousin Margarita will listen to you from morning till night, 
 if you will take the trouble of talking to her on this sub- 
 ject. I verily believe that she has the whole Economy 
 of Charity by heart ; and when she is in the country she 
 spends the greater part of her time in making patchwork 
 and night-caps for the poor." 
 
 *' Is this true, Margarita?" said Lady Susan, turning to 
 her niece with an expression of pleasure. " Is this true 
 of you ? arid have I known you so long, and never heard 
 this before? If this be so, my dear child, I sincerely 
 rejoice !" And so saying, she took her by the hand and 
 s 3
 
 198 THE LADY OF THE MANOR. 
 
 led her into her own room, where they had a long con- 
 versation : during which, Lady Susan gave her many 
 excellent lessons on the proper expenditure of money ; 
 and also upon the subject of dress, the love of which the 
 old lady pointed out as the particular temptation of fe- 
 males. Thence proceeding to lay down her sentiments 
 upon this subject more at large — " My dear Margarita," 
 said Lady Susan, *' from the view of your character which 
 your cousins have just given me, I am led to hope that 
 I am now addressing a pious young person : I shall there- 
 fore endeavour to set before you such rules with regard 
 to this point as I have been enabled to draw from Scrip- 
 ture ; and I shall hope, by drawing your attention to a 
 few solid principles on the subject of dress, to confirm 
 you in your wish to do good, and enable you at the same 
 time to detect the false taste by which worldly women 
 are continually influenced in this matter. 
 
 " We learn from Scripture," proceeded Lady Susan, 
 **that until man committed sin it was not necessary for 
 him to wear any clothing ; but when our first parents had 
 sinned, the eyes of both of them were opened, and they knew 
 that they were naked: and they sewed fig-leaves together, 
 and made themselves aprons. (Gen. iii. 7.) From this 
 passage," continued the old lady, " we learn that sin re- 
 quires a covering. The sinful body must be clothed with 
 natural garments, in order to give it a decent appearance 
 in this world ; but the polluted soul must be clad in the 
 robes of the Saviour's righteousness, before it can be 
 admitted into glory. Hence the man who appeared at 
 the marriage- supper without a wedding-garment, was 
 cast out as wanting that which conceals all spiritual de- 
 formity. Clothing, therefore, in conformity to the inten- 
 tion of the Almighty, should be an ample covering, con- 
 cealing, as far as possible, all the imperfections of our 
 vile bodies: and wherever this rule is not attended to, 
 we depart from the ordinance of God, for unto Adam and 
 his wife did the Lord God make coats of skins. Next 
 to rendering dress an ample covering, I would," said the 
 Lady Susan, *' rank cleanliness as an essential article : 
 although in our line of life it is less needful to dwell upon 
 this point, yet I cannot forbear to observe that cleanli- 
 ness is emblematic of that inward purity and spiritual 
 beauty which they possess who are clothed in the gar-
 
 THE LADY OF THE MANOR. 199 
 
 nients of salvation. Suitableness to station and conve- 
 nience should also be attended to in dress ; since it must 
 be allowed, that whatever dress is obviously unsuitable 
 to the circumstances of the wearer, or evidently.incon- 
 venient, cannot be otherwise than in a bad taste, how- 
 ever beautiful in other respects. 
 
 ** And now we will proceed,'* said Lady Susan, '* to 
 that important question on which so many mistakes are 
 made : I mean elegance of dress. True elegance of dress, 
 my dear Margarita, is much more consistent with eco- 
 nomy than many of our fine ladies imagine ; and I could 
 earnestly wish that some accomplished w riter would ad- 
 dress the female public on this subject, and would endea- 
 vour to convince them of this truth — that true elegance 
 cannot exist without simplicity. When any one figure 
 in a large circle forces itself upon the eye by glaring 
 colours, or any peculiar form of dress, that figure may 
 generally be found to be inelegant. The most perfect 
 models of female beauty are not those which most sud- 
 denly take the eye, but those which will bear the most close 
 inspection. From this it appears, that simple colouring 
 and a simple form should always be selected in dress ; 
 that the drapery adopted ought not to be of a broken and 
 fantastic character, but should form a flowing line with 
 as few interruptions as possible, in order to constitute an 
 elegant figure. In this view all those superfluous orna- 
 ments which are either attached to a dress or wrought 
 into its texture, do but deduct so much from its real ele- 
 gance : and hence, those various and complicated deco- 
 rations which women so eagerly covet, are but so many 
 blots and blemishes in the simple majesty of a beautiful 
 female ; while they tend only to render the defects of an 
 ordinary person still more conspicuous. Allowing this 
 to be true, we find, my dear Margarita," added the old 
 lady, "that economy and self-denial are perfectly con- 
 sistent with elegance ; even supposing that we should 
 have no higher motives of action than the desire of ap- 
 pearing agreeable. But granting that it were not so, a 
 young woman who professes piety must at all events 
 withdraw and separate herself from the daughters of fa- 
 shion — for the apostle says, I will, in like manner also, that 
 women adorn themselves in modest apparel, with shame- 
 facedness, and sobriety; not ivith hroideredhair, or gold.
 
 200 THE LADY OF THE MANOR. 
 
 or pearhy or costlj/ array ; but (which becomtth women 
 professing godliness) with good works." (1 Timothy ii. 
 9, 10.) 
 
 It was not to an inattentive hearer that Lady Susan ut- 
 tered this commendatory discourse in favour of humility 
 and simplicity in dress, together with the duty of fore- 
 going all unnecessary articles of expence. The young 
 lady not only listened respectfully to every word, but con- 
 sidered every point with the deepest attention : and as 
 Lady Susan was to accompany the family this year into 
 the country, Margarita hoped to have many conversations 
 with her during the summer months upon the same sub- 
 ject. In the mean time she economized her little pro- 
 perty as well as she could, and found with pleasure that 
 the sum allowed her was considerably greater than what 
 she really required. 
 
 The family were to remain in town till after the birth- 
 day. But some weeks before that time, Margarita heard 
 her cousins say that they had not one farthing left of their 
 quarter's allowance ; and this was accompanied by an 
 hint from Dorothea, that the next time she had any call 
 for money she should not fail to borrow from Margarita's 
 hoard. This hint so much alarmed Margarita, that she 
 took the precaution the next time she saw Lady Susan, to 
 put three guineas into her hand, requesting her to keep 
 it for her till their return into the country : " and then," 
 she said, *' you shall direct me how to spend it." 
 
 Lady Susan smiled, and put the money into her purse. 
 
 A few days after this, as Miss Hartley and her pupils 
 were walking through Piccadilly, Dorothea saw a very 
 beautiful work-box in a window, and begged Miss Hartley 
 to allow her to go into the shop. On further inspection 
 she admired the box more than at first ; and not desiring 
 to resist the temptation, she ordered it home. 
 
 As Lady Harriet Mowbray was known to the shop- 
 keeper, no difficulty was made: so in the afternoon, 
 while the governess and the younger ladies were at 
 tea, (for they lived quite apart from Lady Harriet when 
 in town,) the box was brought home with the bill. The 
 box was delivered to Miss Dorothea ; but Miss Hartley 
 taking the bill, ordered that the man should wait for the 
 money. 
 
 ** The money !" said Dorothea. ** O ! he must go;
 
 THE LADY OF THE MANOR. 201 
 
 for 1 have got no money ! He must wait till I receive my 
 next payment." 
 
 "You know. Miss Dorothea," said Miss Hartley, **that 
 it was your mamma's particular request that you should 
 incur no debts. I dare not send away the person without 
 payment." 
 
 ** Then you must lend me the money. Hartley — dear 
 little Hartley,'' said Dorothea, half laughing. 
 
 "Indeed I cannot," said Miss Hartley ; ** for I am my- 
 self as poor as a church mouse." 
 
 ** I shall ask Celia, then," said Dorothea, " to lend me 
 a guinea." 
 
 '• It will be to no purpose," said Miss Hartley ; •* for 
 Miss Celia has been without money for the last fortnight." 
 
 "Then Margarita mustopen her hoard," said Dorothea, 
 laughing. "I knew it would come to this. Come, Mar- 
 garita, open your coffers ; give me a guinea. It must be ; 
 don't redden so violently ; I must have it." 
 
 " I cannot, cousin," returned Margarita. " I have only 
 some silver left, and I have a pair of shoes to pay for." 
 
 Great amazement was now expressed by every person 
 present ; for although they had calculated so ill their own 
 expences, they could reckon very accurately the money 
 which Margarita had expended ; and they were pretty well 
 assured that she ought to have near four guineas in hand. 
 
 " Come, come. Miss Margarita," said Miss Hartley, 
 " you have abundance of money left; don't be mean and 
 ungrateful, but help your cousins." 
 
 " I hope I am neither mean nor ungrateful," returned 
 Margarita, firmly : " and I would help my cousins, I hope, 
 to the last shilling, if they were in distress. But I assure 
 you, that I now have only a few shillings ; and as I w ould 
 not appear to conceal any thing from my friends, I will 
 plainly tell you, that I have put three guineas in my aunt 
 Lady Susan's hands, to be spent in a charitable work when 
 we return into the country." 
 
 Miss Hartley shook her head, and looked as if she sus- 
 pected some double dealings ; while Dorothea, though the 
 most aggrieved person, laughed out, and said, "So much 
 for The Economy of Charity. Well done, Margarita ! well 
 done, little cousin! you well know how to take care of 
 yourself, 1 see." 
 
 Dorothea then ran (o borrow the guinea in question of
 
 202 THE LADY OF THE MANOR. 
 
 her mamma's maid ; and so, after Miss Hartley had vented 
 her indignation, by holding- forth for some time in praise 
 of generosity, and in condemnation of stinginess, the 
 matter was dropped. 
 
 From this period to the birth-day the daughters of Lady 
 Harriet were destitute of a single sixpence : but as their 
 wants were all imaginary, they endured their indigence 
 without loss of ease or health ; though, when they saw any 
 thing they wished to possess, they never failed to attack 
 Margarita, sometimes half in play, and sometimes almost 
 in anger. — "Come, Margarita, open your purse, and treat 
 me with that riband," one would say. — *' Margarita, I 
 musthavesuchatrinket: lend me five shillings; do, there 
 is a good girl," said another. — ** We are very, very poor," 
 said a third, *' we come under the denomination of pau- 
 pers ; you could not bestow your money better than by 
 giving it to us ; and as we are near relations, we have the 
 first claim : do consult The Economy of Charity ; you 
 will find our cases described and recommended for relief 
 there, we are very sure." 
 
 On the king's birth-day, a great uncle of the young peo- 
 ple coming to town, these paupers were all opportunely 
 
 relieved by the present of a guinea to each a supply 
 
 which Margarita failed not to add to her stock, and not 
 without some amazement at the unexpected accumulation 
 of her little fund. 
 
 After the birth-day the family returned into the coun- 
 try, accompanied by Lady Susan ; and as Margarita was 
 at this time in her seventeenth year, she understood that 
 she was to be emancipated from strict attendance in the 
 school-room, and permitted to amuse herself more in her 
 own way. This was a great relief, and especially as it 
 allowed her to devote much of her time to Lady Susan. 
 
 This excellent lady, who possessed clear views of reli- 
 gion, a highly cultivated mind, elegant manners, and a 
 very large portion of the rare quality of self-denial, had 
 great pleasure in the society of Margarita, whose steadi- 
 ness of character and active benevolence aftbrded a strong 
 ground of hope that they would form the basis of a very 
 noble character. Lady Susan now made it her object to 
 point out to Margarita those religious principles which are 
 the only true sources of charity in all its forms. She 
 taught her, that certain minds are so constituted by na-
 
 THE LADY OF THE MANOR. 203 
 
 ture, as to derive little pleasure from the vanities of the 
 world, and to find much more delight in bestowing bene- 
 fits than in receiving them — " And, indeed," said she, 
 *' it must be confessed, that there is something very sooth- 
 ing and gratifving in the thought of being followed by the 
 grateful acknowledgments of the poor : but, inasmuch as 
 this feeling may be nothing more than a higher kind of 
 selfishness, and is liable to disappear when the passions 
 are strongly excited in some other way, it is necessary that 
 we should seek a purer principle of action than even the 
 gratification of these amiable feelings." 
 
 The good old lady then proceeded to inform Margarita, 
 that charity or benevolence was never consistent, or to 
 be depended upon, unless it sprung from the love of God 
 and the love of man as the creature of God. And she 
 further took occasion from this, to open to the young 
 lady that glorious system of divine love which is displayed 
 throughout the plan of man's salvation — dwelling parti- 
 cularly and largely upon the doctrine of the Trinity-in- 
 Unity ; and especially as that doctrine furnishes a striking 
 display of the love of God the Father; of justification 
 by Christ; as well as of regeneration and sanctification 
 by the Holy Spirit. And, under the divine blessing, she 
 succeeded in making these sacred truths plain and accept- 
 able to the mind of her young relation ; teaching her at 
 the same time, that a knowledge of man's depravity in 
 general, and of her own particular sinfulness, together 
 with what God has graciously done for the human race, 
 ought to inspire her w ith such feelings of Christian charity 
 as should enable her to retain a strong desire to serve 
 her fellow-creatures through every trial of ingratitude and 
 contempt, and even in cases where benefits are returned 
 by injuries. In addition to which she maintained, that 
 alms-giving was only a part, and a small part, of Chris- 
 tian charity ; concluding her discourse with St. Paul's 
 definition of this inestimable grace. — Charity suffertth 
 hng, and is kind; charity mvieth not ; charity vaunteth 
 not itself, is not puffed up, doth not behave itse/f unseemly, 
 seeketh not her own, is not easily provoked, thinketh no 
 evil ; rejoiceth not in iniquity, hut rejoiceth in the truth; 
 beareth all things, believtth all things, hopeth all things, 
 cndureth all things. (I Cor. xiii. 4 — 7.) 
 
 It was not long after this conversation, that a circum-
 
 204 THE LAD^ OF THE MANOR. 
 
 stance happened, which furnished an opening for the 
 proper employment of some of the money laid up by Mar- 
 garita. An old servant of the family, married some years 
 past to a man who had used her very ill, arrived in the 
 neighbourhood of Mow bray -hall, in a state of the utmost 
 indigence. Lady Harriet immediately supplied all her 
 necessities : but being worn with disease and affliction 
 she soon died, leaving a son, about seventeen years of 
 age, in a most friendless and destitute state. This youth, 
 thus bereaved of his only parent, was in every respect a 
 peculiar object of pity, having a fine aspect, considerable 
 talents, and manners above his station. He had been the 
 best of sons to a very tender mother, who had taught 
 him every thing in her power ; and as she had occupied 
 the place of an upper servant in a great family, she had 
 been enabled to advance his education beyond what is 
 usually expected among persons in ordinary life. 
 
 Lady Susan failed not to point out to Margarita that a 
 little money seasonably spent on this young man might 
 secure his well-doing, humanly speaking, through life. 
 "If you could afford to put him for a short time into a 
 situation where he might be improved in the knowledge 
 of business, and enjoy religious instruction, he might 
 afterwards make a respectable tradesman, or a valuable 
 servant : whereas, if now neglected, he will probably sink 
 into the lowest and most vicious habits. But, Margarita," 
 said she, " in order to effect this plan, extreme self-denial 
 will be requisite on your part : your gloves and shoes, 
 which are all you have to provide for yourself, must be 
 worn with care; and no trinkets or ornaments can be had. 
 Let me however advise you," added the old lady, " that, 
 in order to economize, you do not buy any ill-made arti- 
 cles ; what must be had should be good of the kind, though 
 plain : and I doubt not but that you will derive a sufficient 
 motive for care, from the recollection that the well-doing 
 of a poor boy depends upon it." Lady Susan gave it 
 as her further advice to jNIargarita, that she should em- 
 power Mrs. Hill to make every suitable arrangement for 
 Edmund, and that she should receive all her commands 
 respecting him: *'for, my dear niece," she added, ** it 
 is always advisable that young ladies should exercise 
 the utmost delicacy in their charities, and that in cases 
 ^here they wish to serve the other sex, they should
 
 THE LADY OF THE MANOR. 205 
 
 employ some third person whom they can trust to act 
 for them." 
 
 "If you please then, aunt," returned ISIargarita, "Ed- 
 mund shall not be told \vho it is that assists him ; or will 
 you allow me to u«e your name on the occasion?" 
 
 ** I will settle this matter with Mrs. Hill," said Lady 
 Susan : *' and remember, my dear niece, that yon know 
 where to apply, if at any time you find your resources 
 deficient." 
 
 Every thing respecting: Edmund was now speedily ar- 
 ranged ; and a Mr. Markham undertook to receive him 
 for ten guineas a year, provided he was allowed to assist 
 in certain little matters in the family ; so that within a 
 fortnight of his mother's death, he set off to his master, 
 about twelve miles distant, in a plain coarse habit, car- 
 rying with him a complete suit of mourning, with a proper 
 stock of linen, books, and other matters, which were a 
 present from Lady Susan. It was also appointed that 
 Edmund should spend the Christmas with Martha Lawley, 
 who agreed to receive him for three shillings a week. This 
 being arranged, and Margarita full of joy on the subject, 
 (for young people are always most happy when they have 
 some laudable object in view,) the young lady became 
 particularly anxious for her aunt's company, she being 
 the only person with whom she could venture to con- 
 verse on her favourite topics. 
 
 In consequence of the affection thus growing between 
 the aunt and niece, they had many pleasing walks toge- 
 ther through the beautiful environs of Mowbray-hall : and 
 not unfrequently they strolled forth after breakfast with 
 their work and a book, that while the old lady employed 
 herself with her needle Margarita might read to her. In 
 this way they went throu^jh a course of ancient history, 
 the old lady commenting as they went along, and drawing 
 forth many Christian morals from stories of ancient hea- 
 then philosophers and kings. The Bible also made a fre- 
 quent part of their studies : to which Milton and Cowper 
 were occasionally added, besides several other of the most 
 beautiful works of imagination which our language can 
 supply. 
 
 A favourite retreat of Lady Susan and Margarita on 
 these occasions, was a root-house in the most distant part 
 of the shrubbery, on the borders of the lake before men- 
 
 VOL. I. T
 
 206 THE LADY OF THE MANOR. 
 
 tioned ; at the back of which a little winding walk passing 
 through a grove of Scotch firs led to a stile which opened 
 into a valley at the foot of the woody knoll, which was 
 seen from the windows of the drawing-room. This valley 
 was filled with orchards, and scattered here and there 
 with thatched cottages, the nearest of which standing in 
 a garden, gay with pinks and carnations, gilliflowers and 
 woodbine, was the dwelling of old Martha Lawley, into 
 which Lady Susan and her niece not unfrequently re- 
 treated in the heat of the day. Neither were these visits 
 made occasions of idleness ; for Lady Susan availed her- 
 self of them to give Rachel many sweet and profitable 
 instructions : and being well versed in the art of teaching, 
 it was wonderful, through the divine blessing, how greatly 
 she improved this young creature by her short communi- 
 cations, in respect both to religious knowledge and ge- 
 neral manners. Rachel was a pretty girl, slender and 
 delicate in her person, and modest in her behaviour ; in- 
 somuch that she soon became remarkable among her 
 young companions, few if any of her village associates 
 being in any way comparable to her. Thus sweetly 
 passed away the remains of the summer ; and in the au- 
 tumn Lady Susan returned home, leaving Margarita much 
 more fully acquainted than she had before been with the 
 sources from which strength must be derived for the re- 
 gular fulfilment of the delightful duties in which she was 
 then engaged. For Lady Susan had very carefully im- 
 pressed this truth on the mind of her young disciple, 
 that strength to do well is not to be found in man, but 
 is the gift of God, and must daily be sought, received, 
 and applied as the manna in the wilderness, which cor- 
 rupted and bred worms when laid by as a dependence 
 for the next day. 
 
 At Christmas Edmund came for a few weeks to Martha 
 Lawley. Margarita saw him several times at a distance, 
 and was rejoiced to hear Mrs. Hill's account of his im- 
 provements. She also met him one day as he was co- 
 ming through the shrubbery from the cottage to the hall, 
 on a Sunday, when he was dressed in his black suit and 
 made a very respectable appearance. He bowed low to 
 the young ladies as they passed, and Dorothea said, 
 "Really, Edmund Barclay looks very well; I wish I 
 could find out who supports him where he is."
 
 THE LADY OF THE MANOR. 207 
 
 '* Find out who supports him where he is," said Miss 
 Jane: '* don't you know that this is one of the good 
 works of my good aunt Susan?" 
 
 " I don't believe it," returned Dorothea, laughing : ** I 
 never did believe it." 
 
 ** Well, then, who does?" says Jane. 
 
 ** Somebody," replied Dorothea, laughing: "and I 
 think I have also a correct idea of this same somebody." 
 
 *' What do you mean ? and whom do you mean?" said 
 Jane. 
 
 " The Economy of Charity,'' returned Dorothea, gi- 
 ving her cousin, whose arm she held, a slight pinch, of 
 which however Margarita took no notice. 
 
 A few days after this, as the same party, accompanied 
 by Miss Hartley, were walking through a long field, they 
 were surprised by a cow, which looked fiercely at them, 
 tossing her head and evidencing such symptoms as might 
 have intimidated a more courageous spirit than that of 
 Miss Hartley, w ho being in the constant habit of giving 
 way to every emotion of fear on the slightest occasion, 
 was entirely deprived of all self-command where real 
 danger appeared. Accordingly, she began to utter most 
 vehement shrieks, while she stood looking this way and 
 that way without stirring, although she was further from 
 the animal than any one of the party. All creatures are 
 encouraged by finding themselves enabled to intimidate 
 those whom they wish to attack. The cow came for- 
 wards, and advanced fast upon the young ladies: in the 
 mean time. Miss Hartley turning suddenly round fell to 
 the earth, and rolling into a deep furrow the animal pass- 
 ed her without observing her ; still following the young 
 ladies, who in their fright ran in a direction where nei- 
 ther stile nor gate offered them the means of escape. 
 While in this really disagreeable situation, a youth made 
 his appearance, endeavouring to get over the fence, 
 which he speedily effected; and, having torn a stake 
 from the hedge with a violent effort, he flew towards the 
 cow, whom he assailed so furiously on the hinder parts, 
 as obliged her instantly to turn round to revenge herself 
 on her new enemy. The youth then ran from the cow, 
 calling to the ladies to make their escape ; and probably 
 he might have paid dearly for his intrepidity, if the 
 owner of the animal, a stout farmer, had not entered the
 
 208 THE LADY OF THE MANOR. 
 
 field at the moment, and used such means as he well 
 knew how to employ for regulating the motions of this 
 troublesome animal. 
 
 In the mean time, the young ladies having made their 
 way to a stile in the corner of the field, and being there 
 joined by Miss Hartley, they entered upon a second 
 field, where, in their present state of apprehension, they 
 were not a little distressed to see another phalanx of the 
 same horned quadrupeds by which they had been before 
 so jnuch terrified. "What shall we do?" said Miss 
 Hartley. " What with my fall (for none of you stopped 
 to assist me when I fell into the furrow) and my terror, 
 I am scarcely able to move at all ; my heart beats fright- 
 fully, and if any one of those animals you see yonder 
 were but to look at me, I am certain 1 should faiut." 
 
 *' And if you were to faint. Miss Hartley," said Jane, 
 *' on any occasion of alarm, you see that there is not 
 one of us you could depend upon to stand by you." 
 
 "But who was that dear kind young man who drop- 
 ped so opportunely from the clouds to help us?" said 
 Dorothea : " he behaved like a hero. We must not al- 
 low our gallant knight-errant to go without a reward." 
 
 *' Why did you not recognize him? " said Celia : ** did 
 not you know Edmund Barclay?" 
 
 ** O ! The Economy of Charity,'" said Dorothea, 
 laughing, and looking at Margarita; ** i wonder at my 
 stupidity, but Edmund must have a reward, he behaved 
 nobly." 
 
 *' Here he comes again," said Celia, and at the same 
 moment the youth appeared, his face all flushed with 
 exercise, and his eyes sparkling with delight to think of 
 the exploit which he had just performed. 
 
 " Ladies," said he, *' Farmer Worthing has sent me to 
 attend you across this next piece, and to drive off the 
 cattle." So saying, he bowed to Margarita, to whom he 
 had especially addressed his speech, and immediately 
 placed himself in a line with her, though at a very re- 
 spectful distance. 
 
 The young ladies now took occasion to thank him very 
 cordially for what he had done; to which he made no 
 reply but by a very humble bow, still keeping himself in 
 a line with Margarita, whose eye he watched as they 
 approached the cattle.
 
 THE LADY OF THE MANOR. 209 
 
 ** Edmund Barclay," said Dorothea, whispering to 
 Miss Hartley, " can see no one but Margarita in this 
 company : if all these cows were so many giants, he 
 would not care if we were all run away with, provided 
 he could save her." Then addressing herself in a loud 
 whisper to her cousin, she said, *' I am sorry, Margarita, 
 to see that Edmund Barclay has so little discernment." 
 
 " What do you mean?" said Margarita, colouring. 
 
 " O ! nothing," returned Dorothea, laughing: ** but I 
 think he mistakes you for Lady Susan." 
 
 " He cannot mistake me for a more worthy person," 
 returned Margarita. 
 
 ** Yes, but surely you would not wish at your time of 
 life to look like a woman of fifty ! " said Dorothea. 
 
 " What is all this nonsense. Miss Dorothea ? " said 
 Miss Hartley. 
 
 *' Margarita understands me," replied Dorothea : 
 " look how she blushes ! " All eyes were now fixed upon 
 Margarita ; who, in order to turn them from her, had 
 nothing to do but to declare that one of the cows was 
 looking very attentively upon the party, and that it might 
 perhaps be better for them to pass on in silence. 
 
 *' Don't be frightened. Miss," said Edmund, on hear- 
 ing this ; and with that he brandished his stick. 
 
 *' I am not afraid, Edmund," returned Margarita; 
 *' particularly now you are here to take care of us." 
 
 Thus ended an adventure, which convinced Margarita 
 that Edmund was by some means or other acquainted 
 with the real name of his benefactress ; of which she was 
 soon afterwards further assured by the present of a cu- 
 rious basket made of osiers, which the grateful youth 
 sent her a few days afterwards with his humble duty. 
 
 When Lady Harriet heard of Edmund's prowess, she 
 very properly presented him with two guineas, which 
 were made five by the young ladies : which sum the ge- 
 nerous young man brought to Mrs. Hill, requesting that 
 it might be laid out in such a way as to spare the purse 
 of the friend who paid for his instruction. At the usual 
 season this year. Lady Harriet went again with her family 
 to town, where she introduced Dorothea at court; at 
 which period she and Margarita were entirely emanci- 
 pated from the dominion of Miss Hartley, and certain 
 additions made to their pocket-money. 
 T 3
 
 210 THE LADY OF THE MANOR. 
 
 During their residence in town this season, Mr. Dash- 
 wood, a gentleman of fortune and family, saw and was 
 pleased with Jane : and Lady Harriet managed matters 
 so well, that in the course of a few weeks he was brought 
 to declare his regard for her ; after which the marriage 
 took place as soon as the writings could be drawn 
 up. During this period she carried her three elder 
 daughters much into public ; but Margarita not having 
 been introduced at court was permitted to remain in 
 private. 
 
 Immediately after the birth-day, the family returned 
 into the country, but their party was considerably dimi- 
 nished ; for Celia accompanied her sister to Mr. Dash- 
 wood's house in Essex, Miss Hartley found herself 
 another situation, and Fanny was placed in a fashionable 
 establishment in Queen's Square. In consequence of the 
 absence of Celia and the marriage of Jane, Dorothea 
 and Margarita were now brought more forward in the 
 family than formerly ; upon which Dorothea, who had 
 always been her mother s secret favourite, as promising 
 to be the handsomest of the family, became more sensi- 
 ble of her own influence; which circumstance, together 
 with the scenes of vanity to which she had been lately 
 introduced, operated powerfully in bringing to light her 
 natural character, which was haughty, careless, and 
 vain. At this period, Lady Harriet thought it right that 
 each of the young people should be indulged with a fe- 
 male servant: and accordingly a young woman, who had 
 been a dress-maker, was brought down from town for 
 Dorothea ; while Margarita humbly requested that she 
 might be allowed to take Rachel, who was now nearly 
 seventeen years of age. 
 
