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 FLORENCE,
 
 FLORENCE 
 
 OR 
 
 THE ASPIRANT. 
 
 A NOVEL, 
 
 IN THREE VOLUMES. 
 
 I. 
 
 LONDON: 
 WHITTAKER, TREACHER, AND CO. 
 
 AVE MARIA LANE. 
 
 1829.
 
 LOMDON 
 
 PHINTRI) BY C. AND W. nEYNBia, »!lOAD STREET, GOLDEN SQ.
 
 V.I 
 
 V 
 
 iJL 
 
 
 t 
 
 THE FOLLOWING PAGES 
 
 ARE 
 
 RESPECTFULLY DEDICATED 
 
 TO 
 
 THE KING. 
 
 0?
 
 FLORENCE. 
 
 4r 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 " Mother, are you sure we are right ?" said a 
 tall well-formed female, in an anxious under- 
 tone. " Are you quite sure this is the place?" 
 
 " Look at the cross — look at the cross," was 
 the brief and, as an accidental and unintentional 
 listener imagined, harsh answer ; but it was only 
 the apparent harshness of abstraction and ab- 
 sence of mind, for the tenderest of mothers ad- 
 dressed the most affectionate and confiding of 
 daughters. 
 
 The listener followed the pair until they, 
 with many others, arrived at the end of a close 
 narrow alley, when the senior lady stopped, and 
 
 VOL, I. B
 
 2 FLORENCE. 
 
 going up to a man, asked him, if the presence 
 of strangers would be deemed an intrusion. 
 
 " By no means," said he ; " that person will 
 conduct you to a seat." 
 
 The listener still kept close. " Are they of 
 us," thought he. " No," was the response, not 
 unmixed with regret, as he saAV no outward 
 sign of supplicating for a purified heart, before 
 they should bend the knee in token of respect 
 to the sacred and heart-touching representation 
 of that death, which even, according to their 
 own creed, ushered in eternal life to a lost 
 world. "Why should I care?" thought he. 
 " Surely there may be mercy for all ; — but that 
 slight figure betokens slight health." 
 
 He continued to follow; and when their con- 
 ductor put them into a pew immediately behind 
 his own, he felt that his piety could not repress 
 an ardent wish to see the face of the younger 
 querist. But he had been trained never to turn 
 round in a place of worship, and that in which 
 he was seated, and from which he had rarely 
 wandered, was so constructed that every face in 
 it was opposite to the altar. 
 
 " Strange," thought he, " that I should feel 
 my mind thus diverted from my duty. Curiosity 
 is indeed a baneful passion; no wonder that,
 
 FLORENCE. 
 
 i^CCt^ 
 
 goaded on by a subtle tempter, our first mother 
 sinned. My eyes burn in their sockets; and 
 for what ? To see if the face of this heretic is 
 equal to her figure." 
 
 He compelled attention, made the right re- 
 sponses, attended to every sign of the cross, 
 which is certainly observed in a manner so 
 modest and unostentatious as to defy all those 
 who say it springs from anything else than the 
 soul-inspired conviction of what the cross has 
 done for man. 
 
 The eloquent preacher commenced his ener- 
 getic, authorative, and yet familiar discourse. 
 
 " Surely," thought the youth, " I may now 
 indulge in one glance." 
 
 But the pastor, who had just read the gospel 
 to the festival of St Michael, at that moment 
 uttered the Avords, " Wliy look ye after lying 
 vanities ? why suifer ye your thoughts to wan- 
 der after the things that savour of death ? Have 
 ye not heard, and on the instant, that if thy eye 
 scandalize thee, thou must pluck it out and cast 
 it from thee?" 
 
 Our youth started, blushed, and with a beating 
 heart leant his head on the bench before him. 
 It was in vain that he endeavoured to compel 
 a steady, unwavering attention ; his ears drank
 
 4 FLORENCE. 
 
 in mere sound, except when now and then a 
 sentence seemed peculiarly adapted to himself, 
 and recalled his thoughts from the slight waist, 
 the comparatively broad shoulders, the fair skin 
 which just peeped through the parted curls, and 
 even the blue sash and muslin drapery of the 
 interesting stranger. " I cannot endure this," 
 thought he ; "I shall look, if public rebidce 
 should be my doom." 
 
 He had just raised his head, when his ear was 
 greeted by, " Ah ! I know it all ; I can discern 
 every look ; I can decypher every blush ; I can 
 embody into words every unholy sigh of those, 
 who, casting from them the innocence and sim- 
 plicity of little children, are ingulfed in deadly 
 sins. Tliink ye, that with a delegation like 
 ours, with a vigilance that defies all but the im- 
 perious call of worn-out nature, that I cannot 
 read your very souls?" 
 
 The youth did indeed sigh, for his tender 
 conscience had suffered a conflict, and although 
 his reason denied the fact, his feelings said, 
 " He knows that I have had my mind diverted 
 from the whole of this most sacred service, and 
 that by one who is an alien. Away such un- 
 worthy desertion!" 
 
 It is true, that the authorotative eloquence of
 
 FLORENCE. § 
 
 this zealous preacher had become so familiar to 
 his own proper auditors, that, remarkable as it 
 might seem to a stranger, not a few could have 
 been caught nodding. But on the young man 
 he had particular claims, and to the flaxen- 
 haired damsel all was new. She had too much 
 sense to be caught by the ceremonies she wit- 
 nessed previous to the discourse, and which to 
 an unaccustomed and, it may be, uninformed 
 observer, seem mere mummery ; but when the 
 elegant Jesuit turned him round at the very 
 altar, and apparently without text, since no 
 other was given out than the passage above al- 
 luded to, and after pausing so as to recollect 
 himself, he uttered first a few calm remarks 
 upon the virtues of humility and self-abasement; 
 then describing as one who felt it, the act of 
 bringing forward the little child, placing him 
 in the midst, and declaring that of such was 
 the kingdom of heaven ; and after that, becoming 
 vehemently warm, he contrasted the state of 
 adults, especially in this corrupt age, with the 
 purity of infants, and declared his right to watch 
 over his flock, and his determination to do so, 
 she felt her whole soul wound up in that sort 
 of attention which makes the listener doubtful 
 of the ears' capacity to hear the words of truth.
 
 b FLORENCE. 
 
 and that of the eyes to note every turn and ges- 
 ture by which the eloquence is attended. But 
 when he went on, and, in a sort of holy fervor, 
 exclaimed, " Yes, my children, you should by 
 this time know, that the man who for the love 
 of this our true, holy, and universal church, has 
 abandoned all that the world sighs for, — all that 
 delights the ear, dazzles the eye, and grati- 
 fies every sense, — would willingly sacrifice him- 
 self for the eternal weal of the most worthless 
 amongst you. And for you, my dear little 
 children," turning to seventy or eighty boys 
 and girls, who were his peculiar care — "for you, 
 for your yet (as I may say) unfledged minds, 
 what would I not do? O ! if you knew the 
 groans that I utter in private, the tears that I 
 shed when no eye beholds — that your lips may 
 never touch the cup of vice, and that you may 
 never inhale one draught from the poisonous 
 stream of heresy ! " 
 
 While he uttered this in a tone of deep and 
 melting pathos, the young lady — heretic as he 
 would have styled her — responded by a deep and 
 heavy sigh, and, almost breathless, leant back in 
 her seat. This could not be resisted, and 
 maugre all priestly authority and all holy fealty, 
 the young man turned quickly round, and rested
 
 FLORENCE. 7 
 
 his eager eyes on the unconscious aspirant. The 
 priest had paused: the senior lady, though in 
 general cold on these subjects, had been wrought 
 up to something like enthusiasm, so that she 
 neither heard the sigh of her daughter, nor saw 
 the gaze of the youth. A momentary stagnation 
 seemed to have taken place in the blood of each, 
 and yet each mind was occupied in a different 
 manner. The good priest was absorbed in his 
 own zeal, while his ardent, speaking eyes still 
 rested on his children, the children of his soul ; 
 the senior lady was carried back, by the view of 
 the altar and sacerdotal ornaments, to the days of 
 Aaron, and she might be said to enjoy a sort of 
 chaotic trance. Jews, Chinese, Indians, Greeks, 
 Romans, Christians, Turks, all swam before 
 her sight ; and, clasping her hands, she exclaimed 
 internally, " God of wonders ! can any of these 
 be despicable in thy sight?" While the young 
 warm-hearted maiden ejaculated, " O ! that I 
 might be adopted by that holy, elegant man ! " 
 
 The young man had no time to embody a 
 single idea, for he had merely caught a glimpse 
 of half-closed eyes, pale cheeks, small Roman 
 nose, pouting lips, and a luxuriance of beau- 
 tiful hair, when he almost started at what 
 seemed a fresh appeal to himself.
 
 8 FLORENCE. 
 
 The priest liad ceased to look upon the chil- 
 dren, and sending his keen, piercing glance over 
 his people, he exclaimed, " Turn your eyes 
 where you ought — if you look not towards the 
 appointed of God, refresh your sense of our 
 claims upon you by looking on the representa- 
 tion of him who sealed our commission with his 
 blood. Profane not this holy place by even a 
 mental glance at aught earthly; for, however 
 fair, however lovely, however pure as it may 
 seem to corporeal perception, there is but one 
 legitimate subject for contemplation here. Re- 
 member the lesson of the day. And well might 
 he so exclaim, for if their little minds wander, 
 it is after less gross vanities, and, rightly trained, 
 we may stay the yet incipient eye before it 
 dart with the keen glance of passion into the 
 long and seemingly smiling avenues of sin, 
 which alluring for a while leads us on to end- 
 less perdition. Arrest then your thoughts, and 
 bestow them with a devoted intensity, at least 
 while here, on your eternal interests." 
 
 " I shall not be rebuked again," said the 
 youth to himself; and rousing all his religious 
 energies, he succeeded at last in bringing 
 an undivided attention to the rest of the holy 
 father's injunctions, and became satisfied, that
 
 FLORENCE. 9 
 
 what his own startled conscience had rendered 
 personal, was intended for all, and grew out of 
 the subject. His mind was now subdued, and 
 in compliance with the general self-restraint he 
 was used to, he departed from the place of wor^ 
 ship without once looking upon his unconscious 
 tempter. Indeed the service that follows the 
 discourse is too sacred and solemn not to arrest 
 levity itself. 
 
 The mother and daughter walked on ab- 
 sorbed in thought; the former cogitating, as 
 before, on the immense variety in human opi- 
 nion upon that subject of which all confess the 
 importance, from the naked savage who gazes 
 upon and worships the apparent sovereign of 
 man, to him who has so rarified and sublimed 
 his ideas as almost to doubt even the existence 
 of that vast luminary. 
 
 The daughter's heart glowed with fervour 
 towards a system which seemed to have in it 
 the very tangibilities of religion; for here she 
 found something to revive as well as to suggest 
 holy feelings. She speedily ran over all that 
 had passed before her eyes, and began to doubt, 
 whether that which seemed mere unmeaning 
 acting might not have under it some very im- 
 portant sign or symbol, that brought an acces-
 
 10 FLORENCE. 
 
 sion of devout feeling, and kept alive that holy 
 animation which she had now experienced for 
 the first time. The incense still seemed to en- 
 velope her ; her eye still rested on the impres- 
 sive representation of the dying Saviour; and, 
 at last, grasping the arm of her mother, she 
 exclaimed, " That is the only true church." 
 She again walked on in silence, but soon feeling 
 her holy sentiments mingled with compunction 
 for having been an involuntary Estener to abuse 
 of the Catholics, she once more pressed hard 
 upon the arm of her mother, and said, " Do tell 
 me of what they have been guilty." 
 
 " Hush," said her mother, in a low voice, 
 " don't you see that we are surrounded on all 
 sides? Let us get home, and I shall endeavour 
 to explain what it is that we Protestants re- 
 volted from, and what we now rail at,"
 
 FLORENCE. 11 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 A LOUD knocking at four in the morning roused 
 the footman of the doctors Campian, who 
 hastened to tell his senior master that a sick 
 lady wanted his immediate attendance. " Block- 
 head!" said the old gentleman, " Why did you 
 not call my son ? You know I never go out in 
 the night." 
 
 " Yes, sir ; but " and he approached 
 
 close to his master, who replied, " Right, right; 
 only you should have sent her elsewhere ?" 
 
 " So I would, but she declared she would 
 not stir without a doctor, for that her lady lay 
 
 at the point of death, and But here she is — 
 
 you had better let me call Mr Edmund." 
 
 " Yes — no — stop — What is your lady's 
 name ?" 
 
 " Stanhope, sir." 
 
 '' Stanhope ! O, safe enough : she lives in 
 Park street; — Thomas, tell Edmund."
 
 12 FLORtNCE. 
 
 " She lives in Steel's place, sir." 
 
 " Ah ! that alters the case. Stop, Thomas ; 
 I'll go myself — It is fair, I hope ? What is the 
 matter with your lady?" 
 
 " Violently sick, sir ; do make haste, she was 
 to all appearance in the very throes of death." 
 
 "Was it sudden?" 
 
 " Yes, sir, in a moment, I may say." 
 
 "Aye, her stomach — people will eat — How 
 old is Mrs Stanhope." 
 
 " Mrs Stanhope ? Forty, I suppose." 
 
 " Forty ! that alters the case again ; I dare 
 say Edmund may go. Thomas, call him; but 
 stop a moment — Is she — " 
 
 " Dear sir, for God's sake come." 
 
 " Yes — she must have an emetic — there — 
 but if she is threatened with fever, I must open 
 a vein, and my hand shakes a little — Is she a 
 widow?" 
 
 " Yes : but really, sir, this delay is cruel." 
 
 " A widow — but forty. Yes, call Ed- 
 mund — my hand shakes more than usual." 
 
 *' My dear father," said a handsome young man, 
 *' why will you rise in the night? I am sure ** 
 
 " Tut ! — You're sure — Wliat makes you sure?" 
 
 " Well, then, I must go to another ; what will 
 my lady think, and you so near ?"
 
 FLORENCE. 18 
 
 The young man rushed out, and left his father 
 to rail at the voracity of widows of forty, and 
 the rash haste and impetuosity of youths under 
 twenty-five. 
 
 " I don't know why, Thomas," said he, " but 
 I never felt so uneasy before, and so averse to 
 Edmund going out." 
 
 " You forget, sir, you were just the same last 
 time, and you know the patient turned out to 
 be a woman of sixty." 
 
 " Yes ; but the fewer risks we have run, the 
 more remain in the cup. Tliis widow may 
 have a daughter — Fool that I was ! Run, Tho- 
 mas, follow them close — Steel's place is not two 
 minutes' walk from this — make your way in, 
 and see that all is safe." 
 
 Thomas was not slow to obey, but his speed, 
 which was on the decline, was no match for that 
 of his young master, who, having heard from an 
 adjoining room all that passed, hastened to the 
 relief of the sick lady. 
 
 He was received at the door of a small but 
 genteel looking mansion by a lady whose face 
 was. enveloped in a large full night-cap, and her 
 figure in a wide ^Tapping gown of grey silk, 
 confined by a tasselled sash of the same colour ; 
 and it appeared that even under the press of cir-
 
 14 FLORENCE. 
 
 cumstances, such as having been alarmed by the 
 sickness of an only child, and having waited in 
 excessive anxiety for medical aid, she had still 
 paid attention to her appearance ; for the snow- 
 white and uncreased borders of her cap could 
 not have suffered from even half an hour's con- 
 tact with her pillow, and the few flaxen curls 
 which, in the style of novel-writing, might be 
 said " to have escaped from their preparatory 
 bondage," relieved her countenance from that 
 half-scared, half-drowsy expression, so common 
 on such occasions. She might be forty, but she 
 was still in the very first style of the most exqui- 
 site fair beauty. 
 
 " In the name of God," said she, " what has 
 
 detained you ? My anxiety But come — my 
 
 poor Florence has paid dearly for her Popery." 
 " Her Popery ! " said the youth. 
 By this time they were in the sick chamber, 
 where a young lady, only more lovely than her 
 senior because she was younger, lay pale and 
 motionless on her bed. Her loveliness had how- 
 ever been left to care for itself, and indeed it re- 
 quired no adventitious aid, or rather it could bear 
 all the deductions made by a disordered head- 
 dress, as if she had suffered from heat, pain, and 
 sickness. Her hands lay out motionless, like those
 
 FLORENCE. 15 
 
 of a person who has been exhausted by a strug- 
 gle ; her parched lips were open, and her eyes 
 presented the vacuity of one who is neither asleep 
 nor properly awake. 
 
 The physician looked at his patient, felt her 
 pulse, and then enquired after the symptoms; 
 and on hearing them, questioned Mrs Stanhope 
 as to the probable causes. She said, that per- 
 haps they had walked rather too much yesterday, 
 first in the heat of the day, and afterwards in the 
 damp of the evening. Dr Campian looked 
 earnestly at Mrs Stanhope, again counted her 
 daughter's pulse, and said : " In addition to the 
 causes you mention, I should suspect, from the 
 violence of the sick paroxysm which you have 
 described, that she must liave eaten sometliing 
 that has disagreed with her. Did she not 
 seem to nauseate any part of her food yester- 
 day?" 
 
 " Yes ; I recollect she shivered after having 
 eaten half an egg ; but, as she often eats a whole 
 one without injury, I should rather imagine that 
 the previous state of her stomach caused the 
 aversion, than that it was occasioned by the food 
 I speak of." 
 
 Dr Campian smiled, and Mrs Stanhope 
 blushed. " We are not accustomed," said he, 
 " to such accurate reasoning, especially from
 
 16 FLORENCE. 
 
 " He paused, and then continued — " But 
 
 why did you think it necessary to distinguish so 
 nicely?" 
 
 " Because, prepossessed wdth that notion, she 
 might be led to abandon a wholesome and nutri- 
 tious food. There is no end to the foolish likings 
 and dislikings that originate in vague conjec- 
 ture. But say quickly, do you apprehend any 
 danger?" 
 
 " None whatever. Hold up her head, and I 
 am persuaded that after she has swallowed these 
 drops the remaining irritation will go off; and 
 tomorrow I hope she will be entirely, or at least 
 nearly well." 
 
 Having administered the medicine, Dr Cam- 
 pian resumed his seat, and seemed anxious to 
 renew the conversation. " You are quite right," 
 said he, " in tracing as accurately as possible 
 the probable cause or causes of any disorder, but 
 more particularly of sudden attacks ; it is often 
 owing to inattention in this respect, and some- 
 times to wilful concealment, that the skill of a 
 physician is baffled. An old friend of mine 
 used to say, that ' a faithful and distinct account 
 of causes might be called living dissection ! * — 
 You ^poke of having walked far, and in the 
 evening damp ; why should you expose your- 
 selves to such risks?"
 
 FLORENCE. 17 
 
 *' We are not in the habit of nursing our- 
 selves ; they are poor constitutions which cannot 
 stand at least a fair proportion of the climate 
 assigned to them ; and it is only by excessive 
 chariness that we unfit ourselves for the casual- 
 ties which all must be exposed to." 
 
 " But — " and he looked at each alternately — 
 " you are both, if I may judge from complex- 
 ion and figure, of a delicate frame and consti- 
 tution." 
 
 " So it is said ; but where is the complexion, 
 where is the frame, of which fatal prognostics 
 may not be drawn ? They are as rare as models 
 for a statue. Of a dark face and spare figure we 
 predict bile and melancholy; of the full and 
 ruddy we foretell sudden revulsions. There is 
 no end to human fears, and small benefit from 
 human precaution." 
 
 "But as I came in, you said something of 
 Popery to your servant." 
 
 Mrs Stanhope looked confused, blushed, and 
 seemed inclined to remain silent, but at last said, 
 " I spoke in spleen, and from the irritation of 
 the moment; and perhaps there might have 
 been something in the novelty, excitation, and 
 even perfume, upon a person of very delicate 
 nerves. I took her yesterday for the first time 
 
 VOL. I. c
 
 18 "FLORENCE. 
 
 to hear a Roman Catholic. If you ever heard 
 Mr D'Alembert, you will not wonder that his 
 vehement eloquence surprised us; and if, like 
 my daughter, you have merely seen the pagean- 
 tries of Popery, or like myself, seldom, you will 
 not think it very strange, that w^e were both 
 somewhat overcome by what we saw. Florence 
 was particularly so ; and when we came home, I 
 observed that she was more pale than usual, and 
 revolted, as I told you, from her simple dinner." 
 
 By this time the young lady seemed more 
 easy ; Dr Campian again applied his fingers to 
 her wrist, and appeared lost in thought. " You 
 were there for the first time?" 
 
 " Yes, for the first time." 
 
 " And Miss Stanhope was afraid that you had 
 mistaken the place, and you desired her to look 
 at the cross." He sighed, and then added, " You 
 sat immediately behind me." 
 
 " Very likely ; do you attend regularly there?" 
 
 " I do." 
 
 " Then I must apologise for my seeming dis- 
 respect ; but, I assure you, it was only seeming, 
 for few who arenot Catholics have a more sin- 
 cere respect for Popery than myself." 
 
 " Yet you spoke of its pageantries," said the 
 youth mournfully.
 
 FLORENCE. 19 
 
 " True ; in all that has passed through human 
 hands there must be error ; but I have a pro- 
 found respect for your antique church." 
 
 " Because it is antique ; just as you would 
 for a fine ruin." 
 
 " Yes, because it is a fine — I must not say 
 ruin — a fine edifice." 
 
 " Alas ! that is the approval of taste, not of 
 mind and spirit." 
 
 " Is not tast€ grounded in mind?" 
 
 " True, but it can exist without the sort of 
 spirit to which I allude." 
 
 Mrs Stanhope smiled, and perhaps feeling that 
 more discussion had taken place than was neces- 
 sary, she said, " I can already perceive that 
 Florence is much easier. See ! her mouth and 
 ■eyes are closed, and she seems to enjoy some- 
 thing like refreshing sleep. Your drops have 
 had a blessed effect." 
 
 " I believe," said Campian, " that nature 
 would have resumed her ofiice without my aid ; 
 the worst was over before I came ; but I know, 
 that there are few things more painful to suffer 
 or to witness than intense sickness." 
 
 Mrs Stanhope rose from her seat, and the 
 physician, taking the hint, witlxdrew.
 
 20 FJ.ORENCE, 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 Our young physician had gone out perturbed, 
 and he returned melancholy. Chance had con- 
 ducted him to the very house of the person who 
 had scarcely quitted his imagination for five mi- 
 nutes since he followed her into the chapel, and 
 had by an effort avoided watching her steps as 
 he came out of it. Dr Johnson has said, that 
 there scarcely ever was a married couple who 
 did not fancy that there had been something most 
 peculiarly strange and out of the ordinary run of 
 events in the manner of their first meeting. He 
 ought to have added, that this reminiscence, and 
 the smile of satisfaction which hovers on the lip 
 of the husband when it is adverted to, are rarely 
 to be remarked when three months have gone 
 over the heads of the happy couple. " Do you 
 remember," my dear Stephen, said a young and 
 very pretty wife to her husband,—" do you re-
 
 FLORENCE. 21 
 
 member liow vexed you were at the thickness of 
 my veil the first day we met on the south prome- 
 nade?" — " I remember that I was a fool at the 
 time ! " was the civil reply. Whether such 
 might be the conduct of Edmund Campian 
 should he marry, and his wife remind him of 
 something similar, we cannot even gue&s; but, 
 at all events, should Florence Stanhope be his 
 wife, he verified at the commencemeHt of our 
 acquaintance with him the doctor's remark : he 
 fancied there was something very singular in the 
 interest which had been excited by the fair here- 
 tic ; in the perturbed and gloomy state of her 
 feelings during the rest of the day on which he 
 had first seen her ; and finally, if it was not ex- 
 traordinary that she should have taken ill, it was 
 most decidedly so, that he should have been sent 
 for. But the whole was the simple process of 
 nature and accidental situation. The elegant 
 female strangers had naturally attracted his no- 
 tice; his creed made him regret there heresy, and 
 his rigid adherence to form, preventing the ordi- 
 nary gratification of curiosity, and he imagined that 
 there must be something more than usual in his 
 desire to see the face of the young lady who had 
 raised his holy pity. Dissatisfied with himself 
 for allowuig his mind for an instant to wander
 
 ^22 FLORENCE. 
 
 from his religious duties, he looked back with 
 self-condemnation to the ill-spent hour and half, 
 and it was extremely natural that the image 
 of the person who had caused this defalcation, 
 should mingle itself with his thoughts. It is 
 probable that in the case of another he would 
 have taken this very view of the matter, but 
 man's self- idolatry is such, that even the most 
 wise will sometimes fancy that nature herself is 
 diverted out of her ordinary course on his ac- 
 count. Perhaps he would have been persuaded 
 that there was less of Providence in this affair, 
 had he known that a servant, fresh from the 
 country, had every morning, in passing for 
 bread, read on a large brass plate, " Dr Cam- 
 pian," and had mechanically repeated the same, 
 with the addition, " it is well, happen what 
 will, that I know where to find a doctor." But 
 to Edmund's warm imagination, all was the 
 effect of that imperious fate which attends the 
 blind deity. 
 
 He now felt himself under the influence of 
 a self-imposed necessity, even before passion 
 could have any sway over him, and he found 
 his mind completely occupied by the images he 
 had left. He pondered on the beauty which 
 seemed merely ripened — scarcely impaired by
 
 FLORENCE. 23 
 
 the lapse of forty years ; " And yet," thought 
 he, " hers is not a face which owes its smooth- 
 ness to want of thought, for she reasons like a 
 philosopher. Her daughter, no doubt, is of 
 the same cast — but to me she can be nothing. 
 I must however call at twelve o'clock, and see 
 if she is better." 
 
 At that moment he was met by Thomas, who 
 said, " My dear young master, you went off 
 like a race horse, but you have returned like — " 
 
 " An ass." 
 
 " Dear sir, no. You are sure I cannot mean 
 that ; but you have staid very long, and your 
 father never was so miserable. And now, dear 
 sir, you must not contradict me this time. 
 I pretended I had been to Steel's place, and 
 that the lady was ugly and paralytic. You 
 need not say yes, but don't, pray don't make 
 a liar of me. I swore the last was sixty, 
 and I would have made this one ten years older, 
 but you know her maid said she was only forty, 
 and what could I do ? So I threw in palsy 
 and a ghostish kind of look." 
 
 " It is in vain, Thomas, to urge the matter. 
 Am I to go and confess that I have winked at 
 your falsehoods, lest you should offend an 
 earthly master?"
 
 24 FLORENCE. 
 
 " I am sure," said Thomas, " it is a true 
 saying, that what we do for old people and 
 children, are cast-away deeds; at least I shall 
 think so, if you expose me in this affair." 
 
 " To be accessary to the lies of another is 
 a double crime, and no gratitude or false deli- 
 cacy shall induce me even to prevaricate ; and 
 I beg that you will never attempt to serve me 
 at such a price." 
 
 " Well then, I am ruined," said Thomas, 
 resolutely holding the handle of the parlour 
 door ; " I'm ruined, that's all ; you will have 
 that to answer for. I have been a servant for 
 thirty years, and am not worth sixpence." 
 
 *' Thomas," said Edmund, half laughing, 
 " that is probably a lie too. You want to 
 make out a swinging account when you are at 
 it; but if you confess, merely to sin again, 
 what better are you than those heretics who 
 hold a compact with the devil, and their own 
 locked-up bosoms? Go — " and he opened the 
 door in spite of all resistance; but when he 
 entered, he found his father fast asleep, and 
 felt like one who is reprieved, while Thomas 
 on tiptoe, and a raised finger in token of cau- 
 tion, whispered, " I am a great deal better 
 than the rascals you speak of; they have no
 
 FLORENCE. 25 
 
 shame, no compunction, and go on without 
 even a sign of repentance, without even — " 
 
 " Hush ! my father stirs." 
 
 " Well, then, say you will not make a liar 
 of me ; it is for your sake that I am always 
 sinning." 
 
 Edmund removed his arm from the grasp of 
 Thomas, and shut himself into a small adjoining 
 room. There he ruminated on the hardship 
 of injuring a faithful servant who had sinned 
 from the double motive, (though in his haste 
 he had stated only one,) of saving his old master 
 from irritation, and his younger one from re- 
 straint. He considered too, that all chance of 
 visiting the ladies would be cut oiF; and what 
 would they think of one who could be so un- 
 kind and ill bred ? It would even be a stain on 
 his religion, for they would naturally imagine 
 that a Protestant would not have served them 
 in such a manner. " It matters not," thought 
 he, " I shall run all risks on my own account, 
 and no one has a right to force me into a part- 
 nership in sin; nor can I be justified in being 
 his shield. But my father may be injured ; I 
 may even occasion his death ! But I am not in 
 God's stead ; and do I not rather seek my own 
 safety than my father's ? "
 
 26 ^ FLORENCE. 
 
 "Edmund !" was just then uttered in a loud 
 peevish voice. The youth appeared, " What 
 is the matter, Edmund ? You look uneasy — your 
 cheek is flushed — your eye seeks the ground— - 
 Anything wrong?" 
 
 " Nothing, sir." 
 
 " Then why don't you look me in the face ? 
 And why that tremor as if you were a boy?" 
 
 " I feared making you uneasy." 
 
 " Uneasy ! what about, sir ? Uneasy ! that 
 betokens a cause — sit down, and tell me all 
 about your visit." 
 
 " All," thought the youth ; must I dilate upon 
 the beauty and elegance of the mother, and the 
 interest excited by the daughter, when I had 
 scarcely seen her?" 
 
 "Yes, yes; I see how it is — something 
 wrong. What are you considering about? The 
 widow had a daughter. I told Thomas so ; ay, 
 ay, I see how it is ; you will be the death of 
 me ; well may I exclaim, ' I am weary of my 
 life for the daughters of Heth.' " 
 
 He had worked himself up to the pitch 
 which never failed to produce a fit, when Tho- 
 mas, wringing his hands, asked in a whisper, 
 " if this was not worse than an innocent peace- 
 keeping lie."
 
 FLORENCE. 27 
 
 As soon as Edmund had restored his father, 
 he hastened to arrest his attention, which was 
 the most certain mode of preventing" a relapse, 
 and narrated all that had any reference to his 
 visit in a professional capacity; but even his 
 tender conscience absolved him from entering 
 into any particulars on the score of beauty, or 
 having seen the ladies before. Dr Campian 
 looked at Thomas, who declared that he never 
 saw the yoimg lady at all ; and that as to the 
 other, he never saw a more miserable looking 
 creature; but added, that his sight was no 
 doubt greatly impaired. His master rarely 
 thought him much to blame, and simply noti- 
 fied to his son that he would himself go to 
 Steel's place tomorrow; and added, "I desire 
 that you will not on any account go back. Do 
 you hear?" 
 
 "Yes, sir!" 
 
 " Then, why do you not promise at once'''" 
 
 " Because necessity may impel me." 
 
 " What necessity?" 
 
 " She may be taken violently ill, and you 
 may be indisposed." 
 
 " She ! Who is she ? Are there not two of 
 them?" 
 
 " Yes, but I was thinking of the invalid."
 
 28 FLORENCE. 
 
 " O, you were ! Well then, sir, I desire you 
 not to go. If she is taken ill, there are more 
 medical people in than we." 
 
 " Very well, sir," said Edmund with a sigh. 
 
 " O ho ! you sigh ; your visit has been effec- 
 tive." 
 
 " My dear father, I sigh because you are un- 
 easy. Wliy should you apprehend anything 
 from those or any other heretics? You know 
 my sworn promise. You know that I should 
 think it sacrilege to the memory of him whose 
 name I bear. No, my dear father, never; I 
 shall never be a traitor to my father, my illus- 
 trious kinsmen, and to our holy faith. Do 
 support in yourself a little more confidence in 
 a son who would sacrifice liis life to your 
 peace." 
 
 " My dear Edmund, it is because I love you 
 well that I would guard you with a care which 
 to the world at large must seem superfluous, 
 and to any son but you, unpardonable. But I 
 know that you forgive my weakness, and indeed 
 it is unworthy of such a son. I shall never 
 yield to it again. Think no more of it ; I shall 
 not. Go and visit our other patients; and as 
 it is a professional duty, I shall enquire after 
 Miss Stanhope."
 
 FLORENCE. 29 
 
 Edmund was liappy to see his father so soon 
 restored to tranquillity; breakfasted, and set 
 out upon his visits. But his father's peace of 
 mind was short-lived ; the demon of anxiety had 
 seized upon his faculties ; and even more than 
 his usual misgivings, — and those were always 
 more than enough, — haunted his imagination. 
 He again retraced the time of Edmund's ab- 
 sence on his morning visit; allotted eight mi- 
 nutes to his walk, five to preliminaries, five to 
 the feeling of his patient's pulse ; nay, he would 
 generously and considerately allow five more 
 to all the little nothings which medical men 
 must amuse their employers with, especially 
 ladies ; but more upon such an occasion was out 
 of the question. A summons at four o'clock, 
 a. m. ; — a visit by candle-light in a bed-room — 
 precluded from perambulating about the apart- 
 ment, lifting up one thing, setting down another, 
 remarking on this, and admiring that — on such 
 an occasion, it was hardly possible to be too 
 brief. " Where was I at ?" thought he. " Ay, 
 five minutes for saying nothings and saunt- 
 ering about — quite enough — and I'll allow ten, 
 it is a large allowance, for prescribing and even 
 seeing the medicine swallowed, and ten more 
 for walking deliberately up. That is altogether
 
 30 FLORENCE. 
 
 about forty minutes. Now lie was absent two 
 hours. But he said he took a long walk by the 
 river side. I have only his word for that. 
 Shame upon me ! — doubt his word ! " 
 
 He now turned his thoughts to the visit 
 which he was himself to pay, and certainly no 
 lover was ever more impatient for the hour of 
 assignation. But it was not the heart-bounding, 
 cheek-flushing, eye-sparkling of love, which, 
 while time appears long, gives to it a character 
 which no other portion of man's existence pos- 
 sesses. Two tedious hours were marked only 
 by irritation, and not unfrequently, like Muckle- 
 wratli, he was on the point of sending forward 
 the pointer of his time-piece. Eleven o'clock 
 at last approached, and he was just about to 
 sally forth, when he recollected that his son had 
 acknowledged the widow was beautiful. He 
 consulted his glass, and discovered that his thin 
 grey locks were uncombed, his beard of two 
 day's growth, and his linen somewhat past its 
 best in every respect. To face thus a beauty, 
 and especially a beauty of forty, was out of the 
 question. Thomas was summoned from the 
 next room, when after an hour's labour, — for 
 his master could not be hurried, — he surveyed 
 the work of his hands with as much satis-
 
 FLORENCE. 31 
 
 faction as if to liim Dr Campian was indebted 
 for the remains of a handsome face and fine 
 form. 
 
 Steel's place was at last gained, and Thomas 
 ordered to sit in the lobby until his master's 
 visit was made. On entering a handsome par- 
 lour, to await the appearance of Mrs Stanhope, 
 he felt his tremor and anxiety increase, but 
 fortunately a variety of objects attracted his 
 notice, and drove his thoughts into new chan- 
 nels, so that his nerves became a little more firm. 
 He had just finished a hasty inspection of some 
 fine china jars, filled w4th various perfumes, 
 which were placed upon and beneath a white 
 marble slab, when Mrs Stanhope entered. The 
 senior Dr Campian was remarkable for the 
 elegance of his bow; indeed, it was said that 
 
 not a man in the town of M could equal 
 
 him in that, or the general grace of his man- 
 ners, though somewhat formal for days in which 
 ease is fast degenerating into rudeness. Few 
 people were more alive to genuine exterior 
 grace than Mrs Stanhope, or to the sort of 
 interest which Dr Campian's whole appearance 
 was calculated to excite, and she half started on 
 seeing the tall thin figure, the white locks, and 
 sharp features of the person before her ; but her
 
 32 FLORENCE. 
 
 hand was instinctively held out as he recovered 
 from his salutation, and stood erect, with his 
 best professional manner, which, less or more 
 formal according to the rank of his employer, 
 never, even in his most agitated moments en- 
 tirely forsook him. 
 
 But, although habit compelled manners, it 
 could not withdraw his absorbed attention from 
 the beautiful object before him, as forgetting to 
 quit her hand, he gazed upon her swimming 
 blue eyes, her light hair first parted into braids, 
 and these covered with a profusion of curls, and 
 a mouth of singular sweetness, just opening 
 into a smile as she began to wonder at liis si- 
 lence and steady observation; or perhaps the 
 rivetted attention could not but force upon her 
 recollection a thousand instances of the same 
 devoted notice on a first sight of her. 
 
 " And is this," thought he, " the person with 
 whom my son last night spent so immeasm*able 
 a time?" He dropped her hand, aud laid liis 
 upon the marble slab, the sudden application to 
 which probably saved him from a nervous attack. 
 As her notice had been equally arrested, she 
 quickly perceived that there was a tendency to 
 indisposition of some sort, and handing him a 
 seat, she brought him, in an instant, a cordial,
 
 FLORENCE. 33 
 
 wliicli happening to be what he liked best, and 
 what generally relieved him, gave a sudden 
 turn to his feelings. Nothing so rapidly works 
 a change upon a man as a successful appeal to 
 his palate, and perhaps wdth no man so much 
 as with one who is in the habit of excessive 
 self-denial. 
 
 " I beg your pardon," said he, " but indeed 
 I should cease to give attendance, for I am not 
 so strong as I have been, and this is the most 
 oppressive weather I recollect ever to have 
 seen in the end of September, or rather begin- 
 ning of October. I have called to enquire for 
 Miss Stanhope, and on my being announced, 
 you might expect to see the same Dr Cam- 
 pian who waited upon you last night." 
 
 Mrs Stanhope had not thought upon the sub- 
 ject, but was too polite to say so, and imme- 
 diately expressed her regret for having dis- 
 turbed him on the previous evening ; " and 
 yet," said she, " I can scarcely regret what 
 
 has afforded me the pleasure of " She 
 
 paused, for she could not well add — of " seeing 
 you," as there could not, to him, appear any 
 particular cause of pleasure in that circum- 
 stance. However, he construed the half finished 
 sentence into a compliment of some sort, and 
 
 VOL. I. D
 
 34 FLORENCE. 
 
 acknowledged it by a slight inclination of tlie 
 head. " My daughter is quite recovered," 
 said she, " and I believe, as your son told me, 
 nature would have resumed her rights without 
 medical aid, but indeed she was very ill when I 
 sent, and the mother of an only child is easily 
 alarmed." 
 
 The doctor sighed, and shaded his grey eye- 
 brows and dark eyes with his hand; and then 
 after a mutual pause, he said, " My son was 
 not much alarmed then?" 
 
 " Not in the least. Ignorance, you know, 
 is easily worked upon by fear." 
 
 " True ; but it is more safe in all diseases to 
 follow the dictates of fear, in so far as to seek 
 medical aid in time, than to wait until it is too 
 late, from a dread of ridicule for having sought 
 it too soon. I have knowTi a life lost in that 
 way." 
 
 "You are very polite," said the lady, "to 
 find an excuse for my unnecessary alarm." 
 
 " I don't however agree with my son in this 
 case; a violent paroxysm of sickness is never 
 without cause of alarm; for unless we very pre- 
 cisely know that it originates in a very simple 
 cause, it is impossible to guess at the lurking 
 mischief. I have seen the mere throes of sick-
 
 FLORENCE. 35 
 
 ness enough of themselves to bring on convul- 
 sions and death. It was not like his usual 
 sense. Surely he was infatuated." 
 
 Here he paused, and again surveyed the lady. 
 She, being a stranger, and almost a solitary one, 
 felt pleased with having so ready an excuse for 
 her fears ; and, seeming to receive a warrant for 
 not being over scrupulous again, was about to 
 say something at once polite and grateful, when 
 he added, " And while I advise, in any such case, 
 prompt application to a physician, I will recom- 
 mend one who lives exactly opposite to this 
 little square. I take the liberty, as your sending 
 for me shows you are a stranger, and you may 
 rely on the skill and attention of Dr Burton." 
 
 Mrs Stanhope felt as if she had received a 
 smart blow, and taking out a long green silk 
 purse, she drew forth two guineas, and presented 
 them to the old gentleman. 
 
 " You must excuse me," said he proudly; 
 
 " I am under a I mean, I don't take money 
 
 to-day. I have particular reasons — believe me 
 — I intend no sort of unkindness; but the truth 
 is, my son's attendance and mine are occupied 
 beyond measure by the poor people of the 
 sister island, who are engaged in this populous 
 manufacturing town, and its einirons, and we
 
 36 FLORENCE. 
 
 cannot, indeed we cannot, spare time for any 
 
 other opulent people than those who who 
 
 have been long under our care, and have pecu- 
 liar claims upon us." 
 
 Mrs Stanhope laid the money on the marble 
 slab, and sat silent. The doctor's heart relented. 
 "I have," thought he, "woimded the feelings 
 of a beautiful and elegant woman : it is true, 
 she is a heretic ; but was not Peter sent to all? 
 Ours is an inviting not an excluding religion ; 
 and who knows ? But no — my son — I must run 
 no risks;" and rising, he took her hand, and 
 said, " You know not, madam, tlie many 
 reasons " 
 
 He stopped; she felt inclined to make a 
 proud reply; but meeting his softened eyes, 
 and remarking the general appearance of trepi- 
 dation and feebleness which he exhibited, she 
 smiled with that bitter melancholy expression, 
 which far more than tears bespeaks a torn heart, 
 and said, " I shall always regret that, having 
 seen you, I am not to number you amongst my 
 few friends." 
 
 He reseated himself, and taking up the small 
 glass which had contained the cordial, put it 
 to his lips, as if in the remaining drops he ex- 
 pected to find strength. Mrs Stanhope took
 
 FLORENCE. 37 
 
 tlie glass from his hand, and filling it, said, 
 " Oblige me by swallowing a little more ; you 
 are overcome, and require support." 
 
 " I should not," said he, " indulge myself 
 to-day, for I have often, often erred, since it 
 commenced; but to prevent a greater evil it 
 may be excusable." 
 
 At that moment Florence entered, and he 
 hastily swallowed the cordial, as if her presence 
 required an accession of strength. He was a 
 man of the most delicate tact ; perhaps it was 
 that very delicacy which so continually led him 
 into what he deemed error. He felt that he had 
 given pain; he saw that the elder lady was 
 some way or other unfortimate, and had she 
 been in a WTetched garret, instead of an apart- 
 ment which in elegance might have vied mth 
 those of the fancy-filling rooms of the Arabian. 
 Tales, he must have been satisfied that she 
 belonged to the very best society. All this had 
 operated on his taste and good nature, and he 
 had rallied himself to say something of an 
 atoning kind, when the young lady entered the 
 room. She was so precise a counterpart of 
 her mother, that he needed no more, to see all 
 the danger that lay before him. In one in- 
 stant his son's doom seemed fixed, and his
 
 38 FLORENCE. 
 
 eternal weal perilled. His kindness and com- 
 punction fled; he conceived that severity- 
 would be true kindness, and that he had better 
 inflict a slight wound at present than a deeper 
 one afterwards : therefore, with a profound bow 
 to both ladies, he withdrew without venturing 
 another look or word. 
 
 Mrs Stanhope sat silent for some time, while 
 her daughter was engaged in copying a drawing 
 of the celebrated Portland vase ; but throwing 
 aside her pencil, she exclaimed, " I don't care 
 for this. Do you think the sexton of the Ca- 
 tholic chapel will permit me to take a copy of 
 the Virgin Mary, which is on the right of the 
 south window?" 
 
 " Dear Florence," said her mother, " I should 
 think you may find many subjects of equal in- 
 terest." 
 
 "None, except the Son of Mary, and that 
 is too sublime a subject for me to attempt." 
 
 " I fear you must find a picture of her else- 
 where, if you a^e resolved on trying it, for I 
 am certain, were it possible to find the sexton, 
 which it is not, that he would deem the request 
 a most unhallowed one, at least in a heretic. 
 But were we free to enter that place for such a 
 purpose, I confess that I should feel decidedly
 
 FLORENCE. 39 
 
 averse to doing so. I must own I was liighly 
 pleased, at least highly excited, and in some 
 measure overpowered; but, like all excitation 
 which has not its source in reason, it was suc- 
 ceeded, and that very speedily, by an apathetic 
 vacuity. Besides, to tell you the plain truth, 
 lam a little mortified, and certainly disappointed, 
 by an occurrence, of which, were I not predis- 
 posed by painful circumstances, I should not 
 think for a moment, but as it is, I am jealous 
 of every look and word. I w^as struck with the 
 uncommon appearance of the old physician who 
 came to enquire for you; his graceful figure, 
 his milk-white locks, his dark hazel eyes, which 
 at first seemed to fluctuate amidst a variety of 
 expression, and — you know my devotion to 
 elegance — his bow. You smile; but really, 
 Florence, we are aU — aye, men of stern judg- 
 ments are, caught by just such trifles. Indeed, 
 I am not sure that they should be deemed trifles; 
 for unless where there is consummate art, it is 
 of the air and manner, far more than of the fea- 
 tures, by which we may judge. Features are 
 born with us ; and, notwithstanding all that has 
 been said on the subject, it is still very doubtful, 
 considering the many accidents to which tliey 
 are liable, whether they are indicati\'e of cha-
 
 40 FLORENCE. 
 
 racter or not ; but our air and manner may be a 
 true index to the mind." 
 
 " Why do you lay an emphasis on may ? " 
 " Because air and manner are often the off- 
 spring of hypocrisy ; but we are bound to believe 
 that right which appears to be so. ' Charity 
 thinketh no evil;' and it is only a base corrupt 
 mind which seeks to go beyond the superficies 
 of a fellow-creature, when these give a good 
 promise." 
 
 " But you cannot augur much from a mere 
 bow, which is taught by the dancing-master; and 
 I should think that all the pupils of the same 
 man will bow very much in the same manner." 
 
 " I did not mean to say that I would form a 
 judgment of a man from his bow, but merely 
 that you might be conciliated by it. However, 
 you are mistaken in thinking that all the pupils 
 of the same teacher will bow in the same man- 
 ner. Had the timid Cowper, the moral John- 
 son, the cynical Swift, all been taught by the 
 same man, and all been well flogged in order to 
 produce his undiscriminating effect, they would 
 each have bent the head differently ; and I now 
 see that there actually is more in a bow than I 
 had before imagined. But setting Dr Campian's 
 bland bow aside, it is impossible to siu-vey his
 
 FLORENCE. 41 
 
 exterior for one instant without being impressed 
 in his favour, and with a sympathetic feeling 
 towards him on account of an appearance of ex- 
 treme sensibility, which I should imagine, rather 
 than age, has enfeebled his frame, and given a 
 tremor to his manner." 
 
 " Then why did you and he part so abruptly? 
 He did not even enquire after his patient, at least 
 not of herself." 
 
 " He recommended another physician just at 
 the moment when I was congratulating myself 
 on having met wdtli one whose age would render 
 him a safe friend, and whose manners gave me 
 reason to expect that he would be a pleasant one. 
 What did he say ? that he had reasons for not 
 visiting us ! Good heaven ! reasons ! Dear Flo- 
 rence, am I to be for ever forced to pay the price 
 of appearances over which I have no control ? " 
 
 " But I thought you said the physician was a 
 young man." 
 
 " Yes, it was his son who came in the morn- 
 ing : and that is very true — Why did not he, 
 instead of his feeble father, inquire for you ? He 
 has heard — but the thing is too absurd to be re- 
 peated even as a calumny — that your mother 
 may not be looked on with impunity. O ! how 
 many shapes will not jealousy take, when bent
 
 42 FLORENCE. 
 
 on the destruction of its victim ! Well, be it 
 so;" and rising proudly, she looked at herself 
 in a Venetian mirror, and then laughed with 
 bitter irony. " And is there," continued she, 
 " aught so very seductive in that pale face, light 
 locks, and blue eyes ? O ! it was my manner ! 
 I looked, they said, a voluptuary. My manner ! 
 Heaven knows I would not walk across this 
 room to command the admiration of all the men 
 that ever existed. Excepting one, I never held 
 them so high, and indeed I know little of them. 
 O ! but it is my conversation. I never speak 
 like an ordinary person. Is it not astonishing, 
 that they will even flatter me in order to make 
 out their charges ? And if only villains or fools 
 believed the insinuations of their own sort, it 
 were well ; but even the good and wise have too 
 keen an appetite for scandal. It seems to be 
 the natural food of all, and that none shut their 
 ears against it, or begin to suspect its fatal poi- 
 son, until they themselves have sickened under 
 its baneful influence. I thought I had con- 
 quered all this, and that, emulous of our own 
 great poet, I scorned to feel the world's injus- 
 tice: but I was mistaken; I thought so only 
 when at rest, and perhaps he thought so only 
 when irritated. No ; it is not in humanity — we
 
 FLORENCE. 43 
 
 must feel scorn, and the less we deserve it, we 
 feel it the more. The fine old man ! I said to 
 myself; here I may indulge the kindness of 
 my heart ; but I find it must be shut up to all 
 but yourself. My sweet Florence, your very 
 name has danger in it : they wiU say it is the 
 same addressed by the proud poet, or will they 
 swear that mine is Florence ? Anything to glut 
 suspicion." 
 
 She again paced the room, stirred up the per- 
 fumes in different jars, sprinkled the apartment 
 with lavender, and then sitting down to her net- 
 ting said, " Florence, I am not ashamed of this 
 weakness. I have been touched — I have been 
 breathed upon by calumny. AMiere is the wo- 
 man who, with one shade of right principle, will 
 not be driven to the verge of madness by having 
 a finger pointed at her?" 
 
 " My dear mother," said Florence, " you told 
 me yesterday that you had conquered those 
 feelings. Did you not say, that to be unjustly 
 aspersed is as much a trial from God as any 
 other species of affliction? And did you not agree 
 with me in thinking that it would be delightful 
 to sink into the repose of piety ! " 
 
 Mrs Stanhope smiled ironically; and after 
 considering a little, said, " I was somewhat en-
 
 44 FLORENCE. 
 
 tliusiastic yesterday. I had just been where 
 thousands circumstanced like me have found a 
 blessed and a holy repose. But I cannot be the 
 dupe of enthusiasm. It is only reason, cool rea- 
 son, that can conquer the cruel perturbations to 
 which I am yet liable. Yes, that is it — you 
 have recalled the true consolation, or at least the 
 true cause for implicit, bowed-down resignation. 
 What though I suffer from the villany of men ? 
 What though I say to myself, this comes not 
 from the hand of God ? Still it belongs to the 
 cup of fate which has been destined to me, and 
 therefore I should swallow to the last drop, if it 
 is doomed. Florence, never forget that w^e are 
 here to endure." 
 
 " Why then, my dear mother, when you rea- 
 son so well, do you still yield at times to these 
 cruel bursts of anguish?" 
 
 " Why ? O that you may never know why ! 
 Is not this strange ? Were you beset, as I have 
 been, by calumniators, — were your heart torn, 
 as mine has been, by the barbed arrows of ma- 
 lice and misconstruction, I should feel it all. 
 Yet you do not seem to comprehend my suffer- 
 ings, though I am sure you love me. Alas ! 
 alas ! it is, that no child ever loved like a parent. 
 Had that finger been pointed at you, Florence 1
 
 FLORENCE. 45 
 
 Yet even that must have been borne. Heavens! 
 what the human mind is jfitted to bear — fitted — 
 obliged aye, that is it_the all-powerful twms^ com- 
 prehend in its all the pride of philosophy, and per- 
 haps all the pretence of But I am better now. 
 
 You know, Florence, how I cling to the endear- 
 ments of social life; you know how my soul 
 pants for the reciprocity of sentiment, and you 
 know how I am cut off from all that. Still hope 
 never quits us, and I am too apt, when I meet 
 with a beaming, intelligent eye, to feel that 
 here is a kindred, social mind. But, Florence, 
 so deeply have I suffered, that I shun young 
 men as I would plague or pestilence, not be- 
 cause I ever received an approximation to insult 
 from any one, but because all my intercourse 
 with them has subjected me to slander. There- 
 fore, although I found in the young physician a 
 countenance which spoke volumes, and a sensi- 
 bility" — Here both smiled — " Yes, I will say it 
 — ^wliat is in the word? — a sensibility which gives 
 the last touch to intelligence, yet I hoped that I 
 should not see him again. But when I saw in 
 his father a person in whom the attractions of 
 the son were rendered safe and venerable by 
 age, I rejoiced to think that I had found at 
 once a physician and a friend. Scarcely how-
 
 46 FLORENCE. 
 
 ever had my heart bounded and my eyes 
 sparkled, than, with my usual fate, I found that 
 where there was safety there was also a repul- 
 sion. Good heaven ! Surely not ; and what 
 could he hear ? Nothing. So say I, but what 
 says Fame ? ' You know not all my reasons.' 
 It is true, he assigned professional reasons, but 
 still those last words haunt my ear." 
 
 Here Mrs Stanhope became silent, while her 
 daughter's eyes were fixed upon her with that 
 intensity which at once bespeaks solicitude, con- 
 jecture, and affection. 
 
 " I cannot comprehend it," said she : " we 
 have not been here a month, and as you truly 
 say, there is nothing to hear. My dear mother, 
 it is your ow^n delicacy that distracts you ; and 
 it is because I am incapable of seeing a true 
 cause of alarm in these little — excuse me, I 
 think them little — occurrences, which have raised 
 your fears, that you imagine me insensible to 
 your distress. And if you will think for a mo- 
 ment, you mil see, that as the manner and a 
 few expressions of this old man are alarming 
 merely because you don't understand them, so it 
 may be in a thousand cases in which your ex- 
 treme delicacy has taken the alarm. But rather 
 than suffer from this new cause, I would write a
 
 FLORENCE. 47 
 
 note, and say explicitly, that being a stranger 
 and easily alarmed on " 
 
 "What?" 
 
 " The score of character." 
 
 " Character ! that is to sound an alarum 
 against myself." 
 
 " Well, then, that being a stranger and of a 
 peculiarly sensitive and delicate turn of mind, 
 that you could not feel easy until you knew if 
 his unexplained reasons had any connexion with 
 yourself." 
 
 Mrs Stanhope took up a sheet of paper, began, 
 and then threw it aside. " No," said she, " it 
 is time that I should cease to worship at the 
 shrine of pure fame. Whoever in reality en- 
 joyed it, amongst those whose faculties placed 
 them above the mere animal creation? Look 
 at that book, run your eyes dowai a few of its 
 pages, and you will see the characters which one 
 set of men have worshipped, blasted by another 
 set as creatures whom no pen can sufficiently 
 blacken ! History itself set at defiance ; kings, 
 queens, counsellors, church dignitaries, all sunk 
 into the foid pit of just or unjust calumny, and 
 judgment left in a maze of puzzled scepticism."
 
 48 FLORENCE. 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 The senior Dr Campian had been broken down 
 by irritability of temper, which producing such 
 ' thoughts and little acts as in his tender con- 
 science rendered him liable to fasts and other 
 penances, gave him at the age of sixty the ap- 
 pearance of being at least fifteen years older, 
 and that in a class which cannot be said to enjoy 
 a green old age. To sin, to repent, and to sin 
 again, was the life of Dr Campian. But what 
 were his crimes? Such as most men commit 
 daily without even the punishment of a momen- 
 tary reproach. But Dr Campian had been 
 brought up in a school of strict discipline ; in a 
 school which taught him that for every fault, 
 however trivial, he was amenable to his con- 
 science, and that it was requisite that his body 
 should suffer for the faults of his mind. Nor did 
 he, after having so punished himself, presume 
 to think that there was any merit in his own
 
 FLORENCE. 49 
 
 deeds, any more than does lie who pays a just 
 debt, the non-payment of which would drag him 
 to jail ; and no logic whatever could have con- 
 vinced the good old man, that another coming 
 forward in his stead could possibly exonerate 
 him from responsibility. In the perpetual habit 
 of scanning all his actions, and of balancing ac- 
 counts between his conscience and its claims 
 upon his self-command and endurance, he looked 
 back on the state of his mind since four o'clock 
 in the morning. There he found an anxiety, a 
 mortal anxiety, which seemed to assign to him- 
 self somewhat of the divine care; — there he 
 found suspicion of a son, in whom even his que- 
 rulous nature could find no just cause of cen- 
 sure ; — there he found a most foul and unchari- 
 table disposition towards the most beautiful 
 creature he had ever beheld. " I will return," 
 said he, while he staid the step of his prop 
 Thomas, " I will return, crave her pardon, and 
 offer my services, and that friendship which I 
 could read in her lovely blue eyes was essential 
 to her happiness. Alas ! she is a stranger, per- 
 haps friendless, perhaps persecuted ! Yes, I will 
 back and do my best to comfort her." He turned 
 down half a street ; his compunction became less 
 severe, his comptission less tender ; and he ex- 
 
 VOI.. I. E
 
 50 FLORENCE. 
 
 claimed almost audibly, " Wliat am I about? 
 Am I, at the age of threescore, to be lured by 
 a pair of soft eyes, an expansive brow, a fasci- 
 nating smile, and a dangerous softness of air ? 
 And what is this fair decoy ? this mother of as 
 fair a counterpart ! Monstrous ! and have my 
 feet turned on the path which carried me from 
 her ? Weak old man ! and thou wouldst stamp 
 and rave at the young blood of thy son ! But it 
 is a sense of violated politeness, outraged hu- 
 manity, that pointed my feet back. So says 
 the Tempter. Have we not vowed, that he who 
 deserves the name of Campian shall never be 
 more than a merciful stranger to a heretic ? and 
 would I risk my son ?" 
 
 With such fluctuating thoughts, but still keep- 
 ing the balance in favour of a retreat from temp- 
 tation, he regained his home. It was not, 
 however, until he had fairly faced a full-length 
 painting of his unfortunate and, at least to him, 
 illustrious kinsman, which represented him pin- 
 ioned and placarded with " Here goes the Jesuit 
 Campian ! " that his zeal was a perfect and tho- 
 rough equipoise to his more tender and humane 
 feelings. He wiped his forehead, crossed his 
 arms, and turning from the poor persecuted Ca- 
 tholic, knelt before a crucifix aiul burst into
 
 FLORENCE. 51 
 
 tears. Thomas had merely not entered the 
 room, and was in fact both within sight and 
 hearing, which owing to his master's infirmity 
 was always the case with either himself or Ed- 
 mund, and stepping in as soon as the burst of 
 feeling had subsided, he pretended to put some 
 things in order preparatory to dinner. " Well, 
 Thomas," said he, " I am here and safe; but 
 in truth, my good Thomas, there must have 
 been some strange spell — one would almost 
 think a demoniac miracle — for in this world 
 you will scarcely meet with such a pair of abso- 
 lute beauties, both in face and form. How you 
 coidd be so blinded and deceived is past my 
 comprehension." 
 
 " There is no accounting for taste, sir. I re- 
 member when I was a little foot-boy, that a mis- 
 tress of mine said to an out-door servant — for she' 
 was of a familiar turn — * John,' said she, ' did you 
 ever see such a beauty as the duchess? You 
 would get a good look of her yesterday in church.' 
 — ' Five score,' said John, ' filling dung-carts.' 
 Now this shews plainly, that not only what is 
 one man's meat is another man's poison, but 
 that what ravishes one eye is often ugly to 
 another."
 
 52 FLORENCE. 
 
 " No, Thomas, that is not proved by your 
 story ; for John merely alleged that he had seen 
 five hundred as good, but by no means abstract- 
 ing anything from the duchess." 
 
 " It surprises me to hear you say so, who are 
 so nice ; there is not a doubt that if John could 
 fancy dirty begrimed women as beautiful as the 
 
 duchess of B ; — I remember her well — 
 
 she was a fat, comely woman, fair red and white, 
 some said none of her own; — but if he could 
 fancy those dirty creatures even half as pretty as 
 the duchess, it is no wonder if the white tallow- 
 looking things I saw last night seemed down- 
 right ugly to me. I am of a ghostish, timid 
 temper, and pale women by candlelight are al- 
 ways a disagreeable sight to me : even by day- 
 light when they passed me in the lobby I was 
 scared." 
 
 " Yes, they are pale ; but yet there is a slight 
 tinge of red, just like the palest pink rose — I 
 don't like your robust carnation beauties — I like 
 a face and form that indicate an active soul. I 
 remember the duchess you speak of, at least I 
 have so often heard you allude to your pro- 
 vincial one (for every man has his idol, a model, 
 a pattern whicli everything must resemble or be
 
 I'LORENCE. 53 
 
 despised) that 1 have no doubt it is the same 
 you mean ; she became a widow, and married a 
 young handsome English rake of quality." 
 
 " Yes, the same." 
 
 " Well, John was right; you may find a 
 buxom thoughtless lass anywhere. But, Tho- 
 mas — sit down, Thomas. Do you kitow, that 
 when I am very much fatigued myself, I can- 
 not bear to see any one stand. It is not accord- 
 ing to form; but nobody sees, and you are neither 
 much younger nor much stronger than myself. 
 I say, Thomas, I like a temple in which you can 
 trace every vein — an eye in which you can read 
 ten thousand various emotions following each 
 other in rapid succession, yet each making an 
 impression — a mouth which seems this moment 
 to dissolve into smiles, and the next to betray 
 tokens of quick and trembling sensibility — a bust 
 which seems to have come from the hands of an 
 ancient Greek, and limbs in which there is so 
 much grace that you almost forget they are hu- 
 man. Such, Thomas, are the dangerous per- 
 sons I have left. I must this day do penance 
 for the treachery of my heart — it reproached me, 
 Thomas, for having acted right — aye, and it was 
 not until I had fronted Edmund Campian that I 
 was satisfied. Yes, beauty is a sad snare : even
 
 54 FLORENCE. 
 
 when we are in one respect dead to it, still it 
 finds its way to the heart." 
 
 " I am sure such beauties would be no snare 
 to me. I know nothing about the things you 
 have been describing; but this I know, that I 
 would not give one glance of the duchess of 
 B.'s bla©k eyes for all the features put together 
 of these ladies — they are mere spectres in my 
 eyes." 
 
 " Hush ! hush ! Thomas, there is Edmund. 
 Let us not stir up the embers of recollection. 
 He staid long, that is certain. Should I exact 
 farther promise ?" 
 
 " No, no; if master Edmund promised once, 
 it is ten thousand times strong." 
 
 Thomas withdrew; Edmimd placed himself 
 by the side of his father ; both were silent, and 
 neither raised an eye. The heart of the younger 
 fluttered to hear of his patient ; so did that of 
 the elder, because he guessed at the thoughts of 
 his son. At last he said, " Do you dine to-day, 
 Edmund?" 
 
 " Yes, father ; and I trust you have no reason 
 to abstain ; indeed I am sure you have none." 
 
 " How can you be sure of any such thing ? I 
 like not such security. It savours too much of 
 reformation strength : and yet they profess to
 
 FLORENCE. 55 
 
 have no strength in themselves, and say that we 
 find ours in that which is our weakness. I 
 sometimes think, Edmund, that your zeal is 
 slackened ; that you have mixed too much, when 
 at college, with the heretical world. Alas ! my 
 boy, can you ever cease to abhor, to dread those 
 tenets, which led unto the death that valiant 
 champion of our holy church? " 
 
 " You do me wrong, my dear father. But your 
 frame is not fit for the dreadfid exactions you 
 make upon it : Mr D'Alembert has himself told 
 you so, and instead of urging you to penance, 
 has conjured you to abstain from it. Indeed, 
 indeed, your conscience is by much too tender." 
 " Foolish, silly boy ! You are, I fear, fast 
 upon the decline. What though my frame is 
 exhausted, is worn out, if it is in duty, and by 
 holy mortification? Does it signify that the 
 tenement of clay fails, if the tenant is safe ?" 
 
 " Suppose, father, I were as delicate as the 
 poor young man next door, whose existence 
 seems to hang on aliment, would you not say, 
 ' O Edmund, for the love of my grey hairs, 
 spare yourself.' " 
 
 " Doubtless I would. You have a double, 
 a threefold duty to perform — that to your God, 
 to your parent, and to your poor i)aticnts, some
 
 56 FLORENCE. 
 
 of whom could ill spare you. But as for me, 
 my lamp is so nearly out, that it matters not 
 whether oil is supplied or withheld. It is to the 
 essence which depends not on food, that I look ; 
 and every hour that I advance in the evening of 
 life, it becomes more important that I do so 
 with vigilance. It is only eight days since 
 Ember week, and have you already forgotten 
 the lively exhortation of Mr D'Alembert on the 
 preceding Sunday? Did he not say, ' We fast 
 less now than at first, not because we need it 
 less, but because of the increasing hardness of 
 our hearts ; and we are aware, that in punishing 
 to the utmost of your deserts, we should find 
 you like the children of Jeshurun." 
 
 " Yes ; but he also said, that allowance would 
 be made for weak constitutions and for children. 
 And, father, how often have you told me, that 
 we two are all the world to each other. You 
 are comparatively young, and ^vitli care — with, 
 if I may so speak, an abstinence from absti- 
 nence, you may live for tw^enty years. Think 
 of this for my sake ; and as it is said of delicate 
 children, you are more dear to me because of 
 the very care which you require." 
 
 The old man grasped his son's hand, pressed 
 it to his heart, then to his lips, and seemed
 
 FLORENCE. 57 
 
 again ready to weep. Both gentlemen had 
 now found the point of precise union: jealousy 
 was banished from the breast of the father ; and 
 if a lingering thought remained in that of tlie 
 son, respecting the fair strangers, it was now 
 more than counterbalanced by grief for having 
 caused one moment's even involuntary pain to 
 liis beloved parent. 
 
 Had Mrs Stanhope been able to read the 
 heart of Edmund Campian, she would have been 
 staggered in her theory, that the child never feels 
 for the parent as the parent does and has don^ 
 for the child. Most assuredly this opinion is as 
 correct as it is prevalent ; but there are excep- 
 tions to all rules, and the attachment between 
 Edmund and his father was as equal as any that 
 ever existed between father and child. 
 
 Everything had tended to render their hearts 
 one. The wife of Dr Campian had died when 
 liis son was an infant ; and as a father is gene- 
 rally attached to his children in proportion to 
 his love for his wife, his for her having been of 
 the most devoted sort, it now devolved on 
 Edmund with a double fervour. He became 
 his father's charge in an extraordinary degree, 
 for he considered that he had the common duties 
 of both parents to fidfil, and that in the midst ot
 
 58 FLORENCE. 
 
 a crooked, perverse, and, to him, heretical gene- 
 ration, it was incumbent on him to watch every 
 inlet to false opinion, as a guardian angel would 
 over its delegated charge. At the age of eight, 
 Dr Campian procured for his son an accomplished 
 Jesuit, to whom the charge of his spiritual inte- 
 rests and general education were committed. 
 The priest might be said to have educated young 
 Campian, literally, for God and his father ; and 
 even when removed at unavoidable times from 
 home, and put under other care, hovered about 
 liis charge, at once as a monitor and a guard. 
 
 Everybody knows the influence of persecu- 
 tion on the virtuous and firm-minded, and the 
 murder of his kinsman in the reign of queen 
 Elizabeth, with the degrading and aggravating 
 circumstances by which it was attended, had 
 produced on the senior Dr Campian, and those 
 of the same name who had preceded him, a 
 strong and eradicable hostility to the foes of 
 their faith, in each of whom they fancied that 
 another as highly gifted and as zealous as their 
 great namesake would meet a murderer; nor 
 did the events of late years tend to lessen that 
 conviction. But the younger Campian was so 
 gentle by nature, that notwithstanding the 
 efforts of his father to stimulate his wrath on
 
 FLORENCE. 59 
 
 this one point, the utmost pitch to which he 
 coukl ever screw it up was a hatred of sin, and 
 of cruelty in particular, against whatever party 
 they might be exercised. Yet he could admire 
 the devoted zeal of his father, as he dwelt upon 
 the worth of Campian and the butchery of those 
 who murdered him. When a child, his father 
 every day held him up in his arms, to let him 
 look at the picture of the Jesuit ; would point to 
 his melancholy features; narrate what. he had 
 done; tell of his accomplishments; and then, 
 grinding his teeth, point at the label on his hat, 
 which he invariably finished with, " Yes, my 
 child, let me every day put you in mind how 
 unsafe to yourself, how sacrilegious to our 
 church, and to him, one of its best champions, 
 ever to cherish an individual as a friend, who 
 has sucked in the fearful notions which could 
 send a man like that to a disgraceful death." 
 Sometimes he would turn over a Protestant 
 book, and say, " Look there ; see the degrading 
 pity of Protestants, and how they presume to 
 bestow it on such a saint : — ' The poor wretch 
 was led to his fate; and however much we may 
 censure his mistaken zeal, we must hope that the 
 story of racks and tortures Js not true.' Can 
 mortal man read such words without stamping
 
 60 FLORENCE. 
 
 liis foot and clenching his fist ?" His constitu- 
 tion was not then worn out, and this paroxysm 
 generally ended with merely a few angry, rapid 
 movements through his apartment. But in 
 process of time his irritable habit increased, not- 
 withstanding all his mortifications; and these 
 mortifications so weakened his frame, that the 
 fainting fits alluded to generally succeeded to 
 any violent excitation. Scarcely a day passed, 
 perhaps never, in which Dr Campian did not 
 remind his son of the claim which this kinsman's 
 memory had upon him; and if ever Edmund 
 felt inclined to be impatient, it was in being 
 warned against a set of people \nth whom he 
 had mixed very little, and to whom he felt no 
 partiality. 
 
 All he could eff'ect that day for his father's 
 temporal benefit was, to divert and enliven his 
 mind by presenting to it various subjects of 
 thought; and in order to avoid all heretical 
 reminiscences, he launched w^idely and deeply 
 into medical detail, rendering every case under 
 his care as interesting as possible, and giving to 
 some of the characters of his patients as much 
 graphical touching as was well consistent with 
 truth. 
 
 The elder Campian could not banish from his
 
 FLORENCE. 61 
 
 recollection and regrets the fair objects of his 
 admiration, but they ceased to call up his fears 
 and compunctions. Not so his son. While 
 they forced themselves upon his thoughts, it 
 was with self-condemnation ; and in spite of all 
 his efforts to the contrary, he still, as on the first 
 evening of the same week, saw as a vision the 
 daughter flitting before him, and with her was 
 now incorporated the idea of her beautiful and 
 intelligent mother, giving as it were reality to 
 what had seemed before scarcely tangible. 
 
 Though he repelled with all his might these 
 fair intruders on his thoughts, still, as Sunday 
 approached, he would sit with his eyes fixed on 
 vacancy, hardly aware of what occupied his 
 mind, until, by a wonder if his chapel would 
 be again their resort, and that conjecture accom- 
 panied by a repressed sigh, he was aware, or 
 rather he began to fear, that the first impression, 
 strengthened as it had been by curiosity, and 
 that followed up by regret, was not so evanes- 
 cent as his duty required. But how was it pos- 
 sible tliat juvenile politeness, yet unsoured and 
 fortified by the rubs of life, could surmount 
 without a blush his own apparent neglect, and 
 his father's evident abandonment — (he did not 
 know how palliated, or if at all) — of anything
 
 62 FLORENCE. 
 
 human? — but of two such? There was deep 
 blushing shame in the thought; and circum- 
 stanced as he was, even the flushed cheek had 
 sin in it. 
 
 Not less agitated and abstrasted had been the 
 thoughts of Florence Stanhope ; but her unea- 
 siness and abstraction sprung from very differ- 
 ent causes. So much, indeed, had her mind 
 been occupied by the new train of thinking 
 which had taken possession of it, that to this 
 was owing her less than ordinary sympathy with 
 her mother. The young lady was at that age 
 when the mind of an intelligent female begins 
 to feel the inanity of ordinary life. A pause has 
 just taken place from the claims of involuntary 
 education, and when ceasing to be taught, she 
 begins to learn. Of course we allude to such 
 as have in them the faculty of thinking ; to such, 
 who, instead of finding a resource from the 
 ennui incident to humanity, in gauze, ribbons, 
 and idle amusements, seek it in the cultivation 
 of the mind. But one feeling is common both 
 to those who seem to acknowledge a divine 
 responsibility, and to the poor deluded things 
 who seem by their whole conduct to deny that 
 they are accountable beings, or tliat they have 
 in them any rational, solid hope of that which
 
 FLORENCE. 63 
 
 they all profess to believe, — a life hereafter. I 
 say, one feeling is common to the unthinking 
 creature who seems to be placed in the maniac's 
 circular swing, and to her who would willingly 
 keep out of it, — that is, of a wretched uneasi- 
 ness — a mental vacuity — in short, a something 
 which, while it is undelinable, admonishes, if the 
 silent hint were attended to, that this is not our 
 continuing city. The thoughtless quell this 
 feeling, which is one of the most sad and painful 
 attendant on humanity, by rushing into the arms 
 of folly and of vice. The thoughtful and wise — 
 what do they ? The great mass seek the road 
 to worldly prosperity ; a few others, the path of 
 science; and many others — wise too — the tu- 
 mults and the disputations, the hopes and the fears 
 of religion. Yes, it is to that dreadful sense of 
 man's littleness — that sense of it which sends 
 the panting soul into other regions — that sense 
 of it, to which the contemplative have clung as 
 the best assurance of man's immortality, that we 
 owe the madness of ambition and the cruelties 
 of religion. Few, very few, have winced more 
 under these feelings than ourselves, and few 
 have more frequently exclaimed, " Surely this 
 unfilled soul, this never-dying hope that our 
 existence here is not our all, must originate in a
 
 64 FLORENCE. 
 
 source wliicli speaks to an immortal soul ! Surely 
 it is not that, in the progress of mind from 
 the lowest to the highest mortal creature, man 
 has merely arrived at a pitch which renders him 
 at once more wretched and more vicious ! " . . . 
 Dreadful ! That this may not be so, is a wash 
 as ardent as was that of Mary Wolstoncraft, 
 when she exclaimed, ' I dread nothing but 
 annihilation.' Poor thing ! mistaking and mis- 
 taken as thou wert, we feel assured that few 
 minds ever had less cause to dread futurity. 
 
 It was in the first year's cessation from being 
 directed in her pursuits by others, that Florence 
 began to experience this painful yet in some 
 measure hope-inspiring sense of this life's utter 
 incapacity to fill and satisfy the mind of a rea- 
 sonable creature. She was an Episcopalian, 
 and had been accustomed to the Church of 
 England service ; but in a late visit to Scotland, 
 she had gone to hear the orators of the metro- 
 polis. Perhaps it was, that her mother, being 
 rather a cold christian, had neglected all those 
 adventitious aids to devotion which stir up and 
 fan the yet feeble heat, that hitherto not a sin- 
 gle enthusiastic emotion had found a place in 
 her breast. Custom, thus unassisted, had ren- 
 dered the Episcopalian service a matter of mere
 
 FLORENCE. 65 
 
 form; and in her occasional visits to Presbyte- 
 rian places of worship in Scotland, she felt an 
 unqualified dislike, alleging, that in the plainest 
 and most simple there seemed to be a grudging 
 of external respect to the Deity; or where 
 something better had been attempted, it appeared 
 to be rather the efforts of foppery, than of minds 
 properly imbued mtli a sense of the more imme- 
 diate presence of Divinity. She had gone forth 
 on the last Sunday of September the 17th after 
 Pentecost, dull and inert ; she was discontented, 
 she could not have told why ; she sighed, but knew 
 not for what. Still languid, her attention was 
 roused by the attitude of a poor creature, a youth, 
 probably Irish, who lay half prostrate opposite 
 to the altar ; another dipt his finger in token of 
 being cleansed and purified, before he knelt, 
 and made the sign of that in which thei/ glory, 
 but of which any external recognition seems a 
 reproach to a Protestant. Nay, we recollect hav- 
 ing seen a pretty girl quizzed, as it is termed, for 
 wearing a cross ! Strange, unholy perversion ! 
 Yes, unholy; for it cannot be otherwise than 
 profane in a christian, even a mere nominal one, 
 to scoff at the representation of that on which a 
 meek and virtuous martyr died, supposing he had 
 no higher claim on our love and respect than 
 that of martyrdom. And we tliink it impossible 
 
 VOL. I. F
 
 66 FLOREXCE. 
 
 that even a deist, or if sucli a thing l)e, an 
 atheist, can look on a fine representation of 
 the crucified, dying Jesus, impressed, falsely or 
 truly, with the notion that on him w£is at that 
 dying moment laid all the sins of all mankind, 
 without a sensation of awe; and who knows, 
 but that awe may at last lead to conviction? 
 There is something so touchingly sublime in 
 the idea, something so much and so far beyond 
 every other martyrdom — that of Socrates not 
 excepted — that it is impossible to see the cor- 
 nelian cross of a poor silly girl made a subject 
 of wit and laughter, without deploring the le\dty 
 of our own times. 
 
 But to return to our heroine : placed as she 
 was at the moment with a singularly fine cruci- 
 fix before her, and with every knee bent in 
 solemn devotion around her, she could not but 
 recollect having once heard an Episcopalian 
 youth declare, " that he never could get beyond 
 number seven in his apparent supplication, on 
 entering an English church." Here, however, 
 hypocrisy must be deep, if the solemnity with 
 which they cross, kneel, and at least appear to 
 pray, is mere seeming; and she never thought 
 of doubting the reality of what impressed her 
 Mdth a conviction that she had never seen true 
 worship before. We have already narrated how
 
 FLORENCE. 67 
 
 she was affected by the service while there; 
 but whether her subsequent ilhiess was occa- 
 sioned by mere excitation or other causes, we 
 cannot pretend to determine. Her mother was 
 often called upon, in the course of the following 
 week, to tell all she knew of Popery, while 
 Florence listened, mused, and again sought for 
 fresh information, often exclaiming, " Dear 
 mother, can an enlightened people, in an en- 
 lightened age, believe the things you tell me 
 and those asserted by the authors you read to me ? 
 Popery, even by your own admission, came almost 
 fresh from the apostolic hands ; how then could it 
 be so corrupted a faith? It is more than wonderful 
 that enlightened Rome should believe in mira- 
 culous powers being a kind of heritable pro- 
 perty; in the possibility of mere man remitting 
 sins ; or in the horrible impiety of men being 
 able to purchase pardon for the sins which he 
 yet only contemplates the commission of ! " 
 
 " You forget that Rome was not enlightened 
 as to religion; you forget that she worshipped 
 an almost innumerable number of deities, and 
 that her greatest philosophers were glad to be 
 enrolled amongst her priests, aye, her fortune- 
 tellers." 
 
 " True ; and when we read of that circum-
 
 68 FLORENCE. 
 
 stance, particularly in regard to Cicero, you said 
 that such men must have acted in compliance 
 with popular prejudice, and for political ends ; 
 because, as you remarked, it was quite impos- 
 sible that they could believe in anything so 
 absurd as that God would unfold his future 
 purposes by the flight of birds, or the quivering 
 of a bullock's heart. Therefore they were en- 
 lightened, but impostors ; and as a new imposi- 
 tion was not only opposed to, but must have 
 been hostile to, their supposed interests, I 
 cannot comprehend how such novel absurdities 
 could have been admitted." 
 
 " It is surprising certainly, but it is true." 
 " Mother, there must be some mistake. 
 Would God abandon his own religion to cun- 
 ning, crafty priests, before it Avas yet known to 
 those whom it came to redeem ? Have you not 
 told me a hundred times to take warning from 
 your own fate, and learn charity ? It was but 
 last week you said, ' When a man or woman 
 is put down, everything, however trivial, tells 
 against the individual — it is listened to and 
 exaggerated for the purposes of malignity.' 
 Now it may be the same thing as to Popery ; 
 it is put down in this country, its good proper- 
 ties — and surely it must have had some — are all
 
 FLORENCE. 69 
 
 forgotten, and its faults — it is dreadful to hear 
 tliem — expatiated upon as I have heard them by 
 my imcle." 
 
 " Yes, Florence, think of that and beware. 
 You know your uncle's inveteracy on that sub- 
 ject; and were he to hear that you have been 
 wishing to extenuate their errors, my evils will 
 be deepened a thousand-fold by what you must 
 suffer. I took you once to see and hear the 
 forms of the ancient church; I could not do 
 less, whetted as your curiosity was by all that 
 you had heard ; but stop there." 
 
 " Don't you recollect," said Florence, " how 
 heartily you all laughed, six or seven years ago, 
 when, after my uncle had been stamping and 
 raving lest they should ever enjoy any more 
 advantages than they have at present, I asked, 
 ' Of what they had been guilty V I asked then 
 in compassion ; but, on Sunday, I put the same 
 question in justice; and I again say solemnly, 
 ' Of what have they been guilty?' " 
 
 " They were guilty of keeping people in 
 ignorance, and often of most cruel and dread- 
 ful persecutions," 
 
 " I don't know about the truth of the first 
 charge, and I have two very strong reasons for 
 doubting it ; one is, that you have frankly con-
 
 70 FLORENCE;. 
 
 fessed the ignorance of Protestants upon the 
 subject; and the other, that I heard with my 
 own ears, on Sunday last, what gives a com- 
 plete negative to the assertion. Did not Mr 
 D'Alembert say, again and again, ' Has not 
 your Bible told you of God's abhorrence of 
 sin?' Would he refer them to what they knew 
 nothing of? Did he not, in proving the necessity 
 of casting sin from us, through the figure, as 
 he well explained, of an eye or a hand, lead 
 back his hearers to the very first crime ? I shall 
 never, while I live, forget the sublime energy 
 with which he clasped his hands and exclaimed, 
 ' If God could so visit, not on the perpetrators 
 only, but on countless generations, the mere 
 sin of eating an apple or a fig, what must his 
 abhorrence be of your lies, your slanders, your 
 murders !' And then did you notice his quick 
 observation of his people? Some one had 
 raised his head and looked inquisitively, or 
 doubtingly, for he immediately added, ' Yes, 
 I see what you would say, and you are right ; — 
 it was not eating the apple or fig, or bunch of 
 grapes, or whatever it might be ; it was the sin 
 of disobedience. True, you are right, it was 
 the sin of disobedience ! ' Do you recollect his 
 impressive pause at that moment, and the low.
 
 FLORJiNCE. 71 
 
 solemn tone in which he added, ' () tliink then 
 of your ten thousand dangers ! Adam and Eve 
 had only one command to break ! How have 
 they been multiplied since ? How, in the present 
 state of society, with all its seductions and all 
 its temptations, and with our loosened hold 
 upon you, are they every day increasing ! ' 
 Was this keeping his flock in ignorance ? Was 
 this to say, as you have told me, ' Sin on — 
 come and bui/ forgiveness?' My dear mother, 
 I . appeal to your justice. Open your ears 
 again, and again think on the words he uttered, 
 before you thus condemn a whole people. You 
 say — ^and I am sure — I am unfit for the task ; but 
 you see that even I can prove, from what you 
 heard last Sunday, that they are 7iot kept in 
 ignorance, and that if it were their profit to 
 sell absolutions, they would not point out the 
 fearful enormity of sin as Mr D'Alembert did. 
 But my other objection to your information is 
 founded on your own admission, that you know 
 very little about them. As to their persecu- 
 tions, our history tells us enough to show us 
 that they have at least not monopolised per- 
 secution. What did that vulgar Scotch clergy- 
 man in Edinburgh say, when some one regret- 
 ted the fine monasteries and al)l)Ovs that had
 
 72 FLORENCE. 
 
 been laid low ? Do you recollect ? It was in 
 
 broad vulgar Scotch." 
 
 " O ! yes : ' -Pull down the rookeries, and 
 
 the rooks will forsake/ or something like that. 
 
 Yes, I am sorry now that you listened to such 
 illiberal abuse, because I see it has tended to 
 stir up your compassion, and compassion is 
 
 nearly allied to But, Florence, there are 
 
 points, on which, w^ith all our ignorance of Po- 
 pery, it is impossible to be mistaken. For 
 instance, the pope's infallibility; and more — 
 for human vanity might so intoxicate a man, 
 though scarcely a succession — but that they 
 should deem themselves possessed of the keys 
 of heaven and hell ! — should imagine that to this 
 day miraculous powers are vested in them, and 
 that they ought to be supreme over all earthly 
 principalities and powers, — are really as incredi- 
 ble assumptions, as we are perfectly sure that 
 they make them. No, Florence, to give up 
 unbiassed, untutored — I should rather say, mi- 
 tortured — -reason, on such points, is madness." 
 
 " And how long did Christendom submit to 
 these absurdities?" ' 
 
 " Suppose that three hundred years elapsed 
 before the pope's power was thoroughly orga- 
 nised, and that it remained in unshaken force
 
 FLORENCE. 73 
 
 until the days of Calvin and the other reformers, 
 we shall have eleven hundred years of Popery." 
 
 " Eleven hundred years of 'unmixed error ! 
 Christian error! Mother, I must know the 
 truth of all this." 
 
 "Wliy? What is it to you? What can it 
 ever be to you ?" 
 
 " I cannot tell you whi/, but I feel that it 
 must be a great deal to me. I shall know, if 
 to know be possible, why that which was so 
 long* permitted, nay, sustained with a grandeur 
 which fills the whole soul, is now abhorred, 
 reviled, persecuted." This she uttered with 
 flushed cheeks, sparkling eyes, and a deep, 
 impassioned energy. 
 
 Mrs Stanhope was a woman of the most pure 
 and strict morality. Even the depraved and 
 depraving modes of genteel life, which teach 
 that those things are merely polite, which are 
 in fact a system, a tissue of lies, and which 
 afford a ready apology to servants and children 
 for falsehood to any extent, since nothing can 
 be more authoritative, encouraging, consoling, 
 and strengthening, than the example of our 
 lord and lady, of our father and mother — even 
 these things never corrupted the integrity of 
 Mrs Stanhope. " Say I am al)roa(l wIkmi I
 
 74 FLORENCE. 
 
 am at home; delighted when I am grieved, or 
 grieved when I am indifferent ; approve of what 
 I despise ; and laugh at what I esteem, merely 
 because it is unfashionable ; — if I had no prin- 
 ciple, my pride would revolt from anything so 
 debasing." 
 