 "What forV said Lady Harriet, when she heard 
 this request. 
 
 " To wait on me. Madam," said Margarita. 
 
 "And in order that she may finish her education," 
 added Miss Dorothea, laughing ; " in imitation, no doubt, 
 of some precedent laid forth in her favourite book." 
 
 " I do beseech you, my dear girl," said Lady Harriet, 
 " I do earnestly entreat that we may hear no more of 
 that book : I have been bored to death with it these last 
 six years ; for heaven's sake let us hear something less 
 stale. Do what you please, Margarita ; take what ser-
 
 THE LADY OF THE MANOR. 211 
 
 vant you wish ; but do not turn ray house into an alms- 
 house, I supplicate." 
 
 Margarita was quite satisfied with the liberty so un- 
 graciously given her, and accordingly hastened, soon after 
 their arrival at Mowbray-hall, to engage the services of 
 her young protegee, who received the proposal and en- 
 tered upon the office assigned her with delight, although 
 so totally unfit for the place, that her young lady, in fact, 
 rather found an addition than a diminution of labour in 
 the acquisition. Margarita, however, at this time had 
 no particular object which needed her attention. Rachel 
 was neat, orderly, docile, and pious ; she could do plain 
 needle-w ork extremely w ell, and could read fluently : she 
 was, in short, precisely in that state which prepared her 
 for receiving any further improvement to which her young 
 mistress might be disposed to call her attention. Now 
 Margarita had no greater pleasure at present, than that 
 of instructing her ; for which purpose she kept her al- 
 most constantly in her own room. It w as not to be w on- 
 dered at, therefore, if Rachel's improvements were rapid, 
 and that she promised speedily to become an accom- 
 plished waiting-maid, possessing the advantage of more 
 principle and intelligence than commonly falls to the lot 
 of persons of this description. 
 
 About this time, Edmund left his situation, and came 
 to old Martha Lawley's, Lady Harriet's gardener having 
 engaged to supply him with employment till his friends 
 could provide him with a more suitable situation. He 
 was now become a remarkably fine youth ; and though 
 Mrs. Hill assured Miss Margarita that she had never told 
 him the name of his benefactress, yet it was very plain 
 that he knew it perfectly well, as he daily made a selec- 
 tion of the most beautiful flowers which he could pro- 
 cure, and sent them by the hand of Rachel to Margarita. 
 
 About this period, Margarita was inexpressibly affected 
 by a report of the sudden death of Lady Susan : neither 
 was she consoled for the loss of her dearest and best 
 earthly friend, by the superadded information that Lady 
 Susan had left her all in her power to bequeath, namely, 
 a little estate which had long been in the family, on the 
 borders of Wales ; and which had been retained chiefly 
 on account of the extraordinary beauty of its situation. 
 As this estate brought in only about thirty pounds a year.
 
 212 THE LADY OF THE MANOR. 
 
 it was spoken of as a thing of no importance by Lady 
 Harriet ; who, when referring to the subject, used to say, 
 *' Margarita is very welcome to this little property; I am 
 sure I do not covet it ; though I wonder that my aunt 
 should have entirely overlooked her other nephews and 
 nieces in her will : but the poor thing had very little to 
 leave." 
 
 I must here remark, that, according to the will, the 
 young lady was to come into immediate possession of the 
 estate. But we now proceed to a circumstance of greater 
 importance in the opinion of Lady Harriet, than the death 
 of an old aunt, of whom much could not be expected — 
 this was the arrival from Ireland, by invitation, of Lady 
 Anna Maria Claverton, the widowed sister of Lady Har- 
 riet, with her only son Henry Augustus Claverton, a young 
 man possessed of some thousands a year. 
 
 Lady Harriet had long considered this young man as a 
 very proper husband for her favourite daughter Dorothea ; 
 and it was for the purpose of forwarding this project, that 
 she had with much importunity engaged her sister to visit 
 Movv bray-hall. Whether she gave a hint of her design 
 to Dorothea, or whether the young lady had formed her 
 own projects independently of her mother, does not ap- 
 pear ; but certain it is, that they both had the same views 
 respecting the young heir, and were both prepared to 
 further them by every means in their power. 
 
 Both the mother and the daughter were in consequence 
 not a little pleased when they received notice that Lady 
 i\nna Maria was actually on the road, accompanied by her 
 son and a Captain Freeman, a kind of hanger-on upon cer- 
 tain great families, and one who contrived to dine in style, 
 and drink his bottle of Madeira at other men's expence 
 during three-thirds of the year, at the same time making 
 them believe that he conferred a favour upon them in so 
 doing. 
 
 It cannot be supposed but that Captain Freeman had 
 certain talents by which he was enabled to render himself 
 peculiarly acceptable in the various families among which 
 he was in the liabit of dividing his time: and, in fact, such 
 and so various, were his accomplishments, that I must de- 
 spair of comprizing them in a very small enumeration. In 
 the first place, though not handsome, he dressed well, had 
 fine teeth, and an expressive countenance. He danced
 
 THE LADY OF THE MANOR. 213 
 
 remarkably well, and could speedily put a whole cora- 
 paoy right, when out in the figure of a cotillon or country- 
 dance. He could play at backgammon, hazard, or any 
 other game of cards or dice. He was an expert billiard- 
 player, he rode well, was an excellent sportsman, and 
 entered a room with perfect grace. No one understood 
 better than himself the difficult art of paying a graceful 
 and delicate compliment ; and he could solve a puzzle or 
 conundrum, though darker than those put by the Queen 
 of Sheba to Solomon. It would have been easier to bring 
 down the stars from their spheres, than to have made him 
 blush : and to sum up his character in a few words, he 
 never lost sight of his own interest, while he never ap- 
 peared to be occupied by it for a single moment. Such 
 was Captain Freeman ; and you may suppose that he was 
 no unacceptable addition to the society atMowbray-hall, 
 though but a secondary object to the young heir, whose 
 character as well as that of his mother I shall allow to 
 speak for itself; simply hinting that the old lady had nei- 
 ther improved her manners by a long residence among her 
 inferiors, nor added any thing to the agreeableness of her 
 person by an auburn wig, with a tinge of vermillion on her 
 sallow cheek : but the young man was remarkably well 
 looking. 
 
 The party I have described, arrived at Mowbray-hail 
 to a late dinner, and were received very cordially by the 
 lady of the mansion and her elegant daughter. But as they 
 all retired to change their dresses immediately after the 
 first salutations, Dorothea had no time to study the cha- 
 racter of Mr. Claverton till they met again in the drawing- 
 room : at which time Margarita w as absent, having em- 
 ployed the long morning in some of lier usual exercises, 
 which she found herself unable to complete so soon as she 
 had expected. Dorothea had persuaded herself that the 
 young heir would be extremely forward to establish him- 
 self in her good graces : she was therefore surprised on 
 entering the drawing-room, to see him sitting in the bow- 
 window, contemplating the scene which thence presented 
 itself to his view with an air of the deepest thought. 
 
 It is the greatest offence which a gentleman can commit 
 in the opinion of some young ladies, to be occupied, in 
 their presence, on any other subject than their personal 
 charms. This however was an offence of which Mr. Cla-
 
 214 THE LADY OF THE MANOR. 
 
 verton was guilty towards Dorothea ; and, what was worse 
 than all, he persevered in his want of politeness for several 
 minutes after she had entered the rcjom. 
 
 ** He is very good looking," thought Dorothea ; •* but I 
 am sure he is stupid." 
 
 " What are you contemplating there, Augustus?" said 
 Lady Harriet, speaking as if she had actually read her 
 daughter's thoughts. 
 
 The young man slightly started on hearing his aunt's 
 voice, and answered, that he was drawing a comparison 
 between the rich and highly ornamented scene before him 
 and the rude environs of Claverton-castle. 
 
 *' I hope that your own fine place is not suffering from 
 the comparison, Augustus," said Lady Harriet : ** I have 
 heard that it is beautifully situated." 
 
 Augustus made some sHght answer, and sunk again into 
 a thoughtful mood, remaining silent for some time. And 
 as Lady Harriet's attention was called to her sister, who 
 talked without ceasing, his lucubrations were not again 
 immediately disturbed. 
 
 In the mean time, the gallant captain was using every 
 exertion to make himself agreeable; and having found 
 means to draw up close to Dorothea, was just then af- 
 fecting raptures at a drawing which hung over the chim- 
 ney-piece, and which he very shrewdly suspected to be 
 the work of the youug lady herself. Dorothea let the 
 compliment pass without any explanation, and allowed 
 the captain to enter into further conversation with her; 
 which conversation however was by no means so inte- 
 resting as to draw her attention from her cousin and his 
 concerns. 
 
 At length, Augustus turning from the window, dire-cted 
 his eyes upon his aunt, whom having contemplated a while 
 without change of countenance, he fixed his regard on Do- 
 rothea, though in a manner sufficiently respectful : the 
 young lady however, not doubting but that she should 
 gain by being thus contemplated, allowed him full oppor- 
 tunity of continuing his investigation, by turning to the 
 captain, and seeming very attentive to his discourse. 
 
 Here 1 must pause, to remark upon the privileged state 
 of those happy persons, whose minds being withdrawn 
 from self to higher objects, and who having been enabled 
 by faith to throw all their concerns into the hands of God,
 
 THE LADY OF THE MANOR. 215 
 
 are seldom harassed by those petty hopes and fears, de- 
 sires and aversions, which continually harass the sons and 
 daughters of the world : these privileged persons are di- 
 vested of that awkward consciousness which numbers feel 
 who yet have address and cunning to hide it from the eyes 
 of others. 
 
 While the party in the drawing-room were thus situ- 
 ated, Margarita appeared, simply dressed, but glowing 
 with health, and utterly clear of all intent to captivate. 
 She came gaily forward to her newly arrived aunt, and 
 expressed her joy at seeing her, in a manner so artless, 
 that the old lady, though usually cold hearted, was greatly 
 pleased, and called her son to acknowledge his cousin, 
 the daughter of her younger brother now no more ; add- 
 ing, " Margarita is like her father: she has his own dark 
 blue eyes and bright bloom." Augustus made his com- 
 pliments to the young lady as desired, and sat down again, 
 having a new object to attract his notice. Dorothea at 
 length however becoming quite fidgetty because she was 
 not madeof more consequence, jumped up from her seat, 
 and coming across the spacious room to her aunt, she 
 addressed some questions to her in that pretty playful 
 childish way which young ladies know how to assume 
 when they think it suitable to their purpose. She soon 
 perceived that she had gained her point ; for the young 
 heir no longer looked at Margarita, but at herself: and 
 upon her putting some question about Ireland, which his 
 mother referred to him, he rose up, joined the group, and 
 gave his opinion in a sufficiently plain, sensible, and manly 
 way — but speaking, as Dorothea remarked, more like one 
 who was addressing his grandmother than a handsome 
 cousin ; for his face never relaxed into a smile, nor as- 
 sumed any of those graces (real or imaginary) which per- 
 sons are apt to call up when they desire to please. 
 
 In the mean time, the Captain sat considering whether 
 it would be worth his while to try to please Margarita ; 
 and before he could make up his opinion on the subject, 
 the party was called into the dining-room. 
 
 During dinner, Augustus said very little ; and though 
 Dorothea often addressed him, he always answered with 
 the same serious manner which he had first used. In 
 consequence of which, she still preserved her first opinion, 
 which was, that he was extremely stupid. The captain.
 
 216 THE LADY OF THE MANOR. 
 
 however, anrl Lndy Anna Maria, were sufficiently talkative ; 
 so that the former, before dinner was half over, had talked 
 himself entirely into the good graces of Lady Harriet, who 
 declared she had seldom seen a more agreeable man. 
 
 After dinner, when the ladies and gentlemen were assem- 
 bled again in the drawing-room, there was indeed no want of 
 conversation: for Lady AnnaMariatalked without ceasing, 
 the captain was all politeness and attention, Lady Harriet 
 was animated, and Dorothea all tenderness and pretty af- 
 fection for her aunt ; but the young heir, the man of con- 
 sequence, sat nearly silent, and looked thoughtful ; though 
 when addressed, he answered, as before, like a man of 
 sense, which saved him from being set down by Dorothea 
 as an absolute simpleton. He was also attentive : for Do- 
 rothea at one time dropped her glove, and at another time 
 was so exceedingly careless as to entangle her netting silk 
 with the foot of the table ; on which occasions the young 
 gentleman was ready to give his assistance, performing 
 both offices for his fair cousin, yet without any change of 
 countenance, not even putting on a smile. 
 
 After tea it was proposed that the younger part of the 
 company should walk in the shrubbery ; but just as they 
 were setting out. Lady Harriet detained the captain in 
 some slight conversation, at the same time requesting Mar- 
 garita to clasp her bracelet, which very fortunately came 
 undone at the moment they were taking their leave; and 
 thus she contrived that Dorothea and they oung heir should 
 get the start of their companions. 
 
 While the young people were absent, Lady Harriet en- 
 deavoured to get from her sister as much information as 
 she possibly could respecting the character of her son. — 
 " Augustus is a fine young man, sister," said Lady Harriet ; 
 " he must be a great comfort to you ; he seems remarkably 
 steady." 
 
 This was quite sufficient to set Lady Anna Maria a- 
 going. But unfortunately the old lady possessed that ta- 
 lent, which I am sorry to remark is no very rare one; 
 namely the faculty of talking a very long time, and yet 
 saying nothing. This talent, we must allow, is often a 
 useful one in society, and particularly desirable in the 
 courts of princes ; though such a one as a man would per- 
 haps rather wish to have at hand as occasion might re- 
 quire, than to possess as a natural gift incapable of being
 
 THE LADY OF THE MANOR. 217 
 
 laid aside. However that may be, the old lady in ques- 
 tion possessed this talent in its utmost perfection ; in 
 consequence of which, when she had discoursed for about 
 two hours (the young people being so long absent) upon 
 the various qualifications of her son and other matters 
 connected with him, the attentive and discerning Lady 
 Harriet could draw no further conclusion respecting the 
 young man, than that he was thought very handsome by 
 some young ladies in Merrion Square ; that he had look- 
 ed remarkably well at a late ball given at the castle ; that 
 he was not careless in spending his money ; that he had 
 visited France and Italy ; that he had some fine horses 
 in his stable; and that he had planted a great many 
 Scotch firs on a hitherto barren down near Claverton- 
 castle. 
 
 *' He seems very much attached to you, sister," said 
 Lady Harriet. 
 
 ** The best son in the world ! " returned the other : 
 ** but, as I was saying, though I do not like Scotch firs, 
 you know, sister, they afford a shelter, in a bleak situ- 
 ation, for other trees of a more beautiful appearance." 
 
 '* Your son then has a taste for beautifying his place ; 
 he lays out a good deal of money no doubt in that way ; 
 it is probably his hobby-horse 1 " said Lady Harriet. 
 
 " It was poor Mr. Claverton's," said Lady Anna Ma- 
 ria ; *' and he really made the old castle very comfort- 
 able."- She then entered into a long description of the 
 state of the castle when she first went to it, minutely 
 describing the furniture of their drawing-room and state 
 bed-room, and concluding by an account of a visit from 
 the Lord Lieutenant when her son was about six years 
 of age, together with the compliments which were paid 
 to the young gentleman by the great man upon his dark 
 eyes and raven ringlets. 
 
 As Lady Harriet could gain so little light upon the 
 subject which then chiefly interested her, she was not 
 sorry to see the young people come in again. ** What 
 do you think of the young heir?" said Lady Harriet to 
 her daughter, as soon as they could find an opportunity 
 of being together. 
 
 " O, he is very stupid," said Dorothea. 
 
 *' What, did he not talk to you in the shrubbery ? " said 
 the artful mother. 
 
 VOL. I. u
 
 218 THE LADY OF THE MANOR. 
 
 Dorothea shrugged up her shoulders. " Yes, he 
 talked to me; he certainly did speak to me ; but really 
 it was heavy work : I envied Margarita with the cap- 
 tain." 
 
 ** She walked with Captain Freeman then all the even- 
 ing?" said Lady Harriet. 
 
 ** Yes," replied Dorothea. " I suppose they were 
 pleased with each other, for they never offered to join 
 us." 
 
 " Well," said Lady Harriet, ** perhaps your cousin 
 will brighten up a little in a few days, you must try to 
 enliven him. But I don't think him stupid, Dorothea, 
 he does not speak like a man Avho wants sense ; you 
 must not imagine that you have a fool to manage." 
 
 **I do not know what he wants," said Dorothea, put- 
 ting up her lip; *' but, at present, I know that he is an 
 uncommonly heavy companion — not at all like an Irish- 
 man." 
 
 The next morning things passed off at breakfast much 
 as on the former evening ; after which, Augustus walked 
 out in the grounds and about the park by himself; while 
 Margarita repaired to her own room, where employments 
 awaited her which at present she found considerably 
 more interesting than any thing the drawing-room could 
 afford. 
 
 Before dinner the party met again in the drawing- 
 room, the company being augmented by the arrival of 
 two gentlemen. Dorothea was evidently in low spirits, 
 and complained of a headache. The captain drew near 
 and condoled with her : but the captain was not the 
 person whose attentions she required ; and Augustus ha- 
 ving entered into conversation with one of the visitors, 
 did not observe her, although she put her hand frequent- 
 ly to her forehead, and at length asked Margarita to lend 
 her a vinaigrette. " But indeed," added the young lady, 
 •' I do not know why I asked you; because you never 
 deal in such articles." 
 
 *' But tell me," said Margarita, " where I can ^^t one, 
 and I will fetch it for you." 
 
 " No, not for the world ! " said Dorothea : " I would 
 not give you the trouble for the world ! Perhaps the air 
 will relieve me." So saying, she walked nearer to the 
 window; where the captain setting a chair, condoled
 
 THE LADY OF THE MANOR. 219 
 
 with her so effectually, that the attention of every one in 
 the room was excited ; and thus the young lady's end 
 Avas answered. 
 
 Augustus observing this little bustle, broke off his dis- 
 course to ask what was tlie matter : and on being inform- 
 ed, he repaired to the window where the young lady w as 
 sitting, w hen with a solicitude of manner and an expres- 
 sion of interest, which gave a new glow to his fine coun- 
 tenance, he said, " Dear cousin, I fear you are suffering 
 much ; can we do any thing for your relief?" 
 
 " O, I shall be better by and by," said Dorothea : " but 
 it is so shockingly hot — I never could support hot wea- 
 ther in my life ; it makes me quite faint." 
 
 The young gentleman proposed that she should draw- 
 still nearer to the window, and used several expressions 
 of sympathy, which carried w ith them the appearance of 
 so much earnestness and sincerity, as could not fail to 
 gratify Dorothea, who easily persuaded herself that his 
 anxiety was to be attributed to something more than com- 
 mon humanity. Being solaced by this flattering persua- 
 sion, her spirits began to rise; and she soon declared 
 herself much relieved, continuing in high spirits during 
 the whole of the dinner-time. 
 
 After dinner, when the ladies withdrew into the draw- 
 ing-room, they had not been long assembled, Dorothea 
 sitting by her aunt and mother, and Margarita standing 
 in the window, when Augustus appeared on the outside. 
 The window opened to the ground, and the young man 
 approached close to it, and taking hold of his cousin's 
 hand in a playful way, with a smile which illuminated 
 his whole countenance in a very agreeable manner, he 
 thus addressed her: — •' In order to hear the praises of 
 some young ladies," he said, '* we must visit crowded 
 cities and courts ; but there are others whose praises 
 are whispered only in the silent groves and among the 
 abodes of wood-nymphs and naiads." 
 
 Margarita was so astonished at the manner as well as 
 the words of her cousin, so unlike any thing she had 
 ever witnessed of him before, that she blushed deeply ; 
 but before she could make him any answer, having reco- 
 vered his serious mood, and stepping over the window- 
 frame into the room, he said in a low voice, *' My dear 
 Margarita, I was much pleased this morning at what I
 
 220 THE LADY OF THE MANOR. 
 
 accidentally heard of the manner in which you dispose 
 of your time. To be kind to the poor, and attentive to 
 their wants, is in fact no more than our duty, on whom 
 the Almighty has been pleased to bestow his good things 
 in abundance : notwithstanding which, it is a duty much 
 neglected by many ; and it therefore gave me particular 
 pleasure when I heard this morning of your retired and 
 modest benevolence." 
 
 Margarita mentioned Lady Susan, and professed how 
 much she had been obliged to her. 
 
 " I have heard of her worth," returned Augustus — 
 ** her charity was warm, enlarged, and admirable in eve- 
 ry respect: a few such examples will, I trust, profit the 
 rising generation." The young man then proceeded to 
 speak of Ireland ; of the state of the poor on his proper- 
 ty ; of his anxiety to see their condition meliorated ; and 
 of certain plans which he had formed for their improve- 
 ment. 
 
 It happened that Augustus and Margarita were got 
 upon a subject equally interesting to both : and there- 
 fore it was the less wonderful if their conversation was 
 protracted to a considerable length ; if he looked anima- 
 ted and she pleased ; and if there was a vivacity and 
 spirit in the manner of each, which was the more remark- 
 able, as they were both in general grave and calm in 
 their habits. 
 
 It may well be imagined, that while this interesting con- 
 versation was passing between these young persons. Lady 
 Harriet and Dorothea were not altogether at their ease ; 
 and it is likely that they would have found some occasion 
 of cutting it short, if Lady Anna Maria had not unfor- 
 tunately been in the midst of a long story, to which it 
 was necessary apparently to listen. At length the story 
 ended ; but it was not till the captain and the other gen- 
 tlemen had appeared upon the grassplot, calling Augustus 
 to look at a very remarkable tree which one of the gen- 
 tlemen was about to point out. In obedience to this call, 
 Augustus sprung out of the window by which he had 
 entered, leaving Margarita apparently lost in thought, 
 though visibly pleased. 
 
 "You have been engaged in a very long conversation, 
 Margarita," said Dorothea, rising and coming up to her 
 cousin ; ** something very interesting, I am sure it was, for
 
 THE LADY OF THE MANOR. 221 
 
 you blushed once or twice so violently that even the back 
 of your neck was tinged as pretty a red as ever I saw. 
 What was your subject V 
 
 Margarita hesitated ; not because she was ashamed of 
 any thing she had said, but because the topic was one on 
 which she had been so frequently ridiculed. 
 
 ** O, if you do not wish to tell, I am sure I have no 
 desire to know," said Dorothea : " but I cannot imagine 
 what secrets can be already existing between you and Au- 
 gustus. However, it is nothing tome ; I can have no pos- 
 sible wish to be in your confidence, or to know any thing 
 you desire to hide." 
 
 *• I have nothing to hide," returned Margarita; ** but 
 the truth is, that we have been speaking on a subject you 
 do not like." 
 
 ** What is that?" said Lady Harriet, whose curiosity 
 had brought her to the window. '* What possible subject 
 can you have been speaking of to your cousin, which Do- 
 rothea does nut like?" 
 
 " It was about," said Margarita, being somewhat puz- 
 zled how to express the sentiment without giving offence ; 
 ** it was about the poor we were speaking." 
 
 Lady Harriet shook her head ; as much as to say, **Art 
 — deep art:" and Dorothea added, scornfully, *' So you 
 have been recommending yourself to Augustus by a detail 
 of your good works, Margarita!" 
 
 *' I !" said Margarita, " I have not, I assure you, been 
 talking about myself." 
 
 ** You only expressed your regard for the poor then in 
 general terms, and left him to infer that this regard had 
 not been an idle one?" replied Dorothea. 
 
 **I tell you, my dear cousin, "returned Margarita, "that 
 neither my sentiments nor my actions formed any part of 
 our conversation, as I recollect ; but Mr. Claverton seems 
 to be very anxious to do good among the poor in Ireland, 
 and he was asking me some questions upon the best means 
 of serving them effectually." 
 
 ** And you offered to lend him your text-book, I sup- 
 pose," said Dorothea, *• The Economy of Charity?'' 
 
 *' I never once mentioned the book," said Margarita; 
 " I did not think of it." 
 
 *' But tell me," said Lady Harriet, " how was this in- 
 teresting conversation introduced?" 
 u 3
 
 222 THE LADY OF THE MANOR. 
 
 Margarita blushed and hesitated ; for at that instant 
 she recollected the compliment to herself, with which the 
 conversation commenced ; and she could not bring her- 
 self to repeat it. 
 
 **0, very well," said Lady Harriet, "Margarita refuses 
 us her confidence ; and I beg it may be solicited no fur- 
 ther." She was then turning away, when Margarita taking 
 her hand, " Only one moment, dear aunt," she said, 
 *' you shall hear it all." And she repeated Augustus's 
 words when he first addressed her at the window as 
 nearly as she could recollect them. 
 
 The two ladies affected to laugh, though evidently angry, 
 while they walked back to the sofa, where Lady Anna 
 Maria was sitting; which being at the very remote end of 
 the large room, the old lady had not been able to overhear 
 a word that had been spoken in the window. The rest 
 of the evening passed as usual. The party walked out 
 after tea : but Margarita, who suspected that her aunt was 
 not pleased with her, withdrew to her own room, where 
 she employed herself in her usual way ; either drawing, 
 or working with her needle, while Rachel read to her. 
 
 The next morning Dorothea sent her maid to Margarita 
 to borrow The Economy of Charity : a request which was 
 instantly granted, while it excited no little surprise on the 
 part of Margarita ; for being by the favour of heaven ex- 
 ceedingly artless herself, she had no suspicion of art in 
 others. This same morning, however, coming down to 
 breakfast somewhat later than usual, she found the com- 
 pany deep in conversation. The matter of their conver- 
 sation was the state of the poor in Ireland ; and Dorothea 
 was hearkening with apparently strong interest to what 
 Augustus was saying on the subject. 
 
 *'I should think nothing more likely to civilize and 
 humanize these poor creatures," said Dorothea, in reply 
 to his statements, " than the establishment of schools. 
 Have you seen our school at the end of the park? I as- 
 sure you it is a very well conducted school, and the chil- 
 dren are so neat, so orderly, so properly instructed, it is 
 quite a treat to look at them." 
 
 " What say you to a walk across the park this morning 
 to see our little seminary?" said Lady Harriet; *'my 
 daughter will gladly accompany you." 
 
 " Or, suppose," said the captain, *• Mr. Claverton were
 
 THE LADY OF THE MANOR. 223 
 
 to drive Miss Mowbray in his phaeton : do not let us forget 
 what she suffered yesterday from heat." 
 
 Augustus acquiesced in this arrangement, and the pha- 
 eton was ordered. 
 
 Soon after breakfast, Margarita withdrew, and Doro- 
 thea with her mother and aunt went into the drawing- 
 room, where Dorothea placed herself in the bow- window 
 on a settee, and was deeply engaged in reading, or at 
 least seemed to be so. 
 
 When the phaeton was ready, Augustus came in, and 
 walking up to Dorothea, "Well, my fair lady," he said, 
 "are you ready?" 
 
 Dorothea immediately jumped up, and saying, " Wait a 
 moment, and I shall be at your service," she threw the book 
 down on a small table which stood by her chair, and trip- 
 ped out of the room. 
 
 It was very natural for Augustus to sit down for the mo- 
 ment he had to wait, on the chair which she had left, and 
 as natural for him to take up the book she had laid down. 
 
 My reader, if he has some insight into character, will 
 not be surprised to hear that this book proved to be The 
 Economy of Charity ; though perchance, if he has no pe- 
 netration of that kind, he may be ready to exclaim, "I 
 thought that Miss Dorothea hated this book so much, that 
 she had even interdicted the mention of its title!" But 
 be this as it may, I here request you, my gentle reader, to 
 stop for a moment, and if you have ever read or practised 
 The Economy of Charity y enquire in this place what your 
 motives have been for so doing: remembering the words 
 of our blessed Lord — Take httd that ye do not your alms 
 before men, to he seen of them : otherwise ye have no reward 
 of your Father which is in heaven. Therefore when thou 
 doest thine alms, do not sound a trumpet before thee, as 
 the hypocrites do in the synagogues and in the streets, that 
 they may have glory of men. Verily I say unto you, they 
 have their reward. But when thou doest alms, let not thy 
 left hand knotv what thy right hand dotth : that thine 
 alms may be in secret : and thy Father, which seeth in secret, 
 himself shall reward thee openly. (Matt. vi. 1 — 4.) 
 
 When Dorothea returned a few minutes afterwards in 
 her elegant riding-hat and scarf, she was not much as- 
 tonished to see Augustus with her book in his hand : she 
 however said nothing, but suffered him to lead her to the
 
 224 THE LADY OF THE MANOR. 
 
 phaeton. I will not pretend to describe how prettily du- 
 ring their drive Dorothea talked of schools, alms-houses, 
 and other little contrivances for bettering the state of the 
 poor ; how affable and polite she was to Mrs. Green ; and 
 how sweetly condescending to the little children : suffice 
 it to say, that the young people returned in good spirits, 
 and nothing happened during the remainder of the even- 
 ing to disturb their cheerfulness. 
 
 In the mean time, sundry reflections, such as will intrude 
 themselves to destroy the peace and happiness of youth, 
 had crowded themselves upon the mind of Margarita : her 
 thoughts were to this eft^"ect, and my reader will excuse me 
 if I arrange them in the form of a soliloquy. " Augustus 
 Claverton is a very handsome young man. * I have seldom 
 seen one who smiles so sweetly — to be sure he does not 
 smile often : but then that makes it the more acceptable 
 when a smile does appear. And then he seems so desi- 
 rous to do good, and that apparently from the best mo- 
 tives. I should like to enjoy a little more of his company. 
 I am quite as nearly related to him as Dorothea: and if 
 any one were to be employed to shew him the school, it 
 ought to have been myself; because I visit it every week, 
 and have deprived myself of many comforts, to supply 
 the poor children with books and clothes. But I see my 
 aunt wishes to throw nie into the back-ground; she is 
 almost oflfended if any one speaks to me." 
 
 In this soliloquy we shall find the expression of many 
 very evil passions, which threatened speedily to destroy 
 all the peace of this amiable young person. But evil 
 thoughts will arise in the mind ; they are the torment of 
 the saints on earth, the fruit of that evil nature, which, 
 notwithstanding the power of grace, continues and -will 
 continue in one degree or other till sin is swallowed up 
 in death. It is however one peculiar work of the Spirit 
 to make man sensible of his evil nature, and to furnish 
 him with power for contending with it. Accordingly, 
 no sooner had these thoughts passed the mind of Mar- 
 garita, than she became sensible of their vileness, and 
 lost not a moment in throwing herself on her knees to 
 plead for help from above. Within her room was a light 
 closet; thither she retired, and having shut the door, 
 she prayed earnestly and ardently for assistance in this 
 time of need. Nor was she long without an answer to her
 
 THE LADY OF THE MANOR. 225 
 
 prayer : for presently such a spirit of humility was shed 
 upon her, as excited a conviction that it was good and 
 right for her to be thus tried ; and that it was for her ad- 
 vantage that her works of charity should be thrown into 
 the back-ground. She was also made to feel that the 
 secret complacency she had hitherto experienced in her 
 little acts of benevolence, was sinful ; and that she needed 
 this correction in order to detect the impurity of her mo- 
 tives. Being thus self-abased, and almost wondering at 
 the wish she had lately entertained of being brought for- 
 ward in society, she came at length to this conclusion — 
 ** It is quite as well that my cousin sees so little of me, 
 since I am convinced that he is far from wanting pene- 
 tration : for if I were to converse freely with him, all the 
 imperfections of my character might probably be made 
 apparent — imperfections, some of which I am myself sen- 
 sible of, and others of which perhaps I have never yet 
 suspected myself; for the Scripture saith, The heart is 
 desperately wicked , who can know it?'' 
 
 The history of Telemachus, by the celebrated Arch- 
 bishop of Cambray, has been much admired, and parti- 
 cularly that passage in which Minerva the goddess of 
 wisdom is described as guarding the young man by her 
 aegis from the arrows of love. But surely this allegory 
 would have been infinitely more beautiful, though perhaps 
 not so classical, if humility could have supplied him with 
 her mantle for his protection ; since humility is the guar- 
 dian power which protects the heedless steps of inex- 
 perience, and effectually wards off a thousand dangers 
 which threaten the destruction of presumptuous youth. 
 
 But to return to our narrative. The mind of Marga- 
 rita being thus relieved from the influence of unworthy pas- 
 sions, and again left at liberty to pursue its usual objects, 
 she took a revi^ v of the duties she had to execute, as well 
 as of certain little plans which she had lately formed with 
 a view to the enlargement of her charities. Fpr Edmund 
 and Rachel being no longer entirely dependent upon her, 
 and her supplies being increased, she had resolved, be- 
 fore the arrival of the party from Ireland, to seek out 
 certain poor widows residing in the neighbouring hamlets, 
 in order to assist them with clothes and money : ^he de- 
 termined therefore now to send Martha Lawley privately 
 to look them out, and to enquire into their wants. But
 
 226 THE LADY OF THE MANOR. 
 
 inasmuch as this would require some time, and she needed 
 present employment to divert her thoughts, she had re- 
 course to her stores of coarse cloth and homespun wool- 
 len : so beginning immediately to cut out coats and gar- 
 ments, she presently became so engaged in this interesting 
 concern, that Augustus Claverton and Dorothea were 
 totally forgotten. 
 
 ** We had better take these petticoats and caps to Mrs. 
 Green, Ma'am," said Rachel ; " the children will want 
 work, and it is a good thing to supply them with employ- 
 ment." 
 
 "No, no, Rachel," said Margarita, "we will not send 
 them at present, 1 have my reasons for it : we will do 
 this work ourselves, and then nobody will hear of it but 
 those who may be the better for it." . 
 
 Rachel had been accustomed to acquiesce in all her 
 mistress's arrangements, and possessed not a little of her 
 mistress's active and benevolent spirit. She accordingly 
 set to work, and Margarita with her, and with so much 
 spirit, that the young lady had just completed a blue linsey 
 woolsey petticoat, and was displaying it in its full length 
 and amplitude, admiring not a little her own exploits, and 
 thinking how comfortable it would make some old woman 
 when frost and snow should take place of the balmy gales 
 which now saluted her from the open window — when she 
 was warned by the dressing-bell that other business 
 awaited her. She hastily threw down the petticoat, say- 
 ing, '* O ! what shall I do to get the blue dye off my hands 
 and face; fly, fly to Mrs. Hill, Rachel, for a lemon : do 
 not let me be mistaken for Blue Beard." 
 
 The lemon was produced, and every thing set to rights, 
 yet not so speedily, but that the company were all assem- 
 bled in the drawing-room before she was flt to make her 
 appearance. As it was very hot, the drawing-room door 
 as well as the window s were open ; and Margarita coming 
 in quietly, set herself down on the first chair, not imme- 
 diately perceiving (for there were several visitors in the 
 room) that Augustus and Dorothea were seated close to 
 her on a sofa, whose high back and sides had in part 
 concealed them from her. However, as she was seated, 
 she did not think it right to move, and thus could not 
 help hearing part of their conversation. 
 
 *• I was much gratified this morning," said Augustus;
 
 THE LADY OF THE MANOR. 227 
 
 " but you must have taken considerable pains for the 
 introduction of so much neatness and order in a seminary 
 of that kind ; the work of a superior hand to that of the 
 old dame's is evident throughout." 
 
 Dorothea was leaning back on the sofa, and looking 
 down at the fan with which she was playing, *• Certainly," 
 she said, ** some pains have been taken ; but Dame Green 
 is a good old woman, and very manageable." 
 
 "Well," said Augustus, *' I wish I had some one in 
 Ireland who could manage some of the old dames there 
 as well as you have managed Dame Green. But I fear 
 that I shall tire you with this subject : the melioration of 
 the state of the Irish poor is at present my hobby-horse. 
 I had a tutor, a very worthy man, who never w alked out 
 with me but he amused me with his schemes of this kind. 
 My mother says, he was assuredly a little deranged : cer- 
 tainly he had a very glowing imagination, and his conver- 
 sation has left no slight impression on my mind." 
 
 "He must have been a dear amiable creature," said 
 Dorothea, '* with all his eccentricities. How long has 
 he left you ? " 
 
 "He was removed from me by death," said Augustus, 
 " a very few years past ; and the loss, I assure you, was 
 a painful one to me." 
 
 The call to dinner now terminated this conversation, 
 and the evening concluded with a walk: during which. 
 Lady Harriet, who accompanied the party, very obligingly 
 took Margarita's arm. Lady Harriet had intended to have 
 given a ball during the residence of her nephew and sister 
 at Mowbray-hall ; but was diverted from her purpose by 
 not being quite sure whether an amusement of this kind 
 would suit Augustus's taste. She therefore altered her 
 plan, and substituted, in the place of the ball, occasional 
 visits to the seats of the neic;hbouring gentry which were 
 best worth seeing, and a kind of gala for the poor in the 
 park, where prizes were to be given for spinning, &c. Sec. 
 The prizes were to be distributed by Dorothea, who, 
 elegantly dressed on the occasion, and smiling sweetly 
 and affably, won every ones admiration by the grace with 
 which she performed her part. In these kind of amuse- 
 ments several weeks passed aw ay, in which Dorothea had 
 certainly contrived to remove the reserve which her cousin 
 had first discovered : but neither the young lady nor her
 
 228 THE LADY OF THE MANOR. 
 
 mother could find out whether she had made any real 
 advances in his good graces. Dorothea however had 
 discovered that this man, whom she had at first called a 
 fool, was a person of deep penetration ; one who thought 
 much, and was so manly and upright in his own conduct, 
 as scarcely to appear sensible that there could be such 
 a thing as art and finesse in others, particularly among 
 well educated and respectable people. 
 
 In the mean time the gallant captain made his way in 
 the favour of Lady Harriet, who found him very useful on 
 occasion of any party of pleasure, in taking care of Mar- 
 garita, and thus keeping her out of the way of her cousin. 
 Accordingly, whenever they walked out, or engaged in 
 any party of pleasure, things were so arranged, that Cap- 
 tain Freeman was to be thrown with Margarita. " Captain 
 Freeman," Lady Harriet would say, "you will drive my 
 niece in my phaeton : " or, *' You will stay for Margarita, 
 for that giddy girl Dorothea is gone off and left her. 
 Margarita, my dear, you are tired: Captain Freeman, do 
 give her your arm ; what can make so polite a man as 
 you are, so backward?" 
 
 Captain Freeman had no manner of objection to walk- 
 ing with Margarita, though he was not altogether pleased 
 at being put off with the niece, in order that the young 
 heir might enjoy the daughter's company. Without he- 
 sitation, however, he acquiesced very politely, being upon 
 the whole satisfied that he had not Lady Anna Maria 
 leaning upon his arm on every occasion. 
 
 " I wish," said Margarita one day to her aunt, "that 
 I could avoid being so much with Captain Freeman ; I 
 don't know what to say to him ; he will think me very 
 tiresome, I fear." 
 
 "My dear," said Lady Harriet, "Captain Freeman is 
 a visitor at Mowbray-hall, and a stranger; it is necessary 
 to treat him with politeness." 
 
 "But perhaps he may think it odd if I am always left 
 with him," said the young lady. 
 
 " Permit me to judge of what is right and proper, 
 niece," said Lady Harriet, somewhat offended: "I cer- 
 tainly may be supposed to be as good a judge of these 
 matters as a girl of seventeen." 
 
 Thus Margarita gained nothing by her expostulation ; 
 and, in consequence, as she could not get rid of this awk-
 
 THE LADY OF THE MANOR. 229 
 
 ward ttte a tele, she confined herself as much as possible 
 to her own apartment whenever the family went abroad. 
 
 The family from Ireland had been about three weeks at 
 Mow bray-hall, w hen Margarita one morning stole through 
 the most retired parts of the shrubbery, to the cottage of 
 Martha Lawley, in order to speak to her upon some of 
 those affairs w hich so greatly occupied her. Having been 
 in the cottage for some time, her eye suddenly fell upon a 
 gentleman's glove which was lying on a table. — ** Whose 
 glove is that?" she said, in alarm: *' if any gentlemen 
 come here, I must haste away." 
 
 *' Mr. Claverton has been here several times," returned 
 Martha ; " and he called yesterday, and left his glove be- 
 hind him : I thought to have taken it this morning to the 
 hall." 
 
 ** You had better leave it where it is, Martha," said 
 Margarita. And she was going to ask what business he 
 could have there ; but recollecting herself, she put no 
 further questions, although she saw, by the old woman's 
 face, that she was very ready to answer any she might 
 choose to ask. Lady Susan had very strenuously pressed 
 this caution upon Margarita, to beware of talking with 
 the poor except upon their own business, or on religious 
 subjects ; never allowing them to communicate news or 
 repeat tales. Martha was fully aware of Miss Margarita's 
 delicacy in this particular ; and therefore she dared not 
 to repeat what she wished to tell, though it cost her not 
 a little to be silent. 
 
 Margarita having finished her business, hastened home, 
 takmg a circuitous course, in order that she might not 
 meet any one coming to the cottage, and determining to 
 return there no more till the Irish family were gone. 
 But the very means which she took to avoid meeting 
 any one, proved to be the occasion of her falling into the 
 company she sought to shun ; for entering into a retired 
 and embowered walk of the shrubbery, she suddenly saw 
 before her Augustus Claverton talking with Edmund. 
 At sight of them she rather started, and would have re- 
 turned ; but perceiving that they observed her, she 
 thought it best to proceed : so as she advanced, Edmund 
 bowed low and withdrew, while Augustus came forward 
 to meet her. — •' My dear little cousin," he said, with un- 
 usual animation, *' how delighted I am to see you alone; 
 
 VOL. I. X
 
 230 THE LADY OF THE MANOR. 
 
 this is an unexpected pleasure, and such a one as I have 
 long waited for." 
 
 " Long waited for ! " repeated Margarita, smiling. 
 " Ah ! Augustus, how difficult it is even for relations to 
 speak to each other v;ith simplicity ! " 
 
 *' Margarita," said the young man, with warmth, **I 
 don't deserve this reproof: I have for some time past 
 ardently desired to increase my acquaintance with you, 
 whom I have a right to love as a relation, and whom I 
 ought to love as a Christian ; for indeed, Margarita, your 
 unaffected modesty, your unassuming benevolence, and 
 your patient resignation to the will of your relations, are 
 all well' known to me, and will never cease to excite my 
 admiration." 
 
 Margarita was dumb with astonishment ; and while she 
 remained silent, Augustus proceeded to add more to what 
 he had already uttered, using the same strain of high 
 encomium, which it is not necessary here to repeat. And 
 will my reader be surprised to hear that, instead of mak- 
 ing any reply, the young lady, being overcome with 
 astonishment to find herself the subject of so much 
 commendation where she believed herself to be wholly 
 disregarded and overlooked, burst into a gentle flood of 
 tears 1 
 
 "My dear cousin," said Augustus, on seeing this, 
 " what have I done ? what have I said ? have I in any 
 way afflicted you ? " 
 
 "No, Sir," said Margarita: "but I do not think ray- 
 self worthy of your high opinion ; and I do not like to 
 appropriate to myself these encomiums." 
 
 " Do not, then, my lovely cousin," returned Augustus : 
 "but still retain your modesty, the sweetest ornament 
 of the female sex. I beg your pardon for having said 
 so much, but you took me by surprise : only, my dear 
 cousin, let me entreat you to give us more of your com- 
 pany ; have I not the same title to enjoy it as that of 
 Dorothea? But you always are so reserved, so back- 
 ward ; and thus you give Captain Freeman the oppor- 
 tunity of constant access to you. Do not, Margarita, 
 allow too great an intimacy there; that man has no 
 heart." 
 
 " Sir," said Margarita, "it is not my wish ; it is my 
 aunt's." She hesitated ; for she knew not what more to
 
 THE LADY OF THE MANOR. 231 
 
 add : and indeed she feared that she had said too much 
 already. 
 
 *' I understand, I fully comprehend this manceuvre," 
 said Augustus, indignantly : " but it shall not be so 
 again; unless," added he, " you desire it, Margarita." 
 
 ** O ! Augustus," said Margarita, reproachfully, " how 
 can you think that possible?" 
 
 They were now arrived at a place where the narrow 
 path entered into the more public part of the shrubbery. 
 *' Stop one moment, dear cousin," said Augustus, *' I 
 hear voices; and I have much to say to you." 
 
 Before she could reply, the voices approached, and 
 Dorothea appeared in view, followed by her mother. — 
 ** Augustus! I declare," she said, "and Margarita! 
 Upon my word this is very tine, very picturesque, quite 
 pathetic." 
 
 "Hush, hush," said Lady Harriet; *'be tranquil." 
 So saving, she stepped forward, and with her usual ease 
 asked Margarita where she had been. — *' I was looking 
 for you half an hour ago in your own room, my dear 
 girl," she said, " to solicit your assistance in a little case 
 of distress which has been just brought before me." 
 
 Margarita was relieved by this seeming kindness, and 
 simply told her aunt where she had been, and how she 
 had met her cousin on her return. 
 
 •' Come, my dear girl," said Lady Harriet, " now give 
 me your arm, and 1 will tell you my distressed case." 
 So sayincr, she stepped forward with her niece, leaving 
 her daughter and Augustus together, not doubting but 
 that Dorothea would have self-command not to display 
 her feelings in an improper way before him. Nor had this 
 artful mother miscalculated her daughter's powers : for 
 during her walk home Dorothea v/as all gaiety as usual, 
 though Augustus was evidently thoughtful and seconded 
 her but feebly. As soon however as they arrived at the 
 house, Dorothea sought a private interview with her 
 mother; during which she gave way to the highest ex- 
 pression of her jealous indignation, charging Margarita 
 with the deepest dissimulation. I shall not trouble my 
 reader with a very particular account of the conversation 
 between this ambitious mother and daughter, but i^hall 
 simply say, that it was resolved by both that Margarita 
 should be closely watched, and that Dorothea should
 
 232 THE LADY OF THE MANOR. 
 
 make no change in her conduct towards either of her 
 cousins. 
 
 After this adventure of the garden, Margarita very care- 
 fully avoided walking out by herself; and things went on 
 much in the same way as they had done before, till a 
 party was proposed to visit a neighbouring gentleman's 
 seat. This party was spoken of at breakfast, and the 
 arrangements made afterwards. — "Your cousin Augus- 
 tus," said Lady Harriet, " will drive you, Dorothea, in 
 his phaeton ; Captain Freeman will take care of Margarita 
 in our open carriage ; and Lady Anna Maria and I will 
 take our places in my carriage." 
 
 The captain bowed ; Margarita blushed and looked 
 down ; and Dorothea said, "If my cousin Augustus will 
 be kind enough not to drive so very fast down hill, which 
 terrifies me to death, I shall be very happy to accompany 
 him." 
 
 While these arrangements were in agitation, Mr. Cla- 
 verton appeared to be so deeply engaged with a book that 
 he did not seem to hear a word of what was passing, till 
 his mother called to him, and asked if he were totally deaf. 
 
 Augustus looked up, and seeming attentive, Dorothea 
 repeated what she had said before. " I think," 3aid he, 
 " you had better try the captain's driving, Dorothea, if 
 you are so alarmed." 
 
 "Well, then, it. shall be so," said Lady Harriet; "and, 
 instead of my daughter, you shall take me, Augustus ; for 
 I love an open carriage." There was not a word to be 
 said about this arrangement; and the ill-assorted parties 
 set out ail equally dissatisfied with each other. 
 
 On arriving at the appointed place^ Lady Harriet had 
 prepared a manoeuvre for fastening her daughter on her 
 nephew, trud succeeded in her plan : but the consequence 
 was, that Augustus was gloomy and silent, Dorothea of- 
 fended, and the whole party thrown into confusion. At 
 length, seeing that he was determinately silent and ill- 
 humoured, Dorothea said to him, "I cannot think, cousin, 
 what is the matter with you: have I offended you?" 
 
 ^* I am not pleased," said Augustus, "I will confess. 
 Why do you continually abandon Margarita to the care 
 of a man with w hom you have only a very slight acquain- 
 tance? Why do you not give her more of your counte- 
 nance and support?"
 
 THE LADY OF THE MANOR. 233 
 
 " You have spoken out at last," said Dorothea, highly 
 offended : " this shall never happen again ; nor would it 
 have happened now, had not Margarita herself acqui- 
 esced in and even wished this arrangement." 
 *' Impossible! " said Augustus. 
 
 "Possible or impossible," returned Dorothea, **it 
 is nevertheless perfectly true ; and you are at liberty 
 to question my mother upon the subject: but be it as 
 it may, I will leave you henceforward to take care of 
 her yourself." So saying, she withdrew her hand and 
 fell back, while he remained in a state of the utmost 
 perplexity. 
 
 The party were now arrived at a root-house, where a 
 cold collation was prepared ; and here they all sat down 
 in a state of such ill-humour, that, had it not been for 
 the talents of the gallant captain, things would have 
 passed otf very heavily. However, the captain having 
 exerted himself to some purpose, they prepared to walk 
 again with tolerable complacency, though assorted in a 
 manner very diflferent from that in which they had begun 
 their walk ; Lady Harriet having been instructed by her 
 daughter to accompany Augustus, while Margarita was 
 left with Lady Anna Maria. 
 
 When Augustus was alone with his aunt, he told her 
 what had passed between him and Dorothea, and asked 
 her if it were possible that Margarita should covet Captain 
 Freeman's society. 
 
 *• I can make no reply to this question," said Lady Har- 
 riet ; "judge for yourself: and observe," added this lady, 
 " I would not injure my niece in your opinion for the 
 world." 
 
 After this distressing tour, the party returned all 
 dissatisfied with one another: and this kind of dissatis- 
 faction continued several davs ; during which time, every 
 one appeared to be at cross purposes, no one fully under- 
 standing the secret motives by which the conduct of the 
 rest was influenced. Augustus svas cold, silent, and 
 reserved; keenly observing all that passed. Dorothea 
 was impenetrable, but affecting unconcern. Margarifa 
 kept much to herself, and was very busy with her woollen 
 petticoats, endeavouring not to think of any thing else. 
 Lady Anna Maria in the whole scene saw nothing re- 
 markable, and, as usual, felt for no one but herself; 
 X 3
 
 234 THE LADY OF THE MANOR. 
 
 while the captain, from some unaccountable change of 
 feelings, seemed only occupied by Margarita. 
 
 In this manner several days passed ; when suddenly 
 Augustus gave notice that he was about to return to Ire- 
 land on particular business: and the next morning he 
 took his departure with an abruptness which astonished 
 every one, and for which nobody could assign any pro- 
 bable reason. 
 
 W hen Margarita heard of his departure, after feeling 
 thankful that she had been so little with him and thought 
 so little of him, she returned with new energy to her 
 usual opcupations : but Dorothea betrayed a degree of 
 agitation, which she had so little power to conceal, as 
 compelled her mother to use very strong arguments in 
 order to reduce her to reason. — "He is an odd, a very 
 odd young man, Dorothea," she said; "he is not worth 
 a serious thought." 
 
 *' O ! " said Dorothea, " I am convinced that it is Mar- 
 garita who has done this mischief; and I know it is be- 
 cause he believed that she was attached to Captain Free- 
 man that he has left us in this strange way." 
 
 " And perhaps he will return in as strange a one by 
 and by," said Lady Harriet. " I only wish that Captain 
 Freeman would take Margarita out of the way, and then 
 every thing would be right again." 
 
 " But do you imagine that Captain Freeman seriously 
 thinks of her 1 " said Dorothea. 
 
 "I do," said Lady Harriet: *'I have put it into my 
 sister's head, and she has given the captain encourage- 
 ment." 
 
 "And yet," said Dorothea, " I do not imagine he has 
 any serious thoughts of her." 
 
 "Why not?" said Lady Harriet; "it would be a 
 great thing for him ; Margarita has twelve thousand 
 pounds." 
 
 " But she is such an oddity," said Dorothea ; — " such 
 a determined oddity." 
 
 " She is however a pleasing modest girl, to do her jus- 
 tice," said Lady Harriet. 
 
 *'I cannot see it," returned Dorothea; "and I am 
 sure Captain Freeman has no serious thoughts of her." 
 
 "I should be much offended," said Lady Harriet, "if 
 such a man as that did not think it an honour to be allied
 
 THE LADY OF THE MANOR. 235 
 
 to a grand aughter of the Earl of G , and a niece of 
 
 Lady Harriet Mowbray." 
 
 Dorothea put up her lip at this, but what she meant 
 thereby cannot be easily ascertained. 
 
 Now inasmuch as in the course of this narrative I have 
 been obliged to bring forward many characters with the 
 similitudes of which, I trust, you may never be acquaint- 
 ed ; and to retail many conversations of no profitable ten- 
 dency ; I shall hasten over as concisely as possible some 
 of the events which followed the departure of Augustus 
 Claverton from Mowbray-hall. — During a week all things 
 remained nearly as Augustus had left them : Margarita 
 being utterly unacquainted with her aunt's schemes re- 
 lative to Captain Freeman ; and Dorothea continually 
 evidencing a degree of dissatisfaction, which her mother 
 attributing to the departure of Augustiis, used every 
 means in her power to moderate ; often calling upon the 
 casptain to walk with her daughter, to play with her at 
 backgammon, and to amuse her in other ways. The 
 agitation of Dorothea did not diminish, and at the end 
 often days she and the gallant captain were one morning 
 missing ; when, by a letter found on the young lady's 
 dressing-table, Lady Harriet was apprized that she must 
 make up her mind to receive that man as her son-in-law, 
 whom she had never coveted in any other point of view 
 than as a nephew. To paint the rage and indignation of 
 Lady Harriet on this occasion is as unnecessary as it 
 would be difficult. She however made a determination, 
 when she understood that the thing was irrevocable, never 
 to see her daughter more ; never to acknowledge her son- 
 in-law ; and not to leave her daughter a shilling in her 
 will. 
 
 In the mean time, the unprincipled pair made their way 
 with all speed to Scotland, where they were married ; after 
 which, they returned to England, and arriving in the neigh- 
 bourhood of Mowbray-hall, Dorothea wrote a very hum- 
 ble letter to her mother, imploring her pardon. Lady 
 Harriet tore the letter in pieces, and again declared that 
 she henceforward renounced her daughter. A second 
 letter was then sent under cover to Margarita, requesting 
 her good offices ; on which occasion this excellent young 
 lady braved the utmost resentment of her aunt, who 
 charged her never more to mention Dorothea's name
 
 236 THE LADY OF THE MANOR. 
 
 before her. At the same time she g:ave her permission 
 to send Dorothea her books and clothes and whatever 
 else belonged to her. With these things INIargarita in- 
 closed five guineas of her own, being the only money she 
 could then command. Dorothea had fifteen thousand 
 pounds ; part of which had been left by her father, and 
 the rest bequeathed to her by other relations, of which 
 her mother could not deprive her : but not being yet of 
 age, she could not at present touch this money. Mar- 
 garita therefore supposed that she would be in immediate 
 distress, as Captain Freeman's income was very small ; 
 and this, circumstance she failed not to state to Lady 
 Harriet: but by so doing she inflamed the anger and re- 
 sentment of the mother to a still higher degree ; for the 
 very thought of her daughter having reduced herself to 
 such straits, hMrt the pride of Lady Harriet beyond all 
 conception. 
 
 When Dorothea found that nothing was at present to 
 be done with her mother, she accompanied her husband 
 to Ireland, where we will leave them for the present. 
 
 In the mean time, Celia returned to Mowbray-hall ; 
 and Lady Anna Maria left it, in order to pay a visit to 
 her brother the Earl of G — — . 
 
 Rather earlier in the season than usual this year. Lady 
 Harriet took her family to town ; with the double motive 
 of dispelling her grief, and making the world believe that 
 she was not in any degree humbled or cast down by the 
 unfortunate marriage of her daughter. But she had not 
 been long in town when she was seized with a violent 
 disorder, supposed to be the effect of mental uneasiness ; 
 by which she was brought into such a state of languor 
 as confined her to her room during the whole winter. At 
 this time, Margarita, finding that the presence of Fanny 
 had a consolatory effect on her mother, begged that she 
 might be kept at home, promising to take the charge of 
 her education. 
 
 The winter passed away in a melancholy manner in 
 London, and on the appearance of spring, Lady Harriet 
 returned to the country, leaving Celia with Mrs. Dash- 
 wood, who was now become one of the gayest ladies 
 about town. 
 