 Such were often the remonstrances of Mrs 
 Stanhope against the every-day and sadly de- 
 moralising practices of life, from a duke and 
 duchess down to a farmer's daughter, who has 
 been six months at a boarding-school. ' But 
 with all this, she never gave herself any trou- 
 ble upon points of disputation ; indeed, she 
 revolted from them in a most especial manner, 
 for two reasons. The first was, that she wdshed 
 to remain a sort of negative believer in what 
 she had been taught — that is, she did not wish 
 to imbibe any knowledge which would, as she 
 termed it, unsettle her quiescent faith. The 
 other was, that her good sense had been so 
 often startled by the supported proposition, that 
 all out of the faith are in danger of eternal 
 punishment, that she felt, rather than acknow- 
 ledged, that to disturb her faith by the prin- 
 ciples of universal good will and compassion, 
 would be no difficult task. She had been se- 
 verely tried by the malice of man^ and having
 
 FLORENCE. 75 
 
 suffered when innocent, nay, where she would 
 have disdained to be guilty, she was sedulously 
 anxious to maintain an irreproachable character 
 as to her creed, and to enjoy as far as was 
 possible ease of mind. But she was mistaken ; 
 for in that point she suffered as deeply as in 
 any other; for, with the zealous, a lukewarm, 
 passive faith is worse, far worse, than none. It 
 is, they say, a chronic disease, and hence hope- 
 less ; absolute unbelief is an acute disease, and 
 therefore by prompt and severe medicine may 
 be removed. Thus, while by shutting her eyes 
 to books of universal knowledge, and her ears 
 as far as possible to general and investigating 
 conversation, and while she with equal care 
 kept aloof from all points of doctrine, she was 
 pitied by philosophers as one of whom some- 
 thing might have been made, and despised by 
 zealous christians as a mere Laodicean. Such 
 is fate ; and how must every liberal mind, every 
 mind aspiring to a distinct, clear knowledge of 
 what is untrue (for it is too much to desire to 
 know what is truth, speculatively speaking) 
 mourn over the tyranny that has been, and that 
 2S, every hour exercised over the soul of man. 
 In fact, while Mrs Stanhope probably plumed 
 herself upon jjcr veracity, she lived in a state
 
 76 FLORENCE. 
 
 of wilful self-imposition. " I must not inves- 
 tigate the attributes, or at least the probable, 
 the plausible, the (even) analogous attributes 
 of God, lest I find them to differ from what I 
 have been told to believe." In all else, Mrs 
 Stanhope's miiid was expansive and excursive ; 
 but in very early life she had gone down the 
 stream passively, and at that period when a 
 mind like hers might have ventured ashore, she 
 was but too glad to sail on quietly and unob- 
 served, and to keep herself from any fresh cause 
 of reproach. Her daughter's remark fell on 
 her ear like a death-knell, and she repeated the 
 words, " I feel that it must be a great deal to 
 me," with scarcely a possibility of defining her 
 own thoughts. At last she said, " I beg you 
 will explain to me why you are so anxious to 
 dip more deeply into the Roman Catholic cause 
 than I have explained, which I really think 
 sufficiently satisfactory to any unprofessional 
 person." 
 
 " Just because no religious service ever before 
 made the most slight impression upon me; I 
 heard as if I heard not, and I said as if I said 
 not. I cannot describe my feelings ; but when 
 Mr D'Alembert spoke, it seemed as if I had 
 never till that moment heard a spoken message
 
 FLORENCE. 77 
 
 from the Deity: — and because their character 
 in the world differs from what they at least seem 
 to be, and that I am resolved to know what they 
 really are." 
 
 " Florence," said her mother, " beware of 
 what you are about. I am the last person living 
 to harbour the most distant wish of putting any 
 restraint on the thoughts of any human being, 
 but certainly there can be no good reason for 
 your abandonment of the faith in which you have 
 been bred ;" and surely, my dear Florence, it is 
 not for you, who have been brought up with 
 enlarged and liberal ideas, to run after mere 
 form." 
 
 " So far from that being the case — so far 
 from loving the forms which I witnessed — I 
 revolted from them, and it was the zeal, the piety, 
 the peculiarly paternal authority, which drew 
 forth emotions in me, that before I had not even 
 a guess of. My astonishment was the greater, 
 that I went to the place believing I should un- 
 derstand nothing that I heard — believing that to 
 it there belonged little more than the name of 
 church — nay, my dear mother, I blush to own 
 it, I expected to hear a sort of mock sermon in 
 Latin. Surely, it becomes those who seem to 
 make it their employment to defame this grand
 
 78 FLORENCE. 
 
 structure, to be really acquainted with it. Wlien 
 I heard Mr D'Alembert refer them to various 
 parts of scripture, when I heard him exclaim, 
 ' Does not your whole Bible point out to you 
 God's hatred of sin ? ' I thought of all the ca- 
 lumnies which I had listened to against those 
 very pastors, and the reported state of laboured 
 ignorance in which they kept their flocks, and I 
 said to myself, I shall know the truth of all this. 
 I wonder if it was the deep sense of injustice 
 which affected me so much, or if it was the mere 
 power of what seems natural, unstudied elo- 
 quence. But I was singularly affected. I felt 
 as if my eyes were incapable of following with 
 sufficient perspicacity the varied expression of 
 Mr D'Alembert's face, and as if my ears were 
 not sufficiently open for the reception of his 
 words ; and so intense did my attention become, 
 that in some measure it defeated itself." Flo- 
 rence paused, and blushed deeply, as if she were 
 aware of her own extravagance, for modest 
 youth shrinks from all exhibition. 
 
 In all her trials, Mrs Stanhope had never an- 
 ticipated any other in respect to her daughter 
 then the loss of her, or perhaps — for what woman 
 glances not that way? — to some trial of the 
 heart. But to find her on the verge of fana-
 
 FLORENCE. 79 
 
 ticism, and tliat too in favonr of a chnrch which 
 she understood to have been justly put down, 
 was a thing for which she was entirely unpre- 
 pared. It might end in her taking the veil ; 
 but, at any rate, it must end in giving mortal 
 offence to her paternal uncle and sole guardian. 
 Indeed, where is the Protestant who would at 
 this moment look coolly on any member of his 
 family becoming a Catholic? Wliatever he may 
 not know — and it is an immense deal — he does 
 know that his future grandsons, nephews, or cou- 
 sins, must be aliens in their own country, and 
 that they cannot exclaim with Paul, ' I was free- 
 born.' A moment's recollection however served 
 to show her two things; first, that Florence had 
 the right, the unalienable right, of investigation ; 
 and next, that opposition in such a case, being 
 one in which no moral objection could be made, 
 would only strengthen inclination, and whet per- 
 versity. She therefore replied, with as much 
 seeming indifference and composure as she could 
 assume, that she should hear some others of the 
 same church before she thoroughly made up her 
 mind, for that it was impossible to suppose that 
 human nature was actually changed in favour of 
 one body of men, and that they, and they only, 
 should remain in possession of zeal and autho-
 
 80 FLORENCE. 
 
 rity. " I am almost satisfied," she continued, 
 " that when you find priests on a level w^th those 
 you have heard amongst Protestants, that your 
 original aversion from their superfluous and in 
 many respects absurd forms will return, and you 
 will be satisfied that it was the force of novelty 
 alone which constrained your admiration." 
 
 " Then why did I feel apathetic in the 
 midst of other novelties? In our journey 
 through Scotland, what pleasure did I take in 
 hearing their best orators? The zeal of the 
 famous Dr T — — was too exuberant for my 
 taste, and often seemed to verge on wrath. 
 
 The smooth, oily eloquence of Mr G was 
 
 coupled with doctrines so shocking to ordinary 
 compassion, that his gentle appearance seemed 
 to give the lie to liis words. The young man, 
 or rather boy, who jumped and sprawled, ex- 
 tended his eyes and inflated his nostrils, in imi- 
 tation as it was said of the Brutus-looking doctor, 
 for he really has a classic head, uttered senti- 
 ments, and in a strain of juvenile, upstart petu- 
 lance, from which every well-disposed mind 
 must revolt. I shall never forget the savage 
 pleasure with which he screamed to his congre- 
 gation, ' Sleep on, until you awake in hell ! ' 
 And then the Episcopalians of the same school —
 
 FLORENCE. 81 
 
 for you recollect Mr Dumblane told us, that on 
 some points tliey more than met — seemed deter- 
 mined to atone for the real or imputed careless- 
 ness of past years by sending all delinquents by 
 one swoop to eternal woe. Mother, compare 
 Mr D'Alembert's eloquence with theirs, and 
 you mil find it the broad, unwasted river of 
 1800 years, and theirs the winter torrent of a 
 day." 
 
 " And do you suppose, my dear Florence, that 
 it will be found less sweeping on that account? 
 Have I not told you of their intolerance, and 
 that they hold all condemned out of their own 
 pale?" 
 
 " And what do others ? If Protestants deem 
 Catholics safe, why the anxiety we hear of to 
 convert them ? An anxiety fully equal to that 
 of our missionaries for other conversions." 
 
 '' Take them on other ground, Florence, and 
 you will find them as intolerant as the Scotch 
 
 T , or the English — I forget his name, but 
 
 you recollect, that during his stay in Edin- 
 burgh, his evening invitations were, ' Coffee and 
 prayers ! ' Massillon's best sermon is in defence 
 of the doctrine that few will be saved. Indeed, 
 Florence, you are captivated by perfumes, satin, 
 embroidery; and, I will confess it, extraordi- 
 
 VOL. I. G '
 
 82 FLORENCE. 
 
 nary zeal, and with less of self than I ever wit- 
 nessed. I believe, after all, it is there that his 
 charm lies: other men preach themselves; he 
 preaches his subject, and it only." 
 
 " My dear mother, if my love for you could 
 be encreased, it is for that concession. As to the 
 perfumes, satin, and embroidery, you must your- 
 self plead guilty, for, like the poor Iron-mask's 
 love of cambric, I have imbibed my taste from 
 my mother." 
 
 Mrs Stanhope laughed and offered no more 
 defence ; and indeed she had already gone much 
 out of her usual road.
 
 FLORENCE. 83 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 When Sunday again came round, Florence re- 
 minded her mother of her promise, although it 
 was mth reluctance she passed the long narrow- 
 passage which led to the chapel of Mr D'Alem- 
 bert, still she was anxious to learn the truth. 
 Mrs Stanhope watched her daughter as well as 
 she could, where the want of vis-a-vis seats is a 
 great bar to inattention, during divine worship. 
 By accident, she was more close to the altar 
 than upon the preceding Sunday; indeed 
 there was no gallery in that chapel; and Mrs 
 Stanhope hoped, that the service being performed 
 by a remarkably plain and uninteresting person, 
 would tend to render more obvious what seemed 
 to her superfluous and even childish observances. 
 It was impossible not to contrast the ease, the 
 grace, and pictorial attitudes of Mr D'Alembert, 
 with the dull, heavy manner of Mr Ashburn ; 
 but still more, his strong impressive and impor-
 
 84 FLORENCE. 
 
 tant lessons, witli an ill-delivered discourse on 
 the antiquity, universality, and preeminence of 
 tlie Romisli cliurch. " What a difference be- 
 twixt men!" thought Florence; "While this 
 man upholds his particular system, he seems to 
 forget the creatures for whom systems were 
 formed. Mr D'Alembert's heart seems to ex- 
 pand for the whole human race; this man's, 
 only for his particular church." 
 
 Mrs Stanhope felt sure that her point was 
 gained ; and willing to administer as much anti- 
 dote at once as possible, she proposed walking 
 about during the interval of divine worship, and 
 returning again. They found the afternoon ser- 
 vice altogether diiferent from any they had ever 
 seen before, there being, in addition to singing 
 and praying, (all in English,) merely a few re- 
 marks upon the importance of early instruction. 
 After church the priest mustered about a hundred 
 children round the rails of the altar, and proceeded 
 to catechise them. It seemed rather a task to 
 him, and Florence, contrasting him by anticipa- 
 tion with Mr D'Alembert, resolved to see 
 him in this new and interesting function. After 
 he had finished this piece of labour, he portioned 
 out their tasks for the next Sunday, first in the 
 church's catechism, and next in a portion of
 
 FLORENCE. 85 
 
 scripture to be committed to memory. This last 
 happened to be that part of the 14th chapter of 
 Matthew, in which the miracle of feeding the 
 multitude is set forth; and he then shewed that 
 he was not without his ignitible spark, by giving 
 such a commentary on that passage, as was calcu- 
 lated to awaken in his elder auditors the virtue 
 of solid, tangible charity, not that which exists 
 in mere love, but that which feeds and 
 clothes the poor, and to lay the foundation of 
 genuine, heartfelt kindness in his younger ones. 
 Mrs Stanhope knew that this was touching her 
 daughter on a responding key, and we cannot 
 conceal that she regretted having remained for 
 this part of the service. 
 
 They walked out in silence, the one fearful 
 that she had erred in letting her daughter hear 
 so much, and the other more satisfied than ever 
 that the Roman Catholics were a caliunniated 
 and injured people. The chapel formed the 
 east centre of a small square, having on one 
 side of it a school-house and suitable apartments 
 for the teacher ; on the other a slated shade with 
 seats for the accommodation of those who might 
 be too early, or wish to converse before going 
 into worship with a friend ; there was also a 
 bench for soldiers to lay their caps and swords
 
 SG FLORENCE. 
 
 on, and a well of water, with two or three little 
 cans, for the purpose of giving drink to the 
 thirsty ; and Florence had remarked in the 
 morning, that some poor people, who had pro- 
 bably walked far, seemed glad of this simple 
 beverage. On each side of the square were 
 four or five respectable looking houses, and the 
 whole was terminated by an ample porch. On 
 reaching this last, it began to rain with violence, 
 and being destitute of any defence whatever, 
 they stopped, at a loss what to do, because 
 having their way back to enquire, they knew 
 that their progress would be considerably re- 
 tarded. 
 
 Feeling chilled by the keen blast which ac- 
 companied the rain, they turned, for the purpose 
 of taking shelter in one of the houses on either 
 side of the archway. Mrs Stanhope tapped 
 lightly at a door, and with some hesitation ; for 
 though she had seen much of life, she had about 
 her that quick sensibility which makes the heart 
 beat and the cheek flush when about to en- 
 counter new faces under circumstances of even 
 the slightest obligation. No token of having 
 been heard was given ; she hesitated, and again 
 looked towards the street, but the rain ran upon 
 it in little rivulets, and there was that haste,
 
 FLORENCE. 87 
 
 care, and anxiety in every surrounding face, 
 which might well banish the hope of aid or par- 
 ticipation. 
 
 " Is it possible to get a coach ?" said she, ad- 
 dressing a gentleman. 
 
 " I should think not : this shower, or rather 
 torrent, must have cleared the next stand ; and 
 besides, who will go out to seek one that can 
 avoid it?" 
 
 " True," said Mrs Stanhope, feeling checked 
 by even an implication that she should have 
 expected such a sacrifice of clothes, if not of 
 health, from any one. 
 
 " See, mother," said Florence, " the door has 
 opened, almost at my touch ; let us go in." 
 
 " I fear to intrude ; and look ! we are not the 
 only persons who want shelter." 
 
 Florence had proceeded, and left no choice 
 for her mother, who followed her along a lobby 
 of considerable length. On gaining a door at 
 the farther end, Mrs Stanhope staid her daughter 
 and said, " Upon my word, Florence, I feel 
 afraid to proceed ; let us stand where we are, or 
 rather, let us return to the door, and remain 
 there. The shower is so violent, that in all 
 probability it will be very soon over. Nay, 
 don't open the door ; we may intrude on sick-
 
 88 FLORENCE. 
 
 ness or death, for there is a dark stillness 
 about this place which chills me. Why are 
 you so determined?" 
 
 " Because the tempest is fearful, and you 
 know how delicate you are." 
 
 " No matter — stand here — we shall do very 
 well; but I will not enter a room." 
 
 At that moment a side-door opened, and an 
 elderly, housekeeper-looking woman desired 
 them to walk in. Mrs Stanhope professed her- 
 self at a loss for an apology, and the good 
 woman assured her that none was necessary in 
 such a whirlwind ; but added, " We'll shut the 
 door ; it's needless to let all the world in, and 
 no doubt, many there may put in a claim :" 
 and, drawing the inside bolt, she added, " Our 
 door is most unfit for a towTi, and it's a wonder 
 we have a spoon left to ourselves." 
 
 Wliile these remarks of dubious hospitality 
 went on, they had again reached the farther 
 end of the lobby, when the old woman threw 
 open a door, and presented a dark, sombre- 
 looking apartment, which was furnished with a 
 large sofa covered with black, chairs of tlie 
 same hue, and having walls of a dubious colour, 
 but not such as to promote cheerfulness. Two 
 window^s, the height and nearly filling the
 
 FLORENCE. 89 
 
 breadth of the room, might have enlivened it, 
 but the light was more than half excluded by 
 the foliage of fruit-trees and luxuriant creepers. 
 
 " Sit down, ladies, sit down : my master may 
 be in directly, and may be not — just as it hap- 
 pens. A sick dog will keep him out for an 
 hour, and, if need be, he will bring it home 
 for me to nurse. I'm sure — but hush ! I think 
 I hear him; his is a heavy foot — I'm sure I 
 wonder how the flesh keeps on him ! Content- 
 ment is great gain, they say — I dare say — Aye, 
 he is into one of the side-rooms. Somebody 
 for me, no doubt. Well, I'm sure " 
 
 " I really fear," said Mrs Stanhope, " that we 
 are intruding sadly. Indeed, Florence, we had 
 better go; perhaps we may find a coach; but 
 at any rate, what does a little rain signify ? 
 To be sure, you have been ill " 
 
 " Hush, ma'am, the young lady is engaged." 
 
 On Mrs Stanhope turning round, she found 
 her daughter contemplating with fixed attention 
 a crucifix, which, with some other paintings by 
 the first masters, hung in a deep recess, that 
 was formed on one side of the room, and seemed 
 fitted up for devotional exercises. 
 
 " \ ery delicate-looking, indeed!" said their 
 attendant. " It would be the worth of my place
 
 00 FLORENCE. 
 
 to let such a person out. Mr Ashburn will have 
 her into one of the side rooms — I beg your 
 ladyship's pardon ; I mean, if she happened to 
 be poor." 
 
 " Mr Ashburn ! " said Mrs Stanhope. " Then 
 we are in his house." 
 
 " No doubt, ma'am; I thought you knew 
 that. I am sure you will be welcome ; for he 
 has a heart for the whole human race, as he 
 says." 
 
 " He says ! Does he say that of himself?" 
 " O ! dear, no ; but I hear him speak of 
 that in his discourses; and indeed I need not 
 mince the matter, he tells me that is what I 
 should have; but it's not easy to see a man's 
 substance wasted upon vagabonds. And then I 
 have no help, for says he, ' Alice, I take no 
 attendance, just that you may give it where it 
 is due.' And after all he does, you never hear 
 of him, in a comparison." 
 
 " I believe Mr D'Alembert is very popular." 
 " Yes, yes, as an oracular man. But what 
 does that signify? It is what a man does, and 
 not what he says. No doubt, he gives me a 
 world of trouble — But hush ! there he is in good 
 earnest." 
 
 Mrs Stanhope instinctively rose, and stood
 
 FLORENCE. 91 
 
 beside her daughter in the recess, so that she 
 was not seen by those who entered. 
 
 " I assure you," said a person in the voice 
 she had heard half an hour before, " I am glad 
 of every dispensation, which involves no one in 
 evil, that brings me the pleasure of seeing you 
 here. I know you seldom come so far from 
 your own end of the town, and I shall be sorry 
 if this deluge frighten you from taking another 
 excursion of the same kind before winter set 
 in. And now, my dear Dr Campian, and my 
 young friend Edmund, set yourselves quietly 
 down, and we shall have tea and coifee pre- 
 sently. I suppose, like me, you take your 
 slight repast at mid-day? — Alice, bring us in 
 some light and salutary comfort." 
 
 " Yes, sir," said she, at the same time making 
 signs to the recess; but Mr Ashburn was too 
 intent on his own hospitable purposes to ob- 
 serve her, and she was obliged at last to say, 
 " Two ladies, sir; the rain was so heavy, and 
 them so singular delicate-looking, that I knew 
 you would be angry if I allowed them to pass." 
 Mrs Stanhope was now obliged to come for- 
 ward, and though a little embarrassed, made 
 so graceful an apology, that had Mr Ashburn
 
 92 FLORENCE. 
 
 been a cliurl, as he was the reverse, he must 
 have been at least pacified. 
 
 On seeing Dr Campian, she resolved, first 
 on keeping down her veil, and next on retreat- 
 ing, in spite of the weather ; but Mr Ashburn 
 was a man of thorough-going hospitality; and 
 he told her with much earnestness, that to ex- 
 pose herself and daughter to such peril would 
 distress him beyond measure, and that if she 
 wished to confer a favour, she would first feel 
 herself at home, and next assist him in doing 
 the honours of the tea-table. " It is true," 
 added he, " we are strangers to each other, 
 and I suspect that curiosity, not holy consan- 
 guinity, brought you to us, — for I observed you 
 both ; — but the time of need, be it great or small, 
 is the time in which aU are brethren. It were 
 indeed well if we ha,d more christian truth and sin- 
 cerity ; — but if you were not what you seem, /can- 
 not suifer, and 2jou perchance — Who knows ?" 
 — Here he paused, sighed, and then went on 
 with, " Aye, more likely it may be with the 
 humility of conscious error — but I wander. Your 
 faces betoken the dignity of high, it may be, a 
 proud consciousness of rectitude; and let us, 
 whate'er our creeds, leave all that, and forget
 
 FLORENCE. 93 
 
 all ceremony, and indulge in tlie simple fancy, 
 that the elements thj^mselves now and then 
 send us back to pristine times, by subjecting 
 us to such inconveniences, as force us from the 
 unnatural restraints of artificial life/' 
 
 Strangely mixed as this speech was, Mrs 
 Stanhope f^t relieved; and reading in his 
 round, red face, and full eager eyes, an ex- 
 treme anxiety that she should share in his hos- 
 pitality, and be safe from the tempest of wind 
 and rain, she resolved to throw aside those 
 punctilious feelings, by which we are indeed 
 in such thraldom as often to make us sigh for 
 the " ever-open door of the Cilician." 
 
 Florence had by this time turned from the 
 pictures which had absorbed her attention, and 
 stood ready to be guided by her mother. The 
 elder Campian, though shocked at this meeting 
 wath persons whom he dreaded, had rallied him- 
 self, and made one of his best bows, muttering 
 at the same time a hope that the young lady 
 was now entirely recovered. The youth, more 
 agitated than he himself approved of, leant 
 against one of the two corresponding pillars 
 which assisted in intercepting the small quantity 
 of light admitted by the windows; while Mr 
 Ashburn was whispering some stimulating liints
 
 94 FLORENCE. 
 
 to his housekeeper, — first as to certain cakes, 
 which she seemed unwilling to produce, — cold 
 ham, which he said the ladies might relish, and 
 which he hoped would tempt the feeble appe- 
 tite of Dr Campian, — and finally, in a still 
 lower k6y, added, " But see first to a man and 
 woman, and two little children, tl^at I have put 
 into the first left-hand room." 
 
 " Yes, sir,'* was the reply, while she walked 
 out with that dogged air which indicates the 
 feeling of an inflicted hardship. 
 
 Mrs Stanhope was not entirely free from the 
 embarrassment which should have belonged en- 
 tirely to Dr Campian ; and it was not until Mr 
 Ashburn had again expressed his joy at having 
 that gentleman and his son as his guests, that 
 she could look the elder confidently in the face. 
 She was before struck with admiration of its 
 fine lineaments, and again sympathised in the 
 look of intense sensibility by which it was per- 
 vaded. He paid little attention, apparently, to 
 Mr Ashburn's reiterated welcome ; for having 
 gone two miles, in order to avoid all chance of 
 meeting or seeing the dangerous pair, he recol- 
 lected the fate of prince Agib's victim, and felt 
 a conviction that his son's was as surely doomed. 
 
 Edmund guessed at the state of his father's
 
 FLORENCE. ' 95 
 
 too easily perturbed spirit, and wishing to pre- 
 vent such a termination as often took place on 
 occasions of comparatively slight excitation, 
 asked him to look at the paintings in the recess, 
 thinking in this manner to divert his attention. 
 But, either from agitation or some other cause, 
 old Campian stumbled when passing Mrs Stan- 
 hope, and was glad to save himself from a fall 
 by catching hold of her shoulder. 
 
 " My dear sir," said she, while sustaining his 
 feeble frame, " it is strange " 
 
 She paused; his jealousy was roused, and he 
 replied quickly, " What is strange ?" 
 
 " That I — " again she paused, aware that she 
 could say nothing which would not appear 
 utterly absurd. Thought is quick; the next 
 instant placed before her the possibility of his 
 son and her daughter forming an attachment, 
 and the facilities which such an attachment would 
 afford to the ripening of the yet immature predi- 
 lection she had formed in favour of Popery. 
 Instantly bracing up her mental strength, she 
 resolved to check all the kindness with which 
 her heart overflowed to the old man, and to be 
 as firm in cutting short the acquaintance as he 
 had before evinced himself. 
 
 Old Campian was superstitious to a great de-
 
 96 FLORENCE. 
 
 gree; but we need not wonder at this, when we 
 recollect the wiser men who have been so ; and 
 besides, one of the leading tenets of his church 
 is grounded in what we deem gross superstition, 
 viz. the endurance of miracles, since Catholics 
 have not, like us, been able to disco^r the pre- 
 cise period at which simple nature should resume 
 her reign, and supernatural agency be forever 
 set aside. He recovered himself; but feeling 
 perfectly assured that in some way or other he 
 should sink before Mrs Stanhope, he gazed upon 
 her as if, since his doom was fixed, he would at 
 least have the pleasure of feasting his eyes on 
 her beautiful and expressive countenance. 
 
 " It is strange indeed," said he, " if you 
 knew all." 
 
 " If I knew all ! " said Mrs Stanhope greatly 
 moved, " If I knew all ! This is the second 
 time these words have passed your lips in refe- 
 rence to me. For the love of pity, say if you 
 ever heard of me ?" 
 
 Dr Campian continued to look upon her, but 
 spoke not. 
 
 " For heaven's sake," said she, " relieve me ; 
 say at once what it is." 
 
 " I cannot tell you what it is, but I solemnly 
 declare that I never heard of you until your
 
 FLORENCE. 97 
 
 maid called me up, and I have never heard of 
 you since." 
 
 " Then why"— said she eagerly ; but check- 
 ing herself she added, " No, I am wTong — 
 your assurance that you know nothing of me is 
 enough." 
 
 " Mother," said her daughter, who seemed to 
 gather to herself the presence of mind which be- 
 longed to the whole, " you are placing yourself 
 in a very strange light, and leading this gentle- 
 man — all these gentlemen — to suppose that you 
 dread being known, whereas your only misfor- 
 tune is in not being known." 
 
 " You are right, Florence ; it is indeed a 
 mean, despicable thing, to care so much about 
 what others think, when all is fair within." 
 
 " And all without," said old Campian, at last 
 yielding to his natural sincerity ; " and I must 
 apologise for my repeated rudeness, and perhaps 
 
 at some other time explain " Just then his 
 
 eye wandered from poor Mrs Stanhope to his 
 son, whose attention was so obviously rivetted 
 on the younger lady, that every risk rushing at 
 once upon his mind, he sunk into the first seat . 
 and fainted. 
 
 Mrs Stanhope, who was a stranger to the doc- 
 tor's infirmity, now felt assured that she alone 
 
 VOL. I. 11
 
 98 FLORENCE. 
 
 was the cause of such repeated agitation in her 
 presence, and she exclaimed, " Poor old man ! 
 this is twice that the sight of me has disturbed 
 him. There must be a cause for this." 
 
 His son, while administering the proper res- 
 toratives, which he never went without, hastened 
 to relieve her, by first stating that his father was 
 subject to such fits, and by next assuring her 
 that his agitation in her presence had no indivi- 
 dual connexion with her. 
 
 This was certainly true in the outline, for 
 any other tolerably fair pair of heretics would 
 have produced some anxiety, though it is proba- 
 ble that notliing less attractive could have caused 
 in him such overwhelming fear. 
 
 It was only by degrees that the hospitable in- 
 tents of Mr Ashburn were diverted ; for being of 
 course a bachelor, he had become, what is suffi- 
 ciently teasing and inexcusable in females, apt 
 to think that without a great deal of obvious 
 trouble no comfort can be procured for the im- 
 mediate objects of solicitude. His attention had 
 been slightly withdrawn from a cupboard, when 
 Mrs Stanhope began her appeal to Dr Cam- 
 pian ; but the cordials in his hands, and the con- 
 templation of other sources of comfort, more 
 than diverted her claims upon him in the way of
 
 FLORENCE. 99 
 
 sentiment. However, when his friend fainted, 
 he so far forgot his dread that Alice shoidd be 
 tardy, as to oifer his assistance on this still more 
 pressing call. But Edmund assured him that he 
 required no other than a little cold water wherein 
 to mix some hartshorn ; and, after waiting with 
 some impatience to see the doctor recover, he 
 withdrew. 
 
 Mrs Stanhope now found herself more em- 
 barrassed than ever ; for even with the counte- 
 nance of her host, and that chiefly directed to- 
 wards herself and daughter, she had found her 
 situation sufficiently awkward. She rose and 
 looked out, meditating an immediate escape ; 
 but it still rained, and though not in torrents, 
 the case was more hopeless, for it was now a 
 calm, steady, persevering descent from the 
 clouds ; and might not unaptly, compared with 
 the preceding half hour, represent the diffe- 
 rence between a sulky and a violent man. De- 
 jected and uncomfortable, she resumed her seat, 
 while the very darkness of the room seemed to 
 add to her uneasy and perturbed sensations. 
 Neither of the Campians attempted a word ; the 
 mother and daughter exchanged looks of des- 
 pair; and notwithstanding Mr Ashburn's excel- 
 lent remarks on the abuses of ceremony, neither
 
 100 FLORENCE. 
 
 felt free from blame for having, by an abandon- 
 ment of it, been thrown into a situation of at 
 least doubtful propriety. 
 
 At last Mr Ashburn appeared, and close be- 
 hind him his sole domestic. " I tell you, wo- 
 man," said he with a red face and flaming eyes, 
 — " I tell you, that duty should never sleep, 
 kindness never slumber, thrift never come within 
 five hundred miles of compassion." 
 
 « But, sir " 
 
 " No remonstrating with me ! Did I not say 
 to have soup for the poor and comfits for the 
 rich, if so be that our gates were honoured with 
 the latter. False woman ! Had I not been in 
 the way, those vagrants, those starving fellow- 
 mortals, had tasted nothing better than a dry 
 sapless crust ! Fie upon you ! out upon you ! 
 But where fell ye in with such viands ? Have 
 you saved them and laid them in a dry oven 
 since the third week of September ? Woman ! 
 how often shall I tell thee that a voluntary fast 
 and a cumpulsatory one hath two opposite effects. 
 The one softens down the passions, and though 
 it may be that there is sometimes a little spiritual 
 pride and self-complacency in the case, yet the 
 whole effect, that is, where health permits" — 
 looking at Dr Campian — " the whole eff'oct,
 
 FLORENCE. 101 
 
 where health permits, is salutary. Insomuch 
 as I have often forced upon your most obdu- 
 rate ears that mortification, if voluntary — or 
 imposed by a land spiritual father, which ought 
 to be the same thing — gives, whether he mil or 
 not, a kind of repose to man's peccancies ; gives 
 him time and inclination to look within — tends 
 to root out envy, hatred, and malice ; and, though 
 last, not the least to my purpose, gives Mm a 
 taste, if I may so speak, of what those suffer who 
 have nothing to eat. But the reverse of all this is 
 the case wdth him who fasts from hard necessity — 
 no matter though it be his own fault, as you often 
 tell me, thou second Nabal — no matter; he is 
 our brother in need. I say the very reverse of 
 all this is effectuated upon him who fasts because 
 he cannot help it. Instead of envy, hatred, and 
 malice being repressed, they are stirred up and 
 brought into fearful and direful action. Look at 
 Ireland ! Look at the poor, thoughtless, kindly- 
 hearted creatures, forced by sheer want to envy 
 those they would willingly worship ; to hate 
 those whom they are inclined to love as brothers ; 
 and at last, when worked up by the pangs of 
 want, they perform the very last act of malice. 
 But I will punish you — Here, take that to them." 
 " That ! '* said she with irrepressible surprise.
 
 102 FLORENCE. 
 
 " Yes, that — is it so wondrous ? Do not the 
 rich swallow them in pairs, and in triplets ? Will 
 it poison a poor man for want of use ? Think ye 
 their stomachs are diiferently constructed ? Did 
 I not try to soften down your hard heart, by taking- 
 you into that very recess and confronting you 
 with the good Samaritan ? Read you the words 
 of a heretic — yea, some say an infidel heretic — 
 even the man Cobbett, who, be he what he may, 
 hath wrought a good and a just work in setting 
 forth the sad, sad change to the poor of the land 
 since our dispensing hands were tied up, or rather 
 chopped oif; and did you not then promise to 
 be kind and faithful in your ministration? A 
 piece of dry crust ! It cannot be that you are 
 of our fold ! You must have been nurtured by 
 those who, when they do give, tremble lest the 
 poor should have even a glimpse of comfort. 
 Why don't you go with the bottle, or must I 
 again leave my company ? '' 
 
 " I was waiting, sir, till you had done speak- 
 ing." 
 
 Mr Ashburn*s wrath was now at its acme ; 
 and taking up a bottle of port in one hand, and 
 two small cufFee-cups in the other, he marched 
 out. 
 
 " I am sure, ma'am" said Alice to Mrs Stan-
 
 FLORENCE. 103 
 
 hope, " by this time you must have a very poor 
 opinion of me ; but only think of giving a bottle 
 of port wine to a poor starved man and woman ; 
 it will fly to their heads, and who will be 
 blamed ? The poor creatures, to be sure. — and 
 on a Sunday too — they will be seized and carried 
 to a lock-up house. Me hard-hearted ! Me a 
 Nabal ! But how can I make soups and attend 
 church at the same time ? I am sure in some 
 
 respects I would be better with " Here 
 
 she met Dr Campian's eye, and after a pause 
 she added — " with a married gentleman, for a 
 mistress is sometimes a great comfort." 
 
 Hearing her master's heavy step, and it fell 
 upon her ear at that moment with a double 
 weight, she busied herself in putting forth cups 
 and saucers ; and having profited by the admoni- 
 tion so liberally bestowed, she explored every 
 nook and corner of her repositories, and in half 
 an hour the table groaned under a load of ham, 
 tongue, tea, coffee, bread and butter, cake and 
 confections. 
 
 Mr Ashburn glanced first at his board and 
 next at his guests, and then saying grace, begged 
 that they would punish his miserable housekeeper 
 by eating heartily. " I wonder," said he, " that 
 I keep tlie creature — I often wonder at it — for
 
 104 FLORENCE. 
 
 she is a continual cause of offence : and I know, 
 Dr Campian, that I have even now greatly 
 erred ; but, after all, she is acquainted with my 
 ways, and, with vigilance on my part, I take 
 care that her duties shall be performed. And 
 now, madam, will you dispense the tea; and 
 you, my pretty maiden, pour out some coffee, 
 and let us forget, in God's comforts, our late 
 turmoils. I am glad, my good old friend, to see 
 you restored. I fear, young Mr Edmund, I 
 seemed neglectful ; but I know that where you 
 are, all is safe; and besides, these fair ladies 
 could lend better aid than mine. It is — at least 
 it was formerly — the task of ladies to nurse the 
 sick." 
 
 " But," said Edmund, " your housekeeper 
 hinted, and I think with some propriety, that 
 people unused to wine, and especially when 
 half-famished, may get intoxicated ; and should 
 they ramble out in that state, may suffer se- 
 riously." 
 
 " Did she so ?" said he, with renewed anger. 
 " The hypocrite knows full well that no poor 
 wretch leaves my house on a Sunday. I know 
 I did wrong, but she provoked me. Rely upon 
 it, that Parnel's silver cup would not soften her 
 heart; it is only by shewing her that if she
 
 FLORENCE. ' 105 
 
 withhold, I'll exceed, that anything can be done. 
 I have locked them in," said he, relaxing into 
 good humour, " and should they exceed, they 
 must e'en sleep it off. To-morrow I shall try 
 to place them in some sort of employment; if 
 they are deserving, it is my duty: if not, the 
 loss is theirs. The world greatly errs, Dr 
 Campian, in fearing to do too much.N What 
 though we be cheated nineteen times in twenty ? 
 ' The disgrace of being duped !' say the worldly- 
 wise. Good sooth ! if we have no heavier dis- 
 grace, we are indeed blessed." 
 
 Nothing tends more, perhaps scarcely any- 
 thing so much, to unite into one community very 
 opposite natures than a common meal, when 
 the parties are well appetised. If an ordinary 
 repast of bread and cheese and a pot of porter, 
 or something equally vulgar and homely, can in 
 a great measure assimilate four or five hetero- 
 geneous or may be hostile persons, all alike 
 hungry or exhausted by fatigue or unavoidable 
 abstinence, the same individuals will unques- 
 tionably be rendered more sociable by a repast 
 composed of delicacies. So it was in the present 
 instance : Mr Ashburn's wrath was quenched ; 
 Dr Campian's fears were forgotten, and his irri- 
 tability softened ; Mrs Stanhope's scruples and
 
 106 FLORENCE. 
 
 suspicions removed ; and Here, fortunately 
 
 for the dignity of our tale, there is a break in 
 our train of animal enjoyment. 
 
 Florence poured out the coffee; but she 
 scarcely saw to whom it was sent : she stirred 
 and sipped her own, but she was nearly uncon- 
 scious of its taste : while she eat a little, rather 
 by the force of imitation than from any desire to 
 do so. Her mind was in a state of complete 
 abstraction. In religion, as in love, the votary 
 imagines that a particularly over-ruling Provi- 
 dence has led him or her into the desired path. 
 No matter how trivial the causes, — no matter 
 how apparently adverse to the object in view, — 
 the mind once prepossessed finds the finger of 
 God in every movement. Not that Florence 
 Stanhope supposed that salvation, eternal salva- 
 tion, was to be found only in this or that body, 
 in this or that church ; but so far were her feel- 
 ings of reverence excited in favour of Catholics, 
 and so far was her indignation roused at the in- 
 justice with which she had heard them treated, 
 that it had become a principle w^th her to yield 
 to the first, and to have her eyes thoroughly 
 opened and her judgment well informed as to 
 the last. Chance, or Providence, had brought 
 her to the very centre of that information for
 
 FLORENCE. 107 
 
 which she longed ; her eyes had been, and 
 were, feasted by various beautiful though but 
 obscurely seen objects of reverence, and she 
 fancied — perhaps she was right — that very few 
 clergymen of any order possessed the theory 
 and practice of such substantial charity. 
 
 Of Edmund Campian, need we say more than 
 that he was in love, and what man in the first 
 stage of that passion cares for meat or drink ? 
 r But more than loA-e annoyed him — the whole of 
 his duties ran counter to his inclinations, nay, 
 demanded, and that imperiously, an utter and 
 steady relinquishment of them. 
 
 While these things were passing in the minds 
 of the young persons, and Mr Ashburn had 
 somewhat 'appeased the rage of hunger,' he 
 seized the arm of Florence, beside whom he had 
 placed himself, and looking eagerly in her face, 
 said, " My dear young lady, — Florence, as I 
 think your mother calls you : and it is a sweet 
 name, and wafts us to those shores which — but 
 I may not launch out upon that topic ; — Flo- 
 rence, I say, you have eaten nothing, and I 
 know that you did not dine." — She looked up. 
 " Yes," said he, as if in reply to her tacit en- 
 quiry, " I know that you did not dine : for I 
 maAed your deep, undeviating, and sleepless
 
 108 FLORENCE. 
 
 attention. Alas ! too many come to my little 
 sanctuary ill-prepared, at least ill-fitted, for the 
 duties they pretend to ; nay, scarcely possessing 
 sufficient purity of spirit to entitle them to cast 
 their eyes on the blessed representation of what 
 was done for them. But this is a digression 
 from your want of dinner and your present un- 
 necessary abstinence." 
 
 " I came," said she, blushing deeply, and 
 with a palpitating heart, " I came for the pur- 
 pose " 
 
 " For what purpose, my child?" In saying 
 this, Mr Ashburn tightened his hand upon her 
 arm into a grasp ; his eyes opened u4de, and he 
 gazed upon her with an intensity of attention 
 which betrayed a soul divided between hope and 
 anxiety. She was still silent. " Say, what 
 purpose ?" 
 
 " To hear the truth," said she, in a faultering 
 tone. 
 
 " To hear the truth ! and from us ! " He 
 loosened his hold of her arm, and leaning back, 
 looked upon her as if he would dive into the very 
 bottom of her heart. " I know," said he, "that 
 you are not one of us : for I observed that with 
 all your attention, you gave not our outward 
 sign of faith, our token of a memory which never
 
 FLORENCE. 109 
 
 fails us on the point wliereon all hinges. ' Take 
 up your cross and follow me/ seems far, far 
 from him who seems terrified to acknowledge 
 that cross, and scandalized by those who do it." 
 
 Florence feared that in some measure she was 
 deceiving him, for she could not yet count upon 
 the extent or permanency of her feelings. Her 
 -soul was the seat of candour, and she replied, 
 with as much firmness as she could muster, " I 
 came rather to know than to hear the truth." 
 
 " How? to know rather than to hear ! Ex- 
 plain yourself." Florence looked at her mother. 
 " I would rather hear the explanation from you," 
 said Mr Ashburn, who probably read something 
 of disapproval in Mrs Stanhope's face : " I 
 would rather hear it from you," he repeated in a 
 solemn tone, again pressing her arm hard; and, 
 looking at her with endearing kindness, added, 
 " Remember, Florence, this is no child's play — 
 no fairy tale — no key to a romantic story— it is 
 God's eternal, unchanged, unbroken, and con- 
 tinuous truth that we have in view. No," said 
 he, clasping his hands, and casting up his eyes, 
 and drawing a deep breath as if he would pour 
 out his whole soid ; " No ! it was never intended 
 that God's church should be left without an 
 ostensible head, and that there should not be
 
 110 FLORENCE. 
 
 an unbroken chain, encompassing tlie whole 
 earth like unto an unconsumable zone ; that there 
 should not be wdthin the circle of that zone a 
 people undivided and undividable ! See we not 
 that God has left us a monument of his eternal 
 word, as a living and speaking miracle — his an- 
 cient people, who while scattered are still the 
 same, and who while bearing a heavy curse are 
 yet left to tell, in spite of themselves, a tale that 
 gives verification to us ! And shall the new, the 
 universally vivifying word of God, be left to be 
 tossed about according to the fancy of every 
 fond, ignorant, and conceited fool, until amongst 
 such it scarcely has a form remaining ? Speak, 
 then, my child, and say what it is you mean by 
 coming to hiow rather than to hear. I see you 
 are beset by that timidity which becomes you so 
 well ; but who so used as we to understand all 
 the tremors, all the hopes, and all tli^e despond- 
 ings of a sincere, God-loving heart ? " 
 
 He uttered these words in a tone of such deep 
 feeling, and with a countenance so expressive of 
 that simplicity of mind, which, when accom- 
 panied by true wisdom, is more calculated than 
 all the eloquence of man to encourage and em- 
 bolden the tunid, and as it were to draw forth 
 and mingle their sympathies with the encouraging
 
 FLORENCE. Ill 
 
 speaker. So his look operated upon Florence ; 
 and banishing as much as possible the timidity- 
 natural to her sex, and still more to her age, she 
 said, " My mother took me last Sunday to hear 
 Mr D'Alembert.'^ 
 
 " Did she ?'^ said Mr Ashburn, leaning for- 
 ward and bending down his head as if in obei- 
 sance, " that was well, for he is a great orator, 
 and what is far better, a good man. But I in- 
 terrupt; go on." 
 
 "We went to hear Mr D'Alembert, and I was 
 very much surprised with his earnestness, for I 
 never saw its like before, and delighted with 
 his instructions, and " 
 
 " And what ?" 
 
 " I was ashamed, deeply ashamed, of having 
 hitherto been so ignorant and so unjust ; for, in- 
 deed, from all I have lately heard, I imagined 
 that you read and even preached in Latin ; and 
 that so far from any reference being made to the 
 Bible, that it was, as I once heard a clergyman 
 say, a sealed book to your hearers." 
 
 Mr Ashburn groaned, and seeing her pause 
 said, " Go on ; you interest me much." 
 
 But, strange as it may seem, this encourage- 
 ment abashed her ; she felt as if making an ora- 
 tion, and lier mother quickly perceiving her em-
 
 112 FLORENCE. 
 
 barrassment said, " I see, Mr Ashburn, that 
 Florence cannot go on ; permit me to speak for 
 her, and believe me, as they say in law courts, 
 ' I shall in nought extenuate or conceal;' and 
 to convince you of this, I shall even confess my- 
 self to you, in as far as the unfolding of my dear 
 Florence's mind demands. Whether it be right 
 or wrong in me to be so, I am a person of liberal 
 opinions; that is to say, I believe there is salva- 
 tion in every church and amongst every denomi- 
 nation of Christians. I am besides, though an 
 Episcopalian, somewhat indifferent as to where I 
 
 hear sermon, and " 
 
 " It indeed matters not," said Mr Ashburn, 
 with a deep sigh, " what the superficies are, if 
 the texture is not compact and firm. What, 
 suppose a vase should be formed of the best 
 earth that China ever produced, and suppose 
 upon its exterior should be defined the best 
 imagery of human skill ; what, I say, will sig- 
 nify all that labour and all that waste of inven- 
 tion and of art, if the vessel be not afterwards 
 tried by fire ? Will it not fall to pieces at the 
 first removal ? So it was with the poor distracted 
 creatures who set aside the well-tried vase of 
 ages ; who took indeed into their impious hands 
 the pure material, who formed of it a vessel, but
 
 FLORENCE. Il3 
 
 who could not give to it that unity and durabi- 
 lity which indeed could belong only to one — And 
 see — behold — look upon its shattered atoms ! But 
 I crave your pardon; go on." 
 
 Mr Ashburn was a man of what might be 
 called deep sincerity ; it was pure and unmixed : 
 he had never known a selfish wish as to his own 
 prosperity in life, and had never been actuated 
 by one anxious thought as to himself. Born to 
 a large fortune, he had early devoted himself 
 and it to the cause of the Catholic church and 
 of general humanity; and as soon as he was 
 entirely master of his paternal property, he 
 parted with what he thought necessary to the 
 comfort of such of his relations as were not inde- 
 pendant, and enjoyed all the happiness which 
 this life can bestow in performing the duties of 
 his office without fee or reward, and in adminis- 
 tering to the poor of all denominations. But 
 he was not, either by nature or by art, an orator; 
 yet, when he got warmed upon his favourite 
 topic, the fervor, the zeal, and entire single- 
 ness of his heart, were so depicted in his face, 
 air, and gestures, that perhaps few persons in 
 colloquial intercourse were ever more impres- 
 sive. 
 
 Mrs Stanhope felt awed and even intimidated; 
 
 VOL. I. I
 
 114 FLORENCE. 
 
 but her daughter's interests were at stake, and 
 rousing all her courage, she proceeded : " Whe- 
 ther it was right or wrong to indulge my curio- 
 sity, I know not ; to me it could not be wrong, 
 for I did not think so — " 
 
 " Dangerous error ! Why, any one may set 
 up a conscience, as he would a puppet, and say, 
 ' This is mine ; 1 shall make it play as I choose.' 
 But what can be expected of those who have no 
 head?" 
 
 " We have lately travelled a good deal, and 
 I took her, in passing through Scotland, to hear 
 some of *its principal orators." 
 
 " That is the fashion, I learn, and pulpit elo- 
 quence has become an exhibition," said the 
 priest with a bitter smile. " However, proceed." 
 
 " I took her to hear some of the best Scotch 
 orators ; but previous to our journey, we were 
 under the ministration of a peculiarly cold and 
 inanimate Episcopalian. Florence turned with 
 apathy from the whole. She said the Presbyte- 
 rians were either loud and vulgar, or else aimed 
 at a coaxing softness which betokened a want of 
 sincerity; while the others seemed to mistake 
 heat for eloquence: and of our Episcopalian 
 she said, he read his task like an inanimate 
 school-boy who longs to be at liberty. On
 
 FLORENCE. 115 
 
 coming to this town, I thought it proper she 
 should see the service of that church, which 
 certainly on many accounts, especially its anti- 
 quity, demands our respect ; but — pardon me — 
 I did not anticipate its making so strong an 
 impression." 
 
 " I think, madam, it was the instructions of 
 Mr D'Alembert which made the impression 
 rather than the service, though in it there is 
 nothing which ought not to make an impression, 
 for in all its parts it has its uses, or its symbols." 
 
 " It is my most earnest wish," said Mrs Stan- 
 hope solemnly, " to be very candid, and in 
 nothing more than to prevent you from form- 
 ing expectations of any lasting change in my 
 daughter. She is young, and of a lively, quick 
 sensibility, and her judgment not being ma- 
 tured, she is consequently captivated by novelty. 
 I mean no disrespect, — far, very far from it, — 
 but I see that you are actuated by the best and 
 purest motives, and therefore I should feel for 
 your being disappointed, as I am certain you 
 must be in this case." 
 
 " You talk of the force of novelty," said he. 
 " Why then was she not captivated by the great 
 orators of the northern capital?" 
 
 " I cannot tell — they did pot suit her taste."
 
 116 FLORENCE. 
 
 " Her judgment, it may rather be." 
 
 " I am not fond of argument on any subject, 
 and least of all upon religion, and I am willing 
 that you should account for her sudden par- 
 tiality in any way ; but I told her, that before 
 she judged finally, before she made up her 
 mind to believe that true impressive eloquence 
 was to be found only in the most ancient 
 church, that she should hear as many of its 
 pastors as are within her reach." 
 
 " Well then, my dear madam, let her answer 
 be the test. Are you still pleased, Florence ?" 
 
 " Yes, even more than at first." 
 
 " I have only to say, since that is the case, 
 that if it is not a matter of judgment, it is a 
 divine call, for of all our labourers, I am the 
 least eloquent. In zeal — O ! that at this period 
 of calumny and reproach and persecution, I 
 could prove it — in zeal, I will yield to none, 
 but in eloquence I am less than a novice. It 
 is true, none of us aim at that rhetoric 
 which seizes on the imagination and leaves the 
 head empty, or fills it with froth, and which 
 sends the auditor away charmed and entranced, 
 he cannot tell why. But I am unskilful in that 
 which we do aim at, — to teach humility where 
 we cannot comprehend — submission to the Di-
 
 FLORENCE. 117 
 
 vine will — and love, unbounded love, for our 
 fellow-creatures. I recommend these things, 
 but I cannot, like Mr D'Alembert, enforce 
 them. But still, Florence, it is unexplained 
 that you came to know the truth rather than 
 to hear it. That seems a strange distinction." 
 
 " Perhaps," said she, " it is a foolish one ; 
 but I meant that I want first to know whether 
 I am mistaken in believing that I shall find in 
 your church, what hitherto I have not found, — 
 a something that, as it were, fills and satisfies 
 my mind? And next, I wish to fall in with 
 some intelligent person who can inform me 
 why you are aspersed, and if you cannot defend 
 yourselves ? — You know, mother, I told you 
 that I must be informed on that point, and 
 therefore I expressed myself as I did." 
 
 Mrs Stanhope felt distressed, but recollect- 
 ing her former reasoning wdth herself, she 
 determined on being still quiescent; and be- 
 sides, she could not in common politeness offer 
 any argument, in Mr Ashburn's house, against 
 her daughter's avowed determination. Florence 
 had nothing more to add; her mother courted 
 silence ; the mind of each Campian was deeply 
 occupied, and Mr Ashburn seemed lost in
 
 118 FLORExVCE. 
 
 thought. At last he repeated the words — " An 
 intelligent person !" 
 
 " There are many to be found." 
 
 " But you are so ingenuous — and so — so — in 
 short, you must be properly instructed — that is, 
 if I have your mother's leave." 
 
 " My mother is too just to refuse justice to 
 others." 
 
 " My dear child," said Mrs Stanhope, " tliink 
 what you are about. Can it be of the slightest 
 importance to the immense body of Catholics, 
 to have justice rendered to them by such ob- 
 scure individuals as you and myself? Do not, 
 my dear Florence " 
 
 " I crave your pardon," said Mr Ashburn, 
 " but you forget that the immense body you 
 talk of is composed of single individuals ; that 
 our opponents are also composed of single indi- 
 viduals : you forget that all the convei;ts we or 
 our opponents ever made, began at first at one 
 single point; that should either party stand 
 with folded arms and shut mouths, until each 
 imagined unimportant individual should drop off, 
 few would be left ; and those few, unsupported, 
 would lose their strength and importance. No, 
 madam ; even setting the vast, the incalculable.
 
 FLORENCE. 119 
 
 the eternal consequences to a human soul aside, 
 were it in my nature to do so,— I must consider 
 the conventional claims that our body have 
 upon me; but I consider also the rights of a 
 parent, and, as I guess, a sole parent." 
 
 " Florence," said Mrs Stanhope, with an air 
 of extreme agitation, " it is for you also to 
 consider, and you know well to what I shall 
 be exposed. I appeal to your compassion. 
 You are aware, that upon your devoted mother 
 has been, and will be, charged every evil which 
 but seems to be within her sphere, however 
 little " 
 
 " Evil !" said Mr Ashburn, swelling with in- 
 dignation ; " O ! that I should live to hear it 
 
 thought an evil, that a young, a but that 
 
 matters not — though even that may be a snare, 
 in a wicked age like this, — that I should live to 
 hear it thought an evil, that a young and vir- 
 tuous mind should feel the crying iniquity of 
 seeing the reformers, yes, the true reformers, of 
 each hemisphere, called an evil thing, to be 
 avoided like plague or pestilence !" 
 
 " Indeed, my dear sir," said Mrs Stanhope, 
 " you do me cruel wrong. The truth is — you 
 will be angry and shocked when I say it — but
 
 120 FLORENCE. 
 
 I believe all here to be true and honourable 
 men, and therefore, I say, — that I care little 
 about those things, and that all I court in this 
 life is my daughter's society and peace, but of 
 these I shall be robbed, if she persevere in this 
 pursuit." 
 
 Heavy clouds gathered on the brow of Mr 
 Ashburn, as he walked in silence through the 
 now almost dark apartment. 
 
 " But," continued Mrs Stanhope, " we are 
 forgetting what more immediately concerns us, 
 and what we must attend to : it is nearly dark, 
 and we are two long miles from home. I won- 
 der if it is possible to procure a coach ? — Flo- 
 rence, I have indulged you too much, and I 
 fear I am now to do a fearful penance." 
 
 This was uttered in that fretful and half- 
 angry tone, which the best tempered and most 
 kindly are at times subject to, and perhaps the 
 more so, from the conviction of being but too 
 prone to concede. 
 
 " And we, too," said the elder Campian, 
 " are foolishly late ; but the carriage which we 
 hired for the day is within my son's call — Be 
 so good, Edmund, as to order it immediately." 
 
 Edmund stood for an instant, looked at his
 
 FLORENCE. 121 
 
 father, approached, and uttered the words, 
 " Could we not — " but he quickly shrunk back, 
 and went on his mission. 
 
 Mr Ashburn walked about like a chafed lion, 
 and seemed to wait for some overture that 
 would enable him to come out of his anger 
 with a good grace ; and the first was from Mrs 
 Stanhope, who holding out her hand, and ex- 
 pressing her thanks for his hospitality and for 
 the interest he had expressed in her daughter, 
 wished him good night. 
 
 It is probable that Mrs Stanhope's politeness 
 might have led her to apologise for anything 
 she had uttered which might be construed into 
 a slight of or reproach to his church ; but she 
 could not help feeling as if he had wished to 
 wrench her daughter from her, if not to encou- 
 rage her in a sort of rebellion. 
 
 Florence was too much hurt to speak, and 
 drawing her veil close over her face, was in- 
 clined to pass on; but politeness, regret, and 
 shame, at once assailed her, and feeling weak 
 from contending emotions, she leant with all 
 her weight against the side of the lobby, where 
 there happened to be a door. It opened upon 
 her sudden pressure, and an old man blind of 
 one eye, a woman nearly as old, another female
 
 122 FLOIIENXE. 
 
 about thirty, with an infant asleep on her lap, 
 presented themselves to Florence, just as l^y a 
 ready presence of mind she balanced herself so 
 as to avoid a serious fall. 
 
 " How comes this?" said Mr Ashburn. 
 " Your door is badly fastened ; a more ponder- 
 ous person might have met with serious injury. 
 I am glad to see that you have got a lamp 
 and a Bible; this place is somewhat dark. 
 How has the child been all day ? I have had 
 little time to ask — indeed, to confess the truth, 
 I forgot you. It is wonderful Alice did not 
 contrive to do so too." 
 
 During this address to the younger female, 
 Florence was occupied in examining the room. 
 It contained two beds and four chairs, and was 
 evidently fitted up for the accommodation of 
 such guests as its present inmates, who were 
 common vagrants. 
 
 " Indeed I had quite and entirely forgotten 
 you, but I dare say that was because I knew 
 your press contained food for a day or two, 
 and I dismissed you, as it were, from my mind, 
 like a paid debt. I see your tea-kettle : I 
 hope you made good tea for yourselves ? " 
 
 " O yes, your reverence, indeed we did — 
 and I have just been saying to my father and
 
 FLORENCE. 123 
 
 mother, that we shall be all the worse for this — 
 but that is no fault of yours, only we shall ill 
 bide the bitter blast after such quarters." 
 
 " Enough for the day is the evil thereof. 
 I shall get you safe back to Ireland; and let 
 me advise you never again to attempt getting 
 hired in a country which has nearly as many 
 beggars as your own." 
 
 The young woman began a fresh speech, but 
 Mr Ashburn hastily withdrew, and Florence 
 said, " I thought there were two children ?" 
 
 " O, these are different people. — Alice, bring 
 a candle here." 
 
 She obeyed, and Mr Ashburn, taking a key 
 from his pocket, opened a door on the other 
 side — " Aye," said he, " just as I expected — 
 there they are fast asleep, poor creatures ! — 
 Nothing in earth surprises me like thinking it 
 Quixotic madness to shelter and feed poor 
 houseless creatures, at a fiftieth part of the 
 cost which a small dinner-party would put me 
 to ; — and oh ! how much more delightful, how 
 much more enlarging to the heart, to see these 
 four starving creatures filled and asleep, than 
 to gorge as many dressed-out idle fools ! But, 
 they tell me, these are idle — No doubt, so they 
 are, and for the best of reasons : they can find
 
 124 FLORENCE. 
 
 nothing to do. But if they were even viciously 
 idle, is not kindness the best and most likely 
 way to reclaim them ? And if they will not be 
 reclaimed, am I the worse for entertaining them 
 for one night ? Alas ! for the simple days 
 when every door was open to every wanderer ! 
 Where are those days? They are swallowed 
 up in science, luxury, and pride ! While a 
 small portion of the human mind is boasting 
 of its achievements, and exclaiming, ' See what 
 man is capable of, — see the most certain proof 
 that he possesses an immaterial part — see how 
 he soars — he is already well nigh unto the third 
 heaven ! ' — Alas ! alas ! what is the state of the 
 rest? Manual facilities multiplied by science, 
 until there is not a shadow of employment left 
 for the great mass. Yes, Florence, this is a 
 goodly sight for eyes like yours — and while you 
 gaze upon these poor creatures, see if your 
 mind can embrace the idea that there are hun- 
 dreds in this town, upon this very night, this 
 evening of an appointed day of rest, who have 
 not where to lay their heads, who have not one 
 morsel to put in their mouths ! " 
 
 He sat down, and seemed overcome by the 
 intensity of his sympathies ; and, uneasy as Mrs 
 Stanhope was by her protracted stay, she found
 
 FLORENCE. 125 
 
 it impossible to break in upon his thoughts. 
 At last, rising and taking up the candle, which 
 he moved round upon his sleeping guests, as if 
 to let Florence observe them well, he said, half 
 smiling, " I know it is absurd — preposterous — 
 to entertain such persons with wine; but she 
 provoked me by neglect of my orders — and 
 see — they have not abused my confidence in 
 their moderation, though, to confess the truth, 
 I did not think of that, for I was in anger. 
 Yes, we may well pity the backslidings of poor 
 untaught creatures, since the men whose busi- 
 ness is self-restraint yet ever and anon find 
 evil passions even boiling over in them. Tell- 
 me, Florence," said he, again sitting down, 
 " are you not by this time satisfied that I am 
 not entitled to lead you into the path of truth, 
 when you have seen me aberrate so grossly 
 from that of self-command?" 
 
 " No, indeed, I am delighted with all I have 
 seen. Your anger was in the cause of huma^ 
 nity and " 
 
 " Ay, there it is — there is the sad ignis fatuufi; 
 our very virtues lead us astray — But go on with 
 your remark." 
 
 " I was going to say, that both my mother
 
 126 I'LORENCK. 
 
 and myself can bear testimony to tlie respect 
 and reverence entertained for you by Alice." 
 
 " Indeed ! say you so ? I never knew as 
 much, and I have often thought that in her 
 heart she must hate me, for I am sometimes a 
 sad tyrant. Yes, Florence, the esteem even of 
 the person that you assume mighty power over 
 is sweet — but sweetest of all is our own. Re- 
 member that, and strive to gain it. Poor Alice ! 
 after all, she is a good creature, and all her 
 little savings are what she fancies for my inte- 
 rest. But the fool should know that I have no 
 interests save one, and that is God's service. 
 And how can I serve God better, after the first 
 great call, than to feed and satisfy the craving, 
 hungry appetite of them who are perishing for 
 want ? A great man, though a heretic, yet he 
 had a smack and savour of us, and those who 
 would malign him say that he was a Catholic in 
 his heart — he declares, that the man who is 
 indifferent as to what he eats and drinks will be 
 indifferent about everything else. Now, I am 
 a man — You see, Florence, I am confessing even 
 unto you — strange and novel confessor, sure 
 enough ! — and remember, I espouse not tlie 
 doctrines of him who held up the supremacy
 
 FLORENCE. 127 
 
 of your sex: — but I will confess to you that I 
 am a man (who when not under church restraint 
 and church discipline, for there is a distinction, 
 the former being permanent, the other occa- 
 sional and temporary) — who am not indifferent as 
 to what I eat or drink; that is, whatever the 
 fare, I would have it the best of its kind ; if, for 
 instance, bread and water are the order of the 
 day, I would have the one like new drifted snow, 
 and the other sparkling from an unalloyed foun- 
 tain — always excepting special penance. Some 
 men have acute palates, others obtuse ; the one 
 has no crime in his nicety, the other no merit 
 in the reverse. And this high relish of my 
 palate — quite a natural thing — enables me to 
 sympathise vidth, to reciprocate^ as the great 
 Johnson would have said, in the enjoyments of 
 others. And when I give something good ta 
 the taste as well as satisfying to the appetite, I 
 confess that I have, as it were, a second-hand 
 and even selfish pleasure in the enjoyments of 
 others. And when I hear a man or woman 
 declare that to him or her the nature of the food 
 is a matter of indifference, I am morally certain 
 that such persons will be mighty indifferent as 
 to what a starving beggar eats, or perhaps whe- 
 ther he eats at all. But I see Mrs I beg
 
 128 FLORENCE. 
 
 your pardon, but during all this conversation — 
 and some of it has been of great importance, — I 
 me an to the young ladyl am still ignorant of 
 your name." 
 
 " Stanhope." 
 
 " Stanhope — it is a goodly name; there is 
 much in names ; the very sound of some elevates 
 your sentiments, and sends your thoughts back 
 to other and better times ; others, again, narrow 
 and circumscribe the imagination. My own 
 
 name But I see you are anxious to be gone, 
 
 and no wonder, for it waxeth late. I should not 
 have detained you so long, and wdth such seem- 
 ing inattention to your comfort, and indeed to 
 propriety, had I not intended to see you home 
 in safety." 
 
 " I shall not," said she, " affront your since- 
 rity, nor your indifference to a little trouble, by 
 refusing your protection, especially as I am not 
 used to walking out after dark." 
 
 " I observe that you understand true polite- 
 ness. The poor dean, whose ashes it has become 
 the fashion to rake up in this scandal-lo\'ing age, 
 gives an excellent reproof to those who add the 
 sin of falsehood to the tortures of bad breeding. 
 Yes, they might have let the champion of Ire- 
 land rest in his grave. Whatever were his
 
 FLORENCE. 129 
 
 faults and his heresies, I love liim for his bold- 
 ness in defence of that misruled land. — At two 
 hundred yards distance you can get a coach, and 
 as it is late only in a relative sense — that is, if 
 you were to go home alone, and especially on 
 foot, — I shall insist on tliis young lady eating 
 something before she go. Nay, I will have my 
 own way; she is very pale, and looks like one 
 who has not had sufficient support. And there 
 lies fully as much error in over-abstinence as in 
 repletion. We must beware of that exhaustion 
 of body which destroys mental energy; and I 
 perceive that the young lady is merely able to 
 
 stand; and hence a train which '* 
 
 Mrs Stanhope was forced to smile at this 
 interminable and systematic digression. He 
 saw the smile, but mistook the cause ; and red- 
 dening, he said, " Sit down, even here, in tliis 
 humble place, there are chairs enough and to 
 spare, and there is no time like the present. I 
 see you perceive that I think if Florence depart 
 exhausted and inert, that there may be excited 
 in her mind an apathetic feeling towards us. I 
 will not deny that my mind did glance that 
 way ; and I will maintain, that to render our- 
 selves agreeable in a fair and open manner, and 
 to leave on her mind such an impression as will 
 
 VOL. I. K
 
 130 FLORENCE. 
 
 not easily wear off, is no more than what is due 
 to our great and good cause. But, in truth, 
 the young lady lacks support ; and she is one 
 on whom I would not over severely inflict the 
 penance of abstinence. And now, you see, as I 
 said before, these poor people have not trans- 
 gressed the laws of moderation ; but as w4ne is 
 not good in a morning, and as no one can answer 
 for human strength, I shall remove the remain- 
 der ; nor should I have deeply blamed the ex- 
 hausted creatures if they had drank the whole, 
 for one relishing mouthful leads to another in 
 those who are not weU practised in the laws of 
 restraint ; and, alas ! where should they learn it, 
 whose whole life is one continued penance, in 
 the heretical sense, — that is, puiiishmettt ivkhout 
 repentance^ — for you have sadly corrupted the 
 text." 
 
 It required all Mrs Stanhope's politeness to 
 sit out, at eight o'clock in the second week of 
 October, such perpetual ramifications ; but there 
 was so much candour in his whole air and man- 
 ner, so much honest, unvarnished zeal, and the 
 whole set off with that eager Idndness, which tells 
 more than a thousand fine speeches that rejected 
 hospitality is the bitterest of little evils that could 
 possibly be inflicted. Yet Florence, who could not
 
 FLORENCE. 131 
 
 but feel herself a favourite, ventured to remark, 
 that her mother was already too late out, and 
 that, for herself, there was no occasion for far- 
 ther taxing his kindness. 
 
 " Taxing !" said he. " My dear child, where 
 did you pick up that word ? or rather, why does 
 one so ingenuous adopt wlvdt is bandied about 
 without sense or meaning ? I know not whether 
 our intercourse may be of short or long duration, 
 or whether this brief afternoon shall be its close ; 
 but should we, as I hope, meet again and often, 
 let me beg of you never to refuse anything 
 which I can give, and that it sidts you to take. 
 
 And now but stop one moment, till I dispose 
 
 of this wine." So saying, he opened the door 
 of the half-blind Irishman, and pouring out a 
 part of the liquor, strode on to another apart- 
 ment; but opening the door, he again shut it, 
 and in a low tone said, " You will see here the 
 worst spectacle of all. Alas ! alas ! did I not 
 hint that a fair face is a snare ? Here is a poor 
 creature not eighteen, and she is the dying vic- 
 tim of a betrayed, a deserted, and a broken 
 heart." He opened the door, and a beautiful, 
 decayed young woman was seen sitting by a 
 fire, with a lamp and books before her. " How 
 are you to-night, Catherine ?" said he, in a kind
 
 132 FLORENCE. 
 
 and melancholy tone; " I have brought two 
 good ladies to ask for you." 
 
 She raised her once brilliant black eyes, £ind 
 burst into an agony of tears. Mr Ashburn was 
 vexed, and retreated. Florence did not feel 
 herself the more inclined, by this incident, to 
 do credit to his hospitality, and with difficulty 
 forced herself to swallow a glass of wine, and 
 to eat a small rice biscuit. 
 
 " I did wrong, very wrong," said he ; " such 
 a sight could not be agreeable to you, and to 
 her the eye of female virtue may be like a 
 reproach. Poor thing ! at this moment the 
 wretch who brought her to what you see is pro- 
 bably, indeed almost certainly (for he is of rank, 
 young, and handsome) the admired idol of some 
 circle in which, perhaps, this unhappy \dctim 
 has no equal in point of beauty and talent. But 
 no matter ; she was of inferior rank, and there- 
 fare a lawful prize to the favourite of fortune. I 
 have no words whereby to express my indignation 
 at such depravity. It may be a sin, — if it is, I 
 cannot help it, — but I have often wished that 
 the earth would open and swallow up all the 
 monsters in human shape who delight in blasting 
 innocence, youth, and beauty." Mr Ashburn 
 clasped his hands, then covered liis eyes \Wtli
 
 FLORENCE. 133 
 
 them, and after sitting a few moments, lighted 
 a taper, and said, " I must see if she is com- 
 posed." 
 
 " Stop," said Florence, " I am going to ask 
 a strange favour. It is possible she may imagine 
 that we knew her unfortunate history, and that 
 we turned away so hastily in contempt. Pray 
 allow me to speak with her a few minutes." 
 
 " Allow you !" said Mr Ashburn, " most 
 gladly." 
 
 To avoid the encomium which his eyes ex- 
 pressed, and in fear of fresh digression, she 
 walked off as quickly as possible. She soon re- 
 turned, and it was evident she had been weeping. 
 
 " How did she take your visit ?" asked Mr 
 Ashburn. 
 
 " She was pleased, and I have left her com- 
 forted, and particularly in your kind sympathy 
 with her sruiferings ; and you will like to hear 
 that she is grateful for your kindness in an un- 
 common degree, and for having saved her from 
 a sinful death. But I think, Mr Ashburn, she 
 may recover." 
 
 " Can you wish that she should do so ? And 
 for what ? To live ashamed of herself, and— be 
 her repentance and future purity what they may, 
 — shut out from all intercourse with the world.
 
 134 FJ.OJIEXCE. 
 
 Not a respectable, authorised, and well-sup- 
 ported seclusion, where repentance is revered 
 and held sacred; — no, that is past in this de- 
 praved country, and she must live at once in the 
 world and shut out from it. Horrible ! I can 
 fancy nothing more dreadful to a female who 
 once owned uncontaminated feelings. It is to 
 have the mark of Cain upon her. No, no ; all 
 that care, medicine, sympathy, and above all, 
 religious comfort, can do, shall be done ; but — 
 I cannot wish her to live. You all read our 
 poet Goldsmith ; remember what he says on 
 that touching subject. In one thing he errs, 
 for he says, ' What tears can wash her guilt 
 away?' But he is right in the close of his lines, 
 for all that is left for such, is death, at least in a 
 country where the past is not covered by a deep 
 veil." 
 
 He sunk into a reverie, and Mrs Stanhope 
 was compelled to be patient, for who could dis- 
 turb such thoughts ? In a few minutes he started 
 up, and throwing out his arms as if in the act of 
 driving all that can trouble the mind of man far 
 from him, he exclaimed, " It is indeed inexpli- 
 cable ! Oh, why is all this moral deformity ? But 
 what avail all the conjectures of men — or rather, 
 are they not so many rebellious tcmptings of a
 
 FLORENCE. 135 
 
 patient Creator ? Let us bow the head in sub- 
 mission, and accept with eternal gratitude the 
 universal bursting of these fearful chains." 
 
 It was evident that this exclamation came 
 from a mind of the deepest thought, and from 
 feelings of the most intense nature. He had 
 resumed his seat, and was again abstracted ; but 
 suddenly? he said, " I have really trespassed 
 upon your patience to a most unpardonable 
 pitch, and I cannot but admire your politeness in 
 thus having borne with me. And I sincerely 
 hope, Mrs Stanhope, that yours is the politeness 
 of the heart, not that false, hollow sort, so labo- 
 riously set forth by your noble namesake."
 
 136 FLOHENCE. 
 
 CHAPTER VI. i 
 
 Mrs Stanhope felt chagrined at the events of 
 the day, but they had not been under her con- 
 troul ; and upon the most strict investigation, as 
 they walked on in silence, she could not see 
 how it was possible to have avoided them. It 
 was natural to seek shelter in such weather, and 
 a train of delicate incidents had occurred to keep 
 her at Mr Ashburn's later than she could pos- 
 sibly approve. But she glanced now and then 
 with a little ire at the pertinacity of Flo- 
 rence in several instances during the evening; 
 but again, in a mother's heart, some ready apo- 
 logy was to be found. Fluctuating between anger 
 against and forgiveness of her daughter; blame 
 and acquittal with herself, she reached the stand 
 of coaches. A lamp shone full upon the party, 
 and at tlie same time shewed them a man in a 
 short frock, and wearing one of those little 
 round hats which give an additional impudence
 
 FLORENCE. 13vl 
 
 to a face fraught with that characteristic, or of 
 stolidity to a heavy, dull one. He stopped for 
 an instant, looked at the party, and then walked 
 on to the next coach. 
 
 " That man," said Mrs Stanhope, as soon as 
 they were seated, " has been close behind us 
 ever since we came out of Mr Ashburn's, and he 
 looked at us just now in a very insolent manner." 
 
 " He did so," replied Florence ; " but I hope 
 it was accidental." 
 
 " Why should it be otherwise?" asked Mr 
 Ashbum. 
 
 " I don't know; but I feel glad and most 
 thankfid for your protection." 
 
 " Indeed, madam, it is but your due ; for 1 
 certainly detained you too long." 
 
 " Then you think we are improperly late ?" 
 • " By no means, under safe care ; but women 
 are so timid, as you have just evinced, that after 
 night-fall they should never be out alone." 
 
 " True," said Mrs Stanhope, while Mr Ash- 
 burn could perceive in her face strong indica- 
 tions of terror, and a lividness which almost 
 bordered on death. 
 
 " My dear madam," said he, " tell me, unless 
 my question is impertinent, if you have any- 
 thing to fear ? You are cither ill, or under the
 
 138 FLORENCE. 
 
 influence of apprehension in no common degree. 
 Your daughter, too — but she is exhausted from 
 fasting ; I predicted as much." 
 
 His anxiety made him pause sooner than he 
 was wont to do ; and looking steadily in Mrs Stan- 
 hope's face, he waited her reply. " I would not be 
 impertinent or importunate, but if any pecuniary 
 evil presses hard upon you, say the word, and 
 unless the sum is very large, I shall relieve you; 
 even if it is, I shall endeavour to mitigate your 
 sufferings." 
 
 " Oh!" said Mrs Stanhope, " I shall never 
 be able to shew how grateful I feel for such 
 generous kindness to a stranger. I am in no 
 debt ; but I am haunted, pursued, and watched 
 by the demon of suspicion; and there was a 
 keenness in that man's glance which has roused 
 all my fears. It was no chimera which made me 
 dread any novelty of opinion in my daughter ! " 
 
 She became silent, and Mr Ashburn, pitying 
 lier perturbed state, and not knowing well what 
 to say, followed her example for some time ; but 
 on coming near to Steel's place, he asked Mrs 
 Stanhope if she had ever seen the person before? 
 She replied in the negative. " Then," said he, 
 " I should hope that you are alarmed without 
 cause."
 
 FLORENCE. 139 
 
 " I may have been so in this case, but for 
 some years I have been exposed to a system of 
 such close and unremitting recognition, go where 
 I will, that I never, without fear, see a person 
 of suspicious appearance observe me attentively. 
 May I ask the favour of you to show yourself 
 very obviously, while I am in the act of paying 
 the coachman, and then, re-enter the carriage 
 and go home in it? 
 
 Mr Ashburn agreed to this, and found some- 
 thing to say to the coachman, while the lamps 
 of a spacious and well-lighted court shewed him 
 distinctly whicli house Mrs Stanhope entered.
 
 140 FLORENCE. 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 Dr Campian had deemed it safe not to return 
 to Mr Ashburn's for the purpose of leave- 
 taking ; and his son, conscious of his own ardent 
 desire to do so, and afraid of vexing his father, 
 was silent on the subject, while their host was 
 too much occupied with his poor guests, and too 
 sanguine with respect to at least one of his opu- 
 lent ones, to recollect for some time that they 
 had departed abruptly. 
 
 The old man found himself plimged into a sea 
 of troubles. He had narrowly watched his son, 
 whose face but too plainly told, in all its varied 
 expressions, how deeply he was interested in the 
 fair aspirant. He had marked the vivacious flash 
 of joy on seeing her; the fixed attention with 
 which he regarded her ; the look of newly-excited 
 hope, attended by a timid and wary glance at him- 
 self, when the young lady spoke to Mr Ashburn, 
 and avowed her motive for coming to his chapel;
 
 FLORENCE. 141 
 
 and finally, his ears had been open to several deep 
 but suppressed sighs. It is true, she seemed 
 disposed to the Catholic creed ; but what then ? 
 Might not this be a trick ? What took them at 
 first to the Catholic chapel? Her mother had 
 avowed a reason, and one which no doubt had 
 often led to conversion, though, as he thought, 
 flippant in its source : but could he rely on her 
 word? Yet could one so fair and so open- 
 browed, so lovely and apparently so candid, be 
 false ? But she was clever, and a clever woman 
 
 who has a daughter to marry, is " Shame on 
 
 such thoughts !" said he to himself, as the blood 
 mounted to his cheeks ; " shame on such un- 
 manly, uncharitable thoughts ! " 
 
 " My dear father," said Edmund, " you are 
 uneasy." 
 
 " I am, and I have cause. My life is a tissue 
 of sinning imaginations. Edmund, / am guilty 
 of that which heretics ascribe to us all ; I am an 
 idolater, and thou art my idol. Yes, Edmund, 
 it will not conceal — you must see the fears, the 
 suspicions which tear my heart." 
 
 " And on my account?" 
 
 Edmund had been glad tliat the little incidents 
 of driving home, of discharging the chaise, and 
 of entering his liouse, had slightly diverted the
 
 142 FLOllENCE. 
 
 thoughts of his father ; but he was resolved to 
 be entirely explicit before he slept, and to sacri- 
 fice his heart's most ardent wishes and hopes, 
 had they been founded on the acquaintance of 
 years, instead of the snatched glances of a few 
 moments, to his father's tranquillity. 
 
 After Dr Campian was seated, he made an 
 eifort to gain strength, and said, " My son, if 
 you knew the disgraceful thoughts that have 
 passed through my mind during the last three 
 hours, you would despise me." 
 
 " My dear father, we are all liable to sinful 
 thoughts — your temperament is highly irrita- 
 ble — that is the fault of nature, and — nay, stop 
 me not — I know what you would say, that it is 
 our duty to vanquish and defy nature. So it 
 is, and who ever struggled more against it? 
 But my conviction is, that j^ou have carried 
 Tself-infliction too far, and that by often exhaust- 
 ing your physical strength, you have deprived 
 your mind of its powers, and placed it more at 
 the mercy of the incidents of life." 
 
 " Edmund, I am no re])el against God. I 
 submit, I hope patiently, to his dispensations." 
 
 Edmund smiled: " True, my dear father, 
 you never uttered a murmur at the loss of fi\'e 
 thousand pounds : and I am even persuaded.
 
 FLORENCE. 143 
 
 that were I taken from you, you would sub- 
 mit as becomes a Christian; but, my dear 
 father, is it less a dispensation of Providence 
 that you were so delicately constituted as to be 
 too much at the mercy of your own thoughts ? 
 and — pardon me — that a certain sort of suspi- 
 cion has more sway over you than is consistent 
 with your peace ?" 
 
 " Only with regard to you, Edmund. Did 
 you ever see me suspicious of Thomas or of 
 Cecil ?" 
 
 " No; because yours is not a little, base 
 mind. I am to you, after God, the first and 
 indeed almost sole object." 
 
 " True, my dear son." 
 
 " And it is for the love of God, and of my 
 immortal soul, that your suspicions are so con- 
 stantly alive. Then your generous, honest 
 nature, condemns you for those fears and sus- 
 picions, which, though blameable, yet grow out 
 of your very best principles." 
 
 " Ah ! Edmund, you are a flattering casuist ; 
 but, I will confess that there is a balsam in 
 your words." 
 
 " Well then, my beloved father, I will show 
 you my entire candour, and tliat you have 
 nothing to fear from the ' daughters of Heth/
 
 ]44 FLORENCE. 
 
 But you must first ^ant me two favours the 
 one, to swallow this glass of wdne ; and the 
 other, to answer a question which I am about 
 to a«k." 
 
 Dr Campian swallowed the wine hastily, and 
 then said, " Now, Edmund, you see how I Avish 
 to please you, and indeed you deserve all my 
 love and confidence, and that is the reason why 
 I am so angry with myself for my unwor- 
 thy suspicion — but, indeed — However, put your 
 question." 
 
 "My question is simply this — Of what do 
 you suspect Mrs Stanhope ? For I saw that 
 your eye often rested upon her with that look 
 which but too surely betokens a doubt of the 
 person." 
 
 This question in one moment roused all the 
 doctor's suspicions ; his fear of being unjust 
 fled, and he replied firmly, " I suspect her of 
 having designs on you." 
 
 " My dear father, how should that be ?" 
 
 " How should it not be? They go to a 
 Catholic chapel; at night, one of them takes 
 violently ill, and you, of all men, are sent for ! 
 Why you, or why me, but to make an ac- 
 quaintance ? All that is now plain ; and when 
 we met by accident, — for I confess that was
 
 FLORENCE. 145 
 
 beyond her foresight, as I never breathed my 
 purpose until we were in the carriage, — I say, 
 when we met by accident, Miss has her cue, 
 and is about to become a convert, and mamma 
 makes an artful resistance. The thing is be- 
 yond dispute; and if you are blind to it, you 
 are mlfully so." 
 
 Edmund saw that liis father was getting 
 warm, and hastened to interrupt him by more 
 than meeting him where his suspicious were 
 just. 
 
 " My dear father," said he, " I am certain 
 that tomorrow morning you will view this mat- 
 ter otherwise, and I shall now lay open my 
 whole heart, that by the sincerity of my avowal, 
 you may judge of the sincerity of my promise. 
 Why you have always dreaded my falling in 
 love with a heretic, I cannot tell, for I solemnly 
 declare, that until this day week my inclina- 
 tions, or rather my thoughts, never verged that 
 way. I saw the beautiful, sylph-like, yet well • 
 defined figure, walk in before me ; I even 
 heard her query to her mother, as to whether 
 they were in the right place, and her mother's 
 reply, by pointing to and bidding her look at 
 the stone cross which fronts those who ap- 
 
 VOL. I. L
 
 146 .FLOHENCE. 
 
 proach. I confess — for I will conceal nothing 
 from you — that I watched her movements, and 
 saw with regret that no outward sign was given. 
 I also confess, that I wished, even with heart>- 
 beating anxiety, to see her face ; but you know 
 how strictly you trained nie in that way, and it 
 so happened, that when, in spite of a conscious 
 violation of our rules, I essayed to look round, 
 Mr D'Alembert always said something which 
 seemed addressed to me in particular." 
 
 " Your own guilty conscience, Edmund — or, 
 it may be, for he has read your face from boy- 
 hood, that he saw the renegade in your eye. 
 Ah ! that was one blot in our great namesake ! 
 Why did he turn from the right path, no mat- 
 ter how short the space ? Doubtless, it was 
 permitted, that we might be warned; that 
 the weak might see how the strong could 
 fall. Yes, it might be that D'Alembert, who 
 knows your heart so well, saw it in your 
 eyes." 
 
 " No, I do not think so ; my own conscious- 
 ness, I dare say, aided the eloquence of the 
 pious father, for I ivas very anxious to see her, 
 and for one moment, perhaps scarcely a mo- 
 ment, I caught a glimpse."
 
 FLORENCE. 147 
 
 " All ! Edmund, in that place ! I never — 
 but go on." 
 
 " Well, I confess further, that in the mo- 
 ment at which you were called upon, her image 
 was before me. I saw her as she leant back — 
 for she must have been ill at the time — I saw 
 her shut eyes, her luxuriant curls, and the 
 whole outline of her elegant countenance. 
 Yet, believe me, I had not suiFered a single 
 wish to sully my duty to you, until I heard 
 her say that she revered our church ; and then 
 I will not deny that hope found a place in my 
 breast. Nay, be not agitated ; cost me what it 
 may, I shall sacrifice all to you." 
 
 " To me ! Alas ! do you not see, that in feel- 
 ing it a sacrifice, you sin ? — and that sin in a 
 Campian ! Edmund, how could, how can a 
 heretic find a place in your heart?" 
 
 " Father, do you forget the weakness of 
 humanity ? Were the thing so incredible, why 
 have you feared it?" 
 
 " True; and it may be tliat I have fanned 
 the flame by- my fears." 
 
 " No, solemnly no. When I was struck by 
 the figure before me, I had no thought of you, 
 nor of my ftdth ; when I felt first curiosity, and 
 then regret, as to her creed, it was for her oidy
 
 148 FLORENCE. 
 
 that I grieved. But after being seated, my 
 curiosity took another turn, simply to see if her 
 face were answerable to her form ; and pro- 
 bably the more I resisted this curiosity, the 
 more imperious it became : whereas, had I 
 instantly indulged it — No, I am not sure 
 of that — no matter — it was a deep, heavy sigh 
 from her, which forced me at last to look 
 at her." 
 
 " A deep, heavy sigh ! And for what, if not 
 for you?" 
 
 ^ " My dear father," said Edmund laughing, 
 " I have heard of mothers who imagine a plot 
 against their darlings in every female face ; but 
 is it possible that you can be so " 
 
 " Me ? Ah ! it is possible, Edmund, and all 
 reasoning on the subject is vain. I cannot help 
 myself in this respect, and I begin to think 
 that I have now a sort of hideous pleasm-e in 
 my fears. I suspect they have become a part 
 of me, and I find a kind of base food for my 
 mind in tracing through all the windings of 
 suspicion the imaginary or real cause of my 
 apprehensions. And as a proof of this, which 
 never struck me before, I have never con- 
 fessed the fear itself, but the occasional injus- 
 tice of which it lias been the cause."
 