 Shortly after the family had fixed themselves again in 
 the country, a marriage of a much more promising nature
 
 THE LADY OF THE MANOR. 237 
 
 took place, \vith the sanction of all friends. This was 
 between Edmund and Rachel, who had been attached to 
 each other from childhood. Margarita established them 
 in the little tenement she possessed in Wales, which had 
 been bequeathed to her by Lady Susan; furnishing their 
 house from the money which she had saved during the 
 winter, and regretting that she could not herself go over 
 to see every thing arranged to her own taste. She was 
 only able at first, however, to supply the young couple 
 with bare necessaries : but she afterwards added the fur- 
 niture of two pretty rooms at one end of the tenement, in 
 which an old lady had formerly lodged, and where Mar- 
 garita used often to say she would herself reside when 
 she was grown old. 
 
 In this situation Edmund was to have the care of a 
 small farm appertaining to the house, and old Martha 
 Law ley was to live with them, for the purpose of assisting 
 them with her counsel, and helping Rachel in her family 
 cares. This happy little party shed many tears on taking 
 leave of their benefactress, when Edmund confessed that 
 he had known from the very first to whom he was in- 
 debted for the numerous favours he had received. Mar- 
 garita felt an inclination to excuse Edmund from paying 
 her any rent ; but Mrs. Hill advised her to receive the 
 rent duly from the young people : adding, *' If you choose. 
 Miss Margarita, you may lay the rent by for them till they 
 are old, or make them a present of it in some other form ; 
 but do not absolve them from paying it, since you would 
 thereby deprive them of one stimulus to industry : and 
 assuredly if they are not disposed to help themselves, 
 you can do nothing efl^ectually to serve them." 
 
 As this sentiment agreed entirely with the spirit of 
 Margarita's favourite book, she soon acquiesced in it. 
 And Rachel being now gone, she devoted her undivided 
 time to her aunt and Fanny; fully convinced that the 
 situation of the family atthis time demanded the exercise 
 of all those charitable feelings which had hitherto been 
 engaged only in the easier offices of alms-giving and in- 
 structing the poor. Since the loss of her health and the 
 destruction of her projects for Dorothea, Lady Harriet 
 had become highly irritable; and as she somehow or 
 other attributed her failure respecting Mr. Claverton en- 
 tirely to Margarita, notwithstanding all thekind attentions
 
 238 THE LADY OF THE MANOR. 
 
 of her niece, she always treated her with harshness, and 
 displayed in her presence all the ill-hurnour to which her 
 disappointed ambition made her subject. 
 
 Fanny, however, grew fond of her cousin, and clung 
 closely to her ; and the happiest hours which Margarita 
 experienced, were those which she spent alone with this 
 little girl, who was rather small and childish of her age — 
 a circumstance which rendered her more fit to be the 
 pupil of so young an instructress. 
 
 During this winter, Robert Mowbray returned from a- 
 broad. He was then one-and-twenty ; at which time he 
 was to enter into possession of his estates, and Lady Har- 
 riet was to give up Mowbray-hall. On her son's arrival, 
 he made her a slight offer of retaining the place as long 
 as she pleased : but Lady Harriet had too high a spirit 
 to lay herself under obligations to her son. She accord- 
 ingly took a house in town ; and within six weeks of her 
 son's being of age, she took her final leave of the country : 
 leaving the young man to pull down and destroy at his 
 pleasure, what might make it necessary to marry an heiress 
 in order to assist him in rebuilding and restoring at some 
 future period. 
 
 Lady Harriet having no longer a permanent dwelling in 
 the country, established herself in a handsome house in 
 Grosvenor Square, and was flattering herself with the 
 prospect of enjoying life there for many years, when she 
 was seized with some inward disease of an exceedingly 
 painful nature ; by which she might have been admonished 
 of the vanity of this world, and the need of making pre- 
 paration for a better. But inasmuch as afflictions were 
 not sanctified to her, she clung more closely than ever 
 to the world, notwithstanding her bodily anguish, and was 
 more and more occupied with anxious thoughts concerning 
 the present well-doing of her children. This was the sub- 
 ject on which she meditated through her long and sleep- 
 less nights, and that with which she entertained all who 
 came to see her : for, as is very commonly the case with 
 persons who are not pious as age advances and infirmities 
 press, she had become extremely anxious about money, 
 and was continually pressing economy in general upon 
 her children; not considering that this would have been 
 needless, had she early instructed them in The Economy 
 of Charity. For this study, as I have elsewhere intimated.
 
 THE LADY OF THE MANOR. 239 
 
 includes self-denial, accurate management, and a correct 
 estimate of the value of money. Lady Harriet's children 
 had however never known the value of money; and the 
 consequence was, that Robert Mowbray and Mrs. Dash- 
 wood were now lavishing it without the least reflection, 
 while Celia was over head and ears in debt with every 
 tradesman of the family who dealt in any article with 
 which she could possibly have any concern. There were 
 not wanting those who carried the report of these extra- 
 vagances to poor Lady Harriet, now extended on the bed 
 of anguish : and thus these meddling persons added fuel 
 to the flame which was consuming this unhappy creature. 
 
 While things were in this state, it was reported to Lady- 
 Harriet that Mrs. Freeman was in town, having arrived 
 with her husband from Ireland. 
 
 Lady Harriet shuddered when she heard this infor- 
 mation, and said to Margarita, " I charge you not to 
 bring her here, nor to attempt any thing in her favour. 
 I never will forgive her. To her I attribute my present 
 indisposition, with all the sufferings to which it exposes 
 me." 
 
 '*Nay, Madam," said Margarita, " these are the lot of 
 all — the common infirmities of our nature : do not lay 
 them to her charge. Her distress, I am sure, is suffi- 
 cient, in being under your displeasure." 
 
 •' Not another word," said Lady Harriet. *' I never 
 can forgive her." 
 
 Captain and Mrs. Freeman had been in Dublin for 
 more than a year, where the captain had assisted himself 
 by gambling; but having at length, by certain unaccount- 
 able successes, rendered his character suspected, he had 
 come to London resolving to prop up his ruined credit a 
 little longer by the credit and eclat of his wife's relations. 
 Dorothea had made no objection to this arrangement, 
 because she was anxious to be received again in her own 
 family. 
 
 As it was well known that Mrs. Freeman would have 
 a handsome property when she came of age, Captain 
 Freeman found no difliculty in raising a considerable 
 sum from the money-lenders, upon the credit of this pro- 
 perty ; and with this sum in hand he hired a handsome 
 house, collected a large establishment, and having pro- 
 vided himself with all the paraphernalia of a man of fa-
 
 240 THE LADY OF THE MANOR. 
 
 shion, endeavoured to introduce himself to Mr. Dashwood 
 and Robert Mowbray. Mr. Dashwood however had 
 been told that his wife might be a loser if she disobeyed 
 her mother's injunctions not to notice her sister. He 
 therefore looked very coolly upon the captain ; and Robert 
 Mowbray treated him with the most open contempt. 
 Having- failed in these quarters. Captain Freeman tried 
 others of his wife's connexions; but had no reason to 
 boast of his success with any. Seeing this to be the 
 case, he altered his conduct, affected independence, and 
 again getting admittance into gambling houses, grew fa- 
 miliar with that kind of company which is to be found 
 in such' places. 
 
 Dorothea was at first hurt by the entire neglect of her 
 sisters, and the coldness of her other relations : but after 
 a while, her grief turning into indignation, she resolved 
 to appear in public, to put on as much gaiety as ever, 
 and to let her connexions see that she was as indifferent 
 to them as they were to her. She accordingly procured 
 new dresses at the houses of her mother's tradespeople, 
 where she had credit on account of her family ; was seen 
 constantly in public ; and if she happened to meet her 
 brother and sister, would treat them with the same cold 
 independence which they used towards her. 
 
 For a w hile all passed on smoothly : money came in 
 for immediate use, and although bills accumulated, yet, 
 as the hour of payment was not arrived, Dorothea by no 
 means troubled herself as to their number or their extent. 
 She had always been in the habit of saying, that she 
 hated economy as a very vulgar thing: she had never 
 felt the want of money, and imagined that she never 
 should. All this answered very well, while fortune fa- 
 voured Captain Freeman at the gambling table : but after 
 a while, this lady, who is so proverbially tickle that she 
 ought never to be trusted with the concerns of a wise 
 man, changing her countenance, he suffered several very 
 severe losses: nevertheless, as he had not yet exhausted 
 his credit with the usurers, he was enabled to raise other 
 sums, with which he tried his fortune again, with various 
 success. 
 
 In the mean time, the happiness of the married cou- 
 ple, which had never been great, gradually decreased. 
 Captain Freeman became gloomy and morose at home,
 
 THE LADY OF THE MANOR, 241 
 
 and Dorothea not being backward to notice this change 
 of temper, mutual reproaches ensued, which commonly 
 ended in tears and hysterics on the part of the lady, and 
 not seldom in oaths and curses on the part of the gen- 
 tleman. Dorothea had one little infant, a very lovely 
 boy, who was born a little while previous to their remo- 
 val from Dublin. It would not be just to say that she 
 had no natural affection for this child — on the contrary, 
 she had many paroxysms (if I may be allowed to use the 
 expression) of motherly tenderness. But like all other 
 paroxysms they were irregular and various, and never 
 sufficiently protracted to enable her to make the sacrifice 
 even of what she considered the smallest gratification. 
 
 During one of the disputes which occasionally arose 
 between this unhappy pair, the following conversation 
 took place. — " I certainly," said Captain Freeman, " ex- 
 pected to find ease and comfort in my connexion with a 
 young lady of your family and fortune: and, as I stated 
 to you immediately after our marriage, we might have 
 lived in some comfort, with economy, till your friends 
 were reconciled ; but economy and retirement were 
 things which you protested against, while your expences 
 both in Dublin and in this place have rendered it neces- 
 sary for me to obtain assistance in a way which is both 
 dangerous and precarious." 
 
 In reply to this, Dorothea answered that she had been 
 deceived ; that she had been taught to think her hus- 
 band's income much greater than it was; and pointed 
 out, too plainly to be mistaken, that he himself had led 
 the way to this deception when at Mowbray-hail. 
 
 •* You then thought me a rich man," said Captain 
 Freeman, *' and married me on that account?" 
 
 ** I was infatuated at that time," returned Dorothea, 
 bursting into tears. 
 
 *' Infatuated when you married me ! " returned the cap- 
 tain ; "and this from you? But permit me. Madam, 
 now we are in the humour to speak truth, which humour 
 however I wish to heaven had taken us a little sooner; 
 permit me to say, that I have gained as little by marry- 
 ing you as you have o:ained by me ; all I can boast of is, 
 that I have become the scorn and jest of all your great 
 relations — this is the utmost I have to boast from the 
 connexion." 
 
 Y
 
 242 THE LADY OF THE MANOR. 
 
 ** My fortune, at any rate," returned Dorothea, " is 
 handsome : more than you were entitled to expect." 
 
 ** Yes, Madam," replied the Captain : " your fortune 
 would be something, if you did not by your extravagan- 
 ces compel me to take it up at great disadvantage before 
 it is due." 
 
 ** Not my extravagances," said Dorothea: " I do not 
 owe many hundreds." 
 
 " May be not," said the captain, " if you speak only 
 of your private debts. But on whose account have I 
 taken this large house? and for whom do I entertain 
 this large establishment?" 
 
 •* If the whole of my property is to go before I am of 
 age," said Dorothea, *' it must be owing to your gam- 
 bling it away : and I am sure that my trustees will not 
 deliver it up when I am of age for such purposes." 
 
 '* Remember, Madam," said the captain, with a sneer, 
 ** that I am your husband ; that what is yours is mine; 
 and that there were no settlements drawn before our mar- 
 riage, to biud your property from me. When you are of 
 age, I have a right to claim your property, and I will 
 assuredly do so." 
 
 "Then it appears," said Dorothea, weeping violently, 
 " that I must be a beggar." 
 
 The captain made some very insolent answer, and, 
 taking up his hat, walked out of the room. 
 
 It may be readily conjectured, that after such a con- 
 versation as I have related, a separation between this 
 unhappy pair was almost unavoidable: but Captain 
 Freeman had reasons of his own for keeping up appear- 
 ances with his wife, at least till she should come of age. 
 And as this period was not very far distant, he contrived 
 so to manage matters, that this unprincipled pair con- 
 tinued to live together as before, at least another year. 
 In the mean time, Lady Harriet continued to linger on 
 the bed of pain, while Robert Mowbray and the Dash- 
 wood family proceeded in their extravagant course, daily 
 spending their money in the most lavish and tonish style. 
 During this period, Celia was married to the younger son 
 of a noble family, whom she accompanied to Italy ; while 
 Fanny and Margarita remained in the house in Grosvenor 
 Square, living in much retirement — little Fanny growing 
 in grace, through the divine blessing, under the gentle
 
 THE LADY OF THE MANOR. 243 
 
 tutorage of her young teacher; and Margarita herself 
 continually improving by the steadiness of her own ef- 
 forts to improve her little pupil, according to that which 
 is written, They that water shall ht watered. 
 
 At length the season arrived when Dorothea became of 
 age: at which time she received her property into her 
 own possession, that is to say, at the mercy of her hus- 
 band ; for her fortune having been left entirely at her own 
 command, there was no method of withholding it from 
 him, or of appropriating it exclusively to her own use, 
 especially as she was imprudent enough to thwart every 
 means which her relations took for that purpose. 
 
 About this time, Margarita, who had clever seen Doro- 
 thea since her arrival in town, met her as she was coming 
 out of St. James's Church, where she had appeared in 
 her own carriage, and dressed in the highest style. Mar- 
 garita hastened to salute her, saying, ** Dear Dorothea, 
 what a pleasure is this ! how have I longed to see you !" 
 Dorothea received her salutation with cordiality, and 
 would w illingly have persuaded her cousin^ to get into the 
 carriage and accompany her home; which Margarita 
 declined. She however consented to go with her to the 
 house of a tradesman of Lady Harriet's in Piccadilly, 
 where being shewn into a parlour, Dorothea enquired after 
 her relations, expressed a great wish to see her mother, 
 and engaged her cousin to plead her cause anew; which 
 Margarita readily promised, and as faithfully performed. 
 But before they parted, Margarita ventured to press upon 
 her cousin the necessity of prudence and economy; re- 
 minding her how soon fifteen thousand pounds would be 
 gone at their expensive rate of living, and begging her 
 not to squander away her property in an inconsiderate 
 manner. 
 
 In reply to this, Dorothea laughed, and said, " I see 
 my little Margarita is the same prudent creature she ever 
 was; but don't fear, my good cousin, we will take care 
 of ourselves." And thus the interview closed ; Dorothea 
 having thanked the tradesman for the use of his parlour, 
 and getting into her carriage with all the levity of a girl 
 of fifteen. 
 
 It was not many months after this, that Robert Mow- 
 bray received a letter from Dorothea, requesting the loan 
 of one hundred pounds, till Captain Freeman should re-
 
 244 THE LADY OF THE MANOR. 
 
 ceive certain remittances from Ireland, of which he had 
 been disappointed. Robert Mowbray was breakfasting^ 
 with Margarita and Fanny, in Grosvenor Square, when 
 he received the letter; and after reading it, he burst out 
 in a loud laugh; "Faith!" he said; "this is good. 
 Remittances from Ireland! I would not lend sixpence 
 on all the estates possessed by the whole family of the 
 Freemans in that land of potatoes." 
 
 "But, perhaps," said Margarita, "you may be indu- 
 ced, by the regard you have for your sister, to give the 
 sum required." 
 
 " What to be fooled away at the gambling table? No, 
 no, Dorothea shall have no money of mine for such pur- 
 poses," said Robert. 
 
 " But though Dorothea is careless and extravagant, she 
 never gambles," said Margarita. 
 
 " Does she not ! " returned Robert, laughing ; " where 
 have you been, my little cousin, this last six months?" 
 
 "You shock me, Robert," replied Margarita: "can 
 this be true ?" 
 
 " True as I am alive," said Robert. " It was but last 
 week, that I heard of her winning and losing, at some old 
 dowager's pharo-table, above half of what she now asks 
 me for." 
 
 "Then I have no more to say," said Margarita, weep- 
 ing. "O Dorothea! Dorothea!" 
 
 " Come, come, don't shed tears for her, my good girl," 
 said Robert, somewhat softened ; " she is not worthy of 
 such kindness. But you see, my fair cousin, you cannot 
 but see, that one might as well throw one's money to the 
 dogs as give it to her." 
 
 The young man then calling for pen, ink, and paper, 
 penned in a great hurry a very polite note, saying, that 
 he was himself just now so terribly out at elbows, that he 
 could not command a hundred pounds if his life depended 
 upon it. And having finished his epistle, he threw it 
 across the table to Margarita. 
 
 " You have found the best excuse in the world for not 
 lending money," said Margarita, when she had read the 
 note, "if it were but true." 
 
 "Why, Margarita," said Robert, laughing, "this is 
 more than the lie insinuated, which every gentleman is 
 bound to bear from a lady — you have actually given me
 
 THE LADY OF THE MANOR. 245 
 
 the lie direct ; and you may reasonably suppose that I 
 am wishing that you were a man at this moment, that 1 
 might strike you through the heart with this knife." The 
 young man then closed the letter, and sent it off, 
 
 Margarita sighed as the footman carried it out of the 
 room, and said, " Dear Robert, don't mention this affair 
 to your mother." 
 
 " O, you can call me dear, now," he replied, " when 
 you have a favour to ask : it was not dear Robert a few 
 minutes ago. But, my gentle cousin," he added, *' as you 
 never ask favours for yourself, my heart would be harder 
 than a stone if I did not grant you what you now request." 
 
 Margarita's care to conceal the guilty imprudences of 
 Dorothea in some degree from Lady Harriet was however 
 fruitless ; for Mrs. Dash wood having received the counter- 
 part of her brother's letter, lost no time to impart its con- 
 tents to her mother, thus hardening that unfortunate pa- 
 rent more and more against her guilty daughter. 
 
 It was not many days after this, that Margarita receiv- 
 ed a request from Dorothea for the loan of a small sura. 
 " I shall be able to repay you," she said in her letter, 
 "within ten days; and should not think of asking you 
 now, but on the ground of a very pressing necessity." 
 
 It happened that Margarita had but little money by her 
 at the time, having lately sent a remittance to some of her 
 old pensioners in the country, and also completed the 
 furniture of the two rooms at her cottage in Wales. She 
 however sent all she had, which was fifteen pounds, to 
 which Fanny begged to add two more from her little 
 stock. 
 
 From that time for several days Margarita heard no 
 more of her unfortunate cousin ; till one morning Mrs. 
 Hill came weeping into her room, saying, '*Ah, Miss 
 Margarita, I am told that there is an execution in Captain 
 Freeman's house : and I am sorry to add, that this shock- 
 ing affair has been reported to my lady." 
 
 "By whom^' said Margarita. 
 
 " By Mrs. Evans," said Mrs. Hill ; " Lady Harriet's 
 own maid." 
 
 "What," said Margarita, "can be her motive?" 
 
 " To serve those," returned Mrs. Hill, " who would be 
 glad to have poor Mrs. Freeman left out of my lady's 
 will." 
 
 Y 3
 
 246 THE LADY OF THE MANOR. 
 
 ** Who are they who can be so base and so self- 
 interested?" asked Margarita. 
 
 ** They are those," said Mrs. Hill, " who by their extra- 
 vagances have made a few thousands, more or less, of mOre 
 consequence to them than their integrity. O ! Miss Mar- 
 garita, you knew not what a favour dear Lady Susan was 
 conferring upon you, when she taught you the need of 
 attention to money affairs : for they only who understand 
 and practise economy, know how to be generous in thought 
 and deed. The extravagant and self-indulgent are always 
 mean, inasmuch as they have a thousand craving wants 
 and imperious necessities ever pressing upon them." 
 
 ** But poor Dorothea,'' said Margarita ; *' what shall I 
 do for her?" 
 
 ** Do this, my dear young lady," said the respectable 
 and prudent Mrs. Hill ; " leave her to suffer at present 
 a few of the consequences of her own imprudence: but 
 endeavour to engage her mother to settle something upon 
 her, which may preserve her and her child from want 
 hereafter. My poor lady cannot live long. Independent 
 of the fatal disease which preys upon her, these dreadful 
 calamities in her family would probably soon put an end 
 to her life. Watch your opportunity, and plead with 
 her in behalf of her afflicted child." 
 
 This conversation was interrupted by Mrs. Evans, who 
 came to call Margarita to her aunt. At the sight of Mrs. 
 Hill in the young lady's room, she changed colour, but 
 did not make any remark. 
 
 Margarita found Lady Harriet bolstered up in her bed, 
 her face highly flushed, and her eyes sparkling with indig- 
 nation. She instantly entered upon. the subject which 
 pressed most upon her heart ; and after several vehement 
 expressions of displeasure against Dorothea and her 
 husband, "Margarita," she said, "I charge you, as you 
 value my future favour, to join with the rest of the 
 family, in renouncing and disowning that miserable young 
 woman." 
 
 Margarita did not speak. 
 
 " You don't speak, you don't answer me," said Lady 
 Harriet: **I am then to understand that you do not choose 
 to obey me. Do as you like. Please yourself. But ob- 
 serve this, your name shall be blotted from the testament 
 I leave behind me."
 
 THE LADY OF THE MANOR. 247 
 
 *' Dear aunt, assure yourself," returned Margarita, 
 ** that I will never encourage her in what is amiss." 
 
 " You prevaricate," said Lady Harriet : *' you refuse 
 to obey. Well, be it so. Evans, you will order my no- 
 tary to be sent for, I have not long to live : my children 
 have broken my heart, and they may soon rejoice over 
 my grave." 
 
 ** Nay, ray lady, nay," said Mrs. Evans. 
 
 ** Dear, dear aunt," said Margarita. 
 
 *' No more! no more!" returned Lady Harriet, wa- 
 ving her hand : *' retire, Margarita. I have nourished a 
 serpent in my bosom. I see, I plainly see that you would 
 not now uphold that undutiful daughter, were you not 
 conscious that she owes much of her present misery to 
 yourself." 
 
 ** To me. Madam ! " said Margarita. 
 
 " Go, go, leave me," said Lady Harriet, waving her 
 hand again. " Evans, bring me my drops ; I am faint- 
 ing ; this is too much." And while she uttered these 
 last words the colour forsook her cheeks, and she be- 
 came insensible. 
 
 Margarita stayed with her aunt till she recovered her 
 recollection, and then withdrew in a state of the utmost 
 depression of spirits. She remained in her own room 
 nearly the whole of the day; and Fanny continued with 
 her, endeavouring to console her. Margarita sent 
 Fanny, from time to time, to enquire after the health 
 of Lady Harriet. Fanny brought back word at one 
 time, that Lady Harriet had fainted again, and that 
 the physician had been sent for ; and at another time, 
 that Mrs. Dashwood was with her. and that she was 
 supposed to be considerably worse than the day be- 
 fore. 
 
 It was the month of November, and a deep fog, which 
 the rays of the lamps were unable to disperse, hung hea- 
 vily on the magnificent square in which the family resi- 
 ded. About eiffht o'clock in the evening a note was 
 brought to Margarita. She opened it in haste : it was 
 from Dorothea, and contained the following words — 
 ** Come to me, my only friend, my own Margarita ; 1 am 
 
 ruined, undone, lost for ever ! ! My husband is , 
 
 but 1 will tell you by and by ; and my poor child, my 
 Alfred, my baby, is dying. Come, I beseech you ; bring
 
 248 THE LADY OF THE MANOR. 
 
 a few guineas in your pocket, you may perhaps save my 
 boy. Your miserable Dorothea."* 
 
 Margarita burst into tears on reading the letter ; and 
 putting it into the hand of Mrs. Hill, who had brought 
 it up to her from the hall, ** I must go, I must go," she 
 said, '* come what will of it, I must go." 
 
 *' And I will attend you, my dear young ladv," said 
 Mrs. Hill. 
 
 *' No, no, excellent woman, I will not allow it," said 
 the young lady. " No, the fruits of your long and faith- 
 ful services shall not thus be thrown away. But where 
 am I to get a few guineas? I have not one shilling left." 
 
 *' But I have," said Fanny ; "here are fifteen shillings." 
 
 "And you slmll have more immediately," said Mrs. 
 Hill, pulling out a long green purse from her pocket, and 
 putting it with its whole contents into Margarita's hand. 
 ** But you shall not go alone : one is here, who arrived 
 but a minute ago from the country, who shall attend you ; 
 and one who perhaps can protect you better than I can." 
 
 "Who is it?" said Margarita. 
 
 " It is Edmund," said Mrs. Hill, " who entered the 
 house at the instant I came up.' 
 
 " Edmund ! " said Margarita: " I hope no accident." 
 
 " None, none," said Mrs. Hill ; " he is employed on 
 some business of Mr. Mowbray's, so don't be uneasy on 
 that head." 
 
 " Well, this is fortunate," said Margarita: " I will now 
 walk to the next stand of coaches; let Edmund be ready 
 to accompany me." 
 
 " Heaven bless you, my dear young lady, and may 
 you be enabled to give comfort ! " said Mrs. Hill, as she 
 v/ent down to prepare Edmund. 
 
 Margarita being provided with a bonnet and a large 
 cloak of Mrs. Hill's, set ovt to walk, taking Edmund's 
 arm, in order to be protected from insult in the street : 
 but you may easily imagine what were the feelings of 
 this delicate young woman, who had been brought up in 
 the highest life, to be thus compelled to go out in a clan- 
 destine way so inadequately attended. At the moment 
 she passed the iron gate in front of the house, a travel- 
 ling carriage drove up to it, and she heard the voice of 
 her cousin Robert, who had just alighted, speaking to 
 another gentleman within the carriage. She held down
 
 THE LADY OF THE MANOR. 249 
 
 her head in order not to be recognized, and drew as 
 much as possible towards the railing, in order to get 
 away without absolutely encountering her cousin. But 
 Robert perceiving some persons coming out of the gates, 
 said, *'Whom have we got there"? who is it that is 
 passing V 
 
 " It is I, Sir," said Edmund. 
 
 " O, you are come, are you! that is well: but where 
 are you going at this hourT' said Robert. 
 
 " Not far. Sir," said Edmund. 
 
 " And whom have you got with you?" said Robert. 
 
 Edmund hesitated. 
 
 *' O, some country cousin whom you have brought to 
 see the town," said Robert, laughing; '** but don't lose 
 yourself, man, for I shall want you to-morrow." So say- 
 ing, he turned towards the carriage, and speaking to one 
 within, " Come, Claverton," he added, *' what are you 
 doing there? the servants will take care of the baggage." 
 
 jMargarita heard no more, for she had hastened forward, 
 not waiting for Edmund ; but at the sound of this last 
 name she found herself ready to drop on the pavement. 
 
 •' O Dorothea ! Dorothea 1 " she said to herself; '* what 
 shame and dishonour do you bring on all with whom you 
 are connected ! But this is the fruit of extravagance." 
 
 Edmund was too well mannered to take any notice of 
 what had passed, when he joined Margarita. A coach 
 was speedily obtained; Margarita got in, and Edmund 
 took his place on the outside ; and in less than a quarter 
 of an hour, they found themselves at the place whither 
 they had been directed. The coach stopped at the door 
 of a handsome house, which however had the appearance 
 of being uninhabited, all the shutters being closed, and 
 not a light visible. They rung and knocked for some 
 time without effect; but at length an ill-looking man 
 opened the door, and asked them in a surly voice whom 
 they wanted. " Mrs. Freeman," said Margarita; ** does 
 she not live here?" 
 
 *' Yes," said the man, " she is above ; but what do you 
 want with her?" 
 
 *' I am her relation," said Margarita; **I am come on 
 business." 
 
 *' Well, go up then," said the man; *« but what does 
 this young fellow want with her?"
 
 250 THE LADY OF THE MANOR. 
 
 " He is my servant," said Margarita. 
 
 The man eyed Edmund from head to foot, as if he 
 doubted Margarita's assertion ; and then said, " Come in 
 here, young man," and opening the door of a parlour, he 
 exhibited three or four of his comrades, who were sitting 
 round a table covered with jugs and cups. 
 
 Edmund went into the room, and Margarita walked up 
 stairs, having had a candle put into her hand by one of 
 the men. The landing-place at the head of the stairs was 
 carpeted, and a handsome lamp hung from the centre of 
 the ceiling. Margarita stood on the landing-place for a 
 moment, listening to the loud laughter of the men below, 
 and half alarmed lest she should have mistaken the house. 
 At length, a low wailing cry reached her ears, followed 
 by a shriek, after which she could distinctly hear the 
 voiceof Dorothea, exclaiming, "Oh, my child! my child ! 
 my baby is dying ! Alfred, look at your poor mother ; 
 do you know me, ray boy ? O my Alfred ! " 
 
 Margarita advanced to the door of the room from 
 whence the voice proceeded, and gently opening it, saw 
 an infant extended on a bed, on one side of which knelt 
 Dorothea, her hair dishevelled, her dress disordered, and 
 her eyes streaming with tears : on the other side of the 
 bed stood a female servant, looking intently on the child, 
 who appeared to be in a strong fit. Margarita advanced, 
 and at sight of her Dorothea sprang up, flew to her, 
 clasped her in her arras, and the next moment fell sense- 
 less at her feet. Margarita's attention was for a moment 
 drawn to the fainting mother, and then towards the child, 
 who was evidently in the agonies of a dreadful convulsion. 
 She tried to raise up Dorothea, but could only succeed 
 in lifting her head from the floor ; while her eyes were 
 fixed on the child, who after two or three gasps and strug- 
 gles lay perfectly still. ** Oh, he is dead ! he is dead ! " 
 she exclaimed; "ray poor baby is dead!" and burst 
 into an agony of tears, which brought her instant relief. 
 The female servant, who had been the nurse of the child, 
 seemed almost as unable to exert herself as her mistress : 
 she however brought a cup of water to Dorothea, and 
 having put it to her lips, and bathed her forehead, the 
 unhappy young woman began to revive ; and rising up 
 again, ran to the bed, where, wringing her hands, she 
 exclaimed, "Oh, my boy ! my boy ! Margarita, look at
 
 THE LADY OF THE MANOR. 251 
 
 my boy ! judge what he has been ! consider what I have 
 lost ! Oh, my child !" and then stooping down, like one 
 in a frenzy, she pressed her lips on his. 
 
 A faint convulsion of the limbs was now observed by 
 Margarita, who said, "My dear cousin, the baby is not 
 dead : have you had no advice? have you no physician ?" 
 
 *'I have neither money nor credit," said Dorothea, 
 ** and I am here in prison : did you not see who was be- 
 low?" 
 
 " I did," said Margarita ; ** but they have no right to 
 detain you : we will however talk of this another time. I 
 have brought money, and will send for instant help." So 
 saying, she ran to the head of the stairs, and calling Ed- 
 mund, sent for the nearest medical assistant. 
 
 While Edmund was absent, the child revived a little ; 
 but such were the feelings of those about him, that no 
 word was spoken but what related to him : and all the 
 while the agony of the mother was such as would not 
 allow her to answer any question ; but continually wring- 
 ing her hands and sobbing, she called upon her infant, 
 who was entirely insensible to all her cries. 
 
 Edmund soon returned, and with him a surgeon. At 
 sight of him, Dorothea revived a little. The first thing 
 the surgeon did, was to order one of the windows to be 
 opened : but while they were attempting to do this, the 
 men below sent up word that they would not allow it. 
 The surgeon returned for answer, that they had no 
 right to prevent it. They answered, that they had a 
 right, and that they would not allow it. 
 
 ** Well," said the surgeon, ** we must give up the point, 
 since we have no time to lose in disputing : but it is a 
 cruel case, if this infant is to be deprived of that which 
 even the poorest beggar may enjoy, the pure air of 
 heaven." 
 
 Dorothea looked at Margarita ; it was a look full of 
 meaning, but no remark was made. The surgeon then 
 put many questions to the nurse, and finding that the 
 child had only ailed a very little the day before, and had 
 been in a dangerous way only for a few hours, he took out 
 his lancet and bled him, which seemed to afford imme- 
 diate relief, as the infant opened his eyes, and breathed 
 more freely. He then lanced his gums; observing to the 
 mother, that his teeth were probably the cause of his
 
 252 THE LADY OF THE MANOR. 
 
 fits : to which he added, that a mother should be very 
 careful to watch the state of an infant's mouth. 
 
 Dorothea had lately been called to other employment 
 than that of attending to the wants of her child. 
 
 It was astonishing what relief the poor infant seemed to 
 experience from these two operations : his limbs, which 
 had been burning with fever, were now covered with a 
 gentle perspiration ; and the surgeon having caused some- 
 thing to be given him to drink, he seemed inclined to 
 sleep. 
 
 The surgeon then took his leave, promising to send 
 some niedicine. Margarita followed him out upon .the 
 landing-place, to offer him a fee: but he declined it, 
 saying, " No, young lady, when I have performed the 
 cure, I shall look for my reward, but not till then. Let 
 the child be kept quiet — I shall come again to-morrow." 
 
 As soon as the surgeon was gone, and Margarita had 
 returned to the room, Dorothea again embraced and 
 thanked her for her kindness with floods of tears. 
 
 *' But why, my dear Dorothea, did you delay so long? 
 why did you not send sooner for assistance?" said Mar- 
 garita. 
 
 "Because," said Dorothea, renewing her tears, "I was 
 destitute of money." 
 
 "Nay," said Margarita, "but why not sell the very 
 clothes off your back for the sake of your child ?" 
 
 " I was afraid of stirring; I was afraid of taking any 
 step, Margarita ; you do not know half the horrors of my 
 situation," replied Mrs. Freeman. 
 
 " I think I do," said Margarita. 
 
 "No, no, you do not," returned Dorothea. She then 
 directed the servant to go out and stand in the passage, 
 and observe that there were no listeners ; when, lowering 
 her voice, she said, " Margarita, there are many writs out 
 against my husband ; and the men who are below are em- 
 powered to seize him and commit him to prison, if he can 
 be discovered. There is something in the case which I 
 myself do not understand : but he is concealed in this 
 house, and those who are below are, I suspect, aware of 
 the circumstance. They have hitherto however refrained 
 from such close search as might enable them to find him : 
 but if I were to stir from hence, they would be no longer 
 restrained."
 
 THE LADY OF THE MANOR. 253 
 
 Margarita shuddered, " What do you propose to do? 
 this cannot go on long," said she. 
 
 *' I know not," said Dorothea: " fortune may favour 
 him, he is continually watching his opportunity." 
 
 Margarita was silent. She knew not what to say : she 
 knew not what would be right to say. She fixed her 
 eyes on the sleeping infant, and could not help secretly 
 wishing that he might rather die in his present state of 
 comparative innocence than be brought up amid scenes 
 of horror and confusion like those she now witnessed. 
 
 For a few moments all was silent, and nothing was 
 heard excepting occasional bursts of laughter from the 
 parlour below. 
 
 At length, a single loud knock was heard at the street- 
 door. •* That is the man, I hope, with the medicine," said 
 Margarita. 
 
 The door was presently opened, and at the same mo- 
 ment followed a kind of noise in the hall as of one running 
 swiftly. This was instantly succeeded by a loud and 
 tremendous rush of voices and shouts, intermingled with 
 oaths and imprecations. 
 
 ** Blessed heaven! what can that be?" exclaimed 
 Dorothea. 
 
 The noise continued, but appeared to be removed to 
 the street; where the report of a pistol was mingled with 
 the sound of human voices. 
 
 Margarita, and Dorothea, and the maid-servant, ran 
 half way down the stairs ; they perceived the street-door 
 open, but saw no one: the cries from the street became 
 more faint, as they were more distant. At the same in- 
 stant the screams of the infant above stairs, being just 
 roused from his balmy and healing slumber, reached the 
 ears of its terrified friends ; who, quickly returning, found 
 him stretched on his back, while he uttered the most 
 terrific shrieks. 
 
 For a few minutes Margarita heard nothing but the 
 soul-harrowing shrieks of the child. When at length she 
 recovered herself, she found Edmund standing in the 
 room. Dorothea had fainted again, and the nurse was in 
 such a state as rendered her unable to give the slightest 
 assistance. ** O ! Edmund! Edmund!" said Mar- 
 garita, ** can you give no help ? you are a father yourself: 
 can you think of nothing to be' done?" 
 VOL. I. z
 
 254 THE LADY OF THE MANOR. 
 
 Edmund lifted the child from the bed, carried him 
 about the room in his arms, spoke to him tenderly, and 
 requested that some one would go down and look for the 
 medicine which had been delivered in at the moment of 
 the uproar. 
 
 Margarita instantly ran down, and found the bottle 
 thrown on a chair in the hall, the door of which was still 
 wide open : she was going to shut the door and lock it, 
 when a man whom she had not seen before, and who was 
 just standing without in the street, stepped in between 
 her and the door, saying, "Not so fast, young lady, if 
 you please, not so fast. You are a deep one, I see, in 
 spite of your smooth face. However, justice will have 
 its due after all." 
 
 *'I don't know what you mean," said Margarita. 
 
 *' O, you don't?" said the man. '* But, however, I 
 trust the gentleman will be caught, and then we shall see 
 how things will go." The man then added two or three 
 sentences in a jargon which the young lady could not 
 understand, but with an insolence of manner which made 
 her glad to run back to her friends. 
 
 After the infant had received the medicine, it presently 
 appeared more composed, but renewed its cries whenever 
 Edmund attempted to lay it down. 
 
 Dorothea had revived while Margarita was below; 
 but the moment she opened her eyes, she renewed her 
 tears. " Oh I the horrors of this night ! " she said ; 
 
 " the complicated horrors of this night ! What 
 
 was the occasion, Edmund, of that dreadful noise be- 
 low?" 
 
 ** Because, Madam," said Edmund, ** at the moment 
 the door was opened to the surgeon's apprentice, a man 
 rushed by and ran out into the street," 
 
 "And who opened the door?" said Dorothea. 
 
 ** I did. Madam," said Edmund. ** But the men were 
 watching me from the parlour door." 
 
 *' And did you favour the escape of the man who rush- 
 ed by you?" said Dorothea., 
 
 ** I used no means to detain him,*' said Edmund, smiling. 
 ** I thought I would give all sides fair play." 
 
 ** And do you think they will overtake him ?" said Do- 
 rothea. 
 
 " I cannot tell," said Edmund: "but he shot like an
 
 THE LADY OF THE MANOR. 255 
 
 row from a bow. Yet I heard a pistol go off at the 
 bottom of the street." 
 
 ** Well," said Dorothea, sighinsf bitterly, ** I wish he 
 may escape ; and if it pleases God to spare me my boy, 
 I siiall contentedly retire to some solitude, and there 
 endeavour to make up for my follies by a life of deep 
 repentance." 
 
 Margarita could have pointed out to her that some 
 other atonement was required for the sins of man than 
 mere repentance, even were repentance in a man's own 
 power : but there are seasons in which the mind is too 
 highly wrought upon to receive new ideas, and therefore 
 she judged it best to be silent. 
 
 The baby was now become perfectly silent, excepting 
 that now and then a deep sigh would escape its gentle 
 breast. The rest of the party also were silent ; Doro- 
 thea continuing at times to weep violently. 
 
 At length some of the men returned. They came in 
 grumbling and cursing: but it appeared from what they 
 uttered as they passed through the hall, that they had 
 nothing more than their labour for their pains, having en- 
 tirely lost sight of the person whom they were pursuing. 
 
 The clock of a neighbouring church struck two imme- 
 diately after the return of these men. Margarita started 
 at the sound, and began to consider her own situation. 
 — " I cannot return at this hour to Grosvenor Square," 
 she thought ; *' neither can I leave poor Dorothea in this 
 condition. Nevertheless, I am liable to forfeit every 
 friend I have in the world by what I have done to-night; 
 and yet I could have done no otherwise." 
 
 It was three o'clock before the house was perfectly 
 quiet ; but by this time the men had fallen asleep in their 
 chairs, having comforted themselves with this reflection : 
 — •* If the captain has made a clean escape, it will not 
 be our loss, but that of our employers. If they lose their 
 dues, we cannot help it ; we must be paid whether or wo." 
 
 ** My dear Dorothea," said Margarita, seeing her cou- 
 sin somewhat more composed, ** now your husband is 
 safe, as I trust he is, you must get your affairs settled 
 and remove out of this house." 
 
 Dorothea began to weep. *' When I leave this house, 
 where can I go ?" she asked. *' O that my mother would 
 receive me ! "
 
 256 THE LADY OF THE MANOR. 
 
 Margarita gave her no hope of this kind, but assured 
 her that she would do all in her power to promote her 
 interest. 
 
 " Then if I cannot be with my mother," said Doro- 
 thea, " I should wish for the deepest retirement." 
 
 ** Then, Madam," said Edmund, who was quietly step- 
 ping backwards and forwards through the large and ele- 
 gant apartment with the baby softly cradled in his arms, 
 " there are two as pretty rooms in our house as can be 
 found in any cottage in the world, and such a fair grove 
 on one side, and a garden on the other, with a murmur- 
 ing bropk running through this last, as, in my mind, is 
 hardly any where to be equalled. And my excellent 
 young lady there," he added, bowing to Margarita as he 
 spoke, " has lately furnished them so prettily and gen- 
 teelly, that, if you did not esteem such a poor place be- 
 low your notice, I think you might be very comfortable 
 with us, and we should be most proud to do you service : 
 and little master (if the Lord spare him) would have 
 plenty of room wherein to play and amuse himself.'* 
 Edmund reddened up to the eyes when he had made 
 this speech, fearing lest it should not be well taken. 
 But it was well taken. For this proof of affection to 
 the distressed Dorothea, seemed to call out all that was 
 amiable in her nature ; and bursting into tears, she said, 
 ** Thank you, Edmund. I will think of your plan, and 
 will adopt it, if," added she, with a sigh, ** my mother 
 will not see me." Then turning to her cousin, she add- 
 ed, *' This is indeed a 2:lorious triumph of The Economy 
 of Charity:' 
 
 Margarita could make no reply : . but bursting into 
 tears, she fell on the neck of her cousin ; who, pressing 
 her closely in her arms, said, " Give me your heart, my 
 sister, and I shall no longer be poor." 
 
 When I look back upon the sheets which I have de- 
 voted to this little history, I feel the necessity of bring- 
 ing the remaining events which I have to relate, into a 
 somewhat narrower compass. With this view I shall 
 shortly tell you, that Margarita remained with Dorothea 
 till the morning, and that she then returned to Grosvenor 
 Square. She there learned that Lady Harriet had been 
 much worse, and that her son and Mrs. Dashwood had 
 been there all night; that Augustus Claverton had sup-
 
 THE LADY OF THE MANOR. 257 
 
 ped in Grosvenor Square, but had left it after supper, 
 
 and proposed to proceed in the morning to Lord G 's. 
 
 Fanny told her that he had enquired after her; and that 
 Mrs. Dashwood had informed him that Margarita was 
 gone from home, having set out on foot attended only by 
 Edmund, in order to spend the evening with Captain and 
 Mrs. Freeman — upon which Robert, laughing heartily, 
 had said, *• O ! that accounts then for Edmund's reserve 
 when I asked who was with him." 
 
 " And what did Augustus Claverton say to all this, 
 Fanny?" said Margarita. 
 
 " Why, he did as you do now," replied Fanny ; ** he 
 looked excessively cross." 
 
 ** Do 1 look cross?" said Margarita, trying to smile. 
 
 ** Yes, you do," said Fanny ; " and tired too, and very 
 sorrowful; but I do not wonder at it." 
 
 ** And did Mr. Claverton say he should return again 
 to Grosvenor Square before he left England?" said 
 Margarita. 
 
 " No," replied Fanny; ** for he wished to see mam- 
 ma, because he feared he should not see her again." 
 
 Margarita only saw Dorothea once again after the 
 evening above mentioned. When her husband's affairs 
 came to be looked into, it was found there was scarcely 
 enough left to pay her journey into Whales ; though there 
 were some large sums which could never be accounted 
 for, and which, it was afterwards supposed, the captain 
 had secreted for his own private purposes, as he was 
 some years after his escape heard of on the Continent 
 enjoying himself at taverns and caffes, which it is well 
 known cannot be done without money. Dorothea seem- 
 ed however to be brought to such a sense of her miscon- 
 duct as to feel an earnest desire to submit to her circum- 
 stances with the humblest resignation : in consequence 
 of which, she dismissed her only remaining London ser- 
 vant, and, when arrived in Whales, accepted the services 
 of a poor country girl. 
 
 Lady Harriet died almost immediately after the de- 
 parture of her daughter from town; and it was found, 
 when her will came to be examined, that she had not 
 only omitted the name of her unfortunate daughter, but 
 also that of her niece. 
 
 Margarita had made many attempts, at different times, 
 z 3
 
 258 THE LADY OF THE MANOR. 
 
 to plead her cousin's cause with Lady Harriet ; and good 
 Mrs. Hill had done the same, but with equal ill success. 
 Poor Dorothea was in consequence left pennyless. Mrs. 
 Hill had indeed reason to think that Lady Harriet deeply 
 regretted this severity some short time before her death, 
 but when it was too late for her to alter her will. For 
 she said to Mrs. Hill, who sat up with her the last night, 
 "Poor Dorothea! I hope. Hill, that Robert and Jane 
 will take care of her ; and Margarita — dear Margarita, 
 will be kind to her. Margarita is a good girl, and if she 
 wishes Fanny to be with her when I am no more, I hope 
 no one will oppose it." Mrs. Hill also overheard her 
 speaking much to the same purpose to Mrs. Dashwood. 
 
 By Lady Harriet's orders the establishment in Gros- 
 venor Square was not to be broken up till three months 
 after her death ; during which time, Margarita remained 
 there with Fanny and good Mrs. Hill. 
 
 In the mean time, Margarita, whose own property was 
 not less than twelve thousand pounds, into full posses- 
 sion of which she was to come in less than a year, had 
 made up her mind to reside in Wales with her cousin. 
 ,And to this effect she had written to Dorothea, inform- 
 ing her that she was coming in the spring, and desiring 
 that a small room, which Edmund had informed her 
 could be spared, might be neatly fitted up for her use; 
 adding her intention, that her dear cousin should be the 
 sharer of her property and all her comforts. *' For^" 
 said she, *' my beloved Dorothea, it will be impossible 
 for me ever to repay the care and attention your dear 
 mother bestowed on me in the helpless da^'S of my in- 
 fancy." 
 
 These repeated kindnesses of Margarita seemed, with 
 the divine blessing, so entirely to subdue the proud spi- 
 rit of Dorothea, that she wrote her back a letter, dictated 
 under a deep sense of her own unworthiness, and replete 
 with expressions of tenderness. 
 
 Dorothea, you may be well assured, set herself to 
 make preparations with the utmost alacrity for her dear 
 cousin; and very prettily, though properly, herself took 
 possession of the smaller room, leaving the larger for the 
 lady of the mansion. Nor was Dorothea the only happy 
 person on this occasion ; for who could be more pleased 
 than Edmund and Rachel? or who could bustle about
 
 THE LADY OF THE MANOR. 259 
 
 more than old Martha Lawley, to get things ready as the 
 time drew near? 
 
 ** But where,' said Mrs. Hill, when informed of Mar- 
 garita's plan, " where, my dear young lady, will you find 
 a bed for your servant?" 
 
 ** O, my good Mrs. Hill," said Margarita, ** I shall not 
 take one from London ; I must get some little Welsh dam- 
 sel to wait upon me, and she may find some corner to 
 sleep in." 
 
 ** No, no, my dear Miss Margarita," said Mrs. Hill, ** a 
 Welsh damsel will not do for you. Will you accept my 
 services ? I have known you ever since you were four years 
 old, and Miss Fanny ever since she was born, and I can- 
 not leave you." 
 
 The tears came into Margarita's eyes when she heard 
 this declaration ; and thanking Mrs. Hill, she gladly ac- 
 cepted her offer, expressing only a fear that she might 
 not be able to make her comfortable. 
 
 *' Never fear, my dear young lady," said Mrs. Hill : " I 
 shall be very comfortable, if they will give me but a cor- 
 ner of a clean kitchen, and a clean bed to myself; and 
 truly I think it would be more prudent for so young a 
 lady as yourself to travel about with an elderly and care- 
 ful servant." 
 
 When every thing was arranged, a letter was written to 
 announce the speedy arrival of the little party. 
 
 In the mean time, Augustus Claverton, who had been 
 
 for some time at the houses of the Earl of G , and of 
 
 other friends in England, and had taken a hasty trip to 
 Paris, was now returning to Ireland ; but hearing of the 
 distresses of his cousin Dorothea, he turned a little out 
 of his road to visit her, and to press upon her such pecu- 
 niary aid as he felt she must stand in need of. 
 
 Dorothea was touched and gratified by his kindness, 
 though she wished to decline his assistance. " Indeed, 
 my dear cousin," she said, ** I do not want it, for I am 
 amply supplied, and from a quarter you would not sus- 
 pect." She then took occasion, in a manner most warm 
 and generous, to vindicate the character of Margarita, to 
 confess all her former injustice to her, and to enumerate 
 all that Margarita had sacrificed and undergone for her 
 service. 
 
 " I ouce," she added, " despised that spirit of economy
 
 260 THE LADY OF THE MANOR. 
 
 and self-denial, which she has always exhibited : I often 
 ridiculed it, I scorned to imitate it, I held it up as mean 
 and degrading. But I now see its beauty, and bless the 
 principle from whence it sprung, while I and my child 
 are actually indebted to it, under heaven, for all the peace 
 and happiness we enjoy." 
 
 Augustus seemed to be deeply affected by this pane- 
 gyric on Margarita : his cheek flushed high, his eyes 
 sparkled, he took the hand of Dorothea, and having ut- 
 tered some encomiums on the unenvious generosity of 
 her present sentiments, he added, " Lovely Margarita, 
 how have I wronged her by my injurious suspicions ! 
 Would to heaven that she could extend her charity to me; 
 that she could forgive — I would say more — that she 
 could love me, and become the guide and companion of 
 life ! ' 
 
 On hearing this, Dorothea melted into tears. Mr. 
 Claverton turned upon her a penetrating glance which 
 she well understood, 
 
 " Do not mistake me, Augustus," she said ; " these 
 tears are tears of joy ; nothing now could have inspired 
 me with delight equal to this. My ambition for myself 
 is gone ; young as 1 am, the world has lost its charms for 
 me. To live in this place with my boy, to see him 
 healthy and happy, and to bring him up in the fear of 
 God, is all I now can look forward to with any desire. 
 Be assured, these are my present feelings ; and I pray 
 that I never more may be drawn into the world, nor ever 
 prove again its dangerous delusions." 
 
 Augustus took her hand : he seemed affected. " May 
 heaven spare your child to you, and bless him," said the 
 young man ; *' and henceforward consider me as your 
 brother, and in consequence entitled to patronize your 
 son." So saying, he put a bank-note of a hundred pounds 
 into her hands, as he said, for the use of the child. Au- 
 gustus Claverton stayed with his cousin till it was getting 
 dark ; when he arose and left her, saying that he should 
 sleep at a small inn in the village, and call upon her 
 again in the morning. 
 
 •' And you will not leave us to-morrow," said Dorothea ; 
 *' for perhaps our friends may be with us in the evening." 
 
 " What," said Augustus, " so soon ? I did not under- 
 stand that they were expected so soon."
 
 THE LADY OF THE MANOR. 261 
 
 The next day rose with all the blooming charms of 
 early spring: the tender leaves were just springing forth 
 in the cottage garden, the lambs were bleating in the 
 adjoining fields, the modest violet and pale primrose shed 
 their odours through the balmy air, and a little rivulet 
 rushed down a bed of rock in the neighbouring wood, 
 just within view of the parlour window; while Doro- 
 thea's little boy, now more than two years of age, seemed 
 to partake of the renovating influence of this delightful 
 season, being all gay and blooming, and crowing with 
 delight as Augustus Claverton entered the simple abode 
 of his once lively cousin. The little table was spread by 
 the neat handed Rachel, with simple but excellent viands 
 from her dairy and farm-yard ; a few spring flowers being 
 their only garnish. 
 
 " Dorothea," said Augustus, " I doubt whether the 
 great understand true taste when they banish the simple 
 works of nature so far from their houses, and substitute 
 in their stead the artificial lake and formal shrubbery. 
 What beauties in any place laid out by art, can equal 
 the wild wood, the rushing waterfall, and shadowy din- 
 gle, seen from this window? It is much to learn, that 
 beauty, elegance, and happiness, are entirely distinct 
 from pomp, and show, and splendour: highly favoured 
 are those who learn this lesson without passing through 
 the severe school of adversity ; but still they may consi- 
 der themselves as blessed, who learn it at any rate The 
 emptiness of the pomps and vanities of this world, is a 
 secret which some never can discover, till compelled to 
 renounce them on the bed of death." 
 
 The young man then entered upon the subject of reli- 
 gion, and said many things which appeared to be entirely 
 new to Dorothea ; but which, with the divine blessing, 
 she was prepared to receive in a manner that gave her 
 cousin inexpressible pleasure. 
 
 ** I shall be lingering about this place all day," said 
 Mr. Claverton. "After breakfast I am going to look at 
 my friend Edmund's farm ; and shall trespass upon you 
 for a dinner." So saying, he walked out, and was pre- 
 sently seen exploring the dingle, the cascade, the pas- 
 ture, and the farm-yard, with his old acquaintance of 
 Mowbray -hall. Before dinner, which was fixed at an 
 early hour, he appeared again, and sitting down by Do-
 
 262 THE LADY OF THE MANOR. 
 
 rothea who was employed with her needle, he talked to 
 her of the beauties of the situation, the kindness and 
 good manners of Edmund, and the superior appearance 
 of Rachel. " But }ou must feel the want of books in 
 this place ; books are absolutely necessary in this soli- 
 tude, and a musical instrument scarcely less so; and I 
 should advise you, my dear cousin, to confine yourself 
 in a eood measure to that line of reading, which may 
 enable you so far to carry on your son's education, as to 
 keep him with you a few years longer than would other- 
 wise be proper." 
 
 " You set before me a very constraining motive to ex- 
 ertion," said Dorothea. 
 
 After dinner, Augustus proposed that they should walk 
 to the end of the valley, whence a fine view was com- 
 manded of the London road for some miles. But when 
 they had attained this height, and lingered upon it for 
 some time without any carriage coming in view, they re- 
 turned to the cottage ; where they found the tea-table 
 neatly and even elegantly arranged, all the family appear- 
 ing ill a state of preparation for their expected friends. 
 Augustus and Dorothea sat down again, and were busily 
 engaged in talking of the dear travelling party, when sud- 
 denly the sound of the village-bells ringing a merry peal 
 reached their ears. 
 
 " Hark!" said Augustus; "it is so. This is a plan 
 of Edmund's, the carriage is now in the village, you may 
 be sure, and will be here in a few moments." So saying, 
 he snatched up the blooming little Alfred, who was sitting 
 on the sofa by his mother, and was the first of the family, 
 who all came pouring out on tl»e little green, (being warned 
 by the bells,) to receive the friends so dearly loved. For 
 a moment they all stood grouped before the cottage door, 
 whose porch and gothic windows adorned with eglantine 
 afforded no tasteless back-ground to the scene. Augus- 
 tus stood foremost without a hat, his fine face glowing 
 with unmixed delight, and in his arms he held the cherub 
 Alfred ; near to Augustus was the elegant Dorothea, 
 weeping with mingled emotions, among which those of 
 love and gratitude were predominant; at a respectful 
 distance on the other side of the green were Martha and 
 Rachel, the latter holding a fine ruddy infant in her arms ; 
 Edmund stood ready to open the gate; while crowded
 
 THE LADY OF THE MANOR. 263 
 
 in the passao:e at the door of the house appeared two 
 bare-armed Welsh damsels, and an old labourer, poking 
 out their faces with a vacant stare to catch all that was 
 to be seen. 
 
 Such was the scene which presented itself to the tra- 
 vellers as they drove up to the cottage-gate : and I ask 
 my young reader, if the joy of such a moment was not 
 sutficient to repay the amiable Margarita for that long 
 series of self-denial by which, through the divine favour, 
 she had acquired some sort of claim to so rare a happi- 
 ness ? 
 