 FLORENCE. 149 
 
 ' *' Let me conjure you, then, to do justice 
 to your noble nature; for it is only a noble 
 mind which would have thus confessed." 
 
 " No, it is the confirmed habit of a noble 
 religion, you should say." 
 
 " Well, then, be it so ; and do that religion 
 justice, by believing that the son who has been 
 carefully trained in it, and for it, will never 
 disgrace his faith, nor disturb the peace of his 
 father." 
 
 Dr Campian pressed his son's hand, and 
 wept over it. Edmund gave him time to 
 recover, and then said, " I trust now you 
 are satisfied, and that you will not distress 
 yourself, nor afilict me, by any further mis- 
 trust." 
 
 " I should be base if I did. No, Edmund, 
 I never knew you deceive me : even when a 
 child, your feet seemed too slow for the haste 
 you were in, when you had a fault to confess." 
 
 " You have often comforted me by that 
 assurance ; and now let me retire." 
 
 " Yes ;" said his father pensively — " Yes — 
 but that sigh, Edmund — just that sigh ! — Now 
 (^o not despise me, when I confess that my 
 lieart ])eats as I think of it. Why should a
 
 150 FLORENCE. 
 
 lovely girl of sixteen sigh but for love ? Tell 
 me that, Edmund." 
 
 " For five hundred causes besides love. Did 
 you not see that her mother has some hidden 
 cause of grief?" 
 
 " Yes, I saw that in our first interview, and 
 it was that which — But go on." 
 
 ^' Then you must have seen that she is de- 
 voted to her mother. Did you not remark 
 how, in the midst of blushes, she rose up to 
 vindicate her ? But setting that aside, did you 
 not remark — I am sure you did — her eager look 
 as she listened to Mr Ashburn after she had 
 again overcome her timidity, and told why she 
 came?" 
 
 " You have noted well, Edmund." 
 
 " Could I do otherwise, had even an ordi- 
 nary, uninteresting person been the querist in 
 so sacred a cause?" 
 
 " No; you are right. I again see my own 
 turpitude, for so bent was my whole mind on 
 you, as the leading object of all I saw and 
 heard, that I forgot the claims of an immortal 
 soul. O ! Edmund, I am a fearful sinner — a 
 suspicious wretch !" 
 
 Edmund was so used to tlie conflicts of his
 
 FLORENCE. 151 
 
 father's tender conscience, and to the modes of 
 soothing him, that instead of entering into 
 fiu'ther particulars, lie produced one or two 
 books of devotion, and sending his thoughts 
 from earth to heaven, created in him a sort of 
 beatific tranquillity.
 
 152 FLORENCF 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 Mrs Stanhope's agitation and anxiety were 
 not much less than those of her new acquaint- 
 ances, but from very diiferent causes. Having 
 acted as she thought right, in case of any spy 
 upon her, by sending back Mr Ashburn with- 
 out suffering him to enter her house, she 
 banished the momentary cause of alarm from 
 her mind, as a circumstance which she could 
 not possibly counteract even if the man shoidd 
 have been appointed to watch over her ; but it 
 was not so with respect to her daughter. She 
 knew that a leading feature in her character 
 was what we term pertinacity when the object 
 in view does not seem of sufficient importance 
 to the looker-on, and fortitude or firmness when 
 it does. Now the object which at present occu- 
 pied her daughter's mind did not seem suffici- 
 ently important, unless as the faith in which 
 she had been bred. Wliat was the Roman
 
 FLORENCE. 153 
 
 Catholic religion to her ? Why should it be 
 anything? Or rather, why, since she had hap- 
 pily been bred free from its errors, should she 
 seek to plunge into them ? She was too liberal 
 to doubt the salvation of a Catholic, or perhaps 
 of any one, and hence her indifference, as for- 
 merly stated, in matters of religion. " What 
 more then," thought she, " can this be to Flo- 
 rence than a mere matter of taste ? It is true, 
 there was a spirit-stirring, an exciting energy, 
 in Mr D'Alembert, which she had never met 
 with before, especially coupled as it was with 
 an authority which seemed to say, ' I am direct 
 from God.' She paused as this consideration 
 pressed upon her; but she threw the idea from 
 her with, — " And has God then deserted all 
 other Christians?" 
 
 While considering what cool prudence de- 
 manded of her, she was startled by a low single 
 knock at the front door, as of one who wished 
 to be admitted very quietly. The recollection 
 of the man was instantly recalled, and both 
 mother and daughter sat waiting the result in 
 silent fear. The knock had not been observed 
 at first by the servants ; it was repeated in the 
 same stealtliy way; and while Mrs Stanhope 
 sat irresolute whether to forbid admission, the
 
 154 FLORENCE. 
 
 waiting-maid ushered in a person wTapped in 
 a long dark-blue travelling cloak, wearing a 
 corresponding cap with a gold band and tassel, 
 and strapped under the chin ; black bushy hair, 
 with whiskers and mustaches of the same colour, 
 and treading heavily in a pair of brass-shod 
 Wellington boots. Mrs Stanhope's first sen- 
 sation was a kind of self-gratulation that this 
 was not the bold, forward-looking man, in the 
 small round hat ; but her next v/as terror, lest 
 this person, whoever he might be, should have 
 been seen by the other, if, indeed, that other 
 had any mission with respect to her. She 
 stood in breathless suspense — her guest con- 
 tinued silent for a minute or two, and at last 
 burst into a hearty laiigh, saying, " Is it pos- 
 sible you don't know me?" 
 
 " Good heaven," said Mrs Stanhope, "why 
 have you come at such an hour, and in such 
 a dress? It is probable you have ruined me !" 
 
 " It is not late — only nine o'clock — and as 
 for my dress, excepting the whiskers and mus- 
 tachios, it is what I often travel in. But what 
 is the matter? Are you really offended?" 
 
 " I am more than offended, Georgina, I am 
 shocked, both because, knowing my dislike to all 
 trick, any practised upon me is an insult, and be-
 
 FLORENCE. 155 
 
 cause I know not in what this coarse, unfeminine 
 joke may have involved me. Good God ! at a mo- 
 ment when I feared being seen with an elderly 
 clergyman, you come to my house disguised like 
 a hussar ! O ! Georgina, was this like a sister ? 
 My very servants " 
 
 " I shall soon settle that," said the undaunted 
 Georgina ; and ringing, desired the servant to 
 assist her in unrobing ; and applying her fingers 
 to her face, restored it to its wonted smoothness, 
 and then, with perfect composure, told the ser- 
 vant, that in case of robbers she always disguised 
 herself when travelling through a lonely coun- 
 try, such as that she had passed within the last 
 two hours. 
 
 The girl looked astonished at the change 
 which had taken place, but far more so, when, 
 unbuckling the leather strap, and putting off her 
 cap and wig, she displayed a head of glossy, 
 luxuriant, dark-brown or nearly black ringlets. 
 
 " Strange !" said the servant ; " are you 
 really a lady ? I am sure I would have given 
 my bible oath that you was a gentleman-soldier." 
 
 This remark increased the melancholy of Mrs 
 Stanhope, who did not even attempt to rally her 
 spirits, or to give a welcome to her sister. 
 
 " This is a cold reception, sister," said Geor-
 
 ]56 FLORENCE. 
 
 gina : " Is it possible that a mere jest can give 
 you such serious offence ? " 
 
 " It is not the jest, Georgina ; it is the levity 
 it springs from, and the serious mischief of which 
 it may be productive, that shock me. But the 
 deed is done, and I must bear the results, what- 
 ever they are ; and in the mean time, shall en- 
 deavour to think no more of it. Florence, get 
 tea or coffee for your aunt, and then look after 
 her apartment." 
 
 " Don't stir; I have been at the inn for two 
 hours, and drank tea ; I hate to spoil the plea- 
 sure of an arrival by sending the mistress or 
 young ladies of the house to look after viands." 
 
 " Two hours ! I thought you said to my ser- 
 vant that you had travelled for the last tv^'O 
 hours." 
 
 " Lord, sister, are you still so literal ? Who, 
 to look at you, would expect such old-fashioned 
 notions. I said so, just to do away my whiskers 
 and mustachios to your servant ; but I put them 
 on for a mere frolic." 
 
 Mrs Stanhope rose in disgust, and was about 
 to leave the room, when her sister threw her 
 arms round her neck, assuring her that notwith- 
 standing her follies, she had a true and a kind 
 heart. " Come, my dear Susan," said she, " let
 
 FLORENCE. 157 
 
 US be friends. : I have come a great many miles 
 to see you, and, with all my giddiness, I can 
 perceive, and I do so with deep regret, that you 
 are annoyed by some new trouble, or else your 
 old ones stirred up again. Don't let this joke 
 shake your confidence in my regard, whatever 
 else I may lose." 
 
 " This is beyond a joke, Georgina; but we 
 shall say no more of it. Tell me when you left 
 London." 
 
 "A week ago." 
 
 " A week to travel two hundred miles !" 
 
 " Yes, I am never so happy as on a journey, 
 and I prolong the pleasure of it as much as 
 possible." 
 
 " I need not ask if you came in a public 
 vehicle, unless your taste is much changed." 
 
 " Not in the least : I still like the changes 
 and chances of a mail-coach; if the company 
 is vulgar or not amusing, it is easy to stop at 
 the first stage ; and — no disparagement to your 
 hospitality — but I am never so entirely happy as 
 in an inn ; for there everybody strives to serve 
 you, and nobody finds fault." 
 
 " Where is your luggage?" 
 
 " At the hotel : it comes in the morning. I 
 hate the bustle of triuiks and bandboxes, when
 
 158 FLOllENCK. 
 
 one should be embracing and indulging in all 
 
 the I don't know what you sentimentalists 
 
 would call it." 
 
 Mrs Stanhope could not help smiling at the 
 oddness of a person so well understanding all 
 the practical part of what she could not have 
 defined in words ; and endeavoured to forget her 
 nttle peccadilloes in the recollection of her real 
 worth, if that deserved the name which sprung 
 merely from animal kindness, and was not sup- 
 ported by any systematic principle. Willing to 
 talk of something in her own style, she laughed 
 at the load of rings which adorned her somewhat 
 large but very handsome fingers. 
 
 " O ! yes," said she, " they are horrid things 
 to wear ; but they give consequence, and their 
 designs, and mottos, and settings, afford con- 
 versation sometimes ; besides, I like to create 
 surprise, by hinting that I got this from a gene- 
 ral, that from an admiral, and another from a 
 duchess. I have a brooch and drops to match 
 that little myrtle in mosaic which the Duchess 
 of D gave me." 
 
 " The Duchess of D ! " said Mrs Stan- 
 hope; I remember your buying it last time I 
 was in London." 
 
 " To be sure, it is the same : I am merely
 
 FLORENCE. 159 
 
 letting you hear a little puiF, just to give one an 
 air of importance." 
 
 Mrs Stanhope took up the candle, and left the 
 room without uttering a single word ; Florence, 
 who had been examining the rings, threw them 
 from her in disgust ; and her aunt indulged her- 
 self in a flood of tears, probably more angry than 
 repentant. Florence, however, attended to her 
 aunt's comforts for the night, and then took a 
 cold leave of her. 
 
 Miss Fortescue, who was really attached to 
 her sister, rose next morning rather out of spi- 
 rits, but trusting to external circumstances for 
 being restored to favour, she hastened to the 
 hotel, and had her luggage removed before 
 breakfast ; and as soon as her sister and niece 
 made their appearance, she presented the first 
 with a choice collection of perfumes, almond 
 powder, and some of the finest soap which Lon- 
 don could produce ; and the other with a com- 
 plete winter walking-dress, made in the very 
 first style of taste and fashion. 
 
 Solomon says, " a gift destroyeth the heart ;" 
 certainly it is a serious stumbling-block in the 
 way of a severe and rigid disapprobation of what 
 is wrong in the donor, unless in such decided 
 cases as betoken a bribe. What could Mrs
 
 160 FLORENCE. 
 
 Stanhope do, but receive the presents with a 
 countenance somewhat relaxed? and probably 
 she again adverted in her own mind to her 
 sister's genuine kindness, and sought a pallia- 
 tive in an easy, careless disposition, which led 
 her to err merely from want of thought. But 
 with all her thoughtlessness, she was not igno- 
 *rant of those other modes usually had recourse 
 to by little minds. " She had an excellent ap- 
 petite this morning, and even in the best inns 
 she had seen no such bread, better butter, or 
 more transparent coffee." And then, still on 
 the look-out for external matters, she recollected 
 an impudent-looking man, who was standing at 
 the outer verge of the court, and who sauntered 
 after her as she went to the inn, and she ima- 
 gined eyed her very attentively \\'hen there. 
 This information drew forth an account of Mrs 
 Stanhope's alarm on the preceding evening, 
 when Georgina entered warmly into her sister's 
 apprehensions. 
 
 " I shall go out again," said she, '' and if I 
 see him as evidently loitering about as he was 
 this morning, I shall ask him what he means, 
 and intimidate him by threatening to bring a 
 brother to our protection." 
 
 " And where is this brother ?"
 
 FLORENCE. ]6l 
 
 " In my own imagination ; and snrely you 
 A^all not deny that a threat to save us from 
 trouble, and maybe dishonour in some si; ape, 
 is justifiable." 
 
 " Certainly, if grounded in truth." 
 
 " Upon my word, Susan, one would think 
 you had lived all your life ^vith a Methodist 
 priest, and nobody could guess that you are 
 watched and hunted down upon the suspicion 
 of being gay." 
 
 " And you would have me become really 
 vicious, in order to protect me against the 
 charge ! And would your threat do any good ? 
 If this man is watching me, he would know 
 that you are telling a falsehood, and have at 
 least one cause for reproach ?" 
 
 " Sister," said Georgina, " I excused you last 
 night, because I know your strange old-fashioned 
 notions ; but I must really laugh at you for hesi- 
 tating to save yourself at the expense of so slight 
 a deviation from truth." 
 
 " Upon the same principle you may justify 
 stealing : ' I'm in want of an article, and it will 
 not greatly injure my neighbour if I take this 
 trifle from him.' " 
 
 " That is quite difi'erent : you there actually 
 commit a fraud, which you can be punished for ; 
 
 VOL. I. M
 
 162 FLORENCE. 
 
 but as there is no punishment in the other case, 
 it is a proof that it is a fault of very little im- 
 portance." 
 
 " It is a fraud as much as the other ; it is a 
 fraud upon the faith of the person lied to." 
 
 " Tell me in one word, sister, whether you 
 would be annoyed by this man's presence, by 
 his perpetual watch over you, by-his impertinent 
 look every time you go out; or get quit of him 
 at once, by saying that you would send for a 
 brother to horsewhip him?" 
 
 " Did you ever read any 'of Miss Edgworth's 
 tales or novels?" 
 
 " Never." 
 
 " Because, if you had, you might have seen a 
 remark which she makes, in one of her tales I 
 think, that ' all vice is weakness.^ Nothing can 
 be more true. Pride is weakness ; false ambi- 
 tion is weakness; theft, murder, every crime 
 under heaven, have tlieir source in weakness. 
 But I can scarcely conceive anything so weak 
 as to endeavour at defending your sister by a 
 falsehood, which the person to whom it is 
 told must know to be so; since you may depend 
 upon it, if he is sent to be a spy upon me, he 
 knows what relations I have. But that is not 
 the reason why I would avoid the thing : it is
 
 PLOKENCEi :168 
 
 because of all vices lying is most genuinely the 
 offspring of a weak mind; and consequently, if 
 you yield in that point, it is impossible to tell 
 what other crimes may follow in its train." 
 Miss Fortescue bowed. 
 
 " I am sorry, Georgina, to seem severe or 
 unkind, but I must spealv out in duty to my 
 daughter, setting you and myself entirely aside. 
 She must not hear the slightest sanction fo, the 
 slightest acquiescence in, a falsehood." 
 
 " Then she must never live in the world. I 
 liave heard more clergymen than one justify lies, 
 — aye, clergymen of our own church. I heard 
 Mr Hudson say, before his owai children, that 
 there were many cases in which it was a duty to 
 tell a lie; and "he said that a great man, I don't 
 remember his name, but he wrote on Christi- 
 anity, has justified lying." 
 
 " Yes, I have heard it said that Paley ex- 
 cuses falsehood in some instances ; making the 
 distinction, I suppose, between needless lying 
 and necessary (as he would say) that people 
 make betv^^een wilful murder and killing in self- 
 defence. But it is a wretched doctrine, and 
 calculated to sap and overthrow the surest foun- 
 dation of all virtue, — spotless, unstained truth. 
 I can easily believe what you say in respect to
 
 164 FLORENCE. 
 
 a clergyman, for I heard a Scotch minister (and 
 they are reckoned very strict) confess that he 
 had told many lies. And I have heard that a 
 gentleman, who gave up his best and dearest 
 interests in life, on account of some sectarian 
 whims, asserted to a near relation of his owti, 
 that there were business-lies altogether unavoid- 
 able ! But you may rely upon this, Georgina, 
 that the man or woman who has but said ' yes ' 
 when he should say ' no,' or ' no ' when he 
 should say ' yes,' has cast the first stain upon 
 his own white robes. Georgina, did you ever 
 walk out in a very dirty day ?" 
 " Often." 
 
 " Did you ever remark, that so long as your 
 nice clean white petticoat remained without a 
 spot, you continued vigilant and cautious as 
 to every step, but the instant you were con- 
 scious that it had suffered, you became less 
 careful ?" 
 
 This reasoning was quite level to Georgina^s 
 capacity, and she was forced to smile. 
 
 " I have often," continued Mrs Stanhope, 
 " been very forcibly struck by this simple ana- 
 logy. It is just so with the mind. While it remains 
 pure and unsullied, especially as to truth, you 
 have pleasure in preserving it so ; but one slip —
 
 FLORENCE. 165 
 
 one false step — it is no longer clean, and you 
 splash on without regret, far less remorse." 
 
 " It may be so," said Georgina with perfect 
 indifference, " to those who can recollect being 
 in that spotless state : I make no such preten- 
 sions, and must go on in my own way. I am 
 just as good in that respect as other people; 
 and I injure no one by what you call my lies." 
 
 " You are sadly mistaken. If you have at all 
 understood me, and I was homely enough, you 
 must be sensible that you injure your own 
 mind by destroying its purity; and as all lies 
 are detected sooner or later, you injure your 
 nearest and dearest relations by reflecting dis- 
 grace on them."
 
 166 FLOHENCE. 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 Mil AsHBURN awoke on the second Monday of 
 October with a set of confused notions. He 
 recollected that he had been at one and the same 
 time pleased and vexed ; but the cause was so 
 new, and so little mingled with his usual thoughts 
 and familiar objects of interest, that he could 
 not immediately remember the subject which on 
 falling asleep had been nearest his heart. He 
 thought of the old man and his family, as of 
 usual inmates; the younger couple and their 
 children were such people as he picked up daily, 
 and their situation so common, that it was im- 
 possible it could have given intense pain, or 
 their relief great pleasure; the dying young 
 
 woman to think of her brought an unmixed 
 
 and bitter pang. O ! but it was a young 
 woman. Yes, the beautiful Florence; she 
 seemed powerfully drawn towards the good 
 cause ; but her mother was adverse to it. Was
 
 FLORENCE. 167 
 
 it a duty to weaken her allegiance to a parent ? 
 " I know," thought he, " that the soul's salva- 
 tion is chief over all other considerations. For 
 this cause should a man leave all, and seek only 
 the path through which he may be conducted 
 himself, or conduct others, to everlasting life. 
 Yes, I will up and be doing. I shall see her 
 this day ; I \vi\\ not indeed violently interfere 
 between parent and child, but I wall advise 
 what no reasonable creature can object to, that 
 the lady shall be indulged in her most reasonable 
 wish of knowing the actual truth. Nay, it is 
 no more than an act of very common justice to 
 ourselves. So saying, he dressed with alacrity, 
 and after having seen that his inmates were en- 
 tirely independent of the careful and reluctant 
 Alice, he hastened to Steel's place. 
 
 Breakfast was nearly over. Georgina had 
 retired in anger, and almost resolved to leave 
 her sister's house that day. She had been ac- 
 cused of falsehood, for nothing more than sport- 
 ing a joke, or harmless boast, respecting a ring ; 
 and when apparently forgiven on this account, 
 or perhaps suifered, as one does a hopeless 
 child, a fresh attack is opened, because by a 
 falsehood, which she knew tlie Rev. Mr Hudson 
 would justify upon the authority of Paley, she
 
 168 FLOlltNCE. 
 
 meant to secure her sister from insult. Her 
 presents had been pushed aside, and she coukl 
 observe were retained in mere courtesy. " What 
 sister could put up with such treatment ! And 
 what woman, who knew anything of polite life, 
 would hesitate to tell a hundred such lies? Were 
 not all the civilities of life carried on by little 
 harmless falsehoods, which everybody knew to 
 be such ? Was not the perpetual winking at all 
 those things a continual lie ? Assuredly." Thus 
 bolstered up, Georgina hastily threw in the few 
 articles which she had taken out of a large trunk, 
 locked it indignantly, pulled her bell, and went 
 so far as to say , " Send for a porter." But 
 nature assumed her sway, and relenting from 
 her purpose, she added, " O ! no, I am mistaken. 
 I thought I had left one of my trimks at the 
 hotel, but I see I have them all." The maid 
 being at that moment summoned by Mr Ash- 
 burn's kno^ck, left Miss Fortescue reflecting 
 upon the advantage she possessed over her sister, 
 who could have found no way of extricating her- 
 self, and would probably either have left the 
 house in wrath, or confided in a servant rather 
 than make a small evasion. 
 
 Is it wonderful that the disci}>les of Godwin 
 should say, "Morality is yet in its infancy:"
 
 FLORENCE. 169 
 
 And will you establish the position upon the 
 derelictions of a foolish, giddy, fashionable 
 young" woman ? „ No, we will not ; we establish 
 it upon all we see ; upon the whole system of 
 that society in which Miss Fortescue learnt to 
 ridicule, as old-fashioned and puritanic, the love 
 of trutli. 
 
 Mr Ashburn had not been pleased with Mrs 
 Stanhope, but it was impossible to think of her 
 with resentment. Hers was a face and form 
 which none could look upon without a softened 
 feeling, excepting those in whom there lurked 
 some peculiar, personal, or selfish motive for 
 hatred. She was in fact exactly what the senior 
 Dr Campian had described her, a figure beauti- 
 fully defined, set off by the graces of nature and 
 cultivation, but chiefly the former ; and a face, 
 in which it was almost impossible to say that 
 one feature surpassed another. But it was the 
 singular softness of her blue eyes, and an expres- 
 sion of tenderness about the corners of her mouth, 
 which (as far as our experience goes) was en- 
 tirely peculiar to herself, that pleased the vulgar 
 without kno\ving why, and created in the refined 
 an interest and melancholy altogether inexpli- 
 cable. How long silken eye-lashes, soft humid 
 eyes, and lips tliat betokened an acute and
 
 170 FLORENCE. 
 
 trembling sensibility, could belong to a person 
 of stern morality, we never could comprehend; 
 but so it was. 
 
 However, it was enough to Mr Ashburn, that 
 before parting he had discovered her to be in 
 distress. That circumstance alone had banished 
 all resentment for the hostility she had shown 
 to her daughter's wishes, and to his own of 
 extending to her his pastoral hand. He en- 
 tered therefore with a heart not less softened 
 towards the mother than it yearned with holy 
 paternity tow^ards the daughter. " I am an early 
 visitor," said he, " but I have many calls upon 
 
 me in the afterpart of the day, and But 
 
 why seek for an apology? In short, I could not 
 have felt at peace had I not enquired for you 
 both, as I was considerably pained last night, 
 Mrs Stanhope, on account of the sudden unea- 
 siness to which you seemed exposed, either from 
 a real or imaginary cause. It indeed matters 
 little, as to mental pain, whether the cause be 
 actually in existence, or only in our own 
 thoughts, springing from a deranged state of 
 the nervous system, or in whatever source it 
 pleases God to place the subject of trial. For 
 in reality, Mrs Stanhope, we ought to view all 
 that passes as merely so many occurrences which
 
 FLORENCK. 171 
 
 have a reference to the ultimate end of our pro- 
 gress in and through life. Therefore, you have 
 earnestly my sympathy, whether this person is ac- 
 tually sent for your annoyance, or imagined to be 
 so ; seeing, that unless you have sufficient strength 
 of mind, — and which is attainable only in that 
 conviction of your own weakness, which will 
 lead you to seek divine aid, so that you may 
 throw off this distressing imagination, — you are 
 as much its slave as if the man were placed over 
 you as a perpetual spy. For you, Florence, I 
 have felt another care. It is for you, at this 
 early stage of existence, to fortify your mind in 
 such a manner, as (always with reference to 
 other aid than human) to defy equally chimeras 
 and realities. And it seems to me that you 
 have in you the first important impulses towards 
 that rock which you will find the only sure de-f 
 fence against the evils of life. But remember, 
 I hold you subordinate, as far as I am concerned, 
 to your parent, and all I can do is, to pray most 
 fervently that she may see the justice of allowing 
 your mind to have free scope in a matter which 
 is chief over all others." 
 
 As we have said before, there was a singular 
 earnestness in tlie manner of Mr Ashburn, and 
 it was tenfold more impressive on account of
 
 172 FLORENCE. 
 
 his entire abstractedness from himself, and an 
 apparent unconsciousness of being able to pro- 
 duce any effect on his auditors, which did not 
 flow directly, and without the aid of human elo- 
 quence, froHi the exalted nature of his subject. 
 The very depth of his feeling, which often in con- 
 versation bordered on passion, seemed to carry 
 him out of himself ; as if the pure interest he took 
 in the object of concern robbed him of all per- 
 sonality, and concentrated his whole capabilities 
 in whatever he had in view. But it was only 
 in colloquial intercourse that he produced the 
 effect alluded to ; for he was so convinced of his 
 want of oratorical powers, that when confront- 
 ing a large congregation, and feeling himself 
 called upon to be at least forceful, his natural 
 energy was in a great measure rendered null ; 
 and perhaps it was for this reason, that in the 
 pulpit he chiefly confined himself to dry proofs 
 of doctrinal points, and of the church's univer- 
 sality. There was nothing new in what he had 
 said, for the same words would have issued from 
 the mouth of any orthodox Protestant who 
 wished to fortify a youthful mind; but there was 
 that in his manner which awed Mrs Stanhope, 
 notwithstanding her prejudice agai^ist his creed, 
 and her fear of any tampering with her daughter.
 
 FLORENCE. 173 
 
 He was not slow to construe her silence into an 
 assent, and grasping her arm in his eager way, 
 he added, " I trust my prayer has been heard, 
 and I thank God for his infinite mercy ! " 
 
 Now was the moment for Mrs Stanhope to 
 have declared boldly that she could not consent to 
 her daughter seeking any knowledge on a subject 
 to which she could be of no importance; but she 
 recollected what he had already said in opposi- 
 tion to that opinion; and besides, the kindness 
 of her nature, nay, politeness itself, forbade a 
 violent and decisive hostility to his pious wish. 
 She therefore continued silent, and Mr Ash- 
 burn, quitting her arm, drew his chair slightly 
 out of the line, and taking an erect position, 
 seemed to breathe freely in the delightful pros- 
 pect before him of emancipating a young, 
 lovely, and virtuous maiden from the deadly 
 thraldom of heresy. If his earnestness had ar- 
 rested the faculties of Mrs Stanhope, his glowing 
 satisfaction restored them, and she saw in an 
 instant all the danger to which her daughter 
 was exposed. This man of fervent zeal would 
 leave no effort unessayed to second the wishes 
 of Florence ; and besides, she had heard friglit- 
 ful stories o^ Catholics compassing sea and land 
 in order to make a single convert. Those, she
 
 174 FLORENCE. 
 
 had learnt, were chiefly Jesuits. Mr Ashburn 
 was not of that order, but he had bowed liis head 
 at the name of D'Alembert, who was. " I must 
 be decided," thought she ; " my daughter's for- 
 tune, her faith, my peace, hang on a word." 
 She rallied her courage; but just when she was 
 about to speak, she recollected liis kind offer of 
 last night, and her resolution sunk ; an instant 
 however sufficed to show the turpitude of this 
 feeling, and engaged as her thoughts were, she 
 had time to pity those who are in the shackles 
 of real dependence. " But it was indeed base 
 in me," she thought, " to sacrifice mental free- 
 dom upon the altar of politeness and mere 
 worldly gratitude." 
 
 Yet what could she say ? To express great 
 fear of Florence hearing his cause, was to argue 
 her very weak, it very strong, or, its advocates 
 very insidious. Pie was too much occupied 
 with his own thoughts to attend to the fluctua- 
 tions of mind which were portrayed in the face 
 of Mrs Stanhope ; and while he first indulged 
 himself in the delightful vision of opening up a 
 way to heaven to the beautiful aspirant, and next 
 considered who was to undertake the work, 
 Mrs Stanhope was making a fresh effort to ne- 
 gative the whole.
 
 FLORENCE. 175 
 
 "lam well aware," said she at last, " that 
 you, Mr Asliburn, are actuated by the purest 
 and most disinterested motives ; but listen to me, 
 and then say candidly if you do not tliink it wise 
 to give up indulging my daughter in an investi- 
 gation which really cannot be of importance to 
 her. Excuse me — I see you are displeased ; but 
 indeed, my dear sir, you must permit me in this 
 matter to use the same freedom of speech which 
 you will demand, if I consent to the discussion. 
 I must therefore say, that viewing the subject, 
 as I do, and as thousands do, it seems to me 
 a superfluous investigation on the part of my 
 daughter." 
 
 " Then you will not permit her to judge for 
 herself? You will not permit her to take an 
 impartial view of that fabric which was founded 
 on a rock, and which contains at this moment 
 within its venerable precincts ten to one of those 
 who would pull it to the ground?" 
 
 " First hear my history, if you have an hour 
 to spare, and if, after that, you say that she 
 should — I must say it, however offensive — run 
 the risk of having her religious opinions changed, 
 I shall submit." 
 
 " I ask no more," said he, looking at his
 
 17G FLORENCE. 
 
 watch ; " I shall spare you three hours, instead of 
 one." 
 
 " First," said Florence, " tell me how the 
 poor young woman is ?" 
 
 " Better, considerably, this morning. Your 
 visit soothed and tranquillized her much. O ! if 
 those who have sailed smoothly down the stream 
 of life knew how much is in their power — how 
 much more they can achieve than even the good 
 Samaritan, who merely healed the wounds of the 
 body — they would forget the haunts of folly 
 — I do not mean to impugn you, I speak 
 in general; — they would forego the morning 
 saloon, the mid-day promenade, the evening 
 mask, and the whole round of dizzying amuse- 
 ments ; and seek out the broken in spirit, the 
 poor deluded creatures, who have erred more, 
 only because more tempted. But I may not 
 enter on that subject; it is one which always 
 sinks me into an abyss of woe — Go on, madam ; 
 I am all attention." 
 
 " You wondered, Mr Ashburn, at the fear 
 which I exhibited last night, but when you hear 
 how I am circmnstanced, you will at least excuse 
 me. I am the daughter of a Mr Fortescue, to 
 whom I was for ten years considered as sole
 
 FLORENCE. 177 
 
 iieiress to a property of about a thousand a-year; 
 but at the end of that period, my mother pre- 
 sented my father with another daughter. Almost 
 immediately after that event, my father died; 
 and, as perhaps would have happened in nine 
 cases out of ten, my mother's chief attention de- 
 volved on my sister. She might nearly be termed 
 tlie child of her old age, and she very naturally 
 imagined, that in her, rather than in me, she 
 saw the representative of my father; and cer- 
 tainly, as far as appearance went, she saw his 
 representative, and perhaps it was owing to that 
 circumstance, and my mother taking pleasure in 
 calling her George, that she cultivated in herself 
 a masculine turn, at least in a few particulars." 
 " She is a woman of talent, then," said Mr 
 Ashburn. 
 
 Mrs Stanhope blushed, hesitated, and then 
 said, " She has very good abilities, but they were 
 not properly cultivated; at least I think so; 
 for what one person deems a good education, 
 another holds utterly repugnant to common 
 sense. The masculine turn to which I allude, 
 consists in having great delight in field sports, 
 in angling, in riding on horseback, in taking 
 IcMig journies alone in public vehicles, and in 
 
 VOL. I. N
 
 178 FLORENCE. 
 
 sometimes dressing in as masculine a manner as 
 she possibly can. Were I certain that you will 
 never meet her, I might conceal what I hold the 
 most reprehensible part of the list, but you can- 
 not see her without discovering a kind of Bond- 
 street boasting, and an affectation of a hardness 
 of heart, which is indeed fashionable, but which 
 she does not in reality possess." 
 
 '' That is bad, very bad, — even worse than if 
 her heart were really hard. To affect anything 
 is a practical lie, and by long practice those faults 
 may be superinduced and become a part of us, 
 which were naturally foreign to our disposition." 
 
 " I am giving you too serious a view of her 
 character, and can scarcely tell why." 
 
 " I know why," said Florence ; " my mother 
 respects you too much, to feel it a matter of in- 
 difference that you should imagine that part of 
 her character in the slightest degree sanctioned 
 by her." 
 
 " You are a pretty pleader, Florence, and I 
 esteem you for the care which you always take 
 to place your mother in a proper light. By a 
 pretty pleader, I mean one who argues in a neat, 
 polite manner ; I speak not of the bauble beauty, 
 though, to say truth, it is a very influential thing.
 
 FLORENCE. 179 
 
 But go on, madam, and pray give me an instance 
 of Bond-street boasting, and what you call fash- 
 ionable hardness of heart." 
 
 " I cannot well do the first ; but if you ever 
 read Miss Edgeworth's 'Dun,' you will very 
 easily comprehend what I mean by the last." 
 
 *' I read all she writes ; she is my country- 
 woman, an able asserter of her country's rights, 
 and as somebody says — Jeffery, I think — she has 
 done more for Britain than any other writer of 
 the age. Look at her system of juvenile training ! 
 all other systems vanish into thin air before it. 
 She is the first of man or woman who has taught 
 us, what is surely plain enough, that a child is a 
 creature endowed with a soul, and should be 
 treated like a reasoning, accountable being. 
 But alas ! " — ^and drawing a deep breath, he seized 
 Mrs Stanhope's arm, as was his practice when 
 much in earnest, — " alas ! notwithstanding all 
 that she has done, she has left out of her system 
 that soul's especial interest. Yes ! there is no 
 end of human discrepancies, when an infallible, 
 uncontrovertible guide is set at nought. Woe's 
 me ! look around on the UTeck which this free- 
 dom of thought has created. Even Miss Edge- 
 worth's wisdom has not been proof against the 
 desolating influence of what is called free re-
 
 180 FLOREKCE. 
 
 search. . But it was of what tlit workl deems 
 her lighter works of which you spoke, though 
 to my mind it is more easy to WTite a system of 
 education than a tale. I would therefore say, 
 tlie works which seem lighter, but which, in fact, 
 require all the skill and perspicuity of himian 
 intellect. First, the penetration to see all the 
 windings of that tenuous, flexible, yet stubborn 
 thing, the human mind; and then to turn all 
 that to account, so as to produce an intellectual 
 moral picture. Upon the whole, I am not sure 
 — always considering the end in view — if a fable, 
 a fiction, a tale, or, as they are termed, novels, 
 when well executed, are not the most perfect 
 achievement of the human understanding. But 
 you spoke of the ' Dun : ' I remember it most 
 especially, for I gnashed my teeth as I had 
 spread before me, as on a map, the victims of 
 fashionable levity, — if it indeed can be called by 
 so gehtle a name: — rather should I say, of 
 fashionable swindling." 
 
 "Well, then, my example will tell you at 
 once what I mean. My sister is an excellent 
 economist, and never exceeded her income in 
 her life, or by any chance ran short of money; 
 but I have known her withhold payments, merely 
 that she might resemble the fashionable world,
 
 FLORENCE. 181 
 
 wlio, to do them justice, generally witliliold be- 
 cause their folly has left them wdthout the means ; 
 and when I forced her to listen to the story of 
 the ' Dun,' she affected to laugh at what is, per- 
 haps, one of the most heart-touching incidents in 
 print, ' powdering a dun.' " 
 
 " Marvellous ! and does the creature exist 
 that can smile at that most affecting picture ? I 
 remember, when I read that passage, I laid 
 doA^Ti the book in wrath. I believe I was angry 
 because the author had so much disturbed my 
 feelings — ' This is what I call powdering a dun,' 
 said the poor thoughtless creator of interminable 
 misery, — of nakedness, hunger, — nay, perhaps 
 of capital crimes. Horrible ! I could not look 
 with kindness, with toleration, on the man or 
 woman who could laugh at such a picture. I 
 think I see the dismayed child who was to return 
 empty-handed to his father and mother, who, 
 with beating hearts and parched lips, waited his 
 arrival." 
 
 Mr Ashburn groaned, covered his eyes and 
 remained silent. 
 
 " I grieve," said Mrs Stanhope, " that I tokl 
 you this, and even the apology of Florence is 
 insufficient. Believe me, she has a kind heart, 
 and "
 
 182 FLORENCE. 
 
 MrAsliburn waved his hand in token of a wish 
 that she would be silent; and Mrs Stanhope 
 could find no excuse for herself, though in fact 
 her daughter had hit upon the true cause of her 
 openness. At that moment, Georgina made 
 her appearance, and being abashed by the su- 
 perior virtue of her sister, and some little sense 
 of shame, she entered with downcast eyes and a 
 timid air; and knowing Mrs Stanhope's dislike 
 to the general style of her dress, she had, by 
 way of being very feminine, thrown a rich veil 
 over her fine dark hair, and then tucked it up 
 at one side, in such a manner as to give her a 
 half nun-like appearance. Mrs Stanhope, who 
 was accustomed to her various freaks, could not 
 help smiling, on seeing so strange a contrast to 
 last night's exhibition. Georgina saw the smile, 
 and piqued to farther sentimentality, proceeded 
 to a seat with downcast eyes and demure pace. 
 Mr Ashburn instinctively rose, walked forward, 
 and then retreated, as conscious of being unin- 
 troduced. Mrs Stanhope was too much offended 
 to temporise, and maintaining a proud silence, 
 left Georgina to make her own way ; and she 
 saw that, although Mr Ashburn was turned of 
 fifty, somewhat corpulent, with a round, san- 
 guine countenance, light projecting eyes, but
 
 FLORENCE. 183 
 
 Strongly expressive of his ardent character, still 
 his admiration or wonderment was better than 
 none. Georgina pulled off her glove, and 
 finding occasion to put her ringlets farther back, 
 displayed her elegant hand so employed, and 
 now stripped of its rings, to the best advantage. 
 It is probable that the actual purity of Mr 
 Ashburn's mind kept pace with his rigid and fit 
 observance of his vows ; and we have little doubt, 
 that, like some of his order, he would have 
 deemed penance due for even the errors of his 
 sleeping thoughts ; but he had a quick and 
 acute perception of beauty, and a proportionate 
 admiration. Indeed, no man ever existed, of 
 whom it might more truly be said, that his mind 
 continually reverted from nature to nature's 
 God. " Love the Lord thy God with all thy 
 might and with all thy strength," w^as exempli- 
 fied in him to what might be called the acme of 
 human devotion ; and whatever he looked upon 
 that was lovely, he admired chiefly on account 
 of its affording a beautiful testimony of God's 
 creative power. As he gazed upon Georgina, 
 he thought he had never seen eyes so brilliant 
 (for all her coquetry and shading could not 
 quench their fire) hair so black, glossy, and lux- 
 uriant, or a complexion so richly contrasted. He
 
 184 FLORENCE. 
 
 again rose, and again set down ; looked at Flo- 
 rence and her mother, and prol)ably felt them 
 blanched in his eyes. " A friend of yours?" 
 said he to Mrs Stanhope. 
 
 " I hope so," was the cold, laconic answer. 
 
 Just then, Georgina felt herself incommoded 
 by the heat of the fire, and rising to place a 
 skreen before her, displayed a figure much more 
 regular than her face. Her statiu-e was exactly 
 five feet nine; her shoulders broad; her bust 
 full ; her waist almost too small ; but this defect 
 was probably aggravated, especially in the eye 
 of ladies, by the statue-like contrast of the other 
 parts ~ of her form. Her well-proportioned feet 
 and ancles were adorned in the Diana style, and 
 her drapery was just short enough to let them 
 be seen without materially deducting from the 
 dignity of her figure. 
 
 Mr Ashburn whispered to Mrs Stanhope, 
 " An extraordinary fine woman ! Pray, what is 
 her name?" 
 
 " Fortescue." 
 
 " Fortescue ! I have heard the name, I 
 think ! " 
 
 Mrs Stanhope could not help smiling, for it 
 was not half an hour since she had told him that 
 it had formerly been her own.
 
 FLORENCE. 185 
 
 " Pray, Miss Fortescue," said lie, " will you 
 sit here ? You will be less incommoded by the 
 fire." 
 
 Seating herself beside him, and resolved to 
 keep the attention she had gained, she withdrew 
 her watch from her side, and addressing Mr 
 Ashburn, she asked, where she could find a 
 skilful artist, for her repeater had ceased to 
 strike, and being a valuable trinket, she was 
 anxious to have it properly repaired. 
 
 He took the toy from her hand, examined 
 its rich embossings, its fine classic designs, and 
 the gems by which it was ornamented, and 
 then fix^ing his eyes on her countenance, he 
 said, " It is doubtless very beautiful. The gold 
 has been fined, the diamond has been polished, 
 and the skill of the cunning artificer is dis- 
 played; but what is it all, compared with the 
 sparkling eye and the glowing tint of the 
 human face ? No — " and he dropped the watch 
 into her lap — " no — man's best works are poor 
 indeed, compared with such specimens of di- 
 vine skill as we meet with every day. What 
 would you remark ?" said he, — for at the close 
 of his speech he had sought Mrs Stanhope's 
 eye — " What would you remark? There, 
 now, is a beautiful, a living, speaking, yet
 
 186 FLORENCE. 
 
 dumb proof of divine art ! What human hand 
 could make that eye, — tell me, — ^that a doubt- 
 ing or objecting rejoinder hovers on your 
 tongue ?" 
 
 Mrs Stanhope could not repress a smile, bor- 
 dering on a laugh; but he was pleased — for 
 who is not? — at producing a strong effect on 
 an intelligent mind, even though its nature 
 should be somewhat dubious. 
 
 " I was going to remark," said she, " and 
 remember I do it with profound respect for 
 you, and awe of the subject, that I think there 
 is something erroneous in that mode of praising 
 and adoring God. We take from his divine 
 attributes by such wonder; and if you will 
 throw your thoughts into another channel, you 
 must acknowledge, that it is the works of man 
 that we should v/onder at, not those of God. I 
 perceive that there is in you a deep, an habitual, 
 and solemn love of the Deity; but I have 
 seldom in any one else heard the species of ad- 
 miration you have just expressed, without hav- 
 ing the idea of mere unmeaning words conveyed 
 to my ears. Let us look up to the Deity in 
 the power that he has given to man ; but let 
 us not degrade the divine power by wondering 
 at its achievements."
 