 And now, inasmuch as I despair of depicting with any 
 accuracy the circumstances which followed this happy 
 meeting, I shall simply satisfy myself, and 1 trust my 
 readers, by shortly summing up the events to which they 
 led the way, and by giving a slight historic account of 
 the several persons with whom I have made them ac- 
 quainted during the course of ray narrative. 
 
 The village bells rang again as merrily as ever not many 
 weeks after the arrival of Marjrarita, and she again pro- 
 vided the occasion. — ^-It was on that happy day when 
 Augustus Claverton secured to himself a powerful assist- 
 ant in his honourable and pious plans for benefiting his 
 poor tenants and dependents in Ireland. 
 
 Augustus made an offer of the superintendence of his 
 household to the excellent Mrs. Hill : but she declined 
 with tears of gratitude the honour he intended her, con- 
 fessing her wish to remain in Wales for the purpose of 
 administering consolation to Mrs. Freeman. 
 
 *' If so," said Augustus, ** you shall receive the same 
 salary as you would have received in ray house ; and if 
 you are enabled to administer to the consolation of our 
 dear Dorothea, we shall always consider the obligation 
 as being on our side." 
 
 This arrangement was particularly consolatory to Do- 
 rothea. Fanny chose to follow the fortunes of Marga- 
 rita. 
 
 The noble young pair on their wedding-day presented 
 to Dorothea a paper by which £400 a year was secured 
 to her for life, to be paid quarterly ; Rachel and Edmund 
 were presented with another paper, by which they found 
 that the rent which they paid was to be laid up for the 
 use of their children. Margarita also gave five guineas
 
 264 THE LADY OF THE MANOR. 
 
 to Martha Lawley, and sent the same to Mrs. Green at 
 Mowbray-hall. — Augustus also presented to Dorothea 
 an elegant piano-forte together with a case of books. 
 
 The happy pair then proceeded to Ireland, where, 
 residing in a noble old mansion coeval with the mighty 
 oaks which shaded its beautiful environs, they found an 
 inexhaustible supply of the means of doing good, in the 
 practice of that Christian self-denial which faith alone 
 can render at once consistent and delightful. 
 
 Fanny remained with Margarita till her marriage with 
 a pious and well-educated young clergyman, whom Au- 
 gustus had presented to a living in the immediate neigh- 
 bourhood of Claverton-castle. 
 
 Of Robert Mowbray, Jane, and Celia, I have little tc 
 say, excepting that they were always distressed for money ; 
 ■and that Robert Mowbray was at last compelled to repair 
 his ruined finances by marrying a woman of double his 
 own age, and one who was otherwise not desirable. 
 
 And now, my dear young people, if I have succeeded 
 in setting forth The Economy of Charity in such a form 
 as may render it a desirable attainment in your eyes, my 
 labour is not lost, and my reward will be such as I would 
 not exchange for "all the pomps and vanities of this 
 wicked world." 
 
 The lady of the manor having concluded her narrative, 
 requested that the young people would join her in prayer; 
 remarking that the evening was far spent. 
 
 Second Prayer for Power to resist the. Love of the Pomps 
 and Vanities of this wicked World. 
 
 " BLESSED LORD GOD, we, thy poor and sinful crea- 
 tures, humbly implore thee to impart to us such a portion 
 of thy grace, as may enable us to resist those vain desires 
 by which so many of our sex make shipwreck of their 
 happiness upon earth, utterly destroying the comfort 
 and peace of their families. We daily see before us in- 
 stances of this kind, and we have no reason to think that 
 we shall be more prudent and stedfast in resisting the 
 temptations common to our nature than the rest of our 
 fellow-creatures — on the contrary, we know ourselves to 
 be weak and miserable creatures, and, unless divinely
 
 THE LADY OF THE MANOR. 265 
 
 upheld, liable to fall every moment. Temptations from 
 within and temptations from without are continually as- 
 sailing us. Nevertheless, we desire to maintain a becom- 
 ing confidence in thee, knowing that he that is ivith us is 
 greater than he that is against us. Enable us, O Lord, 
 to walk steadily through the trials of this life ; turn away 
 our eyes from beholding vanity ; set the glory of heaven 
 perpetually before us ; and teach us so to use the un- 
 righteous mammon that we may not be brought to shame 
 thereby, as the unwise servant, who slothfully hid his 
 talent in a napkin. And, O Almighty Father, if through 
 grace we are assisted to use that which thou hast given 
 us to thy service, make us constantly to remember that 
 we are still but unprofitable servants, that our best works 
 are but as filthy rags, and that unless divested of these 
 and clad in the righteousness of Christ, we shall be cast 
 out into outer darkness, where the worm never dieth and 
 the fire is not quenched. And now, O blessed Trinity, 
 Father, Son, and Holy Ghost, in whom is our only con- 
 fidence, we cast our cares upon thee, anxious in every 
 concern of our lives to be directed by thy counsels, and 
 guided by thy providence : so that whether riches or 
 poverty be our portion, our single desire may be, while 
 we live to live unto the Lord, and when we die to die 
 unto the Lord. Hear us, O merciful Father, for the sake 
 of Jesus Christ our only Lord and Saviour, in whose 
 blessed words we conclude our petitions. 
 •' Our Father," &c. 
 
 VOL. I. A A
 
 266 THE LADY OF THE MANOR. 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 All the sinful Lusts of the Flesh. 
 
 JIT was a fine evening in the month of April when the 
 little party again met at the manor-house. The days w^ere 
 now considerably lengthened, and they sat before the 
 windows to take their tea and to converse on indifferent 
 subjects while they enjoyed their repast, being regaled 
 at the same time with the glorious prospect of the last 
 rays of the departing sun, as it descended behind the dark 
 groves which crowned the neighbouring heights. 
 
 When the tea-equipage was removed, the lady of the 
 manor immediately applied to the business upon which 
 they were assembled ; and addressing herself to Miss 
 Sophia, she said, '* What, my dear young lady, is to be 
 the subject of our conversation this evening?" 
 
 Miss Sophia replied, ** We were speaking in our last 
 conversation of * the pomps and vanities of this wicked 
 world ; ' and we are now to proceed to * the sinful lusts 
 of the flesh.'" 
 
 The lady of the manor then asked the young people 
 what they understood by these words. — " What," said 
 she, " are the sinful lusts of the flesh ?" 
 
 The young ladies looked at each other. At length. 
 Miss Louisa replied, *' The sinful lusts of the flesh, are 
 those kind of evil desires to which wicked people give 
 way, when they yield to intoxication, gluttony, and other 
 gross vices." 
 
 *' Am T to understand by this," said the lady of the 
 manor, " that these lusts of the flesh are unknown to 
 any but gross sinners ? and that you, my young people, 
 have no desires or wishes which are not entirely con- 
 formable to the will of God?"
 
 THE LADY OF THE MANOR. 267 
 
 *' O Madam," said Miss Louisa, " I did not mean to 
 insinuate any such thing." 
 
 " Beware then, my dear young- lady," returned her pious 
 instructress, *'how you confound the root of sin with its 
 branches and fruit. In an unregenerate state the whole 
 race of mankind are aUke subject to the secret workings 
 of sin in the heart. And although, in some cases, cir- 
 cumstances may prevent the full growth of the branches, 
 yet let it be remembered that the poisonous nature is the 
 same in the sapling as in the full-grown tree, and that 
 there is as deadly a nature in the germ and bud as in the 
 i-ipe and luscious fruit ; which leads me to a reconsider- 
 ation of that important doctrine which I have already 
 brought to your notice on several former occasions. 
 
 " The sin that dwelleth in man is called inbred or ori- 
 ginal sin : it is that corrupt frame which inclines man to 
 evil continually. 
 
 *' It is thus spoken of in the Ninth Article of the Church. 
 ' Original sin standeth not in the following of Adam, (as 
 the Pelagians do vainly talk,) but it is the fault and cor- 
 ruption of the nature of every man that is naturally en- 
 gendered of the offspring of Adam, whereby man is very 
 far gone from original righteousness, and is of his own 
 nature inclined to evil, so that the flesh lusteth always 
 contrary to the spirit, and therefore in every person born 
 into this world it deserveth God's wrath and damnation. 
 And this infection of nature doth remain, yea in them that 
 are regenerated : whereby the lust of the flesh, called 
 in Greek, phronema sarkos, which some do expound the 
 wisdom, some the affection, some the desire of the flesh 
 ^is not subject to the law of God. And although there 
 is no condemnation for them that believe and are baptized, 
 yet the apostle doth confess, that concupiscence and lust 
 hath of itself the nature of sin.' 
 
 " From this Article as well as from the general tendency 
 of Scripture it appears," continued the lady of the manor, 
 ** that sin is a disagreement or nonconformity of the will 
 of any creature with the will of God. Consequently, 
 when we desire any thing, however small, however seem- 
 ingly unimportant, contrary to the declared will and plea- 
 sure of God, we indulge a sinful lust of the flesh. 
 
 ** Any person therefore who in lesser matters is habi- 
 tually discontented, and continually desiring that which
 
 268 THE LADY OF THE MANOR. 
 
 God has not given him, is as great an offender in this 
 point, though not so scandalously in the eyes of the world, 
 as that man who indulges himself in any kind of gross 
 intemperance." 
 
 The young ladies looking as if they did not compre- 
 hend this subject fully, the lady of the manor thus pro- 
 ceeded — " Great mistakes arise, my dear young people, 
 in judging of our own characters, from making compari- 
 sons between ourselves and others who, in their different 
 stations, have perhaps not been subjected to those re- 
 straints by which we have been preserved from flagrant 
 breaches of the law. 
 
 *' The sins of young women in respectable life, while 
 under the care of parents, are, generally speaking, not 
 of the flagrant and very gross kind which break out among 
 those of the lower classes ; though they nevertheless se- 
 parate them as entirely from that God, who is of purer 
 eyes than to behold evil." (Hab. i. 13.) 
 
 Miss Emmeline said, she hoped the lady of the manor 
 would excuse her, if she asked her to explain what she 
 supposed might be the frequent state of mind of young 
 ladies ia decent families, and the particular faults iuto 
 which she imagined them most liable to fall. 
 
 *' You of course mean those young people who have not 
 experienced a saving change of character?" 
 
 Miss Emmeline answered, that she did. 
 
 The lady of the manor then replied, *' Even in those 
 who we have reason to hope are truly converted to God, 
 the power of indwelling sin is so strong as frequently to 
 render their lives extremely unhappy. — St. Paul thus 
 describes his own feelings and experience on this point. 
 * For I know,' says the apostle, ' that in me (that is, in 
 my flesh) dwelleth no good thing : for to will is present 
 with me ; hut how to perform that which is good I find 
 not. For the good that I would, I do not: but the evil 
 which I would not, that I do. Now if I do that I would 
 not, it is no more I that do it, but siii that dwelleth in 
 me. I find then a laiv, that, when I would do good, evil 
 is present with me. For I delight in the law of God after 
 the inward man : but I see another law in my members, 
 warring against the law of my mind, and bringing me 
 into captivity to the laiv of sin which is in my members.'' 
 (Rom. vii. 18— 23.)
 
 THE LADY OF THE MANOR. 269 
 
 *' But the greater part of young ladies in England," 
 continued the lady of the manor, *' even the daughters 
 of religious families, give no evidence of being converted, 
 and are, I fear, only kept from open and flagrant offences 
 by motives of worldly prudence, family restraint, custom, 
 and shame. I hope, or rather I wish, that in making 
 this assertion I may have judged harshly ; but, without 
 censuring any individual, I must give you the result of 
 my own experience, while I proceed to tell you what I 
 have reason to think is the general state of young female 
 minds in the middle and higher classes of life. 
 
 "Education, though now much attended to in some 
 particulars, very generally overlooks that one point which 
 I should conceive ought to be the basis of all education; 
 and indeed, without a proper attention to which, all else 
 that we can do, humanly speaking, must prove utterly 
 ineffectual." 
 
 The young people requested their kind instructress 
 
 to explain this point : to which she replied *' The 
 
 Almighty, in his dealings with us, when in his infinite 
 mercy he would call a poor sinner from death unto life, 
 begins, for the most part, by humbling the individual to 
 the very dust, breaking down his proud spirit, and emp- 
 tying him of self, shewing him his own total helplessness, 
 together with his entire dependence on Christ alone. 
 Neither is any spiritual comfort administered to the poor 
 sinner till this preparatory "work is effectually accom- 
 plished. In like manner, the parent who stands in the 
 place of God to his infant offspring, and who may rea- 
 sonably expect the blessing of the Almighty upon his 
 pious endeavours, must begin the great work of educa- 
 tion by endeavouring to lower the natural pride of his 
 little pupils. 
 
 ** This may be done in many cases without harshness; 
 but whether harshness be requisite or not, this point 
 must be laboured ; and whatever station the child may 
 occupy, humility must be enforced, and enforced upon 
 Christian principles. All education, however otherwise 
 excellent, which fails in this point, has in my opinion a 
 pernicious tendency; and, humanly speaking, can only 
 produce, at the best, a species of worldly morality, or a 
 mere profession of religion. It was of such characters 
 that we find our Lord speaking with the greatest severity, 
 
 A A 3
 
 270 THE LADY OF THE MANOR. 
 
 and even asserting that publicans and harlots should be 
 admitted into the kingdom of heaven before them, 
 i^Iatt. xxi. 31.) 
 
 " But it appears, that habits of self-denial no further 
 make a part of the child's education, than (as I before 
 said) worldly prudence may require. Children are not 
 taught to consider, that every thing they possess or en- 
 joy is more than they deserve; and that were they dealt 
 with according to their merits, their pordon would be 
 endless misery. 
 
 " Hence when they grow up — wanting true humility, 
 they consider themselves entitled to many pleasures and 
 distinctions, which they never can enjoy, because their 
 inordinate desires have overstepped the boundaries of 
 their actual possessions and privileges. Home and do- 
 mestic employments become insipid to them, as falling 
 far short of those airy schemes of happiness which they 
 are in the habit of forming. All improvement ceases ; 
 and their will, instead of being submitted to that of God, 
 is continually rising in opposition to his in eager cra- 
 vings after that which he has thought fit to deny them. 
 These strong desires, though exercised on things in them- 
 selves lawful, do nevertheless become sinfal when the 
 Almighty is pleased to deny us what we require, as we 
 may learn from many passages of Scripture. It is not 
 unlawful to eat flesh, as we well know ; but when the 
 Children of Israel required it in the wilderness, this thing 
 w^as laid to their charge as a grievous sin. We may 
 therefore rest assured, that whenever we desire what 
 our heavenly Father puts out of our reach, we then 
 commit sin, and may be said to indulsfe the lusts of the 
 flesh. 
 
 "Now," added the lady of the manor, " I have reason 
 to think that in this point, that is, in the want of control 
 over their thoughts and desires, young women are often 
 peculiarly faulty; and that this fault being a secret one, 
 they very frequently indulge themselves in it to a great 
 excess, without being brought to a sense of the extreme 
 depravity from which it flows." 
 
 Here one of the young ladies, who had been very at- 
 tentive to this evening's discourse, remarked, " that she 
 had always thought it impossible to govern her thoughts, 
 and that she supposed as long as she kept from actual
 
 THE LADY OF THE MANOR. 271 
 
 sin, she could not be blamed for any thing that passed 
 in lier mind." 
 
 ** My dear young friend," answered the lady of the ma- 
 nor, *' evil thoughts are one of the strongest marks of the 
 depravity of human nature ; nevertheless, such is the 
 power of our natural corruption, that even after conversion 
 evil thoughts continually present themselves. But the 
 Christian knows where he may find help to overcome 
 them ; and our heavenly Father has promised that no 
 temptation shall assail us but such as we shall be enabled 
 to resist, and that he will with the temptation make us 
 a way to escape, that we may be able to bear it. (1 Cor. 
 X. 13.) Therefore no excuse can be made for those who 
 deliberately entertain evil thoughts, since the Holy Spirit 
 stands engaged to furnish us with sufficient assistance to 
 overcome this and every other kind of temptation : but, 
 for the most part, young persons neither avail themselves 
 of the assistance offered them by the Holy Spirit, nor 
 even use the common external means of overcoming this 
 sin. It is very certain that sin can never be mortified nor 
 its influence overcome by any thing short of the divine 
 power of the Holy Spirit, which must therefore be sought 
 by frequent and diligent prayer, as well as by pleading 
 the merits and death of Christ: but our own efforts, 
 although in themselves powerless, must accompany our 
 prayers, while every appointed means must be used 
 for overcoming this plague of the heart, disorderly 
 thoughts." 
 
 ** We should be much obliged to you. Madam," said 
 Miss Emmeline, ** if you could lay down any rules which 
 might assist us in properly regulating our minds ; since we 
 cannot look within, without observing there a great many 
 things which may justly be termed extremely wicked." 
 
 *' You will, my dear Miss Emmeline," replied the lady 
 of the manor, *' I trust, bear this in mind : that whatever 
 your exertions may be, you must supplicate the divine 
 blessing upon them. And should you be favoured with 
 success in your endeavours, never forget to give all the 
 glory to God. Having made this observation, I will with- 
 out hesitation lay before you the rules which I have my- 
 self found particularly useful in overcoming this fault. 
 
 " In the first place, to a person who has habitually 
 given way to evil thoughts, I do not in general recommend
 
 272 THE LADY OF THE MANOR. 
 
 much solitude. To a mind in a tolerably healthy state, 
 solitude is often sweet and profitable, but not to a mind 
 diseased in the way of which we are speaking. Any em- 
 ployment which occupies the hands and not the head is 
 on that very account less eligible for persons in this state : 
 and therefore if needle-work is to be done, I would ad- 
 vise you always at the same time to be repeating or sing- 
 ing hymns, or learning something profitable by heart 
 Avoid all books and persons which give false views of 
 life, and represent its happiness as proceeding from out- 
 ward circumstances, or depending upon certain external 
 relations' of life, such as husbands, wives, children, pos- 
 sessions, honours, beauty, &c. because these things have 
 no necessary connexion with happiness, and only add to 
 it or detract from it in the degree that the blessing of God 
 accompanies or is withheld from them. 
 
 ** Works of imagination in general are dangerous to 
 persons whose minds are in the state of which we are 
 speaking, particularly such as treat on the subjects of 
 love, beauty, pleasure, and matters of this kind. Such 
 subjects should in general be avoided by young people. 
 Of public amusements I hardly think it necessary to 
 speak, because I consider them all decidedly wrong, very 
 dangerous to young people of every description, and 
 quite out of the question for persons of a more mature 
 age. Such employments as strongly exercise the mind 
 and fatigue the body, having some reasonable end in 
 view, are what I should particularly recommend to per- 
 sons troubled with evil and discontented thoughts — such, 
 for instance, as the care of children, whether of the poor 
 or of those in higher life ; the acquirement of difficult lan- 
 guages, such as the Greek and Hebrew, whereby the 
 student is led to the contemplation of the Scriptures in 
 the original; the study of history; reading, praying with, 
 and instructing the sick : all such employments pursued 
 with earnestness, even to fatigue, would prove a great 
 assistance in bringing the thoughts into a good train. 
 
 ** The minds of young people in general are active ; 
 and those of young females will not be satisfied by the 
 trifling employments in which they are generally engaged, 
 and which from their excessive insipidity frequently 
 drive them to find out for themselves pursuits of a more 
 interesting nature. Hence they are led to look for hap-
 
 THE LADY OF THE MANOR. 273 
 
 piness in a partial indulgence of evil passions, of which 
 increasing misery is the inevitable consequence." 
 
 The young ladies, on hearing these remarks, looked as 
 if some new light had broken in upon them. Indeed 
 the discourse to which they had been listening was of 
 so novel a character to them, that they could not com- 
 prehend its exact tendency ; which the lady of the manor 
 perceiving, said, " My dear young people, in order to 
 give you a better idea of the subject on which we have 
 been to-day conversing, viz. what I think ought to be the 
 state of mind and the private thoughts of a young per- 
 son, I shall read you a little narrative which I met with 
 some time ago in manuscript. But before I begin this 
 story, I have one or two desultory remarks to make, or 
 rather cautions to give you. 
 
 *' In general, my dear young friends, all confidential 
 discourse with persons of your own age is to be avoided. 
 If you must have a confidant, a mother or aunt is the 
 properest person. But if such do not offer, you have a 
 Friend on high, a faithful and all-wise Friend, who has 
 both wisdom to counsel and power to protect you. Ge- 
 nerally speaking, be in the habit of consulting your fel- 
 low-creatures less, and your Maker more. The confi- 
 dential interviews of young persons are generally filled 
 up with disclosures of things which ought never to be 
 mentioned, and discourses upon subjects which greatly 
 tend to the increase of improper feelings. 
 
 "Another caution I would give you, is, to avoid as 
 much as possible those situations in which you are obli- 
 ged to change your companions at the hour of rest ; and 
 likewise to lay aside the too common custom of spending 
 half the hours devoted to rest in conversation with your 
 bedfellows. I consider the silent hours of the night, 
 when all about us is still, as especially belonging to God, 
 and which are particularly calculated, if properly used, 
 for the advancement of the soul in its heavenly course. 
 Be jealous therefore and watchful over yourselves at these 
 seasons ; and let them all be seriously devoted to your 
 God. Take the advice of the royal Psalmist in this re- 
 spect, who says. Stand in awe, and sin not: commune 
 with your own heart upon your bed, and be still. (Psalm 
 iv. 4.) 
 
 •* I have often thought," continued the lady of the
 
 274 THE LABY OF THE MANOR. 
 
 manor, ** what an amazing progress every Christian 
 might make in the way of godliness, if he would but 
 rightly employ these silent and solemn hours -, if he would 
 then labour (with the divine help) to bring his mind into 
 that state, in which he would wish to be found when he 
 shall be required to stand in the presence of his Maker, 
 there to give an account of the deeds done in the body. 
 *' How often," added the lady of the manor, *' do we 
 complain of not having time to engage in the duties of 
 prayer and meditation : when, if we would make the best 
 of even those intervals, which the most busy life affords 
 as w^ell as the most calm, it is astonishing how much 
 might be accomplished. But I fear that too many young 
 persons, instead of sanctifying these hours, allow them 
 to be more polluted by sinful thoughts than any other 
 portion of the day. Since, however, on these subjects 
 a hint may be sufficient for those who are well disposed, 
 I will now proceed to my story." 
 
 Theodosia ; or. The Will controlled* 
 
 On the western banks of the Rhone there is a beauti- 
 ful chain of mountains called the Cevennes, whose tower- 
 ing heights in some places seem to touch the clouds, 
 while at others they are intersected with deep valleys, 
 whose shadowy horrors are deepened by groves of ches- 
 nut, laurustinus, and evergreen oaks. 
 
 At the foot of one of these mountains, and more than 
 half embosomed in a thick wood, there has stood, for 
 some ages past, a superb chateau which was formerly 
 
 the chief seat of the Counts of L -, one of the most 
 
 noble families of France. This family, the initials of 
 whose name have only reached us, as appears from re- 
 cord, stood high in favour at court; and on this account 
 its representatives resided much in the capital, being in 
 the habit of leaving their estates almost entirely under 
 the care of an intendent or steward. This superinten- 
 dent did not reside in the chateau itself, but in a farm- 
 house not a quarter of a mile from it ; and whereas the 
 chateau was situated on a gentle elevation, the farm- 
 house was placed in a deep valley, where a brook tum- 
 bling from the mountains poured its crystal stream over 
 a pebbled channel.
 
 THE LADY OF THE MANOR. 275 
 
 Those who have travelled on the Continent may have 
 seen many a sample of architecture not unlike that which 
 this farm-house presented, and which indeed bore a near 
 resemblance to such as w ere half a century ago very fre- 
 quently to be met with in England. But as the fashions 
 of this world speedily pass away, few such are now to be 
 found, excepting in those remote situations to which 
 modern taste has not yet extended its renovating influ- 
 ence. 
 
 It was a large black-timbered mansion, extending 
 round a court, irregularly built and uncouthly adorned 
 with grotesque and frowning figures carved in wood ; its 
 high roof and turreted corners carrying the imagination 
 back to those elder times, when even the dwellings of 
 royalty were but clumsily ornamented. 
 
 The court of this mansion was well stored with all 
 manner of poultry ; and thither large flocks of sheep and 
 herds of cows were brought at night from their mountain 
 pastures, to be there protected from the wolves with 
 which the neighbouring forests were known to abound. 
 
 At the beginning of the reign of Louis XIV. at which 
 period my narrative commences, the chateau was inha- 
 bited by Reginald Pierre, Count of L ; who, having 
 
 spent his youth at court, had retired in his old age to his 
 estates, where he married a very young woman in hopes 
 of living to see an heir to his possessions and honours. 
 
 At the same time the stewardship was occupied by 
 a respectable man, named Basil, who had been some 
 years married to a daughter of one of the pastors of the 
 Wf Idenses, and saw himself the happy father of four 
 6ne boys, whom their mother, a truly pious and excel- 
 lent woman, was training up in the fear and nurture of 
 the Lord. Basil, by associating with the Waldenses, had 
 been led to renounce the popish religion, and to adopt 
 the tenets of these holy people; and as his renunciation 
 of popery was publicly known, it failed not to produce 
 him many enemies. Nevertheless, his upright conduct 
 as a steward, and his kindness to the poor, had render- 
 ed him so necessary to his lord, and so much beloved by 
 those who depended upon him, that his enemies had not 
 the power to injure him on account of his religion. 
 
 When the old Count de L had been married a few- 
 months, hopes were given him that his lady would soon
 
 276 THE LADY OF THE MANOR. 
 
 present him with what he so anxiously desired, namely, 
 a son to inherit his estates and titles, and thus prevent 
 their descending to a distant branch of the family. With 
 these hopes, so soothing to his pride, he comforted him- 
 self till the time of the child's birth, when, unfortunately, 
 instead of a son, it proved to be a daughter. 
 
 The count was greatly disappointed; but the people 
 about him consoled him by remarking, that as his wife 
 was young she might have many more children, and that 
 no doubt he would soon have the pleasure of embracing 
 an heir to his estates and honours. 
 
 In this manner they reconciled the count to his disap- 
 pointment; and that so effectually, as very tenderly to 
 attach him to his little daughter, to whom he gave the 
 name of Eleanor. 
 
 When this little girl was somewhat more than one year 
 of age, it was announced to the count that he might 
 shortly expect the birth of a second child. This he per- 
 suaded himself would prove a son; and in this belief, as 
 the time of the birth of the child approached, he actually 
 made preparations for a public rejoicing throughout his 
 domains. But, alas, the long expected period, when it 
 arrived, did not bring the happiness so ardently looked 
 for. The child was born, and proved to be a girl ; and 
 a few hours after the birth of this unwelcome infiint, the 
 eyes of its mother were closed in the sleep of death. 
 
 When this double disaster reached the ears of the un- 
 happy husband, he shut himself up in his closet, uttering 
 the exclamations of a frantic man ; nor could he be pre- 
 vailed upon to give any orders either respecting the un- 
 fortunate infant or the remains of the mother. He had 
 not been in the habit of making God his friend : his Sa- 
 viour had not been the companion of his solitary hours ; 
 he could not say of him. This is my beloved, and this is 
 my friend. (Cant. v. 16.) Consequently on this occasion 
 he found himself deprived of hope; without refuge and 
 without support. O, my readers, if you have not already 
 done so, lose no time in acquainting yourselves with God, 
 who is the Saviour of all that trust in him. Make him 
 your friend and your counsellor, the guide of your steps, 
 and the inseparable companion of your way. By night 
 on thy bed seek him as one whom thy soul loveth : seek 
 him though you find him not immediately. (Cant. iii. 1.)
 
 THE LADY OF THE MANOR. 277 
 
 He is the friend that stlcketh closer than a brother. 
 (Prov. xviii. 24.) 
 
 While the poor count remained shut up in his closet 
 a prey to despair, the greatest confusion reigned in the 
 chateau ; where no one would presume to take upon 
 himself the responsibility of ordering what was to be 
 done. 
 