 FLORENCE. 187 
 
 Mr Ashburn in an instant forgot the jetty- 
 hair, the sparkling eye, the lily and the rose; 
 and turning his back upon the dark-haired 
 beauty, looked at Mrs Stanhope as if he would 
 have devoured her words; and after acknow- 
 ledging that there was both truth and novelty 
 in what she had uttered, he entered into a long 
 and deep conversation with her, forgetting at 
 once the dazzling specimen of divine skill which 
 had called it forth, the immediate object of his 
 visit, and the history of the fair and unconscious 
 metaphysician. 
 
 Georgina listened, or at least sat for a short 
 time ; but finding she could not participate, nor 
 recall the attention of Mr Ashburn, she with- 
 drew to look over her trinkets and her ward- 
 robe. At the end of two hours, Mr Ashburn 
 recollected the purpose for which he had come, 
 and at the same time a visit to a sick person, 
 but intimated his intention of returning at an 
 early hour next day. He went away highly im- 
 pressed in favour of Mrs Stanhope's intellectual 
 endowments, and not without a slight fear as 
 to the difficulty which miglit be found in sur- 
 mounting the scruples of one who seemed to 
 think it very immaterial in what faith an indivi- 
 dual was born, but important, for the love of
 
 188 FLORENCE. 
 
 both public and domestic peace, that he should 
 continue in it. 
 
 He did not fail to keep his appointment, and 
 finding the ladies assembled, after paying his 
 respects to the group, he said, " Now, Mrs 
 Stanhope, I have just two hours to spare, and I 
 will not delay our intended conference, nor 
 wander from the main subject as I did yester- 
 day. I reproached myself much. The present 
 hour only is ours, and I was guilty of great 
 self-indulgence, in being drawn aside by your 
 conversation, which, though it tended to edifica- 
 tion in some measure, yet contained not the 
 true vital sort. Is this lady in yoiu* confidence?' 
 
 " Entirely so ; but Georgina, you are not 
 
 fond of discussion, and I will not tax your pa- 
 tience, if you would rather go to the dra\\ing- 
 room. Besides, as I told you, it is necessary 
 for an object in view, that I should make this 
 gentleman acquainted with my little history; 
 and " 
 
 " O ! for heaven's sake, no more. I hate 
 histories of all sorts ; so, good bye." 
 
 " I think," said Mr Ashburn, " you called 
 that lady Georgina, and that brings to my 
 recollection what you said of your sister ; siu*ely 
 that is not the same?"
 
 FLORENCE. 189 
 
 " It is, indeed ; and I shall be sorry if anj^- 
 tliing I have said should produce an effect upon 
 your mind of a prejudicial nature to her." 
 
 Mr Ashburn walked two or three times across 
 the room in silence, but at last said with some- 
 thing like a groan, " And so beautiful! So 
 much the worse ! I look upon the gift of ex- 
 ternal beauty as a draft upon the internal capa- 
 cities. Well, well ; we cannot help it ! and I 
 believe that religion itself could not possibly 
 reach the heart of that man or woman, especially 
 woman, — for being of a softer texture, we startle 
 the more at her enormities — I say, religion itself 
 could not reach the heart of the man or woman 
 who could laugh at ' powdering a dun.' But, 
 pray resume your history, and if I see your sister 
 again, I shall endeavour to look upon her as I 
 would on a fair but fragile building. I see you 
 are vexed; but you did right; for, as Florence 
 said, you must have suffered in my esteem, — 
 and you have done me the honour to think it 
 worth possessing, — if I could have supposed 
 that you gave your sanction to the levity which 
 I am sure, sooner or later, must appear in one 
 who can laugh at even imaginary evils." 
 
 He paused ; and Mrs Stanhope, no way com- 
 forted by his reasoning, hastened to get quit of
 
 190 FLORENCE. 
 
 the subject. " I think I mentioned," said she, 
 " that it was natural in my mother to have her 
 attention greatly attracted towards the infant 
 which had come so late, and seemed, as she 
 often remarked, to have been sent in order to 
 fill up the void left in her heart by the death of 
 my father. At first I was charmed with the 
 lovely infant ; but when the novelty wore off, I 
 had reason to feel, that if the void in my mo- 
 ther's heart was filled, in mine it was every day 
 enlarging. My father liad a settled dislil^e to 
 all schools for girls, and was even jealous of hired 
 teachers; and he therefore took upon himself 
 the task of teaching me to read and write at 
 an early period ; and before his death I was a 
 tolerable French and Italian scholar. My 
 mother was always averse to this, alleging that 
 the time spent on me abridged his field-sports, 
 and might injure his health. But he never de- 
 sisted, and became so fond of the task, that he at 
 last relinquished his former pursuits, contenting 
 himself with stated rides, and such walks as my 
 mother and I could take with him. I cannot tell 
 the reason, but I recollect when he was un- 
 usually pleased with what he thought a preco- 
 cious progress in my mode of thinking, she was 
 so far from participating in his satisfaction, tliat
 
 FLORENCE. 191 
 
 on these occasions slie always urged having re- 
 course to a governess. But my father used to 
 reply, that "as he could not possibly guess at 
 the folly, weaknesses, and errors which might 
 be inculcated by a female, he would assure him- 
 self, by his own unwearied assiduity, that what- 
 ever Susanna learnt, was at least rational." And 
 then he would refer her to the conversations 
 which he had listened to between governesses 
 and their pupils, in which their minds were 
 tortured by lies told in sport by way of jokes, 
 debased by a feminine and false manner of 
 tliinking, and abused by numberless mistakes in 
 the shape of knowledge, which are always deli- 
 vered undoubtingly, for confidence in the teacher, 
 the ^mercenary teacher, must on no account be 
 shal^en. The words, ' I may be mistaken,' 
 rarely issue from their mouths. They fancy 
 that their credit and authority would be at stake, 
 and they must go on, right or MTong, with a 
 bold confidence. 
 
 " In my nindi year, my father became deli- 
 cate, and soon fell into rapid consumption, of 
 which he died when Georgina was a month 
 old. No argimients, and he used many, could 
 convince my mother that I was not the cause of 
 his death, and this conviction generated in lier a
 
 192 FLORENCE. 
 
 coldness towards me, which none of my little 
 advances could remove. Yet it was strange, 
 that she should not have felt it a duty, setting 
 ajBTection aside, to love what he had almost 
 adored. My light hair, my blue eyes, and 
 rather pale complexion, became a sort of re- 
 proach, and were always contrasted with the 
 fine dark hair and black eyes of my sister ; and 
 the remark was invariably followed up with, — 
 ' George is the image of her father, who at the 
 age of fifty retained that fine ruddy hue which 
 he lost by teaching Susanna.' Instead of fre- 
 quency blunting the edge of this observation, 
 it sharpened it ; my heart was wounded in pro- 
 portion to the want which I now felt, and in 
 consequence, the love which I naturally owed 
 to my parent, settled into something like ado- 
 ration for the memory of my father. 
 
 I had taken great pleasure in seeing my mother 
 dress Georgina ; and I am sure she could scarce- 
 ly look upon her dimpled cheek and beauteous 
 smile with more admiration than I did; but as 
 her hair darkened and her cheelis reddened, my 
 mother's daily remark on her likeness to my 
 father was uttered with a bitterness which went 
 to my heart like a barbed arrow ; so that, in 
 order to avoid the undeserved reproach of having
 
 FLORENCE. 193 
 
 killed my father, I absented myself at the hour 
 of dressing my sister. This was soon observed, 
 and — I am ahnost ashamed to repeat it — con- 
 strued into envy. O ! how little she knew my 
 heart, and how much I loved both her and my 
 sister ! But a strange adverseness was in all my 
 fate ; and probably my own too great sensitive- 
 ness was at the root of the evils which pursued 
 me. Being taunted upon this score, I became 
 more and more solitary, and my mother's de- 
 votion to Georgina increased. Children are 
 wonderfully quick-sighted, and my little sister 
 soon found, that to report anything of Susanna 
 was agreeable to my mother. What she did 
 report, I cannot tell, for my employment was 
 generally reading, and I cannot deny that she 
 sometimes caught me in tears. She has con- 
 fessed to me since, that an indifference to 
 speaking truth became habitual to her, from 
 the desire she felt, by little exaggerations, to 
 give pleasure and excitement to my mother. 
 Remember, it was not the pleasure of malig- 
 nity which my mother felt ; it was, I am cer- 
 tain, merely the desire of liaving something 
 for the mind to work upon and to wonder at. 
 This, I have remarked, is the root of most 
 feminine (lefec?ts, and proceeds entirely from 
 
 VOL. I. o
 
 194 FLORENCE. 
 
 the mind being left to prey upon itself or 
 upon such unwholesome food as falls in its 
 way. To what jealousies, gossipings, envyings, 
 and wrath, does this mental vacuity and craving 
 for excitation lead ! It was soon feared by 
 my mother's friends, and they probably had the 
 hint from some of poor Georgina's prattle, that 
 I was a discontented, pedantic girl, and I could 
 plainly perceive that my presence in the draw- 
 ing-room was productive of wliispers, shrugss 
 and sneers. These circumstances drove me 
 from it to the library, where I sought amuse- 
 ment and resource from sorrow in works of 
 imagination. My taste led me to the most 
 romantic and sentimental, by which means my 
 sensibilities, which were naturally too acute, 
 were nursed into absolute fastidiousness — at 
 least, so I have thought, on comparing myself 
 with others who could take and give the rebuffs 
 of life. But yet I cannot agree with those 
 who ascribe only noxious qualities to novels. 
 They must be ignorant indeed of life, and 
 weak as ignorant, who do not soon discover, 
 that both virtue and vice are exaggerated in 
 those works : I know, however, by experience, 
 that a love of the first, and a detestation . of the 
 last, are very powerfully cherished by such conan. j
 
 FtoRtNct:. 195 
 
 positions, when well executed ; and when they 
 are not, they produce no effect whatever upon 
 people of even ordinary sense and taste. A consi- 
 derable knowledge of life, too, is derived from 
 such novels as at that time, and a short period 
 before, came into feshion ; so that I have always 
 thought, that if a git-l is in some respects de- 
 ceived by poetic fiction, she is at the same time 
 prepared for many events which would other- 
 wise meet her totally defenceless. 
 
 " My mother's year of strict seclusion ; her 
 careful nursing during that period of my sister ; 
 her subsequent year of merely letting herself 
 be visible ; and a third of visiting a very little, 
 and seeing only a few particularly grave per- 
 sons; gave her a high character for prudence, 
 conjugal feeling, and maternal devotion. Then 
 the extreme beauty of the child ! I think I 
 see her at this moment, wdth her round, fair, 
 red and white countenance, her sparkling eyes 
 lighted up with the perpetual consciousness of 
 being an object of love, and her thick, dark, 
 curled hair. No wonder that they- all rushed 
 upon the infant beauty, and uttered those ex- 
 clamations which, I fear, she never forgot. 
 Such confinement was not natural to my mo- 
 ther, and it was not surprising that in the
 
 196 FLORENCE. 
 
 fourth year of her widowhood she began to be 
 gay; in the fifth, very gay; and that in the 
 sixth, our house was filled with as much com- 
 pany as my mother could afford to keep. It 
 was impossible that I should not be seen, and 
 that amongst some of our guests none should 
 be found to take a little notice of me. But 
 this notice came chiefly from strangers ; for in 
 exact propertion as my mother had been idol- 
 ised for her abstinence, and now courted for 
 her profusion, I was set at nought, it being no 
 secret ' that somehow or other ' my mother had 
 reason to be displeased with me. 
 
 " However, the little notice I met with gave 
 me courage to come more into society, and 
 knowing that I was my sister's co-heir, I began 
 to feel that I had some rights, and to suspect 
 that I was not fairly treated. This, I dare say, 
 often gave me the air of a person who was. 
 labouring^ under the influence of indio:nant feel- 
 ings, and it was speedily whispered that I was 
 a termagant. But I am certain that the flush 
 of indignation must have been very rare; for 
 tlie truth is, my mind soon became otherwise 
 occupied than in anger at neglect. In listening 
 to the conversation, which I did with avidity, 
 of some intelligent men, I discovered that of
 
 FLORtNGE. 197 
 
 real life, of civil and biographical history, of 
 nature, and of science, I knew nothing. I 
 blushed for my ignorance, and while I resolved 
 to avail myself of all the living information I 
 could pick up, I devoted my mornings to the 
 study of such standard books as I had heard 
 alluded to ; and as one led to another, I soon 
 found a new world opened up to my view. 
 Having owed this accession of knowledge to 
 men only, — for our female society was surely 
 below par, — I insensibly gave my attention and 
 my ear entirely to the most enlightened I could 
 select, and often with a beating heart put such 
 questions as I could not solve in solitary study. 
 
 " I speedily heard a new kind of taunt, and 
 noticed a new species of observation on all I 
 did or said; but I was so entirely free from 
 every feeling of coquetry, and from every wish 
 to attract notice, that I was the last, of perhaps 
 a hundred persons, to know that at the age of 
 seventeen, I had nearly lost my character. The 
 discovery almost destroyed me. I shut myself 
 up for some weeks without assigning any cause^ 
 and indeed none was asked. Georgina, who 
 had made the first discovery to me, now came 
 with another, viz. that I had met with a dis- 
 appointment in love ! This I scorned, for I
 
 198 FLORENCE. 
 
 had never yet dreamt of the passion, or seen 
 any one likely to call it forth. But at the 
 end of six weeks, during which time I -had 
 never gone out, excepting in mornings or 
 evenings when I was almost sure of not meet- 
 ing any company, I was told by Georgina, that 
 everybody said, ' I was not fit to be seen.' At 
 first I had not the slightest comprehension of 
 what she meant ; but, poor thing, she had been 
 80 much with females, and her ears had drank 
 in so much scandal, and so much of that whis- 
 pered, base knowledge, which I have since 
 learnt ill-educated women abound in, that she 
 opened upon me a tide of information, that was 
 equally shocking and surprising. 
 e « My first sensation was that of unmingled 
 anger; my next, deep sorrow; and my last, a 
 determination to act an entirely new part, and 
 to defy all the little people by whom I was 
 surrounded. But I forgot that my mother had 
 sanctioned, at least passively, these people, 
 and I did not know, that at the age of seven- 
 teen, a lady's courage in so delicate a case must 
 be very easily put to flight. However, I made 
 the effort; and as my mother was to have a 
 large party in the evening, I resolved to dress 
 myself Jis well as I possibly could, and make
 
 FLORENCE. 109 
 
 'thy appearance. It is now twenty-three years 
 lago, but all the emotions of that evening are 
 as fresh upon my mind, and as deeply pungent, 
 as they were at the time. My mother and her 
 friends had begun to think very little about me. 
 She had looked in upon me once or twice a 
 ' iveek, but morning preparations, either for go- 
 ing out or seeing company at home, occupied 
 her so much, that she had little time to bestow 
 even on Georgina, who was now under the 
 care of a governess. I am aware that my 
 ^Wiother did not lend herself to the scandal 
 Which Georgina informed me of, but she had 
 been at no pains to inquire the cause of my 
 retirement, to draw me from it, nor to assign 
 any rational reason for my non-appearance. 
 Indeed, if I must speak out, she had become, 
 perhaps, something more than indifferent about 
 me." 
 
 ■ " That is astonishing ! You must then have 
 been just such another as Florence." 
 
 " No, I was very different from Florence. 
 I wanted all the sparkling buoyancy of youth ; 
 my heart was chilled ; it knew nothing of that 
 bounding and unbounded confidence which a 
 well brought-up girl feels in her mother; it 
 tf^ a stranger to that delicious sensation, that
 
 200 FLORENCE. 
 
 fearless love, which will sooner reveal every 
 weakness where it is most safe, than to the mast 
 beloved sister or best selected friend ; for wliat 
 on earth can equal a mother's love ? But, alas ! 
 my- heart and all its affections were thrown 
 back upon me, like a dead, useless weight." 
 
 " Dreadful ! Oh that I had been your con- 
 fessor ! And can you find a stronger proof of 
 the poverty of your religious system ? Should 
 I not soon have discovered what it was that 
 shaded your brow, — that cast down your eyes 
 in sorrow, and that made your lips to quiver ? 
 Ah ! Mrs Stanhope, let that very circumstance 
 open up to you a new ray of light, until the full 
 effulgence of our glorious church ])ursts upon 
 your view." 
 
 " Indeed," said Mrs Stanhope, " I believe 
 that some such interposition might have done 
 an infinity of good, and saved me from years 
 of grief, all hanging upon trifles, originating in 
 falsehood. I wanted experience, had no advice, 
 and was unfortunately possessed of a nicety of 
 feeling, which I held it a principle to cherish 
 rather than a duty to repress." 
 
 " Perhaps a tinge of pride too, which a dis- 
 interested and authoritative guide could have 
 discovered and checked. But I interrupt you."
 
 FLORENCE. 20l 
 
 " Sustained by excessive and surely virtu- 
 ous resentment, I dressed — and if I ever looked 
 well, it was on that night. I was no beauty, 
 but animated as I was, something adventitious 
 might produce an universal glow, and " 
 
 " You need not hesitate ; your look and air 
 must have been such as speak to the eye and 
 to the heart. But, Florence, I trust your lookfr 
 will never have such adventitious aid as the 
 heart-swelling indignation which must have ani- 
 mated your mother on that night." 
 
 " When I entered the drawing-room, my 
 mother was laughing heartily, more so than 
 was usual with her, at something my sister 
 had said, and a number of ladies were endea- 
 vouring to look highly interested. Two or 
 three gentlemen with whom I used to converse, 
 and a stranger whom I had never seen, were 
 standing aloof. My heart still beats as I recol- 
 lect the agitation with which I walked up to 
 the tea-table ; but, affecting as much unconcern 
 and ease as possible, I took a seat, and poured 
 out a cup of coffee. I could perceive that my 
 mother looked up, and that the governess tit- 
 tered; but all swam before my sight wlien 
 Georgina exclaimed, *• You see my sister is 
 not ' But indeed I cannot repeat tlie
 
 202 FLORENCE. 
 
 horrid words — everything disappeared ; the cup 
 dropped from my hands, and I sunk down 
 senseless. Wlien I recovered, my first sensa- 
 tion was deep shame, and my next grief that 
 I still lived. I was supported by an elderly 
 gentleman, who used to take great pleasure in 
 answering my literary questions, and opposite 
 to me stood the stranger whom I mentioned 
 before. Even at that dreadful moment, the in- 
 tensity of his gaze could not be overlooked, 
 and I instinctively shut my eyes to avoid the 
 scrutiny of his. But wishing to avoid a con- 
 tinuance of anything like scenic exhibition, I 
 assumed as firm an air as possible, when the 
 stranger, seeing I was recovered, darted like 
 lightning upon Georgina, shook her violently 
 by the shoulder, and grinding his teeth, said, 
 ' You young devil, if you were the princess 
 royal of Britain, and heir-apparent to the 
 throne, and your father looking upon me, I 
 should turn you hence.' So saying, he opened 
 the drawing-room door, and giving her a vio- 
 lent slap on the back part of her neck, sent her 
 away crying. 
 
 " There was an immediate uproar — the ladies 
 made a rush for the door, but Captain Stan- 
 hope (that was his name) put his back to it.
 
 FLORENCE. 203 
 
 and asked if tliey had never before seen a spoilt 
 ixrat chastised? — ' By heaven !* said he, again 
 grinding his teeth and clenching his fist, ' were 
 «he mine, she should know something of dis- 
 cipline.' 
 
 ' " While this strange outrage went on, I had 
 time to recollect myself, and a sort of intuitive 
 sense of what was due to my own dignity, 
 impelled me to remain, and even to do more, 
 I rose from my seat, and though my heart 
 throbbed with agitation, I said, * I am sorry to 
 have occasioned so much confusion, and what- 
 ever it may cost me, I am determined to explain 
 the cause of my late retirement from society. 
 
 But it is ' Here I was almost choked with 
 
 shame and a sense of the causes of my seclu- 
 sion ; but I was resolved to go on, and gaining 
 a mastery over myself, I said — ' I have appeared 
 here tonight in opposition to all my feelings, 
 but I found it absolutely necessary to do so.' 
 
 *' Some of the ladies tossed their heads sneer- 
 ingly, and my mother coming forward, inter- 
 rupted me with the question ^of why it was 
 more necessary now than before ? I replied, 
 ' Because I found that I was most cruelly 
 aspersed. I learnt something of the sort four 
 months ago, but though bsise, it was compara-
 
 204 FLORENCK. 
 
 tively unimportant.' — ' Who is your informer?* 
 said my mother, and the same question was put 
 eagerly by several ladies. — I could not think «f 
 naming my sister, and therefore stood silent. 
 ' I beg,* said Captain Stanhope, ' that you wdll 
 give up your informer, and we may then trace 
 the calumny to its source. — I was still silent ; 
 when my mother again approached me, and I 
 could perceive that she expected me to name 
 Georgina; but instead of that, I replied firmly, 
 ' I shall name no one. It was not for that 
 purpose I came here. Delay has given me 
 more courage than I anticipated a few minutes 
 since, and I beg even thus publicly to be heard. 
 I am aware, that since the age of twelve I have 
 been looked upon as a discontented, nay, per- 
 haps an envious girl; but I sought solitude 
 because my presence seemed to pain my mo- 
 ther, by recalling to her, more than was need- 
 ful, the death of my father ; to say nothing of 
 what I suffered for having been thought the 
 cause of that death.' " 
 
 " 'How?' said Captain Stanhope eagerly. 
 
 " ' Owing,' I replied, ' to the attention he 
 had personally paid to my education.' 
 
 " ' Thank God,' said he ' that was no fault of 
 yours.'
 
 I 
 
 FLORENCE. 205 
 
 " As my love of solitude was often ridiculed, 
 but never seriously counteracted, it grew upon 
 upon me ; but I declare solemnly, from no spirit 
 of contradiction, but merely because I wanted 
 courage to sustain me under the sort of pain 
 which my appearance seemed always to call 
 forth. 
 
 " 'You \\^nt no courage to-night,* said my 
 mother. 
 
 " ' By heavens,' exclaimed Captain Stanhope, 
 ' you are mistaken, grossly mistaken. I have 
 marked every throb, and I have seen a man set 
 up to be shot at who did not betray a tenth of 
 her agitation.' 
 
 " ' People are apt to be agitated when in 
 anger,' was the reply. 
 
 " I felt myself degraded by this sort of 
 wrangling, and sat down, resolved to let 
 the matter rest. A dead silence of some mi- 
 nutes ensued, during which time my resolves 
 and counter-resolves flowed as rapidly as the 
 blood to and from my heart. At last, the gen- 
 tleman who liad supported me when I ftiinted 
 came forward, and said, ' Miss Fortescue, hav- 
 ing gone so far, though in my opinion it had 
 been better to have let the matter rest, it is in- 
 cumbent upon you to go farther.'
 
 206 FLORENCE. 
 
 JsfMAnd pray,' said Captain Stanhope — But 
 before I go farther, I must apologize for uttering' 
 the expressions of Captain Stanliope, but you 
 cannot otherwise understand his character, which 
 it is essential to me that you should do. ' Pray,*^ 
 said he, ' how the devil could she let the mat- 
 ter rest? Could she help fainting when 
 
 But no more of this ; let the young lady judge 
 for herself.' 
 
 " Had Mr Tarlton praised me, and encou- 
 raged me to go on, I should probably have 
 failed, but his disapprobation gave me courage|^- 
 nay, had the sympathy of Captain Stanhope 
 been of any other character, it would have 
 softened me too much, but it wtis calculated to 
 give an impetus, as the conduct of Tarlton was 
 to occasion that sort of pique which sometimes 
 supplies the place of a more rational fortitude. 
 
 *' Borne up in this artificial kind of way, I said 
 to him, ' Your remark astonishes me. Do you 
 mean to say, that hearing I was aspei-sed in a 
 way which cannot be named, that I should con- 
 tinue shut up until it was past my powder to ne- 
 gative falsehood ? Or could you expect that I 
 should not have felt what was calculated to shock 
 the most obtuse ? Seeking solitude at tlie age 
 of twelve, because I felt or imagined that my
 
 FLORENCE. 207 
 
 presence gave pain, I sought amusement in what 
 I deemed an innocent resource — books ; but of 
 course I read only what was amusing ; and when 
 ajt the age of sixteen, in listening casually to the 
 conversation of this gentleman and others, I 
 found that though my reading had cultivated my 
 taste and given me a little knowledge of what 
 goes on in the world, it had left me ignorant of 
 all that men of understanding seemed to value, 
 I therefore began to feel pleasure in listening to 
 improving conversation, sought out the books I 
 heard alluded to, and very naturally, often found 
 myself at a loss for fresh information. You, Mr 
 Tarlton, and you, and you — (addressing myself 
 to half a dozen) — be my judges, whether my con- 
 duct in the slightest manner could warrant any 
 other construction than that of a desire for 
 knowledge?' No one answered. 
 
 "'Why the devil don't you speak?' said 
 Stanhope in a voice that made every one start, 
 and produced such an effect upon the cowardly 
 dinner-eaters, as it was almost impossible even 
 then not to smile at. They hesitated for a mo- 
 ment, and perhaps recollected that Captain 
 Stanhope was rich as well as fearless, for they 
 one, and all attested that it was impossible to
 
 208 FLORtNCt. 
 
 put any other construction on tlie conduct of 
 one who was peculiarly modest and retired. 
 
 " I resumed what I had to say, and stated, 
 that I had been driven from this road to im- 
 provement by such insinuations as outraged the 
 delicacy of correct feeling, and that again I 
 sought retirement, when after six weeks I liad 
 learned that my seclusion was ascribed to love ? 
 Captain Stanhope moved forward and repeated, 
 ' To love !' * Yes,' I continued, 'but I have yet 
 to learn who was the object, for indeed I have 
 never seen the man of whom I should think in 
 any other character than that of a preceptor/ 
 
 "I now considered for an instant whether I 
 should go or remain ; but feeling that I had 
 every right to do the latter, I seated myself with 
 as composed an air as I could assume. Upon 
 looking back, I suppose Captain Stanhope had 
 watched my resolves, for he immediately uttered 
 the word ' Right,' and placing a chair close to 
 mine, distressed me exceedingly by the eager- 
 ness with which he examined my features ; but 
 feeling greatly obliged to the only individual 
 out of twelve who had shewn the least interest 
 in me, and unwilling to attract observation by 
 any particular repulse, I endeavoured to seem un-
 
 FLORENCE. 209 
 
 conscious of any extraordinary notice. Scarcely 
 knowdng what to do, afraid to look up, unwilling 
 to give offence, even if I had felt sufficient cou- 
 rage to remove to a greater distance from Cap- 
 tain Stanhope, I sat as if spell-bound, but, God 
 knows, with very uneasy sensations, when I 
 heard the words, ' That is enough,' and a reply 
 of, * Yes, she sits a stare better than anybody 
 I ever saw.' I was convinced that I was the 
 subject of these remarks, and instantly rose to 
 withdraw ; but Captain Stanhope said, ' If you 
 go, you do exactly what is wished. I see that 
 my devotion injures you, but remain and defy 
 them.' So saying, he turned to the next person, 
 and entering into general conversation, relieved 
 me from all further embarrassment on his ac- 
 count. I felt grateful to Captain Stanhope, but 
 nothing more; unless indeed the sensation which 
 is perhaps inseparable from the breast of man or 
 woman, who for the first time is sensible of be- 
 ing an object of tender regard." 
 
 " Indeed ! I should like to know that part of 
 the history of the human heart — that which, it 
 would seem, is a link between friendship and 
 what is called love. Pray elucidate the sub- 
 ject." 
 
 " I tliink," said Mrs Stanhope, " that by a 
 
 VOL. I. p
 
 210 FLORENCE. 
 
 very slight consideration of human nature, you 
 will be convinced that a demonstration of being 
 preferred by any individual to all others, and 
 that for the first time, must be so flattering to 
 self-love as to produce, unless when the object 
 is peculiarly revolting, a species of gratitude 
 distinguished from all other emotions of the 
 mind. Certainly that was my case, for Captain 
 Stanhope was of all men the last I should ha^'e 
 chosen for a husband. He was forward, raish, 
 violent, and endowed with an obstinacy which 
 nothing could divert from its purpose. In the 
 service of his country, I have no doubt tliLs was 
 called persevering fortitude, but in love it was 
 dreadful. The expression of his face was indi- 
 cative of all those qualities, but unfortunately he 
 was handsome, was little accastomed to repulse, 
 and was thoroughly satisfied, from the admiration 
 he was used to, that he had only to sue and win. 
 He had been singularly successful in war, and 
 this circumstance strengthened the natural va- 
 nity of a very vain man. But he had been 
 strongly and promptly excited in my behalf; he 
 had supported me at a trying moment, and 
 he was one on whose features you could not 
 look without admiration, though in me it was 
 always mingled with feai*. Still the eye which
 
 FLORENCE. 211 
 
 once met his and rested on his striking counte- 
 nance, could not instantly withdraw itself, and 
 would often return merely to contemplate a face 
 of so bold and regular a form." 
 
 " Pray, madam," said Mr Ashburn, " de- 
 scribe him. I like to have an object placed be- 
 fore my eyes." 
 
 '' Captain Stanhope is exactly five feet eight ; 
 and of a make which, having enjoyed as he had 
 in an eminent degree all the advantages of early 
 training, is more frequently to be met with in that 
 stature than any other. He was muscular and well- 
 proportioned, unless indeed that his shoulders 
 and chest might be thought somewhat too broad ; 
 but of this he was particularly vain, and dressed 
 in such a manner as to increase rather than di- 
 minish what he alleged had been acquired by a 
 free use of his arms when a midshipman. His 
 face was oval, well-proportioned, and, excepting 
 the whitest forehead that could be seen, bronzed 
 all over, so that a tinge of red in his cheeks was 
 nearly lost in the surrounding brown. Black 
 and nicely shaped whiskers almost approached 
 
 his mouth, which was but if you look at 
 
 Florence, you will see an exact counterpart, 
 the lips and teeth being precisely the same." 
 
 " So I can suppose, for I now observe that
 
 212 FLORENCE. 
 
 they differ from yoiirs, having mare of that form 
 which we see in pictures ; and truly, ^vith such 
 a mouth only, he must have been a goodly man 
 to look upon." 
 
 " His eyes were prominent, black, and disa- 
 greeably piercing; and I think it was the exces- 
 sive whiteness of his forehead, as forming too 
 great a contrast with his hair and general com- 
 plexion, which created, in me at least, a strange 
 mixture of dislike and admiration. 
 
 " In a short time, Mr Tarlton, who perhaps 
 began to anticipate in me the wife of the rich, 
 handsome Captain Stanhope, came forward and 
 hoped I had not taken offence at what was well- 
 meant ; that he merely intended to intimate 
 that a calumny so unfounded must of itself have 
 died away. I turned from him in disgust, per- 
 sua<led, that the true reading of his remark was, 
 that the fame of a defenceless, unprotected person 
 was of very little importance. 
 
 " I now began to learn that if men from edu- 
 cation were less frivolous than women, the real 
 moral stamina was the same in both ; and I felt as 
 if I could have lojcked myself up from the whole 
 human race. But mine was not a heart to be 
 so locked up; for at the same time that I de- 
 tested the mean, greedy, temporising selfishness
 
 FLORENCE. 213 
 
 f)f those around me, I sighed for the kindly 
 sympathies of humanity. It was not surprising, 
 under existing circumstances, if I received Cap- 
 tain Stanhope's attentions (before I guessed at 
 his motives for paying them) with a sentiment 
 of gratitude ; but, accustomed as he was to suc- 
 cess in all his advances of that sort, accustomed 
 to be courted rather than to court, it was equally 
 natural in him to misconstrue my most simple 
 actions so as to make them respond to his own 
 wishes. 
 
 " I forced myself to continue in the drawing- 
 room until the party broke up, because to have 
 retired would have been considered as a proof of 
 something wrong in myself, or a tacit acknow- 
 ledgment that I had no right to be there ; and 
 upon the same principle I compelled myself to 
 appear next morning. I was met with cold 
 averted looks by my mother and the ladies who 
 had remained all night; and Georgina's first 
 address was a reproach for Captain Stanhope's 
 treatment of her, and an assurance that he was 
 laughing at me all the time. I was certain the 
 remark was not her own, and feeling shocked at 
 such continued persecution, I rose to withdraw. 
 Just as I opened the parlour door, Captain Stan- 
 hope entered. I had seen enough of his perti-
 
 214 FLORENCE. 
 
 nacity the evening before to guess that he wa» 
 one of those characters with whom you must 
 either entirely acquiesce or entirely quarrel; 
 and to avoid either, I passed on with the quick- 
 ness of lightning, lest he should offer to detain 
 me. Instead of paying the compliments of the 
 morning, or of saying that he had come self- 
 invited, he instantly asked, if that was Miss 
 Fortescue who had passed him so quickly ? On 
 being answered in the affirmative, he demanded 
 the cause. The ladies looked at each other, and 
 my mother was ashamed to assign any. 
 
 " ' I can tell you,' said Georgina, ' but you 
 beat me last night, and I won't.' 
 
 " Captain Stanhope knew enough of the world 
 to feel assured that a distinguished navy officer 
 of post rank, rich, handsome, and in the prime 
 of life, could hardly offend an assemblage of 
 ladies, where there was no one to call him to an 
 account ; and without condescending to ask an- 
 other question, he quietly pulled the bell, and 
 desired the footman to present his respects to 
 Miss Fortescue, and say he had the honour of 
 waiting breakfast for her. 
 
 " What could I do ? There was scarcely a 
 message I could devise, in which there was not 
 cither impropriety or falsehood. To say that I
 
 FLORENCE, 215 
 
 was unwell, or liad already breakfested, were 
 untrue ; to profess that I intended to breakfast 
 alone, must have seemed capricious, as I had 
 already appeared ; and in short, reluctant as I 
 was, compliance seemed my only resource. I 
 had arisen from my seat ; the servant had already 
 quitted his hold of the door, and was about to 
 move oiF, when I saw the degrading light in 
 which I must appear, and ordering him to wait, 
 I wrote as follows : — ' Miss Fortescue is grate- 
 fill for attention, but she cannot again force hes- 
 self into society — at least, not just now.' 
 
 " Captain Stanhope had never been restrained 
 in his life ; he had never known what it was to 
 have a single wish thwarted. It is true, he had 
 obeyed his superior officers ; but to have done 
 so without deviation formed a part of the foun- 
 dation of that pride which actuated him in every 
 step. He read my note twice over, and then 
 exclaimed, ' How is this? ' Grateful for atten- 
 tion !' It is a rare thing with her, it would seem. 
 * She cannot force herself into society again — ' 
 So she appeared yesterday by self-compulsion ! 
 and she met with a beautiful reception ! I more 
 than half suspect — but no matter — give me pen 
 and ink ; and turning to the blank side of my 
 note, he wrote —
 
 216 FLORENCE. 
 
 " ' My dear Miss Fortescue, — You cannot 
 guess, accustomed as I am to summary proceed- 
 ings, at the agony I feel, in not being able to 
 render you prompt, ample, and lasting justice. 
 But your fate is in your own hands. Appear, 
 and I will support you though bearded by ten 
 thousand devils. Yours, eternally.' 
 
 " Kindness, bestowed upon a young warm 
 heart which has rarely tasted of its sweetness, is 
 perhaps the most dizzying of all possible confer- 
 ments. Upon a young heart, did I say ? Alas ! 
 mine is as much alive to it as in my seventeenth 
 year ! My heart beat, and my eyes reeled, as I 
 read the words, ' My dear Miss Fortescue.' It 
 was the first time in my life that I had been so 
 addressed ; the promise of support — the conclud- 
 ing profession, though mere words of course, and 
 only warm in proportion to his character, — sent 
 a thrilling sensation through my whole frame. 
 But an instant dispelled the opium-like delusion, 
 and I quickly felt assured, that by yielding, I 
 should involve myself in fresh troubles. His 
 fiery eyes, his dark countenance and alabaster 
 brow, which had to my fancy sometliing horrific 
 in the contrast; his eager, resolute, and pas- 
 sionate manner, — all flashed upon me at once ; 
 and a cold chilliness succeeded to the dawnings
 
 FLORENCE. 217 
 
 of newly-awakened hope, that I had found a 
 friend. My thoughts had been rapid, and my 
 resolves were equally so ; and desiring the ser- 
 vant to wait, I wrote — ' In the house of my 
 mother, I must have no protection but hers.' He 
 received the note, and then applied his hand so 
 as to tear it, for he is very egotistic, and has told 
 me the circumstance fifty times ; but relenting, 
 he folded it up, put it in his breast, and ex- 
 claimed, ' She is a noble creature !' But, casting 
 his eyes first on my mother and then on the 
 other ladies, he saw a general sneer. 
 
 " Suspicion was as easily awakened in Cap- 
 tain Stanhope as love, and it immediately 
 occurred to him that there was something 
 wrong in my character. But always prompt 
 and firm, he went straight up to my mother, 
 and demanded the cause of the sneer. She 
 replied, ' that girls, especially those who had 
 read many novels, often acted for effect.' Cap- 
 tain Stanhope read my short note, and asked if 
 any such thing was indicated, or if it was pos- 
 sible for a girl to be more firmly retiring from 
 notice, or more respectful to a parent ? My 
 mother seemed struck by the words I had 
 written, and immediately said that she would 
 go for me herself. ' No,' said he, * something
 
 218- FLO HENCE. 
 
 must be done first. Before she appear, she shall 
 either be condemned or acquitted. Of what is it 
 that you suspect her?' — ' Of nothing.' — ' Then 
 why have you suffered her to be blighted, and 
 why did you leave it to a stranger to punish the 
 words of that little imp ?' — ' I gave no sanction 
 to any aspersions.' — ' You sanctioned them this 
 instant. Your sneer, and that of your pitiful com- 
 pany, stirred up in my breast a nest of adders. 
 By God ! you know not the danger — the endless, 
 the eternal evil, of awal^ened su^icion.' 
 
 " My mother was probably frightened by the 
 vehemence of his manner, for she again rose to 
 go for me. ' Ko,' said he, ' that won't do. 
 Write as I direct: ' My dear child, I am 
 afflicted that any injustice or cowardice of mine 
 should have given a moment's authority to any 
 slur upon your honour. I beg your pardon, and 
 implore that you will join us inunediately.' 
 
 " My mother did as she was commanded. I 
 read her note with astonishment, and hastened 
 to comply with the first mandate she had issued 
 to me for a long time. I went up to my mother 
 with joy and alacrity, but her reception was so 
 cold, that it instantly flashed upon me, that 
 there was some trick, or at least compidsion. I 
 now felt that there had been already f^r too
 
 FLORENCE. 219 
 
 much notice attracted towards me, and that I 
 was not called upon to do anything more than 
 place myself at the breakfast table. 
 
 " The forenoon passed on, with scarcely even 
 a constrained civility towards me from my 
 mother and her friends. Captain Stanhope re- 
 mained, though still an uninvited guest, and I 
 internally resolved that I should occasion no 
 more scenes, and that whatever insults I might 
 meet with, I was now old enough to maintain 
 my own proper footing in my mother's house ; 
 and accordingly, with a resolution that asto- 
 nished myself, I took my place at the foot of the 
 table, and by a violent effort went through the 
 honours of it in a manner, which, unused as I 
 was to such ceremonies, could be attributed only 
 to the impetus which violently outraged feeling 
 often imparts. 
 
 " Captain Stanhope was restored to good 
 humour, exhibited an amazing flow of spirits, 
 paid attention to my mother, and even took a 
 little notice of Georgina ; in short, he was the 
 hero of the day, and that was his element. 
 
 " A few weeks passed on in this way, during 
 which time Captain Stanhope went and came 
 without leave asked or given. My mother's 
 friends were awed, and I was joined in all the
 
 220 FLORENCE. 
 
 invitations which were sent to her ; but go where 
 we would, Captain Stanhope was always of the 
 party. He afterwards told me, that his sen^arit 
 was instructed to learn all our movements, and 
 he had no scruple in doing precisely what pleased 
 him. His attentions were all directed to me; 
 but I gave him no encouragement, unless ordi- 
 nary politeness might be construed into such; 
 nor was it in nature that I could have done 
 so, for every hour increased a shrinking fear 
 of him, which I Jiad felt, in spite of all my 
 gratitude, from the moment that I had time to 
 consider his face. But he was willing to be 
 deceived, and construed a retired manner into 
 the timidity of love ; while my mother and her 
 friends, resolved on condemning me, all de- 
 clared afterwards that I had given him the most 
 decided encouragement, and shown a marked 
 preference of him to many others, who, as I was 
 new, crowded around me. Yet I solemnly 
 declare that they were all alike objects of indif- 
 ference to me, excepting, that in regard to 
 Captain Stanhope, I had a kind of spell-bound 
 awe, produced at once by the authority of his 
 manner and the service which certainly he had 
 rendered me. 
 
 " New-year's day arrived: and as certain
 
 FLORENCE. 221 
 
 epochs are apt to give a new spring to the 
 mind, I resolved, \vdth the commencement of 
 the year, to shake off tlie ascendancy which 
 Captain Stanhope seemed to assume over me. 
 We were to dine at Mr Tarlton's, and I deter- 
 mined if possible to seat myself at a distance 
 from and to aiFect an easy independence of him. 
 I hurried to a place that was vacant, and very 
 probably there was an eagerness in my manner ; 
 but my mind had been so much occupied by 
 the execution of my plan, that I had scarcely 
 noticed the company in the drawing-room, far 
 less while in the act of being seated round the 
 dining-table. I happened to seat myself be- 
 tween two gentlemen, one of whom had just 
 come to his estate, was fresh from the univer- 
 sity of Oxford, pleasing in his appearance, and 
 bland in his manners. I felt like a school-girl 
 who has just escaped from thraldom, yet I durst 
 hardly look around me, from an indefinite dread 
 of Captain Stanhope, — such is the benumbing 
 power of patronage in every shape; — and when 
 at last I met his eye, it fell upon me with a 
 scowl, which is yet as present to my mind and 
 feelings as at that moment. I instantly looked 
 at my mother and a friend of hers, in both of
 
 222 FLORENCE. 
 
 whom, also, I read something pointed at me, but 
 which I could not possibly comprehend. 
 
 " A strong-minded man, like you, Mr Ash- 
 burn, whose very boyhood prepares for the 
 world's attritions, cannot form the most distant 
 idea of the painful heart-flutterings of a timid 
 girl entering into life, who is not properly sup- 
 ported by parental kindness. But where ob- 
 viously the reverse of this is the case, her situa- 
 tion is dreadful, because unkindness in a parent, 
 especially a mother, is so unnatural, that suspi- 
 cion, the food of weak, envious minds, must 
 do its foul work upon her. It is often in such 
 circumstances that a sensitive mind, shrinking 
 from the sneer, the frown, and the prying eye, 
 glad to find sympathy anyw^here, is decoyed 
 and deceived into ruin. It was in vain that I 
 endeavoured to rally my spirits. It seemed to 
 my quick anticipation, that a new series of evil 
 was at hand, and the most I could do was to 
 maintain my self-composure. 
 
 " How was this painful terror, of I scarcely 
 know what, interpreted? And to what cause do 
 you think it was assigned by the poor busy crea- 
 tures around me ? That I had fallen suddenly in 
 love with the Oxonian, and my expertness and
 
 FLORENCE. 223 
 
 management in placing myself next liim were 
 extolled with that malignant praise so w^ell un- 
 derstood by old and envious coquettes ! 
 