 Basil was shortly sent for; but it so happened, that 
 his assistance could not be procured before the lapse of 
 several hours. For it had been so ordered by the Al- 
 mighty, that, a few days before these events took place 
 at the chateau, Blanche, the wife of Basil, had brought 
 him a little daughter who lived only two days ; during 
 which time she had been admitted into the visible Church 
 of Christ, having received the sign and seal of baptism 
 from her pious grandfather, the pastor of whom I before 
 spoke. Basil, with his two elder sons, was at this very 
 time engaged in committing his infant to the dust from 
 which she came : for dust we are, and unto dust we must 
 return. Therefore, when the servants at the chateau 
 sent in haste for Basil, he was not to be found at home ; 
 and several hours must necessarily pass before he could 
 return from the burying-place of the Waldenses among 
 the mountains, to which he had carried his infant. 
 
 In the mean time, the sad news of what had happened 
 at the chateau was carried to Blanche; who was then 
 lying in her bed lamenting the loss of her baby. Yet 
 was her grief chastened by Christian principles and 
 sweetened b> that hope which bereaved parents who 
 have given up their children in faith are allowed to en- 
 tertain, that in the last day they shall again behold their 
 beloved little ones ; for they know whom they have heliev- 
 edy and are persuaded that he is able to keep that which 
 they have committed unto him against the last day. 
 (2 Tim. i. 12.) 
 
 Blanche was much affected by the sad tidings from 
 the chateau, and eagerly asked after the baby — whether 
 it looked well — whether it would take food — with a thou- 
 sand other questions w hich none but those who have the 
 feelings of a tender mother would think of asking. But 
 receiving little satisfaction, she became silent, and lay 
 pondering a scheme in her mind which she did not im- 
 part to any one till her husband's return. 
 
 VOL, I. B B
 
 278 THE LADY OF THE MANOR. 
 
 As soon as Basil came in, he hastened to his wife's 
 room to speak some word of comfort to her, which his 
 kind heart had suggested to him by the way— and this 
 he was anxious to do before he went to the chateau. 
 
 " O, Basil ! " she said, as soon as he came into the 
 room, lifting herself in her bed and clasping her hands, 
 ** Basil, ray beloved husband, do for me one favour; en- 
 treat for me, supplicate for me, that I may be allowed 
 to nurse the unhappy baby of the chateau ! " 
 
 " My dear, your health ! " said Basil, in a voice which 
 indicated that he was going to expostulate. 
 
 "IfJ am dear to you," said she, interrupting him, 
 " if I am dear to you, bring me the baby : promise me 
 that you will." 
 
 Basil smiled ; but it was a smile in which a strong 
 feeling of sorrow and pity was the prevailing expression. 
 ** Make yourself easy," he said, " and I will do for you 
 all that is possible in this matter." 
 
 Basil went up to the chateau. He found every thing 
 in confusion : no orders given about the funeral, nor any 
 preparations made for it ; while the infant, for whom no 
 one appeared to care, although dressed superbly, seem- 
 ed to be calmly delivered up to death by its unfeeling 
 attendants. For it refused to eat such food as was pre- 
 pared for it : and no one had proposed to procure it a 
 nurse, from whom it might receive that kind of food 
 which is natural to infants, and always instinctively de- 
 sired by them. 
 
 In the mean time, no one had dared to approach the 
 count, who still remained shut up in his closet. Basil 
 adventured to knock at the door, and after much solici- 
 tation procured admittance. There he received autho- 
 rity to order and arrange the funeral of the poor count- 
 ess, and to do what he pleased with the infant, whom 
 the count expressed a wish never to behold. Although 
 Basil was extremely impatient to set the mind of his wife 
 at ease with respect to the infant, and to give certain 
 necessary orders in the chateau, yet he could not, as a 
 Christian, allow this opportunity to pass of speaking 
 some word, in season or out of season, to his lord on 
 the subject of religion; entreating him at the same time 
 to look upward for comfort. • 
 
 What effect his exhortations might have upon the
 
 THE LADY OF THE MANOR. 279 
 
 count, Basil could form no opinion. However, he consi- 
 dered that he had done his duty in this matter, and hoped 
 that he should be enabled to follow up this pious work by 
 frequent and earnest prayer in behalf of his lord. 
 
 When Basil had given such orders as he thought imme- 
 diately necessary at the chateau, which he did with as 
 much dispatch as possible, he took the infant from the 
 arms of its hireling attendants, and, wrapping it up in 
 his own mantle, carried it carefully down to his house, 
 looking frequently by the way to observe whether it 
 breathed, as he had been led to think that it held its life 
 on an exceedingly precarious tenure. On arriving at his 
 own door, his heart beat with joy to think of the pleasure 
 he was going to afford his wife. He went softly up to 
 her room, and, gently opening the door, stood by her bed- 
 side with the babe in his arms. She gave a piercing cry 
 of joy when she perceived what he had brought wrapped 
 in his mantle, and, raising herself in her bed, received 
 the noble but unfortunate infant to her maternal bosom 
 with emotions which may be more easily conceived than 
 described. These are the feelings which make women 
 truly lovely ; wherein self is wholly disregarded, while 
 the heart is drawn out to the orphan, the fatherless, and 
 the helpless. On such occasions beauty becomes tenfold 
 more beautiful, and even the most ordinary features ac- 
 quire an inexpressible loveliness. 
 
 It was a matter of no consideration with Blanche and 
 Basil how they were to be rewarded for their intended 
 care of the infant; but all their anxiety seemed to be, 
 whether with their utmost attention it might have a 
 chance of living and doing well. While they were ea- 
 gerly hanging over it, the child opened its little eyes, and 
 uttered a faint cry. The first thing which Blanche did, 
 was to disencumber it of its superb dress and those tight 
 bandages w ith which it w as swathed and bound ; after 
 which she put on it the light dress prepared for her own 
 poor infant. It seemed to be instantly relieved, and very 
 soon had established itself in great comfort and apparent 
 high enjoyment in all the privileges which Blanche's own 
 child would have possessed had it lived. Several times 
 during the evening it took its nourishment, and slept com- 
 fortably in the intervals on the bosom of its new mother; 
 while the whole heart of Blanche was lifted up in grati-
 
 280 THE LADY OF THE MANOR. 
 
 tude for the happiness she now enjoyed, as well as in 
 earnest prayer for the divine blessing on her adopted 
 baby. 
 
 Basil now returned, much relieved in mind, to the cha- 
 teau, where he endeavoured to arrange every thing ac- 
 cording to the wishes of the count. The remains of the 
 countess were committed to the earth with great magni- 
 ficence — and before many weeks had passed away, Basil 
 had the same duties to perform for the poor count him- 
 self, who died a victim to excessive grief. The count 
 left behind him a will, in which he commended his elder 
 daughter to the care of the next heir, who was a married 
 man and had several sons ; requesting that she might be 
 brought up in the family, educated with care, that is, 
 with attention to the acquirementof elegant manners and 
 accomplishments, and that, when of proper age, she 
 might be given in marriage to the son of her guardian. 
 He also left in the hand of trustees, a large sum of 
 money, which was to be paid as her dowry on the day 
 of her marriage. He likewise requested that his second 
 daughter, of whom he spoke in his will as of one born 
 under evil auspices, might be left in the family of Basil 
 till the marriage of her sister, and then placed in a con- 
 vent for life. In case of the death of her sister, he how- 
 ever hinted, that he hoped his heir would receive this his 
 second child into the chateau in her sister's place, and 
 make her his daughter-in-law ; under which circumstan- 
 ces she was to receive the dowry intended for her sister. 
 He moreover desired in his will, that she should be called 
 Theodosia, after her mother; and that a yearly consi- 
 deration should be made to Basil and his wife for their 
 care of her till she should remove to the convent: but 
 he left Theodosia no other fortune except a small sum, 
 which was to be given to the convent of her choice. 
 
 These were the most important particulars contained 
 in the count's will. But it seemed that in these arrange- 
 ments the old gentleman had never taken it into consi- 
 deration that Basil and his wife were heretics, and that 
 Theodosia would consequently be brought up by them in 
 their own way of thinking ; a circumstance undoubtedly 
 calculated to prevent her entering into a catholic con- 
 vent. But the count being a freethinker, a description 
 of men even at that time abounding in France, he cousi-
 
 THE LADY OF THE MANOR. 281 
 
 dered all religious controversies as absurd; every deno- 
 mination of Christians as equally right or equally wrong; 
 and religion itself important only as it affected the well- 
 being of states. As to any further consequences of re- 
 ligion, he, like Gallio, called for none of these things. 
 (Acts xviii. 17.) 
 
 The new count arrived at the chateau in time to be 
 present at the funeral of his predecessor, to whose me- 
 mory he paid all imaginable outward respect, professing 
 his intention to execute precisely every article of his last 
 will. He took Eleanor into his family, to be educated as 
 the destined bride of his son and heir. He caused The- 
 odosia to be christened with pomp, and then delivered 
 her again with a handsome present to Blanche. After 
 which, having arranged and settled every thing at the 
 chateau, he returned to Paris, where his lady and chil- 
 dren resided; leaving the charge of his estates to Basil, 
 with whose fidelity he was well acquainted. I must not 
 forget to say that he took the little Eleanor with him. 
 
 This great revolution having taken place in the noble 
 
 family of L , every thing was restored to quiet again 
 
 in the course of a few weeks. And now the happy 
 Blanche found herself in tranquil possession of her little 
 nursling. From day to day she watched the growth of 
 the lovely baby. Within a month after its birth, under 
 the tender care of Blanche, its limbs grew plump and 
 round, and its skin became of a milk-white fairness. 
 In the second month, it could hold its head almost erect ; 
 its features at the same time assuming a form that pro- 
 mised a more than ordinary degree of loveliness. In an- 
 other month, it began to know its adopted mother, and 
 often, when taking its nourishment, would leave off to 
 smile at her, and lift its hand to her mouth. From day 
 to day its infantine beauties continued to open and ex- 
 pand, while a thousand sweet endearing ways made it 
 the little darling of the whole family ; but especially of 
 its foster-mother, whose feelings towards it were of a 
 peculiar nature which baffles all description. Thus, as 
 this little creature grew in stature, she became more and 
 more engaging to those about her ; and Blanche espe- 
 cially found that her affection for. the child was of such 
 a description as might render it productive of unhappi- 
 ness to both parties : she therefore made it a matter of 
 
 B B 3
 
 282 THE LADY OF THE MANOR. 
 
 continual prayer, that she might be enabled to give her 
 an education in all things conformable to the pleasure of 
 God, and such as might render her early sojourn in that 
 house not a misfortune but a blessing. 
 
 Blanche herself had enjoyed many advantages of edu- 
 cation beyond what the wife of a man in Basil's situa- 
 tion could be supposed to have possessed. She was the 
 only child of her father, who was a widower ; and he 
 being a man of considerable learning, and living in great 
 retirement, had found a peculiar pleasure in instructing 
 his daughter: besides which, she had spent some years 
 with a lady of high rank, of the reformed Church, who 
 had withdrawn from the world in order to enjoy reli- 
 gious retirement ; and who, having taken a particular 
 fancy to Blanche, had spent much time in giving her 
 such instructions as literary fathers are not calculated to 
 furnish. Blanche was therefore in every point more ca- 
 pable of educating Theodosia, than the world in general 
 would have supposed : but though this afforded her a 
 real gratification, it gave rise to no self-confidence, be- 
 ing fully persuaded that the work of educating an im- 
 mortal soul for eternity, was not only infinitely above all 
 her own ability, but above that of every human creature. 
 She had been taught by her pious father to know, that 
 between the work proposed, and the best means which 
 can be used by the most judicious teacher for effecting 
 it, there is a mighty chasm that cannot be filled up by 
 all the exertions which human skill or affection can 
 make. At the same time she had been taught, that 
 while this reflection should humble the vain instructor, 
 and so prevent all rehance upon his own qualifications ; 
 it ought also to yield that man sweet consolation, who 
 looks continually for help from above, and who, knowing 
 his own insufficiency, rests fully assured that a faithful 
 God will complete the work which he knows to be 
 beyond the best abilities of his most favoured agents. 
 To work with God, and accordmg to his will, in the bu- 
 siness of education, was therefore what Blanche suppo- 
 sed to be the sum of human wisdom in so important a 
 concern. Accordingly, she made it her prayer in the 
 management of all her children, that she might have 
 wisdom to commence her labours in the same manner as 
 the Father of spirits for the most part begins his deal-
 
 THE LADY OF THE MANOR. 283 
 
 ings with such of his creatures as he designs to bring 
 effectually to himself. A little observation, and a little 
 reflection, with God's blessing, soon brought Blanche to 
 see where the divine operations commonly commence in 
 the restoration of sinful man, and also where the work 
 of human instruction mav be advantageously resorted 
 to. 
 
 There is a certain principle, which, whether called ori- 
 ginal sin, the lust of the flesh, pride, selfishness, or by 
 what other name you please, reigns alike in the hearts 
 of all human beings by nature — holding each individual 
 in entire subjection, leading him to make self his idol, 
 alienating him from God, and rendering him callous to 
 the feelings of others. This evil principle, however con- 
 cealed or modified, however palliated to the ear by re- 
 fined and plausible sentiments, or to the eye by beauty, 
 elegance, and fashion, is every where the same baneful, 
 poisonous, destructive, and horrible propensity; and 
 though not breaking out so disgustingly in every distinct 
 individual, is yet in all the unconverted children of 
 Adam, before that God " to whom all hearts are open, 
 all desires known, and from whom no secrets are hid," 
 equally deserving of everlasting death, or eternal banish- 
 ment from the divine presence. This principle, there- 
 fore, is what parents should wage war against in their 
 children; and it was with this that Blanche began, not 
 only in the management of her own little boys, but also 
 in the case of her noble and darling nursHng. Accord- 
 ingly, all the earliest lessons to which Theodosia's atten- 
 tion was called, tended to the abasement of self, and the 
 exaltation of God. With this two-fold end in prospect, 
 she exhibited to the children of her charge no false or 
 deceitful view of things ; but continually and simply 
 stated to them the many sad circumstances attendant on 
 man's natural condition in the world, to wit, his depra- 
 ved soul; his stubborn will; his perverted taste; the 
 grossness of his desires ; his delight in that which is low 
 and vile ; his folly ; his vain and filthy thoughts ; toge- 
 ther with his love and preference of self: the innume- 
 rable loathsome diseases to which he is subject; his 
 want even of outward comeliness during the greater part 
 of the years of his life ; his subjection to death ; the cor- 
 ruption of his body in the grave ; his becoming food for
 
 284 THE LADY OF THE MANOR. 
 
 worms — all these things at different times she took oc- 
 casion to point out to her little pupils, very generally 
 insisting upon the necessity of overcoming self", as the 
 great enemy of every man, as that which principally 
 keeps him back from God, and which without the divine 
 assistance can never be wholly subdued. And as she 
 endeavoured to lower self in the minds of her children, 
 she strove likewise to exalt the Creator in their ideas, 
 dwelling continually on the love of God, as shewn forth 
 in the mighty work of man's salvation. Neither was it 
 only by precept that Blanche endeavoured to subdue 
 every selfish principle in her children : she led them 
 also by example to innumerable little acts of self-denial 
 by which they might benefit others. Moreover, she 
 taught them to reject praise as not belonging to tkeniy 
 but as due only to God ; a kind of incense to which no 
 creature has any title, all the good we possess being the 
 property of God. 
 
 Thus on the broad basis of humihty and self-denial 
 did Blanche begin and carry on the education of her 
 beloved Theodosia. She taught her, that it was an ac- 
 tual sin to occupy either her time or her talents with a 
 view to self-gratification ; and that every action and 
 thought of this kind would, to say the least, procure 
 neither profit nor pleasure in the end. At the same time, 
 she endeavoured to make her laborious in her exertions 
 for the poor, preparing and carrying to them coats and 
 garments, visiting and reading to the sick, and catechising 
 such of the neighbouring little ones as were allowed by 
 their parents and the priests to hear the pure doctrines 
 of the reformed Church, in which Blanche of course 
 educated her noble pupil. 
 
 Theodosia was also taught to read such ancient reli- 
 gious books as were approved by the father of Blanche; 
 on which account, as those books were for the most 
 part written in Latin it became necessary that she should 
 study that language. Blanche also taught her to play 
 upon the lute, and to accompany it with her voice in 
 singing such hymns as were judged accordant to true 
 religion. This the young lady accomplished in an ex- 
 ceeding sweet and simple manner, having a fine voice, 
 and no desire to set forth her own excellencies while sing- 
 ing the praises of her Creator. She also assisted her
 
 THE LADY OF THE MANOR. 285 
 
 adopted mother in many little household businesses. In 
 this manner passed the happy early days of Theodosia, 
 who grew up exceedingly lovely in her outward appear- 
 ance ; which loveliness was greatly enhanced by the sim- 
 plicity of her manners, and that absence of selfishness 
 which was observable in her deportment. Her four 
 brothers, as she called them, loved her as a very dear 
 sister; while Basil and Blanche felt for her as for the 
 most beloved of daughters. 
 
 When Theodosia was twelve years of age, a particular 
 apartment, and that the most convenient in the house, 
 was appropriated to her by her kind friends. It was a 
 large upper room, with an oriel window at one end, which 
 being raised several steps, and projecting a considerable 
 way from the wall of the house, commanded a view on 
 one side a considerable way up the dingle or dell in 
 which the building stood, together with the brook ma- 
 king its way along its pebbled bed, till, winding in part 
 round the house, it disappeared under a rude bridge at 
 a little distance. On the other side of this window, the 
 principal features which presented themselves to the eye, 
 were a path cut in the wood, which at the distance of 
 half a quarter of a mile was terminated by an old gate- 
 way of the chateau, and one or two tov.ers, which arose 
 in gloomy majesty above the trees. In this apartment, 
 Theodosia's little bed was placed in a recess; which du- 
 ring the day time was closed up by folding-doors of 
 carved wood, rendered almost black by time : and here 
 also were her book-shelves, her materials for needle- 
 work and writing, with sundry curious old chests, in 
 which were laid up coats and garments prepared for the 
 poor. In the oriel window of this room, Blanche and 
 Theodosia spent most of their summer afternoons, some- 
 times accompanied by an old servant who had assisted 
 the wife of Basil in bringing up her children, and who 
 had finished her labours of this kind by attending on 
 the little Theodosia. And sometimes their party was 
 augmented by Blanche's eldest son, who was destined to 
 succeed his grandfather in the care of his little fiock 
 among the mountains, and who therefore was devoted 
 to the study of divinity ; while his younger brothers were 
 occupied with their father in such rural employments as 
 were adapted to their several ages. Thus the oriel was
 
 286 THE LADY OF THE MANOR. 
 
 the daily scene of industry, charity, and holy instruction ; 
 for it was the great pleasure of the younger Basil, to 
 impart the knowledge he acquired to his beloved sister 
 Theodosia : and to this end, while she was employed 
 with her needle, he read aloud such books as his grand- 
 father had recommended to his study, commenting as he 
 went along, and pointing out those passages which he 
 thought most worthy of her attention. 
 
 It was the continual care of Blanche to draw Theodo- 
 sia from herself, and from selfish cares of every kind, 
 leading her to be continually occupied with the feelings, 
 the interests, and the welfare of others. She taught 
 Theodosia, and her adopted brother confirmed his pious 
 mother's instructions, that the end of man here on earth, 
 and of all that he is made to suffer by a kind Providence, 
 is in order to bring his will into a strict conformity to 
 the will of God. 
 
 '* When we are enabled to say, with our beloved Sa- 
 viour," remarked the pious Blanche, " Thy will, O Lordy 
 not mine he done, then are we in the way to be happy 
 both in life and in death. But while we still eagerly 
 desire self-indulgence of any kind, making self the sub- 
 ject of our private contemplation or our public discourse, 
 and while our own wills and desires outrun the permis- 
 sion of God, we are to a certain degree in an uncon- 
 verted state, and must expect, if we are to be finally 
 saved, that he will still further empty us of self, and still 
 more deeply abase us in our own sight. 
 
 She also taught Theodosia how this work of self-hu- 
 miliation, or mortification of sin, must be carried on ; 
 not by any human means, (althousjh it must be accompa- 
 nied by outward acts of self-denial,) but by the power 
 of the Spirit of God, through which only we can be 
 enabled to subdue our natural evil inclinations. All 
 other means, she remarked, had, by long experience, 
 proved themselves utterly inefficacious ; and must, of 
 necessity, do so, since outward acts of mortification, 
 however severe, could hardly be considered in any other 
 light than that of so many incentives to self-confidence 
 and spiritual pride, tending rather to increase than to 
 diminish the evil propensities of our nature. 
 
 Neither the pious instructions nor the lovely Christian 
 example of Blanche were lost upon the young Theodo-
 
 THE LADY OF THE MANOR. 287 
 
 sia; but, being accompanied by the blessing of God, they 
 produced in her the fairest fruits, insomuch that as she 
 grew in stature she grew in favour both with God and 
 with such of her fellow-creatures as were permitted to 
 associate with her. And in this manner passed her life 
 till she had attained her sixteenth year, at which time 
 those principles which her parents by adoption had en- 
 deavoured to inculcate with such unremitting labour, were 
 brought to an unexpected test. 
 
 From the period that the present count had come into 
 
 possession of the estates of L till this time, he had 
 
 not once visited his chateau, having resided in Paris with 
 his whole family, of which Theodosia's sister continually 
 formed a part : but now he sent Basil orders to have every 
 thing prepared for the reception of his family at the cha- 
 teau, where in a few weeks he arrived with a numerous 
 train of attendants. 
 
 It was evening when the count and his family reached 
 the chateau, whither Basil immediately went up to pay 
 his duty to his lord. 
 
 The family were at supper in the ball, which was su- 
 perbly lighted up with chandeliers sent purposely from 
 Paris, when the old steward was admitted. 
 
 He was received by the noble party in a manner due 
 to his hoary hairs and long services, and made to sit 
 down, while the count held him in conversation for the 
 space of half an hour. During this time Basil had an 
 opportunity of looking round him and examining the 
 countenances of the children of his lord, who were now 
 fully grown up; as well as of Eleanor, the daughter of 
 his former master and sister of his adopted child. 
 
 Basil, however, saw nothing in these young people 
 which in his opinion could render them comparable to 
 Theodosia. Eleanor somewhat resembled her sister in 
 respect of form and features; but her manner was bold 
 and haughty, and the expression of her countenance 
 harsh and self-confident. The eldest son of the count, 
 who next excited the interest of Basil, though still very 
 young, looked already like a man of the world, and had 
 the air of one whose youthful bloom was prematurely im- 
 paired by late hours and corrupt habits. 
 
 When Eleanor understood who Basil was, she coolly 
 and formally enquired after her sister; and the countess
 
 288 THE LADY OF THE MANOR. 
 
 desired Basil to bring her up to the chateau the next day ; 
 a request which caused the heart of the old man to sink 
 within him, under an apprehension that this introduction 
 into worldly society would prove only the beginning of 
 sorrows to his dear Theodosia. 
 
 Before he left the chateau, a hint was privately given 
 him by the count, that the marriage between his eldest 
 son and the lady Eleanor was to be celebrated at the 
 chateau during the summer, in consequence of which he 
 was charged with some preparations necessary to be 
 previously made. 
 
 On Basil's return to his house, Theodosia eagerly asked 
 him many questions about her sister, to which Basil an- 
 swered, ** I am to take you to see her to-morrow, and I 
 hope you will find her worthy of your regard." 
 
 When Blanche heard that Theodosia was to go to the 
 chateau, although she understood it was only for a few 
 hours' visit, she felt the same sad presentiments which her 
 husband had felt before. However, she did not express 
 her fears to any one ; but, retiring to pray, she implored 
 her heavenly Father, who had hitherto so tenderly watched 
 over her adopted child, to keep her now in the hour of 
 temptation. (Rev. iii. 10.) 
 
 At the appointed time the next day, Theodosia was 
 led by Basil, in a neat yet simple dress, to the chateau ; 
 where, after being presented to the count and countess, 
 she was introduced to her sister and all the sons and 
 daughters of the count. 
 
 The count and countess received her with cold polite- 
 ness ; Eleanor affected an appearance of kindness, which 
 did but ill conceal her real want of regard, or even the 
 habitual contempt she entertained for her sister, whom 
 she considered as greatly her inferior, having been brought 
 up, as she had been led to suppose, in the manner of a 
 mere rustic. 
 
 Every one, whatever they might express, was struck 
 with the appearance of Theodosia. They saw elegance 
 where they expected to meet with rusticity, and observed 
 a dignified kind of composure where they looked for no- 
 thing but awkward bashfulness. The young ladies who 
 had been brought up in Paris, as they supposed, in the 
 first style, saw themselves excelled, without being able 
 to comprehend the possibility of such a thing. They
 
 THE LADY OF THE MANOR. 289 
 
 felt mortified, and yet were ashamed to confess to them- 
 selves that they were so. They could have no idea what 
 it was which gave to Theodosia's manner a degree of 
 excellence which they could not but feel, however loath 
 they might be to commend or even to acknowledge it. 
 They did not know that where there is humility in a cha- 
 racter — unfeigned humility, without any wish to force 
 self into notice, but a simple Christian desire of paying 
 to all men the honour due to them — that character will, 
 generally speaking, be a dignified one, and the general 
 deportment of the individual will be decent, calm, and 
 courteous. If we add to this quality of humility, a mind 
 cultivated by meditation on choice subjects, and habi- 
 tually rejecting impure and low thoughts, it will exalt 
 the character to a still higher standard ; elegance and 
 intelligence will be added to decency, calmness, and 
 courtesy : and where we have all these, we have a per- 
 fect gentlewoman such as the world cannot make 
 
 such as fashion cannot mimic — such as no art can attain. 
 The maker of artificial tiowers may acquire sutlicient per- 
 fection to please the eye of a superficial observer; but 
 his roses and lilies will not bear examination ; they will 
 neither perfume the surrounding air, nor attract the bee 
 by their imitative beauties. But the works of the Almigh- 
 ty, whether he display his skill in forming a flower of the 
 desert, or whether he put forth his power under a sub- 
 limer shape, in forming anew the heart of some favoured in- 
 dividual of our depraved race, do invariably exhibit a per- 
 fection which malice itself is constrained to acknowledge, 
 and which no human art can successfully counterfeit. 
 
 But to return to my story. Theodosia was invited to 
 remain till evening at the chateau, to partake of the 
 superb supper, and to be present at the evening amuse- 
 ments, which consisted of many pastimes of which she 
 had hitherto formed little idea ; namely, dancing, masking, 
 and games of chance : for there was a large assemblage at 
 the chateau of ladies and gentlemen, independent of the 
 family of the count. Music also was to make a part of 
 the entertainment ; not such music as Theodosia had been 
 used to hear, but light songs and gay airs, which, for the 
 moment, may, indeed, raise the spirits and excite the 
 passions, but which commonly leave them in a state of 
 listlessness and exhaustion. 
 VOL. I. c c
 
 290 THE LADY OF THE MANOR. 
 
 The countess caused Theodosia to be dressed in one of 
 her sister's superb robes, in order that the family pride 
 might not be hurt by the simplicity of her habiliments; 
 and the female servants who were employed to assist her 
 in putting on these ornaments, did not fail to congratulate 
 her upon her improved appearance. After which, when 
 she was brought into company, she was much noticed by 
 those who had no temptation to envy her ; particularly 
 by the eldest son of the count, who was not long in dis- 
 covering which of the two sisters was to be preferred, 
 neither did he attempt to hide from any one the sudden 
 preference which he had conceived. 
 
 The effect of all this upon the mind of Theodosia, was 
 far from a desirable one : yet such as it was I shall en- 
 deavour to describe it, that it may hold out a lesson to 
 other young persons, and induce them, if they love their 
 own peace, or if they desire the salvation of their souls, 
 to shun those scenes where all that is evil and sellish in 
 our nature is excited, and to seek such situations in life 
 as tend to allay the passions, and to throw self into the 
 background. It must, however, be remarked, that Theo- 
 dosia had not sought her present trials, but was unex- 
 pectedly exposed to them ; and they were, perhaps, 
 ordained by Providence, for the purpose of giving her an 
 humbling view of herself, in order more effectually to 
 lower her in her own opinion, to control her will, and to 
 prepare her for that state of happiness upon which she 
 was soon to enter. 
 