 " Dinner was scarcely over, when the atten- 
 tion of the company was directed to the arrival 
 of a post-chaise. Mrs Tarlton looked in con- 
 sternation. Had her husband forgotten to name 
 any of the intended guests? Was it possible 
 that they had begun dinner before all the com- 
 pany had arrived ? But the enigma was quickly 
 solved by Captain Stanhope, who had run to the 
 window, exclaiming, ' By Jove, my brother 
 Jack! What the devil has brought him here?' 
 The young gentleman sent for his brother, who 
 in a few minutes introduced him as Mr John 
 Stanhope, a newly-passed midsliipman, who had 
 no business to have left Portsmouth, and still 
 less to ferret him out, on being disappointed in 
 finding him at his lodgings. The youth made 
 some good-hmnoured remarks upon the plea- 
 sures of the day, and the horrors of sitting 
 
 solitary in a noisy hotel at . He placed 
 
 himself next to his brother ; and being exactly 
 opposite to myself, and the company occupied 
 in observing the stranger, I had an opportu- 
 nity of noticing the expression of Captain Stan- 
 hope's face, and of comparing the strongly-
 
 224 FLORENCE. 
 
 contrasted countenances of the brothers. Tliey 
 were indeed as unKke in character as in ex- 
 ternal appearance. John Stanhope was fair; 
 his features not so regularly handsome as those 
 of his brother; but they were luminously ex- 
 pressive of a soul which gladdened every fea- 
 ture, and seemed even to expand itself over 
 his easy, slight, and elegant form. He had 
 all his brother's ease but none of his forwai'd- 
 ness; his decision, without his overwhelming- 
 impetuosity; and his firmness, without the 
 slightest tinge of obstinacy. When we rose to 
 withdraw. Captain Stanhope moved to the din- 
 ing-room door, and seizing my hand, said in a 
 hoarse whisper, ' You are altered, and I am 
 cursed ! ' His words fell on my ear like 
 the screams of an ill-omened bird, and seemed 
 a presage of future evil. Any malediction on 
 himself I considered as nothing, for it was his 
 usual mode of expression ; but a serious charge 
 of change on my part implied what he had never 
 hinted before, serious expectations from me. 
 
 " I sat dowTi on a sofa dismayed and dejected, 
 for I knew by experience how quick all ears 
 were in hearing anything to my disadvantage, 
 and how freely a bad use would be made of 
 whatever was heard, and I determined to seize
 
 FLORENCE. 225 
 
 upon the first opportunity which offered of being 
 even publicly explicit with him. My abstrac- 
 tion was soon observed, and a friend of my 
 mother asked me ' whether it was the rich 
 Oxonian or the handsome midshipman who was 
 so fortunate as to occupy my thoughts ?' Per- 
 haps I ought to have laughed at such imperti- 
 nent insinuations, and probably I owe to my 
 excessive fastidiousness all the evils which have 
 pursued me ; and self-blame has not been the 
 least of them. I rose from my seat, and I dare 
 say looked displeased, when my mother said in a 
 calm, expostulating tone, ' It is a pity, Susanna, 
 that you should give way to such gusts of pas- 
 sion.' I looked at her in amazement, and could 
 perceive in a moment that the whole circle sym- 
 pathised with my unfortunate mother. 
 
 " Constantly misconstrued, and bowed to 
 the very earth, I resolved to abandon myself 
 to my fate, when Captain Stanhope entered, 
 and, to my surprise, in perfect good humour. 
 He placed himself as usual beside me, and I 
 now felt that not a single course was left for 
 me which I could pursue with impunity. If 
 T was cold to Captain Stanhope, it M^ould im- 
 mediately be whispered that my thoughts were 
 engaged with the strangers ; — and !)y the bjc, I 
 
 VOL. I. o
 
 226 FLORENCE. 
 
 must here remark, that it is this idle prying, 
 conjecturing, and insinuating of elder ladies, 
 which puts lovers into the heads of younger 
 ones. If I was frank and cheerful with Captain 
 Stanhope, then I was fond of his society ; and 
 if I showed a decided opposition to his ^\dshes, 
 then I was inconstant, or perhaps said to be 
 repulsing what had no meaning. I braced up 
 my mind for the occasion as well as I could, 
 determined to act with female delicacy, place 
 my fate where I ought, and submit to the 
 results of such conduct as I best could." 
 
 " You were right," said Mr Ashburn, " in 
 your two first resolves, but ^Tong in the last ; 
 for not as we can^ but as Ave ought, is the 
 duty of a Christian. But I forget — you had 
 no guide." 
 
 " Indeed," replied Mrs Stanhope, " you say 
 most truly — I had no guide." 
 
 " And yet you would cut off your daughter 
 from the only true earthly preceptor — the only 
 one sanctioned by a divine master — the only 
 masculine counsellor who can be listened to 
 with perfect safety. If an unmarried Protest- 
 ant priest is your confident and adviser, what 
 is the result ? Affairs of the heart take place — 
 alas ! such as are and ought to be far removed
 
 FLORENCE. 227 
 
 from Lis profession, and lie is no longer a 
 judge of your actions. Nor ^vill the world's 
 clamour permit such an intimacy, even if your 
 own hearts were cold and indifferent to each 
 other. I learn, that of all men the Protestant 
 priest is the most gay and gallant; and that 
 although e^-en the world and and his own bre- 
 thren are spies upon him, that he not unfre- 
 quently goes to the ^'ery verge of propriety, 
 and that he and his love-affairs are often sub- 
 jects of public trial and discussion. Is this, I 
 would ask you, the life of a priest ? And are 
 its consequences fit themes for holy fathers to 
 sit in judgment upon? Woe's me for the havoc 
 which these levities are making even in their 
 own ill-constructed fabric ! And if they are mar- 
 ried men, what then? Even if their minds 
 were left sufficiently at ease from the cares of 
 a family, to be directed to the comfort, conso- 
 lation, and admonition, of perhaps ten or twenty 
 persons daily, as we are, is it safe or meet to 
 confide your secrets, your most private and 
 precious thoughts, to the ear of a man who be- 
 longs to another ? nay, whose very interest it 
 may often be to traverse your hopes, and to 
 augment the cause of your fears? This sacer- 
 dotal system is indeed a monstrous one, gene-
 
 228 FLORENCE. 
 
 rated in tlie worst of levity, and continued in 
 the very teeth of decency. And believe me, 
 that the love of a reckless freedom — the love of 
 those indulgences which should be far from his 
 thoughts, will ultimately destroy themselves, 
 and what is worse, involve their unhappy, ne- 
 glected flocks in their o\\ti ruin. I speak not 
 from prejudice — I speak not from professional 
 dislike — for I love all men, and I believe there 
 is salvation for all men who do not fly in the 
 face of God, of grace, and of good works ; but 
 I speak from all that I see and hear. Look at 
 the two great national churches of Britain ! 
 What do you behold ? The legitimate pastors, 
 as they deem themselves, superseded by thou- 
 sands of innovators, and consoling themselves 
 with what? I declare, I blush to name it — 
 that their livings cannot be innovated upon. Is 
 this the true cure of human souls ? But I crave 
 your pardon ; my zeal for Florence, and for 
 thousands who are at this moment perishing 
 in many a fair county of England for lack of 
 spiritual care, often makes me forget all else." 
 
 Mrs Stanhope felt that there was sometliing 
 so sacred and so holy in his warmth, that it 
 was some time before she ventured to speak. 
 At last she said, " Florence is more fortunately
 
 FLORENCE. 229 
 
 circumstanced than I was ; slie lias a mother, 
 who knows no other care than herself, and who 
 will always be ready and willing to give her 
 counsel." 
 
 " True, my dear madam, but a mother is not 
 an impartial judge; and you will be as apt to 
 split upon the rock of over-indulgence, as your 
 mother did on that of mistaken severity." 
 
 " That is indeed what I fear," said she, 
 while she could hardly repress a smile on think- 
 ing that the rock she feared splitting on was 
 the very one on which he wished her to rest ; 
 and wishing to gain time, and being really 
 afraid of giving pain to her sister, she hinted, 
 that if convenient for him, she would delay 
 the rest of her story till his first spare day. 
 This he agreed to, and promised to call next 
 morning at the same hour.
 
 230 FLOREXCE. 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 Mr Ashburn did not fail in his appointment, 
 and Mrs Stanhope resumed her little history : — 
 " Captain Stanhope began in a whisper to 
 apologise for what he had said, alleging that 
 he was under the influence of bad himiour, ex- 
 cited by the circumstance of being placed at a 
 distance from me, and that it was possible 
 another should enj6y my smiles. My heart 
 beat with terror at this declaration, and at the 
 farther involvement of myself by submitting 
 to private conversation with a person who was 
 determined on deceiving- himself. But wliat 
 course could I pursue? To continue a whis- 
 pered conversation, however inimical to his 
 views, was to subject myself to a thousand 
 suspicions and misrepresentations. I confess 
 frankly, Mr Ashburn, I would have welcomed 
 death at that moment. What had 1 to live
 
 FLOUEXCE. 231 
 
 for ? Tlie attentions of men whom I disliked 
 and the sneers of even my mother for a train 
 of incidents over which I had no control." 
 
 " Aye, to yon the asylum of a blessed con- 
 vent had at once removed you from evil and 
 placed you in security. I doubt not, that the 
 daughters of levity, those who have paraded 
 the haunts of effrontery, could have laughed at 
 all those things; but your delicacy of feeling 
 required the countenance of a wise and kind 
 friend. Pray, how did you extricate yourself 
 from this bold man?" 
 
 " I mustered up all the courage I was mis- 
 tress of, and said quite loud, ' I think. Captain 
 Stanhope, the practice of conversing in knots 
 has become too general in society; pray set 
 the example of putting an end to it.' — * With 
 all my heart,' said he ; ' I never have a thought 
 that I am afraid to avow; and I here solemnly 
 declare, that an hour ago I was in a most 
 cursed humour ; that you were the cause, from 
 no fault in you, but in myself, and in a hint 
 from an obliging lady; and I farther declare, 
 and swear, that I devote myself to you while 
 a drop of blood rims through my heart.' 
 
 " ' Upon my word,' said a lady, * you have 
 taken a politic step. Miss Fortescuc : we must
 
 232 FLORENCE. 
 
 all suspect that you guessed at the first-fruits 
 of this unwhispered conversation.' 
 
 " There was now no time for hesitation or 
 false delicacy; all was at stake; and turning 
 round to the lady, I said, ' I do not know by 
 what strange destiny it is that all I say, and 
 whatever I do, are liable to misconstruction. 
 Heaven knows, I have acted at this moment 
 from the purest motives, and that it pains me 
 much to say anytliing that can give the slightest 
 imibrage to you. Captain Stanhope ; but it was 
 to avoid all particular conversation that I begged 
 ours might be public' I saw a sneer upon 
 several faces, and I added, ' I am aware, it 
 may seem presumption in me to have expected 
 anything meant for my private ear, but Cap- 
 tain Stanhope will not deny, that what he 
 commenced with was calculated to make me 
 apprehend what he has just declared.' — ' Ap- 
 prehend !' said he, ' why apprehend ? Are the 
 views which you must have known from the 
 first a subject of apprehension?' — ' Then,' I 
 replied, ' I am indeed unfortunate.' — ' Unfor- 
 tunate ! I am despicable then in your eyes?' — 
 ' Surely,' said I, ' there is a medium between 
 
 being despicable, and ' I could not go 
 
 on. — ' And beloved — None, Miss Fortescue,
 
 FLORENCE. 233 
 
 between me and you. I must be your all, or 
 
 your detestation. You my all, or -^ " he 
 
 made a long and fearful pause — ' or, may I be 
 blasted for ever.' — ' You see,' said my mother, 
 ' to what you have brought yourself.' — This 
 charge agonised me ; but I had courage to say, 
 ' Surely, my dear mother, you cannot suppose 
 that I have given any undue encouragement 
 to Captain Stanhope.' — ' I seldom trust to my 
 own judgment,' said she calmly ; ' all the coun- 
 try has seen it, and I must say, I thought you 
 a very fortunate woman.' — ' I am peculiarly 
 the reverse,' said I, ' in many respects, and 
 most especially in this. And it is no small part 
 of my misfortune to be thus dragged into such 
 public avowals ; but I have no choice ; and 
 since it is so, I implore. Captain Stanhope, 
 that you will hear me. I could not but feel 
 grateful for your attention on the first night 
 I saw you, and ' ' For beating your sis- 
 ter,' said my mother. — ' Enough,* I replied ; 
 ' I see my doom is fixed. I know not how or 
 why, but I am a destined victim, and it is in 
 vain for me to offer a word in my own de- 
 fence.' 
 
 " Captain Stanhope came forward, and said, 
 ' I am glad you sec your true and actual situa-
 
 234 FLORENCE. 
 
 tion : be wise, and in the most devoted of hus- 
 bands you wdll find the most determined of 
 protectors. An object of envy is always an 
 object of misconstruction, but the creature lives 
 not, who durst insult my wife.' — Every mo- 
 ment seemed to involve me farther, and to call 
 upon me for the most decisive conduct ; and I 
 replied with firmness, ' You again fill my heart 
 with the warmest gratitude, but indeed it is 
 impossible that I can ever be your wife.' — He 
 made no reply, but regarding me with a look 
 of fearful WTath, he left the room, and order- 
 ing his carriage, drove off* with his brother, 
 upon the plea of sudden indisposition. 
 
 " His departure removed a load from my 
 mind, and I felt all the sweets of self-gratu- 
 lation; for whatever treatment might ensue, 
 whatever calumny might be got up upon the 
 report of my conduct, I was satisfied that I 
 had no other resource with so bold, so con- 
 fident, and so fearless a man. My mother 
 looked surprised, but said nothing; and the 
 ladies, perhaps tired of the subject, began the 
 amusements of the evening. 
 
 " In a few days we learned that Captain 
 Stanhope had set olf on the instant, accompa- 
 nied by his brother, and I enjoyed a compara-
 
 FLORENCE. 235 
 
 tive repose of mind for some time, though I 
 was still liable to taunts, sneers, and inuendos, 
 notwithstanding the most anxious care to avoid 
 all cause for them. Perhaps, indeed, my ex- 
 cessive solicitude only served to whet viru- 
 lence; because I ha^^e always remarked, that 
 it is the fastidious who are particularly selected 
 as fit victims for the shafts of malignity. But 
 it is a melancholy fact, that with the multitude, 
 misfortime is the watchword for a certain spe- 
 cies of persecution. One would have thought 
 that I was placed beyond the reach of evil, 
 possessed as I was of an ample fortune, and 
 living under the apparent care of my mother. 
 But my mother's coldness to me excited a sus- 
 picion that there must be something WTong in 
 me ; and suspicion once awakened, is, as Cap- 
 tain Stanhope said, a nest of adders. But, in 
 my case, they preyed on me, not on the bosoms 
 of those who had conjured them up. 
 
 " I have observed all my life, in the cases 
 of unfortunate persons, that even the wise, the 
 considerate, the kind and candid, seek the 
 cause in the unhappy individuals, not in cir- 
 cumstances. And with all due deference to 
 you, and the highest admiration of Miss Edge- 
 worth, as well as a lively sense of the benefit
 
 236 FLORENCE. 
 
 she lias rendered the world, I miist say she has 
 in one of her Tales greatly injured the cause 
 of the unfortunate. A cold-hearted world, ever 
 ready to say of the wretched, ' There must be 
 something wrong,' needed not a systematic 
 proof that all evil springs from our own fault, 
 and that a virtuous perseverance will at last 
 prove successful. To our own hearts it will; 
 but it is only good-fortune, obvious and pal- 
 pable good-fortune, which can ensure the 
 world's general esteem. ' The esteem of all 
 good men,' the moral of the tale wdll tell us. 
 Where are the good men ? They are so mixed 
 up in the mass, and are so beclouded by the 
 hints, suspicions and conjectures of others, to 
 say nothing of worldly claims, which even 
 those good men cannot shake oif, that their 
 opinions and esteem are sucked into the general 
 vortex. 
 
 " Wliether it was owing to my retired man- 
 ners, or rather to my wish of avoiding all parti- 
 cular notice, or to the eclat of having refused so 
 bold, handsome and rich a man as Captain Stan- 
 hope, I cannot tell, but it was my misfortune to 
 become a favourite with the gentlemen, and to 
 be selected as a chief object of attention as soon 
 as I entered a room. I need hardly point out
 
 FLORENCE. 237 
 
 to you the effect which this produced on the 
 females around me. Perhaps even a gentleman, 
 circumstanced as I was, could such an event 
 happen, might have found amongst his compeers 
 the same envying conjecture, of how, or why, 
 he was so preferred? I believe it was settled 
 down into an opinion that I had more cunning 
 then others. But when I refused the Oxonian, 
 and some others of nearly equal rank and for- 
 tune, conjecture became so painful, that they 
 settled the point at once, by supposing and as- 
 serting that I had formed some attachment of so 
 inferior a kind, that I was ashamed to avow it 
 In spite of all I could do to prevent it, Georgina 
 tormented me by those and a thousand other 
 reports ; but I merely hint at such as are essen- 
 tial to your comprehending the sort of life I led. 
 I often appealed to my mother, and assured her 
 that she had only to frown upon my calumniators 
 to put a stop to their insinuations ; her answer 
 invariably was, ' Establish yourself in life, and 
 defy all calumny.* It wtis in vain that I asked 
 why there should be calumny ? ' You know 
 best,' was the reply. I should have told you, 
 that Captain Stanhope again relented, and that 
 he wrote me, intimating that he was willing to 
 believe me under the influence of a girlish shy-
 
 238 FLORENCE. 
 
 ness, and conjuring me to think better and recall 
 my refusal. — I answered liim wdtli respectful 
 firmness in the negative, and here the matter 
 rested. 
 
 " At the end of my eighteenth year, and about 
 Midsummer, my mother became uneasy on ac- 
 count of Georgina's health; sea-bathing was 
 ordered, and in talking of various places, I hap- 
 pened to mention the Isle of Wight. Its vici- 
 nity and some other circumstances rendering it 
 preferable, we went to that place, accompanied 
 by a party of ladies. 
 
 " We had not been there a week, when one 
 day I strolled, as I sometimes did, from my 
 mother's party. I had stood for some time in 
 that state of half insensibility which is entirely 
 peculiar, at least with respect to mj^ own feehngs, 
 to the contemplation of tlie sea, when in a calm 
 state it is returning with slow but sure progress 
 to its destined mark. I recollect still, with un- 
 common vividness, the sensations and impres- 
 sions of that moment. The sun was shining 
 in all his glory; the sea glittering; the waves 
 undulating in their most quiescent state, and 
 sending forth the most heart-touching, soothing, 
 and yet melancholy of all sounds. ' Such,' I 
 thought, ' i«i an emblem of the stiite in which
 
 FLORENCE. 239 
 
 liumanity should subsist; our passions never 
 more agitated than to indicate their existence, 
 and never to exceed a certain boundary, while a 
 God of mercy shall shine upon and gladden the 
 whole. I regretted that, as far as my experience 
 went, the very reverse of all this was the case, 
 and that man seemed only in his element when 
 resembling the sea in its most fretful and tem- 
 pestuous moods. 
 
 " While these thoughts and the object which 
 called them forth rivetted me to the spot, a 
 youth in the uniform of a navy lieutenant passed 
 close by me ; he turned slightly round, when, 
 to my surprise, I recognised young Stanhope. I 
 had ])y this time a dread of all intercourse with 
 gentlemen, for it was impossible for me to deport 
 myself in such a manner as not to incur censure, 
 and I hurried instinctively away, so as to avoid 
 him. But he knew me immediately ; and although 
 I was aware that being seen in his society would 
 subject me to remark and ridicule, if not ca- 
 lumny, yet it was utterly impossible to prevent 
 his seeing me home. Almost sickened by the 
 anticipation of exchanged looks and next of 
 sarcastic insinuations, I walked on, scarcely 
 knowing the questions he put or my own replies. 
 
 "Our party had returned, and the certainty
 
 240 FLORENCE 
 
 of what awaited m^ threw an awkwardness and 
 restraint over me, which of itself led the way to 
 impertinences common with women, and by way 
 of joke, but which cut deeply into sensitive 
 minds. Mr Stanhope was however cordially 
 received and kindly invited to dinner, which 
 invitation he accepted. I had of late been so 
 accustomed to the attention of gentlemen, and 
 had been so invidiously treated on account of it, 
 that I felt relieved in at last meeting \\'ith a 
 person who took no particular notice of me, and 
 I congratulated myself on the hope of escaping 
 animadversions in this instance. He was the 
 only gentleman of the party, and on the account 
 just mentioned, I got into an unusual flow of 
 spirits. Wliat was my amazement, after he 
 took leave, to find it unanimously resolved, that 
 
 I knew of the sloop of war being oiF 
 
 St Helen's ; that I had therefore recommended 
 the Isle of Wight ; that I had left the party that 
 day and previously, in the hope of meeting Mr 
 Stanhope, and that the extraordinary good 
 humour I had exhibited was in consequence of 
 of having seen him ! I thought it beneath me 
 to utter one word of defence, and my mother 
 told me gravely, that my silence was confirma- 
 tion sufficient, and that my refusal of so many
 
 FLORENCE. 241 
 
 good offers was now accounted for. ' Surely,* 
 said I, ' you are all thoroughly assured that I 
 never saw Mr Stanhope until this day but for 
 one hour?' — 'As far as we know,' was the reply, 
 in affected jocularity, by a lady about my age. 
 I looked at her with unqualified astonishment, 
 and said, almost in tears, that I believe they 
 would drive me into a solitude which I should 
 never forsake. — ' Love-stricken, to a certainty,' 
 was the cruel and unfeminine answer. 
 
 " I once thought of making a solemn appeal 
 to my mother's justice ; but though I had been 
 most unwilling to make the discovery, I could 
 no longer conceal from myself, that my mother 
 had no settled opinions of her own, but was the 
 slave of other people's. This conviction and 
 the speech just uttered, determined me to do 
 what was certainly the course of common sense, 
 namely, to persist in keeping my proper place 
 in my mother's house, and leave events to 
 chance. 
 
 " A few weeks went on, and the party seemed 
 well satisfied, that at last an agreeable and hand- 
 some young man had become intimate in the 
 family, over whom tlie decoying and sly arts of 
 Susanna had no influence. What became of 
 their first supposition I never knew, but it is 
 
 VOL. I. 11
 
 242 FLORENCE. 
 
 easy to get quit of any previous notion that in- 
 terferes with a more favourite one. Of all 
 their acquaintances, Mr Stanhope stood in pre- 
 eminent estimation. He became the idol of my 
 mother, who was continually extolling his good 
 sense, delicacy of general demeanour, and his 
 unobtrusive politeness; and though she was a 
 woman of even cold prudence, she was not dis^ 
 pleased with what became a standing joke, that 
 by the time Georgina was seventeen, Mr Stan- 
 hape would be a distinguished Post-Captain, 
 and that fourteen years on the side of the gen- 
 tleman was no great disproportion. 
 
 " I confess that I was fully as sensible to his 
 merit as any of the party, but still I never 
 regretted that he kept aloof from me ; indeed I 
 am fully persuaded, that no woman whose feel- 
 ings are in accordance wdth what seems to be 
 the law of nature, and at all events of society, 
 will ever confer upon a man, be his attractions 
 what they may, unsought affection. 
 
 " The ladies had joked my mother into seri- 
 ous thoughts respecting Georgina, and it was 
 perhaps under the influence of this strange 
 fancy, that she became every day more attached 
 to him. As my mother generally acted upon 
 the very square of prudence, I was grieved to
 
 FLORENCE. 243 
 
 see that she evinced too evident a satisfaction 
 when Mr Stanhope paid my sister attention, 
 and seemed painfully disappointed when her 
 little stories and girlish agremens passed unno- 
 ticed by him; and I was the more vexed at 
 these circumstances, upon being satisfied that 
 her miworthy satellites were privately turning 
 her into ridicule, after having first suggested, 
 and then fostered, the absurd hope. But it was 
 not for me to give any caution. However, at 
 the end of two months, Mr Stanhope became 
 dull, abstracted, and evidently averse from the 
 cliild. He would even turn from her suddenly 
 if she came near, and took no pains to conceal 
 his disapprobation of almost every word she 
 uttered. I was surprised, for Mr Stanhope's 
 was not the breeding of mere rule, but was 
 stamped by that genuine politeness which 
 springs from a heart under the guidance of 
 pure benevolence, and the . best principles. It 
 was then I saw how deeply my poor mother 
 had been influenced by the parasitical fools 
 around her; and much as I dreaded to inter-p 
 ferej it was with difficulty I restrained myself 
 from giving her a caution to be more guarded 
 The subject, however, was of such dolicacv.
 
 244 FLORENCE. 
 
 and her supposed weakness so absurdly ground- 
 ed, and my own footing with her so unhappily 
 precarious, that I feared to take a single step 
 in the affair. But all of a sudden the ^^sits 
 of Mr Stanhope ceased. He gave no reason, 
 sent no apology, but came not. It was curious 
 to remark the shock which every one seemed 
 to feel, while I rejoiced that my mother would 
 no longer indulge in a hope so degrading to 
 her, that I should not have mentioned it, if my 
 fate had not in a great measure hinged upon 
 it. I had also another cause of rejoicing : Mr 
 Stanhope had appeared to me the most amiable, 
 the most agreeable, and the handsomest man I 
 had ever seen, and I felt a buoyancy, even .on 
 my own account, that he had removed himself, 
 and that I had hitherto so carefully guarded my 
 affections. 
 
 " Perhaps you may have remarked, short as 
 our acquaintance is, that mine is a face upon 
 which all my thoughts and feelings are por- 
 trayed, and the party quickly observ^ed that I 
 was unusually pleased. — ' You are the only 
 one,' said Miss Tarlton (an elderly lady, sister 
 of the gentleman I mentioned before) ' who 
 seems glad at the absence of Mr Stanhope.
 
 FLORENCE. 245 
 
 When he was here, you scarcely ever smiled, 
 seldom spoke, and now you are the most gay 
 amongst us/ 
 
 " Conjecture was awakened. There must be 
 a cause for these anomalies ; and my poor mo- 
 ther was speedily persuaded, as I could guess 
 from hints and insinuations, that I rejoiced 
 because there was an end to the hopes she 
 had entertained for Georgina; and what had 
 before been little more than a negative manner 
 towards me, now bordered on obvious dislike. 
 I could not bear this, conscious as I was, that 
 no wish was so near my heart as my mother's 
 respectability, and the real good of my sister. 
 I therefore sought an interview with her, and 
 laid open all that I had observed in the people 
 around her, and hinted as delicately as I could, 
 that they were abusing her hospitality, and in 
 many instances her credulity. I conjured her 
 to believe that she had not in the world as 
 sincere a friend as myself, nor any one so truly 
 concerned for her happiness. 
 
 " Alas ! I was ignorant of human nature. I 
 did not know that there are very few whose 
 strength of mind, especially in those who pique 
 themselves upon unswerving propriety of con- 
 duct in all the minutiae of life, can carry them
 
 240 FJ.OKENCi!:. 
 
 through upon even a supposition of having" 
 erred. My mother coukl have forgiven, or at 
 least not cared about, an act of disobedience; 
 she could have despised want of respect, and 
 perhaps have only erected herself more highly; 
 she could have been entirely indifferent as to 
 my affection for her ; but in even hinting that 
 her judgment had been imposed upon, I in- 
 curred an incurable and invincible dislike. I 
 had touched as delicately as possible upon the 
 affair of Georgina; I confess that I even tem- 
 porised a little, and spoke of it as a mere 
 jest amongst them all, until malignity made a 
 handle of it against myself I suppose it was 
 her own consciousness which gave the fatal 
 blow to her self-love, and totally wrecked the 
 little affection which till then she had, I be- 
 lieve, cherished for me. Bitterly did I regret 
 my interference, for I did no good to mv mo- 
 ther, and ruined myself for ever in her regards. 
 Indeed, I strengthened the hands of her ad- 
 visers; for the whole being narrated to them, 
 they reconciled her to herself, by artfully per- 
 suading her, even in my own hearing, that she 
 had good-hum ouredly indulged them in a joke, 
 which none but a self-willed, foolish young 
 woman, coidd have believed them serious in ;
 
 FLORENCE. 247 
 
 and hinted, that young as Georgina was, her 
 surpassing attractions had already excited my 
 jealousy. I had all my life considered jealousy 
 as so mean and little a passion, that this charge 
 overcame me, and I burst into tears, when I 
 was congratulated on at last feeling compunc- 
 tion for such treatment of so kind and good a 
 mother. 
 
 " Tliere was something so unjust in this per- 
 petual interference, that I felt an indignation 
 M^hich tended to support me, although I be- 
 lieved such treatment altogether uncommon. 
 But I have since learnt, that " 
 
 "You need not tell me," said Mr Asli- 
 burn. " Alas ! do I not know that the true legi- 
 timate cement of society being set at nought, 
 thro\\Ti aside, and trampled under foot, that 
 which was formerly managed by one individual 
 in a wide circle, and that one uniting all, is 
 now aimed at, nay, seized upon, by the whole 
 community, each grasping at an absurd power ; 
 each endeavouring to control and convince his 
 neighbour, but wanting authority, it ends in 
 universal discord and constant umbrage. For 
 who without wounding human pride can say, 
 'Thou dost wrong?' And therefore reproof 
 and interference are inefficacious. — But go on. '
 
 248 FLORENCE. 
 
 " I have lived to see that there was nothing 
 very peculiar in my situation, though certainly 
 it was carried to an extreme by my mother's 
 partiality to her youngest child, and by her 
 being too easily led. Besides, I had myself 
 to blame for fostering fastidious delicacy of 
 feeling and sentiment, which bared every nerve, 
 and laid me open to every vulgar assault; 
 whereas I should have endeavoured to blunt 
 the edge of such extreme nicety, and have 
 assumed either a philosophical or worldly in- 
 difference." — 
 
 " You are wrong, entirely wTong. What 
 you call over-fastidiousness, was neither more 
 nor less than true moral tact; at least as far 
 as I can yet judge. Some are born without it; 
 and such, if perchance right principles are not 
 inculcated, and that very early, become easy 
 and ready votaries of vice. Or if, as I said, 
 they are happily instructed in time, they then 
 become cold-hearted moralists, who act from 
 duty, never from impulse. But when such as 
 you, with feelings which may be eitlier our 
 greatest bane or our greatest good, in order 
 to become easy, tranquil, and free from the 
 wounds which the base delight to inflict, re- 
 solve on blunting or anniliilating these pure
 
 FLORENCE. 249 
 
 Springs of virtue, you then become the very 
 chief servants of the devil, the world, and the 
 flesh. I know well that such feelings, as I see 
 influenced your conduct are extremely uncom- 
 fortable, but without them, what are we ? Of 
 the common herd. It is very true, you wanted 
 guidance : a true ghostly instructor would have 
 taught you that only compromise, which de- 
 ducts nothing from the most exalted human 
 dignity. Yes, a medium could have been 
 pointed out ; but who had the right ? A secu- 
 lar had been deemed presumptuous, and your 
 unauthorised clergy methodistic. But still, 
 complain not of that native delicacy, that natu- 
 ral defence, to the want of which we may 
 ascribe more than half the immorality and hard- 
 heartedness which disgrace the age. But you 
 may clearly perceive in your own case the 
 effect which would have been produced from a 
 free confession of mother and child; it would, 
 in fact, have led to a complete and effective 
 counteraction .' ' — 
 
 " It is consolatory that you do not think me 
 to blame, for in spite of all my taxings and 
 self-examinations, I could not see how it was 
 possible for me to have felt less, or to have 
 acted otherwise. Still, I endured much self-
 
 250 FLOllENCE. 
 
 condemnation. It is true, my mother first 
 taught me to feel that my presence w as pain- 
 ful, because it reminded her of my father ; or 
 if, as I have since suspected, it was a mere 
 habitual way of speaking, for the first two or 
 three years of her widowhood; still, I was too 
 young to guess at that, and if I had, I was 
 old enough to have felt pained by such fami- 
 liarity with the memory of one so dear. When 
 this wore off, I next found myself in the way; 
 I annoyed Georgina; I fretted her by standing 
 too much between her and the light; I did 
 not come near enough to let her pull my hair ; 
 or I did not understand quickly enough what 
 toy she wanted; and, above all, I was not 
 sufficiently accommodating to the child. Was 
 I to blame, if, despairing to please, I appeared 
 as little as possible, until solitary results on 
 my part, and a daily increasing estrangement 
 on my mother's, were the consequences ? Yet, 
 on observing the world, I have thought the 
 fault all mine. Other children take and retm-n 
 rebuffs, and all seems to go on with the enjoy- 
 ment of the mother's affections bestowed equally. 
 I must still imagine, that had I been less nice, 
 all might have been well." 
 
 " You mistake entirely," said Mr Ashburn :
 
 FLORKNCE. 251 
 
 " it is the want of that very nicety — yea, a fas- 
 tidious nicety, which demoralizes the world. 
 Think ye, if that scrupulous delicacy of feeling 
 which you complain of, were universal, or even 
 somewhat general, that we should witness that 
 utter indifference to the rights of others, which 
 ends in open depredation? Or that unfeeling 
 cruelty, which commences in childish torment- 
 ings and ends in adult murders ? No; you regret 
 possessing a delicacy of feeling, which, it is 
 true, unfitted you for the coarse enjoyments of 
 life, and which, believe me, are as few as they 
 are coarse; so that, after all, you would have 
 found the exchange a miserable one. It is true, 
 children take and give rebuffs, and the mother in 
 low life, as the nurse in high, deals about indis- 
 criminate castigation. And what is the result ? 
 That fearful domestic warfare which is so uni- 
 versal. I will not attempt to deny that human 
 nature is everywhere the same, primarily speak- 
 ing, but we all know that it is modified by cir- 
 cumstances. And what circumstance can liave 
 so powerful an effect as religion ? But concen- 
 tration is necessary to that effect. It must not 
 be that religion which resembles the thin scat- 
 tered vegetation of the burning desart ; it must 
 be tliat which resembles the thick, rich luxu-
 
 252 FLORENCE. 
 
 riance of the cultivated field, which has been 
 carefully nourished, amply sown, and having the 
 eye of an assiduous husbandman to point out 
 where the tares or other weeds are likely to in- 
 jure the main crop. Yes ; unless you look up 
 to an earthly head, who has unequivocal dele- 
 gated power and authority, it is impossible to 
 secure wholesome and binding rules. Unques- 
 tionably you have your priests ; but where is 
 their influence ? Nay, where, when, or how can 
 they use it ? In some cases of notoriety. But 
 where is the every-day domestic regulator ? Or 
 with what propriety, as I said before, can a 
 young priest, looking about him for a wife, be 
 selected as the guide of females ? And still less 
 the priest who, with his own domestic claims 
 hanging about him, brings either an estranged 
 or an interested ear. Madam, the want of reli- 
 gious mortar, cement, cohesiveness, is so pal- 
 pable, that I wonder it escapes the eye of even 
 ordinary penetration. But no ! I do Protestants 
 wrong ; it does not escape them : they feel the 
 want in the air they breathe — they feel it in 
 every word — in every look — in every move- 
 ment. But how do they feel it? I repeat it, 
 how do they feel it ? Rejoicing in their licen- 
 tious freedom. As one of your own reformers
 
 FLORENCE. 253 
 
 {Erasmus) said, ' I see no man better, but 
 worse, for this Evangelical liberty : so that I am 
 heartily grieved for all that I have heretofore 
 written or said in favour of it/ And gladly 
 would he, had his strength of body permitted, 
 have joined the Carthusian to whom he wrote 
 his doleful description of the profligacy into 
 which the reformers had fallen. It is self-evident, 
 that had your mother looked up to a spiritual 
 guide, she would have had at least a chance of 
 having her eyes opened to the frightful par- 
 tiality into which she fell : and you would have 
 had your delicacy of feeling strengthened in a 
 true and proper manner, so as to make it sub- 
 servient to piety, not a thing placed in its stead. 
 Still it was well you had it, for without that in- 
 ternal, intuitive check, you had been one of the 
 coarse, common herd." 
 
 " But surely, my dear sir, you cannot be in- 
 sensible that Catholic countries abound as much 
 in domestic feuds as any other." 
 
 " No, I do not believe that to be the case. 
 You will find the peasanry in Catholic countries 
 ten-fold more virtuous than in this, and you will 
 find much more simplicity and -devotion amongst 
 the middle classes than with us, that is, where 
 the priests liave propar influence. No doubt,
 
 254 FLORENCE. 
 
 infidel speculation, which commenced \^dth re- 
 formation and now pervades all ranks, ]ias tended 
 to weaken the hands of the very best of us. It 
 is also true, that in wealthy and noble families, 
 where ambition rules, you see fearful examples 
 of discord and animosity ; but we do not pre- 
 tend to be omnipotent over hmnan passion — we 
 can merely use the means : and I aver, that 
 where these means are faithfully used, and re- 
 spectfully regarded, that they will be efficacious, 
 ten-fold, aye, a hundred-fokl more than your cold 
 stated dual sermons of a Sunday, or a perfumed 
 visit, with a dinner or supper-party. It has been 
 lately said of us, and most truly, that we are an 
 itinerating clergy : for even those who have 
 fixed livings, lil^e Mr D'Alembert and myself, 
 do more duty in a week than a Protestant 
 clergyman thinks it incumbent upon liim to do 
 in ten. Indeed, I am told that the Calvinistic 
 clergy in Scotland hold yet more disgraceful 
 sinecures than in England. For in England, 
 the funeral-services, week-day prayers, and 
 monthly sacrament, keep up a form of religion, 
 a sort of occasional acknowledgment of the 
 Great Supreme ; but in Scotland, I am told that 
 a man is committed to the dust with scarcely a 
 reference to that God who is judge ovei' all :
 
 FLORENCE. 255 
 
 and that the sacramental observance, which they 
 acknowledge as a remembrancer of Christ, but 
 far more as a sort of public muster, is dispensed 
 once or twice a-year ! And that a clergyman, 
 who visits his flock once in a sort of formal man- 
 ner in the same time, is supposed to have arrived 
 at the very acme of his clerical duties. How- 
 ever, as tve are much aspersed, I suspend my 
 belief of so incredible and hideous a report, 
 until a friend of mine, a Mr Sportinville, arrive 
 from that country. I do not mention our labours 
 in self-eulogy ; it is not individual praise, if that 
 is praise which represents a mode of life, that 
 even when best observed does not nearly reach 
 the most moderate examples which are held up 
 for our imitation. But, alas ! it is the fashion 
 now, in these lands, to scoff at ascetics, and to 
 deem oiur early saints fanatics ! I repeat it, your 
 own story affords a strong proof of the demo- 
 ralizing tendency of that system, wlucli has given 
 to scattered flocks a mere nominal shepherd. — 
 But proceed, for I interrupt you too much ; and 
 I am anxious to hear more of Mr Stanhope the 
 younger." — 
 
 " In four days, I received a letter to the fol- 
 lo\nng effect — " 
 
 " If you have the letter, and if it is not too
 
 256 FLORENCE. 
 
 painful a task, I should like to hear it. All let- 
 ters, and discourses, and parliamentary speeches, 
 are injured, if not destroyed, by being reported 
 in the third person, and such a mode should be 
 avoided as much as possible." 
 
 Mrs Stanhope opened a small cabinet, and 
 taking out a parcel of letters, withdrew the first 
 and putting it into Mr Ashb urn's hand, he read 
 aloud as follows : — 
 
 " To say that I can no longer oppose a 
 passion which has yet only my own sanction 
 to support it, or that I cannot hope to strug- 
 gle against that which has been represented as 
 nearly cidpable, at least by insinuation, would 
 be to speak the language of a romantic school- 
 boy; for certainly reason would be conferred in 
 vain, if inadequate to our guidance in an affair 
 which of all others is the most important. And 
 above all, I should be unworthy of your es- 
 teem, if I were one who can oppose no curb 
 to his inclinations. Several causes have con- 
 spired to render me diffident of yielding myself 
 up to the first serious attachment I ever formed; 
 but on mature — very mature reflection, I am 
 satisfied that no harm can ensue from my ad- 
 dressing yourself, and learning from your own 
 mouth, whether there is any reason why I
 
 FLORENCE. 257 
 
 should be denied tlie privileges of having a 
 chance for your favour? I have seen you 
 every day for some weeks, and I should be 
 unworthy of the honour I aspire to, were I 
 not entirely candid, and to confess, that I saw 
 you at first with suspicion. But on comparing 
 your whole demeanour, the little I have heard 
 you utter, and the expression of your speaking 
 face, with the persons who had given hints 
 which were injurious to the character of your 
 temper, and of that integrity which involves 
 in it the peace and honour of our sex, I was 
 thoroughly satisfied, that they had not capacity 
 sufficient for the comprehension of so pure a 
 mind as you possess. But on one point I was 
 essentially staggered, and on that I refer to 
 yourself; I mean, a reported engagement to 
 my brother. Had that alone been asserted, I 
 might have given credit to the report, but 
 hearing of other predilections, of which there 
 did not appear the slightest feasible proof, one 
 assertion so completely neutralised another, as 
 to make me discredit the whole. 
 
 " I am aware that there is great boldness 
 in this statement; yet what can I do? From 
 the incoherent and disjointed accounts I have 
 heard, my own conclusion is, that you liave 
 
 VOL. I. s
 
 258 FLORENCE. 
 
 yet made no election, and although it is great 
 presumption in me to aspire, where there can 
 be no doubt that many with better pretensions 
 in every respect have sued in vain, yet, as 
 taste' is arbitrary and capricious, why should I 
 not at least give myself a hearing? I have 
 sometimes dared to flatter myself, that though 
 your manners have been at once reserved 
 and distant, still that to me they have not been 
 decidedly repulsive. That you are not happy 
 is self-evident, and — shall I be honest? — Yes; 
 should we ever be more than acquaintances, it 
 is right; and should we not, better have truth 
 than that cold-hearted politeness which tends 
 only to a universal masquerading. To be honest, 
 then, they tell me that your unhappiness pro- 
 ceeds from bad temper ! Love, it is said, is 
 blind; yet I have so sedulously sought to 
 have the eyes of my reason open, and, though 
 unnoticed, have now observed you so much, 
 that I am convinced your want of that buoyant 
 joyfulness of face and manner, which should be 
 predominating and apparent in one so young 
 and so favoured by nature and fortune, can 
 proceed only from the want of all intellectual 
 sympathy. Pardon me, for your friends ai'e 
 selected by your mother, but indeed they are
 
 FLORENCE. 259 
 
 not like you; and instead of having observed 
 in you any symptom of bad temper, I have 
 wondered at your self-command, on being often 
 selected as the butt of low wit and wretched sar- 
 casm. Should you be disengaged, as I earnestly 
 hope you are, and should I be the person on whom 
 the lot falls, I miglit say, that my happiness 
 could not have in it any alloy. But where is 
 that mortal happiness to be found ? In the first 
 place, I have very little more than lieutenant's 
 pay to offer ; and in the next, I must feel a pang 
 on my brother's account. Yet if he is not your 
 choice, why should /, more than another, shrink 
 from endeavouring to possess so valuable a 
 prize ? I throw myself on your forbearance 
 for my excessive plainness ; and on your good- 
 nature for having presumed that time and assi- 
 duity may give me a claim to your regard. I 
 am, with the highest respect, my dear Miss 
 Fortescue, 
 
 ' Your devoted friend, 
 
 ' J. Stanhope.' 
 " I wrote, said Mrs Stanhope, what you 
 found inclosed, and which I shall read to you, 
 as it was so hurriedly scrawled, although not in 
 reality the production of haste, that I fear you 
 could scarcely make it out : —
 
 2G0 FLORENCE. 
 
 " I have considered your letter, or ratlier, 
 the manner in which I ought to act, very deeply ; 
 and in saying this, you may perhaps read, what 
 was in truth a secret to myself, that you are the 
 only person I have yet seen, who could have 
 called forth any other reflexions in regard to a 
 reply, than in what manner to couch a civil and 
 not ungrateful refusal. I shall endeavour to 
 imitate your own candour, and believe me, that 
 the esteem which I had been unconsciously 
 cherishing for you, is greatly increased by the 
 plain and honest manner in which you -wTite. 
 I am aware that my first step should be tp lay 
 your letter before my mother ; but I revolt from 
 its being handed round the circle by which she 
 is too constantly environed ; and indeed I do 
 not see that I have a right to subject you to 
 such a tribunal. I am grieved to seem thus 
 disrespectful to my mother, but it is altogether 
 unavoidable. With the best dispositions, she 
 has, from some causes which I can scarcely ex- 
 plain, been led into estrangement from me ; and 
 a jealousy has been fostered by a set of little- 
 minded people, who repay hospitality by seek- 
 ing to feed a mind already prejudiced with 
 food for complaint, conjecture, and discontent. 
 Probably mv own fastidiousness is the root of
 
 FLORENCE. 261 
 
 the evil ; but I had no one to tell me that my 
 mother meant no unkindness, while yet too 
 young to know it of myself ; and it is the bane 
 of excessive delicacy of feeling, to be nearly as 
 incapable of understanding its absence in ano- 
 ther, as it is for that other to comprehend all its 
 demands. Am I to blame for this? Perhaps 
 so; for as the disposition seems rare, it cannot 
 be that approved of by the Deity. But such I 
 am; and it is fit that any one who thinjcs of 
 cultivating an esteem for me should know my 
 faults. 
 
 . "I frankly confess, that I feel gratified by 
 your wash for accurate information in regard 
 to the state of my aflfections. Your brother 
 first saw me under circumstances of most pe- 
 culiar distress. He rendered me a service ; I 
 was grateful, but nothing more ; unless, indeed, 
 an admiration of features, which I think no 
 one can withhold, and an unqualified fear of 
 his authoritative manner, might be called more. 
 I was shocked when I found that he felt a 
 preference for me, and prompt and decided in 
 declining liis addresses, which peculiar circum- 
 stances rendered but too public, and placed 
 beyond any pretext for doubt, even in an 
 enemy. It is equally well known to all here,
 
 262 FLORENCE. 
 
 that I have been very far from encouraging 
 the attentions, far less, if less could be, the 
 addresses of any one ; and that I have as quickly 
 as possible given a negative to every proposal 
 for my hand. But what farther can I say? I 
 am young, and I suppose, in a legal sense, not 
 entitled to invite guests to the house of my mo- 
 ther ; and all I can venture to say is, that I am 
 happy to find there was no unlund cause for the 
 discontinuance of your visits. I am, &c.' " 
 
 " They are not what I should have fancied 
 love-letters to be," said Mr Ashburn ; " there is 
 a plainness, an honesty, and simplicity in the 
 first, and a wise discreetness in the last, which 
 I had understood to be in general foreign to 
 epistles of that kind. I much admire the mo- 
 desty with which you permit his visits, and 
 the — I would almost say — intuitive skill, with 
 which you leave him to guess that he had made 
 some impression in his favour. In short, I am 
 pleased with both letters, and I should antici- 
 pate a life of felicity for two young people who 
 commenced it with so much circumspection." 
 
 " It is not easy to anticipate anything with 
 certainty, in a life which is at the mercy of 
 so many contingent circumstances, that no 
 wisdom can foresee, no caution prevent. Mr
 
 FLORENCE. 263 
 
 John Stanhope renewed his visits, and was re- 
 ceived, at first, with shyness only by the person 
 who saw him with delight. Sincere and 
 manly in all his actions, he made no secret 
 of his choice ; and I could see no reason 
 whatever for affecting reserve. We saw no 
 necessity for clandestine proceedings, and al- 
 though every appearance of ostentatious regard 
 was avoided on each side, yet no secret was 
 made of mutual attachment. 
 
 " We were eyed at first with surprise, next 
 with malignity, and at last, on my mother's 
 part, with determined disapprobation. Resolved 
 in future not to be the slave of caprice, when I 
 could in some measure counteract it, I spoke to 
 my mother on the subject of Mr Stanhope's par- 
 tiality towards me, and said, I shoidd be sorry to 
 encourage any person of whom she disapproved, 
 but that I was aware he enjoyed her esteem and 
 respect, and that, therefore, I had felt no com- 
 punction on the subject. My mother expressed 
 decided and unqualified disapprobation, alleging 
 his small fortune as an objection on his part, 
 and my previous engagement with his brother 
 on mine. To the first I replied that no final 
 step would be taken until 1 was of age ; and of 
 the last I gave a decided denial, and referred
 
 264 FLORENCE. 
 
 her to Captain Stanhope himself. I suppose 
 her friends pressed this interrogation ; for a let- 
 ter was despatched, and an answer received in 
 six months, in which Captain Stanhope acquit- 
 ted me of the charge, but declared that he never 
 would forgive his brother for interfering where 
 he knew liis affections were engaged, and thus 
 for ever cutting him off from a chance which 
 every man has while the object of his regard 
 remains unmarried; and he added, ' while I 
 live he has my most fervent curse.' 
 
 " We had long before this left the Isle of 
 Wight, and returned to my mother's house, and 
 Mr Stanhope had sailed for the North American 
 station. I had become more and more an ob- 
 ject of distaste to my mother. Before the event 
 of Mr Stanhope paying his addresses to me, her 
 feelings in regard to me had been chiefly, or, I 
 dare say, entirely of a negative kind, but now 
 they wore a decided aspect. She turned from 
 me Avith an aversion which she did not seek to 
 conceal, and perhaps it was owing to her pecu- 
 liar calmness of disposition, that she did not 
 rather seek to display it. Her whole faculties 
 were now centered in Georgina; by degrees, 
 her old friends seemed first objects of indiffer- 
 ence or inattention to her, and next evidently
 
 FLORENCE. 265 
 
 in her way; engagements were postponed, or 
 got quit of altogether, until a total revolution 
 took place in our domestic arrangements, and a 
 system of rigid economy succeeded to our late 
 profusion. I have often looked back with 
 amazement on the curious changes which took 
 place in the conduct, if not in the character, of 
 a person so calm, that one would hardly have 
 been justified in foretelling, ten years before, 
 that such things could happen. And I have 
 felt, in studying my mother's character, an awful 
 warning to myself, and read the necessity of 
 having laid down a fixed and determined mode 
 of acting, desiring to have the capability of ac- 
 commodating to imperious necessity, but the 
 power of resisting the invitations of mere ca- 
 price or weariness. 
 
 " As my mother had a handsome fortune of 
 her own, and entirely at her disposal, no one 
 could blame or censure her late mode of living, 
 which certainly had greatly exceeded in expense 
 that in my father's life time. The change was 
 altogether unimportant to me ; indeed, at first, 
 I hoped, in having my mother more to myself, 
 tliat I should regain her affections ; but she was 
 so absorbed in schemes for the improvement of
 
 266 FLORENCE. 
 
 Georgina, and in plans of economy, that all my 
 advances were disregarded, and I resolved once 
 more to go on in an even tenor, and leave 
 events to chance." 
 
 " There you were partly right and egregi- 
 ously wrong. What is chance ? There is no 
 such thing. Not a sparrow falleth to the ground 
 but with permission. It is a lax mode of think- 
 ing on this subject, that engenders all the evils 
 of life. We talk of an even tenor; that is 
 right ; but when we fancy that the events in the 
 destiny of man are left as baseless as the feather 
 which flutters in the air, we resemble an anchor 
 without a cable. For in not always acknow- 
 ledging an actuating Great Cause, we are bereft 
 of that actuating grace, which is to render us 
 properly efficient in this life, and secure us from 
 being worse than a sunken load in the next. 
 And in a more philosophical light, it is as vague 
 and absurd as is the general tone of unthinking 
 conversation ; but this, in females more espe- 
 cially, springs entirely from an aimless educa- 
 tion. But I beg your pardon — yet I am giving 
 you the strongest proof I can of my esteem, for 
 it is only the wise who can bear to be thought 
 wrong. But I could not with a safe conscience
 
 FLORENCE. 267 
 
 let you talk of fate like an ancient heathen, who, 
 by the by, deserve no reprobation on that score, 
 since the completion was not come." 
 
 " I stand corrected," said Mrs Stanhope, " and 
 indeed feel that I have been poorly instructed 
 with regard to all that you deem essential." 
 
 " Ah ! do not say you. Beware of that dan- 
 gerous liberality, as it is termed, and which has 
 been of late but too much elevated upon the 
 shoulders of, or rather placed in contradistinction 
 to, a spurious zeal, which at one time puts me 
 in mind of the spume, and at others of the 
 dregs, of the pure juice of the vine. Mr 
 D'Alembert, I understand, preached a sermon, 
 some weeks since, upon the subject of liberality, 
 which is now as mischievous to Protestantism, as 
 the licentiousness of Luther was to Catholicity. 
 But as Luther and his followers set free the 
 religious world from moral restraints, and chiefly, 
 by laughing at celibacy, paved the way for that 
 particular vice, which has overrun our land as 
 the Goths and VandaLs formerly did the rich 
 and fertile countries of the smiling south, so is 
 this liberality setting free the mind to roam at 
 large, unshackled, unbridled, unrestrained, in the 
 deceitful meads of doubt, conjecture, and finally,
 
 268 
 
 FLORENCE. 
 
 of utter disbelief." — He paused, and after a re- 
 spectful silence, Mrs Stanhope went on. 
 
 " I discovered that my mother had been seized 
 with an inordinate desire to render my sister's 
 fortune very large by the time she should come 
 of age ; and that she had resolved to confine her 
 expenses to her jointure of two hundred pounds 
 a year, and our board of a like sum each. This 
 income, she soon found, far exceeded her de- 
 mands, according to the rigid system she had 
 laid down ; so that she might reasonably expect 
 Georgina's fortune, when she should be twenty- 
 one, to be at least fifty thousand pounds — I 
 mean, upon the supposition that she was to 
 inherit my mother's accumulated property, which 
 no one doubted. I never felt the slightest con- 
 cern upon this subject, for my own fortune of 
 five hundred a-year, and the accumulation of 
 two hundred per annum for ten years, were fully 
 adequate to all my wishes, and I knew that 
 Mr Stanhope was moderate in his. But when 
 Captain Stanhope's letter arrived, I was indeed 
 very unhappy. The curse of a brother, though 
 greatly short in its awfulness to that of a parent, 
 was still dreadful, especially as I knew that John 
 held his brother in great veneration, being con-
 
 FLORENCE. 269 
 
 siderably younger, and having for the last six 
 years of his life, at a period when impressions 
 are more strong and enduring than at any other 
 of a man's existence, been entirely under his 
 guidance. My mother presented me the letter 
 with a severity and sternness of aspect which 
 six months before I should have held incompati- 
 ble with her mild features, and asked me, ' If I 
 would still persist in my engagement?' I re- 
 plied, that I certainly should, for that unreason- 
 able conduct in one person could never justify 
 a breach of faith in another. I instantly com- 
 municated the contents to Mr John Stanhope, 
 intreating him to feel at entire liberty to act as 
 his duty to his brother might direct. He re- 
 plied, that his duty to his brother, in a case 
 where his brother had no claim, could not come 
 in contact with what he owed to a person whose 
 affections he had sought and won. This seemed 
 reasonable, and however much grieved at the 
 cruel but inefficient malediction, we continued 
 to hold our engagement sacred. Time wore 
 away. Captain Stanhope went to India; we 
 heard no more from him, but I learnt from 
 his brother, when he came to take me from 
 my mother's house, that he had received three 
 or four letters breathing an irrevocabk* resent-
 
 270 FLORENCE. 
 
 ment. We took a neat cottage at , where 
 
 I established myself with a couple of servants, 
 and received occasional visits from Mr Stan- 
 hope, who got the command of a dispatch 
 schooner, which sailed betwixt that place and 
 Halifax.
 
 FLORENCE. 271 
 
 CHAPTER XL 
 
 " Our next neighbour was a retired East-India 
 Captain, a widower, whose family consisted of 
 one daughter, who lived with him, and one son, 
 a midsliipman in the British navy, and at the 
 time I speak of, upon the Brazilian station. 
 The young lady was about my own age, and 
 as her father's manners were rough and repul- 
 sive, she led a very retired life. She did not 
 seek my acquaintance in the usual manner, and 
 it was inconsistent with etiquette that I should 
 seek her's. Our gardens were separated by a 
 high wall, with a door of communication, in case 
 of the neighbours wishing for familiar inter- 
 course ; but at that time it was locked, and the 
 key in the hands of the landlord. We could each 
 walk in our garden unseen by the other, but 
 our bed-room windows afforded too full a view 
 for the lovers of retirement, and I often gazed 
 upon Clara for an hour, as, \vitli rather a
 
 272 FLOREN'CE. 
 
 melancholy air, she amused herself in planting, 
 training, or gathering her flowers. Probably, 
 in proportion to my love for Mr Stanhope, and 
 the deprivation that all my social feelings expe- 
 rienced on his departure after his short visits, 
 was my ardent desire for a female friend. This 
 was a comfort which I had never enjoyed; and 
 as my eyes would strain themselves over the fine 
 full form and dark Roman face of Clara, my 
 heart would beat with a most painful and ardejit 
 desire for her acquaintance. I had heard, or 
 rather read, of the fluttering hopes and fears of 
 love; but these I had never experienced, for 
 the conduct of Mr Stanhope had been like the 
 noon-day sun, clear, open, and unequivocal, 
 leaving no room for the petty mysteries and 
 childish explanations which fill so many pages 
 of love-tales. But I felt an anxiety to become 
 acquainted with Clara, which, although my heart 
 iias beeuj and still is, much disposed to seek 
 the delights of friendship, I never experienced 
 either before or since. Indeed, I made a de- 
 termination that I never should, and I have 
 often fancied, I dare say, through the mere 
 weakness of grief, that there was something 
 sinful in the solicitude with which I would 
 watch .her appearance in the morning, n^y r^-
 
 FLORENCE. 273 
 
 ;gTet it' her stay in the garden was short, my 
 xlisappointment if her keen, speaking-, but yet 
 retiring bhick eye, did not steal a look at my 
 "window, and the perfect security with which I 
 counted upon her re-appearance in good wea- 
 ther, at eleven o'clock. 
 
 *' Six weeks passed on in this way, when Mr 
 Stanhope came into port, and perceiving my 
 
 wish to become acquainted with Miss (it 
 
 is needless to name her) he got a friend to in- 
 troduce him to Captain , and an intimacy 
 
 took place immediately. I was not disappointed 
 4n Clara's endowments, nor in the amiability 
 and the general worth of her character ; but I 
 fouud that her heart was in a great measure pre- 
 occupied, for she liad a lover. You may say, I 
 had a husband, and why was my heart not pre- 
 occupied? But the cases were totally different. 
 With respect to my husband, I was in a state 
 of entire confidence. We met as often as it 
 was possible ; we corresponded regularly, and, 
 in short, I reposed upon his affection as upon a 
 rock. But it was otherwise with Clara. There 
 Tvas in her disposition a dash of jealousy, which 
 made her watchful over every look and action 
 of her lover, and at once prevented her perfect 
 satisfaction either in his society or that of a 
 
 VOL. I. T
 
 274 FLORENCE. 
 
 friend. While my eyes beamed with delight 
 on seeing her, and my heart overflowed with 
 all the openness of a devoted friendship, you 
 could see her eye rest upon the ground, as if 
 revolving in her mind some doubtful case ; then 
 she would sigh, start, or make an effort to seem 
 interested in your discourse. But I was drawn 
 to her by some strange fatality, and even occa- 
 sional fits of indiiference to me seemed but to 
 whet my regard. Her lover's assiduity appeared 
 at last, however, to overcome all her little 
 doubts, and in proportion as she became more 
 easy, satisfied, and confiding on his account, so 
 I seemed to have a much larger share in her 
 affections. Indeed, it is the very essence of 
 true love to enlarge the heart and ennoble 
 every kindly feeling, and so it seemed with 
 Clara. 
 
 " The time was fixed for her marriage; a 
 house was taken near her present place of 
 abode; and being certain that her friendship 
 would be less capricious when her love was 
 more secure, I looked forward \^ath great satis- 
 faction to an event which I hoped would make 
 her entirely happy. Hitherto she liad been 
 the doubtful, mistrustful, anxious mistress ; and 
 Mr the devoted, confiding, solicitous
 
 FLORENCE. 275 
 
 lover; but all of a sudden, about a year 
 after our marriage, and when Florence was 
 two months old, they seemed to have ex- 
 changed characters, arid it was not until she 
 had real cause to doubt his affections, that she 
 seemed willing to construe his most indifferent 
 actions into tokens of love. But, alas ! no eye 
 could be shut to the sad change ; he became 
 cold in his manners, and his visits were barely 
 continued. She had been open enough in dis- 
 closing her little groundless doubts, but now 
 her heart seemed shut, and I thought, ready 
 to break, as she watched his every look, and 
 seemed willing to be glad upon the slightest 
 token of regard. I felt extremely uneasy about 
 her, but notwithstanding our intimac}^, I found 
 it impossible to venture upon a single question 
 on the subject, being one of peculiar delicacy, 
 and her own manners, though calm and inert, 
 yet were such as repelled, rather than invited, 
 familiarity. 
 
 " One day, about a month after the com- 
 mencement of this change in Mr , Clara 
 
 and I were alone in my house ; she had sat 
 silent for some time, but regarding me with that 
 fixed stare, which may either proceed from ex- 
 cessive attention or from entire absence of
 
 276 FLORENCE. 
 
 mind, sh6 suddenly exclaimed, ' I have heard 
 it said, that a pretty woman never looks so 
 interesting as six weeks or two months after 
 she has been a mother for the first time ; that 
 there is a transparency in her skin, a lustre in 
 her eye, and a beaming satisfaction over her 
 whole air and manner, . which is never to be 
 seen again." She sighed deeply, and then 
 added, "It is a month to-day since we drank 
 tea with you. I have often thought of your 
 face on that night." She uttered this in so deep 
 and melancholy a tone, that I could.not answer 
 her as I felt inclined to do, upon the utter 
 groundlessness of such a supposition, and I 
 rather chose to wait the current of her own 
 thoughts, and let her lead the conversation, not 
 without a hope that she would relieve her bur- 
 dened heart by a full disclosure of her now too 
 well-founded fears. But she said nothing more, 
 and retired without speaking, and I have no doubt 
 in tears. 
 
 "This happened about six o'clock, in a beau^ 
 tiful summer's evening. I felt unusually me- 
 lancholy ; Clara seemed to date the commence- 
 ment of her misery from an evening on which 
 I had been uncommonly happy. Mr Stanhope 
 had come into port for a few days, and the lov^rs^
 
 FLORENCE* 277 
 
 who were very soon to become man and wife, 
 drank tea Avith us for the first time after the birth 
 of Florence. I could not define my thoughts ; 
 I felt mortified and ready to weep ; the latter I 
 could easily explain, as in sympathy with Clara, 
 but why the former? What had I done ? I could 
 not tax a single thought, far less an act ; yet 
 her looks, her tones, and a something in her air 
 as she went out, cut me to the very soul. Just 
 as I was about to follow her and implore a full 
 and entire confidence, the maid brought in 
 Florence. The child smiled, extended her arms, 
 and soliciting my attention, I took her from her 
 nurse, and, instead of following my friend, 
 thought I would divert my melancholy by a 
 walk in the garden. 
 
 ,i^< Being soon fatigued with the unusual exer- 
 tion of carrying Florence, I proceeded to an 
 arbour, and, to my surprise, found there the 
 lover of Clara. He was sitting with his hands 
 clasped over his eyes, and was evidently ab- 
 sorbed in deep and bitter thought. Clara's 
 words rushed upon my recollection, and my first 
 impulse was to retire ; but hearing my step, he 
 looked up and starting to his feet, exclaimed, 
 * O ! I am glad you are come — it is from you 
 only that I can expect relief.' I was astonished
 
 278 FLORENCE. 
 
 by this address ; and, somewhat alarmed by the 
 energy of his manner, felt irresolute whether or 
 not to sit down on the bench to which he 
 pointed ; but not dreaming of any impropriety, 
 and perhaps actuated by a hope of serving my 
 friend, I seated myself. 
 
 " ' You must not wonder,' said he, ' at seeing 
 me here, and I trust you will forgive the liberty, 
 but for some days my wish to converse with you 
 has been almost irrepressible. I called half an 
 hour since, and was told that Clara was with 
 you. Unwilling to meet her at that moment^ 
 and yet reluctant to withdraw from the premises, 
 I came almost unconsciously here, and now that 
 we Jiave met, you must give me a patient 
 hearing. I am not a man liable to sudden 
 gusts of passion, and possibly on that account^ 
 when moved to suspicion or anger, the one is 
 less irradicable, and the other more deep and 
 bitter than with a man whose temperament ex- 
 poses him to frequent ebullitions. But, indeed 
 I do not think any apology necessary for either 
 the depth of my suspicion, or the violence of 
 my wrath, and the bitterness of my grief. You 
 know that I have been engaged for two years to 
 
 Miss ; you know how I have loved her, 
 
 and that if I suffered some uneasiness now and
 
 FLORENCE. 27^ 
 
 then because lier tenderness easily took alarm 
 at imagined slights on my part, yet I was flat- 
 tered by that very excess of love which seemed 
 to be the cause of a somewhat inordinate demand 
 upon my unwavering regard. For myself, I 
 solemnly declare, that as I never gave her any 
 real cause of mistrust, so I never for one mo- 
 ment was under the influence of it, in regard 
 to her. You recollect the night on wliich we 
 drank tea with you, and how happy we all were. 
 Little did I then think, that it was the last night of 
 joy that I should perhaps ever taste. Next day I 
 was engaged to dine with a party of friends. 
 We sat late, or rather early, and with, tliat 
 feeling natural to a man in love, after getting 
 quit of my companions, instead of going straight 
 home, I chose to go a mile out of my way, in 
 order that I might pass by the house which con- 
 tained my future wife. I walked on in that 
 slow manner which a man delights in when his 
 thoughts are pleasantly occupied. The night 
 was rather dark, but just as I approached the 
 
 door at the bottom of Mr 's garden, I 
 
 imagined that I saw a man leaning against it 
 Nothing but the circumstance of his being on 
 her father's premises, at least upon the skirts of 
 them, could have induced me to renicUn one
 
 280 FLORENCE. 
 
 moment, but as it was, I found my steps ar- 
 rested, and I stood ^till, resolved on wailing- to 
 see whether the person should withdraw. I 
 had not at that moment a sensation of jealousy, 
 —Indeed it is not my natural propensity, — but 
 any man in my situation would have done the 
 same thing, and I believe that had I passed on I 
 should have been haunted during the night, with 
 the idea that Clara had been robbed or murdered. 
 He remained without moving ; I became breath- 
 less, and yet I declare my anxiety wore no shape 
 whatever. I once thought of going forward, 
 but delicacy detained me, for he might wonder 
 why I was there, as I did why he should be 
 fixed to that spot. I am persuaded we stood 
 ten minutes, and if I may judge from his im- 
 moveable appearance, he laboured under an 
 anxiety similar to mine, but no doubt having a 
 clearly defined cause or object. Unable to bear 
 it any longer, I moved slowly forward, and as he 
 Avas standing with his back towards me, I could 
 do so unperceived. On coming near, I saw that 
 his ear was closely applied to the key hole of 
 the gate, with his hat pushed back for the pur- 
 pose, as it seemed, of listening. This appeared 
 strange, and again I paused, when to my amaze-, 
 ment I heard the key turn in the lock, when the
 
 FLOUEXCE. 281 
 
 door opened, and a female in white rushed into 
 his arms. Love told me this could be no other 
 then Clara; I sprung forward, when the sudden 
 noise acting upon them, they retired and turned 
 the key in an instant. The earth yawning at 
 my feet could have produced no such sensation 
 as that which overcame me. I became sick, 
 leaned against the wall for support, and in the 
 next instant thought of scaling it, but its height 
 rendered this impracticable; and, besides, to 
 what purpose ? The man was not only volun- 
 tarily admitted, but had been expected. I 
 loitered about until the morning light rendered 
 a longer stay imprudent, and I returned home 
 with a heavy heart, and a melancholy foreboding 
 of evil. I considered, and reconsidered — was 
 now in a paroxysm of rage, and the next mo- 
 ment blaming my own jealous temper, and 
 asking myself if there was no female in the 
 house but Clara ? Might it not be a servant, in 
 which case it was incumbent on me to inform 
 
 Mr — ■ , or rather Clara, for you know he is 
 
 so violent, that he unavoidably shuts himself 
 out from all confidence. Then again, the air 
 of the female, to my imagination, was more 
 genteel than that of a servant — indeed it was 
 no otlier than thiit of Clara. Reason had no
 
 282 FLORENCE, 
 
 sway over me ; and what could reason hold forth 
 in such a case ? The man was not her father-^ 
 her brother had sailed from Gibraltar to India, 
 and this person could be no other than a lover. 
 I made up my mind to call early, and tell her 
 what I had witnessed. I went — it was a full 
 half hour before she made her appearance, and 
 when she did her whole air was altered. She 
 was not cold in her manner, but she was con- 
 strained; there was a repressed flutter about 
 her, and she seemed afraid to raise her eyes. I 
 felt an instantaneous estrangement ; and in- 
 dignant at the very idea of asking an explana- 
 tion, I soon left her. It is probable that had 
 she guessed at my imperfect knowledge, she 
 would have given me some false information; 
 but ignorant of that, her own guilt must have 
 prevented any surprise at my conduct.' 
 
 " ' No, no,' said I ; ' you must be wrong ; 
 it could not be Clara; she is even too proud 
 to sin.' 
 
 Mr Ashburn sighed, and muttered something. 
 
 " ' No,' said Mr vehemently, 'yoH 
 
 are mistaken — hear me out : — I returned home 
 in an agony, and after a wretched day, resolved 
 to watch all night at the same detested spot. 
 Wrapping myself up in a dark coat, I took my
 
 FLORENCE. 283 
 
 stiition, walking backward and forward near the 
 garden door. I passed some hours, divided be- 
 tween hope, fear, and a horrible paroxysm of 
 jealousy. One o'clock had just struck, when, 
 by an instinctive feeling, as if that hour had 
 something portentous in it — and surely so it 
 has — I approached the garden gate, and fancied 
 that I heard low voices on the other side. They 
 came close, and I felt assured, though I heard 
 no words, that the tones were those of Clara; 
 I knew they were. The speakers stood for 
 some minutes; the time seemed an eternity, 
 yet I believe that I dreaded its termination. I 
 stood in the angle of the door, indifferent as 
 to whether I was seen or not, and I saw-^ 
 Heavens ! do I live to tell it? — her arms tlirown 
 round his neck, and after what must have been 
 a fervent embrace, they parted. The young 
 man, for I am sure he was young, passed me 
 with his handkerchief at his €yes. I saw her 
 look after him, and I heard, yes, I heard her 
 sob bitterly. No words can give you the most 
 distant idea of what I felt. You may say, ' Why 
 did I not speak instantly?' I cannot tell; I 
 shall always regret it — I ought to have seized 
 the youth, but I was confounded and spell- 
 bound. Besides, for what should 1 have done
 
 284 FLO HENCE. 
 
 SO? and I believe that I unconsciously acted 
 upon the positive fact, that she could hence-^ 
 forward be nothing to me. But I have a per- 
 suasion, perhaps falsely — and I owe you an apo- 
 logy for the mere imagination, — but I cannot 
 divest myself of the opinion, that you must be 
 in her confidence. Tell me, I conjure you, and 
 end this horrible, fearful suspense.' ' 
 
 " ' Supposing her to be what you imagine, you 
 may well apologise for thinking that I can pos- 
 sibly be in her confidence,' said I. * But this 
 is neither time nor occasion for pique, and I 
 most cordially forgive and more than sympa- 
 thise with you. But I am certain that there 
 must be some mistake in this afikir : no false deli- 
 cacy shall prevent me from knoAving thoroughly 
 the whole root and extent of this mystery, and 
 I have not a doubt that Clara will be found as 
 free from blame, as pure and spotless, as that 
 infant.' In short, I said so much of her worth 
 and honour, and of the entire possibility, and 
 certain probability, of some mistake, that in the 
 fervour of awakened hope, he seized my hand, 
 and at the same time said, 'O! make all this 
 real, and be my guardian angel ! ' 
 
 At that moment Clara stood before us; she 
 gave a loud scream, and exclaimed, "I sec
 
 FLOKENCE. 286 
 
 it all — cruel, base, false woman!' She rushed 
 
 from the arbour; Mr followed, while 
 
 I, shocked, agitated, and affected, seemed for 
 some time rivetted to the spot. When I 
 recovered, I carried Florence into the house, 
 and going instantly to Clara's, begged an 
 interview; but was told that she was taken 
 
 suddenly ill. I ventured to ask if Mr 
 
 had been admitted, and was answered in the 
 negative. My soul sickened. I had read fear- 
 ful stories of jealousy, and indeed our public 
 prints hold up but too many examples of cutting 
 short our troubles when we fancy them past 
 our endurance. I knew that Clara, though a 
 woman of great sense and refinement, was of a 
 quick and irritable temper; and I was aware 
 that her high sense of honour (for 1 never for 
 one instant believed that she had swerved) 
 would aggravate my supposed guilt in her eyes, 
 and that probably she would spurn at conti- 
 nuing in a world which contained such a mon- 
 ster as I saw she imagined me to be. I shall 
 never forget the -agony of that moment — no, 
 never. I recollected the suspicion which had, 
 by a strange fatality, been cast over me by 
 my mother and all her friends, and 1 was a^-are 
 that any report, liowever bad, would be credited
 
 286 FLORENCE. 
 
 of me. My husband too — much as he loved 
 me, yet he might not be proof against such a 
 story as could easily be fabricated from what 
 Clara saw and heard, unless she could be pre- 
 vailed upon to give us a candid hearing. I 
 stood for a few moments gazing on Florence, in 
 a state of the most sickening despair ; but I 
 was quickly aware that not a moment should 
 be lost, and writing with all the energy that 
 the love of character and of my friend could 
 inspire, and with the speed of lightning, an 
 account of what had passed, I carried in the 
 letter and desired Clara's maid to present it 
 immediately. The girl returned, and told me 
 that her lady's door was locked and that she 
 would give no answer to her entreaties for ad- 
 mission. It is strange that I should have had 
 so sure a presentiment of her fate. I flew to 
 her door and prayed for admission ; but I prayed 
 in vain, no answer was given. I flew to her 
 father, who was a violent man and had a pro- 
 found contempt for females; so that when I 
 begged him to force admission to Clara's room, 
 he said he had something else to do, and asked 
 what woman's squall this was ? I was too deeply 
 interested to care for his anger or his oaths, 
 and seizing his arm, implored him, as he valued
 
 FLORENCE. 287 
 
 Ills daughter's life, to force open her door, for 
 that I knew she had been vexed, and that I was 
 alarmed about her ; but he turned upon his heel 
 and left the house muttering sometliing about 
 women. I then asked for the footman, but was 
 
 told that he had been sent by Miss 
 
 with a letter to the post-office. It instantly 
 occurred to me that the letter was for Mr Stan- 
 hope, and my first impulse was to run and de- 
 mand it ; but my fears for Clara overcame all 
 others, and I dispatched one of the girls for 
 
 Mr -^ , her unfortunate lover. He obeyed 
 
 my summons immediately (for he had continued 
 to walk in front of the house), and stating my 
 terrors, he instantly forced open the door. Good 
 <jod ! what was the state of my mind when I 
 found my poor friend lying in bed, in a deep 
 and profound torpor, and an empty vial on her 
 dressing-table. In short, she was gone ! No 
 medical aid could restore her, and without even 
 a shadow of real blame on my part, I saw that I 
 
 must be stigmatised as but I need not 
 
 particularize. 
 
 . " Next day, I asked Clara's footman if he 
 knew to whom the letter was directed that he 
 had received from his mistress? and was in- 
 formed to 'Mr Stanhope, — sloop of war, Halifax.'
 
 288 FLORENCE. 
 
 I made no attempt at recalling the letter, whicR 
 indeed would have been impossible, but as the 
 packet was not to sail till the following Saturday, 
 I wrote a full account of all that had happened, 
 and however detrimental to the memory of Miss 
 
 , I insisted on her lover doing the same. 
 
 Mr Stanhope of course received all the three 
 letters at once, but he was too confiding in me 
 to suffer his mind for one moment to entertain 
 a doubt of the statement I sent him. But rt 
 was not so with the father of Clara. Indeed, 
 combining all the circumstances, I am not sur- 
 prised that his prejudice should have been strong 
 
 against both Mr and myself. His story 
 
 of seeing a gentleman at the garden gate of 
 
 Captain — , and of his admission, he totally 
 
 discredited, and this only gave weight to what 
 he called his other proofs, viz. my agitation, my 
 fears, and expressions dropped by Clara, and 
 heard by the servants as she rushed to her own 
 
 room; Mr having been seen to go 
 
 from Clara's house into tlie arbour of our gar- 
 den ; my own entrance immediately after, and 
 a thousand groundless conjectures of his own. 
 In short, I was in one hour a blighted, blasted 
 
 creature. Mr 's love for Clara returned, 
 
 a»d while he reproached himself as being her
 
 FLOREXCE. 289 
 
 murderer, it was not likely that at the expence 
 of her memory he should exhibit the story pub- 
 licly in order to exculpate me. Indeed, what 
 could be done? Neither Mr Stanhope nor 
 myself were more inclined to cast a blot on the 
 memory of poor Clara than her lover, but if we 
 had been so disposed, we were both satisfied that 
 to offer explanations to my mother or others, 
 would only have been a ^atuitous and useless 
 degradation. 
 
 ^' In two years after, it was discovered (indeed 
 I have no doubt it was known long before to 
 Clara's father) that his son had fought a duel 
 on the eve of his departure from Gibraltar 
 for India ; had killed his antagonist ; and 
 dreading the disagreeable and doubtful results 
 of a court-martial, with the likelihood of being- 
 broken and disgraced, he made his escape the 
 
 same night, arrived in a short time at ; 
 
 and having apprised Clara, with the most earnest 
 and solemn command of secresy, he was ad- 
 mitted, and again departed, as I have already 
 told you. The whole evil might be traced to 
 the state of unnatural and degrading terror in 
 which both son and daughter lived of their 
 father. When those circumstances came to our 
 knowledge, Mr Stanhope, Mr ■ and my- 
 
 VOL. I. u
 
 290 FLORENCE. 
 
 self, presented a joint and most earnest request 
 
 to Capt. that he would allow all the 
 
 particulars to be printed; but we supplicated to 
 a man who Was as insensible to the claims of 
 character as to all the tender ties of life. It 
 Sfeems, the young man, having obtained a little 
 money from Clara, found a vessel ready to sail 
 for the West Indies, where he has been a suc- 
 cessful planter. The moment Mr Stanhope 
 learnt his address, he '-wrote him a full and cor- 
 rect statement of all that had passed, and con- 
 jured him to write to my mother and Captain 
 Stanhope. But his reply Mas, ' Let the ashes 
 of the dead rest. I know who have been the 
 real suiferers.' 
 
 " But I have lived to see too many instances 
 of the utter impossibility of getting" those Ai'ho 
 are but slightly concerned, to give any considera- 
 tion at all to what is of the last, or even vital 
 importance to the reputation of another. There 
 is generally an absolute obtuseness on pointJS 
 which involve in them all that is most dear and 
 sacred to our friends. But how sharp, how deep, 
 how keen the propensity to discover all that can 
 tarnish and destroy reputation. This, I do 
 think, is the worst trait in human nature, because 
 there is not, that lean perceive, the slightest
 
 FJ.OKENCi:. 291 
 
 temptation to it. 1 cannot detain you, nor har- 
 row up my own feelings, by narrating a series of 
 events, not again fatal to others, but all tending 
 to asperse a character, which had by the sad 
 partiality of a parent been always laid open to 
 suspicion. My mother, all her friends, and Cap- 
 tain Stanhope, believed me to be a cunning 
 and quiet woman of intrigue, while the wliole 
 frame of my mind, and the whole tenor of my 
 conduct, gave the lie to their assertions. 
 
 " My mother placed all her alienable pro- 
 perty in the hands of a specious adventurer, in the 
 hope of its soon being doubled; but he first 
 became bankrupt, and next absconded, by which 
 means she lost every farthing, and all hope of 
 recovering^ what it was surmised he still held 
 ill his hands. Poor woman ! this chagrined lier 
 so much, that she died soon after of a broken 
 heart, having first consigned Georgina to the 
 care of a lady whom she deemed a fit guide. 
 My spirits were now considerably undermined. 
 War raged — Mr Stanhope was seklom able to 
 visit us, and I discovered that his brother, upon 
 tlie plea of Clara's story, and in defence, as he 
 said, of the family honour, placed over me a 
 perpetual spy. Indeed, he ratiier made a boast 
 of tliis, and yet he had, and still has, the of-
 
 292 FLORENCE. 
 
 frontery to visit me whenever it suits his con- 
 venience, and delights in nothing so much as 
 going over the whole events of my life. 
 
 " But let me get over this sad account, and 
 come to the saddest of it all. In 1813, the 
 final blow was given — Mr Stanhope fell in 
 battle, and I was left a solitary being indeed. 
 Captain Stanhope is the natural and sole 
 guardian of Florence, and, as I said before, visits 
 us occasionally, for the chief purpose, I think, 
 of shaking his terrors over our heads. He is 
 a mass of prejudices, but of them all, those 
 against Popery and the people of Ireland are the 
 most virulent." 
 
 Mrs Stanhope paused; and Mr Ashburn ; either 
 
 curious to know more of Mr , or anxious 
 
 to avoid discussing the principal objects of Cap- 
 tain Staidiope's ireful hatred, expressed a ^dsh 
 to learn what had become of the lover of Clara ; 
 adding, " I think you have never named him.'* 
 
 " No," said she, " as the story had in it so sad 
 a result, I think it better that, as far as I can at 
 least, the names should be consigned to oblivion. 
 
 ]y[r was a physician, and in very good 
 
 practice, but after that disastrous affair, and pro- 
 bably out of respect for me, he went and settled 
 iii Lowdoii. Rewrote a letter of condolence.
 
 FLORENCE. 293 
 
 T)Ti hearing that I had become a widow ; but as 
 it was my wish never to have the slightest inter- 
 <jourse with him, I sent no reply ; but he found, 
 however, occasion to want some information 
 
 from , for which he applied to me, and 
 
 various little occurrences followed in train, 
 which led to an occasional exchange of letters, 
 and in a year or two he paid me a visit, and on 
 his return to London, made me a formal offer 
 of his hand. But I gave so decided a refusal, 
 that the matter dropped, and I have since heard 
 of his marriage. 
 
 *' No — I could never think of again changing 
 my name, and all I have desired is, to live in 
 peace \vdth my child, and to cherish the me- 
 mory of my husband. I often look back upon 
 the events which I have narrated, as upon a 
 confused dream; and my only consolation in 
 this life is, a clear and unspotted conscience." 
 
 " And it is a consolation, the want of which 
 cannot be countervailed by the wealth of India 
 —no, not by the very life of that dear chikl. 
 You cannot know, as I do, the pangs of a 
 mere speck on the conscience. I have seen the 
 overwhelmuig power of conscious error, from a 
 little ' falsehood to crimes of the deepest dye% 
 And is it not feui-ful to thhik, that the more frc-
 
 294 FLORENCE'. 
 
 quent crime is, the less grief is manifested for 
 it ? How carefully then, Florence, should we 
 guard against its first approach. And it is also 
 an unspeakable comfort to reflect that your 
 husband's conviction was a counterpart of your 
 own self-satisfaction, upon that important and 
 distressing subject." 
 
 "Yes; but although the dying and appalling 
 words of Clara never excited in him a single 
 doubt, or one spark of jealousy, yet, from the* 
 time of her death, there was a melancholy in 
 our meetings and partings which we had never 
 experienced before. I had, however uninten- 
 tionally, been the cause of her death ; my repu- 
 tation had, to say the very least, a doubt, a shade 
 cast upon it ; my husband was seldom ysi.ih. me ; 
 I stood alone in the world, and IJelt all my soli- 
 tariness ; for mine was, and is, a heart that clings 
 with uncommon adhesion to the sympathies of 
 life. He said himself that henceforward there 
 was a sadness in my eye, a sorrow in my smile. 
 Had he been always with me, this would have 
 worn off; I should have been cheered by his 
 society, and sustained by his countenance ; but 
 we met only to part, and parted with no cer- 
 tainty of ever meeting again. And, alas ! too 
 soon but I cannot dwell on the theme,
 
 FLORENCE. 295 
 
 and it avails not — all must be borne — and the 
 gulpli of time swallows all up." 
 
 Mr Ashburn saw, that as Mrs Stanhope strug- 
 gled to conceal her emotion, it was of a deep and 
 solemn order. He knew not how to interrupt 
 the silence which followed. Here he felt none 
 of that authoritative right to which he was used, 
 but that there stood betwixt them two barriers ; 
 on her part, that of fear lest he should entangle 
 iier child in the frightfid and hated toils of 
 Popery ; on his, an apprehension that wdiatever 
 friendship and esteem might oiFer, should be 
 construed into artful baiting. " I will, notwith- 
 standing," thought he, " say what is natural to 
 my disposition, whether originally mine or 
 created by our faith, matters not; to do good is 
 the object in view, temporally as well as spiri- 
 tually;" and after such an interval as he deemed 
 due to the train of Mrs Stanhope's thoughts and 
 feelings, he said, " You appear to be sadly in 
 want of a real, disinterested friend — you may 
 imagine that my object is the conversion of your 
 daughter ; but indeed, had no hint been given, 
 so as to suggest a hope of that desirable event, 
 I should still have been interested in you, and 
 if my friendship, my support, in any case can 
 be either consoling or useful, they are not only
 
 296 FLORENCE. 
 
 at your service, but I shall feel great delight in 
 giving one moment's comfort to a person who 
 has been so much injured, and who stands alone 
 in the world." 
 
 Mrs Stanhope expressed her gratitude for his 
 offer, and they parted for that day, but with a 
 promise on Mr Ashburn's part of seeing them 
 again as soon as he possibly could. 
 
 END OF THE FIRST VOLUME. 
 
 LONDON : 
 
 PHINTED BYC. AND W, nEYNET.L, HIIOAD STREET, COI-DEN SQUARE.
 
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