 The first effect which these new scenes produced upon 
 Theodosia, was to throw her mind into a kind of tumult, 
 which in a slight degree impaired that beautiful compo- 
 sure of which I have just spoken. In this tumult new 
 ideas mingled with old ones, and new sensations opposed 
 ancient habits. Her strongest feelings, for a time, were 
 those of curiosity and wonder, and these were blended 
 with displeasure at many things which she saw, and 
 which she knew to be wrong. At length, flattery pro- 
 ducing its usual effect, led her to think of herself, and 
 to enquire what figure she herself made in the motley and 
 gay group around her. S^elf-love soon, however, led her 
 to make a discovery which at the time was far from dis- 
 agreeable to her, namely, that she was an object of 
 admiration to some and of envy to others : and now vanity
 
 THE LADY OF THE MANOR. 291 
 
 obtained an increasing influence over her from one mo- 
 ment to another. Nevertheless as she yielded to the 
 temptation her conscience stuns: her, while the thought 
 of her past humble and happy life became uneasy to her. 
 It may be asked, Could one day — a few hours only — 
 undo so eflfectually the work of so many years? Then 
 wherefore do pious parents rise up early, and late take 
 rest, in order to advance the spiritual good of their chil- 
 dren ? I answer, the work of a pious education may for 
 a time be marred, but it is not easily destroyed : if 
 blessed of God, it can never be destroyed. Though that 
 which is built on the rock Christ may be destroyed to 
 the foundation, yet the foundation will stand for ever. 
 And though not one stone be left upon another, of the 
 most beautiful edifice which education can form, but all 
 may appear to be subverted by the malice of Satan, yet, 
 in three days can Christ build it up again. (John ii. 19.) 
 For brass I will bring gold, and for iron silver, and for 
 wood bi^ass, and for stones iron. The sun shall be no 
 more thy light by day, nor the moon by night: but the 
 Lord shall be thine everlasting light, and the days of thy 
 mourning shall be ended. (Isaiah Ix. 17, 19, 20.) 
 
 In this manner the evening passed away at the cha- 
 teau till, at a late hour, the company dispersed ; and 
 Theodosia was not sorry to receive an invitation for the 
 following day. Blanche was too penetrating, and under- 
 stood human nature too well, not to perceive the injury 
 which this intercourse with the count's family was ef- 
 fecting on the mind of Theodosia. She had, however, 
 no power to prevent this intercourse, because these were 
 Theodosia's natural friends and protectors; and she 
 knew not, had it been in her power, how far it would 
 have been right to have thrown any obstacle in the way 
 of her associating with her sister. She therefore did 
 what she could : she prayed continually for her beloved 
 child, that her heavenly Father would so order matters 
 that every thing might work together for her good ; and, 
 in addition to this, she took every opportunity of cau- 
 tioning Theodosia against the temptations with which 
 she was surrounded. 
 
 Nearly two months had passed away since the arrival 
 of the count's family, and during this time Theodosia 
 had almost daily spent her evenings at the chateau. In
 
 292 THE LADY OF THE MANOR. 
 
 this interval, though apparently more gay than usual, 
 Theodosia had known more real sorrow than her whole 
 life before could have summed up. She had been neg- 
 lected and treated haughtily by her sister, whose jea- 
 lousy and envy had now assumed something of a decided 
 form ; Eleanor having discovered for some time past the 
 preference given to her sister by her intended husband. 
 
 Theodosia also, besides the unkind ness of her sister, 
 had begun to form a taste for gay and high life, which, 
 contending with her love to Blanche and the humble 
 family of Basil, formed a kind of conflict in her mind, 
 and opposition of desires, which was equally new and 
 painful to her. Her conscience, also, was wounded : 
 she knew that which was right, while she delighted in 
 that which was wrong. She ceased to have sweet 
 thoughts of her God and her Saviour. She meditated 
 no more on him who had died for her, and who had 
 once been inexpressibly endeared to her thoughts. The 
 companion of her solitary hours, the object of her pure 
 and holy love from early infancy, was now estranged 
 from her ; she had allowed Him to depart ; He had with- 
 drawn himself, and was gone : yet not so far gone, but 
 he still watched tenderly over her, and had prepared for 
 her a way of escape which she could not perceive ; 
 neither was it such a one as she would have taken had 
 the choice been left to her. 
 
 The time was now approaching, when the eldest son 
 of the count was expected to take the wife for whom he 
 had been destined from his youth. Eleanor's dowry had 
 been accumulating from her infancy, and the old count 
 was impatient to secure this property to his family. 
 The young man had for several weeks past manifested 
 some reluctance to the proposed marriage ; and when 
 his father took an opportunity of telling him that it was 
 his intention to have it speedily solemnized, he confess- 
 ed that he had conceived a disgust at the insolent and 
 imperious carriage of Eleanor, and that if he must take 
 a wife, he should infinitely prefer Theodosia. His fa- 
 ther was extremely enraged at this confession. How- 
 ever, dissembling the excess of his anger, he told his 
 son that he would give him a few weeks to consider of 
 what he had been saying ; in the mean time, that, as 
 he had some business of particular consequence to be
 
 THE LADY OF THE MANOR. 293 
 
 B 
 
 transacted in Paris, he would send him thither, hoping, 
 
 that on his return he would be found more willing to 
 conjply with the will of his parents. 
 
 The young count, who expected that his father would 
 be very angry with him, and who feared that he should 
 be immediately compelled to marry Eleanor, was very 
 glad of this delay ; and undertook to go immediately 
 whither his father wished to send him, requiring only 
 one day to prepare for his journey. In the mean time, 
 he intended, if possible, to get a sight of Theodosia, 
 and perhaps to tell her what had passed. But the old 
 count foreseeing this, had sent to Basil, desiring him to 
 keep her con lined in her own room, till his son should 
 have left the country. 
 
 Theodosia was preparing as usual to go to the cha- 
 teau, when this order arrived. Basil and Blanche were 
 much puzzled to conjecture what this message could 
 mean. However Blanche, not to distress Theodosia 
 more than was necessary, undertook to keep her in her 
 apartment without letting her know that it was the will 
 of the count. She therefore went up to her, and in- 
 formed her that she could not go to the chateau that 
 evening. " Something has happened, my dear child," 
 she said, ** which will prevent the countess and youi 
 sister from seeing you to-day. You may therefore lay 
 aside your preparations, and we will spend the evening 
 together." 
 
 Theodosia coloured, and looked mortified at these 
 words of Blanche, and at length actually burst into tears. 
 These tears hurt and affected Blanche exceedingly. She 
 was arranging the little table and the needle-work in the 
 oriel window, in the manner she used to do when they 
 spent their happy evenings together ; when ceasing her 
 preparations, and turning to Theodosia, she said, ** O 
 my Theodosia ! my child ! w hat can have thus changed 
 the heart of my beloved one in so extraordinary a man- 
 ner, that she cannot submit, without tears, to spend one 
 evening with her adopted mother?" 
 
 These words struck like a dagger to the heart of The- 
 odosia, who, falling on her knees before Blanche, and 
 clasping her arms around her, poured forth many strong 
 expressions of remorse, shame, and grief. ^ 
 
 " I hope," said Blanche, much alarmed, and putting 
 c c 3
 
 294 THE LADY OF THE MANOR. 
 
 together the agonies of Theodosia with the message 
 sent by the count, " that you have done nothing very 
 wrong, very sinful, very disgraceful, with which I am 
 not acquainted. Speak in a moment, tell nie what you 
 have done." 
 
 Theodosia looked wildly about her, " I do not know," 
 she said, " I cannot tell, I hope and trust that I have 
 been kept from open and shameful sin ; but my whole 
 heart appears changed, I am strangely altered, and am 
 no more worthy to be called your child." 
 
 Their conversation was here interrupted by the voice 
 of Basil, calling loudly to his wife, and begging her to 
 come down in haste. Blanche, being full of apprehen- 
 sion, hastily left Theodosia, and, not forgetting to lock 
 the door of her room, ran down stairs. 
 
 And now Theodosia, who did not perceive that she was 
 locked in her room, was left alone to her own reflections, 
 which were of an exceeding sad and painful nature ; yet 
 so confused were her thoughts that she could employ 
 them to no profitable purpose, neither could she have 
 given any account of her mental exercises for nearly two 
 hours — during which she sat before the open Avindow 
 with her eyes fixed on the towers of the chateau rising 
 above the woods, which were the objects that immedi- 
 ately presented themselves to her view. 
 
 While she remained alone it became dark, so that the 
 gothic turrets were only visible by the outline which 
 they formed on the horizon. 
 
 At length the hour arrived when the great hall was 
 commonly lighted up ; and immediately the splendid 
 lamps were seen glimmering from the windows through 
 the dark foliage of the surrounding trees, a horn at the 
 same time giving the signal that the family were going 
 to their evening meal ; and shortly after followed the 
 sound of music, when Theodosia could faintly distinguish 
 the various tunes which she had so often heard during 
 the banquet. 
 
 Scenes of past pleasure now arising before her re- 
 membrance, she broke out into a new paroxysm of 
 grief - and while she was thus giving way to her fan- 
 cied sorrows, Blanche returned. She held a light in 
 her hand, and her face was pale as death. She set 
 the candle on the table, saying in a voice of assumed
 
 THE LADY OF THE MANOR. 295 
 
 composure, *' Theodosia, you would do well to go to 
 bed." 
 
 Theodosia hastily wiped away her tears, of which she 
 was truly ashamed ; and, turning to look at Blanche, 
 she was suddenly terrified at the expression of her coun- 
 tenance. 
 
 '* Go, my dear," repeated Blanche, ** go to bed, and 
 try to take some rest." 
 
 ♦* Oh my mother," replied Theodosia, " how can I 
 take rest when you look as you now do ! What has hap- 
 pened ? O tell me why do you look so indescribably 
 wretched ? " 
 
 Blanche burst into tears. " I would," she said, " have 
 concealed this affliction from you till the morning, if pos- 
 sible, that I might thus have procured for you one more 
 peaceful night's repose in the house of your adopted 
 parents ; but I cannot do it. It is best perhaps that you 
 should know all this night, and thus more time will be 
 given you for bringing your mind into a state of submis- 
 sion. To-morrow, my Theodosia, my child, you must 
 
 leave us; to-morrow, yes, to-morrow you are to be 
 
 placed in a convent." — Blanche could say no more, but 
 clasping her hands and lifting up her eyes to heaven, 
 *' Thy will, O God," she added, *' Thy will be done." 
 So saying, she sunk almost fainting into a chair. 
 
 Theodosia stood for some moments looking at Blanche, 
 like one stupid. At length, as if recollecting herself, 
 she exclaimed, " It is all right, beloved mother ! I see at 
 once that it is all right. I have deserved this — my poor 
 inconstant heart required it. O my heavenly Father, 
 without this I should perhaps have been lost; for ever 
 lost; my soul would have been lost. Then kneeling 
 down and lifting up her hands and eyes streaming with 
 tears, ** O heavenly Father," she said, *' grant me grace 
 to submit to this trial as a Christian should do." 
 
 Blanche and Theodosia spent the whole night in con- 
 versation, mutually trying to reconcile themselves to the 
 decree of the count, who had signified his intention of 
 placing Theodosia in a convent ; and as he was her guar- 
 dian, his authority also being strengthened by her father's 
 will, Basil and Blanche knew that there were no means 
 of resisting his determination. Nevertheless, Theodo- 
 sia, as not being a Roman Catholic, could never consent
 
 296 THE LADY OF THE MANOR. 
 
 to take the vows of a nun ; but this circumstance they 
 well knew would aggravate rather than diminish her un- 
 happiness in the convent, since, no doubt, every pos- 
 sible method would be taken to compel her to this step. 
 
 Towards the dawn of day, Theodosia, being thorough- 
 ly fatigued with weeping, fell into a short sleep ; from 
 w hich awaking in about half an hour, she found herself 
 alone, Blanche having gone out to make some prepara- 
 tions for her journey. 
 
 Theodosia was lying on a bed from which she could 
 see the oriel, together with the table, chairs, and needle- 
 work, which Blanche had arranged the last evening 
 before the sad news arrived. Theodosia lifted herself 
 up in her bed, and cried out in an agony of mind, as the 
 events of the past day rushed on her remembrance, 
 *' And was I so very wicked as to think it a misfortune 
 to spend one evening with my beloved mother? Could 
 I indeed have such ungrateful thoughts ? Is it possible 
 that my heart could have wandered so far from duty, 
 and so far have lost all natural affection ? Never could I 
 have believed myself to be so utterly vile ! But Thou hast 
 brought my chastisement upon me, O Lord ; and left me 
 nothing to say, but that I deserve this, and more also. 
 Thy judgments are right, O Lord ; I feel them to be so. 
 O give me grace to bear them with submission, and to 
 become the better for them." 
 
 I will not enter into a minute description of the sad 
 parting between Blanche and Theodosia, nor attempt to 
 paint the grief of Basil and his sons when they saw her 
 forced away from them. Suffice it to say, that about 
 the middle of the day, when the count trusted his eldest 
 son was far enough off not to interfere with his mea- 
 sures, he sent a priest, with a certain number of his own 
 servants, to convey Theodosia to a convent, situated 
 about three leagues from the chateau, where she was 
 put under the care of the lady abbess, who received or- 
 ders to treat her with kindness, but at the same time to 
 guard her with such strictness as to cut off all hope of 
 effecting her escape. 
 
 It must not be supposed from this behaviour of the 
 count that he disliked Theodosia, or preferred Eleanor to 
 her ; for this was not the case : but he coveted the money 
 which Eleanor was to receive at her marriage, and knew
 
 THE LADY OF THE MANOR. 297 
 
 that Theodosia had nothing. Thus he was led, by the 
 love of money, to overlook those good qualities which 
 would probably have made Theodosia an excellent wife 
 for his son, and might have rendered her price far above 
 rubies. 
 
 And now to follow poor Theodosia. She was receiv- 
 ed at the convent with civility, and taken into the par- 
 lour of the lady abbess, where she was assured that 
 ev€ry thing should be done to render her happy, if she 
 would endeavour to reconcile herself to her situation. 
 Theodosia however felt that it would not be easy to re- 
 concile herself to such a situation, separated as she now 
 was from her beloved friends, and condemned to live 
 with persons whose religion she had been taught to look 
 upon with the highest disapprobation. Every thing she 
 saw, filled her with horror. \\ herever she turned her 
 eyes, she beheld images of the Virgin and of the saints, 
 to which the nuns as they passed paid such respect as 
 was due only to Almighty God. This she considered as 
 absolute idolatry, and what she never could participate 
 in. Many other things she quickly saw and heard 
 which were altogether contrary to the opinions she had 
 imbibed. Nevertheless it pleased God, by this unex- 
 pected affliction which had come upon her, so to open 
 her eyes to the evil of her late conduct, that feeling much 
 abasement and self-condemnation on account of it, she 
 presumed not harshly to censure the ignorance and 
 folly which she saw around her, but rather felt that she 
 who had of late so greatly sinned against light, was 
 more culpable than those poor creatures, who had not 
 been blessed, like herself, with a pious and enlightened 
 education. She however firmly persisted, let the con- 
 sequence be what it would, in refusing to join with the 
 lady ^bess and her nuns, in hearing mass or attending 
 any other rite of their religion ; upon which, the abbess, 
 who wished to try the gentlest means of winning her 
 over, and who besides had private reasons for not vio- 
 lently offending Basil and his wife, suffered her for a 
 time to take her own way, only insisting that she should 
 attend the family meals. 
 
 Theodosia, then, from the time she entered the con- 
 vent, was left much to herself. A little apartment, or 
 cell, was given to her, in which there was no furniture
 
 298 THE LADY OF THE MANOR. 
 
 but a bedstead covered with a hard mattress, a table, a 
 chair, and a lamp. Here Theodosia spent many solitary 
 hours ; and here she found the benefit of that little store 
 of religious knowledge and holy instruction which had 
 been given her, and which now returned with force to 
 her mind. Here she spent much time in prayer, as well 
 as in deep meditation on her late evil conduct; and 
 grace was given her to receive the present affliction as a 
 proper and necessary chastisement, and indeed a light 
 one when compared with the offences into which she had 
 lately fallen. Her grief was at first bitter, and at times 
 overwhelming ; and she frequently remembered with 
 peculiar anguish that evening, when she had seen her 
 beloved parent arranging the little table and chairs for 
 their work, together with her own ungrateful conduct on 
 the occasion. "Oh! my mother! my mother ! " she 
 would then exclaim, " what would I now give for one 
 hour of your sweet society ! " Thus the Almighty brings 
 his wayward children frequently to long after and desire 
 those things, which during the triumph of passion and 
 selfishness they had rejected with disdain. 
 
 After a few weeks, by the blessing of God, the vehe- 
 mence of Theodosia's grief began to subside, while her 
 will became from day to day more subdued to the will 
 of her heavenly Father : and the first symptom of this 
 blessed change was, that she found herself less occupied 
 by her own proper feelings and sufferings, and more 
 affectionately anxious for the peace of Blanche and Basil 
 than for her own. Her heart was also drawn out more 
 in prayer for the poor nuns, and for her sister, that God 
 would have mercy upon them, and open their eyes to 
 their eternal interests. And although she still refused 
 to accommodate herself to that which she judged wrong 
 in the religion of her companions, yet she shew ed a wil- 
 lingness to meet them, and hold fellowship with them, 
 where she could do so without offending her conscience. 
 Her general manner became more courteous and graci- 
 ous ; she desired to be allowed to assist them in their 
 work, shewing a backwardness to give offence when it 
 could possibly be avoided : and whil^ she prayed that 
 she might be enabled to say, " Thy will, O God, in all 
 respects be done," she carefully watched and strove 
 against the peculiar temptations which grow out of soli-
 
 THE LADY OF THE MANOR. 299 
 
 tude, and particularly the self-complacent indulgence 
 of evil thous^hts and vain imaginations, that prevailing 
 sin into which so many of the children of Adam are 
 continually falling. It was her constant supplication 
 that she might have grace to overcome that love of self, 
 through which thousands and tens of thousands have 
 fallen down wounded, if not eternally lost. Theodosia 
 had early been taught bv her excellent instructress to 
 know and fear this worst of enemies ; and now the Holy 
 Spirit poured his blessing silently and abundantly upon 
 the Christian instructions of the faithful Blanche. 
 
 In the mean time, the young count returned from 
 Paris, and, after several violent altercations with his 
 father, was led by an insatiable desire of money, which 
 his dissipated habits rendered necessary to him, to give 
 up Theodosia whom he loved, and to marry Eleanor, 
 who was at least perfectly indifferent to him : after 
 which, the count with his whole family returned to Paris, 
 leaving the chateau and his surrounding estates under 
 the care of Basil. Blanche had made several attempts 
 to see Theodosia, but could never succeed ; neither 
 could she succeed in getting a letter conveyed to her, 
 although she had employed many means for that pur- 
 pose : she was therefore obliged to content herself with 
 offering up frequent and ardent prayers for the welfare 
 of the child of her heart. 
 
 At length, when nearly a year had passed, and the 
 anxious Blanche had begun to tremble at the measures 
 which might be taken at the end of Theodosia's noviciate 
 to compel her to take the veil, news was brought of the 
 sudden death of the old count : shortly after which his 
 son arrived at the chateau, unattended except by a few 
 servants, for the purpose of inspecting his new posses- 
 sions. Basil hastened to pay his duty to his young lord, 
 and to receive his orders ; nor did he fail to avail him- 
 self of this opportunity, very earnestly to request that 
 Theodosia might be allowed to leave the convent and 
 return to his house. The young count instantly ac- 
 knowledged that he had no right to retain her in the 
 convent against her will, neither indeed had he the 
 smallest desire to make her unhappy — so that the joyful 
 Basil only waited the count's departure, in order imme- 
 diatelv to effect the deliverance of his adopted child.
 
 300 THE LADY OF THE MANOR. 
 
 The will of Theodosia had been brought into an entire 
 subjection to the will of her heavenly Father, before the 
 arrival of Basil and Blanche at the convent : but as her 
 mind attained a more heavenly frame and the inner man 
 gained streni^th, the outer man had perceptibly decay- 
 ed. Her health, though very gradually, had for some 
 months been giving way ; though, as it appeared, not so 
 much from any outward cause, as from some internal 
 disorder which probably had been gaining strength, 
 though secretly, for several years, and which would as- 
 suredly under any circumstances have terminated her 
 life in youth. 
 
 Basil and Blanche were much affected when they per- 
 ceived the change in her appearance : yet the pious 
 Blanche, as she received her lovely pale Theodosia once 
 again to her maternal bosom, drew even from her alter- 
 ed appearance a new cause of gratitude to God, in 
 allowing her to be brought back to her beloved home, 
 to be there assisted, and consoled, during the remainder 
 of her days, rather than left to die among strangers. 
 
 The delight of finding herself once agairf in her happy 
 home, which she now earnestly prayed that she might 
 never more be compelled to leave ; of seeing herself 
 surrounded by Blanche, by Basil, her old nurse, and 
 her adopted brothers ; of sitting once again in the oriel 
 window, and listening to those sweet hymns of praise 
 which the little family every evening offered to God ; 
 of hearing the pious conversation of the old pastor, the 
 father of Blanche, and his grandson — all this for a time 
 gave new life to Theodosia, and seemed to protract her 
 days for a season. But after this first effect of joy had 
 subsided, nature again languished, and it became evident 
 to all that the time of her departure was at hand. Ne- 
 vertheless the prospect was full of sweet hope to Theo- 
 dosia herself, as well as of inexpressible comfort to 
 Basil and his family, who perceiving in her a subdued 
 frame of mind and a will conformed to that of God, 
 could not but adore and praise the author of so glorious 
 a work. 
 
 •* I thank thee, O God," said Theodosia, some few 
 hours before her death, " for so inestimable a proof of 
 thy favour towards me, in subduing in me, by thy Holy 
 Spirit, that selfish nature which I inherited from my
 
 ' THE LADY OF THE MANOR. 301 
 
 birth, and which would assuredly have brought me to 
 utter destruction, hadst not thou, O heavenly Father, 
 interfered in my behalf, and plucked me as a brand from 
 the burning." She then broke forth into the praises of 
 redeeming' love, givinjx glory to God, who had graciously 
 removed the sting of death, and made her, through the 
 Lord Jesus Christ, even more than conqueror over that 
 king of terrors. 
 
 Before her last agonies, Theodosia took a tender 
 leave of Basil and Blanche, with all the friends of her 
 childhood ; particularly testifying her love and gra- 
 titude to Blanche, and humbly requesting her to for- 
 give all her want of duty and affection, especially on 
 one occasion which she specified. She died a few hours 
 afterwards, professing an entire renunciation of self, 
 as an unclean and abominable thing, and an absolute 
 dependence on the merits of Christ to procure her sal- 
 vation. 
 
 The sorrow of Basil and Blanche for their dear child 
 was not without its sweets ; and their remembrance of 
 her from year to year became more delightful to them, as 
 their hopes of a happy meeting in another world grew 
 more bright and less distant. 
 
 Eleanor and her husband arrived at the chateau a few 
 hours before the remains of the lovely Theodosia were 
 committed to the grave. Eleanor's reflections on the 
 subject were far from agreeable ; and, from that time, 
 she never heard the name of Theodosia, without a feel- 
 ing of remorse, which she found it impossible to sup- 
 press. Her marriage, as might have been expected, 
 was not a happy one, since her motives for entering 
 into it were selfish and ambitious, and such as could 
 by no means be supposed to ensure a blessing. 
 
 The lady of the manor here ceased to read : when 
 the young ladies, as usual, began to make their re- 
 marks on the history, having first thanked her for the 
 pleasure they had received from the hearing of it. 
 Miss Louisa said, '* If no young person can be said to 
 be in a right state, till, like Theodosia in the convent, 
 they are enabled to cry out with their whole hearts, 
 * O Lord, thy will be done;' in the midst of every 
 earthly privation throwing self into the back-ground, 
 
 VOL. I. D D
 
 302 THE XADY OF THE MANOR. 
 
 and attending chiefly to other people's feelings— I fear 
 that there are very few young people at all in a right 
 state." 
 
 ** It is not our business," replied the lady of the ma- 
 nor, " to enquire into the state of the world in general 
 as to their private feelings ; thank God, we have none 
 to answer for but ourselves, and such persons as are in 
 some measure under our influence. But of this we may 
 be very certain, that the less we are occupied by our 
 own private feelings, and the less we indulge self in eve- 
 ry possible way, the more our minds will be prepared 
 for the reception of true religion, and the more likely 
 shall we be to obtain happiness in the present world as 
 well as in that which is to come. It is the will of man 
 rising up in opposition to that of God, and seeking con- 
 tinually its own gratification, which renders him misera- 
 ble, and separates him from his Maker. These desires 
 are those sinful lusts of the flesh which we have under- 
 taken to renounce, and which must be subdued before 
 we can enter the kingdom of God. But," added the 
 lady of the manor, " our hours wear away, though I 
 have not uttered half I have to say upon this subject. 
 We must now, however, part for the present; and when 
 we meet again, we will, if you please, renew the subject, 
 which is, alas, a very copious one. I shall then endea- 
 vour to point out to you several ways in which these 
 desires of the flesh commonly manifest themselves in 
 what is called decent life, together with the many evils 
 which might be avoided by a proper control early exer- 
 cised over the will — that divine assistance being first 
 earnestly sought which is so freely ofl'ered us in Scrip- 
 ture. I perhaps may also be able to find you another 
 story somewhat applicable to the subject." 
 
 The whole company then thanked the lady of the 
 manor for the trouble she took with them, and ex- 
 pressed a particular pleasure in hearing the stories she 
 had to relate. The evening was as usual finished with 
 prayer. 
 
 A Prayer to he enabled to conform our Wills to that of 
 God. 
 
 ** BLESSED and glorious Lord God Almighty, Crea-
 
 THE LADY OF THE MANOR. 303 
 
 tor of heaven and earth, our Father everlasting, our 
 Saviour and our Friend, hearken, we beseech thee, to 
 the prayers of thy poor creatures, who have hitherto 
 lived under the dominion of sin, the slaves of our own 
 lusts, and of various evil passions, which will assuredly 
 bring us to everlasting destruction, unless thou, O Lord 
 our God, wilt lift up the light of thy countenance upon 
 us, and dispel the darkness of our minds. To thee, O 
 God the Father, we look up, as to Him who loved us ere 
 yet we entered into being, and planned our salvation ere 
 yet the foundations of the world were laid. To thee, 
 O God the Son, we apply, as to our brother in the flesh, 
 whose infinite merits and precious death have procured 
 for us the inestimable blessing of justification. And to 
 thee, O God the Holy Ghost, we address our imperfect 
 petitions, knowing that from thee proceed the incal- 
 culable privileges of regeneration and sanctification. 
 Blessed and holy Lord God, make us, we beseech thee, 
 new creatures ; regenerate and sanctify us, cleanse the 
 thoughts of our hearts by the inspiration of thy Holy 
 Spirit, give us power to contend with the corruptions of 
 our vile nature, conform our wills in all respects to 
 thine, and enable us to say on every occasion of trial, 
 * Thy will, O God, be done.' Teach us to consider 
 self, and its inbred corruptions, as the enemy which we 
 have reason above all others to dread, and assist us to 
 detect its wiles, under however specious a form it may 
 appear to act. Leave us not to ourselves, we earnestly 
 entreat thee ; leave us not with our worst of foes ; nei- 
 ther take account of our past sins, nor of the countless 
 number of our evil thoughts, our wayward tempers, and 
 corrupt desires. Impute to us, we earnestly pray thee, 
 that righteousness of Christ, which is without spot or 
 stain of sin. Wash us in his blood, feed us with the 
 bread of heaven, give us power to trample upon our 
 lusts, renew and sanctify our polluted hearts, and ena- 
 ble us finally, triumphing over sin, to enter into ever- 
 lasting glory. O blessed Lord God, hear the voice of 
 our humble supplications, for the sake of him who shed 
 his blood for us upon the cross, and render us accepta- 
 ble to thyself, through the sanctifying and purifying 
 power of thy blessed Spirit. And now to God the Fa- 
 ther, God the Son, and God the Holy Ghost, be all glo-
 
 304 THE LADY OF THE MANOR. 
 
 ry, and honour, and praise, henceforward, and for ever- 
 more. Amen." 
 
 END OF VOL. I.

 
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